by Tim LaHaye
“Here they come,” Rayford said, pointing past the west end of the crowd to show George the GC. They pulled up in Jeeps and vans, maybe a hundred troops, uniformed and armed. They had bullhorns.
While Rayford drove to the other side of the crowd and parked where he could see the people, the GC, and the front of the assembly, a GC officer announced, “This is an unlawful assembly. You are violating the law. There is no facility here for administering the mark of loyalty, and you are so many months past now that you will not be allowed to rectify that oversight. Appearing in public without the mark of loyalty is punishable by death at the hands of any law-abiding citizen, but if you will disperse now and go directly back to your homes, we will offer a brief extension and allow you to take the mark within twenty-four hours. An application site is available as close as Tamel Aike or Laguna Grande, both within sixty miles of here.”
The people did not stop, did not look, did not appear troubled. The GC began again. “This is your last warn—”
“Silence!”
The commanding voice came from the front, from one of the three, and without amplification.
“My name is Christopher, and I speak under the authority of Jesus Christ the Messiah and Son of the living God. He has determined that those of this company who receive his everlasting gospel today shall enter into his millennial kingdom at his glorious appearing, just over two years from now.”
The people began to murmur, and the GC were on their bullhorns again, but the horns malfunctioned and no one could hear them.
“My coworkers Nahum and Caleb are here with me only to proclaim that which the Lord has assigned us to proclaim. And then God’s message of salvation as found in his only begotten Son will be presented by one of the 144,000 witnesses he has raised up from the tribes of the children of Israel.
“And now begone, you workers of iniquity, you servants of the evil ruler of this world. You shall come nigh unto these people and this place never again. Begone lest the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ strike you dead where you stand!”
The GC ran for their vehicles and for their lives. Christopher said, “Fear God and give glory to Him, for the hour of His judgment has come; and worship Him who made heaven and earth, the sea and springs of water.”
Nahum followed with his curse on Babylon, and Caleb warned of the consequences of accepting the mark of the beast. Then a white-robed evangelist strode to the front and said, “There shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring; men’s hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken.
“And then shall they see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh.”
“Wheat’s a-comin’ and you’ve got water galore, Bihari. ’Scuse me while I make a phone call.” Mac punched in Rayford’s number. “Ray? Where you at, man? When you guys headin’ this way? Good! Listen, you’ve seen the rivers? That’s right, you’re on the Chico. Let me tell you, it doesn’t affect the believers. At least it doesn’t here.” He told him of his encounter with Michael and what had happened to the blood. “We’re about an hour from takin’ off, so tell those brothers and sisters the water is comin’! Well, that’s right, they don’t need it that bad now, do they? Bihari here’s lookin’ at me like I’ve just lost it. Well, hey, you tell ’em a deal’s a deal.”
“Can I tell him, Captain Steele?” George said.
“Tell who what?”
“Luís. About the GC having to leave this area alone. And about the water.”
“Like to share good news, do you?”
“You bet!”
“Knock yourself out.”
When they got back, Luís jogged up to the car. “Well?”
“George wants the privilege,” Rayford said. “We roll in ten minutes.”
Lionel would take the first four hours, then Ree would take over, but Rayford would land the craft. Ray was strapping into the copilot’s chair when Lionel fired up the engines, but as he put his headphones on he sensed something wrong. “You okay?” Rayford said.
Lionel pressed his lips together. “Did all my preflight.”
“Me too. So?”
“Doesn’t feel right.”
“Long flight, big plane, lots of cargo, friend. We don’t go till you’re happy, hear?”
“I appreciate that, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Wanna do preflight again, check every box from top to bottom, just to be sure?”
“Nah, just let me think a minute.”
Rayford turned in his seat. “How you doing, Ree?”
Ree gave him a thumbs-up and laid his head back, as if ready to sleep.
“Here comes your last crew member, Mr. Pilot. Should he shut the door, or are we holding?”
“Aw, nuts. Hold a second. I’m checking the cargo.”
“Need help?”
“Nah, I got it.”
“Cold back there.”
“Don’t I know it!”
Rayford waited just past ten minutes. Ree and George were strapped in and dozing already. Ray unstrapped and started back to the cargo hold when he met Lionel coming the other way. “All set?”
Lionel gave him a look. “Tell the tower we’re ready.”
As they strapped back in, Lionel looked at Rayford again. “Praise God, is all I’ve got to say.”
“No, it isn’t. Tell me.”
“Had a whole pallet that never got secured. First bank, it would have shifted.”
“Could have put us down.”
“’Course.”
“Surely you’d checked the cargo on preflight.”
“I did. I always do. Hardly anything’s more important than keeping that load centered and secure.”
“What made you think of it?”
“I have no idea. I double-checked every lock. All were up. I just got a feeling I should check again.”
“Well, buddy,” Rayford said, “if we land in India, that feeling will be the reason.”
CHAPTER 20
Five Years into the Tribulation
Chang spent hours monitoring the palace, his ears always pricking up when he heard Carpathia.
“Something in the atmosphere of that ancient Edom region interferes with our missiles, our flights, our artillery,” Nicolae said one evening. “The entire area has become a Bermuda Triangle. Ensure the peace but do not waste another Nick on armory that does no more than what we can accomplish diplomatically.”
Chang knew Global Community diplomacy was an oxymoron. Standard operating procedure no longer included any semblance of public relations for the potentate. Someone was trying to protect the potentate from it, but from all over the globe came evidence that even the millions of citizens who bore marks of loyalty to him now knew that the risen god of the world had become a despot king. Hundreds of thousands were dying everywhere for want of drinkable water.
One report from Region 7, the United African States, showed a woman railing in public before a small, obviously fearful crowd: “Justice, fair play, even juries are relics from another time! We obey the GC and bow to the image of the supreme ruler only because we all know someone who has been put to death for failing to!” She was shot to death where she stood, and the crowd scattered for its life.
From the same area came a sham of a recording depicting a programmed parade for the benefit of the Global Community News Network. The people marched listlessly, their faces blank, as they held aloft placards and chanted, “Hail, Carpathia” in monotones.
Chang both suffered and benefited from the chaos at the palace. In many ways New Babylon had become a ghost town. Citizens could no longer afford pilgrimages to the gleaming edifices. He knew from the real figures—not the cooked books whose summaries were announced to the popul
ace—that half the world’s population at the time of the Rapture had now died.
The capital city of the world didn’t work very well anymore. Factions and minikingdoms sprang up, even around Carpathia—top people threatening, cajoling, surrounding themselves with sycophants. Everyone was suspicious of everyone else, while all were obsequious and cloying around the big boss. Revolt was out of the question. Theirs was a ruler who had proved himself impervious to death. What was the point of killing him again? You could take power for three days, but you had better loot the place and be gone when he resurrected.
The sad state of services in New Babylon was nothing compared to everywhere else in the world but Petra. Trib Force and Co-op fliers reported that everywhere they went, they saw that things simply wore out and were not replaced. The huge depletion of the population cost society half the people once employed in service jobs. Few were left to transport fuel, fix cars, keep streetlamps and traffic lights working, maintain order, protect businesses. Buck recounted in The Truth that the GC, especially at the local level, used their uniforms, badges, and weapons to get more for themselves. “Pity the shop owner who doesn’t grease the palm of his friendly neighborhood insurer of security.”
Chang watched all this from his spot as a journeyman techie in Aurelio Figueroa’s computer department—but mostly from the system so expertly designed and installed by his predecessor, David Hassid. Ironic, Chang thought, that it was the one thing still humming along perfectly.
Carpathia himself was a madman, and no one around him even pretended otherwise—except to his face. Everyone seemed to cater to his craziness, competing to see who could be first to curry his favor by carrying out his latest directive—which usually came in a fit of fury.
“Insubordination!” he shrieked late one night as Chang listened to his weary lieutenants trying to stay awake with him. “My sub-potentate in Region 7 must wake up tomorrow to find that the heads of both Libya and Ethiopia and their entire senior cabinets have been assassinated!”
Suhail Akbar said, “I’ll talk with him, Excellency. I’m sure he will realize that—”
“Did you not understand that to be a directive, Suhail?”
“Sir?”
“Did you not understand my order?”
“You literally want those leaders and their cabinets dead by morning?”
“If you cannot accomplish it, I will find—”
“It can be done, sir, but there would not be time to send our strike force from here—”
“You are director of Security and Intelligence! You have no contacts in Africa who can—”
“I’m on it, sir.”
“I should hope you are!”
The deed was accomplished by an S & I force of African Peacekeepers and Morale Monitors. Akbar was lauded the next day, then suffered in Carpathia’s doghouse for more than three weeks because the boss was having trouble “getting useful information out of Region 7.”
Rayford lived in an underground hut, like everyone else who worked out of the former military base in San Diego. And like Mac and Albie out of Al Basrah, Rayford flew missions directly between San Diego and other International Co-op centers—places so remote and well hidden that if the fliers could elude GC radar—and even that was crumbling with the loss of personnel all over the world—there were no pesky airport details they had to bluff their way past. The head of the Tribulation Force worried that he and his people might lower their guard and see their whole network come crashing down. He actually had felt more in control and careful when the GC had been at full strength. The world had become a cauldron of individual free-market systems.
When he was “home” in San Diego, Rayford studied the reports that came to Chloe from Co-op workers all over the globe. Hardly anywhere in the world escaped the evil influence of the GC-sponsored deceivers. Magicians, sorcerers, wizards, demonic apparitions, and deputies of Leon Fortunato preached a false gospel. They set themselves up as Christ figures, messiahs, soothsayers. They lauded the deity of Carpathia. They performed wonders and miracles and deceived countless thousands. These were lured away from considering the claims of Christ himself, usually by the promise of drinkable water, but once they had made their decisions for the evil ruler, either he snuffed them out as he had done in the Negev or God slew them. Tsion Ben-Judah continued to maintain that God was continually evening the score, removing from the earth those with the sign of the beast, because a great war was coming.
“It is not as if the God of gods could not defeat any foe he chooses,” Dr. Ben-Judah taught, “but the stench of the other side evangelizing for evil has offended him and kindled his wrath. Yet the wrath of God remains balanced by his great mercy and love. There has been not one report of death or injury to any of the 144,000 evangelists God has raised up to spread the truth about his Son.”
Though weary of the battle and longing for heaven or the Glorious Appearing—sometimes Rayford didn’t care which came first for him—still he thrilled to the reports from all over the world. The Tribulation Force saw many of these 144,000 brave men venture into public, calling the undecided from their homes to confront them with the claims of Christ. The men were powerful preachers, anointed of God with the gift of evangelism. Often they were accompanied by angels, guardians to protect them and their listeners. GC forces were incapable of stopping them.
“The archangels Gabriel and Michael have been seen in various parts of the world, making pronouncements for God and standing in defense of his people,” Tsion and Chaim told the people of Petra and thus the world via the Internet. Rayford thanked God silently as he read that the angel with the everlasting gospel, Christopher, often appeared in remote regions where Christ had never been preached. Nahum continued to warn of the coming fall of Babylon, sometimes with Christopher, sometimes by himself. And Caleb was reported somewhere else almost every day, warning of the consequences for anyone accepting the mark of the beast and worshiping his image.
Besides these, it was not uncommon for the Tribulation Force to see or feel the presence of angels protecting them wherever they went. Often, even outside of the routes to Petra, GC planes would intercept theirs, warn them, try to force them down, then shoot at them. Never knowing when and where they might be protected outside of the Negev, Tribulation Force pilots took evasive action. But thus far God had chosen to insulate them, to the frustration and astonishment of the GC.
With less than two years to go before the Glorious Appearing, Rayford met with Buck and Chloe to assess the current state of the Tribulation Force. “Where are we,” he said, “and where do we need to be for maximum benefit to the entire body of believers around the world?”
Chloe reported that Lionel Whalum and his wife had somehow been able to keep their home in Illinois, “though Leah and Hannah have developed serious cases of cabin fever. I mean, I think they’re encouraged by God’s work in their lives. Lionel was, of course, thrilled by Leah’s story of having been compelled to pray for him before he ran the final check on the cargo out of Argentina. You know, Dad, he’s one of our busiest pilots now, delivering supplies all over the world.”
“How bad is it with Leah and Hannah?” Buck said. “I don’t know either of them that well, but Leah would get on anybody’s nerves. She still pining for Tsion?”
“They keep low profiles,” Chloe said, “and say they feel as if they live only at night. They don’t dare venture out during the day. GC activity is spotty in that area of the suburbs, but all it would take is one report of someone without the mark, and one of our major thrusts would be jeopardized.”
“I hardly ever hear from Z anymore,” Rayford said.
Chloe shook her head. “Of all people, Zeke has probably changed the most. There’s almost zero call for his services there in western Wisconsin. No uniforms to tailor, no disguises to invent, no undercover agents to transform.”
“Could we better use him out here?” Rayford said.
“Not when you hear this,” Chloe said. “Zeke has sort of set
tled into a new persona. He’s taken such an interest in studying the Bible that he’s become the de facto assistant to the spiritual leader of the underground church there.”
“Zeke an assistant pastor?” Rayford said. “Push me over with a feather.”
“Chloe’s been keeping up with Enoch and some of his people,” Buck said.
“Yeah, I apologized for intruding on their lives and their community, because I felt responsible for the split-up of much of The Place congregation. But Enoch reminded me that if I hadn’t discovered them, they never would have known of the coming destruction.
“On the other hand, Dad, I know that if I had not been traipsing around Chicago in the middle of the night, there might never have been that secondary destruction.”
One morning in Petra, the assemblage awoke to the news that all the seas of the world had spontaneously turned from blood to salt water again. “God has given me no special knowledge about this,” Tsion announced. “But it makes me wonder if something worse isn’t coming. And soon.”
Little changed except that Carpathia tried to take the credit for the cleansing of the seas. He announced, “My people created a formula that has healed the waters. The plant and animal life of the oceans will surge back to life before long. And now that the oceans are clear again, all our beautiful lake and river waterways will soon be restored as well.”
He was wrong, of course, and the blunder of his bluster cost him even more credibility. God had chosen, in his own time, to lift the plague from the seas, but the lakes and rivers remained blood.
Just before being executed, a Swedish insurgent announced, “What our so-called potentate ignored in exulting over the revived seas is that there is still an international mess. Dead, rotting, smelly fish still blanket the shores around the world and still carry the diseases that have driven most of the coastline populations inland. And where are the refining plants to turn the seas into potable water? We die of thirst while the king hoards the resources.”
