by Tim LaHaye
Mac believed he would never hit the pavement alive. He had lost all hope and leapt from the plane only to escape the flames. With deafening gunfire surrounding him and the Condor engulfed behind him, he shut his eyes so tight he felt as if his cheekbones were in his forehead. With one hand vise-gripped on Abdullah’s wrist and a knee in Fortunato’s fleshy back, Mac bet his life he would open his eyes in heaven.
But he did not.
Leon dropped to his hands and knees on the runway, Abdullah flipping over him. Mac landed flat on Leon’s back, crushing him to the asphalt. A bullet ripped through Mac’s right shoulder blade and another shattered his right hand, the blasts from the weapon not twenty feet away deafening his right ear.
“Oh, God!” Leon screamed beneath him. “Oh, God, help me!” Mac sensed his own head was the next target and that he would be mercifully put out of his misery.
Blackness.
Silence.
Nothing.
Only smell and taste and feeling.
Mac saw nothing because he chose to keep his eyes shut. He heard only Leon’s raspy panting.
The smell was gunpowdery and metallic, the taste blood, the feeling a hot, deep, searing pain. The tear in his shoulder superseded the tender soreness of the side of Mac’s head. His hand was worse. He almost dared not open his eyes. Nothing about that wound would surprise him. Mac felt as if his hand had been shattered.
Leon’s body rose and fell beneath him as Leon gasped for air. Mac rolled off him onto the pavement on his left side, eyes still shut, mind spinning. Was it over, or would he open his eyes to assassins standing over him? Had Leon been hit? Abdullah?
Disappointed that he was not in heaven, Mac forced open one eye. Smoke was so dense and dark he couldn’t see inches past his nose. He drew his ravaged hand to his face for a closer look and felt the devastation in his shoulder. His hand shivered so violently it shook his whole body, and blood splattered from it onto his face.
Mac reached with his other hand to steady the wounded appendage and saw he had all his fingers, though they were splayed in different directions, a bullet having ripped through the back of his hand. His whole body shook, and he feared he was going into shock.
As the smoke slowly cleared, he forced himself to sit up. Leon lay hyperventilating, eyes open, teeth bared. Clancy Tiber lay beside him, obviously dead.
“Abdullah?” Mac called out weakly.
“I am here,” Abdullah said. “I have a bullet in my thigh. Were you hit?”
“At least twice. What happened to the—”
“Do you see the horses?”
“I can’t even see you.”
“I hope they stay long enough for you to see.”
“So do I.”
Rayford awoke after nine in the morning Saturday at the safe house. He could have slept another couple of hours after the night he’d had, but an unusual noise had niggled him awake. His eyes popped open and he lay still, hoping it was later, hoping his body had had time to recharge, wondering if he had lucked out and his aches and pains might have abated.
A rhythmic swishing sound, like someone rubbing their hands together every few seconds, made him sit up. Listening more closely, he thought it might be sniffing or even sniffling. It came from the bedroom next door, where Tsion both slept and worked.
The rest had been good for Rayford’s mind and spirit, but it had only stiffened his ailing joints and muscles. He groaned aloud, pulled on his robe, and peeked into Tsion’s room through the door, which was open a few inches.
At first Rayford didn’t see Dr. Ben-Judah. The chair before his computer screen was empty, as was the bed. But the sound was coming from that room. Rayford knocked gently and pushed the door open another foot. Beneath the window next to the bed, Tsion lay on the floor, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders heaved as he wept bitterly.
“Are you all right?” Rayford said softly, but Tsion did not respond. Rayford stepped beside him and sat on the bed so Tsion would know he was there. The rabbi prayed aloud. “Lord, if it is Hattie, I beg for her soul. If it is Chaim, I covet him for the kingdom. If it is someone in this house, protect them, shield them, equip them. Father, if it is one of the new brothers or sisters, someone I have not even met, I pray your protection and mercy.” He wept more, moaning. “God, tell me how to pray.”
Rayford put a hand on the teacher’s back. Tsion turned. “Rayford, the Lord suddenly impressed deeply upon my heart that I should pray for someone in danger. I was writing my message, which is also weighing on me—probably the most difficult I have had to write. I thought the leading was to pray for my audience, but it seemed more specific, more urgent. I prayed the Lord would tell me who needed prayer, but I was then overcome with the immediacy of it. I knelt, and it was as if his Spirit pushed me to the floor and planted in my soul a burden for whoever was in need. I still do not know, and yet I cannot shake the feeling that this is more than just my imagination. Pray with me, would you?”
Rayford knelt awkwardly, feeling every injury from the night before and having less an idea what to say than Tsion did. “Lord, I agree with my brother in prayer. We don’t understand how we finite beings can say or pray anything that affects what an infinite God wants to do, but we trust you. You tell us to pray, to boldly come to you. If someone we know and love is in danger, we pray your supernatural hedge of protection around them.”
Rayford was moved by Tsion’s emotion and could not continue. Tsion said, “Thank you,” and gripped his hand.
They rose. Tsion sat before his computer and wiped his eyes. “I do not know what that was about,” he said, “but I have stopped questioning how God communicates to us.”
Tsion sat awhile collecting himself, then asked Rayford if he would look over his day’s message. “I will be refining it before posting it this afternoon, but I would appreciate your input.”
“I’d love to read it,” Rayford said, “but I can’t imagine what I have to offer.”
Tsion rose and offered Rayford his chair. “I am going to get something to drink. I shall return for my grade.”
Mac knew if he stayed on the steamy Johannesburg runway he would die. His hours-old ear and scalp wounds oozed from beneath the bandages, and the painkiller had long since worn off. His shoulder felt as if someone had smashed it with a red-hot hammer. His hand would never be the same. The best he could hope for was to save the fingers, which surely would never bend properly again.
The smoke wafted away with the hot late-afternoon wind, and Abdullah came into view fifteen feet to Mac’s left. The young man rested on his knees, turban unwound, face tight with fear and fatigue. His right thigh bore a deep red wound. He pointed into the distance. “They’re still here,” he said.
Mac had had only the briefest glimpse of the phantasmagoric cavalry of frightful men and beasts when Abdullah tried to avoid them in the sky. Now a legion mustered a hundred feet past the runway, snorting smoke and fire and sulfur, snake tails striking and snapping at victims who couldn’t see them.
In their wake, the leonine steeds left bodies. Some jerked spastically before freezing in macabre repose. Others writhed ablaze until death brought relief. Or so they thought, Mac mused. In truth, the victims passed from one flame to another. One of the phony dignitaries ran top speed down the runway. The other two lay dead near the plane, close enough to have killed Mac with their next shots.
Even from behind and far away, Mac found the horsemen and their mounts dreadful. They hovered inches off the ground but galloped, trotted, stepped, and reared like physical horses. Their riders urged them on, stampeding people, buildings, vehicles, wreaking destruction.
The thick, swarthy Leon Fortunato appeared out of the haze, having rolled toward Mac. He grabbed Mac’s face in both hands, and Mac nearly screamed from the pain on one side. “You saved my life, Mac!” Leon cried. “You protected me with your own body! Were you hit?”
“Twice,” Mac said. He pulled back so Leon’s hands slipped away. Mac pointed to the ho
rses. “What do you see over there?”
“Carnage,” Leon said, squinting. “Fire, smoke. And what’s that awful smell, like in the plane earlier? Agh!”
“We need to get away from the plane,” Mac said. Flames poured out the windows.
“The beautiful Condor,” Leon said. “His Excellency’s pride and joy.”
“Do you want to pull Clancy’s body out of the way?” Mac said.
Leon struggled to his feet and staggered, trying to gain his balance. “No,” he said, regaining his voice. “The world is short of graves. We would only cremate him anyway. Let this fire do it.”
Leon turned slowly in a circle. “I thought we were dead,” he said. “What happened?”
“You prayed.”
“Excuse me?”
“You asked God to help you,” Mac said.
“I consider myself religious.”
“I’m sure you do. God must have answered.”
“Why did the attackers stop shooting?”
Mac winced, wishing they had stopped sooner. “How can we know? One ran. The other two haven’t moved.”
Leon and Mac got on either side of Abdullah and slowly walked him toward the terminal.
It was not lost on Rayford, the privilege of having the first look at a message millions around the globe anticipated. Tsion had written:
My dear brothers and sisters in Christ:
I come to you today with a heavy heart, which is, of course, nothing new during this period of history. While the 144,000 evangelists raised up by God are seeing millions come to Christ, the one-world religion continues to become more powerful and—I must say it—more odious. Preach it from the mountaintops and into the valleys, my beloved siblings: There is one God and one Mediator between God and man, the Man Christ Jesus.
The deadly demon locusts prophesied in Revelation 9 died out en masse more than half a year ago, having tortured millions. But many bitten during the last month of that plague only stopped serving their sentences of agony three months ago.
While many have come to faith after being convinced by that horrible judgment, most have become even more set in their ways. It should have been obvious to the leader of the Enigma Babylon One World Faith that devotees of that religion suffered everywhere in the world. But we followers of Christ, the so-called dissidents—enemies of tolerance and inclusion—were spared.
Our beloved preachers in Jerusalem, despite heinous opposition and persecution, continue to prophesy and win converts to Christ in that formerly holy city that now must be compared to Egypt and Sodom. So we have that for which to be thankful in this time of worsening turmoil.
But by now you know that the sixth Trumpet Judgment, the second woe (Revelation 9), has begun. Apparently I correctly assumed that the 200 million horsemen are spiritual and not physical beings but was wrong to speculate they would thus be invisible. People I know and trust have seen these beings kill by fire and smoke and sulfur as the Scripture predicts. Yet unbelievers charge we are making this up and only claiming to see things they themselves cannot.
That this current plague was wrought by the releasing of four angels bound in the Euphrates River should be instructive. We know that these are fallen angels, because nowhere in Scripture do we ever see good angels bound. These have apparently been bound because they were eager to wreak havoc upon the earth. Now, released, they are free to do so. In fact, the Bible tells us they were prepared for a specific hour, day, month, and year.
It is significant that the four angels, probably bound for centuries, have been in the Euphrates. It is the most prominent river in the Bible. It bordered the Garden of Eden, was a boundary for Israel, Egypt, and Persia, and is often used in Scripture as a symbol of Israel’s enemies. It was near this river that man first sinned, the first murder was committed, the first war fought, the first tower built in defiance against God, and where Babylon was built. Babylon is where idolatry originated and has since surged throughout the world. The children of Israel were exiled there as captives, and it is there that the final sin of man will culminate.
Revelation 18 predicted that Babylon will be the center of commerce, religion, and world rule, but also that it will eventually fall to ruin, for strong is the Lord God who judges her.
This current plague, the Bible indicates, will result in the deaths of a third of the population left after the Rapture. Simple math portends a horrible result. One-fourth of the remaining population already died from plague, war, and natural disaster. That left, of course, 75 percent. One third of 75 percent is 25 percent, so the current wave of death will leave only 50 percent of the people left behind at the Rapture.
I must clarify that what follows is speculation. My belief after studying the original languages and the many commentaries on this prophecy is as follows: God is still trying to persuade mankind to come to him, yes, but this destruction of another third of the remaining unbelievers may have another purpose. In his preparation for the final battle between good and evil, God may be winnowing from the evil forces the incorrigibles whom he, in his omniscience, knows would never have turned to him regardless.
The Scriptures foretell that those unbelievers who do survive will refuse to turn from their wickedness. They will insist on continuing worshiping idols and demons, and engaging in murder, sorcery, sexual immorality, and theft. Even the Global Community’s own news operations report that murder and theft are on the rise. As for idol and demon worship, sorcery, and illicit sex, these are actually applauded in the new tolerant society.
Sadly this last judgment before the second half of the Tribulation may well continue four more months until the three-and-a-half-year anniversary of the accord between the Global Community and the nation of Israel. That also coincides with the end of the ministry of the two witnesses. And it will usher in a period when believers will be martyred in multiples of the numbers who die now.
Many of you have written and asked me how I explain that a God of love and mercy could pour out such awful judgments upon the earth. God is more than a God of love and mercy. The Scriptures say God is love, yes. But they also say he is holy, holy, holy. He is just. His love was expressed in the gift of his Son as the means of redemption. But if we reject this love gift, we fall under God’s judgment.
I know that many hundreds of thousands of readers of my daily messages must visit this site not as believers but as searchers for truth. So permit me to write directly to you if you do not call yourself my brother or sister in Christ. I plead with you as never before to receive Jesus Christ as God’s gift of salvation. The sins that the stubborn unbelievers will not give up (see above) will be rampant during the last half of the Tribulation, referred to in the Bible as the Great Tribulation.
Imagine this world with half its population gone. If you think it is bad now with millions having disappeared in the Rapture, children gone, services and conveniences affected, try to fathom life with half of all civil servants gone. Firemen, policemen, laborers, executives, teachers, doctors, nurses, scientists . . . the list goes on. We are coming to a period where survival will be a full-time occupation.
I would not want to be here without knowing God was with me, that I was on the side of good rather than evil, and that in the end, we win. Pray right now. Tell God you recognize your sin and need forgiveness and a Savior. Receive Christ today, and join the great family of God.
Sincerely,
Tsion Ben-Judah
CHAPTER 11
Mac and Leon helped Abdullah toward the chaotic Johannesburg terminal.
“Rehoboth was behind the assassination attempt,” Leon said. “He told me so himself. He thought His Excellency was on board. We must get help and regain authority here without risking our lives.”
“A little late for that, isn’t it?” Mac said. “Couldn’t you have made it clear in advance that Carpathia was not with us?”
“We had our reasons to let Mr. Ngumo believe His Excellency—which is how you should refer to him, Captain—was aboard. Regional Pot
entate Rehoboth was invited, but we did not know he was subversive to His Excellency.”
“I believe you’re going to find Ngumo and his secretary dead,” Mac said, and he told Leon of the phone call.
“We had better hope we find Rehoboth dead,” Abdullah said. “He cannot afford to leave us alive.”
Leon stopped, and his face blanched. “I assumed I spoke to him at his palace. He would not be here, would he?”
“We need to keep moving,” Mac said, about to collapse. “If Rehoboth wants us dead, all he has to do is say the word to any one of these guards.” But the guards looked as frightened as anyone else, gagging, coughing, attending to fallen comrades. Throughout the terminal people screamed, bodies lay about, luggage was strewn. The counters were empty, arrival and departure monitors blank.
Just after they stepped inside, Mac heard the scream of a Super J jet. The fighter-style knockoff of a Gulfstream was sleek, black, and incredibly aerodynamic—with power to burn and lots of room inside. It was the first plane to land at Johannesburg since the Condor. Above its identifying numbers were emblazoned an Australian flag and Fair Dinkum. As soon as the plane stopped, out jumped the pilot and a woman, who both sprinted toward the terminal.
“’Ey!” the man called out shrilly, making many turn. “’Oo called in a Mayday with believers on board!” He was tall, blond, and freckled. His Aussie accent was so thick Mac wouldn’t have been surprised if it was put on. His wife was nearly as tall with thick, dark hair.
Mac and Abdullah glanced at each other, and Fortunato slowly turned. “I did,” Mac said, noting the marks on both the man’s and his wife’s foreheads. The Aussie stared at his as well. “I was desperate,” Mac added. “I thought that might draw someone who wouldn’t otherwise stop. Did it work?”
“It sure did, mate,” the pilot said, eyeing Abdullah’s forehead as well. “We’re believers all right and not ashamed of it, even if you hoodwinked us to get us here. Call me Dart. First name’s not important. This here’s my wife, Olivia.”
