by Tim LaHaye
“But he has his man right there, Doctor! How hard would it be to intervene? Why can’t he just sweep her out of there and deliver her back to us? You know he could! He could have arranged for us to get word of where she was too. What have I done or not done that makes me so unworthy of a little consideration?”
Chang turned back to the screen to be sure he didn’t miss anything, but he could still hear Tsion earnestly counseling Buck.
“Cameron,” Tsion said, “that is your emotion talking. You know as well as anyone that this whole period, the entire Tribulation, is not about us individually. God has a master plan. It is the culmination of the battle between good and evil that has spanned millennia. He is reconciling his people to himself. We should be grateful we have been included. He has a bigger picture in mind, but it is also evidence of his eternal love for us. Trust him, my friend. Trust him no matter what.”
Chloe felt as if she were already in heaven. Caleb’s glow had blocked from her vision the hideous death of the first victim. She watched Jock struggle to his feet and dust himself off.
“Please, people, no one leave. We have had reports of these apparitions at other sites, though this is the first visit we have had here. This is a trick perpetrated by the spiritualists within the camp of the rebellion. Perhaps we should ask permission of the intruder if we may proceed with our program.” He turned to look at Caleb, pretending to be even more afraid than he was. Chloe could tell he had not persuaded the crowd that this was other than real.
“Kind sir,” Jock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “may we continue?”
Caleb’s voice, louder than ever, resounded off the prison walls. “You have been tried and found guilty for your crimes against the Most High God. That you bear the mark of the evil one condemns you to death. Nothing you do can improve your fate. Because you have worshiped the beast and his image and received his mark, you shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God. You shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb. And you shall have no rest day or night.
“That which the Lord God even thinks shall surely happen, and what he decides shall never change, for as the Scripture says, ‘The Lord of hosts has sworn, saying, “Surely, as I have thought, so it shall come to pass, and as I have purposed, so it shall stand.”’”
Jock stared up at Caleb with brows raised, then looked back at the crowd with a shrug. “Ask a simple question . . . ,” he said, and they laughed nervously. “I’ll take that as an indication that we may proceed, because, hey, bottom line, if he’s right and God’s got us in his sights, he can pull the trigger anytime he wants. But look who’s dying here today. Huh? Are you with me? Who’s dying? Let me hear you!”
No one responded.
“The so-called people of God!” Jock said. “The ones who chose him instead of the real god and our supreme potentate, Nicolae J. Carpathia! Come on, people, don’t be intimidated by big, shiny, transparent ghosts. Yeah, he’s scary. But all he’s done is interrupt a TV show and—get this—make it better! Is this great theater or what? The enemy shows up to rattle his saber, but he hasn’t changed a thing! You came to see heads chopped off, and that’s what you’ll see. These people can cry and pray and beg all they want, but they’re still gonna die!”
Chloe was thrilled to see the formerly undecided nine rise and find that six of them had the mark of the believer on their foreheads. Something within them must have confirmed this, because they lifted their hands and smiled despite their impending fate. The other three looked miserable, and Chloe assumed they were among the hard-hearted who may have been desperate to change their minds but had waited too long.
Jock, for all his bluster, was either more intimidated by Caleb than he let on or he still had the TV schedule in mind. “Let’s shake things up a little, shall we?” he said. “I want one of the ten without the mark of Carpathia at each of the guillotines, all at the same time. Now! Move! Collectors, see to it! We’ll do them all at once and get back on schedule. Any of you who still want the mark, say so now.”
The woman ahead of Chloe and the six others she had seen with the mark of the believer stayed where they were, while the other three scrambled to the mark applicators.
The collectors grabbed the remaining seven without Carpathia’s mark, including the woman ahead of Chloe. She turned and they embraced. “Be strong and trust God,” Chloe said. They dragged the woman to the middle machine.
Not one of the seven struggled or fought or had to be forced to kneel and lay their necks in place. “We’ll do it on three!” Jock shouted, and the crowd, though still clearly wary of the huge, glowing stranger, began to come alive with anticipation.
Chloe lowered her head and closed her eyes, determined not to be one who watched the execution of children of God. But even with her eyes shut, she noticed something and looked up to see that Caleb had filled the entire courtyard with a light so bright that no one could see anything. It wreaked havoc on the TV cameras, and cameramen and technicians began hollering for help, pleading with Jock to wait.
“We will not be delayed by this trick of the enemy!” Jock said and counted to three. The sickening sound of the heavy blades echoed, and the people cheered, but because of the blinding light, no one saw the deaths, there or on television anywhere in the world.
Chang sat back and studied the screen. He signaled to Naomi to come over. “Did you see that?” he said. “If the angel does that for Chloe as well, we won’t need to switch the feed. He’ll accomplish the same thing for us.”
“But he’s gone,” Naomi said. “Look.”
She was right. The prison courtyard looked normal again. The executions proceeded on schedule for the next half hour, each death preceded by the typical preliminaries—graphic depictions of the condemned’s crimes.
With the absence of Caleb, the crowd had returned full-throated—hissing, booing, cheering, applauding. The collectors were filthy with splattered blood and dust, and they seemed drunk with the thrill of their task.
Chloe had stood in the hot sun for more than an hour, mostly averting her eyes from the ghastly panorama of horror. Weak from hunger, parched with thirst, and dizzy from standing, she fought to maintain her emotions. She prayed and prayed that God would grant her an opportunity to speak for him, and that she would be able to articulate what was in her mind.
Chloe missed Caleb. When he was there it seemed she basked in the glow of glory and felt the presence of God. Now she knew God was with her, but it took more faith. She tried to anticipate that she was just moments from the presence of almighty God, and she thrilled to the idea that she would soon fall at Jesus’ feet.
But now she stood in the heat of the day, dust kicking up around her, and noticed the sympathetic looks of the mark applicators and the other officials at each desk who had processed the condemned. They had been through this before, had seen the so-called guest of honor ridiculed and humiliated, as if beheading weren’t enough.
More than thirty minutes after Caleb had interrupted him, Jock was full of himself. He had warmed to the task and, Chloe assumed, could taste his promotion, could picture himself in the corridors of power in Al Hillah with the potentate himself.
Still facing the crowd, Jock switched to a cordless microphone and began moving toward Chloe. “And now the moment we have all been waiting for,” he announced, and the people began to clap.
As he reached Chloe, he touched her shoulder and turned her to face the stands. He stood there with his arm around her, and though repulsed, Chloe was struck by how gentle he was. His fingers were spread, palm open, as he enveloped her shoulder. In her flesh she wanted to wrench away and spit at him, but she was aware of the international television audience and that this was her last opportunity to impact anyone for Christ.
“It’s often customary to give a celebrated case a few last words,” Jock said. “But I have been debating this. What do you think?”
Some screamed, “Get it over with! Ki
ll her! Let’s see that pretty little head in a basket!”
Others clapped and yelled, “Let her speak!”
Jock looked at a stage manager, and Chloe saw the woman signal that he had time to fill.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Should I or shouldn’t I?” The crowd started in again. “While we’re thinking about that,” Jock continued, “let’s watch this tape of the crimes we’re avenging today.”
The assembled hooted and hollered as monitors showed a lavishly produced history attributing all sorts of evils to Chloe, the Judah-ites, the Tribulation Force, and the International Commodity Co-op. Chloe was surprised to see that many of the plagues and judgments that had come from heaven the past six years were somehow charged against her and her compatriots’ accounts.
Finally, the phony charges against her father and her husband were shown, along with the bogus picture of a two-year-old boy she had supposedly named after Jesus and claimed was God reincarnate.
“Despite all this,” Jock said, “this little lady did an almost complete about-face when confronted with her own mortality. In order to take some of the heat off her family, particularly her god-in-human-flesh child, she sang like a canary behind closed doors. She gave us so much information that we have to concede that Chloe Steele Williams has done more than we ever could to help wipe out the last vestiges of the most significant rebellion the New World Order has ever faced.”
The people cheered.
“So, maybe she’s said enough! Maybe she’s said too much already! Maybe we should just get on with this! What do you say?”
More applause, stomping, shouting.
“Mrs. Williams gave up her friends and relatives and coconspirators, but in the end she still refused to pledge her loyalty to the real god of this world, the resurrected Nicolae Carpathia.”
Boos filled the courtyard.
“And so, Mrs. Williams,” Jock said, turning toward her, “unless you’re ready to change your mind about that, I believe we’re ready to proceed with justice.”
Chloe reached for the microphone, but Jock held it tight. “Ah, ah, ah!” he said. “No speaking privileges for you unless you’re ready to take the mark of loyalty to the throne of the leader of the Global Community.”
But she continued to reach, and now both their hands were on the mike. “Are we witnessing a historic moment here, folks?” Jock said. “You understand, Mrs. Williams, that taking this microphone also means taking the mark of Carpathia?”
She took the microphone, and Jock turned to the crowd with both arms extended, then led them in a huge ovation.
“Sir, you told me if it were up to you, I would get to say a few words. Is it up to you?”
Jock reached for the mike. “That is not the arrangement! You may speak only if you surrender to the mark.”
Caleb appeared behind Chloe again and merely raised a finger and gestured no to Jock. Jock froze in place and toppled backward, his arm outstretched, still reaching. In spite of themselves, the crowd laughed while Jock reddened and perspired, rigid.
Chloe turned to the people and spoke softly. “A famous martyr once said he regretted he had but one life to give. That is how I feel today. On the cross, dying for the sins of the world, my own Savior, Jesus the Christ, prayed, ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.’
“My personal preference? My choice? I wish I could stay with my family, my loved ones, my friends, until the glorious appearing of Jesus, who is coming yet again. But if this is my lot, I accept it. I want to express my undying love to my husband and to my son. And eternal thanks to my father, who led me to Christ.
“A famous missionary statesman, eventually martyred, once wrote, ‘He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.’ He was talking about his life on earth versus eternal life with God. In my flesh I do not look forward to a death the likes of which you have already witnessed thirty-five times here today. But to tell you the truth, in my spirit, I cannot wait. For to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. And as Jesus himself said to his Father at his own death, ‘Into Your hands I commit My spirit.’
“And now, ‘according to my earnest expectation and hope that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. . . . For I am hard pressed between the two, having a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better.’
“And to my compatriots in the cause of God around the world, I say, ‘Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, did not consider it robbery to be equal with God, but made Himself of no reputation, taking the form of a bondservant, and coming in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.
“‘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.
“‘Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us . . . and to present us faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, to God our Savior, who alone is wise, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and forever.’
“Buck and our precious little one, know that I love you and that I will be waiting just inside the Eastern Gate.”
Chloe bent and laid the microphone on Jock’s unmoving chest and without escort found her way to the base of the middle guillotine. As she knelt and laid her head under the blade, Caleb’s glow blinded the eyes of the world. Chloe heard only the pull of the cord and the drop of the sharpened edge of death that led to life eternal.
INTERLUDE
Fifteen hours later Buck staggered from Rayford’s plane, jet-lagged and bleary-eyed, but more than anything aching to hold his son. Abdullah had driven to the airstrip just outside Petra, and Ming had ridden along, holding the boy. Buck gathered him up and held him tight, his tears streaming down Kenny’s back.
As the five rode toward the Siq that led into Petra, Abdullah radioed ahead their estimated time of arrival. “I hope you don’t mind, Buck,” he said, “but Dr. Ben-Judah would like to hold the memorial as soon as you and Rayford get there.”
Buck was overwhelmed at the turnout. Several hundred had gathered at the high place, within the sound of rushing water from the stream. Acquaintances had made way for Buck’s and Chloe’s closest friends to gather in the front. Hard as it was with Kenny’s arms still wrapped tightly around his neck, Buck sat on a rock shelf and took in the scene.
Tsion and Chaim stood in the middle, waiting for people to settle. In an inner half circle, facing Buck and Kenny and Rayford, were George and Priscilla Sebastian and Beth Ann. Ree Woo and Ming Toy held hands close by. And fresh in from Illinois were Lionel Whalum and his wife, Felicia, along with Leah Rose and Hannah Palemoon.
Buck nodded to Zeke, who stood near Abdullah and Mac. Not far away Chang sat on a rock with his new friend Naomi. They appeared very comfortable with each other already, which Buck noticed seemed to catch the eye of Naomi’s father, Eleazar Tiberias, standing nearby.
Tsion raised a hand for silence. He began quietly, but Buck got the impression everyone could hear him over the rushing water. “I brought with me today my personal Bible. As you can understand, the elders and particularly Dr. Rosenzweig and I are constantly studying the Scriptures and commentaries and Bible dictionaries, trying to make sense of what is happening in these last days.
“These are academic pursuits, and while they bear on everyday life here, they can also be devotional exercises. Every day on every page we see the fingerprints of God himself, working his will in our midst and in this world.
“But today
I bring the Word of God that is not just part of my theological library but rather is the text I have studied since a few years before the Rapture. As you know, my life changed when I discovered that Jesus was the Messiah I had so long sought, and I discovered that not only because of the Rapture, but also because I had been commissioned to study the prophecies concerning Messiah.
“To do this, I had to purchase a copy of both the Old and New Testaments, which was to me—at the time of the purchase—more than an embarrassment. I worried I would be an anathema not just to my colleagues but to my God as well.
“I was onto the truth before it was proved to me by the Rapture, and soon after that I made the knowledge of the true Messiah my own faith. And suddenly this book—” he held it aloft—“became my very life’s bread. It had gone from a necessary piece of textual research, which I bought apologetic and red-faced, to my most prized possession.
“When my family was massacred, I clung desperately to it for life. It became a physical symbol, a talisman if you will, of the Word of God that signified to me Jesus, the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the living God, the Lamb who was slain to take away the sins of the world. I once read of a great theologian whose personal Bible became so precious to him that at times he found himself reaching out and patting it, almost caressing it as he would a son or daughter or spouse. That seemed strange to me, but I grew to understand it, to identify with it.
“I love this book! I love this Word! I love its author, and I love the Lord it represents. Why do I speak of the Word of God today when we have come with heavy, heavy hearts to remember two dear comrades and loved ones?
“Because both Albie and Chloe were people of the Word. Oh, how they loved God’s love letter to them and to us! Albie would be the first to tell you he was not a scholar, hardly a reader. He was a man of street smarts, knowledgeable in the ways of the world, quick and shrewd and sharp. But whenever the occasion arose when he could sit under the teaching of the Bible, he took notes, he asked questions, he drank it in. The Word of God was worked out in his life. It changed him. It helped mold him into the man he was the day he died.
