by Tim LaHaye
“They are saying,” she said, “that this is obviously an offensive from God Himself, and so what does the potentate have to say about that? Who will win? They want to know, who will win?”
Even the producers, who worked directly for the GC, sent in harshly worded demands to know why GCNN was ignoring their feeds. What, they asked, was more important than a cosmic disturbance like this, one that saw global panic and devastation? People were being killed, committing suicide, looting, rampaging. Yet GCNN ran wall-to-wall coverage of the war effort.
“Unity Army troops assigned to Egypt are already on their way back to the Valley of Megiddo,” intoned an anchorwoman, showing clips of overwhelming victories for the GC. “Reports from the northeast mirror these, and Unity generals report they will have their platoons back to Israel in plenty of time for the siege on Jerusalem.”
An interview with Carpathia himself showed the folly of the so-called objective coverage. The potentate was shown mounting his enormous horse, just outside the cargo plane that had delivered him and his generals to Ash Shawbak, about halfway between Petra and Buseirah. That put Carpathia and his people about ten miles east of the edge of his massive Unity Army that extended to the border of Petra.
“I am pleased with the reports from the south and from the northeast,” he said. “And now we are about to embark on one of our most strategic initiatives. A third of our entire fighting force will advance upon the rebel stronghold cowering in Petra. Intelligence tells us that a paltry defensive unit has rung the city round about, but they are hopelessly outnumbered and have already offered to surrender.”
Carpathia was interrupted by nearly continuous crashes of thunder, which he and the reporter appeared to ignore.
“Was this enclave not attacked twice before, Excellency?”
“Attacked would not be the proper term,” Carpathia said, making Chang laugh aloud. The first failed attempt saw the GC bring huge numbers of troops and weapons, only to see them miraculously swallowed up by the earth. The second was a double bombing that produced a spring of water that provided sustenance for the people to this day, and which also resulted in the inhabiting Jewish remnant and a few of the Tribulation Force being supernaturally protected from the ensuing firestorm.
“In fact,” Carpathia continued, “we made peaceful overtures to the leadership, offering amnesty for any who would voluntarily leave the stronghold and take the mark of loyalty. Our understanding is that many wished to make this move, only to be slaughtered by the leadership. Many will recall that it was this very leadership who assassinated me, serving only to give me the opportunity to prove my divinity by raising myself from the dead.
“Well, this time around, there will be no negotiating. Loyalists to our New World Order have either been murdered or have escaped, so intelligence tells us Petra is now inhabited solely by rebels to our cause, murderers and blasphemers who have thumbed their noses at every attempt to reason with them.”
The cameras homed in on the potentate as he was handed an almost cartoonishly oversized silver sword with gold rococo inlays and a garishly overdone handle. He strapped it around his waist, then theatrically unsheathed it with a long, slow, metallic screech. He pointed it skyward.
Chang couldn’t help praying silently that just one of those bolts of lightning would find that tip and roast the enemy where he sat.
“Therefore,” Carpathia said, “our plan is annihilation. I shall personally lead this effort, with the able assistance, of course, of my generals. We shall rally the troops as soon as we arrive, and the siege should take only a matter of minutes.”
As Carpathia yanked the reins and turned his mount to the east, racing off at a gallop, the reporter called after him, “All the best to you, holy one! And may you bless yourself and bring honor to your name with this effort!”
Chang called Mac and filled him in on the lunacy. “You guys ought to turn this on,” he said. “Things are coming to a head.”
Abdullah had heard the broadcast over the radio and flew over Ash Shawbak. Carpathia’s planes and rolling stock were visible, but Abdullah was a little high to make out individuals or horses. He could, however, see the Unity Army to the west and knew it wouldn’t take Nicolae long to get there.
The lightning exposed an army in disarray. The horses, naturally, were spooked by the light show and thunder, and it appeared to Abdullah that riders were fighting to keep their mounts from heading for the hills. What Carpathia thought he could do with this mess was a mystery.
And just like that, the lightning ceased.
As before, the sky was as black as coal. Unity searchlights looked pathetic, peering feebly into the murky blackness. They reached the thick, stewing clouds that hovered menacingly over the whole earth.
The cessation of the rolling thunder made the relative silence of the cockpit unearthly. Abdullah looked all around for what was to come next. And the longer he looked, the more he wondered how long the Lord would tarry. Those horses would be controllable now. Carpathia would surely believe victory was at hand.
Rayford directed Mac to find his radio in the other room. Mac brought it in, feeling his way in the utter darkness.
“You could turn on a light,” Rayford said, the ghostly silence unnerving him.
“Oh, please don’t,” Chaim said. “This darkness is of the Lord. Can you not feel it?”
“I feel it all right,” Rayford said. “Every part of me wants to be out in it. I would give anything to be at Carpathia’s side right now. I’d love to see the look on his face when he is chased back to Buseirah and then to Jerusalem.”
“How would you see anything at all?” Mac said.
Chaim said, “This is just a preliminary. At some point this darkness will turn to daylight. Carpathia will turn tail and run from the Son of Man, who will be the only source of light. Anyone near Nicolae will be able to see him, all right, and I am with Rayford in wishing I could be there. But I will be here, watching, worshiping, singing. And then we will all follow, tracing the route that brought us here. We will sweep across the great expanse and join Messiah when He triumphs in Jerusalem and then ascends the Mount of Olives, from which He was transfigured so long ago.”
“I’ve got to be on that trip,” Rayford said.
“Not in your condition,” Mac said.
Rayford shook his head in the darkness. “It’s going to be mighty lonely here.”
The sudden silence and abject blackness made Enoch fear rain again, and it sent him searching for his car. His ears still rang from the cacophony of the last hour, and as he staggered along, feeling his way with his toes, he finally picked up the faint glow of a few streetlights. He drove toward home, planning to drag a chaise lounge out of the cellar and enjoy the rest of the show from the yard.
Somehow Enoch had to find a way to get to the Holy Land as soon as possible after Jesus returned. He was confident he would see it in the sky—the return and all—but Jesus would apparently confine Himself to an earthly body once again, and believers from around the world would want to see Him. He would govern from Jerusalem, and the pilgrimages would begin immediately. He and the people from The Place would have to start raising money to finance this trip.
Sebastian was up to speed and debating what to do. His night-vision goggles were virtually worthless in this kind of darkness. That meant it had to be supernatural, because he had successfully used these underground where there was no source of light. He could make out nothing of the clouds now, and only the occasional vehicle light in the Unity Army ranks provided visual clues.
What was he to do if Global Community forces attacked before Jesus returned? He knew he and his people, and the entire remnant at Petra, were prophesied to be delivered in the end. But what about in the meantime? Was he to fight? to retaliate? to shoot? He knew he could do some damage because he and his forces already had. Would his people take fire, and would they be wounded or killed?
He was a military man, but this was as much a theological decision a
s a tactical one. Sebastian could consult with Dr. Rosenzweig, but the old man had enough on his mind. His purview was the remnant. Sebastian’s was the defense of the perimeter. Might it be as effective strategically to let the Unity Army overrun his position, knowing they were advancing into a trap of cosmic proportions?
It wasn’t the way he was trained, but then it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice anyway. Sure, he could stall them, slow them with surgically designed strikes from his directed energy weapons and fifty-caliber rifles. But no one could tell him whether that would do any good, or for how long he should try to hold them off.
Clearly there would be no holding back a force of that size for long. Ten minutes? Twenty? Surely no more than that. He could do some damage. But once the Lord arrived, Sebastian’s puny efforts would be meaningless. The question was, were they meaningless regardless?
CHAPTER 9
Coming up on the two-hour mark of the utterly silent blackness covering the face of the earth, Rayford sensed a restlessness in Chaim.
“I had better get to the elders,” the older man said. “This cannot go on much longer, and once the sign of the Son of Man appears, who knows how long it will be before the event itself?”
“‘Who knows’ is right,” Mac said. “Once that comes, I think I’ve talked myself into goin’ back out. You don’t mind, do ya, Ray?”
“’Course I mind, but I wouldn’t deprive you of that. I can handle the loneliness. It’s the jealousy that’ll be the issue.”
“You’ll forgive me,” Mac said.
“I will.”
“Want me to send Leah or Hannah or somebody to keep you company?”
Rayford pondered that. “Don’t think so,” he said. “Anybody else here might just prove to be a distraction.”
“I am going,” Chaim said. “This has been a wonderful memory.”
“Suit yerself, Doc,” Mac said. “I could take you for the ride of your life, you know.”
“I know. I am grateful. But until Messiah appears, I have responsibilities.”
Rayford heard him approach in the darkness and reached for his hand. Chaim took Rayford’s in both of his. “Mr. McCullum,” Chaim said, “join us, won’t you?”
Mac stepped close and Rayford felt a hand on his shoulder and assumed the other was on Chaim’s. “Revelation 1:3 says this,” Chaim said. “‘Blessed is he who reads and those who hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written in it; for the time is near.’ Amen.”
Rayford and Mac repeated the amen.
“Let me pray for us,” Chaim said, but before he could, Rayford’s eyes popped open, first at the sound, then at the light of something new in the sky. Rayford could compare the sound only to a downed high-tension power line he’d once seen bouncing and popping.
“O God, O God,” Chaim prayed as he too turned to look. Rayford could only stare.
He rocked up into a sitting position and leaned forward, peering out at what appeared to be lightning but was like none he had ever seen. Thick, jagged, and pulsing, a vertical yellow streak extended from about a hundred feet above the horizon to what he estimated was at least ten miles into the sky. Two-thirds of the way up it was crossed by a horizontal streak of the same thickness and half its length.
Rayford could not speak. He could barely breathe. Here, clearly, was the cross of Christ, emblazoned in the heavens in lightning that lingered, crackling with unbridled energy, yet striking nothing. He squinted at its brightness but could not turn his eyes from it. He felt full of awe, of wonder, of the love of God Himself. This was the sign of the Son of Man, and it was there for the whole world to see. But it was also personal, burning into his heart.
The blazing radiance of it lit the room. Chaim finally pulled away and left without another word.
Rayford stole a glance at Mac and nearly fell off the bed. Mac was black! And he appeared to be trying to say something. “Well, I’ll be,” was all Mac could manage, then, apparently noticing Rayford’s reaction, said, “It’s me, Ray. Zeke’s handiwork.”
“Mac, something’s happened to me.”
“Me too, buddy. It’s a-standin’ there plain as day.”
“No, something’s happened.”
“What’re you goin’ on about?”
Rayford slipped quickly off the bed and stood next to Mac at the window. “I’m standing,” he said.
Mac turned. “Don’t get ahead of yourself there, Ray. Let’s take this one step at a time.”
“I’m fine,” Rayford said.
“Are you sayin’—?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Mac. No pain. No wounds. Look at me.”
Rayford tore off his bandages. Even the hole in his temple was gone, though where Leah had shaved around the stitching, he still had no hair. He bent and yanked at the ankle wrap. Not even a scar. He jumped up and down, then loosened the plastic shin splint and kicked it free.
“You don’t say.”
Rayford whooped and hollered. “I do say! Let’s get out there, Mac! Get me into the air.”
“Now I don’t know about that, Ray.”
“Then sit here and watch, man, because I’m going!”
Enoch was cozy under a light blanket in his chaise lounge in the backyard when the sign appeared. He burst into tears and lifted his arms. “Praise God, praise God,” he said, and began singing every worship song he knew. The cross that extended from sky to sky towered, as the hymn writer had put it, “o’er the wrecks of time.” Something about the overwhelming majesty of it simply communicated victory.
For how long had he prayed and carried a burden for the inner-city people to whom God had sent him to minister? And for how long had he preached and taught and warned of this very day, this very event? He’d had no idea what form it would take, but this was perfect. “In the cross of Christ I glory,” he said, his voice thick.
Enoch slid off the cheap, rickety lounge chair and onto his knees, bowing before God. Though he lowered his head and closed his eyes, still the image of the cross in the sky stayed with him, as if burned onto the insides of his eyelids.
As soon as Chang saw the cross on every screen in the bank of monitors before him, he shouted for Naomi and she came running. Hand in hand they raced outside and up to their favorite spot. They didn’t speak. There were no words for this. They stretched out on their backs and stared and stared.
“Thank You! Thank You, God!” Abdullah exulted. At the first appearance of the sign he had pointed the jet directly at the cross and throttled to full power. Was it there, right in front of him, as 3-D objects had appeared to be in movie theaters when he was a child? It was as if he could reach out and touch it, but though his craft reached top speed in seconds, the cross never appeared to grow closer. Its horizontal arms, like those of Jesus Himself, seemed to welcome the entire world into its embrace.
The only logical follow-up was the Lord Himself, and Abdullah couldn’t wait.
For two hours Sebastian had not known what the enemy was waiting for, and maybe the enemy didn’t either. But the sign became an impromptu trigger, and suddenly the frisky horses of the Unity Army were on the move. Their riders, now clearly visible because of the pulsating cross in the sky, urged their mounts to full gallop.
And here they came.
“Big Dog One to all units,” Sebastian intoned into his radio. “Hold your fire. Wait. On my command.”
Protests from every side crowded his ears. “Hold, hold, hold,” he said, though platoon leaders from all around the perimeter reported the enemy literally yards away.
“Have you lost your mind?” Otto squealed from a quarter mile to Sebastian’s left.
“Have you lost your faith, Otto?”
“Ree Woo to Big Dog: It’s time, sir.”
“Hold.”
“Permission to speak my mind, sir,” came an urgent transmission from Razor.
“Denied. Follow orders.”
The front line of the Unity Army closed the gap in seconds. Sebast
ian stood his ground, facing horsemen with rifles pointed at him and others with swords drawn. He knew he was as visible to them as they were to him, the Petra perimeter suddenly bright as day. Only the sky behind the rugged cross was black with cloud cover.
The Unity Army opened fire and Sebastian winced, but he did not turn or seek shelter. A couple hundred of his own troops stood between the army and the hillside that led almost straight up to the rose-red city of Petra, and all were fired upon. Shooting from a galloping horse was no small chore, but surely some of the bullets should have found their marks.
The pings of shrapnel ricocheting off rocks filled the air, and the looks on the faces of the horsemen were priceless. Swordsmen steered their horses behind the mounted riflemen and one, clearly troubled but determined, came straight for Sebastian. George raised a hand and wiggled his fingers as if in greeting—or farewell—and the blade-wielding soldier swung his rapier in a wide arc while brushing past. It was as if the blade went right through Sebastian at the waist.
Sebastian was now adrift in the middle of the Unity Army, and horseman after horseman rode straight at him—some shooting, some hacking with their swords. None so much as jostled him. One stopped and spun his horse around to try again, only to be overrun by a wave of his own comrades who had nowhere to retreat to.
George turned and watched the assault on the hillside leading to Petra. The army had apparently underestimated the riders’ ability to stay aboard their mounts as the horses managed the steep terrain, and everything slowed to a halt. Those on the plain below kept coming, causing a traffic jam of biblical proportions. Soldiers shouted at one another. Commanders screamed orders that could not be followed.
