by Tim LaHaye
“Want another one? I’m doing this from memory, but there’s a verse in the New Testament—more than one, I think—that quotes Jesus. He basically says that if we forgive others, God will forgive us, but if we don’t forgive others, neither will God forgive us.”
Hattie laughed. “That puts us over a barrel, doesn’t it? Like we don’t have a choice.”
“Pretty much.”
“You think I should find that verse and memorize it so I can quote it to them when I get there? Tell them they’d better forgive me, if they know what’s good for them?”
Rayford turned and raised an eyebrow at her.
“I’m kidding,” she said. “But, um, you think they all know that verse?”
“You can bet Tsion does. Probably in a dozen languages.”
She sat quiet awhile. Rayford pointed out the Strong Building in the distance and rapped lightly on Albie’s knee with his knuckles. “You might want to be awake for this, friend.”
“I’m nervous,” Hattie said. “I was all psyched up, but now I don’t know.”
“Give them some credit,” Rayford said. “You’ll see.” He hit the button on his phone to call Buck and handed it to Hattie. “Tell Buck the next sound he hears will be us.”
Buck had told Chloe the news about Annie, then gathered everyone in the safe house to tell them. None had met her, of course, but Tsion, Buck, Chloe, and Leah had had enough interaction with David that they felt they knew Annie. Chaim and Zeke were brought up to speed; then they all prayed for David and Mac and Abdullah. Zeke asked if they would mind praying for his father too.
“I don’t know ’xactly where they took him, but I know Dad, and he ain’t gonna be cooperative.”
“David says they’re going to try out the mark on prisoners first,” Buck said.
“Dad would die first.”
“That might be the price.”
“Ten to one he’d take a couple of ’em with him,” Zeke said.
Buck’s phone rang, and he was grateful when Chloe reached for it.
“Hattie?” she said. “Where are you guys? . . . That close? See you in a few then. . . . Yeah, we heard Dad and Albie found a, um, friend on the inside. You ought to be grateful for all the time and expense and effort that went into—well, I don’t know if you realize how risky that was. And investing Dad and Albie’s time and an aircraft—I mean—it’s not like you did anything to deserve it. I’m not trying to be mean, I’m just saying . . . don’t start the waterworks with me, Hattie. We go back too far. For all we know the old safe house is ashes now because of—Yeah, we can talk about it when you get here. . . . Of course I still care about you, but you may not find all of us as soft as my dad. There’s a delicate balance here and a lot more people than before. Even in a place as huge as this, it’s not easy living together, especially with people who have a history of putting their needs ahead of everybody el—OK, all right. We’ll see you in a minute.”
Hattie clapped the phone shut and slapped it into Rayford’s hand. “I take it that wasn’t Buck,” he said.
“She hates me!” Hattie said. “This is a bad idea. You should have left me there, let them take me back to Buffer and take my chances. I might not have lasted, but at least I’d be in heaven.”
“Should we have let you kill yourself too? Then where would you be?”
“Chloe didn’t sound like she’s going to forgive me. Ah, I don’t blame her. I deserve it.”
Rayford felt Hattie sit back and she muttered something.
“Can’t hear you,” he said, maneuvering toward the building.
“I said she probably only said what I would have if the shoe was on the other foot.”
Hannah Palemoon had dressed David’s wound differently, applying a tight-fitting bandage that adhered to the shaved part of his head and did not touch his hair. It aided the stitches in keeping his scalp together for fast healing, she told him, and he didn’t need the layers of gauze covering his ears and extending under his chin anymore. He felt almost normal except for the residual pain—much less—and the itching he knew he had to ignore. The best he could do was to gently press around the edges of the bandage, but as the stitches would not be removed for at least another two days, he had to be careful.
Still, his cap fit again. He stopped by his quarters for a fresh uniform, checked the mirror, and realized how incongruous he looked. His youthful, Israeli features and dark complexion went well with the tailored, formfitting garb of the senior GC staff. But as he studied his visage, he wondered if any of the Nazis he’d seen in history books hated the swastika on their snappy uniforms as much as he hated the insignia of the Global Community. How he would love abandoning the whole look. And it wouldn’t be long.
He stopped with his hand on the inside door handle. Though he was better, he still felt the fatigue of one whose body was trying to heal itself. Part of him wanted to stretch out on the bed and not move for twelve hours, to simply lie there in his grief and embrace the gnawing emptiness. David found some solace in Hannah’s insistence that Annie would not have suffered even for a split second. But why couldn’t the power that obliterated her nervous system and baked her vital organs also destroy the longing in him she could now never fulfill? No lightning bolt of any magnitude could extinguish a love so pure.
He bowed his head and prayed for strength. If he had, say, two months, he might have allowed himself the luxury of another day or two to take the hardest edge off his pain. But even the time he had was not really enough for all he had to do. For Annie, he told himself as he headed for his office. And he would remind himself of that every few minutes for as long as it took to keep himself going.
His relegating Annie to a sacred, protected part of his mind was not helped when he encountered Viv Ivins in the corridor outside his office. “I need to see you,” she said in her crisp, delicate voice and Romanian accent. “My office or yours?”
He was so glad she had not begun with the obligatory “He is risen,” which he and Mac and Abdullah and Hannah had decided they would respond to with “He is risen indeed,” privately knowing they were referring to Christ. Perhaps Vivian eschewed the formality because technically she was outside the hierarchy. She did not even wear a uniform, though her light blue, dark blue, black, charcoal, and gray suits were uniform enough. She wore sensible shoes, and her blue-gray hair was teased into a helmetlike ball.
Giving David the option of meeting with her in his own office was unusual, for while Ms. Ivins bore no official title, everyone knew she was akin to the boss’s daughter, or, in this case, the boss’s aunt. She was not a blood relative, as far as anyone knew, but Carpathia himself made it plain that she was as close to him as anyone in the world. She had been a dear family friend and had, from almost the beginning, helped his late parents raise their only child.
She did not overtly lord it over anyone that she had clout without title. There was simply an unspoken knowledge between her and everyone. What she wanted she got. What she said went. Her word was as good as Carpathia’s, and so she didn’t have to assert herself. She employed her understood power in the same way everyone else accepted it.
“Please,” David said, “come in.” He enjoyed the brass of having someone so close to Carpathia sitting in his office, not six feet from the computer he used to subvert the potentate’s efforts.
His assistant greeted him with a concerned look as he passed. David merely said, “Good morning,” but she slowed him with, “Are you all right?”
“Better, Tiffany, thanks,” he said.
When she noticed his visitor, she lurched to her feet. “Ms. Ivins,” she said.
Viv merely nodded. David held the door for her, and once she was inside and he shut it, she stood waiting for him to pull out a chair for her. He imagined saying, “Is your arm broken?” But there was almost as much feminist power in her expecting his chivalry as there would have been in her not doing so.
“I heard you say you were feeling better,” she said, opening a folde
r in her lap and pulling a pencil from behind her ear. “So I won’t belabor that. I trust you’re able to get past your unfortunate incident with His Excellency?”
“Throwing up on the leader of the world, you mean?” he said, eliciting a grimace from her. “Except that such news travels fast and I doubt there is an employee in New Babylon not aware of it, yes, I try not to dwell on it.”
“Senior management understands,” she said.
He wanted to ask if they understood that barfing on the big boss was actually an answer to a desperate prayer to be spared from pretending to worship him.
Viv made a tiny check mark after her first listed item. David wondered what she might have written there as the discussion point. Regurgitation?
“Now then,” she said, “a few more items. First, your new immediate superior will be James Hickman.”
“My area will report to Intelligence?”
“No, Jim has been promoted to Supreme Commander to replace Reverend Fortunato.”
David mused that having had Intelligence in Hickman’s previous title was similar to Fortunato now having Reverend in his. “Surely this was Leon’s, er, Commander Fortunato’s choice, not the potentate’s.”
David detected the hint of a smile, but Viv wouldn’t take the bait. “So Jim will be relocating to Leon’s old office?” he said.
“Please don’t get ahead of me, Mr. Hassid. And I would urge you to use titles or at the very least Mister when you refer to personnel at such levels. You shall be expected to refer to Mr. Hickman as Supreme Commander and Mr. Fortunato as Reverend or Most High Reverend.”
Do I get a vote? David wondered. He might rather have vomited on Leon than call him Most High anything. He bit his tongue to keep from asking Viv, er, Ms. Ivins, whether it had been Hickman’s groveling that won him his promotion. Or perhaps that performance was in gratitude for a move that had already been put in place.
“And no,” Viv continued, “the new Supreme Commander will not be moving into Reverend Fortunato’s old office. Mr. Hickman will be sharing space with His Excellency’s assistant.”
“Real-ly,” David said. “Seems Sandra’s kind of cramped as it is.”
“How shall I put this? Though Mr. Hickman will have the same title Mr. Fortunato had, the job may not have quite the same range of influence.”
“Meaning?”
Viv appeared frustrated, as if she were seldom asked to be more precise. “Mr. Hassid, it should be obvious to everyone that a leader whose deity has been publicly affirmed would not have need for the same level of assistance he may have in the past. Mr. Fortunato was, in essence, the chief operating officer to His Excellency’s chief executive officer. Mr. Hickman’s role will be more that of facilitator.”
Like sergeant at arms or town crier? David wanted to say.
“And, of course, you are aware of Reverend Fortunato’s new duties.”
More than you are. But False Prophet may not look right on the business card. “Refresh me.”
“He will be the spiritual head of the Global Community, directing homage to the object of our worship.”
David nodded. To cover any unconscious look that might have given him away, he said, “And, what, ah, is to become of Leon’s, excuse me, Reverend Fortunato’s old office?”
“It will become part of the potentate’s new quarters.”
“Oh! I knew he wanted to expand upward. But out as well?”
“Yes, it should be magnificent. One of the benefits, so far anyway, of his resurrected body is that he is apparently immune to the need for sleep. Busy twenty-four hours a day, he needs variety in his work environment.”
“Uh-huh.” That’s all we need. Satan with no downtime.
“The potentate’s new office will be spectacular, Director Hassid. It will encompass both his and Mr. Fortunato’s old spaces, as well as the conference room, and above the ten-foot walls will extend another thirty feet of windows to a clear roof.”
“Sounds impressive, all right.”
“I’m sure you will have your share of audiences with him,” she said, “though you will more often meet with the new Supreme Commander.”
“If I were the potentate, I would want an office large enough to allow plenty of distance between him and me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You know, the throwing up thing.”
“Oh, yes. I get it. Amusing.” But she did not appear amused.
“Will Mr. Hickman have a meeting area, or will we have to keep our voices down so as not to disturb the potentate’s assistant?”
“I’m sure between the two of you, you’ll be able to work something out. For instance, meeting here. Oh, my, look at the time. I have several other appointments, so you’ll forgive me if I plunge ahead.”
No, time’s up. Get out. “Certainly, Ms. Ivins. I understand.”
“During your incapacity, we were unable to wait on several important issues. We needed to get orders placed for several technical purchases that involve international shipping and manufacture.”
David had to concentrate to keep from making a face. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and he had hoped he could stall such requisitions and frustrate the potentate’s efforts.
“Technical purchases?” he said.
“Biochip injectors. And, of course, loyalty enforcement facilitators.”
Loyalty enforcement facilitators!? Why not just call them cranium and trunk separators? “Guillotines, you mean?”
That made her wince. “Director, please. That has such an eighteenth-century sound to it, and you can understand why we want to avoid any language that bespeaks violence or conjures images of beheading and the like.”
And the like? “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but do we not assume that people will recognize the guillotines, or loyalty enforcement facilitators, for what they are? What else might they be used for, halving cabbages?”
“I don’t find that the least bit amusing.”
“I don’t either, but let’s call a blade a blade. People see a heavy, angled, razor-sharp edge waiting to be triggered from the top of a grooved track, with a head-shaped yoke at the bottom over a handy basket, and my guess is they’ll have a clue what it’s about.”
Ms. Ivins shifted in her chair, made another check mark on her list, and said, “I shouldn’t put it so crassly. But my guess, no my sincere belief, is that these will hardly, if ever, be used at all.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely. They shall merely serve as a tangible symbol for the seriousness of the exercise.”
“In other words, willingly express your loyalty or we chop your head off.”
“That will not need to be said.”
“I should guess not.”
“But, Mr. Hassid, I wager that only the most unusually hard cases, so few and far between that they will be newsworthy for their uniqueness, will result in complete consummation of the enforcement.”
I’d hate to see incomplete consummation of the enforcement. “You’re confident, then, that all opposition has been eradicated.”
“Of course,” she said. “Who in their right mind could see the resurrection of a man dead three days and not believe in him as God?”
Rayford did not get the reception he expected, and Chloe hurried to him to explain it. He was staggered by the news of Annie. The three sat, stunned as the rest, and most, it appeared, avoided eye contact with Hattie.
“What do we hear from David?” Rayford said. “Is he all right?”
“We heard from Mac,” Buck said. “Worse is that David collapsed from heat exhaustion or sunstroke or something, and that just delayed his finding out about Annie.”
Rayford sat shaking his head. He knew more and more of this would be their lot, but it never seemed to get easier.
“Not everybody knows everyone else here,” he said finally, and made cursory, subdued introductions.
“’Scuse me,” Zeke said, “but is it OK if I ask a dumb question
?”
“Anything,” Rayford said.
“No offense, lady,” he said to Hattie, “but I didn’t expect to see a mark on you.”
Tsion stood, lips trembling, and approached her. “Is it true, dear one?” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Let me look at you.”
Hattie nodded, her eyes darting to Buck and Chloe, who stared, wide eyed.
Tsion embraced her, weeping. “Praise God, praise God,” he said. “Lord, you take one away and send one anew.” He opened his eyes. “So, tell us. When? How? What happened?”
“Not twenty-four hours ago,” she said. “It wasn’t just one thing, but all of you caring about me, loving me, pleading with me, praying for me. If you have not heard Albie’s story, though, make sure you do soon.”
She leaned close and whispered in Tsion’s ear.
“Certainly,” he said. “Chaim, Zeke, Albie, Leah, let’s let our new sister have a few moments with the Steele family, shall we? There will be plenty of time for getting acquainted.”
The others rose and followed Tsion as if they understood, though Zeke looked puzzled. When it was just the four of them, Hattie stood as Rayford, Buck, and Chloe sat. “I’m so happy for you,” Chloe said, “and I mean it even if I sound stunned. I am. I wish you’d told me on the phone before I went off on you.”
“No, Chloe, I deserved that. And I don’t blame any of you for being shocked. I’m a little shocked myself. But I have so much to explain. Well, not to explain, because who can explain rottenness? But to apologize for it. I was so awful to you, all of you at different times. I don’t know how you could ever forgive me.”
“Hattie,” Chloe said, “it’s all right. You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. And Chloe, one thing you need to know is that something you said to me a long time ago never left me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind, though I tried over and over. It was when I visited you at Loretta’s house and I accused you all of just trying to change my mind about an abortion and of only really loving me if I bought into the whole package and agreed with everything you said. Remember?”
