by Tim LaHaye
CHAPTER 16
Buck and Albie joined and separated from and joined again a caravan of GC vehicles picking its way through what was left of Ptolemaïs. “Would you look at that,” Albie said, nodding toward open trucks carrying guillotines. “They’re ugly, but there’s really not much to ’em, is there?”
Buck shook his head. “That’s one of my sidebar stories, how easily they can be assembled. They’re simple machines with basic, pattern-cut parts. Each is basically wood, screws, blade, spring, and rope. That’s why it was so easy for the GC to send out the specs and let anybody who wanted work and had the materials to have at it. You’ve got huge manufacturing plants reopening to mass-produce these, competing with amateur craftsmen in their backyards.”
“All for something the GC says will serve as a—what did they call it, officially?”
“Visual deterrent. They put just one at each mark application site, and everyone is supposed to fall in line.”
Albie stopped where a GC Peacekeeper was directing traffic. He signaled the young woman over. “I’m working here,” she said testily until she recognized the uniform. She saluted. “At your service, Commander.”
“We’ve been assigned the main detention facility, but I left the manifest in my bag. Are we close?”
“The main facility, sir?”
“I think that’s what it said.”
“Well, they’re all together about three clicks west. Take a left at your next intersection, and follow the unpaved road around a curve until it joins the rebuilt highway again. The center will be on your right, just inside the city. Can’t miss it. Massive, surrounded by barbed wire and more of us. Better hurry, though, if you want to see the fun. They’re going to do some chopping tonight if the rebels don’t soil themselves and change their minds.”
“Yeah?”
“Word I get is they’re lining them up and sorting them out now. The ones who go back to their cells with their heads attached will have a new tattoo tomorrow.”
David was exhausted. It was nearly 2300 hours Carpathia Time as he trudged from his office toward his quarters. He was stunned to hear energetic steps behind him and turned to see Viv Ivins, looking as fresh and gung ho as she did every morning. She carried a leather portfolio and smiled brightly at David.
“Evening, Director Hassid,” she called out as she drew alongside.
“Ma’am.”
“Great days, hmm?”
He didn’t know how long he could maintain the charade. “Interesting days, anyway,” he said.
She stopped. “I love when things fall into place.”
He thought that an unfortunate choice of words, given her personal coordination of guillotine production and distribution.
“Things humming along, are they?” he said.
“I’ve persuaded top brass not to display loyalty enforcement facilitators here at the palace.”
“Oh?”
“Not the best image.”
“They’re showing up all over the world.”
“And that’s fine. I can live with that. In fact, I’m all for it. Outside the capital city and the headquarters in particular, you will have certain elements who need the visual aid, a reminder of the seriousness of this test of loyalty. One would have to be pathologically committed to one’s cause to really decide against the mark. Seeing the consequence standing right before you as you make your decision will persuade those who merely want a little attention for stalling with their choice.”
“But not here.”
“Not necessary. If a person was not loyal to the risen potentate, why would he or she want to work here? What I want to see produced here are pictures, still and moving, of happy, willing, joyful loyalists. The citizenry of the Global Community should see rapture on the faces of those it depends upon to administer the new world order. No enforcement is needed here. We are the examples to the world of the joy of commitment, the sense of fulfillment when one takes his stand. Follow?”
“Sure. And I have to say, I like the idea of those ugly contraptions not dotting the landscape here.”
“I couldn’t agree more. We start with new hires tomorrow, and there is much enthusiasm among them over being among the first to receive the potentate’s mark. All are opting for his image on their foreheads. I plan to go for the simple understatement, but I have to say, Mr. Hassid, it’s fun to see these kids today with their eagerness to stand out. You’re interviewing a prospect tomorrow.”
“Right.”
“The Asian prodigy.”
“That’s him.”
“What a family! His father is pleading to have his son be the first to receive the mark. It’s too late for that, as we’re beginning with political prisoners, but he very well could be the first GC employee.”
David blanched and tried to cover. “But he’s not been hired yet.”
“It’s a foregone conclusion though, right?”
“Well, I need to talk with him at length, determine his suitability to take his last year of high school here, be away from his parents for the first time, see where he fits best. . . .”
“But the odds of him not being hired somewhere here are minuscule. We could process him first and he would, in essence, be preapproved to work in any department. Sort of like a preapproved mortgage. First you qualify, then you can make an offer on anything in your price range.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” David blurted.
“Why not?”
“It just doesn’t seem as buttoned-down as we like to be. Let’s let the process run its course—do it right.”
“Oh, Mr. Hassid, honestly. What would be the harm?”
He shrugged. “I was told the boy is scared to death of needles and is fighting the whole idea.”
“Even to the point where he would pass up a golden opportunity here? He’s going to have to take the mark in the United Asian States anyway, or he’ll lose more than a job.”
“Maybe he’ll get used to the idea by then.”
“Oh, pish-posh, Director Hassid. If he’s so brilliant, it’s time for him to grow up. He may fight it, but it’ll be over in seconds and he’ll see he made a big to-do about nothing.”
“Well, my meeting with him is at 0900 hours. It can wait till after that, can’t it? I’d hate to try to interview him after he’s been through a trauma.”
“A trauma? I just told you—”
“But he’ll still be upset.”
“I can’t imagine them administering marks before 0900 anyway.”
In his room a few minutes later, David used his subnotebook to double-check his secretary’s schedule. She had not informed him of a time for his appointment with Chang, and a quick look at her calendar showed why. The meeting had been confirmed at the end of the day for 1400 hours, two o’clock. It was something she would tell him in the morning.
David changed it on her calendar to 0900, then hacked into Personnel’s computer and did the same. He phoned 4054 and left a voice message: “Chang, our interview tomorrow has been changed to 9 a.m. Please do not go to Personnel or anywhere else until we’ve met. See you then.”
While he was finishing his message, his phone told him he had a call waiting. He punched in to find Ming, distraught. “It’s started here,” she said. “Has it started there?”
“Slow down, Ming. What’s started?”
“Application of the mark! The equipment arrived at Buffer this morning, and they’re already using it tonight.”
“Prisoners are getting the chip?”
“Yes! I can’t imagine it will be much longer for us staff. I need to bolt soon, but I wanted to check.”
“Any believers there? Anyone refusing the mark?”
“Not a one. They’re lining up for this thing as if they’ve been loyal scouts forever. I think they’re hoping they’ll get good behavior points. Truth is, they’ll still be rotting here, but with a mark on head or hand.”
David told her of his conversation with Viv and what he had done about it. “Oh, no, no,” she sai
d. “At nine you must make Chang disappear. Get him out of there.”
“We’re not prepared to leave yet, Ming.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll have to make up something, I guess. Some reason why he is just not ready. Maybe I’ll say I found evidence of immaturity, that I just think he’s too young to fit in.”
“You’re a director, David. Make it convincing. This has to work.”
“I have all night to think about it.”
“And I have all night to pray about it.”
“I’ll take all I can get, Ming. Listen, let me do something for you. I can get you reassigned to USNA.”
“You could?”
“Of course. I just do it through the computer and no one questions it. They see it’s approved by someone higher than their level, and they don’t rock the boat. Where do you want to go?”
“There are prisons all over the States,” she said. “But I’m never actually going to get to one, right?”
“Right. We get you assigned, get you on a plane, but then lose you somehow. You run off and we can’t find you. But then you’re on your own. You need to get to the safe house in Chicago.”
“Would they have me?”
“Ming! Leah has told everyone about you. They can’t wait to welcome you. They knew you and your brother would eventually have to wind up there. We can use you both. Now where shall I assign you in the States? Somewhere close enough to Chicago so you can get to the safe house but not so suspiciously close that people start putting two and two together.”
“I don’t know the States,” she said. “There is a huge facility in Baltimore that always needs personnel.”
“That’s a long way from Chicago. Wait! Can you get to Greece?”
“When?”
“As soon as possible, even tonight.”
“I guess that’s up to you. Make my transfer highest priority, and if you want GC here to get me to Greece, they’ll have to do it. But David, Greece is a hot spot right now, crawling with GC and making an example of political prisoners. I don’t want to work or hide there.”
David told her how she would get to the States from Greece, and it would appear GC was escorting her.
“There is a God,” she said. “Where do I meet these men?”
“Get to the airport at Kozani. They’ll find you.”
“Can you get Chang there too? Please, David, do it! Get him out of my parents’ quarters, get him assigned somewhere, and have one of your pilots get him to Greece. We can go to the safe house together.”
“Ming, please. It has to make sense. I pull a stunt like that, your parents lose track of Chang, and it all comes back to me—not to mention you! You both are sent somewhere and then wind up lost? Think, Ming. I know you’re desperate and that you care, but let me work on the logistics. The last thing I want is for the GC spotlight to turn on us.”
“I know, David. I understand. I’m thinking with my heart.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “Until we quit thinking at all and make things worse.”
“We in trouble?” a Greece-based GC Peacekeeping chief at the detention center asked Buck when he saw he was accompanied by a deputy commander. “We do everything by the book.”
“This looks like a madhouse, frankly,” Buck said, surveying the complex of five rather plain, industrial buildings that had probably once been factories. The windows were covered with bars, and the perimeter was a tangle of fence and razor wire. But the place was crowded with GC in lines, peering at printouts in the night, using flashlights to see where various prisoners were located.
“We do all we can with what we have to work with,” the chief said, nervously eyeing Albie.
Buck continued to do the talking. “How many prisoners at this facility?”
“About nine hundred.”
“You’ve got that many GC here.”
“Well, not quite, sir.”
“What are they all doing? Are they assigned?”
“Most are running the mark center in the middle building.”
“What is in the other buildings?”
“Teenagers through early twenties in the first building, males in the west wing, females in the east.”
“Individual cells?”
“Hardly. Prisoners are incarcerated in large, common areas that used to be production lines.”
“And in the other buildings?”
“Women in the next. None in the center. Men in the last two.”
“What are the majority of these people charged with?”
“Mostly felonies, some petty theft, larceny.”
“Any violent criminals?”
The chief nodded back over his shoulder. “Murderers, armed robbers, and the like, right there.”
“Political prisoners?”
“Mostly in the second building, but religious dissidents, at least the men, are right here too.” He motioned to the last building again.
“You’ve got dissidents in with violent criminals?” Buck said, leaning forward as if to get a better look at the man’s nameplate.
“Where they’re placed is not my call, sir. I’m coordinating the loyalty mark application. And I need to be in that center building in about five minutes. You want to help—I’ve got a crew of six moving from building to building, starting with the west, doing preliminary sorting.”
“Meaning?”
“Determining whether any plan to refuse the mark.”
“And if so?”
“They are to identify themselves immediately. We’re not going to waste time letting people wait until they’re in line to decide whether they want to live or die.”
“What if some change their minds in line?”
“Decide at the last minute they don’t want the mark after all? I don’t foresee that!”
“But what if they do?”
“We deal with that quickly. But for the most part, we want to know in advance so we don’t hold things up. Now, gentlemen, I have orders. Will you help with the culling or not?”
“Will this be going on simultaneously in all the buildings?” Buck asked, not wanting to miss the pastor or Mrs. Miklos.
“No. We’re starting in the west building. Prisoners will be escorted to the center building for processing, then back before those in the next building go. And so forth.”
“We’ll help,” Buck said.
The chief shouted, “Athenas!” and a stocky, middle-aged Peacekeeper with a one-inch, black crew cut stepped up, three men and two women in uniform behind him. “Ready, Alex?”
“Ready, sir,” Alex said, with a high-pitched voice that didn’t match his physique.
“Take Jensen and Elbaz here with you.”
“I have sufficient staff, sir.”
The chief lowered his head and stared at Athenas. “They’re here from USNA, and if you didn’t notice, A. A., Mr. Elbaz is a dep-u-ty com-man-der?”
“Yes, sir. Would Mr. Elbaz care to lead?”
Albie stuck out his lower lip and shook his head.
It was two in the afternoon in Chicago, and the remaining Trib Force members crowded around the television. The local GC news reported that mark applications had begun at local jails and prisons.
Zeke sat rocking before the TV, his hands over his mouth. Rayford asked if Chaim’s Jerusalem disguise was ready. Zeke kept his eyes on the screen and took his hands from his mouth only long enough to say, “All but the robe. Done by tonight.”
Tsion had come up with the idea of letting Zeke change Chaim’s appearance exactly as he had been planning, but also outfitting him in sandals and a thick, brown, hooded robe that extended far enough in front of his face to hide his features. The whole garment would go over his head and the hem would settle an inch off the ground, the waist cinched with a braided rope. Everyone agreed it sounded humble and nondescript, and yet ominous enough once Chaim was seen by crowds as in charge and with something to say.
Chaim was slowly accepting the idea
, provided he could playact from the shadows of his garb. “I still say Tsion ought to go.”
“Let me promise you, my friend,” Tsion said. “Allow God to use you mightily to get his people to safety, and I will come and address them in person sometime.”
The TV anchorman announced that while the area GC had not expected to need the loyalty enforcement facilitators, one prisoner had reportedly refused to take the mark and had been executed. “This occurred at what was formerly known as the DuPage County Jail, and execution of the dissident was carried out less than ninety minutes ago. The rebel, serving an indeterminate sentence for black market trafficking of fuel oil, has been identified as fifty-four-year-old Gustav Zuckermandel, formerly of Des Plaines.”
Zeke buried his face in his hands and toppled onto his side, where he lay crying quietly. One by one the rest of the Force approached to merely lay a hand on him and cry with him. Tsion, Chaim, Rayford, Leah, and Chloe surrounded him and Tsion prayed.
“Our Father, once again we face the wrenching loss of a loved one. Shower our young brother with hope eternal and remind us all that we will one day see again this brave martyr.”
When Tsion finished, Zeke drew a sleeve across his wet face, moved to his hands and knees, and then awkwardly rose.
“You all right, son?” Rayford asked.
“Got work to do is all,” Zeke said, averting his eyes. And he shuffled back toward his room.
Buck had a bad taste in his mouth. He had been in these situations before, had seen enough depravity and mayhem to last several lifetimes. But he wished he and Albie had brought high-powered automatic weapons so they could at least attempt a rescue. How, in his flesh, he wanted to spray deadly projectiles into the swarming GC. How he would love to have stormed the detention barracks, looking for people with the mark of Christ and ferrying them to safety.
But here was an impossible situation. Prophecy was once again coming to life before his eyes, and he would not be able to turn away. At the west building, the eight members of the culling team were checked in past the outer fence, and then again at the main entrance.
Buck was assaulted by the stench as soon as they had cleared the main corridor. Inside a huge cage milled more than a hundred male teenagers, some looking tough, others petrified. The cage was surrounded with four to five guards on a side, weapons in hand, smoking, reading magazines, and looking bored.
