by Tim LaHaye
“Then who?” Hibbings boomed out, loud enough that his voice reached the gallery. “By all means, name names, Mr. President.”
The president paused. And then he looked to his lawyer, Harry Smythe, who smiled and nodded to his client. Hewbright was ready to answer.
“Here in the Senate there is a procedure—we all know it—called special orders. The ability, sometimes late at night, after the regular business of the Senate has been completed, for a senator to place on the congressional record some additional thoughts. Many times those comments are preserved when there is only that single senator present, talking in these chambers, and the audio taping system of course is recording it all.”
“We all appreciate your recollections of Senate procedure, Mr. President. But I don’t see the relevance—”
But Hewbright kept talking and cut right through. “And there was this one evening—I was a senator back then when it happened—and another senator was talking during special orders. I was standing in the back, and I don’t think that senator saw me. Except for the two of us it was an empty Senate chamber. Thinking back to that night, I imagine that man was baring his soul a little because he felt safe to do so, entirely alone with his thoughts. I can’t recall the legislative issue he was addressing at the time, but regardless, what that senator said was profoundly true. I made a point of remembering it. He said, ‘The government of the people, by the people, and for the people, has one duty above all others: it must preserve the American Republic and the constitutional rule of law upon which it is founded. Because if those foundations be removed, how can our house be saved from ruination?’ ”
Hewbright continued, “Now I was up in the far corner, listening. That senator and I were from opposite parties. Often locked in bitter disputes. But what he said that night was true and right and it has stayed with me ever since.”
Attorney Hibbings sneered. “And we are to believe, Mr. President, that this little tale about that unknown senator has stayed with you all these years and was conveniently retrieved from your memory just in time for your impeachment trial?”
“No, Mr. Hibbings,” Hewbright said in a gentle voice. “Not an unknown senator, but a very known one.” And with that, he looked over to the tall judicial chair at the bench above him, and into the eyes of the chief justice sitting in it. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Chief Justice? Because those were your words spoken that night, back when you were a senator, in these very same Senate chambers.”
And with that, Hewbright turned to the hall full of senators and members of the press and citizens up in the gallery. He now asked his own question. “Mr. Chief Justice, and ladies and gentlemen of the Senate, I have to ask myself: How is it, exactly, that we have allowed this nation to sink down to this miserable state of affairs?”
PARIS, FRANCE
At three in the morning Paris time, the Allfone on the table next to the bed started ringing. Vlad Malatov bolted up from sleep and reached over to tap the Receive icon on the cell.
“Who is this?” Malatov asked.
It was Henry Bender on the other end, calling from New Jersey. “I’m the newsboy. Morning paper.”
Malatov glanced at the time function on his Allfone. “Talk.”
“The Senate finished deliberating. My contact says they just returned to the Senate chambers and voted.”
“And?”
“Failed. Two votes shy of removing Hewbright.”
Malatov didn’t say anything.
“A little surprising,” Bender continued. “They thought it was a done deal. So congratulations, I guess, to you. Sort of like being awarded a government contract, huh?”
On the other end, Bender laughed a little at his own pun, but Malatov gave no response as he sat in bed.
“One more thing,” Bender added. “This is a rush-rush deal. There’s a lot riding on this. A lot of moving pieces. My boss says that any delays—”
Malatov clicked off the call and tossed his Allfone down on the table. He stood up and stretched his rock-hard muscles a bit, and then walked over to the window of the hotel room. He had picked that hotel because it was situated within walking distance of the Gare du Nord train station, a quick, low-security mode of transportation to the first of several airports he would take. It would be a circuitous route, but necessary to shake off any snoopers who might be following him.
He looked down to the street where, on the other side, sat a McDonald’s sign. The hamburger restaurant stuck out conspicuously from the Parisian architecture.
“Americans,” he muttered. And then he smiled.
THIRTY
WHITE HORSE, YUKON TERRITORY
John Galligher stood on the back porch of the vintage gold rush hotel. Chiro Hashimoto had done a nice job setting it up as a front for a major satellite/Internet control center for the Remnant, but Galligher was restless for the kind of action he was used to as a guy who tracked down terrorists for a living. He was now on a call with Ben Bolling, a former FBI colleague of his. It had taken him awhile to track Ben down.
As the two of them talked, Galligher gazed at the outline of the Golden Horn Mountain, wondering how he had ended up in this northern wilderness, particularly as a former New Yorker.
Bolling was talking. “I don’t get the point of this, John. You want to know if I can renew my old connections with the Secret Service?”
“That’s it,” Galligher answered brightly.
“Why?”
“For the good of the order.”
“Any other reason?”
“Saving America.”
“Keep going . . .”
“And because Ethan March wants it.”
“So this would be something for the Remnant and Joshua Jordan’s old Roundtable, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”
“I like to spice things up with a little intrigue. You know, surround myself with some veiled mystery.”
“I don’t have time for much mystery these days,” Bolling said. “When I left the Bureau I wanted some predictability to my life. Something my wife wants too. And a little peace and quiet.”
“Then I’m afraid you picked the wrong decade to live in. Just look at the world around you, Ben.”
“Actually, I’d rather not.”
“Okay, I need to tell you that this involves President Hewbright. You saved his butt once upon a time.”
“He wasn’t the president back then.”
“No, just a presidential candidate. Now the stakes are even higher.”
“Yeah. And my chances of getting close to a sitting chief executive, especially since I left the FBI, are zero to none. And by the way, that last mission I did for you, I ended up having to spin a whale of a tale to my wife as a cover story. When she found out I hadn’t been on a fishing trip, but that I was trying to stop an assassination attempt, she had me sleep on the couch for a month. She told me my marital crime wasn’t the fact that I was walking into danger. No, it was the cover-up. It always is.”
“Really? A whole month on the couch? Helen, my ex-wife, was never that bad. Even she had a maximum of ten days for me, tops.”
“Look, John, I’d love to chat, but I’ve got things to do.”
“Sure, important stuff, I’m sure,” Galligher snapped back. “Like letting the cat out and mowing the lawn.”
“Actually, John, our old cat died,” Ben said with a comic attempt at solemnity. “Puss ’n’ Boots was twelve. Thanks for bringing up painful memories.” Then he added, “By the way, since leaving the Bureau I’ve taken up a new hobby: I’ve begun collecting old battle pieces. Created my own ancient armory. You know, swords, shields, breastplates. English, Spanish, that sort of thing. It keeps me busy.”
“Ben, no offense, but I’ve got a better idea for your spare time. What if I were to tell you that you’re being called to play a role in the final chapter of God’s master plan for the whole human race?”
“See, that’s another t
hing: I think that I liked you better before you got religion and became St. Francis of Assisi. At least back then you didn’t sermonize me.”
“I only wish I didn’t have to,” Galligher replied, his voice softening. “But I know what I know. And now I realize the world is in a mess and everything is lining up, just like the Bible said it would. And that Jesus is coming back pretty soon on a big white horse. And that the day after the entire Jordan family and a whole lot of other people got raptured off this planet, I finally got down on my knees and really got down to business with Jesus—and yes, I admit at the time I was crying like a junior high kid—was the smartest day of my life. And for me, that’s saying something. Because I was never that smart to begin with.”
“Clever, John, using the old ‘Aw, shucks, I’m just a dumb old FBI guy’ routine.”
“You know,” Galligher said, “the trouble with being clever, which I guess I’m guilty of, rather than being smart like you are, is that people just chalk my comments up to witty repartee and don’t listen. Even when I’m right. Which happens to be the situation in this case. About God, I mean. One of the few things I can claim to really be right about, by the way.”
There was silence on the other end for several seconds. Then Ben spoke. “Look, I’ll do this much for you. I’ll find out who I may know that’s still on the Secret Service active list. You’re talking about the plainclothes White House detail, right?”
“That’s it.”
“I’ll start making calls. May take me a couple of days,” Bolling said.
“How about a day or two, tops?”
Ben Bolling gave an exasperated sigh followed by a little grunt on the other end. “Not sure about that. We’ll see. Just don’t expect much from me.”
After Ben clicked off, Galligher strolled into the lobby of the old hotel. Bobby Robert was manning the check-in desk again.
“Say, Bobby, have you ever had a real customer in this place?”
“Yuh, two.”
“Really? How’d that go?”
“One guy complained because the bed was lumpy.”
“How about the other?”
“He said it was creepy that he was the only one staying here.”
“Great. Well, I’m going upstairs to see Chiro,” Galligher announced. He trotted up to Tron Central. As usual, Chiro was immersed in his complex of cables and hard drives. When he noticed Galligher, he rolled his chair around and greeted him. “How was your phone call?”
“Good, I think. But something popped in my head while I was talking.”
“What was that?”
“About my ex-wife, Helen. I’m thinking I should probably try to touch base with her once again. You know, keep trying. Even though it’s a little like putting my finger in a wall socket.”
“That sounds like a good thing to do,” Chiro said. “Share the gospel with her, right?”
Galligher gave a quick nod and then said, “Oh, and one other thing. I think we need to stay close to home. No more restaurant runs for Chinese take-out.”
Chiro groaned with disappointment. “How come?”
“Nothing I can put my finger on. Just call it an ex-special agent’s intuition, that’s all. And I’ve had negative vibes about that express delivery guy—the one who brings those parts you’ve been ordering. Just a feeling about him. The Alliance is offering a reward for any information on activities of the Remnant. You never know who’s after the money.”
“Okay,” Chiro said. “You’re the boss. I wouldn’t want this place to get raided. I’m very close to finishing our communications platform. Thanks for thinking about security. For manning the walls for us.”
“Sure.” Galligher flashed a smile. But inside his head he was thinking about a trip he’d taken once to do some sightseeing at the Alamo. The Texans manned the walls of that place too. The problem was simple math: about two hundred Texans on the inside of a small fort and fifteen hundred Mexican troops on the outside. He started counting up the couple of weapons he had brought with him to the Yukon and thinking about the half a dozen guys at most who were with him there in White Horse. Most of them had never handled a weapon, he was sure, except maybe Bobby Robert.
That’s when he decided to change the channel in his head. Get a hold of yourself, Galligher. Don’t start getting paranoid just because the driver from Blazin’ Fast Delivery gives us strange looks.
THIRTY-ONE
JERUSALEM, ISRAEL
A showdown was coming. The local Remnant members, including Rabbi ZG, all sensed it. The rabbi was thinking about that as he locked the door of his little apartment on an alley off of Misgav Ladakh Street in the old Jewish Quarter. He was lagging behind schedule that morning. The Two Witnesses, as they were now called, were already on their way to the temple area where Global Alliance troops would undoubtedly be waiting for them.
Rabbi ZG, Micah, and a few of the Jerusalem inner circle knew the two men by the code names they used for themselves when in trusted company: Tishbite is what the shorter, stocky one called himself, and Mashah was the name used by the taller one. The rabbi, an astute scholar of the Old Testament, didn’t miss that; he had figured out the true identities of the men in the rough, camel hair robes. As he thought about it, it shook him down to the soles of his feet.
But as Rabbi ZG turned the key in his door to lock it, he heard a noise and turned around. Half a dozen Global Alliance police were hustling up the steps toward him. A plainclothes detective was still down on the street level, and he shouted up to him, “You are under arrest, Rabbi. Please do not resist.”
“I will not resist—” Rabbi ZG began to reply, but couldn’t complete his sentence because the first two Alliance cops in the front of the gang grabbed him and threw him to the ground, binding his wrists behind him.
The detective from the Alliance strolled up the stairs to the porch and bent down in a crouching position to address the rabbi where he lay on his stomach. “I need some information about your two friends.”
Rabbi ZG didn’t reply.
This time the detective shouted it. “Our sources tell us you are in collaboration with these so-called Two Witnesses. Where are they?”
Rabbi ZG’s voice was calm. “If you have eyes to see and ears to hear, your question will be answered soon enough.”
The detective stood up quickly. “Enough with the riddles. Take him out of here.”
On the Western Wall plaza, a massive crowd of more than ten thousand milled around. The word had spread through Jerusalem that the two men who had summoned a miraculous wall of fire up at the Yad Vashem memorial were going to appear at the foot of the Temple Mount.
Pockets of protestors appeared too—the Neo-Pagan Association with more than two hundred of its members from their headquarters in the Morasha section of Jerusalem; a couple dozen homosexuals who had come from the Man2Man Love Club on Aba Sikra Street near the Herod family tomb; about five hundred members of the Anti-Colonialist Union for Global Unity who happened to be in town for a conference; a large contingent of local leaders of the One Movement; and assorted activists from animal rights groups and creation worship networks.
No one actually saw the Two Witnesses appear. But when they were spotted, the mob began to spontaneously push and shove back in order to create a space for them, as if a bomb had been discovered.
In the middle of the plaza the Two Witnesses at first stood still. Then they began to walk in tandem, as if in a slow ceremonial dance, in a circle along the outer reach of the space that had been cleared for them. As they walked along, the crowd stumbled backward in a wave.
Then the Two Witnesses stopped in their tracks. Tishbite, the shorter man, spoke first, his voice tough and coarse like the camel hair robe he wore.
As the Lord lives, I am the man of God. And I speak the Word of the Lord. And I speak to you, who are fathers and mothers. You have forsaken the souls of your children. You have allowed them to wander aimlessly. Without truth. You have poisoned them with the lies of the evil one
and allowed them to follow after false gods, filthy pleasures, and vile entertainments, craving words that tickle their ears but leave their hearts empty. You have failed to teach them the true meaning of love because you have not taught them that God Himself is the Author of love, having given His Son, Jesus, as a ransom for many. You have failed to teach them truth, for Jesus is the Way and the Truth and the Life, and the Word of God is truth. You love your dogs more than your sons and daughters. Your own children have fallen into the pit and yet you will not rescue them.
And you, the sons and daughters of this generation, you have dishonored and disgraced your fathers and mothers and cursed them to their faces and ridiculed their teachings, and you have played the fool because you have made yourself the measure of all things, and you boast in your own pride of life, not knowing that your measurement is nothing and your pride will come to nothing, and that your golden youth will perish like the grass of the field. Beware—a reckoning is coming. The Christ, the Holy One of God, who is Jesus, is coming again, and He will rule with righteousness when He comes.
So, you fathers and mothers, and you sons and daughters, seek wisdom that can be found in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last. You have sinned and fallen from a great height. But there is only One who can catch you. His name is Jesus. The One who died for your sins and rose from the grave victorious in this very city. This same Jesus who is salvation for all who call on His name in faith and who believe that He is the Resurrection and that He gives the waters of eternal life.
Then the taller witness called Mashah began to speak. When he did, even though his voice faltered and there was a strange thickness to his speech, his words burned like a fire, as if his words were spoken from the top of some ancient and holy mountain.
Do not let your hearts be stubborn and hard. I have seen what terrible things can come of a hardened heart. It was true for the pharaoh of Egypt, and it is true for you. Open your hearts to the Word of the Lord while it is still day. For the night is coming fast. And when it comes, the Light will be hard to find. But you shall know that the Lord is God. You may know it, if you seek Him with your whole heart and bow before His Son, Jesus, who is your rightful and eternal King. But if you do not, you shall still know that the Lord is God, but then it shall be by the hard and fearful tests that will be delivered to you.