by Tim LaHaye
Chang was taken aback to discover a message from his mother. He quickly accessed it. It was filled with mistakes and retries, but plainly she had painstakingly taught herself how to compose and send the message, and from what she had to say, she had learned how to access Tsion Ben-Judah’s Web site too.
Father upset over Carpathia’s shameful exhibition in Jerusalem. Not know what to think. Wants me to ask what you think. What do you think? I will send this before he sees and will erase from storage. You answer careful in case he see. Carpathia seem bad, bad, bad. Ben-Judah very interesting, a prophet. How does he know in advance? I need to know how to send to Ming. Tell her I will.
Mother
Not long after dark and still an hour before 2100 hours, Chaim surveyed the packed fortress of Masada, and Buck looked out over the overflow crowd below. He agreed with the old man that almost everyone who was to come was likely there. Buck put an arm on Dr. Rosenzweig’s shoulder and bowed his head.
“God, grant me the wisdom to say what you want me to say,” Chaim said, “and may these dear ones hear what you want them to hear.”
“And God,” Buck added, “anoint his voice.”
There was neither a stage nor special lighting. Chaim merely stood on high ground at one end and raised his arms. The place immediately fell silent, and it seemed all movement stopped. Buck whispered into the phone to Chang, “At least record this. We can worry about enhancing fidelity later. The whole Trib Force will want to hear it.”
“How are you on power?”
“One and a half packs left. Should be okay.”
Chaim spoke in Hebrew, but again, Buck understood him perfectly. “My friends,” he began in a voice of vigor and authority but, Buck feared, not enough volume, “I cannot guarantee your safety here tonight. Your very presence makes you an enemy and a threat to the ruler of this world, and when the plague of sores upon his people is lifted at nine o’clock tonight, they may target you with a vengeance.”
Buck stood and looked to the far reaches of the fortress and outside below. No one seemed to have to strain to hear. No one moved or emitted a sound except Leah and Hannah, quietly arranging the small, makeshift medical center. So far no one seemed to need their services.
“I will keep my remarks brief,” Chaim said, “but I will be asking you to make a decision that will change your destiny. If you agree with me and make this commitment, cars, trucks, and helicopters will ferry you to a place of refuge. If you do not, you may return to your homes and face the gruesome choice between the guillotine or the mark of loyalty to the man who sat in your temple this very day and proclaimed himself god. He is the man who defiled God’s house with murder and with the blood of swine, who installed his own throne and the very image of himself in the Holy of Holies, who put an end to all sacrifices to the true and living God, and who withdrew his promise of peace for Israel.
“I must tell you sadly that many of you will make that choice. You will choose sin over God. You will choose pride and selfishness and life over the threat of death. Some of you have already rejected God’s gift so many times that your heart has been hardened. And though your risky sojourn to this meeting may indicate a change of mind on your part, it is too late for a change of heart. Only God knows.
“Because of who you are and where you come from, and because of who I am and where I come from, we can stipulate that we agree on many things. We believe there is one God, creator of the universe and sustainer of life, that all good and perfect things come from him alone. But I tell you that the disappearances that ravaged our world three and a half years ago were the work of his Son, the Messiah, who was foretold in the Scriptures and whose prophecies did Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ, fulfill.”
Not a murmur or a word of dissent from all these Jewish people, Buck thought. Could this be Chaim Rosenzweig, the diminutive, soft-spoken scientist, commanding an audience of tens of thousands with the mere power of his unamplified voice and the authority of his message?
It was darker than dark at Mizpe Ramon, so Rayford couldn’t even read lips. Fortunately, if George or Abdullah spoke directly at him, he was starting to be able to make out their words.
“I realize I’m the new guy and everything, Captain,” George said, “but I been wonderin’. Is there anything here worth protectin’ from the GC? I mean, let ’em concentrate their efforts on tearin’ up the dirt we worked so hard to smooth out. And these temporary quarters aren’t worth a nickel either. What say we get back where the action is and start flyin’ some more people to safety instead of lyin’ here waitin’ for an enemy that might not show?”
Rayford rolled onto his back and stared at the star-filled sky. Abdullah waded in with his opinion, and Rayford had to push up on one elbow and get him to start over louder.
“I was just saying, boss, that I agree. As much as I would enjoy shooting the big guns and maybe knocking someone out of the sky who deserves it anyway, why waste ammunition? We might need it to protect ground troops or flights later.”
Rayford’s chopper was the only one left. George’s and Abdullah’s had been pressed into service. The captain rolled onto his back again and ran it all through his mind. The truth was, he didn’t care if the GC attacked here. Let them waste their time. He was burned out, desolate, and needed the break. If someone else would fly his craft, and if perhaps Mac would take over running the operation, at least for a while, he could hang on till daybreak. Mac was temporarily in charge anyway, with Rayford’s temporary—he hoped—handicap.
“Let’s break camp,” he said finally, and the other two quickly broke down the weapons and loaded them. Rayford asked George to fly and Abdullah to tell Mac what was going on. He lay on the floor of the chopper and covered his face with his hands. The problem, Rayford told himself, was that he had a hero complex. He knew anything good that happened in a time such as this was God’s doing and not his. But running out of gas before a mission was over was not his idea of what a leader would or should do.
Was it possible that God had allowed him to forget something so simple as earplugs just to put him out of commission long enough to restore his strength? He despaired over losing David and having to kill two men. But it all worked together to drain him. He was not even aware of dozing, but a moment later Abdullah woke him with a yank on the arm.
“Please to forgive me, but we are needed at Masada. Mr. McCullum believes that many, many more will need rides to Petra.”
Buck found himself thrilled to the point of bursting. Much as Tsion Ben-Judah had done on international television years before, Chaim made the case for Jesus as the Messiah the Jews had sought for so long. As he ticked off the 109 prophecies fulfilled by Jesus alone, first one, then another in the crowd stood. Soon the entire crowd was on its feet. Still they were silent and no one moved around. A holy hush filled the place.
“He is the only One who could be Messiah,” Chaim proclaimed. “He also died unlike anyone else in history. He gave himself willingly as a sacrifice and then proved himself worthy when God raised him from the dead. Even skeptics and unbelievers have called Jesus the most influential person in history.
“Of the billions and billions of people who have ever lived, One stands head and shoulders above the rest in terms of influence. More schools, colleges, hospitals, and orphanages have been started because of him than because of anyone else. More art was created, more music written, and more humanitarian acts performed due to him and his influence than anyone else ever. Great international encyclopedias devote twenty thousand words to describing him and his influence on the world. Even our calendar is based on his birth. And all this he accomplished in a public ministry that lasted just three and a half years!
“Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God, Savior of the world, and Messiah, predicted that he would build his church and the gates of hell would not prevail against it. Centuries after his public unmerciful mocking, his persecution and martyrdom, billions claimed membership in his church, making it by far the largest religion in the w
orld. And when he returned, as he said he would, to take his faithful to heaven, the disappearance of so many had the most profound impact on this globe that man has ever seen.
“Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem to a virgin, to live a sinless life, to serve as God’s spotless Lamb of sacrifice, to give himself willingly to die on a cross for the sins of the world, to rise again three days later, and to sit at the right hand of God the Father Almighty. Jesus fulfilled these and all the other 109 prophecies, proving he is the Son of God.
“Tonight, Messiah calls to you from down through the ages. He is the answer to your condition. He offers forgiveness for your sins. He paid the penalty for you. As the most prolific writer of Scripture, a Jew himself, wrote, ‘If you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation. For the Scripture says, “Whoever believes on him will not be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek, for the same Lord over all is rich to all who call upon him. For whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’
“For years skeptics have made fun of the evangelist’s plea, ‘Do you want to be saved tonight?’ and yet that is what I ask you right now. Do not expect God to be fooled. Be not deceived. God will not be mocked. Do not do this to avoid a confrontation with Antichrist. You need to be saved because you cannot save yourself.
“The cost is great but the reward greater. This may cost you your freedom, your family, your very head. You may not survive the journey to safety. But you will spend eternity with God, worshiping the Lord Christ, Messiah, Jesus.
“If you choose Christ, pray this prayer with me: Dear God, I am a sinner and separated from you. I believe Jesus is the Messiah and that he died on the cross to pay for my sins. I believe he rose again the third day and that by receiving his gift of love I will have the power to become a son of God because I believe on his name. Thank you for hearing me and saving me, and I pledge the rest of my life to you.”
All over the vast historic fortress—where legend said Jewish parents chose to slay their own children and themselves rather than fall into the hands of the Romans—men and women prayed that prayer aloud. The mark of the seal of God on the believer appeared on their foreheads, and thousands and thousands of them followed Chaim as he strode through the crowd and down the steps to where hundreds of vehicles and helicopters waited in long lines. Hannah and Leah and their equipment were among the first to go. Buck saw Mac assign his chopper to another flyer and help load the medical stuff into an idling truck. He got behind the wheel as Hannah and Leah herded about a dozen new believers in.
Thousands of others, despair on their faces, ran from the scene and looked for rides back to Jerusalem.
Buck caught up to Chaim and stood next to him, watching as the cars and trucks and choppers filled and took off. The old man breathed heavily and leaned over on Buck as if his last ounce of strength had been sapped. “Praise God,” he whispered. “Praise God, praise God, praise God.”
Buck looked at his watch. It was minutes before nine, and already the loudspeakers on GC vehicles began spreading the news that was being broadcast on television and over the Internet. “The entire state of Israel has been declared a no-fly zone by the Global Community Security and Intelligence director. All civilian aircraft, take fair warning: Any non-GC craft determined to be over Israeli airspace runs the risk of destruction.
“The potentate himself has also decreed martial law and has instituted a curfew on civilian vehicular traffic in Israel. Violators are subject to arrest.
“Due to the severity of the affliction that has befallen GC personnel, these curfews are required. Only a skeleton crew of workers is available to maintain order.
“His Excellency reminds citizens that he has effected a relief from the plague as of 2100 hours, and the populace should plan to celebrate with him at daybreak.”
Abdullah woke Rayford again. He sat up, his hearing still gone. “Your son-in-law has requested transportation for Dr. Rosenzweig and himself from Masada to Petra, and he says you personally requested permission to convey them. Is that still your wish?”
Rayford nodded, wiped his face, and climbed into a seat. George descended to the staging area outside Masada, and they sat waiting until nearly everyone was gone save Chaim and Buck and a man standing behind them in a robe similar to Chaim’s.
“Who is that?” Rayford asked, pointing.
“Dr. Rosenzweig and Mr. Williams,” Abdullah said.
“No, the other,” Rayford said.
“I do not understand.”
“Who is with them?”
Rayford saw Abdullah glance at George, and George meet his gaze. “I see no one,” Abdullah said, but Rayford assumed he meant he didn’t know either.
Later, when GC vehicles began arriving at the site and finally only Buck, Chaim, and the other man remained outside, Abdullah stepped out of the chopper and held the door open. Chaim walked wearily, Buck with a hand on his arm. The third stayed a pace behind. As they boarded, it seemed to Rayford that Abdullah very nearly slammed the door on the unknown man.
They sat as George turned in his seat and Rayford introduced Chaim and Buck to him. “And introduce your friend,” Rayford said.
Buck smiled. “I’m sorry?”
“Your friend. Introduce your friend. Who is this?” Rayford gestured toward the third man, who merely looked at him. Chaim and Buck looked to where he had gestured and then back to Rayford. “Well?” he said.
“What are we missing?” Buck said.
Rayford wondered if he was dreaming. He leaned toward the man as the man leaned toward him. “So, who are you?” Rayford said.
“I am Michael,” he said. “I am here to restore and heal you.”
Rayford stiffened as Michael cupped Rayford’s head in his hands, his palms over the ears. Rayford’s hearing was restored, and he felt a surge of life and energy that made him sit up straight. “You mean Michael the . . . I mean, the Michael?”
But the man was gone.
CHAPTER 13
Rayford felt twenty years younger and wished he were piloting his own chopper. But George was doing fine. Abdullah sat next to him, scanning the sky and the ground with a serious, worried look. Buck sat next to Chaim on the long side bench, his head back, mouth open, sound asleep.
“You must be exhausted too, Dr. Rosenzweig,” Rayford said.
“For the first time today, yes, and you know I was up most of last night.”
“I heard. God has stood by you, hasn’t he?”
“Captain, I confess I am famished! It is as if I have been fueled by the energy of the angels to whom God gave charge over me.”
“Did you see them, sir?”
“Me? No. But you know Miss Durham saw Michael the archangel.”
Rayford nodded. There would be time to tell his own story. “Abdullah?” he said, and the Jordanian turned. “Were there any foodstuffs in what we loaded?” He had been heating something over a flameless stove just before they left Mizpe Ramon.
“There were! Yes!” Abdullah was shouting and enunciating.
“I can hear, Smitty. I’ve been healed.”
“Really!?” He leaned back and quit shouting, but still talked loudly enough to be heard above the din of the craft. “I have pita bread warm in an insulated box, along with sauce for the dipping.”
“You sound like a waiter in a swanky restaurant.”
“How would I know?”
Chaim leaned in. “That sounds like milk and honey to me.”
Abdullah unbuckled himself and squeezed back between them, kneeling to retrieve the box. He pivoted and opened the lid, revealing a stack of nearly twenty round pitas about ten inches in diameter, steam rising.
The aroma permeated the helicopter and woke Buck. Big George even reached back without looking. Rayford slapped a couple of pitas into his open palm. “That
’s what I’m talkin’ about!” the pilot said, though he hadn’t said a word for an hour. All dug in, tearing at the chewy bread with their teeth.
“Lord, you know we are grateful!” Chaim said, his mouth full, and the others amened.
Abdullah was still kneeling by the box when he nudged Rayford and nodded outside. The sky was full of Operation Eagle choppers and GC craft, both fixed-wings and whirlybirds. Below, the streets were jammed with fleeing vehicles, careening around corners, bouncing over curbs and torn-up streets, pursued by GC vehicles with flashing lights.
The others turned to peer out. “How are we doing on fuel?” Chaim asked.
“Several hours’ worth,” George reported.
“Captain Steele,” Chaim said, “could we remain in this area and monitor this?”
Rayford told George to find a friendly altitude, and they hovered in a wide-box pattern. A GC chopper moved in behind them at one point and summoned them with an all-frequency transmission. “Civilian chopper, you are advised to leave Israel airspace immediately.”
“Captain,” George said, “what frequency can they hear me on?”
Rayford told him and asked what he had in mind.
“I just think I should be courteous, don’t you?”
“Don’t antagonize them.”
Everybody in the chopper laughed at that, and Rayford realized how absurd it was. The GC couldn’t be any more antagonized.
George switched to the frequency Rayford suggested. “GC chopper, this is the civilian bird. Over which part of your populated city did you plan to send our flaming wreckage?”
“Civilian, you are violating a curfew established by Potentate Carpathia himself.”
“I don’t recognize the authority.”
“Repeat, Carpathia! His Excellency himself!”
“I recognize the name, GC. I repeat, I don’t recognize the authority.”
