by Tim LaHaye
She couldn’t let that happen again. There were too many here, and though the place was under the earth, it had all the advantages the Strong Building had. For one thing, it had George Sebastian, who had expanded on what Chloe—and anyone else who was interested—had learned about combat training from Mac McCullum on their mission to Greece. The rickety exercise equipment George and Priscilla had salvaged from the military base was anything but state-of-the-art, but George thought that was an advantage.
“The newfangled machines do all the work for ya, anyway,” he said. He had refurbished and lubricated what was available, and within six weeks several Trib Forcers had spent enough time in a makeshift workout room to start toning neglected muscles. That was just a prerequisite, of course. What Chloe enjoyed most was George’s training. A lot of it was just common sense, but a lot of it wasn’t. He had been trained at the highest levels and proved to be an excellent teacher. Chloe felt she could handle herself and a weapon in almost any situation.
That training was what niggled at the back of her brain now and told her she was making a fundamental mistake. Not only was she away from her post, but no one would have a clue where she was. She had no way of communicating from a remote location. So if she was going to open the service door wide enough to see a potential enemy a block away or—for all she knew—standing directly in front of her, she had to make a decision. Was she opening the door quickly to step outside and shut it again, or was she going to keep a hand on the doorknob in case she needed to retreat fast?
She pressed her ear against the door to see if she could detect movement nearby, but her Uzi clattered against it, and her ear was covered by her sweatshirt hood and ski mask anyway. She pulled back, feeling like an idiot. Deep breath. Calm down. Let’s just step outside in one smooth motion and shut the door behind us. Referring to herself in the collective we made her feel less alone, but she knew she was kidding herself.
Careful to take full, quiet strides, rolling heel to toe, Chloe pushed the door open, moved out, and shut it behind her. Was the vehicle still there? She’d have to wait a beat. If it was, its taillights were off. Chloe moved to a row of tall bushes that hid her from the east, then spun silently to be sure no enemy had flanked her from another direction. She paused for a moment to drink in the freedom of simply being out in the crisp wee-hour air.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light provided only by streetlamps, Chloe peered through the shrubbery and saw the white GC personnel carrier parked where she had seen it from inside. Not only were its lights off, but it also didn’t appear to be idling.
The question was whether it was empty, and if so, how many troops had it brought, and where were they?
Rayford quickly tiptoed to the end of the corridor and found the big man rocking on the balls of his feet and wringing his hands. “English?” he said with a thick German accent.
“Yes. I’m an American.”
“Brother, brother, brother!” the man whispered, grabbing Rayford in a fierce embrace. “Who are you? What is your name? What are you doing here?”
The man felt solid, as if he could have been a manual laborer. “I have the same questions for you, friend,” Rayford said, extricating himself. “But let’s make sure we won’t be overheard.”
“Good, good, yes. Where?”
“I have colleagues in private quarters here. You need to meet them. We can talk there.”
“I’m not sure I can wait that long! This is so exciting. How far?”
“Six stories down and a wing the other way,” Rayford said, leading him toward the elevator.
“You live here? In the palace, I mean? You work here?”
“Used to.” Rayford looked around and then leaned close. “I’m with the underground in San Diego with connections in Petra. We’re getting our mole out of here while we can.”
“I was going to ask if you were the mole!”
“Used to be one of several. We are down to just this one, or at least that’s what we thought. You’re from here?”
“Not six miles away, can you believe it?”
At the bank of elevators three executives stood lightly touching each other and feeling for the buttons. Rayford and his new friend looked at each other knowingly and merely moved behind them into the first available elevator car.
“Got to be back up here on time,” one executive said.
“Yes,” another said. “Wish I had an audible watch.”
“I took the crystal off mine. I’m learning to feel what time it is. Problem is, I keep snagging the hands on who knows what, and for all I know, I don’t have the right time anymore myself.” He pressed two fingers lightly on his watch. “I’m guessing 2:50. Gives us ten minutes.”
Rayford noticed the German check his own watch and raise his eyebrows. The elevator stopped two floors down, and the three felt their way off. But as the doors were shutting, Rayford’s companion reached out with both hands, tapped the timekeeper on a shoulder, and rubbed his thumb against the man’s watch at the same time. The tap made him hesitate, which made the man behind him bump into him. He said, “Hm?” and the third man said, “What?”
The big man pulled his arms back in, in time for the doors to shut unimpeded, and when it was just he and Rayford on the elevator, he burst into laughter. “I think that was the last time he’ll have the time right, you know? Now, may I introduce myself?”
“Not just yet,” Rayford said. He mouthed, “Most of the elevators and corridors are bugged.”
Foolhardy or brave? Chloe knew that was a matter of opinion and that she would likely hear from many who assumed the former. But she was desperately curious about that personnel carrier, and even more, about the personnel. Keeping to the tree line and away from streetlamps, she circled left and headed a block west, moving silently in the night as she had been taught.
She slowed as she came even with the vehicle from about thirty yards to the left of it, chastising herself for not bringing binoculars. And the walkie-talkie. She could have left it off until she needed it, avoiding an inopportune transmission while still having the ability to communicate with Buck or anyone else in a pinch.
So far though, no pinch. Chloe moved closer, telling herself that if anyone sat in the truck the engine would be running or one or more windows would be open. None of that was so, but she didn’t want to think she could simply advance past it without knowing for sure. First turning in a slow circle to be sure no one was approaching or that she had not missed anyone, Chloe finally reached the truck and peered in the back windows. No one.
But from there she could not tell if anyone was in the front seat. If anyone was waiting, he or she would most likely be behind the wheel. She approached from the other side, staying below the window level until she could stand quickly and take her prey by surprise, if necessary.
Rayford was stunned by the increased number of ailing residents who filled the halls as he and his new buddy left the elevator and headed toward Chang’s quarters. Couples huddled in corners, weeping. Others crawled, feeling their way to various rooms, pulling themselves up by door handles and running their fingers across numbers before knocking, pleading with friends to be let in.
“This breaks my heart,” he whispered to the German.
“Not mine,” the man said, “but I’m working on it.”
Rayford knocked lightly on Chang’s door and heard the conversation inside die. “It’s me,” he said, just above a whisper. “And don’t be alarmed. I have someone with me.”
Abdullah opened the door just wide enough to accommodate one eye and the barrel of a .45-caliber Glock. That eye, satisfied with seeing Rayford, surveyed the German side to side and head to toe. Apparently noticing the mark of the believer on the man’s forehead, Abdullah swung the door open.
Once inside, it seemed the man couldn’t be still. After looking at everyone and the computers and stacks of micro disks, he said, “I can talk? We are okay here?”
Chang nodded and, though he seemed overwhelmed
by the man’s effusiveness, he and Naomi kept working.
“Otto Weser is my name,” he said. “German timberman, Judah-ite, head of a small band of believers right here in New Babylon.”
He embraced Abdullah. “Watch that side arm now, would you?” Otto said, laughing. He nearly lifted Chang off the floor. “Look at us! You are Asian. Our turbaned friend is, what, Egyptian?” Abdullah corrected him. “Ah, Jordanian. I was close. I am German. Mr. Steele, your name is Western and you told me you were American, but your appearance is Egyptian also.”
“A disguise.”
“And the young lady, you are Middle Eastern too, are you not? Of course you are. I will not hug you without the permission of your father.”
Otto pointed first to Rayford, who shook his head, and then to Abdullah, who looked insulted. “Oh, you are old enough even if she is not yours.” He turned to Chang. “I know she does not belong to you, unless by marriage.”
Naomi approached him, arms spread. “My father is not here, but if the permission is mine to give, you have it.”
“Ah, I love the young ones who appreciate the old movies.”
When he had learned everyone’s name, Otto said, “I will be brief. I know you are on a mission and you must go. I did not know if I would find any brothers or sisters inside the palace, but I am so glad I did. My friends and I, we consider ourselves fulfillments of prophecy. Do you want to know why? We were holed up in Germany, hiding mostly but fighting the GC when we could, and God—who else?—led me to Revelation 18. It dumbfounded me; what else can I say? You know the passage. I have it memorized.
“I’m no scholar, no student, no theologian, but I try to stay a step ahead of my people so I can teach them a little. Well, Revelation 18 talks about the coming destruction of this city, this one right here. Beginning at the fourth verse it says, ‘I heard another voice from heaven saying, “Come out of her, my people, lest you share in her sins, and lest you receive of her plagues. For her sins have reached to heaven, and God has remembered her iniquities. Render to her just as she rendered to you, and repay her double according to her works; in the cup which she has mixed, mix double for her. In the measure that she glorified herself and lived luxuriously, in the same measure give her torment and sorrow; for she says in her heart, ‘I sit as queen, and am no widow, and will not see sorrow.’ Therefore her plagues will come in one day—death and mourning and famine. And she will be utterly burned with fire, for strong is the Lord God who judges her.”’
“Well, you could have knocked me over. ‘Come out of her, my people’? What were we to make of that except the obvious? People of God—at least some—were going to be here until just before this happens! Who were they? I could not imagine believers being here, and if they were, not for long. How could they be? If the GC and the Morale Monitors are killing people all over the world for not bearing the mark of Carpathia, what chance would someone stand here?
“We didn’t know, but we wanted to find out, and I tell you, playing hide-and-seek with the GC in Germany was getting old. Nearly forty of us packed up and headed this way—no easy trip, I want to say. It has not been easy living here either, but we knew it would not be when we came. We have lost six of our members since we have been here—four all at once, and two, I have to say, were my fault, to my eternal shame. But we will see them again, will we not? And I cannot wait.
“Something else I could not wait for was this plague of darkness. When it came and we realized that everyone was blind but us, I got it in my head I wanted to see this place—the compound, the courtyard, the palace and all—especially the potentate’s office. I could not get any of the others to come with me, so here I am, and who should I run into but you? Well, if we are fulfilling prophecy by being at least some of God’s people who must come out of here before the end, you are an answer to prayer if I ever saw one. We need a place to go if we are to come out, and what better place than where we will finally be safe? If you have connections at Petra, that is where we want to be, if they will have us.”
“Excuse me, Rayford,” Chang said. “This is all very interesting and exciting, but I need to show Naomi the, you know, inner workings David set up here, and then I think we need to get going.”
“Right,” Rayford said, “and I’ll feel more comfortable if Abdullah stays with you two. I want to head back to Carpathia’s office and see if Otto and I can crash the big meeting and see what’s going on.”
“Oh! I’d love that! As I said, I wanted to see his office anyway. That’s why I was there when you were, but I was so startled to see someone with the mark of the be—”
“Otto,” Rayford said, “we’ve got to move.”
Chloe had crouched by the passenger-side door long enough to almost talk herself out of what she planned. What if she rose into view of a driver waiting for his charges? She likely had the drop on him, and then what was she going to do? Disarm him? Keep him from the radio? Make him tell her where his people were and what they were up to? That would do nothing but give away the underground compound unless Chloe was willing to kill the man and try to run off the rest of them—provided he told the truth about where they were.
She finally told herself that if the truck was empty, she would merely make one wide reconnaissance loop around the compound to make sure the GC weren’t close or on to them or about to be; then she would head back for help.
Chloe released the safety on the Uzi, put her right index finger on the trigger, cradled the barrel in her other palm, and rose quickly.
Empty.
And so was she. She had been unaware of the effects of the adrenaline on her since she had ventured out of the service door, but the resultant crash of her system left her nearly immobile. She slumped by the truck to gather herself. Her arms and legs felt rubbery, and had Chloe’s senses not been on such high alert, she believed she could have tucked her chin to her chest and slept.
Though she couldn’t escape the feeling she was being watched—she imagined at least nine GC with scopes trained on her—she felt remarkably lucky, given how serendipitous her plan had been. That is to say, she hardly had a plan. And while she agreed with the Tribulation Force’s motto—“We don’t do luck”—it was difficult to attribute her safety so far to God when she felt so foolish for how she had again tested her destiny.
Chloe rose and began her scouting ring of the perimeter. As she moved silently in the darkness, feeling vulnerable and trying to be more thorough than quick, all she was aware of was the pace of her breathing and her thundering pulse.
By the time Rayford and Otto reached Carpathia’s suite of offices, the meeting had begun and the stragglers spilled out of the doorway of his conference room. Rayford saw Carpathia’s wretched glow, but it was obvious that only Leon Fortunato stood close enough to the man to take advantage of it.
Rayford gently put his hands on men in the doorway, and they gave way to let him slip through, Otto following. To be safe, they moved to the far end of the room, away from Carpathia. The potentate asked Krystall to call the roll, which she did almost entirely from memory. When she drew a blank on the last three names, she asked if she could read the rest of the list in Carpathia’s light.
“Better simply to have those whose names have not been called identify themselves,” Nicolae said.
As they were doing that, Otto touched Rayford’s arm and mouthed that he was tempted to call out his own name and see what kind of havoc that might wreak.
“If you gentlemen would kindly attempt to keep your outbursts to a minimum,” Carpathia began, “Director of Security and Intelligence Suhail Akbar has the first item.”
“Thank you, Excellency. Oh! Forgive me, sir, but I am in pain as well. Ah!”
“Suhail, please!”
“Apologies, Highness, but I don’t know what to—”
“Control yourself, man!”
“I shall try, sir. Our primary concern, ladies and gentlemen, besides the obvious, is that a—”
“What’s more important
than the obvious?” someone with an Indian accent said. “We’ve got to find a solution to this—”
“Who is that?” Carpathia demanded. “Raman Vajpayee, is that you?”
“Yes, sir, I simply want to know—”
“Raman, I simply want you to be quiet. How dare you interrupt a member of my cabinet?”
“Well, sir, it is most important that—”
“What is most important is that the only response to your offense is an abject apology, and it had better be immediately forthcoming.”
“I am sorry, Potentate, but—”
“That was hardly abject. At a time of international crisis, I cannot imagine such insubordination. I am of a mind—”
“To what?” Vajpayee said. “To put me to death as you do anyone who speaks his mind? I tell you, I would rather be dead than to live like this! In the dark! In pain! No relief in sight. And yet you carry on—”
“Show yourself, Raman! Do it now!”
The Indian rushed forward, pushing others out of his way. It was clear to Rayford that he was simply following the sound of Carpathia’s voice, unable to see even the glow. “I am here, within arm’s length of you! Kill me for daring to speak my mind, or reveal yourself as a coward!”
“Suhail,” Carpathia said, “take this man out and execute him!”
“So you are a coward! You will not do it yourself! At least give me that much respect.”
“I have only contempt for you, Raman. You have disgraced your position with the Global Community and I—”
