by Tim LaHaye
“Is it you, Lord?” she said, breathless.
“No one can see God and live,” he whispered.
“Then who are you?”
“He sent me.”
“Praise God.”
“Yes, please.”
“Can anyone else see you?”
“Tomorrow. Not until then.”
“You’ll remind me of what God has promised?”
“I will.”
“You make me want to sing.”
“Do so.”
“Sing with me.”
“I am not here to sing but to speak. You sing.”
Chloe began singing. “‘When we walk with the Lord in the light of his word, what a glory he sheds on our way! While we do his good will, he abides with us still, and with all who will trust and obey.’”
“Shut up in there!”
Chloe sang louder. “‘Trust and obey, for there’s no other way to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.’”
“If I have to open this door, you’re going to wish I hadn’t!”
“‘Then in fellowship sweet we shall sit at his feet. . . .’”
That brought knocking—it sounded like with a stick—and Chloe laughed aloud. “They don’t like my voice,” she told her new friend.
“Or the words,” he said, and she laughed all the more.
“You going crazy in there?”
“No! Do you have any requests?”
“Only that you knock it off!”
“Sorry!” And she began again. “‘Standing on the promises of Christ my King, through eternal ages let his praises ring; glory in the highest I will shout and sing, standing on the promises of God.’”
“All right!” The small door flew open. The room went dark again. “You got a light in there?”
“Sure! The light of God.”
“I’m serious! What’ve you got in there?”
“Just the light of his presence.”
“If Jock gets back and finds you with something in there, you’ll regret it.”
“Regret the chance to surprise him? I don’t think so. Do you know how to sing harmony? Sing with me. ‘Standing on the promises that cannot fail . . .’”
The guard slammed the door.
CHAPTER 12
Rayford had only an inkling of what Buck must be going through. It had to be different for a husband than for a father. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” he told his son-in-law. “I have arranged with Lionel to leave us a two-seater. It’s fast, but it holds only so much fuel. We’ll have to take on more en route, maybe in Cypress. We’ll help get everyone else out of here; then we can sit at the airstrip for all I care. Fly to the Midwest somewhere, the South. Wherever you think we’d be closest to Chloe.”
“And do what?”
“We can take that little satellite TV and keep in touch with Mac and Otto and Krystall, see if we can get a clue,” Rayford said.
“You just want to be on the same continent when she dies, is that what you’re telling me?”
“Well, uh, no—”
“Dad, think about it. I don’t fly planes. You don’t have a backup pilot. Neither of us is military. You’ve got a two-seat plane for two guys, so there’s no thought of springing Chloe and bringing her along.”
Rayford sat and held his head in his hands. “I don’t know what else to do, Buck. I’m not leaving the States with her still in custody. But unless we find out where she is, I’m not putting a crew on it either.”
“Where’re we going to go?”
“How about Wisconsin, where Zeke was? He tells me the GC never nose around. It’s fairly central, so if we do get word, we can be on our way quick.”
Jock led Chloe to a dimly lit room about a hundred paces from her cell. “It’s just you and me tonight, ma’am. No playing off the other cop, no bright lights in your eyes, no pressure.”
But when she saw where she was supposed to sit, a steel chair bolted to the floor with leather straps on the legs and armrests, she said, “No, it won’t be just you and me, Jock.”
“What do you mean?”
“You alone cannot strap me into that chair.”
“I think I could, but you wouldn’t like it.”
“And I’d make you wish you hadn’t done it alone. I’m not getting strapped down for any reason unless I’m overpowered. Uh-uh.”
“How about we try this the easy way?” he said. “How about we just talk awhile and see if you need restraining?”
“No truth serum?”
“Not if you cooperate.”
“I can tell you right now I won’t.”
“I can’t persuade you to rethink this, be nice, help yourself?”
“No sir. For one thing, I have to use the ladies’ room, and I won’t even be sitting, let alone strapped in, until then.”
Jock sighed and walked her farther down the hall. “As you can imagine,” he said, “there’s no window in a prison john. The only way out is the way in, and I’ll be waiting.”
Mac was on the phone to Rayford from high over the Atlantic in the middle of the night. “When is Weser going to be at the palace?”
“By 8 a.m. their time.”
“I’m guessing top priority is anything on Chloe.”
“Right.”
“And then Carpathia’s plans.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll try him a half hour after he’s supposed to have gotten there. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
Chloe emerged from the dingy Stateville bathroom to find Jock with three guards, a woman and two men.
“So it’s not just the two of us, Jock?”
“Could have been. When you’re all strapped in and not happy, look in the mirror. At least by telling me up front, you saved wasting my time trying to talk you into anything and then having to rassle you into the chair.”
As Chloe walked down the hall, the woman grabbed her right hand and twisted it up behind her, while one of the men did the same with her left. She thought about protesting; she had made it clear to Jock she wasn’t going easy. As soon as they entered the small room, the third guard bent and scooped her off the floor by her ankles. The wrenching pressure on her shoulders made her cry out, but within seconds she was strapped in the chair.
The guards left, leaving a hypodermic with Jock. He shut the door and approached. “Last chance,” he said. “You’re not going to tell the truth without this?”
Chloe’s pulse sprinted until she noticed her friend from solitary sitting in Jock’s chair. “I’m not going to tell you the truth with it,” she said.
“Oh, this has broken stronger subjects than you,” Jock said.
He began by inserting a receptacle in a vein in her forearm. He did it with such precision it was clear he had experience. Chloe felt no pain, and he deftly taped it in place. Then he inserted a tube that ran to his side of the desk.
Jock sat and Chloe’s new friend stood behind him. She fought a grin, peeking at him over Jock’s head. “What are you looking at?” Jock said.
“Nobody you know,” Chloe said. There was some truth, if he wanted it.
Jock inserted the hypodermic into the tube. “When I push the plunger, it will inject 15 cc’s of serum, half an ounce, into your veins. You should feel little more than a relaxed mood. You probably know how this stuff works. It counteracts a chemical in your brain that inhibits overfrankness. But, of course, that is precisely what I want from you.”
“I can’t wait to hear what I have to say.”
“Say enough, and it’s life rather than death for you.”
“Oh, Jock, I think someone else here needs truth serum more than I do.”
“You doubt me?”
“You know as well as I do that no matter what I say, I still die.”
“Not necessarily.”
“You’re a liar. I know that, and that’s the truth, and if I’m not mistaken, you haven’t even injected me yet.”
“No, but enough of this. Here we go.”
Chloe’s visitor motioned from behind Jock like a music director, and Chloe began to hum. Then she sang quietly. “‘There shall be showers of blessing; this is the promise of love. There shall be seasons refreshing, sent from the Savior above.’”
“The serum doesn’t act that quickly, so don’t assume you’re singing the truth.”
“‘Showers of blessing, showers of blessing we need. Mercy drops round us are falling, but for the showers we plead.’”
“Nice tune.”
“Thanks. Nice lyrics too.”
Within a few minutes, Chloe felt the effects of the serum. It was strange. A sense of well-being, of trust, that she could feel free to say anything, anything at all. If she didn’t know better, she would want to help this man by answering his questions. No harm would come to her, and everything would be all right.
Except that she knew better. She looked past Jock. “How long will you be with me?” she said.
“As long as necessary,” the invisible man said.
“Hm?” Jock said. “As long as this takes. I got some rest. I can hang in here as long as you can.”
“Bet you can’t.”
“Try me.”
Chloe smiled. “I think you’ll find me very trying.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Mellow.”
“Good. That’s progress. What is your name?”
“Chloe Steele Williams, and proud of it.”
“What is your father’s name?”
“Rayford Steele.”
“And your husband?”
“Cameron Williams. I call him Buck.”
“Do you have a child?”
“Yes.”
“What is his name?”
“His name is very special to Buck and me, because he was named after two dear, dear friends and compatriots who died.”
“And what were their names?”
“If I answer that, you will know the name of my son.”
“And why should I not know the name of your son?”
“The less you know about him, the harder it will be for you to gain access to him.”
“I have told you we mean your son no harm.”
“That is a lie.”
“Anyway, you mentioned his name to your father on the phone. Kenny.”
Jock pushed the hypodermic plunger again, and maybe it was psychological, but Chloe seemed to feel an immediate rush. Strange, but the stuff did seem to be making her tell the truth, even if the answers were not what Jock wanted.
He was more red-faced than usual. Was she making him mad? She hoped so.
“Are you a member of an underground group subversive to the Global Community government and its supreme potentate, Nicolae Jetty Carpathia?”
“Yes.”
“Is it true that you do not believe the potentate is worthy to be called a deity?”
“Yes, and beyond that, we believe he is the Antichrist of the Bible.”
“Are you aware that that statement alone is punishable by death?”
“Yes, as well as I know that God desires truth, God’s law is truth, Jesus is the truth, and if you know the truth, it can set you free.”
Where did that come from? Thank you, Lord.
“Are you a member of a Judah-ite faction with a large cell group residing in San Diego, California?”
“Are you asking me who I am?”
“I am asking you are you a—”
“I am a follower of Christ, the Son of the living God. He is the one who is mightier than I, whose sandal strap I am not worthy to stoop down and loose.”
“What?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“Did the Judah-ites or a faction of the Judah-ites called the Tribulation Force have anything to do with the darkness that envelops New Babylon?”
“That was the work of God himself.”
“Do you or the group you represent seek to overthrow the government of this world?”
“That has already been done. It has simply not been played out yet.”
“The Global Community government has been overthrown?”
“It shall become known.”
“Do you worship the image of Nicolae Carpathia at least three times a day?”
“Never.”
“Will you tell me the whereabouts of your compatriots or any information leading to their capture? Primarily I am talking about your father, your husband, Dr. Tsion Ben-Judah, and Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig.”
“I would die first.”
Jock pushed the rest of the serum through the apparatus and sat picking at his fingernails for about five minutes. Chloe sang, “‘Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see.’”
Jock stood and looked out the door, breathing heavily. Presently he moved to Chloe’s chair and removed the surgical tubing and receptacle. He unstrapped her.
“We’re finished?” she said.
“No, but you have ingested the maximum dose. I’ve never seen anything like it. We can sit and chat for a few minutes, and if that last hit kicks in and makes you come to your senses, you let me know.”
“Let’s talk about you, Jock. What got you so fired up about Carpathia?”
“Oh no, we’re not going there. You can just leave me alone. You obviously believe what you believe. That’s impressive, I’ll give you that. Misguided, but impressive. That’s the problem with religious extremists.”
“Oh, that’s what we are?” she said.
“Of course.”
“You’d like to lump us with people who kill in the name of their faith, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re as extreme as they come, ma’am.”
“We don’t kill people who don’t agree with us. We don’t erect statues of our God everywhere and require by law that everyone bow and scrape before them three times a day. We offer the truth, show people the way, call them to God. But we don’t force them.”
Jock sat heavily. “Do you realize you’re going to die tomorrow?”
“I had an inkling.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Of course it does. I’m scared.”
“And you’re never going to see your husband, your baby, your loved ones and friends again.”
“If I thought that was true, that would be a different story.”
“I get it. Pie in the sky by-and-by. You’re all going to be floating around on clouds someday, playing your harps and wearing white robes.”
“I hope you’re right about the pie but not the harps.”
Jock shook his head. “You know we’re going to televise this to the world.”
“Spread some more lies about me first?”
“We say what we have to say to save face.”
“And you need to save face with me because this operation was a colossal failure, wasn’t it?”
“Could have gone better.”
“Could have? It couldn’t have gone worse! What’d you accomplish?”
“Well, when we find out where the rest of the cowards are hiding, we’ll have accomplished something.”
“You calling them cowards because they’re in hiding, or do you mean the rest of the cowards like me? You find me cowardly?”
“Actually no.”
“Do I get any last words tomorrow?”
“In your case we might not allow that. I can just hear you trying to preach a sermon, going off on Carpathia, trying to get people saved.”
“So, I get to say my last words only if they pass muster with the Global Community.”
“Something like that.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“We? Who’s we?”
Chloe stood and realized her friend was gone. She plunged on. “Jock, do you realize that the day is coming—and much sooner than you think—when everyone will have to acknowledge God and his Son?”
“Think
so?”
“‘It is written: “As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to Me, and every tongue shall confess to God.”’”
“Well, honey, not me.”
“Sorry, Jock. ‘Each of us shall give account of himself to God.’”
“My god is Carpathia. That’s good enough for me.”
“What about when Jesus wins?”
“He wins?”
“‘Therefore God also has highly exalted Him and given Him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.’”
“I hope all that gives you some comfort when you’re standing in the hot sun tomorrow morning, smelling that smell, seeing heads roll, and knowing yours will be next. Maybe I’m not the interrogator I thought I was, and maybe you paid a lot of money to be trained and prepped for truth serum. But there’s nothing that brings clarity to the mind like knowing you’re next in the guillotine line.
“I’ll be watching you in the morning, girl. My money says you’ll be shaking and wailing and pleading for one more chance to save yourself.”
At 8:30 a.m. Palace Time, Mac was still about seven hours from Petra. He called the number Rayford had given him for Otto Weser and identified himself.
“He is risen,” the German said.
“Christ is risen indeed,” Mac said. “What’ve you got for me?”
“I gotta tell you, Miss Krystall has been a gem. I wish she was on our side. She let me listen in on a conversation from a man named Suhail Akbar, head of Sec—”
“I know who he is, Mr. Weser. All due respect, cut to the chase.”
“Carpathia has assigned him and his people to do two things. First, get the government running in Al Hillah, and second, prepare for a real Oktoberfest for all the leaders of the world in Baghdad six months from now.”
“So, not in October?”
“That was just an expression. It’s going to be what you Yanks would call a big blowout. All the pomp and circumstance, flags, banners, light shows, bands, dancers, everything. If the lights come back on in New Babylon, the government goes home. But even if they do, the big deal still happens in Baghdad.”
