by Tim LaHaye
From inside the shack came hurried movement, heavy steps, one louder than the other, like someone limping. The door squeaked open a couple of inches and someone whistled. Or tried to. It was mostly air. Then came the second try.
“All right!” Mac shouted, so loud Chloe jumped. “You know who it is, so show yourself and let us in.”
The door opened in and struck the man or his weapon as he tried to get out of the way. “Right this way,” he said with a heavy accent.
Mac marched straight toward the door, and Chloe noticed he had a finger on the Uzi trigger. “Senior Commander Howie Johnson comin’ through with officers Irene and Jinnah. Stand aside, Peacekeeper.”
The man, clearly favoring one leg, hopped back against the wall, warily eyeing them and nodding a greeting.
“So which one are you?” Mac said. “Hercules? Constantinople? Who?”
“Socrates, sir.”
“Well, sure ya are. Awright, where is everybody, particularly my prisoner?”
“Not here, sir.”
Mac looked as if he were about to explode. He tilted his head back till his chin pointed at the ceiling. “Not here, sir,” he mimicked. He brought his eyes down to Socrates. “That’s all I git? Where are they?”
“They told me to tell you to read the fine print.” That took a second to register with Chloe, and from Mac’s look, with him too.
Mac dramatically moved past Socrates, flattening him against the wall again. He strode to the front door and kicked it shut so hard the window rattled and an echo came back from the trees. Mac turned on the man. “The fine print in what? You think I brought the Sebastian file with me into the woods?”
“I am only telling you what they—”
“Why don’t you just tell me what the fine print says?”
“They gave me this duty because I slow them down. I was attacked by the prisoner and he injured me with a kick to the—”
“I asked you about the fine print, man! What’d I miss? What’s the message?”
“That they have the right to move the prisoner at any time without informing the GC until—”
“Where are they, Peacekeeper? Where did they go?”
“They do not have to inform their superiors until they have reached their des—”
“Do you know where they are?”
“They thought they heard something long before it should have been you, so—”
“You understand English, Socrates. I know you do. Do—you—know—where—they—are?”
“I believe the reason they did not tell me was because—”
“You want me to believe they left you here alone to greet me and didn’t tell you where they’d be?”
“Because if I didn’t know, I could not tell the wrong person.”
“I hope you’re lying.”
“Sir?”
“I hope you’re lying, because then you can change your mind about telling me before you die.”
“Commander, I do not know!”
“Officer Jinnah, show Socrates what a twelve-gauge does to the front door.”
Chloe wondered if Mac was serious. Apparently Hannah did not. She lifted the shotgun toward the door with one hand, and as soon as the barrel was parallel to the floor, fired. It was as if a bomb had gone off. Chloe was deafened, but nothing was wrong with her eyes. A gaping hole appeared in the door, and the entire thing blew off its hinges and landed several feet from the shack.
“The next one goes in your face, Socrates.”
“But, sir!” he cried. “I—”
“Then get on your squawk box and tell your people I want to know where my prisoner is, and I want to know now!”
“But they—”
“Kill him, Jinnah.”
Hannah raised the shotgun as quickly and forthrightly as she had before, and Socrates immediately tumbled to the floor, tears streaming. “Wait! Wait!” He dug a walkie-talkie from his pocket, dropping his weapon in the process. “Socrates to Plato, come in, come in. Hello? Plato? I know you can hear me! Please! I need you!”
Mac shook his head as if he had no choice. “Jinnah?”
“No! Please! Wait! Elena! Elena, are you there? Come in now, please. I am not joking! Answer me! Aristotle! Aristotle, they will kill me! I know I was not supposed to call you, but I don’t care! Please, please come in or I die!”
Nothing. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head, weeping.
Mac knelt and put a hand on Socrates’ arm. “They’re not that far away, are they?”
He shook his head, sobbing.
“They’re close by, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “You might as well kill me, because I die either way.”
“What are you saying?”
“They said not to contact them, no matter what. Don’t tell, no matter what.”
“But they didn’t mean not to tell me, did they? Surely not. They meant if they were right about the sounds. If the wrong people showed up. They’re not afraid of GC, are they?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I do not understand. But I am a dead man.”
“Then what difference does it make if you tell me?”
Socrates seemed to think about it. He scooted back against the wall and wiped his eyes. He put his walkie-talkie back into his pocket. When he reached for his weapon, Mac said, “Just let that lie.”
Socrates seemed to be trying to catch his breath.
“Were they close enough to hear the shot?” Mac said.
“No. Maybe.”
“How close?”
“Five hundred meters east. There is a lean-to garage.”
Mac sat in an ancient stuffed chair. “Then they heard you calling for them.”
Socrates nodded.
“And they left you to die.”
CHAPTER 6
The celebrating, singing, and dancing at Petra continued into the dark of night. People by the thousands filed into the new pool to submerge themselves and to drink directly from the wide spring in the middle. Manna covered the ground, and Rayford was nearly woozy from its refreshing taste.
“Eating directly from God’s table,” he told Abdullah, “was something I never expected in this lifetime.”
Abdullah looked overwhelmed with joy. “How can this be, Captain? How dare we be so blessed?” The wording was lost on Rayford, but he knew what his friend meant.
A young woman, probably not yet twenty, approached. “Rayford Steele?” she said shyly.
Rayford stood. “Yes, dear.”
“Two things, if I may,” she said, speaking very slowly and holding up two fingers. “You understand?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Is it true you speak only English?”
“To my shame, yes. Well, a smattering of Spanish. Not enough to converse.”
“Do not feel bad, sir. I speak only Hebrew.”
“Well, your English is lovely too, young lady.”
“You do not understand.”
“I understand you perfectly. You speak English beautifully.”
She laughed. “You do not understand.”
Abdullah leaned in, chuckling. “And you are funny, young one. Speaking Arabic and yet talking about knowing only Hebrew. And, Rayford, how is it you know Arabic?”
The girl threw back her head and laughed again. “We all speak in our own languages and understand each other perfectly.”
“What?” Rayford said. “Wait!”
“Sir! I speak only Hebrew.”
“And Arabic,” Abdullah corrected.
“But no. I was forbidden to learn Arabic.”
“I need to lie down,” Abdullah said.
“You said there were two things,” Rayford said.
“Yes,” she said, holding up two fingers again. “Two.”
Rayford put a hand over her fingers. “No need. I understand you.”
She laughed. “The second thing,” and now she spoke more quickly, “is that Drs. Rosenzweig and Ben-Judah request an audience
with you.”
“With me? I should request an audience with them! I’m sure they are very busy.”
“They asked me to fetch you, sir.”
Rayford followed her over piles of rock that had been blown to pieces by the bombs. Just inside a cave, by light from a torch lodged in the wall, Chaim and Tsion sat with several older men. Tsion introduced Rayford all around and said, “The one we have been telling you about.”
The men nodded and smiled. “Praise the Lord, Rayford,” Tsion said.
“Continually,” Rayford said. “But forgive me if I am preoccupied.”
Tsion nodded again. “I too await word from our compatriots in Greece, and yet even now, the Lord quiets me with his peace and confidence.”
“He may be trying to communicate the same to me, brother,” Rayford said, “but that one of them is my daughter may affect my faith.”
Tsion nodded again and smiled. “Possible. But after what you survived here today, is it not fair to say that any breakdown in communication between you and the Lord has to be your fault?”
“Well, that goes without saying.”
“Oh, by the way, I am speaking Hebrew, and you are—”
“I know, brother. I have been all through that with the young lady.”
The others laughed and one said, “My daughter!”
“Lovely.”
“Thank you!”
“Chaim and I have been talking with these brothers about plans,” Tsion said. “We will be praying for the Tribulation Force members all over the world and are eager to see how God delivers them. But everyone needs accountability, and as Chaim and I are accountable to you, we—”
“Oh, Tsion, no! Surely we’re way past that! You’ve been the spiritual leader of the Tribulation Force for some time, and of the worldwide church of Christ for almost as long.”
“No, now, Rayford, hear me.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, you always flattered me by deferring to me as the titular leader of the Trib Force, but please . . .”
“These men, Rayford, are a good start for us here. They are the core of a group of elders I hope will eventually arise to help Chaim with the daily decisions. But they are, naturally, new to the faith.”
“As I am, Tsion. Surely you’re not suggesting—”
“Excuse me, Rayford, but you forget. None of us is terribly mature in the faith. In years anyway. I am not going to insult your intelligence by implying that I will seek your counsel on the Scriptures, though I cannot deny I have learned from you. But God put you in a strategic place for me at a very dark time in my life. If you do not mind, I would like to run past you some thoughts regarding the immediate future and get your feedback.”
“If you insist, but at least concede that it was not I who stood in the midst of a million people and saw God miraculously spare them from the fires of hell.”
Tsion looked at him with a twinkle in his eye, then turned to the other men. They laughed uproariously.
Chaim pointed at Rayford and chortled. “Was it not you? Then my eyes fail me!” He turned to Ben-Judah. “Tsion! Did I not see this very man standing in the midst of us, and could he have not seen what God did?”
“Well, okay,” Rayford said. “Point taken. But I was not the reason the enemy attacked, Tsion. You and Chaim were. And I was not preaching, not praying, not standing there full of faith when the bombs fell. Truth be told, my faith is stronger in the aftermath than it was in the fire.”
Tsion fell serious and ran a hand through his beard, studying Rayford. “You would make a good Israeli,” he said.
Rayford shrugged. “Zeke was going for the Egyptian look, but whatever.”
“No, I mean you argue like my countrymen. We could debate all night. And even when you are wrong, still you argue!”
That brought more laughter from the others.
“All right, Tsion. I don’t know why you would want to hold yourself accountable to one you find it so easy to ridicule—”
“All in good fun, my dear brother. You know that.”
“Of course. But anyway, I’m listening.”
Mac pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it on. “What’re they doin’, Socrates, your pals? Checkin’ us out?”
Socrates shrugged.
“C’mon, you won’t hurt my feelings. They trying to make sure we’re legit, that we’re not gonna jump ’em, embarrass ’em, what?”
Mac punched in Chang’s number.
“There are no cells out here, sir,” Socrates said. “You won’t get through to anyone.”
“Well, I wouldn’t if I had bad technology, would I? But what if I had a phone juiced by the sun and bounced by the satellites? Then I wouldn’t care whether you’ve got cells in the woods here, would I?”
“But you won’t be able to reach the commander unless—”
“This is Chang, Mac. You okay?”
“I’m fine, Supreme Commander, sir. Just checkin’ in to see if my phone works all the way to New Babylon.”
“Loud and clear, Mac. Talk to me. What’s going on? You in trouble? What can I do?”
“Fine, sir. How’s the weather there?”
Chang said, “I’ve got my screen open to the GPS, and I’m tracking you and, ah, Jinnah and Irene right to where you ought to be.”
“Hang on, boss. Just a second.”
Mac pretended to tuck the phone to his chest, but he held it lightly enough so Chang could hear. “What did you just say, Socrates? That I couldn’t use my phone in the woods?”
“Yeah, well, obviously you can, with the satellite and all. But you couldn’t talk to somebody unless they had the same thing is all I was saying.”
“Who would I want to talk to here with my fancy phone who wouldn’t have one?”
Socrates paled. “Well, like I don’t have one.”
“Who else?”
“My partners don’t either. We have regular.”
“Thought I was gonna call one of your partners, did you?”
“Well, no.”
“’Course not. Not unless their boss gave me their number, right?”
“Right.”
“But even then, I couldn’t call them out here, could I?”
“No. That’s all I was saying.”
“You were saying something else, weren’t you, Socrates?”
“No. I was just talking.”
“You thought I was calling Commander Stefanich, didn’t you?”
“No, I—”
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t think I could reach him.” Socrates nodded miserably. “But how would you know that?”
“I was guessing.”
“I can’t get through to him in Ptolemaïs, in the middle of all the cells?”
“You probably can.”
“But he’s not there, is he?”
“How would I know?”
“Because he’s here in the woods, isn’t he?” Silence. “Isn’t he, Socrates?”
He shrugged.
“So, how did he let you and your team know I was coming? Couldn’t call you, could he?”
“I am so stupid.”
“I’ll grant you that, Socrates. Not livin’ up to that name anyway, wouldn’t you say?” Mac turned back to the phone. “Sorry to keep you, Chief.”
“I’m way ahead of you, Mac. I can beam a signal to that phone of Stefanich’s that will make the bells and whistles blow, even if I can’t talk to him on it. He’ll get a text that Deputy Commander Konrad, who reports directly to Security and Intelligence Director Akbar, wants to talk with him immediately.”
“Sounds good, Chief. I’ll talk to you later. Things are going fine here.”
“When he calls, I will use the voice modulator that can make me sound like an old German, and I’ll tell him that Akbar himself is holding him personally responsible for giving Howie Johnson access to Sebastian.”
“Perfect.”
“And if he doesn’t call, I’ll
have that on his phone’s readout in time to help you out. Got you covered, Mac.”
“Ain’t that the truth, Commander!” Mac slapped the phone shut. “Lemme have that walkie-talkie, friend.”
“You’re going to get me killed.”
“Who, me? Nah. You’re a dead man anyway. Said so yourself.”
“Are you going to kill me? Or let her?”
Mac shook his head. “I’ll leave that to your partners. Look on the bright side. If they’re as effective as you are, you’ll be eatin’ breakfast in the morning as usual.”
Socrates stared at him.
“You eat breakfast, don’t you, Socrates?”
The man nodded.
“’Scuse me,” Mac said, and pretended to mash the button on the walkie-talkie. “Now hear this, Plato, Aristotle, and Elena. I don’t want to talk to any of you. I want Nelly Stefanich. Now, Nelly, I know you’re close by, and I admire your creativity, goin’ by the book and all. I’m not even insulted that you’re checkin’ up on me. I’ll make ya a deal. When you get confirmation that me and mine are all we claim to be, I want you to personally bring Sebastian to me. You know where I am. And bring that team of philosophers out from under their rock so I can see ’em. If you can get that done, Nelly, I promise not to take your command. Oh, and Nelson? That’s an order, and you’ve got thirty minutes.”
Mac turned and gave Chloe and Hannah a look. “Now, Socrates, you’re free to go.”
“What are you saying?”
“You heard me. Go on. Get out of here.” Socrates struggled to his feet, then bent to pick up his weapon.
“That stays,” Mac said.
“My radio then?” he said, reaching.
“Uh-uh. I’ll keep that too.”
“Where will I go?”
Mac shrugged. “That’s up to you.”
Socrates sat on the edge of a flimsy table and rubbed his knee. “I am a man with nowhere to go.”
“You wanna be here when—”
The man stood quickly, teetering. “No. No. But it is so far to town. And with no protection or radio . . .”
“I can’t help you, friend. You’re part of an operation that didn’t follow orders. You’re lucky to be cut loose, considering the options. If you want to be here when the rest of your team—”
“Ach!” Socrates hobbled to the front door. Mac signaled Chloe with a nod to watch him. He gingerly stepped through the wood chips and splinters and made his way out.
