by Tim LaHaye
Luís proved to be an earnest, fast-talking man, and while he took especially to Ree Woo and was friendly and cordial to everyone, his top priority was getting the plane loaded and these men on their way again. “All we hear are rumors that the GC is polluting the Chico and that they are onto us,” he said. “I have many reasons to believe that is only the talk of the paranoid, but we cannot take chances. The time grows short anyway, so let’s move.”
He seemed to like Ree so much because, though the South Korean was the youngest and smallest member of Rayford’s crew, with the exception of George Sebastian he proved to be in the best shape of everyone—Americans and Argentineans combined.
Big George’s reputation preceded him, and while he worked, lifting heavy sacks of wheat aboard the plane by himself, many of the South Americans tried to get him to talk about his imprisonment in Greece and his escape.
Rayford noticed that George tried to downplay it. “I overpowered a woman half my size.”
“But she was armed, no? And she had killed people?”
“Well, we couldn’t let her keep doing that, could we?”
Rayford worked mostly alongside Lionel, each of them able to handle one sack of wheat at a time. Ree helped too, but he was young and fast and wouldn’t feel it in the morning like Ray and Lionel would.
After two solid days’ work, thanks to hydraulic-lift loaders and six aluminum pallets that held up to thirty thousand pounds each, the wheat was nearly loaded and the plane partially full when Luís came running. “Señor Steele, to the tower with me, quick. I have field glasses.”
Rayford followed the young man to a new, wooden, two-story tower that had been designed to blend into the landscape. Aircraft had to watch for it, but nosy types unaware of it might not see it at all.
Rayford had to catch his breath at the top of the stairs, but when he was ready, Luís passed him the binocs and pointed into the distance. It took Rayford a few seconds to adjust the lenses, but what he saw made him wonder if they were already too late and their work had been wasted.
CHAPTER 19
Though it wasn’t a long flight from Petra to India, Mac was sound asleep when Albie put the cargo plane down at Babatpur. With the delay at Petra, losing a couple of hours to time zones, and the cumbersome plane, it was the middle of the night when they arrived.
It took Mac a moment to get his bearings, but within seconds he and Abdullah and Albie were rushed from the plane by the man known only as Bihari. Serious and no-nonsense, he said, “Hurry, please. We remain about a hundred miles north of the Rihand Dam.”
“A hundred miles?” Mac said. “How we gettin’ this water back to the plane?”
“Trucks!”
“The GC asleep over here, or what?”
“The GC, my friend, enjoy the drinking water.”
Bihari averaged more than seventy miles an hour in a minivan that had no business going that fast on roads that may never have seen that speed before—especially in the dead of night. Ninety minutes later, in a swirling cloud of dust, he swung into a clearing near a small processing plant and showed Mac and the others towering skids of bottled water that looked as if they would fill two large trucks.
“Where’s the rest of it?” Mac said. “We got us a big, big plane.”
“I wondered if you would notice,” Bihari said. “Did you not hear me honk at passing traffic on the way?”
“Occasionally, I guess.”
“All but two trucks are already on their way to the plane. When we heard you were in the air, we got started. The prospect of real wheat to eat has motivated all of us. With you gentlemen and forklifts, we can load the last two trucks by dawn and be on our way.”
A few minutes later, as Mac backed a forklift toward a stack of skids, he passed Albie. “These people make me feel like a lazy old fool,” he said. “Our job is cushy compared to theirs.”
“They wouldn’t want to worry about the missiles and bullets,” Albie said. “They get away with this by supplying the GC with a little water?”
Bihari interrupted the last of the loading by waving his hands over his head at Mac. “Will your people be discouraged by a setback?” he said.
“Depends,” Mac said. “We still gonna be able to take off and get outta here?”
“Yes, but I believe we are doomed.”
“That wouldn’t make our day. What’s the trouble?”
“We will drive by the dam on our way back to the airport. It is a little out of the way, but you must see it.”
“I’ve seen dams before. Somethin’ wrong with yours?”
“My people tell me the next curse from the Lord has fallen.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I cannot imagine what blood looks like, being forced through the control doors of a dam.”
“Me neither,” Mac said. “How’s your water inventory, minus what we’re takin’?”
“Maybe six months. But the GC will surely raid us when they discover we no longer have sources either.”
“They know where you are?”
“They have to have an idea. It will not take them long.”
“Hidin’ this place oughta be your top priority.”
The sun was going down, and yet heat still shimmered off the plains of Argentina. Rayford tried to hold the binoculars still enough to make out what all the commotion was about. It could have been anything, but none of the options hit him as positive. There were an awful lot of people out there, that was sure. But he couldn’t quite tell if they were military, GC, Morale Monitors, peasants, people from the city, or what.
He handed the glasses back to Luís. “Do we just get in the air? Or had we better check this out?”
“You know what I think.”
“Do we go armed? How many go with us?”
Luís shook his head. “How about I supply the vehicle, and you supply the ideas?”
“Fair enough,” Rayford said. “Sebastian and I will go. And we will be armed but not on the offensive. We’re just seeing what’s going on and keeping you and yours out of it.”
As they descended from the tower, Luís said, “Oh, dear Lord, I pray it hasn’t already happened.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you smell that, Captain Steele?”
Rayford sniffed the air. Blood.
Mac was preoccupied on the drive from the processing plant. Would the huge shipment of wheat have to be trucked all the way down here too? Did they have enough trucks? And where would they store it?
On the one hand he worried about it, and on the other he was glad it wasn’t his problem. Better thinkers than he had put this deal together. It was their concern.
When Bihari stopped at the dam, the other loaded truck pulled up behind. At first no one disembarked. Then all four of them did.
They just stood and watched for a minute. Two of the great doors in the wall of the dam were open, both disgorging huge arcs of liquid, splashing into a ravine and sweeping past them. Blood was so much thicker than water that it sounded and acted differently. It smelled awful, and Mac found it frightening somehow. It reminded him of a nightmare and chilled him.
A man stood several hundred yards from the dam, downstream from the rushing blood. He looked familiar. “Who is that?” Mac said, pointing.
“Who is who?” Albie said.
Mac turned him the right direction and pointed.
“I don’t see so well this time of the morning, Mac. Who do you see?”
“No one sees that man by the rock down there? He’s close to the river.”
No one said anything.
“I’m going to check him out. He’s looking right at us! Waving us down there!”
“I don’t see him, Mac. Maybe this is one of your cowboy marriages.”
Mac cocked his head at Abdullah. “One of my what?”
“One of those things you cowpokes see in the desert when you’re thirsty. It looks like water but it’s just a cactus or something. A marriage.”
Albie threw
back his head and laughed. “I grew up ten thousand miles from Texas and I know that one! It’s a mirage, Smitty. A mirage.”
“Well, this ain’t a marriage or a mirage,” Mac said. “I’ll be right back.”
He drew within a hundred yards of the man, who watched him all the way. “If you’re going to come,” the man said, “why not bring an empty bottle?”
“What do I want a bottle of blood for? Anyway, I don’t think I have an empty one.”
“Empty one and bring it.”
Mac turned around, as if it was the most normal request and he had no choice.
As he hurried back, Abdullah said, “So what was it, pod’ner? A marriage?”
“Very funny, camel jockey.”
Mac pulled a bottle from one of the skids, drank half of it on his way back, then poured out the rest.
“Hey!” Bihari called, “that stuff’s as valuable as wheat, you know.”
Mac watched his footing as he reached the rushing crimson tide. “You get around, don’t you, Michael?” he said. “You omnipresent or something?”
“You know better than that, Cleburn,” Michael said. “Like you, I am on assignment.”
“And coincidentally in the same part of the world as me. I never got to thank you for—”
Michael held up a hand to silence him, then reached for the bottle. He sighed and looked to the sky. He spoke softly but with great passion. “Great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty; just and true are thy ways, thou King of saints. Who shall not fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name? For thou only art holy: for all nations shall come and worship before thee; for thy judgments are made manifest.”
Michael carefully walked among the rocks, down to the edge of the rushing river. The surging blood was so loud that Mac worried he would not be able to hear Michael if he spoke again. And as if he knew Mac’s fear, Michael turned and beckoned him closer. Mac hesitated. Michael was being spotted with blood. His brown robes were speckled, as were his beard and face and hair.
“Come,” he said.
And Mac went.
Michael stood with one foot on a rock and the other just inches from the river. He said, “Thou art righteous, O Lord, which art, and wast, and shalt be, because thou hast judged thus. For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and thou hast given them blood to drink; for they are worthy.”
Then another voice, Mac did not know from where: “Even so, Lord God Almighty, true and righteous are thy judgments.”
Michael bent low and thrust the bottle into the current. The rushing blood pushed against his arm and soaked his sleeve and filled the bottle. And when he drew it from the river and turned toward Mac, there was no blood on him. His robe was dry. His face was clean. His arm was clean. The bottle was full of pure, clean water.
Michael handed it to Mac. “Drink,” he said. Mac put the cold bottle to his lips and tipped it straight up. As Mac closed his eyes and drank it all, Michael said, “Jesus said, ‘Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.’”
Mac opened his eyes and exhaled loudly. Michael was gone.
“All due respect, sir,” Sebastian said, “but you realize it’s just you and me, a couple of guns, and a few rounds of ammunition, and we don’t have a clue what we’re driving into?”
“I was hoping you’d protect me,” Rayford said. “This military stuff is fairly new to me.”
“We’re not really going to take these people on, are we?”
“I hope not, George. We’re hopelessly outnumbered.”
“Sorta what I was getting at, sir.”
“Let’s just play this out and see what we find.”
“Uh, hold on. Could you stop a second?”
“You serious?”
“Yes, sir.”
Rayford stopped and put the vehicle in park.
“You didn’t read that in some military strategy book, did you?”
“What’s that?”
“The see-what-we-find gambit?”
“George, listen. Nothing is as it used to be. We improvise every day. You’re a living example of that. We have no choice here. We’ve got a whole bunch of our brothers and sisters trying to survive out here, and now something could be threatening them. If I went back and got all of them and armed them all, they would be no match for the GC if they decided to advance. So let’s see what this is. We shouldn’t have to get right into the middle of it before we know we should turn back. Use the binocs. You see armed GC, say the word, and we turn around. Fair enough?”
George looked like he was thinking. “Consider this,” he said. “See over there? Over your other shoulder. There’s a big group of somebody heading toward the gathering place. Let’s go wide around the back way and get into that group. They aren’t military and they aren’t threatening.”
“Makes sense.”
“Always does. Make use of your resources.”
“Like your mind, you mean?” Rayford said.
“Well, I wasn’t going to say that.”
Mac looked around, his heart stampeding as if he’d run up a mountainside. He scampered down to the rushing river of blood and plunged the bottle into the current. Blood splashed all over him, but when he pulled the bottle out, it was pure freshwater again.
He laughed and shouted and charged back toward Albie and Abdullah and Bihari. But they had apparently never seen Michael and quickly tired of Mac’s antics. “You didn’t see him! You didn’t, did you?”
They looked at him gravely from the trucks.
“Did you see me pour the water out? Well, did you? Bihari, you did, ’cause you told me it was worth its weight in wheat. Remember? Well, then where did I get this?”
Bihari got out of the truck. “Where did you get that?” he said.
“From that river right there! And do you see any blood on me?”
“I don’t!”
“Still think you’re doomed? The GC is going to leave you alone when they see what’s happened to your water source. But you send your people and your equipment down here like usual. God takes care of the ones he’s sealed, amen?”
By now Albie and Abdullah had come to see as well.
“Try a taste of this, gentlemen. You’ll want to drink it all, but it’s for sharing.”
Rayford and George found themselves in the middle of a pilgrimage of some sort. Almost everyone else was on foot. From their clothes they appeared to be both town and country folk, and some peasants. “English, anyone?” George said.
Two more times he said it, and finally a man—who appeared to be with his wife and perhaps a couple of other family members—came alongside the vehicle. “English? Yes,” he said.
“Where are we going?” George said.
“We are going where we have been invited,” the man said.
“All of you? Invited?”
“I do not know about the others. We were invited.”
“Who invited you?”
“Three men. They came to the door and told us to meet them out here and they would tell us good news.”
“But you are not Carpathia loyalists,” George said. “I see no mark.”
“On you either, sir,” the man said. “And yet you seem no more afraid than we do.”
“You don’t even seem concerned,” George said.
“The men told us not to fear.”
“Why did you believe them? What gave you such confidence?”
“They were believable. What can I say?”
“Ask some others why they are here.”
The man spoke to another group in Spanish. Then to another.
“We were all invited by the same men,” he said.
“And who are they?”
“No one knows.”
“And yet you all risk your lives to be here.”
“It is as if we have no choice, sir.”
Rayford stopped and the crow
d surged past him. “What does this sound like to you, George?”
“The same thing it sounds like to you: Ming’s story.”
“Exactly. And we’ll know for sure from the first words that come from their mouths. If the one . . . Christopher—?”
“Right.”
“—starts out with the gospel, and the next one predicts what’s going to happen to Babylon . . .”
“Nahum.”
“Right. And Caleb warns about taking the mark, well, that’s all we need to know.”
“But where’s the GC, Rayford? These guys got people saved in China, but the Peacekeepers still killed ’em.”
Both men turned in their seats to watch for the enemy.
“Maybe God and these guys work differently in different parts of the world.”
Leah Rose worked in the basement of Lionel Whalum’s huge home in Long Grove, Illinois. She and Hannah were making an inventory of medical supplies and a list of what was needed at various Co-op locations. They were working with printouts from Chloe Williams.
“I’m looking for a place that needs more than supplies, frankly,” Leah said.
“I hear you. Is anything more exhausting than being idle? I don’t know if I want to be in the middle of combat again, but I’ve got to be somewhere I’m needed.”
“Problem is,” Leah said, “Petra doesn’t need medicine or nurses. But I’d like to at least stop by there on the way to my next assignment.”
“Hmm, really? Wonder who? I mean, wonder why?”
“Shut up, Hannah.”
Suddenly, Leah’s knees buckled and she almost fell.
“What was that?” Hannah said. “You all right?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. I just went weak all of a sudden, but it passed.”
But as soon as she had said that, she dropped to her knees.
“Leah!”
“I’m okay. It’s just—it’s just that I . . . oh, God, yes. I will, Lord. Of course.”
“What? What is it?”
“Pray with me, Hannah. We’re supposed to pray for Mr. Whalum.”
“Should I get his wife?”
“We’re supposed to do it right now. Lord,” Leah said, “I don’t know what you’re impressing upon me except that Mr. Whalum needs prayer right now. We trust you, we love you, we believe in you, and we know you are sovereign. Do whatever you have to do to keep him safe, and all those who are with him. He and Rayford and George and Ree should be leaving soon, so give them whatever they need, protect them in whatever way they need protection, and go before them into India.”
