by Tim LaHaye
“I hope they keep coming,” he said, and he lay on his stomach, unfolding the built-in bipod and loading his weapon.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Mac said. “We can set up right here.”
“We’ve got Leah up there without us then, Mac. We using her for bait?”
Mac shook his head. “Not unless they turn back toward her.” He nodded at her. “She’ll reach a flat area up there in thirty minutes.” Mac thrust a round into the chamber of the big gun and stretched out on his belly.
A little more than twenty minutes later a chopper approached, and the GC stopped and stared at it, not even attempting to hide. Like mirror images, they raised their weapons and followed the trajectory of the craft. “Don’t even think about it, scumbags,” Rayford muttered.
Mac scooted to his left and sighed. “I’ve got a bad angle here. You still got a bead on ’em?”
Rayford sat up and peered through his scope. “Yeah.” He punched the radio. “See ’em, Albie?”
“Do I ever! They’ve both got that big old mark with Carpathia’s mug on it, about two inches high over their right eyes.”
“Hold,” Rayford said. “Maybe they’ve got David somewhere.”
“I lost ’em,” Albie said.
“Me too,” Mac said.
“I’ve still got ’em,” Rayford said.
Click.
“Go, Leah.”
She clicked again.
“They’re far enough away,” Rayford told her. “What’ve you got?”
But Mac grabbed his arm. “Maybe she can’t talk. Maybe she’s got more company.”
“Did I give her away by talking to her?” Rayford felt sick.
“Let me check,” Mac said. “You got another weapon?”
“Nine millimeter is all.”
Mac reached for it. “I got no angle anyway, and Big Bertha will slow me down.”
Rayford dug the weapon from his belt in the back and handed it to Mac, who quickly rose and hurried off.
Another twenty minutes and Leah came back on. “You don’t want to know what I found,” she said.
Rayford almost collapsed from relief. “You’re okay there?”
Mac heard the exchange and stopped on the path, his back to a wall.
“I’m okay,” Leah said, her voice quavery. “Found David’s phone.”
“Good.”
“Not so good. Lots of blood here, and it leads over the side of a ridge.”
Rayford let his eyes shut for several seconds. “Better stay put.”
“I’ve got to know, Ray. Permission to proceed.”
“Denied. Those two come any farther around a crag and they’d be able to see you.”
“Thought you said they were closer to Albie.”
“They are, but there’s a clear visual line if they come around.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Negative.”
“C’mon, Rayford! They couldn’t hit me from there anyway.”
“Leah! Stay . . . put.”
From as far away as she was, Rayford felt her glare. He wanted as badly as she did to know just whether the trail of blood led to David’s body, especially if there was a chance he might still be alive.
“Where are they now?” she asked.
“I’ll let you know if and when you may proceed. Any hope he’s alive?”
“Not if this is his blood.”
“How can you know that?”
“You sure you want to know?”
“Give me your professional opinion.”
“There’s an awful lot of blood here, Ray. If it’s all one person’s . . .”
“And you think it is?”
“One pattern shows a pulsating spray. You want me to go on?”
“Yes.”
“Another shows exit wound drainage and no pulse. And the blood leading to the edge looks like a drain too.”
“So whoever it was, was dead before he went over the side.”
“Affirmative.”
“I want to know if it was David, Leah.”
“So do I. Say when.”
“Hold.”
CHAPTER 12
Hannah found the Israeli believers remarkably low maintenance. Many had brought food, which they shared with others. All they wanted was to know when they might be transported to Petra, and the best Hannah could tell them was that she believed it would be that very evening. The people paced or sat and talked about Carpathia, what had gone on at the temple and the Temple Mount that day, and how excited they were about this new adventure. They wanted to meet Micah.
Big George, who proved shy around Hannah, and Abdullah, who was shy around everyone, busied themselves setting up their weapons nest where they could be seen neither from the sky nor by the Israelis, who did not need to be unduly troubled.
Hannah found herself praying for David, for Leah, for Rayford, and for the entire operation. When she had a moment, she stole back into the medical quarters and reread David’s e-mail.
Hannah, forgive me. What can I say? You are right. I was insensitive. And don’t give a second thought to your worry that I might misinterpret your feelings. The truth is, if there was one thing that niggled at the back of my mind in this whole decision, it was that I was going to miss you. I didn’t know how to express it because I didn’t want to be misunderstood either.
I don’t know why we feel we have to tiptoe around these issues, especially now. No, we didn’t know each other well enough to be thinking about anything but a friendship, and I am still in deep pain over Annie, of course. I would not likely have even wanted to consider a new romance with such a short time left.
On the other hand, I suppose it’s understandable that we were awkward about this because we were, suddenly in my case, “available.” It was stupid of me to fear you would misunderstand. We had become such good friends so quickly that, who knows, maybe I feared something deeper would develop just as quickly. Naturally, I was wary of that, and you should have been too.
We should have been able to simply let our bond of friendship grow and prosper, assuming nothing would have come of it. What I especially appreciate about you, Hannah, is how much you love God. It seems everything you do—how nice you are to people, what a servant attitude you have, your cheerfulness and encouragement during such dark, dark times—well, that is clear evidence of the work of Christ in you. You are an example to me and to anyone else who pays attention.
You’re also right that there is likely no need for medical personnel here, and you’re certainly not an Israeli. :-) You know, despite being ethnically Jewish, I am not purely an Israeli either, though I have distant roots here. Regardless, it’s almost certain we won’t see each other again until heaven or the Millennial Kingdom. That alone should have made me invest the time in a proper farewell, and if you would allow it, I’d like to try to make up for that by phone.
Because of what we have been able to put together using satellite and solar technology, it is just as easy—not to mention free—for me to call you in the States as it is to call you here, from about fifty miles away. When we have worked through the mess I caused by leaving without so much as a heart-to-heart talk, would you let me call now and then? I know the time difference is significant and we would have to pick our spots. We’ll both be busy, but I’d like that if you would.
Speaking of busy, I recognize that by taking so long to deal with this, I may be getting back to you so close to the time when our real labor-intensive duties kick in that you’ll barely have time to read this, let alone respond to it. It’s kind of lonely here, no surprise, so if I find myself doing nothing but waiting for the choppers to start arriving, maybe I’ll call to make sure you got this and to save you the time of having to keyboard a response.
Anyway, because of who you are, I know you’ll understand and forgive me, and I look forward to starting over again.
Your friend,
David
Rayford felt a fool. He was no military strategist. While
his preys were clearly weak and bumbling, he had allowed all three of his people to move into untenable positions. Albie had no line of fire and dared not move. Mac was out of position with only a handgun. Leah had to substitute obedience for patience or she might get herself killed. Rayford himself was the only one with the angle and a shot at the two GCs, but the fifty-caliber he cradled was a one-shot wonder. And besides, he had only reluctantly concluded he would actually kill someone if it came to that. Nothing said he had the nerve or the ability.
The weapon, however, brought to the table everything he needed. He lay over it, delicately framing through the powerful scope a spot on the rock face his targets would pass if they continued on course. His right hand brushed the trigger while his left palm lay atop the scope, steadying the piece. And now Leah was on the squawker again, pushing to be allowed to approach the edge of the ridge.
Rayford didn’t want to risk losing his aim, so he slowly reached for the radio with his left hand and drew it to his lips. “Negative. Don’t call me; I’ll call you.”
He dropped the radio and cupped the stock of the rifle in his left hand . . . waiting . . . waiting. The GC had stopped and sat together on a rock. Rayford carefully pivoted the rifle until he had them both in his sights. He turned his head slightly and saw Leah waiting. Their backs were to her. There was no reason she couldn’t take her look, if she hurried. He picked up the radio, while focusing on the targets again. They looked up and a second later he heard what drew their eyes. Yet another chopper.
“Leah, go and return quickly. Don’t reconfirm, just move.”
Rayford gently set down the radio and tried to regulate his breathing. The two logy GCs filled the lens, and he believed he saw sores on their sweaty necks from two hundred yards. He aimed inches above the head of the one on the right. They both slid off the rock and knelt on one knee, aiming their weapons at the bird about to fly directly over them. It was an oversized job, a personnel transporter from United North American States Army surplus—a multimillion-Nick machine that no doubt carried at least two dozen fleeing Israeli believers. Well-placed projectiles from as high as the GCs knelt could conceivably bring it down. The mere sound and fury of Rayford’s weapon putting a hole in the rock above them should save the helicopter, but he needed more incentive to take the risk.
It came from the radio and Leah’s flat, halting news. “It’s David . . . they butchered him . . . the birds are already upon him.”
The GC tensed as if ready to fire, and Rayford slightly dropped his sight just as the soldier on the left leaned in front of the other. If he had only let David come back to Mizpe Ramon when he wanted to, Rayford wouldn’t be in this mess. He remembered to roll up onto his toes and bend his knees, so when he squeezed the trigger the recoil merely sent him sliding back a yard or so. He had forgotten to plug his ears, however, so the explosion tearing against his shoulder was the least of his worries.
The blast stunned and deafened him. Without even the sensation of sound now, he slowly rolled his head, retrieved the toppled rifle, and looked through the lens. He feared he had permanently damaged his eardrums, but his vision had not been affected. In his periphery the big chopper continued past, and across the way both soldiers slumped, motionless, a cloud of rock dust rising behind them.
Rayford picked up his radio. “Be alert for others,” he said, aware he was speaking too loudly. His words reverberated inside, but he heard none of them. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said.
Albie was the first to the targets. Then Leah, Mac, and finally Rayford. He expected Leah to turn away from the carnage, but she didn’t. She said something and he asked her to repeat it. She took him by the shoulders and turned him to face her. “David looks worse than they do,” she shouted, and he read her lips.
If that was true, he didn’t want to see Hassid. But he knew they should bury the body. “Can we get him out?”
She shook her head. “Impossible.”
“That’s where these two should go too,” Mac said, or at least that’s what Rayford thought he said.
The bullet had ripped through the spine and heart of one soldier and the neck of the other before blowing a two-foot-diameter hole in the rock face. Rayford spun and caught himself, afraid he would be sick. Isolated by his deafness, he was overcome with remorse. He had done this. He had killed these two. He had lost a man in a place that was supposed to be a refuge. Now his airstrip was vulnerable, and the entrance to Petra swarmed with chopper loads of people waiting to be let in.
Rayford’s knees buckled, but he was borne up by Mac, who held him and pulled his face close. “This is war!” Mac said. “These men murdered our unarmed guy, and they would have killed any one of us. They were drawin’ a bead on that packed chopper. You saved us all, Ray!”
Rayford felt his face twist into a grimace, and he tried to form words to express that he couldn’t allow these mutilated bodies here when the place began to fill. But he could not speak, and Mac was already ahead of him. He said something to Albie, and the wiry little man stepped forward without hesitation. He stretched, then squatted to pick up the first victim. Bouncing once to settle the corpse in his arms, he moved ten feet toward the ledge and launched him into the unknown. He returned to do the same with the other.
“Get on the horn, Ray!” Mac said. “Let’s get these people in here!”
Rayford shook his head and handed the radio to Mac, pointing at him. “With pleasure,” Mac said. “Let’s gather up and get out.”
Rushing down and out was sure easier than coming in had been. Leah stayed close to Rayford, and he believed she looked the way he felt. Before they even reached the passageway, choppers were popping over the ridge and setting down to disgorge passengers. By the time they had traversed the mile through the narrow Siq back to Rayford’s craft, a huge crowd had formed at the entrance. Mac had spent much of his time on the radio on the way out, and now he and Albie were urging people not to walk but to accept the helicopter lift into Petra.
Leah helped heft the fifty-caliber, her medical box, and the stretcher into the chopper, then pulled Rayford off to the side. “You can’t fly until you can hear,” she said.
“Yes I can,” he said.
“You can hear again already?”
“You can hear for me.”
She shrugged. “Well, I sure can’t fly,” she said.
Despite his youth and his grief, Chang had the maturity and presence of mind to carefully dole out the awful news about David Hassid. The Tribulation Force agreed that neither Chaim nor Buck need know until Chaim finished his work and was safe at Petra. Chloe said she would inform Buck at the appropriate time.
For the next several hours Chang monitored the Trib Force activities. Leah treated Rayford’s ears back at Mizpe Ramon, informing everyone that time would be the best healer. The Israelis left there by George and Abdullah and Rayford were worked into later runs, and Rayford settled in with the other two in their fifty-caliber lair. They had seen nothing of the GC.
Leah reported that Hannah had taken the news of David’s death so hard that she was unable to speak. Apparently she had steeled herself to join Leah on a flight to Masada with Mac, where they would reassemble the medical center in a tent. Meanwhile, it seemed to Chang one of God’s clear miracles that not one mechanical failure was reported on the ground or in the air during the massive relocation effort.
When night fell in Jerusalem and the world seemed to wait for the nine o’clock reprieve from the plague of boils, Chang finally stood and stretched. He stared at himself in the mirror and thanked God for clear skin all over his body. Even the itch on his leg had disappeared, and he attributed it to either an insect bite or something psychosomatic.
He returned to his computer to check his e-mail, idly wishing the Masada event had not been an afterthought. There had not been time even to arrange for a speaker system, let alone anything Chang could tap into besides Buck’s phone.
Chang was taken aback to discover a message from his mo
ther. He quickly accessed it. It was filled with mistakes and retries, but plainly she had painstakingly taught herself how to compose and send the message, and from what she had to say, she had learned how to access Tsion Ben-Judah’s Web site too.
Father upset over Carpathia’s shameful exhibition in Jerusalem. Not know what to think. Wants me to ask what you think. What do you think? I will send this before he sees and will erase from storage. You answer careful in case he see. Carpathia seem bad, bad, bad. Ben-Judah very interesting, a prophet. How does he know in advance? I need to know how to send to Ming. Tell her I will.
Mother
Not long after dark and still an hour before 2100 hours, Chaim surveyed the packed fortress of Masada, and Buck looked out over the overflow crowd below. He agreed with the old man that almost everyone who was to come was likely there. Buck put an arm on Dr. Rosenzweig’s shoulder and bowed his head.
“God, grant me the wisdom to say what you want me to say,” Chaim said, “and may these dear ones hear what you want them to hear.”
“And God,” Buck added, “anoint his voice.”
There was neither a stage nor special lighting. Chaim merely stood on high ground at one end and raised his arms. The place immediately fell silent, and it seemed all movement stopped. Buck whispered into the phone to Chang, “At least record this. We can worry about enhancing fidelity later. The whole Trib Force will want to hear it.”
“How are you on power?”
“One and a half packs left. Should be okay.”
Chaim spoke in Hebrew, but again, Buck understood him perfectly. “My friends,” he began in a voice of vigor and authority but, Buck feared, not enough volume, “I cannot guarantee your safety here tonight. Your very presence makes you an enemy and a threat to the ruler of this world, and when the plague of sores upon his people is lifted at nine o’clock tonight, they may target you with a vengeance.”
Buck stood and looked to the far reaches of the fortress and outside below. No one seemed to have to strain to hear. No one moved or emitted a sound except Leah and Hannah, quietly arranging the small, makeshift medical center. So far no one seemed to need their services.
