by Tim LaHaye
Tsion prayed as he waited, but God did not grant the request to calm his fears. He’d had close calls in his day, but waiting for the enemy was the worst. He tiptoed around, watching, listening. Then he found the TV and bent to turn it on. He would only watch. But it would not come on. Of course! He smacked himself in the head. He had turned off the main power.
David hated this more than all the rest that came with working undercover in the enemy camp: knowing all that was happening half a world away, yet being powerless to do anything but warn and open the occasional skyscraper door.
There was nothing more he or Annie or Ming could do from New Babylon. The players were in their places and the dangers real. All they could do was wait to hear how it turned out.
Ming’s parents and brother were reunited with her at marker 53, and David was struck by the formalities. As he watched through binoculars, Ming and Chang embraced enthusiastically and emotionally. Ming kissed her mother lightly on the cheek, and she and her father shook hands. Then came more animated conversation and soon Annie was on the phone again.
“Mr. Wong is insulted that you are not here to greet him.”
“Well, I can hardly do anything about th—”
“David, just come. Can you?”
CHAPTER 17
“I trust Albie,” Rayford said, “but I don’t like this.”
“What do you think he’s up to?” Chloe said.
“I don’t know. He’s a pretty shrewd guy. The problem is that we have only one vehicle.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Chloe said.
“I just wish he’d make arrangements for another car at Palwaukee. I don’t like leaving Tsion and Kenny like this.”
Leah, strapped in in the backseat, pressed her hands against the ceiling to keep herself from bouncing too high. “How much farther, Daddy?” she said.
Chloe made a face, but Rayford said, “At least one of us is keeping a sense of humor.”
“David,” Buck said on the phone, “Albie wants to talk with you. What’s happening there? I hear the crowd.”
“Let’s just say I’ve pulled rank and appropriated an administrative golf cart. I’m on my way to mollify a public relations problem. At least I get to see Annie. Where are you guys?”
“Not sure. I’ll let you talk to the pilot.”
Buck handed the phone to Albie and listened as he peered out the window.
“David, my friend, good to talk with you again. I’m going to enjoy working with you. . . . We’re within forty minutes of Palwaukee. If I represent myself as GC, will they ask for a security code? . . . They will? Is there one I can use?” He covered the phone. “Buck, write this down . . . OK, go ahead . . . zero-nine-two-three-four-nine. Got it. . . . So, anything that starts with zero-nine will be OK in the future and will go back through you for clearance. Good . . . helicopter? Yes, we sure could! You can do that? . . . GC? Perfect! . . . I’ll tell the tower it will be delivered when? . . . OK! I know we will meet one day soon.”
David was struck by the variety in the crowds that lined the route to the courtyard. People of every ethnic background slowly moved toward the palace—young and old, wealthy and poor, colorfully dressed. Many appeared shell-shocked, as if they truly didn’t know what they would do without Nicolae J. Carpathia to lead them through such a tumultuous time.
David called Mac. “Where are you, Captain?”
“Sector 94. Fun work.”
“People must love that uniform.”
“Yeah, they want to know if I know the supreme commander personally.”
“And I’m sure you tell them how thrilled you are that you do.”
“What do you want, David?”
“I need you to make a couple of calls for me. Get hold of the tower at Palwaukee and—you got a pencil?—refer to security code zero-nine-two-three-four-nine. Tell ’em they’ll be hearing from one of our people who needs to hangar an Egyptian fighter there. Someone will be picking him up along with two passengers, and they must not be detained for clearances and paperwork. We will handle all that from New Babylon. Then call our base in Rantoul.”
“Illinois?”
“Right. Tell them we need a chopper in Brookfield, Wisconsin, but all they have to do is get it as far as Palwaukee and we’ll take it from there. Tell Palwaukee Tower that too. Can you do that?”
“Gee, I don’t know, David. I’m better in the cockpit than on the phone. What’s shakin’ where you are?”
“Tell ya later. Get on those calls and we’ll talk.”
David arrived at sector 53, where Annie was keeping the peace and keeping people moving. She answered questions about the times of the ceremony and the burial and also told people how far it was to water, shade, medicine, and the like. In public, of course, she had to be formal with David.
“Welcome, Director Hassid. I would like you to meet our very special guests from China. This is Mr. and Mrs. Wong, their daughter Ming Toy, who works with us in Belgium, and their son, Chang.”
David bowed and shook hands all around. Mr. Wong was plainly unhappy. “What language you speak?” he said.
“Primarily English,” David said. “Also Hebrew.”
“No good,” Mr. Wong said. “No Asian language?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“You know German? I know German. English not good.”
“No German. I apologize.”
“We talk?”
“I’d be honored, sir.”
“You forgive bad English?”
“Certainly. Perhaps your daughter can translate.”
“No! You understand.”
“I’ll try.”
“You insult no meet me at airport. I tell you through daughter we come.”
“I did get that word secondhand, sir, but I was too busy here. I apologize and ask your forgiveness.”
“VIP! I VIP because of business. Give lots money to Global Community. Very big patriot. Global patriot.”
“You are well known here, sir, and your daughter is highly regarded. Please accept my apologies on behalf of the entire GC management team for our inability to welcome you in the manner you deserve.”
“Son work for you someday. Not old enough yet. Only seventeen.”
David glanced at Chang and noticed the mark of the believer on his forehead. “I will look forward to having him as a colleague when he’s eighteen, sir. More than you can know.”
“Whole family so sorry for Nicolae. Great man. Great man.”
“I’ll pass along your sentiments to the supreme commander.”
“I meet supreme commander!”
“Have you?”
“No! I want meet!”
“I’m sorry, but we have been asked not to arrange any more personal meetings for him this week. You understand. Too many requests.”
“Special seat! You arrange special seat?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That would be diff—”
Mr. Wong shook his head as his wife took his arm as if to calm him. “No meet at airport. No meet supreme commander. Way back in line. You get us up front?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“No! You get special seat for funeral. We want in courtyard.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You see now. Tell us now. Take us now.”
David sighed and got on the phone. “Yes, Margaret, do we have anymore VIP seating at all? . . . I know . . . I know . . . three.”
“No! Daughter sit with us too. And you! Five.”
“Five, Margaret . . . I know. I’m in a bit of a bind here. I’ll owe you . . . just inside the court? That sounds fine, but I’m expected with administrative personnel in the—”
“We sit with you! You can do! Four join you in good seat.”
“I’m having trouble appeasing him, Margaret. . . . It’s not your problem, no. . . . Yes, it’s mine. What’s the best you can do? . . . He did? Well, there you go. We can kill two birds, as they say. I owe you. . . . I know. Thanks, Mar
garet.”
David turned back to them. “It seems the sculptor wrongly arranged for his assistants to sit with him in the management section, and the supreme commander’s office is going to reverse that.”
“I no understand. We sit there?”
“Yes. The sculptor is going to be ‘honored’ by standing next to the statue and having his assistants with him.”
“We sit with you or not?”
“Yes, you sit with me.”
“Good! Daughter too?”
“Yes.”
“Good! Her new friend here too?” he pressed, pointing at Annie.
“Ah, no. I wish.”
“I really can’t, Mr. Wong,” Annie said. “I must stay here during the ceremony.”
“OK, us then.”
In the wee hours of Sunday morning, Rayford barreled in to Palwaukee Airport in a cloud of dust. The place was deserted except for a light in the tower. The only lit runway was one that accommodated jets. Rayford laid his head on the steering wheel. “I just pray we’re doing the right thing,” he said. “To have been so close to the safe house and not check on Tsion and Kenny . . .”
Leah leaned forward. “And yet if the GC nose around there and don’t discover the underground, we might give our people away by showing up.”
“I know,” he said, “but I just—”
“No!” Chloe said. “Dad’s right. We need to take our chances and get there and get them out. You know what the GC are doing to Judah-ite sympathizers. They killed everybody in Chaim’s house and burned it. They killed Buck’s dad and brother and burned their place. What happens if they don’t find Tsion and Kenny but burn the place anyway, because it’s obvious we’d been living there? How would they get out? Tsion would come running right up into a burning house.”
“Chloe,” Rayford said, “I feel like we should play out Albie’s scheme here, whatever it is.”
“He can’t know our situation.”
“Buck has filled him in. And he’s right that it makes no sense for some of us to go to the safe house while others wait here for a ride. This way, if it’s obvious the GC haven’t been there yet, we need to get what we can and get out of there. That’ll make eight of us, including the baby, so we won’t have room for much else.”
“Surely Tsion will think to bring the computers and necessities.”
Rayford nodded.
“I’d better call him one more time,” Chloe said. “He may not think to bring the notebooks with the co-op stuff.”
“You don’t have that on your computer?” Leah said.
Chloe gave her a look. “I always keep hard-copy backups.”
“But you’ve got it on disks too, right?”
Chloe sighed and ignored her. And phoned Tsion.
David let the Wong family pile into the two-seat golf cart, first pointing Ming Toy to the front seat next to him and Dad, Mom, and Chang to the back bench. But Mr. Wong wouldn’t budge, muttered something about “seat of honor,” and Ming joined her mother and brother in the back. Mr. Wong sat straight, chest out, with a solemnly proud look as David carefully steered the cart through the throng toward the palace courtyard.
“They are not seating dignitaries until 11:30,” David said. “They’ll begin with the ten regional potentates and their entourages, then headquarter management personnel and their guests.”
“They seat you right away,” Mr. Wong said confidently. “And we with you.”
“They’ll follow protocol.”
“I talk to Supreme Commander Leon Fortunato. He make sure we seat right away.”
“He’s greeting dignitaries and getting set for the processional now, Mr. Wong. Let’s just get to the staging area, and I’m sure they’ll accommodate us in due time.”
“I want sit now, good view, ready for program.” He turned and grabbed his son’s knee. “This spectacular, ay? You work here someday, make proud, serve Global Community. Honor memory of Carpathia.”
Chang did not respond.
“I know you want to, Son. You not know how say it. Be patriot like me. Duty. Honor. Service.”
David pulled up to a corral area where lesser dignitaries were already being led to a line that would eventually fill the VIP area. Manning the gate was Ahmal, a man from David’s department.
“We’ll take care of the cart,” Ahmal said. “You and your guests wait under the canopy by section G.”
“Thanks, Ahmal.”
“You no introduce! You rude host!”
“My apologies,” David said. He introduced the family, emphasizing Mr. Wong’s support of the GC.
“An honor, sir,” Ahmal said, raising a brow at David.
“We sit now.”
“No, sir,” Ahmal said. “You’re being asked to wait in line at section—”
“Big supporter of Carpathia, Fortunato, GC no wait in line. No one sitting in seats. We sit there now.”
“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. There’ll be a processional. Very nice. Music. You all file in.”
“No! Sit now!”
“Father,” Ming said, “it will be better, nicer, to come in all at the same time.”
Mrs. Wong reached for her husband’s arm, but he wrenched away. “I go sit! You no want sit now, you stay! Where seat?”
Ahmal looked to David, who shook his head.
“Mr. Ahmal! Check sheet! Where I sit?”
“Well, you’re going to be in D-three, sir, but no one—”
“I sit,” he said, pushing past, daring someone to stop him.
“He’s only going to embarrass himself,” David said. “Let him go.”
Mr. Wong caused a stir in the crowd when he moved up the steps to the permanent amphitheater seating and began looking for his chair. Even people at the viewing platform were distracted and looked to see who was being seated already. Assuming he was someone important, some applauded, causing others to do the same. Soon everyone was aware that an Asian was in the VIP section, and they shaded their eyes to see if they recognized him.
“Must be the Asian States potentate,” someone near David said.
Mr. Wong acknowledged the crowd with a nod and a bow.
“He old fool,” Mrs. Wong said, and her son and daughter erupted into laughter. “We wait with Mr. Director Hassid.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to join you later,” David said. “Will you be all right?”
Mrs. Wong looked lost, but Ming took her hand and assured David they would be fine.
David went behind the stage to check progress on the technical aspects. Everything seemed to be in place, though there was a water shortage. The temperature was already 106 and climbing. GC personnel wore damp rags under their caps. Singers, dancers, and instrumentalists moved into place. Banks of monitors kept TV technicians aware of what was happening.
David went up steps that led to the bier from the back, passing armed guards every few feet. He slipped in behind the canopy that kept the coffin and the guards out of the sun, which was directly overhead now. As he squinted out at the courtyard and beyond, the pavement emitted shimmering waves of heat, and the line moved more and more slowly. David saw many looking at their watches and deduced that they were trying to worm their way into up-front positions for the funeral ceremony.
Once mourners were unwillingly urged past the bier, they would not be hurried away. They slowed, lingered, hoping to be stalled for the start of the festivities like some massive game of musical chairs.
David peered past the armed guards to the glass coffin, wondering how it would hold up in this heat. The vacuum seal looked secure and was checked every hour on the hour by the technician. Would the heat soften the box? Build up steam like a pressure cooker? David looked for signs that the heat affected the makeup, wax, or putty Dr. Eikenberry had used. How embarrassing if the real body was cooling in the morgue when the phony one reached its melting point and turned into a pool before the world.
“Stop the line, please!” came the directive from a bullhorn down and behind David’s
right. Two guards hurried that way and stepped in front of a Dutch couple who had observed the occasion by appearing in native costume. They looked as if they regretted it already, red-faced, sweating, and panting. They seemed pleased, however, at being left first in line some one hundred feet before the stairs. As they waited and the crowd behind them slowly came to a standstill of realization as well, the several dozen mourners ahead of them continued.
When they had passed and started down the stairs on the other side, a wave of silence invaded the entire area. Everyone looked to the courtyard with expectancy, the only movement the last of the mourners, trying to clear the exit stairs. They did not want to leave, but the program would not start until they did.
The stragglers finally reached the bottom and many sat directly on the pavement. They found it so hot that they began taking off garments to sit on.
With everyone in place and still, the silence of four million plus was eerie. David slipped back down the steps behind the platform and saw that the staging area was full, everyone in place from Fortunato to his ministers and all ten regional potentates with their entourages. After that, high-ranking GC personnel filled the line all the way out of the courtyard.
From David’s left, someone with a clipboard and headset signaled the director of the orchestra. With men in tuxedos and tails and women in full-length black dresses, the one hundred members of the orchestra mounted the back steps and made their way out onto the platform at stage left. Sweat poured from their faces, and great dark stains spread under their arms and down their backs. Once seated, they brought instruments into position and waited for their cue.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the announcement over the massive public-address system, echoing in the courtyard, resounding for nearly a mile, and followed by instant translation into three other major languages. “Global Community Supreme Commander Leon Fortunato and the administration of the one-world government would like to express sincere thanks and appreciation for your presence at the memorial service for former Supreme Potentate Nicolae J. Carpathia. Please honor the occasion by removing head coverings during the performance by the Global Community International Orchestra of the anthem, “Hail, Carpathia, Loving, Divine, and Strong.”
