Desecration: Antichrist Takes the Throne

by Tim LaHaye

  She nodded. “Mac, um, you’d better pull over.”

  “Ma’am?”

  She pointed past him, out his window. A guard hung out the passenger side of a GC vehicle with a submachine gun pointed at Mac.

  “Well,” George said, “that was just about the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Do we keep testing our luck or do we get on to Petra?”

  “If you think that was luck,” Rayford said, “maybe—”

  “Just an expression, Cap. I know good and well what that was.”

  “Let’s stay here and watch,” Abdullah said, craning his neck to see the chopper that had fired on them.

  “No need to be in the middle of everything,” Rayford said. “Get someplace where we can observe without unduly drawing more fire.”

  Chang phoned Tsion early in the afternoon Chicago time and walked him through how to broadcast live over international television from right where he was. “Is your monitor somewhere that you can stand behind it and survey the room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have someone sit where you’re going to sit, and see what you can see past them. Anything that would be a clue to your whereabouts, get rid of it.”

  Tsion asked Ming to sit in his chair at the keyboard, and he squeezed between the back of the monitor and the wall. On the opposite wall a clock would give away what time zone they were in. “Chang,” Tsion said, “let me get rid of the clock, and then the background will be a blank wall.”

  “Good. And then, can you tell me how long your message—wait, sir?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why not just change that clock to Carpathian Time and let people wonder where you are?”

  “Interesting.”

  Ming broke in. “Won’t they see it as an obvious trick, Chang?”

  “They might if we made it prominent,” he said. “Put it in the corner of the shot, and I’ll make sure it’s out of focus. People will think they have discovered something unintended.”

  “My message will be short, Chang,” Tsion said. “Just enough to encourage the believers before you transmit Chaim’s salvation message audio.”

  “Excuse me, Dr. Ben-Judah, but I’m getting something on my Phoenix 216 bug. Stand by.”

  “You go and get back to me later.”

  Mac held up a finger to the GC as if requesting a moment before he pulled over. He had speed-dialed Rayford. “Permission to fire upon the GC before they shoot out our tires.”

  “Denied, Mac. Just elude. Let God work.”

  “He can work through your nine millimeter, can’t he?”

  “You still have that?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Just don’t stop,” Rayford said.

  “Even with a flat?”

  “Call back if they flatten your tire.”

  Mac stopped in the middle of the road with the GC next to him, but he refused to roll down his window. The GC pulled in front of Mac. When the passenger got out, Mac backed up and pulled around the vehicle, and the pursuit began again. When the GC got close, Mac slammed on the brakes. “Sorry, friends!” he yelled. “Shoulda told y’all to buckle up!”

  The GC stopped within inches of Mac’s bumper and they both jumped out, shouting and waving weapons. Mac took off again, and as soon as they jumped back in and accelerated, he swung left, popped a U-turn, and swung in behind them.

  Apparently Carpathia still suspected the Knesset Building and thought his own plane was most secure. Chang followed an indication on the audiometer from the patch to the bugs there, and sure enough, it sounded as if workers were setting up for yet another meeting in the first-class cabin.

  A couple of stewards were speaking in an Indian dialect, so Chang quickly fed it through a filter David had recommended and an immediate interpretation came up as captions.

  “They will not destroy the rebel airstrip, then?”

  “It appears the GC will use it for its own purposes. They will take out the buildings and clear it of the enemy, of course, but then they will fly in their own troops, who will be trucked to Petra to head off the fleeing insurgents. They will try to—shh, they are coming.”

  “Mr. Akbar, sir.”

  “Pakistani?”

  “No, apologies, Director.”

  “Speak English?”

  “Yes, English.”

  “This will be a small gathering, just the potentate, Reverend Fortunato, Mr. Moon, Ms. Ivins, and myself.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir. We had already made room for too many, had we not?”

  “No problem. You know what everybody likes. Have it out and available. And don’t forget Ms. Ivins’s fondness for ice.”

  “A thousand thank-yous for reminding me, sir. ‘More ice, please,’ she says constantly. Water for you and Mr. Moon, juice for Mr. Fortunato, and—”

  “Reverend Fortunato.”

  “Oh yes, humble apologies.”

  “I do not care. But you do not want to make that mistake in front of His Excellency.”

  “Or the Most High Reverend Father, ha!”

  Chang heard Suhail Akbar chuckle. “Make yourselves scarce once everything is in place.”

  Chang formatted the program to record and then switched back to Chicago. “Ready?” he said.

  “I am,” Tsion said. “How do I look?”

  “Scared.”

  “I do not wish to look scared.”

  “Can’t help you there, Doctor. We’re pirating the only show in town all over the world. If anyone is watching TV, listening to radio, or surfing the Net, you’re what they’re going to get.”

  “That sets my mind at ease!”

  “Just trying to explain your nerves, sir.”

  “Say when.”

  “Now.”

  “I am on?” Tsion said. “Seriously?”

  But Chang didn’t dare answer for fear of his voice being traced. He held his breath, grateful Tsion had not used his name.

  “Greetings,” Tsion said. “It is a privilege for me to address the world through the miracle of technology. But as I am an unwelcome guest here, forgive me for being brief, and please lend me your attention . . .”

  Chang checked in on the Phoenix. It sounded as if everyone was there and settling in. “Commander Moon, get someone to turn off that television. Wait! Who is that?”

  “You know who that is, Excellency,” Leon said. “That’s the heretic, Tsion Ben-Judah.”

  “More than a heretic,” Carpathia said. “He is behind this Micah, thus the plague of sores. So now he consolidates the Orthodox Jews with him. How did he get a television network?”

  “That is GCNN, Potentate.”

  “Well, get him off there!” Carpathia raged. “Walter!”

  The TV in the Phoenix went silent, and Carpathia exploded. “I mean get him off the air, you imbecile. Call whom you have to call, do what you have to do! We have overcome the plague and now we will look like buffoons, allowing the enemy on our own network!”

  Moon was on the phone, his voice shaky, sounding to Chang as if he feared Carpathia would put him to death if Tsion was aired a minute longer. Moon swore and demanded to be put through to the head of broadcasting. “No excuses!” he cried. “Pull the plug! Now!”

  “Give me that phone!” Carpathia said. “Cut the feed! Cut the signal!” It sounded as if the phone was flung across the cabin. “Turn it on! Let me see!”

  Moon: “I’m sure they’ve at least gone to black, Excellen—”

  “Turn it on! Ach! Still there! What is it with you people? Suhail, come here. Right here!”

  “Excellency.”

  “No restrictions on curfew enforcement.” Carpathia spoke so quickly that his words ran together and Chang had to strain to understand. “Shoot to kill at the Mount of Olives, at Masada, on—”

  “Those locations have been cleared, Highn—”

  “Do not interrupt, Suhail! Every civilian plane destroyed and—”

  “We have suffered casualties on the ground from crashing planes, sir—”r />
  “Do you hear me? Do you understand what I am saying? Do I need to have you executed the way I will execute Walter if this Ben-Judah is not off the air when again I look at the screen!?”

  Moon wailed, “What more can I do, Excellency?”

  “You can die!”

  “No!”

  “Suhail, a weapon.”

  “Please, sir!”

  “Now, Suhail!”

  Scuffling. BLAM! A scream.

  “Hold out your other hand, Walter!”

  “Please!”

  BLAM! More screaming. More shots, fresh cries with each. The banging of shoes against seats and tables as Moon, Chang assumed, frantically tried to crawl to safety. More rapid shots in succession, wailing like a terrified baby, finally a last shot, and silence.

  “You’re doing the right thing, Nicolae,” Viv Ivins said. “You should kill them all and start over.”

  “Thank you, Viv.”

  Fortunato: “I worship you, risen master.”

  “Shut up, Leon. Suhail, put a fresh clip in this.”

  Sounds of the snapping in of more ammunition.

  Fortunato: “I bow in respectful silence to your glory. Oh, for the privilege of kissing your ring.”

  “Now give it to me, Suhail.”

  “As you wish, Excellency, but I will execute anyone you wish. I have always carried out your directives.”

  “Then do what I say!”

  “Anything, Potentate.”

  “I want dead insurrectionists! Run them down. Crash their vehicles. Blow their heads off. As for Petra, wait until we know for certain Micah is there, then level it. Do we have what we need to do that?”

  “We do, sir.”

  “In the meantime, someone, anyone, get—Ben-Judah —off—the—air!”

  “I will pray him off, Your Worship,” Fortunato said.

  “I will kill you if you do not shut up.”

  “Quieting now, Highness. Oh!”

  “What!?”

  “The water! The ice!”

  Chang jumped up and turned on the faucet over his sink.

  Blood.

  CHAPTER 14

  The taillights ahead went bright red, so Mac slammed on his brakes. But suddenly the GC vehicle disappeared from his vision. In the distance, Operation Eagle cars and trucks roared on, but behind them a great cavern opened and the pursuing GC dropped into it.

  Mac jumped out and realized his front tires were on the edge of the gigantic crevasse. Amazingly, the lights of the GC cars grew smaller as they continued to fall. The cavity in the earth was hundreds of feet deep, and his idea to sneak behind the GC had almost been fatal. His knees rubbery, he climbed back into the truck and carefully backed away, looking for a way around.

  Roaring up past him came yet another GC car, but as it neared the drop-off, its two occupants leaped out and rolled, their weapons clattering onto the pavement. Their car hurtled into the great beyond. The Peacekeepers slowly rose, retrieved their rifles, and took aim at Mac’s truck. “Duck!” he shouted, and his head banged Hannah’s shoulder as they both leaned toward the middle of the front seat. In the back, the Israelis tussled for position.

  The bracketing of gunfire made Mac shut his eyes and cover his head, but it stopped almost as soon as it had started, and he rose and stepped out to see the Peacekeepers sprawled dead. No one else was around. He could only surmise that their own bullets had somehow killed them. Mac’s Operation Eagle truck stood unscathed. His phone rang.

  It was Rayford. “Tsion’s on the air right now,” he reported.

  “Well, that’s good, Cap. Nothin’ I could use more right now than a little broadcast entertainment.”

  “Say again?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “What’s your location?”

  “The Grand Canyon.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Good idea not to.”

  “Mac, you all right?”

  “Yeah. ’Cept for almost drivin’ my people into the netherworld, I’ll make it.”

  “Sounds like you’ll have a story, as usual. Can you see what’s happening in the air over Jerusalem?”

  “Guess I been lookin’ the other direction, Ray.”

  “Well, look up and listen.”

  The air battle had moved away from Mac, but in the distance he could see it, and its low rumbling echoes came rolling back. “They hittin’ anybody?”

  “Only each other,” Rayford said. “Look out below.”

  “I heard that!”

  Chang was overcome by a feeling so delicious it made him tingle to the top of his head. All over his computer were frantic codes and messages and attempts by the broadcasting division in the next building to yank GCNN off the air. But nothing they did worked. He hoped Tsion would finish soon so he could go to the Chaim audio. That would drive them crazy. With no visual to worry about, they would catch each other coming and going trying to mute the sound.

  With one ear monitoring Tsion to know when to make the switch, Chang was also still listening to the cockpit of the Phoenix. Carpathia had turned his verbal guns on Fortunato.

  “What good is a religion if you cannot come up with some miracles, Leon?”

  “Holiness! I called down fire on your enemy just yesterday!”

  “You cooked a harmless woman with a big mouth.”

  “But you are the object of our worship, Excellency! I pray to you for signs and wonders!”

  “Well, I need a miracle, Reverend.”

  “Excellency,” Akbar interrupted, “you might consider this phone call miraculous.”

  “While that infernal Ben-Judah remains on the air, the only miracle is that either of you remains alive. So, thrill me.”

  “You recall we lost two prisoners in Greece recently?”

  “Young people, yes. A boy and a girl. You have found them?”

  “No, but as time and manpower allowed only a cursory investigation, the best we came up with were witnesses who said a Peacekeeper named Jensen may have been involved in both disappearances.”

  “Yes, yes, and though he was our man, you lost track of him. So you have found him now?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I hate answers like that!”

  “Forgive me, Excellency. You know how this Micah and his sidekick seemed to appear out of nowhere.”

  “Get to the point. Please! You are making me crazy!”

  “We got a tip that the two were seen at the King David Hotel, but when everyone fell ill, we didn’t have time to pursue it. Now we have, and we even know what rooms they occupied.”

  “And this is a miracle?”

  “We have combed both rooms. One contained a wallet that appears to belong to Jensen. The photo, however, does not match the photo in our personnel files.”

  “Why would he be foolish enough to leave his identification behind? It is clearly an attempt to mislead.”

  “We’re comparing with our international database fingerprints lifted from each room.”

  Chang’s fingers flew. He was into the GC Peacekeeper personnel file in seconds and eradicated all vestiges of Jack Jensen.

  “Suhail, there must be dozens of different people’s fingerprints in a hotel room, from every recent guest to the staff to—”

  “The predominant prints in the one room trace to Chaim Rosenzweig.”

  Carpathia laughed. “The man who murdered me.”

  “One and the same.”

  He laughed again. “Well, which do you think is Rosenzweig? The one in the robe or the one with the scarred face?”

  “Excellency, the prints from the scarred man’s room do not lead to Peacekeeper Jensen, interestingly enough. They match the prints of a former employee in your inner circle.”

  Back Chang went into the system, and seconds later Cameron “Buck” Williams, former media czar for the Global Community, was gone as if he had never been there.

  “I did not study the sidekick,” Carpathia said, “but he did not remind me of anyone.
”

  “He was your first media guy.”

  “Plank? Nonsense. Confirmed dead.”

  “My mistake. Your second media guy but first choice.”

  “Williams?”

  “That’s the man.”

  “Micah’s assistant is not Cameron Williams, Suhail. I would know. And let me tell you something else—Micah is not Dr. Rosenzweig.”

  “All due respect, Excellency, but miracles of disguise can be wrought today.”

  “He may be approximately the same height, but that voice? That look? That bearing? No. That could not be playacting.” There was a long pause. “Anyway,” Carpathia said quietly, “I pardoned my attacker publicly.”

  “And that protects him from whom?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Including yourself?”

  “Excellent point, Suhail.”

  “Anyway, you yourself installed Walter Moon as supreme commander. That apparently didn’t give him tenure.”

  Chang heard the men laugh, while in the background Viv Ivins supervised the removal of Moon’s body and the cleanup of the area.

  Chang switched to Tsion’s broadcast, which closed with Dr. Ben-Judah’s promise to travel to Petra to personally address his million strong “brothers and sisters in Messiah.”

  Someone called Suhail. Chang heard him ask Carpathia’s permission to take it, then: “Ben-Judah is coming to Petra, Excellency.”

  “Delay its destruction until his arrival.”

  “And the blood problem is international.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Intelligence is telling me the waters of the sea are 100 percent blood.”

  “What sea?”

  “Every one. It’s crippling us. And we have a mole.”

  “Where?”

  “At the palace. And connected here somehow.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Jensen and Williams? Their files have disappeared from our central database since you and I began discussing them.”

  “Quarantine this plane, Suhail.”

  “Sir?”

  “We will kill the mole, of course, but we must find the leak first. Lie detector tests for everyone. How many is that?”

  “Fortunately, not many. Two stewards, myself, and Leon.”

  “You were wise to leave me out and diplomatic to leave Viv Ivins out. Do not be diplomatic.”