Desecration: Antichrist Takes the Throne

by Tim LaHaye

  “What’s done is done. He’s it, so don’t do anything stupid again.”

  “Again?”

  “You don’t think that was stupid? What are you doing over there?”

  A muzzle at his neck. “Keep still there, big boy. Up we go.” A hand on the cuffs, pulling until he had to get up or injure his arms. He was led to a chair and pushed back onto it. He had the impression only two of the men and the girl were downstairs with him. Footsteps upstairs. He tried to slow his breathing so he could hear. The one upstairs was talking, but no one was responding. He was on the phone, talking about the car—probably to the clerk who had lent it. Then he said something about the plane. George decided it would serve him right if they shot him right there. He had treated this assignment like a game and now had exposed the entire Tribulation Force. And, if these men had any credibility, the others in Greece had been killed.

  Cigarette smoke. Blown in his face. Please, he thought. These people had seen too many movies. Maybe cataloging their gaffes would help. Someone squatted next to him, he assumed the second one down the stairs. The other would be wary for a while.

  “We can make this hard or make this easy,” the man whispered, and George couldn’t help himself. He pressed his lips together hard, but he couldn’t keep from giggling. He wanted to ask if they were going to try good-cop, bad-cop too, but he had resolved to say nothing.

  “We know who you are, Mr. Sebastian,” and George lost it. He laughed aloud, knowing what the next line had to be. “We know who you work for.”

  Trying to keep from laughing only made it worse, and he sat there, shoulders heaving, squealing to keep from guffawing. He took a backhand directly on the mouth, splitting his upper lip against his teeth.

  George was almost relieved when that sobered him. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder, tasted blood, and spat. At least he wouldn’t get himself killed for being unable to stop laughing. When the man said he would cut to the chase, trying to make it sound normal with his thick accent, George almost laughed again. But his stinging lips were swelling, and he had a hunch that would be the least of his pain by the time this was over.

  “All we need to know is where we can find your people. Your information proves correct; you are free to go.” As if they wouldn’t kill him for not having the mark of loyalty. “We have them narrowed to the United Carpathian States.”

  George cocked his head ever so slightly. That had surprised him, and he didn’t mind it showing, because he knew they would think he was shocked that they knew. It was no secret Tsion Ben-Judah would soon be on his way to Petra, so why did they care about anyone else?

  “You might be more surprised by how much we know. Rosenzweig is no threat as long as he stays in the mountains. His assistant we know to be Cameron Williams, who illegally transmits over the Internet material subversive to the Global Community, a crime punishable by death. We know there is a mole connected to the Judah-ites somewhere within the GC. And the pilot who has disguised himself as a GC officer has pushed his luck too far. He has been linked with another Williams identity, who also passed himself off as GC and temporarily freed two rebel prisoners. We have reason to believe a former guard at the Buffer, now AWOL, may be connected with these people.”

  George wondered if they had made the connection between Ming Toy and Chang Wong. Maybe the fact that she had been married and now had a different last name would delay that realization. It would be only a matter of time, of course. Chang had to get out of New Babylon.

  George’s captor sounded as if he believed George was surprised by how much they knew. In fact, the opposite was true. Apparently they had never connected the crash of the Quasi Two with the Trib Force, and no one even knew it had been empty.

  More smoke in his face. “So, you just tell us where to look, and when you are proved trustworthy, you go home to your family.”

  Most ironic of all, George would not have been able to give away the Trib Force if he’d wanted to. For his own safety, Rayford had told him only to fly Marcel and Georgiana to a Kankakee, Illinois, airstrip and that he would meet George there. Whether George accompanied them to the safe house, wherever it was, or flew on home to San Diego, would have depended on timing, weather, and any suspicion that might have arisen over whether the GC were onto him.

  The man near him tried the next strategy in the hostage-taker’s guidebook. He laid a hand gently on George’s shoulder and whispered, “All we need is a specific location. No one knows where we got it, you go free, and everybody’s happy.”

  The man had been so full of clichés that George was tempted to answer with one of his own: a bloody spit to the face. But if there was one thing he knew well, it was that apathy was more offensive than resistance. As long as he resisted, his captors knew they were getting to him. When he ignored them, they had nothing to grab on to, and the insult of not being taken seriously had to drive them crazy.

  Ironically, George had learned that from his wife. He didn’t mind when she argued with him. But when she gave up and said she didn’t care, that got to him. Disengaging, he knew, was a cruel strategy. And he employed it now with a vengeance. He didn’t shake his head. He didn’t try to kick. Since he had shown a modicum of surprise over the man’s asserting that he knew the Trib Force was in the local region, George had barely moved a muscle. The man had to wonder if he was even listening. In fact, he wasn’t.

  To keep from even the temptation of responding nonverbally, George began reciting silently the books of the Bible. Then his favorite verses. Then his favorite songs.

  The Greek nudged him with his weapon, and George didn’t want him to think he had dozed off. He raised his chin.

  “Well, what will it be, Sebastian? You’re refusing? At least say so. No? Tell me you’ve chosen not to say anything. You just want to give me rank and serial number? We already know your name. Come on. Not even that?”

  Chang monitored all the various feeds and sites as he continued to listen to the Carpathia meeting recording. Most alarming was a list directed to Suhail Akbar that informed him of all the AWOL GC employees his department was aware of. Chang found his sister’s name and deleted it, but he knew he might have been too late. How many knew that she was his sister? Perhaps not even Akbar. Moon had known. And Carpathia himself had known. Chang could only hope that such detail stayed below the potentate’s radar level. Who knew what could come of it? Yes, he appeared to be loyal, even to the point of the mark. But if investigated, how long could he keep his parents and his sister out of it? Now wasn’t the time, but one day soon he would have to raise the issue with Rayford Steele. He believed he could monitor the palace and GC headquarters from the safe house.

  In the Carpathia meeting, someone responded to Nicolae’s new emphasis on the Jewish question with a question of his own. “Does this mean you no longer want disc records of our beheadings?”

  “Oh, no! That remains a more than enjoyable pastime. As you know, I no longer require sustenance or rest. I am able to take advantage of unlimited time while others eat and sleep. One of the benefits of godhood is the time to revel in the folly of my opponents. Sometimes I sit for hours in the night, watching head after head drop into the baskets. These people are so smug, so stubborn, so pious. They sing. They testify. Do you not just love that word? They testify to their god and against me. Ooh, that makes me feel so bad, so jealous. But then what happens? From fifteen feet above, that heavy, gleaming, razor-sharp blade is released. It takes one-seventieth of a second to reach the bottom of the shaft—did you know that? And the last two-hundredths of one second is all it takes to slice through the neck as if it were not there.

  “I love it! The only problem, dear friends, is that if anything, the guillotine is too humane! For certain it is far too quick and deadly for the Jew. How far can you go in inflicting pain upon a man or woman before he or she dies? I want to know! I want you to report it to me with all the visual and audio evidence you can. And you know whom I want you to use as test subjects.

 
“For a special treat today, during our break we will witness the execution of the two insurgents we discovered serving on my own plane. We still search for the mole here at headquarters, but perhaps he or she will also see the beheadings today and will be flushed from hiding to plead for his or her life.”

  “The guillotine then, for these two?” someone asked.

  “I know,” Nicolae said. “Pedestrian. But we do not have a lot of time, and it will be a nice respite from the meeting.”

  Many of the others expressed agreement and excitement. Chang was sickened. He was tempted to download some of this bile for his mother, but it was too risky with his father still being such a Carpathia loyalist. He held out a modicum of hope for them both, having not heard whether his father had followed through yet on their taking the mark in their own region. Until he was able to convince his mother and get to his father with hard evidence, he was persuaded that his father would turn him in in a heartbeat if he thought Chang was subversive.

  Rayford called a meeting of the three remaining original members of the Trib Force, plus Tsion, in Tsion’s study. “I hope we’re talking about who’s going to Petra with Dr. Ben-Judah,” Chloe said.

  “We are,” Rayford said, “among other things.” Tsion looked deep in thought as they settled in. “You all right, Doctor?”

  “Troubled, I confess,” the rabbi said. “I should not be surprised, but it seems we have come to a crossroads. I know we will lose more and more as we head toward the end, but it seems as if our tenuous bit of safety is unraveling fast.”

  “It is,” Rayford said. “We know George can’t give us up beyond pointing them in the direction of Illinois, but I don’t think he’ll do even that.”

  “Neither do I,” Buck said. “They’re not going to get a thing out of him.”

  “Except perhaps his life,” Tsion said, sighing.

  “What are we going to do about our new friends?” Chloe said.

  “That’s one of the reasons we’re here,” Rayford said. “It seems to me, as exciting and encouraging as it is to discover these wonderful new brothers and sisters, your escapade was reckless and could have cost us everything.”

  Chloe shot him a double take and looked as if she’d rather argue with him as her father than have to respond to him as head of the Trib Force. “All due respect, but I didn’t know what stratospheric detection could tell the GC. Shouldn’t we all be told that kind of stuff?”

  “How were we to know you would venture out on your own?”

  “Last time, I discovered the new safe house. And look what has come of this foray.”

  “You’re lucky what came of it,” Rayford said. “What if they had been GC or just lowlifes? We’d have lost you, probably the safe house, and thus our whole reason for being.”

  “I’m sorry, but now we have people we can help and who can help us.”

  “Did you think about sensitivities, Chloe, such as maybe they don’t want to move to our building, even though it would provide infinitely more safety and advantages? Maybe they don’t want to become part of the Tribulation Force. They have been self-governing and self-sufficient up to now. Maybe they don’t want to be used for dangerous missions, using aliases and all that.”

  “They do want to move here,” Chloe said. “They do want to help with travel and assignments. But you’re right. They want to maintain their own organization. They’re comfortable with each other, and while they would like to have Dr. Ben-Judah’s involvement, Enoch is their pastor and they want it to remain that way.”

  “So,” Rayford said, “all the benefits of the Trib Force, but none of the responsibilities.”

  “Oh, they’ll pay,” Chloe said. “They’ll work. They’ll travel. They’ll exchange all kinds of things for food and necessities, just like any other co-op members. It’s not like they should owe us rent on a building we don’t own.”

  “They’ve made a point about not answering to us?”

  “No, I’m making that point. Is it a requirement that they be subordinate to you?”

  “That’s not it at all, Chloe. We just don’t have time for squabbles, lack of organization, confusion about responsibility.”

  Tsion held up a hand. “These are wonderful brothers and sisters, Captain Steele. I believe they will be a vibrant addition to the building and that we should take it a step at a time. See how it works while you and I are gone. I would not recommend using anyone new on this trip.”

  Chloe shook her head. “It’s already been decided that it’s you and Tsion?”

  “No—”

  “What’s the point of a meeting about it if—”

  “I said no, Chloe. Yes, Tsion and I are going. But others will go.”

  “Me included, I hope.”

  Rayford stared at her. “I might have hoped the same before you risked exposing us.”

  Chloe stood. “I don’t believe this,” she said. “The co-op can’t go on without me? Buck can’t watch Kenny?”

  Rayford looked to Buck, not wanting to be parental when Chloe’s husband was right there. “Careful, Chloe,” he said. “Daughter or not, there’s protocol.”

  Buck reached up and took her hand. “Don’t talk yourself out of an interesting assignment,” he said.

  “I’m not looking for interesting,” she said. “I’m looking for crucial.”

  “How does Greece sound?” Rayford said, and she sat. “I’m going to Petra with Tsion. I’ll have a new look and a new name. As soon as the GC recognizes that I’m not Buck, we’re guessing their attention will be on Tsion anyway. We need another flyer for insurance over there, so Abdullah will go. I wanted you and Hannah to go to Greece. You’re the least exposed people we have, at least until we know for sure whether the GC still suspects Hannah and the others from the plane crash being at large. You would be less suspicious and threatening, being women.”

  “Who would fly us?”

  “If we can get the logistics done, Chang will have a GC plane delivered to Crete. You two and Mac would split off there and head into Greece while Tsion and Smitty and I go on to Petra. You’ll be posing as GC, and it’ll be dicey without the mark. Mac will trail you and keep an eye on you, also posing as GC. Ideally we want at least one of you to talk your way into overseeing the Sebastian situation for the senior cabinet.”

  “How long will it take them to catch on to that?” Chloe said.

  “It would work only as long as you made it work. We all need to get with Zeke for new identities, papers, looks. All but you anyway. I don’t think anybody knows what you look like. But how do I explain giving such an assignment to someone who pulled—”

  “Captain,” Chloe said, “let me do it to prove myself.”

  On instructions from the safe house in Chicago, Chang began building dossiers on everyone traveling to Crete, then to Greece or Petra. Rayford’s height and weight and a close enough birth date were entered, along with identification that showed him to be a brother to Abdullah Smith’s phony persona. Both would pose as Egyptians in full regalia. Fortunately, Abdullah had not shaved for nearly two weeks, and he would craft his long stubble into a goatee, which Zeke would tinge gray. Rayford would have his skin chemically darkened, allow a mustache to grow thick and dark, and wear glasses with small, round lenses.

  Taking advantage of Hannah’s dark coloring, Zeke was transforming her into a New Delhi Indian, rather than a Native American. Chloe could go as she was, but with a new name and Canadian roots.

  Mac was the challenge. He would be easily recognized as Carpathia’s former pilot, so his coloring was altered to eliminate his freckles and the hint of red in his hair. He would also be issued glasses but would have to rely on bluster as a GC commander with a new name to throw off overzealous clerks.

  “The biggest advantage you all have,” Chang wrote Rayford, “is the decimated state of the GC around the world. ‘We’ are so understaffed, ill, and dying that maintaining strict security has become virtually impossible. Fortunately, in many areas, there are
surplus vehicles, except in Israel, of course.”

  Once everything was in place in the computer, Chang listened to more of Carpathia’s meeting while composing a nuanced—he hoped—message to his mother. The trouble was, she was not normally a woman attuned to nuances.

  “We have our engineers working around the clock,” Carpathia was saying, “on the water issue. All saltwater marine industries are dead, of course. We have lost hundreds of thousands of citizens, who may never be retrieved off the high seas. Vessels can go only so far through a liquid with such a thick, sticky consistency, and the diseases brought by the rotting carcasses of sea creatures may be our most serious health issue ever. Yes, worse than the boils and sores. People only wished they could die from those. The water crisis is again decimating our citizenry.”

  “Holiness,” someone said, “in our region we have seen an alarming trend. Even those with your mark of loyalty are beginning to speak out in protest against you. We counter with the fact that this is not your doing, but you know people. They want to blame someone, and you become the target.”

  Before Carpathia could answer, Fortunato jumped in, and Chang thought he sounded like his old self. “This shall not be tolerated,” he said. “I hereby decree and shall pass this word along to the priests of Carpathianism in all ten regions of the world that from this day forward, every citizen of the world shall be required to worship the image of their supreme potentate, their true and risen lord, when they rise in the morning, after they eat their midday meal, and before they retire at night.”

  “How shall we enforce such an order?” someone said.

  “See to it,” Carpathia said. “This, from the Most High Reverend Father, is inspired!”

  “But, sir, there are still many who have not yet even received the mark of loyalty!”

  Fortunato again: “They shall surely die!”

  “Reverend!” Carpathia said, admiration clear in his tone.

  “I have spoken,” Leon said, warming to his point. “The time is long past for delays and excuses. Take the mark of loyalty to the god of this world or die! Anyone found without the mark on his or her forehead or right hand shall be given immediate opportunity to receive it, and upon their rejection, shall be put to death by guillotine.”