by Tim LaHaye
“I was, sir.”
“You had a good view?”
“Perfect, sir.”
“You saw me rise from the dead.”
“I’ll never deny it.”
Carpathia chuckled warmly. He strode to his desk and stood behind the huge, stuffed, red leather chair. He caressed it, then massaged it deeply. “It is as if I am seeing this for the first time,” he said to twenty-four pairs of admiring eyes. “Leon, what is directly above my office?”
“Why, nothing, sir. We are on eighteen, the top floor.”
“No utility room, no elevator-maintenance area?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“I want more room, Leon. Are you taking notes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you have so far?”
“Autopsy photos, coroner’s report, the rising.”
“Add the expansion of my office. I want it twice as high, with a transparent ceiling that exposes me to the heavens.”
“Consider it done, Excellency.”
“How soon?” Carpathia said. “Who would know that?” Fortunato pointed at the construction director, who waved a tentative hand. “Yes, sir,” Nicolae pressed, “and may I assume this would be top priority?”
“You bet your life,” the man said, and Carpathia nearly collapsed in laughter.
“Let me tell you something, Director. I know you must displace me for a few days because of the mess it will be to raze and raise this ceiling. But I want this done as fast as humanly possible, and do you know why?”
“I have an idea, sir.”
“Do you?”
The man nodded.
“By all means, let us hear it!”
“Because I don’t believe you are human anymore, and you could do it faster than my team on its best day.”
“Only God bestows such wisdom, Director.”
“I believe I am in his presence, Potentate.”
Nicolae smiled. “I believe you are too.” He turned and gestured to all. “When I lay there dead for three days, my spirit was so strong and powerful that I knew, I knew, I knew my time would come. When death had enjoyed victory over me long enough, I willed myself to live again. I raised myself, people. I raised myself back to life.”
A murmur filled the room as the men and women approved aloud and pressed their hands together as if praying to him or worshiping him.
Nicolae picked up the Bible in what seemed to David a loving manner. “You may wonder what this is doing here,” he said. He opened it and let it plop spine first onto the table. “This is the playbook of those who oppose me. This is the holy book of those who do not recognize me and who will not, despite what they saw with their own eyes.” He slammed a fist onto the book. “This holds the lies about the chosen people of God and the supreme lie that there is one above me.”
His team, save one, murmured disapproval.
Carpathia stood back from the end of the table and folded his arms, legs spread. “We shall use their very blueprint to bring them to their knees. The Jews who worship their coming Messiah in their own Holy Land, in their beloved city where they deigned slay me. I shall return there triumphant, and they will have one opportunity to repent and see the light.
“And the Judah-ites, who believe Messiah already came and went, who believe Jesus is their Savior—and whom I see nowhere; do you?—also trace their heritage to Jerusalem. If they want to see the true and living god, let them journey there, for that is where I shall soon be. If the sacred temple is the residence of the most high God, then the most high god shall reside there, high on the throne.
“In the city where they slew me, they shall see me, high and lifted up.”
Many directors raised fists of victory and encouragement.
“Now, some plans. As I have left no doubt in any thinking person’s mind about who I am, I no longer feel the need for a buffer between my team and me. While my dear comrade, Supreme Commander Leon Fortunato, has ably assisted me since first I came to power, I have need of him now in another crucial role, one he has already accepted with enthusiasm. What was once nobly attempted and ultimately failed shall now be consummated in success and victory.
“The Enigma Babylon One World Faith failed because, despite its lofty goal of unifying the world’s religions, it worshiped no god but itself. It was devoted to unity, yet that was never achieved. Its god was nebulous and impersonal. But with Leon Fortunato as Most High Reverend Father of Carpathianism, the devout of the world finally have a personal god whose might and power and glory have been demonstrated in the raising, of himself, from the dead!”
Many applauded and Carpathia motioned to Leon to rise and speak as he himself backed away but remained standing.
“I am deeply humbled by this assignment,” Leon said, moving to Nicolae, dropping to his knees, and kissing the potentate’s hands. He rose and moved back to the head of the table. “Let me clarify, not that His Excellency needs any help from a mere mortal, that the very name of the new religion was my idea. It was no stroke of brilliance. What else could we call a faith in which the object of our worship is His Excellency?
“The outpouring of emotion from the citizens this very day spurred the idea that we should reproduce the image of His Excellency, the great statue, and erect it in all the major cities throughout the world. Plans have already been sent out, and each city is required to have the image constructed. They will be only a quarter of the size of the original, which as you know, is four times life-size. It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out, then, that the replicas will be exactly life-size.
“While our beloved potentate lay dead, he imbued me with power to call fire from the sky to kill those who would oppose him. He blessed me with the power to give speech to the statue so we could hear his own heart. This confirmed in me the desire to serve him as my god for the rest of my days, and I shall do that for as long as Nicolae Carpathia gives me breath.”
“Thank you, my beloved servant,” Nicolae said as Leon sat. “Now, blessed comrades, I have written assignments for one and all. These were prepared just before my demise and now will make more sense than ever to you. First, one of my oldest and dearest friends, a woman closer to me than a relative, shall explain something to you. Ms. Ivins, if you would come.”
Viv Ivins, prim and proper, her blue-gray hair piled atop her head, made her way to the head of the table and embraced Nicolae. As she passed out file folders with each director’s name inscribed on them, Nicolae said, “Many of you know that Ms. Ivins helped raise me. Indeed for many years I believed she was my aunt—we were that close. She has been working on a project that will help me put in place certain unfortunately necessary controls on the citizenry. Most people are devoted to me—we know that. Many who were not or who were undecided are now decidedly with us, and, you will agree, for good reason.
“But there are those factions, primarily the two that I have already mentioned, who are not loyal. Perhaps now they have seen the error of their ways and will henceforth be loyal. If so, they will have no trouble with the safeguards I feel must be initiated. I am asking those loyal to the Global Community, specifically to me and to the unified faith, to willingly bear a mark of loyalty.”
Walter Moon stood. “Sir, I beg of you, allow me to be the first to bear your mark.”
“Let us not get ahead of ourselves, brother,” Nicolae said. “You may just get your wish, and while I am touched by your sentiment, how do you know that I will not brand you with an iron like a head of cattle?”
Moon spread his hands on the table and bowed his head. “As you, my lord, are my witness, I would endure it and bear it with endless pride.”
“My, my,” Nicolae said, “if Director Moon’s sentiment is shared by the populace, we shall need no enforcement measures, shall we?”
David peeked at his packet and fanned the pages until his eye fell on a startling word. “Guillotines?” he said aloud before he could stop himself.
“Now we are ahead of ourselves,” Ni
colae said. “Needless to say, such would be a last resort and I pray it will never be needed.”
“I would gladly offer my head,” Moon rhapsodized, “if I should be so foolish as to deny my lord.”
Nicolae turned to David. “You are responsible for technical purchasing, correct?”
David nodded.
“I do not imagine we have an adequate supply of immediate-response mechanisms for the reluctant. We must study the expected need and be prepared. As I have said, my loftiest dream is that not one would refuse the loyalty mark. Ms. Ivins, please.”
“The first page of your folders,” she began, in a precise and articulate tone with a hint of her native Romanian dialect, “long before you reach the guillotines—” she paused for the chuckling, in which David did not join—“is a listing of the ten world regions and a corresponding number. It is the product of a mathematical equation that identifies those regions and their relationships to His Excellency the Potentate. The loyalty mark, which I shall explain in detail, shall begin with these numbers, thus identifying the home region of every citizen. The subsequent numbers, embedded on a biochip inserted under the skin, will further identify the person to the point where every one shall be unique.”
Suddenly, as if in a trance, Leon rose and began to speak. “Every man, woman, and child, regardless of their station in life, shall receive this mark on their right hands or on their foreheads. Those who neglect to get the mark when it is made available will not be allowed to buy or sell until such time as they receive it. Those who overtly refuse shall be put to death, and every marked loyal citizen shall be deputized with the right and the responsibility to report such a one. The mark shall consist of the name of His Excellency or the prescribed number.”
With that, Leon dropped heavily into his chair. Viv Ivins smiled benevolently and said, “Why, thank you, Reverend,” which caused all, including Leon, to laugh.
David was afraid his crashing heart and shaking hands would make him conspicuous. What if someone got the bright idea to apply the mark to the inner circle that very night? He might be in heaven before Annie knew he was dead.
“We have settled on the technology,” Viv continued. “The miniature biochip with the suffix numbers embedded in it can be inserted as painlessly as a vaccination in a matter of seconds. Citizens may choose either location, and visible will be a thin, half-inch scar, and to its immediate left, in six-point black ink—impossible to remove under penalty of law—the number that designates the home region of the individual. That number may be included in the embedded chip, should the person prefer that one of the variations of the name of the potentate appear on their flesh.”
“Variations?” someone asked.
“Yes. Most, we assume, will prefer the understated numbers next to the thin scar. But they may also choose from the small initials—no bigger than the numbers—NJC. The first or last name may be used, including one version of Nicolae that would virtually cover the left side of the forehead.”
“For the most loyal,” Nicolae said with a grin. “Someone like, oh, say, Director Hickman, for instance.”
Hickman blushed but called out, “Sign me up, Viv!”
“The beauty of the embedded chip is twofold,” she continued. “First, it leaves the visible evidence of loyalty to the potentate, and second, it serves as a method of payment and receipting for buying and selling. Eye-level scanners will allow customers and merchants to merely pass by and be billed or receipted.”
Several whistles of admiration sounded. David’s head throbbed. He raised his hand.
“Director Hassid,” Viv said.
“What are you looking at in the way of timing?”
“Worried that your head won’t take any more invasion just now?” she said, smiling.
“I had an IV in the hand too.”
“Not to worry,” she said. “While the potentate and the former Supreme Commander see value in employees serving as examples to the world, you will have thirty days, beginning tomorrow, to fulfill your obligation.”
“I’ll do it tonight,” someone said, “and I’m not even Hickman!”
A month, David thought. A month to get out of Dodge. What would become of him and Annie and Mac and Abdullah? And Hannah Palemoon?
Viv said that over the next few days she would be sure each director knew his or her part in the rollout of images of Carpathia and the application of the mark of loyalty. Meanwhile, she said, “His Excellency has a closing comment.”
“Thank you, Viv,” Nicolae said. “Allow me to tell you just one story of a family I met today, and you know I met thousands. We have such a nucleus of loyal citizenry! This was a beautifully loyal Asian family named Wong.”
David fought to maintain his composure.
“Their daughter already works for us at Buffer in Brussels. The parents are well-to-do and great supporters of the Global Community. The father was quite proud of his family and of his record of loyalty. But I was most impressed with the seventeen-year-old son, Chang. Here is a boy who, according to his father, loves me and everything about the world as we see it today. He wants nothing more than to work for me here at the palace, and though he has another year of high school, would rather bring his talents our way.
“And such talents! I will arrange for the completion of his schooling here, because he is a genius! He can program any computer, analyze and fix any procedural or operational or systems problem. And this is not just a proud father talking. He showed me documents, grades, letters of recommendation. This kind of boy is our future, and our future has never looked brighter.”
That boy, David thought, would die before he took the mark.
CHAPTER 6
As Rayford followed the wheelchair down the hall, barely able to breathe, his mind reeled with his mistakes. Were it somehow possible to extricate himself from this, he would be the most decisive leader the Tribulation Force could imagine.
They repaired to an office even smaller than the original. Pinkerton Stephens opened the door and neatly pivoted his chair so he could hold it open and leave room for Rayford and Albie to enter. He pointed Rayford to a steel gray chair near the wall, facing a desk of the same color and material. Albie sat to Rayford’s left.
Stephens let the door shut and locked it, breathed something nasally about the room being secure and not bugged, then steered himself to the other side of the desk, plowing a standard chair out of the way. He maneuvered his wheelchair up to and under the desk, leaned forward and rested his elbows atop it, and folded his hand and a half under his chin.
Part of Rayford could hardly bear to look at the man; another part could not take his eyes off him. “Now then,” Stephens began slowly, “Deputy Commander Elbaz—if that’s your real name—you may restrap your side arm and keep your hand off it. We’re both on the same team, and you have nothing to fear. As for you, Mr. Berry, while you may be out of uniform and likely using an alias yourself, neither do you have anything to fear. You are about to be pleasantly surprised to find that the three of us are on the same team.”
Rayford wanted to say, “I doubt it,” but feared he would emit no sound if he tried.
“Shall we start over, gentlemen?” Stephens said.
If only . . . , Rayford thought.
“Mr. Elbaz, as the superior officer, I believe it falls to you to begin our session with the proper protocol.”
“He is risen,” Albie said, miserably in Rayford’s opinion.
“Who is risen indeed?” Stephens responded, and Rayford attributed the mispronunciation to the man’s malady, whatever it was. Albie just stared at Stephens. Rayford noticed that while Albie had taken his hand off his gun, he had not fastened the strap. Rayford wondered if he could grab the gun, kill them both, and get away with Hattie.
“Commander Elbaz, you have business here, and I will let you get to it after I satisfy the curiosity on both your parts. I realize that I am difficult to look at, that you both have to be wondering what happened to me, and that as hard a
s I have worked on my speech, I am difficult to understand. Have either of you ever seen someone with most of his face missing?”
Both shook their heads, and Stephens placed his good thumb beneath his chin. “Once I remove my prosthesis, I will be unable to be understood at all, and so I will not attempt to speak.”
Snap!
Rayford flinched as Stephens unsnapped the plastic covering under his chin.
Snap! Snap!
As he continued, it became clear that the prosthesis was all one piece that substituted for most of his chin, nose, eye sockets, and forehead. It was held in place by metal fasteners embedded in what was left of the original facial bones. Stephens kept it in place with his stubfingered hand and said, “Prepare yourselves; I won’t make you look long.”
Albie held up a hand. “Mr. Stephens, this is unnecessary. We have business here, yes, and I don’t see the need to—”
He stopped when Stephens pulled the piece away from his face, revealing a monstrous cavity. Only what was left of his lips hinted at anything human, and Rayford fought to keep from covering his own eyes. The man had no nose and his entire eyeballs were exposed. Through gaps in his forehead, Rayford believed he could see through to the brain.
Rayford could breathe again when Stephens refastened the appliance. “Forgive me, gentlemen,” he said, “but just as I assumed, neither of you really saw what I wanted you to see.”
“And what was that?” Albie said, clearly shaken.
“Something that explains what I see on your faces.”
“I’m lost,” Rayford said.
“Oh, but you’re not,” Stephens said with a twisted smile. “You once were lost, but now you’re found. Would you like me to remove the prosthesis again and—”
“No,” Rayford and Albie said in unison. And Albie added, “Just get to the point.”
Pinkerton folded his hands beneath his chin again, and his eyes seemed to bore into Albie. “How did I respond when you said, ‘He is risen’?”