by Tim LaHaye
If there had been a moment’s doubt or hesitation about that, it was dispelled when Bruce Barnes finally found his voice. The young pastor pressed his lips together to keep them from quivering. His eyes were filling.
“I, uh, need to talk to you all,” he began, leaning forward and pausing to compose himself. “With all the news coming out of New York by the minute these days, I’ve taken it upon myself to keep CNN on all the time. Rayford, you said you hadn’t heard the latest. Chloe?” She shook her head. “Buck, I assume you have access to every Carpathia announcement as it breaks.”
“Not today,” Buck said. “I didn’t get into the office until the end of the day, and I didn’t hear a thing.”
Bruce seemed to cloud up again; then he gave an apologetic smile. “It isn’t that the news is so devastating,” he said. “It’s just that I feel such a tremendous responsibility for you all. You know I’m trying to run this church, but that seems so insignificant compared to my study of prophecy. I’m spending most of my days and evenings poring over the Bible and commentaries, and I feel the press of God on me.”
“The press of God?” Rayford repeated. But Bruce broke into tears. Chloe reached across the desk and covered one of his hands with hers. Rayford and Buck also reached to touch Bruce.
“It’s so hard,” Bruce said, fighting to make himself understood. “And I know it’s not just me. It’s you guys and everybody who comes to this church. We’re all hurting, we’ve all lost people, we all missed the truth.”
“But now we’ve found it,” Chloe said, “and God used you in that.”
“I know. I just feel so full of conflicting emotions that I wonder what’s next,” Bruce said. “My house is so big and so cold and so lonely without my family that sometimes I don’t even go home at night. Sometimes I just study until I fall asleep, and I go home in the morning only to shower and change and get back here.”
Uncomfortable, Rayford looked away. Had he been the one trying to communicate with his friends, he would have wanted someone to change the subject, to get him back to what the meeting was about. But Bruce was a different kind of a guy. He had always communicated in his own way and in his own time.
Bruce reached for a tissue, and the other three sat back. When Bruce spoke again, his voice was still husky. “I feel an enormous weight on me,” he said. “One of the things I had never been good at was reading the Bible every day. I pretended to be a believer, a so-called full-time Christian worker, but I didn’t care about the Bible. Now I can’t get enough of it.”
Buck could identify. He wanted to know everything God had been trying to communicate to him for years. That was one reason, besides Chloe, that he didn’t mind relocating to Chicago. He wanted to come to this church and hear Bruce explain the Bible every time the doors were opened. He wanted to immerse himself in Bruce’s insight and teaching as a member of this little core group.
He still had a job and he was writing important stuff, but learning to know God and listening to him seemed his primary occupation. The rest was just a means to an end.
Bruce looked up. “Now I know what people meant when they said they feasted on the Word. Sometimes I sit drinking it in for hours, losing track of time, forgetting to eat, weeping, and praying. Sometimes I just slip from my chair and fall to my knees, calling out to God to make it clear to me. Most frightening of all, he’s doing just that.”
Buck noticed Rayford and Chloe nodding. He was newer at this than they were, but he felt that same hunger and thirst for the Bible. But what was Bruce getting at? Was he saying that God had revealed something to him?
Bruce took a deep breath and stood. He stepped to the corner of the desk and sat on it, towering over the other three. “I need your prayers,” he said. “God is showing me things, impressing truths on me that I can barely contain. And yet if I say them publicly, I will be ridiculed and maybe put myself in danger.”
“Of course we’ll pray,” Rayford said. “But what does this have to do with today’s news?”
“It has everything to do with the news, Rayford.” Bruce shook his head. “Don’t you see? We know Nicolae Carpathia is the Antichrist. Let’s assume for the sake of argument that Buck’s story of Carpathia’s supernatural hypnotic power and the murder of those two men is ridiculous. Even so, there’s plenty of evidence that Carpathia fits the prophetic descriptions. He’s deceptive. He’s charming. People are flocking to support him. He has been thrust to power, seemingly against his own wishes. He’s pushing a one-world government, a one-world currency, a treaty with Israel, moving the U.N. to Babylon. That alone proves it. What are the odds that one man would promote all those things and not be the Antichrist?”
“We knew this was coming,” Buck said. “But has he gone public with all that?”
“All today.”
Buck let out a low whistle. “What did Carpathia say?”
“He announced it through his media guy, your former boss, what’s his name?”
“Plank.”
“Right. Steve Plank. They held a press conference so he could inform the media that Carpathia would be unavailable for several days while he conducted strategic high-level meetings.”
“And he said what the meetings were about?”
“He said that Carpathia, while not seeking the position of leadership, felt an obligation to move quickly to unite the world in a move toward peace. He has assigned task forces to implement the disarming of the nations of the world and to confirm that it has been done. He is having the 10 percent of the weaponry that is not destroyed from each nation shipped to Babylon, which he has renamed New Babylon. The international financial community, whose representatives were already in New York for meetings, has been charged with the responsibility of settling on one currency.”
“I never would have believed it.” Buck frowned. “A friend tried to tell me about this a long time ago.”
“That’s not all,” Bruce went on. “Do you think it was coincidental that leaders of the major religions were in New York when Carpathia arrived last week? How could this be anything but the fulfillment of prophecy? Carpathia is urging them to come together, to agree on some all-inclusive effort at tolerance that would respect their shared beliefs.”
“Shared beliefs?” Chloe said. “Some of those religions are so far apart they would never agree.”
“But they are agreeing,” Bruce said. “Carpathia is apparently making deals. I don’t know what he’s offering, but an announcement is expected by the end of the week from the religious leaders. I’m guessing we’ll see a one-world religion.”
“Who’d fall for that?”
“Scripture indicates that many will.”
Rayford’s mind was reeling. It had been hard for him to concentrate on anything since the day of the disappearances. At times he still wondered if this was all a crazy nightmare, something he would wake up from and then change his ways. Was he Scrooge, who needed such a dream to see how wrong he’d been? Or was he George Bailey, Jimmy Stewart’s character from It’s a Wonderful Life, who got his wish and then wished he hadn’t?
Rayford actually knew two people—Buck and Hattie—who had personally met the Antichrist! How bizarre was that? When he allowed himself to dwell on it, it sent a dark shiver of terror deep inside him. The cosmic battle between God and Satan had crashed into his own life, and in an instant he had gone from skeptical cynic, neglectful father, and lustful husband with a roving eye, to fanatical believer in Christ.
“Why has the news today set you off so much, Bruce?” Rayford asked. “I don’t think any of us doubted Buck’s story or had any lingering question about whether Carpathia was the Antichrist.”
“I don’t know, Rayford.” Bruce returned to his chair. “All I know is that the closer I get to God, the deeper I get into the Bible, the heavier the burden seems on my shoulders. The world needs to know it is being deceived. I feel an urgency to preach Christ everywhere, not just here. This church is full of frightened people, and they’re hungry for Go
d. We’re trying to meet that need, but more trouble is coming.
“The news that really got to me today was the announcement that the next major order of business for Carpathia is what he calls ‘an understanding’ between the global community and Israel, as well as what he calls ‘a special arrangement’ between the U.N. and the United States.”
Buck sat up straighter. “What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know what the U.S. thing is, because as much as I study I don’t see America playing a role during this period of history. But we all know what the ‘understanding’ with Israel will be. I don’t know what form it will take or what the benefit will be to the Holy Land, but clearly this is the seven-year treaty.”
Chloe looked up. “And that actually signals the beginning of the seven-year period of tribulation.”
“Exactly.” Bruce looked at the group. “If that announcement says anything about a promise from Carpathia that Israel will be protected over the next seven years, it officially ushers in the Tribulation.”
Buck was taking notes. “So the disappearances, the Rapture, didn’t start the seven-year period?”
“No,” Bruce said. “Part of me hoped that something would delay the treaty with Israel. Nothing in Scripture says it has to happen right away. But once it does, the clock starts ticking.”
“But it starts ticking toward Christ setting up his kingdom on earth, right?” Buck asked. Rayford was impressed that Buck had learned so much so quickly.
Bruce nodded. “That’s right. And that’s the reason for this meeting. I need to tell you all something. I am going to have a two-hour meeting, right here in this office, every weeknight from eight to ten. Just for us.”
“I’ll be traveling a lot,” Buck said.
“Me too,” Rayford added.
Bruce held up a hand. “I can’t force you to come, but I urge you. Anytime you’re in town, be here. In our studies we’re going to outline what God has revealed in the Scriptures. Some of it you’ve already heard me talk about. But if the treaty with Israel comes within the next few days, we have no time to waste. We need to be starting new churches, new cell groups of believers. I want to go to Israel and hear the two witnesses at the Wailing Wall. The Bible talks about 144,000 Jews springing up and traveling throughout the world. There is to be a great soul harvest, maybe a billion or more people, coming to Christ.”
“That sounds fantastic,” Chloe said. “We should be thrilled.”
“I am thrilled,” Bruce said. “But there will be little time to rejoice or to rest. Remember the seven Seal Judgments Revelation talks about?” She nodded. “Those will begin immediately, if I’m right. There will be an eighteen-month period of peace, but in the three months following that, the rest of the Seal Judgments will fall on the earth. One fourth of the world’s population will be wiped out. I don’t want to be maudlin, but will you look around this room and tell me what that means to you?”
Rayford didn’t have to look around the room. He sat with the three people closest to him in the world. Was it possible that in less than two years, he could lose yet another loved one?
Buck closed his notebook. He was not going to record the fact that someone in that room might be dead soon. He recalled that during his first day at college he had been asked to look to his right and to his left. The professor had said, “One of the three of you will not be here in a year.” That was almost funny compared to this.
“We don’t want to simply survive, though,” Buck said. “We want to take action.”
“I know,” Bruce said. “I guess I’m just grieving in advance. This is going to be a long, hard road. We’re all going to be busy and overworked, but we must plan ahead.”
“I was thinking about going back to college,” Chloe mused. “Not to Stanford, of course, but somewhere around here. Now I wonder, what’s the point?”
“You can go to college right here,” Bruce said. “Every night at eight. And there’s something else.”
“I thought there might be,” Buck said.
“I think we need a shelter.”
“A shelter?” Chloe said.
“Underground,” Bruce said. “During the period of peace we can build it without suspicion. When the judgments come, we wouldn’t be able to get away with anything like that.”
“What are you talking about?” Buck asked.
“I’m talking about getting an earthmover in here and digging out a place we can escape to. War is coming—famine, plagues, and death.”
Rayford held up a hand. “But I thought we weren’t going to turn tail and run.”
“We’re not,” Bruce said. “But if we don’t plan ahead, if we don’t have a place to retreat to, to regroup, to evade radiation and disease, we’ll die trying to prove we’re brave.”
Buck was impressed that Bruce had a plan, a real plan. Bruce said he would order a huge water tank and have it delivered. It would sit at the edge of the parking lot for weeks, and people would assume it was just some sort of a storage tank. Then he would have an excavator dig out a crater big enough to house it.
Meanwhile, the four of them would stud up walls, run power and water lines into the hole, and generally get it prepared as a hideout. At some point Bruce would have the water tank taken away. People who saw that would assume it was the wrong size or defective. People who didn’t see it taken away would assume it had been installed in the ground.
The Tribulation Force would attach the underground shelter to the church through a hidden passageway, but they would not use it until they had to. All their meetings would be in Bruce’s office.
The meeting that night ended with prayer, the three newest believers praying for Bruce and his weight of leadership.
Buck urged Bruce to go home and get some sleep. On his way out, Buck turned to Chloe. “I’d show you my new car, but it doesn’t seem like that big a deal anymore.”
“I know what you mean.” She smiled. “It looks nice, though. You want to join us for some dinner?”
“I’m not really hungry. Anyway, I’ve got to get started moving into my new place.”
“Do you have furniture yet?” she asked. “You could stay with us until you get some. We’ve got plenty of room.”
He thought about the irony of that. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s furnished.”
Rayford came up from behind. “Where’d you land anyway, Buck?”
Buck described the condo, halfway between church and the Weekly.
“That’s not far.”
“No,” Buck said. “I’ll have everybody over once I get settled.”
Rayford had opened his car door, and Chloe waited at the passenger door. The three of them stood silent and awkward in the dim light from the streetlamps. “Well,” Buck said, “I’d better get going.” Rayford slid into the car. Chloe still stood there. “See ya.”
Chloe gave a little wave, and Buck turned away. He felt like an idiot. What was he going to do about her? He knew she was waiting, hoping for some sign that he was still interested. And he was. He was just having trouble showing it. He didn’t know if it was because her father was there or because too much was happening in their lives right now.
Buck thought about Chloe’s comment that there wasn’t much use in going to college. That applied to romance as well, he thought. Sure, he was lonely. Sure, they had a lot in common. Sure, he was attracted to her, and it was clear she felt the same about him. But wasn’t getting interested in a woman right now a little trivial, considering all Bruce had just talked about?
Buck had already fallen in love with God. That had to be his passion until Christ returned again. Would it be right, let alone prudent, to focus his attention on Chloe Steele at the same time? He tried to push her from his mind.
Fat chance.
“You like him, don’t you?” Rayford said as he pulled the car out of the parking lot.
“He’s all right.”
“I’m talking about Buck.”
“I know who you’re talk
ing about. He’s all right, but he hardly knows I exist anymore.”
“There’s a lot on his mind.”
“I get more attention from Bruce, and he’s got more on his mind than any of us.”
“Let Buck get settled in and he’ll come calling.”
“He’ll come calling?” Chloe said. “You sound like Pa on Little House on the Prairie.”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway, I think Buck Williams is through calling.”
Buck’s apartment was antiseptic without his own stuff in it. He kicked off his shoes and called his voice mail in New York. He wanted to leave a message with Marge Potter, his former secretary there, asking when he could expect his boxes from the office. She beat him to the punch. The first of his three messages was from Marge. “I didn’t know where to ship your stuff, so I overnighted it to the Chicago bureau office. Should be there Monday morning.”
The second message was from the big boss, Stanton Bailey. “Give me a call sometime Monday, Cameron. I want to get your story by the end of next week, and we need to talk.”
The third was from his old executive editor, Steve Plank, now Nicolae Carpathia’s spokesman. “Buck, call me as soon as you can. Carpathia wants to talk to you.”
Buck sniffed and chuckled and erased his messages. He recorded a thanks to Marge and an I-got-your-message-and-will-call-you to Bailey. He merely made a note with Steve’s phone number and decided to wait to call him. Carpathia wants to talk to you. What a casual way to say, The enemy of God is after you. Buck could only wonder whether Carpathia knew he had not been brainwashed. What would the man do, or try to do, if he knew Buck’s memory had not been altered? If he realized Buck knew he was a murderer, a liar, a beast?
Rayford sat watching the television news, hearing commentators pontificate on the meaning of the announcements coming out of the United Nations. Most considered the scheduled move of the U.N. to the ruins of Babylon, south of Baghdad, a good thing. One said, “If Carpathia is sincere about disarming the world and stockpiling the remaining 10 percent of the hardware, I’d rather he store it in the Middle East, in the shadow of Tehran, than on an island off New York City. Besides, we can use the soon-to-be-abandoned U.N. building as a museum, honoring the most atrocious architecture this country has ever produced.”
