by Tim LaHaye
But Rayford didn’t want his imagination to run away with him. He would find out what he could from David and perhaps take a run over there with Albie. Or perhaps with Buck. He hated the idea of leaving the Trib Force without so much as a helicopter pilot.
David was keying in his coordinates to listen to Carpathia’s meeting with Hickman and the others when he got a call from Rayford regarding a GC vs. underground church skirmish in Greece. “I’ll let you know what I find out,” he told Rayford. David phoned Walter Moon, but before Walter answered, David was surprised to be paged to Hickman’s office.
His office? Hickman shared space with Carpathia’s assistant. And didn’t Hickman have a meeting with Carpathia soon? David hung up and called Hickman. The assistant, Sandra, answered. “Hassid here. Was I just paged?”
“Yes, sir. The Supreme Commander would like you to meet with him in the conference room, eighteenth floor.”
David found a mess. Though the workday was moments from being over and Sandra was packing up to leave, workmen still jammed the area. Drills, saws, hammers, dust, scaffolds, ladders, materials everywhere.
“They’re not going to relocate you while they’re working?” David said.
“Apparently not,” Sandra said, and she marched off.
Hickman opened the door to a conference room that was not long for this world and waved David in. “Hurry and let me get this door closed, Hassid. Less sawdust.”
The new Supreme Commander, a Western version of Fortunato with even less class, offered a fleshy hand and shook David’s enthusiastically. “Yeah, hey, how ya doin’? He is risen, huh?”
“Huh,” David said, and when Hickman shot him a double take, he added, “Indeed.”
Hickman appeared nervous and in a hurry. David thought he could pry information from him by playing dumb. “So, just about the end of your day, hmm? How’s it been, sharing space with—”
“Never mind that,” Hickman said, sitting and letting his generous belly push past his unbuttoned uniform jacket. “Got a meeting coming up with the big guys, and I’d rather not go in there unprepared.”
That’ll be the day, David thought. “How can I help?” he said.
“We all up-to-date, up to snuff, on track, on target, on course?”
David shook his head, amazed. “All of the above, I guess. What are we talking about?”
Hickman grabbed a dog-eared pad and riffled through a couple of pages. “Guillotines, syringes?”
“You mean loyalty enforcement facilitators and biochip injectors?”
“Yeah, thanks!” Hickman said, scribbling. “I knew Viv had some special names for those. You know, Hassid, basically I was a cop. I’m honored and everything, but I gotta prove to His Majesty, ah, His Excellency, that I can handle this. That I’m not in over my head.”
“You feel you are?”
“What I feel is that my loyalty and my devotion to the potentate will make up for any lack of experience I’ve had at this level of management. Now where are we on these things? What can I tell him?”
“That we’re on track, on pace.”
“Good. I can count on you then.”
“Oh, can you ever, J—, er, Supreme Commander.”
“Ah, you can call me Commander when it’s just you and me. Keep it formal in public, of course.”
“Of course.”
“By the way, do you purchase livestock too?”
“You mean foodstuffs? No, that would be Food Services.”
“No, this is live. I don’t need food. I need a live animal.”
“Still not my area, I’m afraid. Rolling stock, avionics, computers, communications hardware. That’s my game.”
“Who’s going to help me procure a pig?”
“A pig, sir?”
“Huge and live, Hassid.”
“I have no idea.”
Hickman stared at him, apparently not accepting the dodge.
“I could look into it,” David said. “But—”
“I knew I could count on you, David. Good man. Let me know first thing in the morning, ’cause the word I get is that the big man is going to assign me that today.”
“Oh, you haven’t even heard from him about it yet?”
“No, this is what you’d call a heads-up from a colleague who cares.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. Guy like me tends to accumulate friends all up and down the corporate ladder. Buddy told me today he was in on a meeting with Fortunato and Carp—oh, forgive me! I know better’n that. I should never use those names, especially in front of a subordinate. I’m gonna direct you to disregard that, Hassid, as your superior officer.”
“Jury will disregard, sir.”
“Yeah, good. Anyhow, this guy’s in a meeting with His Excellency and the Most High Reverend, and he says they’re agitated—you know what that means? Exercised, I guess you’d say.”
“Understood, Commander.”
“They’re upset, up in arms, whatever you wanna call it, about the Judah-ites.”
“I’ve heard of them, sir.”
“I know you have. Their top guy, who Peacekeeping thought they had flushed out and sent packin’, turns up now in a new place—we don’t know where, which doesn’t have Carp—the potentate, any too cheery, if ya know what I mean—and this Judah guy’s turnin’ out more and more of this anti-Carpath—well, I guess, yeah, it’s OK in that context. This guy’s disseminatin’ anti-Carpathia stuff everywhere. He’s predictin’ and says the Holy Bible prophesies that Antichrist—which is what he calls His Excellency, imagine—is gonna defile the temple and sacrifice a pig on the altar.”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say, and while I wasn’t there, my buddy tells me the potentate is fiery mad; I mean he’s hoppin’.”
“I can imagine.”
“Me too. He says to the Reverend, he says somethin’ along the lines of, ‘Oh, yeah, well, maybe I will show them.’ You know how he talks, never usin’ contractions and like that.”
“I do.”
“So, and this is the genius of Nicolae Carpathia, if you’ll forgive the familiar reference. He’s gonna like, get this, fulfill this prophecy—the one in the Bible and the one by Ben Judah-ite, or, um—”
“Tsion Ben-Judah.”
“Right! He’s gonna sacrifice a pig on the altar of the temple in Jerusalem on purpose, knowing what the guy and the Holy Bible are sayin’. Sorta in yer face, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s for sure.” In God’s face, no less.
“Well, see I don’t know this yet, you follow?”
“Sure. It’s on the QT from your buddy.”
“Exactly. But when he, you-know-who, asks me can I get him a pig, I want to be able to tell him no problem. Can I tell him that? You’re going to check with, with, ah, your people or whatever, and I’m gonna get him this pig, right?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“I knew you would. Hot dog, you’re good.”
“You said that on purpose, didn’t you, sir?”
“What’s that?”
“Talking about a pig, and you said ‘hot dog.’”
Hickman disintegrated into gales of laughter, then tried to pretend he had indeed said it on purpose. When he regained control, he said, “You know what I want, Hassid?”
“Tell me.”
“I want a pig, are you ready—?”
“I’m ready.”
“—big enough for His Excellency to ride.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me. I want the biggest pig you’ve ever seen in your life. Big as a pony. Big enough to put a saddle on, not literally, but you know what I mean.”
“Not sure I do, Commander.”
“I’m tryin’ to earn a few points here, understand, Director? Just like you’re doin’ without tryin’, ’cause you’re just that good. But I wanna be able to suggest to His Excellency that if he’s gonna take the gloves off and go toe-to-toe with his worst enemies, he oughta go ’em
one better.”
Take the gloves off to go toe-to-toe? Annie would have loved that mixed metaphor. “One better?”
“He ought to ride that pig into the temple!”
“Oh, my.” David could not imagine Carpathia, even at his basest, lowering himself to such a spectacle.
“Oh, my is right, Hassid. You read the Bible?”
“Ever?”
“Yeah.”
“Some.”
“Well, isn’t there a story about Jesus ridin’ into Jerusalem on a donkey and people singin’ and throwin’ leaves and whatnot?”
“I was raised Jewish.”
“So no New Testament for you. Well, anyway, there is that story, I’m pretty sure. Picture His Excellency havin’ fun with that. Ridin’ a pig with people paid to sing and throw stuff.”
Lord, please! “I can’t imagine.”
“I can come up with ’em, can’t I, Hassid?”
“You can, sir.”
“Hey, I’d better get in there. Get on that pig for me, will ya? I’m gonna tell him it’s as good as got.”
“I’ll let you know.”
David was on his way out the door when Hickman called after him. “I forgot to tell you,” he said, turning pages on his pad again. “There’s a gal in Medical Services, a nurse. Here it is. She used to be a vet or something and she’s shot biochips into dogs and cats.”
“You don’t say,” David said.
“You might want to check her out, see if we can take advantage of her expertise. You know, in training people how to do this.”
“I’ll check her out. What’s the name?”
“I don’t think I have it right, Hassid. Some kind of a funny name. You’ll be able to track her down.”
“I’ll ask for the nurse with the funny name, sir.”
CHAPTER 12
Rayford couldn’t sleep. Pacing various floors in the cavernous Strong Building, he happened by Chaim’s room. The door was wide open, and in the darkness he noticed the old man’s silhouette. Chaim sat motionless on the bed, though Rayford knew he had to hear and see him in the corridor. Rayford poked his head in.
“You all right, Dr. Rosenzweig?”
A loud sigh through the wire-bound clenched teeth. “I don’t know, my friend.”
“Want to talk?”
A low chuckle. “You know my culture. Talk is what we do. If you have time, come in. I welcome you.”
Rayford pulled up a chair and sat facing Chaim in the darkness. The botanist seemed in no hurry. Finally, he said, “The young woman takes my wire out tomorrow.”
“Leah, yes. You can’t tell me you’re worried about that.”
“I can hardly contain myself waiting.”
“But something else is on your mind.”
Chaim fell silent again, but soon he began panting, then leaned to his pillow where he was racked with great sobs. Rayford pulled his chair closer and laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”
“I have lost so much!” Chaim wailed, and Rayford strained to understand him. “My family! My staff! And it is all my fault!”
“Little is our fault anymore, sir. Carpathia is in charge of everything now.”
“But I was so proud! So skeptical! Tsion and Cameron and Chloe and you and everyone who cared about me warned me, tried to persuade me. But oh, no, I was too intellectual. I knew better!”
“But you came to the Lord, Chaim. We must not live in the past when all things have become new.”
“But look where I was not that long ago! Tsion is joyful in spite of it all, so happy for me, so encouraging. I dare not tell him where my mind is.”
“Where is it?”
“I am guilty, Captain Steele! I could do as you say, put the past behind me, if all I was dealing with was my pride and ignorance. But it led me down paths I never believed I would walk. My dearest, most trusted friends are dead because of me. Slaughtered in my house!”
Rayford resisted platitudes. “We have all lost much,” he whispered. “Two wives and a son for me, many friends—too many to think about or I’d go mad.”
Chaim sat up again, wiping his face with both hands. “That is my problem, Rayford. I have gone nearly mad with grief, but mostly remorse. I murdered a man! I know he is Antichrist and that he was destined to die and come back to life, but I didn’t know that when I committed the act. I murdered a man who had betrayed my homeland and me. Murder! Think of it! I was a beloved statesman, yet I stooped to assassination.”
“I understand rage, Chaim. I wanted to murder Carpathia myself, and I knew exactly who he was and that he would not stay dead.”
“But I premeditated it, Captain, planned it many months in advance, virtually invented and manufactured the weapon myself, faked a stroke just to get myself in proximity to him without suspicion, then finished the job exactly as I had envisioned it. I am a murderer.”
Rayford leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “You know I almost saved you the work.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You heard a gunshot before you attacked Carpathia.”
“Yes.”
“My gun.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Rayford told him the story of his own anger, personality change, plotting, the purchase of the weapon, his determination to do the deed.
Chaim sat shaking his head. “I can hardly believe that the two people who dared attack Nicolae are in the same room. But in the end you could not do it. I did it with enthusiasm, and even up to the time I finally saw my need for God, I was glad I did it. Now I suffer such regret and shame I can barely breathe.”
“Can you take no solace in the fact that this was destiny, and that you cannot be guilty of murdering a man who is alive?”
“Solace? I would give all I own for a moment of peace. It isn’t whom I did this to, Rayford. It is that I did it. I did not know the depth of my own wickedness.”
“And yet God has saved you.”
“Tell me, is one supposed to feel forgiven?”
“Good question. I have faced the same dilemma. I have full faith in the power of God to forgive and forget, to separate us from our sins as far as the east is from the west. But I’m human too. I don’t forget and thus often I don’t appropriate the forgiveness God extends. Because we feel guilty does not mean God does not have the power to absolve us.”
“But Tsion tells me I may have a greater destiny, that I just might be the one to be used to lead my believing countrymen to safety from Antichrist. How could he say that and how could I do such a thing when I feel the way I do?”
Rayford stood. “Perhaps the fallacy is in thinking it would have to be you who accomplishes this.”
“I would love to be out from under the weight of it, but as Tsion says, who else? He himself cannot risk it.”
“I’m saying it’s something God is going to do, through you.”
“But who am I? A scientist. I am not eloquent. I don’t know the Word of God. I barely know God. I was not even a religious Jew until just days ago.”
“Yet as a child you must have been exposed to the Torah.”
“Of course.”
“If Tsion is right, and not even he is sure, this could be your burning-bush experience.”
“No one will ever see me as Moses.”
“Are you willing to let God use you? Because if Tsion is right and you do what he thinks you should do, you would be a modern-day Moses.”
“Ach!”
“You could be used of God to flee the evil ruler and take your people to a safe haven.”
Chaim moaned and lay down again.
“Moses pled the same case you’re pleading,” Rayford said. “The question is whether you are willing.”
“I know.”
“You’re right. You were depraved. We all were, until Christ saved us. God can make a miracle of your life.”
Chaim mumbled.
“I’m sorry?” Rayford said.
; “I said I want to be willing. I am willing to be willing.”
“That’s a start.”
“But God is going to have to do something in me.”
“He already has.”
“But more. I could no more accept this assignment now than I could fly. The person who accepts this duty must have a clear conscience, confidence that comes only from God, and communication ability far beyond what I have ever possessed. I was able to hold forth in a classroom, but to speak to thousands as Tsion has done, to publicly oppose Antichrist himself, to rally the masses to do what is right? I don’t see it. I just don’t.”
“But you are willing to trust God to work?”
“He is my only hope. I am at the end of myself.”
At high noon Carpathia Time in New Babylon, David left the palace and went outside for the first time in days. He was to have his stitches removed at two that afternoon, and he looked forward to seeing Hannah Palemoon again, even in a sterile setting where they might not be able to converse freely.
The heat reminded David of the day of Nicolae’s resurrection. It didn’t seem right to stroll the grounds of the spectacular palace without Annie. His pain was so raw and the ache so deep that it made his scalp wound fade to insignificance. Hannah had told him that the removal of the bandage would be worse than the removal of the stitches. His uniform cap protected the wound from the sun, but David’s body began to heat up in his dress uniform, and the memories of his trauma floated back.
The decimation of the world’s population was reflected in the workforce at GC headquarters. What had once been its own bustling metropolis was now a shell of itself. The crowds that used to consist of enthusiastic employees were now made up of tourists and pilgrims, necks craned to catch a glimpse of someone famous.
In the distance David saw visitors crowded around one of the outdoor TV monitors that broadcast GC news twenty-four hours a day. He moseyed over and stood unnoticed at the back. The new Most High Reverend of Carpathianism, Leon Fortunato, held forth from his new office.
David could only shake his head. Leon stood before a pulpit-type lectern, but his height had seemed to change. A husky, swarthy man a tick under six feet tall, Leon wore a long burgundy-and-navy robe that flattered his physique. But when the late Peter Mathews—in a gaudy, silly-looking robe—had stood at the same podium, he had looked shorter than Leon, despite that he was several inches over six feet. Leon had to be standing on some sort of box or platform!
