The Mark: The Beast Rules the World

by Tim LaHaye

  “What?”

  “I introduced you to Nicolae Carpathia.”

  She nodded, smiling through tears. “That was pretty bad,” she said. “But how could you know? He fooled almost everybody at first. I wish I’d never laid eyes on him, but I also wouldn’t trade a thing about my life now. It all pointed to today.”

  David was antsy. He wanted Viv Ivins to leave so he could get started on his real chores. She rattled on about Fortunato.

  “He’ll move into Peter Mathews’s old office, but nothing will be the same there. There’s no Enigma Babylon One World Faith anymore, because there’s no enigma. We know whom to worship now, don’t we, Mr. Hassid?”

  “We sure do,” he said.

  “Now,” she said, “there is one more item. You’re aware that you lost an employee the other day?” She flipped a page in her notebook and read, “‘Single, white, female, twenty-two, almost twenty-three, Angel Rich Christopher.’ Rich is apparently a family name.”

  David held his breath and nodded.

  “Lightning victim,” Viv added. “One of several.”

  “I was aware of that, yes.”

  “I just wanted to tell you that if you were planning any sort of memorial, I’d advise against it.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “We have simply lost too many employees to make it practical to give them all their moments, if you will.”

  David was offended, especially for Annie. “I, uh, have attended other such ceremonies. They have been short but appropriate.”

  “Well, this one would not be appropriate. Understood?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Why would it not be appropriate to remember a coworker who—”

  “If you would think about it for just a moment, you would likely understand.”

  “Save me the time, please.”

  “Well, Mr. Hassid, Miss Christopher was apparently struck by lightning when the now Reverend Fortunato was calling down fire from heaven on those who refused to recognize His Excellency the Potentate as the true and living God.”

  “You’re saying her death proves she was subversive. That Fortunato killed her.”

  “God killed her, Director. Call it subversive or whatever you will, it is obvious to all who were present—and I know you were—that only skeptics suffered for their unbelief that day.”

  David pursed his lips and scratched his head. “If we are not memorializing employees who did not recognize Nicolae Carpathia as deity, I understand and will comply.”

  “I thought you would, sir.” She rose and waited for David to open the door for her. “Good day to you, Director. You know I am always available, should you need anything at all.”

  “Well, there is one more thing.”

  “Name it.”

  “The biochip injectors you mentioned. Are they similar to the type used for inserting the same into household pets?”

  “I believe they are, with certain modifications.”

  “One of the nurses who attended me happened to mention that she got her start in medicine as a veterinarian’s assistant. I wonder if she has any experience with that kind of technology that might be helpful to us.”

  “Good thinking. Give me her name and I’ll check it out.”

  “I don’t recall offhand,” he said. “But it should be easy enough to find out. I’ll call you with it.”

  As soon as Viv was gone, David phoned Hannah. “I’ll be giving your name to Viv Ivins. Expect a call.”

  “Got it.”

  He told her of the prohibition against even a moment of silence in his department for Annie.

  “That’s perfect,” she said. “David, she would wear that like a badge of honor. If being honored made it appear she was a Carpathia loyalist, you’d have to answer to her in heaven someday.”

  CHAPTER 11

  For the next several days in the safe house, Rayford quietly observed the group dynamics and took notes. Tsion and Chaim spent most of their time studying. Leah seemed bored with helping Chloe with the international co-op, and while she got acquainted with Hattie, Hattie was getting on everyone’s nerves. Everyone’s except Zeke’s. He mostly kept to himself and didn’t appear affected by personal idiosyncrasies.

  Rayford asked Tsion to lead the group in a brief Bible study each day, and they prayed together. Everyone was also expected to log on to Tsion’s daily cybermessage. Each took a turn spray painting the insides of exposed windows until all the floors they were using were invisible to the outside, even with lights on.

  A week after Rayford had brought Hattie into the safe house, he called a meeting to officially insert Chaim, Zeke, Albie, and Hattie into the Tribulation Force. They watched the Internet and television for information on when and how the mark of loyalty would be administered. And Buck was back in full swing with his The Truth cyberzine. With his international contacts and his ability to write stories that had a ring of authenticity without exposing believers in high places, Buck’s was the most popular site on the Net, except for Tsion’s. Through contacts Chloe lined up in the co-op, Buck enlisted underground printers all over the world who risked their lives publishing The Truth and Tsion’s messages for those without access to computers.

  Hattie evolved from a hesitant newcomer to the vivacious, excited believer she had been that first morning in Bozeman. Rayford enjoyed her spirit, and it seemed Tsion did too. The others’ eyes seemed to glaze over each time she exulted over something anew. Something had to give. The Trib Force had plenty of space and privacy, but even in a massive skyscraper, cabin fever set in.

  Fresh air was a problem. The building ventilation system worked fine, but other than the occasional slightly opened window that brought in crisp, fall breezes, everyone longed for time outdoors in the daylight. Too risky, Rayford told them, and even Kenny Bruce was taken out only after dark.

  One by one his comrades came to Rayford in private, and while they carefully avoided bad-mouthing each other, all had similar requests. Each wanted an assignment, something away from the safe house. They wanted to be proactive, not waiting for Nicolae and the GC to be the only ones on the offensive.

  All but Zeke, that is, who seemed content with his role. He inventoried the tools and supplies necessary to outfit the best forgery and phony identification operation possible. “I’m not a book readin’ kind of a guy,” he told Rayford, “but I can see what’s coming.”

  “You can?”

  Zeke nodded. “Dr. Ben-Judah is training Chaim what’s-his-name to go back to Israel. That means I gotta work on a new ID for him, and not just on paper. He’s gotta look like somebody else, because everybody knows him all over the world.”

  Rayford could only nod.

  “You can’t change a guy’s height and weight, and I’m no plastic surgeon. But there’s things you can do. He’s got that Einstein hair thing goin’ now, and he shaves. I’d bald him and dye his eyebrows dark. Then have him grow a big bushy beard or maybe muttonchops and a mustache, and make them dark too. He’ll look younger and kinda hip, but mostly he won’t look like himself. We gotta get rid of the glasses or change ’em drastically. Then I’d give him colored contacts. If he can get along without a prescription, I got plenty he can choose from.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rayford said. “Zeke, what makes you think he’s going back to Israel?”

  “Oh, he isn’t? Well, my mistake then. I just figured.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong. I just wondered why you figured that.”

  “I don’t know. Somebody’s got to go, and you guys have never wanted to risk Dr. Ben-Judah.”

  “Somebody’s got to go to Israel? Why?”

  Zeke furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. You can tell me if I’m wrong ’cause a lot of time I am, but Dad says I’ve got intuition. I try to figure out Zion’s messages each day, but like I say, readin’s not my thing. I don’t think I ever read a book all the way through, except maybe a parts manual and then onl
y over about six years. But Zion makes those daily message things pretty easy to understand for a smart guy. I’m sayin’ he’s smart, not me. Most smart guys think they’re explainin’ something, but they’re the only ones who understand it. You know what I mean?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, what I’m gettin’ from Zion lately is that Carpathia is up to somethin’. And it has to do with Jerusalem. Zion says the Bible says the Antichrist is not only gonna pull a fast one on the Jews, he’s also gonna brag about it right in their own temple and defile it somehow and break his promise.”

  “I think you’ve pretty much got that down, Zeke. How does Chaim play into it?”

  “Zion says God’s preparin’ a safe place for the Jews to run off to, but they got to have a leader. Zion can lead ’em on the Net, but they need somebody there, somebody they can see. He’s gotta be Jewish. He’s gotta be a believer. He’s gotta be popular or at least be able to get people to follow him. And he’s gotta know a lot of stuff. The only person that’s gonna know more than Zion pretty soon will be Chaim. And no way I think Zion’s goin’ over there.”

  “It’s just as dangerous for Chaim, isn’t it, Zeke?”

  “Well, I don’t know who’d be worse in Carpathia’s mind, the guy who’s tellin’ the whole world Carpathia’s the devil himself or the guy what ran a sword through his brain. But the fact is, we—I mean us believers—could probably get along without Chaim if we had to. But we’re in trouble without Zion.”

  Zeke looked troubled for having said it.

  Rayford stood and paced. “Well, Zeke, your dad’s right about your intuition. You’ve hit this nail on the head.”

  “Then I’m gonna be asked to help send him over there as, what’s his new name?”

  “Tobias Rogoff.”

  “Right. As him?”

  “You are.”

  “Don’t you think a lot of people will recognize his voice and his body type? People notice hands too. I might have to work on that.”

  “Yes, there will be people who know right away who he is. And if David is right that there is a recording showing him murdering Carpathia, I can see the GC showing that to the world. But Carpathia himself has already pardoned his attacker.”

  “But Carpathia also said he can’t control what other citizens might do to the guy, so Chaim would be livin’ on borrowed time, don’t you think?”

  “If he can get to the safe haven with the Jews, I think he will be supernaturally protected.”

  “That would be cool.”

  “You said you weren’t a plastic surgeon. Are there less invasive ways to change someone’s appearance?”

  Zeke nodded. “There’s dental gizmos.”

  “Appliances.”

  “Right. I used one on Leah, and I’ve got plenty more. We can really change the look of a man’s teeth and jaw.”

  “How about one whose jaw is wired shut?”

  “Even better. Leah’s going to take out those wires soon. I think we can make him look like somebody else. Then he has to dress different than he ever has, maybe walk different. I can get him to do that just by adding a little somethin’ to one of his shoes. I’ll be ready when he is.”

  David dealt with his grief by working every waking moment and then crashing hard till he had no choice but to sleep. He assigned Mac and Abdullah the task of planning their disappearance, as conceived by Hannah. Meanwhile, he planted far and wide in the complex access numbers that would allow him, with the right keystrokes, to hack into the system and monitor the goings-on as fully as he was able to do now, at least for as long as the current system was used.

  David found listening in on Nicolae and Leon and Hickman almost addictive, but he also enjoyed hearing what Security Chief Walter Moon had to say. While it was unlikely Moon would become a believer, who could know for sure? If he did, it would have to be before the initiation of the mark on employees, because, as Tsion taught, Scripture was clear that that was a once-and-for-all decision. But Moon, from what David could gather, shared openly with both his assistant and his most trusted subordinate that he believed he had been overlooked for the role of Supreme Commander. He spent most of his time swearing, ironically, “on a stack of Bibles,” that he wouldn’t have taken the job if it had been offered. But the opposite was so obviously and patently true that even his confidants felt free to tell him, “Of course you would have, and it should have gone to you.”

  David daydreamed of having Moon on his side, a grouser within the palace who had the potential for subversion.

  The new intelligence director, replacing Jim Hickman, was a Pakistani named Suhail Akbar. A devout Carpathia supporter, he was a behind-the-scenes kind of guy, quiet and slow to voice an opinion but with a résumé that far outstripped his former superior’s for experience and training. David feared he was bright enough to be a problem. Bright was not an adjective ever applied to Hickman.

  “It is crucial,” David e-mailed Mac one afternoon following a heavy day of hacking and setup for a future of the same, “that we leave no room for questioning our loyalty to the GC and to Carpathia specifically. I challenge the brass occasionally for the very purpose of keeping them from suspecting me, and I believe they do suspect those who seem blindly loyal. I want them to ask themselves, Why would Hassid challenge us and yet stay and serve so capably if he is not simply trying to make the place the best it can be?

  “Mac, we have to plan ahead, plant the problem that will explain our demise and cost the GC some plum pieces of equipment. I wouldn’t mind seeing the plane go down with a few million Nicks’ worth of biochip injectors and even loyalty enforcement facilitators. Wonder if guillotines are listed that way in the top end headchopping paraphernalia catalogs? Sorry for the gallows humor; it’s no laughing matter. Praise God he can make glorified bodies even of those saints who have been dismembered, cremated, or lightning-struck.

  “At the risk of insulting your intelligence, I must caution against even considering wasting the Phoenix 216. Much as I would love to tweak Carpathia’s nose with the loss of his precious ride, we have way too much invested in the bugging system, which I am now able to access even from outside the plane. For whatever time God allows us the freedom to listen in, I can imagine no greater source of information. I have developed a program that can even track the position of the craft via satellite. It is always fun and enlightening, isn’t it, when Nicolae thinks he’s in a wholly secure environment and lets his hair down? The bluster and posturing among his people is one thing, but to hear him cackle and admit to his most trusted aides the very things he denies everywhere else, well, that’s when it’s worth it.

  “Speaking of that, he has a meeting scheduled with Hickman, Moon, Akbar, and Fortunato that I plan to record. If you think his go-rounds with just Leon were hilarious, wait till you hear this. I’ll upload it to you. Remember the unique secure code for all this privileged information and secure transmissions. Should anyone, yourself included, try to access these files with the wrong code, I have programmed in a bug so nasty that it really should be called a monster. This is a creature that ignores the software programs and attacks the hardware.

  “If I hadn’t developed it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. This thing will literally intercept the impulses being relayed from point to point in the processor, carry them to the power source, whether battery or AC, and draw the current into the motherboard itself. If there were an incendiary device in there, I could get a computer to literally blow up in a hacker’s face. Given that all that is in there is plastic and metal, the best I can do is produce a lot of heat, smoke, and some melting. Regardless, the victim computer is irreparable after that.

  “More later, confrere. I’ll look for something concrete from you and Abdullah within forty-eight hours. Meanwhile, it’s less obvious and risky for you to have occasion to run into Hannah than for me to. Keep her warm and courageous as a compatriot and assure her that we will get out in time and have productive years left to devote to the cause of the kingdo
m.”

  Rayford, who had been kept up-to-date by David once he was up and around again, worried about the calendar. He had been noodling the most effective roles for each member of the Force, and the prospect of a sudden infusion of four members displaced from the palace had both its up- and downsides. Were he to bring them all to Chicago, he would add to the base of operations two pilots, a nurse, and one of the world’s greatest computer geniuses. Clearly he had the room, but he wondered if having virtually everybody in one place was the most efficient use of resources.

  Not just for their own psyches but also for the sake of the two-pronged overall mission—stymieing Carpathia where possible and winning as many people to the kingdom as they could—it might make more sense to spread the talent around the globe. Hattie and Leah were restless and eager for assignments. Chloe was resigned to staying, because of Kenny and the work of the co-op, but Buck needed live exposure to what was going on to make his cyberzine as effective as it could be.

  Rayford and Albie needed all the pilots they could get, but planes weren’t plentiful either. If he and the insightful if inarticulate Zeke were right about what Tsion was up to, thousands of pilots and planes would have to be recruited from around the world to airlift Jewish believers to safety. Veteran pilots like Mac and Abdullah could help make that happen.

  But in an instant in the middle of the night, Rayford went from thinking he had more than two more weeks to think and plan how to best make use of the New Babylon contingent to realizing he had to act quickly. Time was a luxury he never had enough of, but an emergency threw everything into turmoil.

  Rayford’s phone chirped and showed a message from Lukas (Laslos) Miklos. “Have been found out,” it read. “Pastor and my wife detained, among others. Pray please. Help please.”

  The underground church in Ptolemaïs was the largest in Greece and likely the largest in the United Carpathian States. Up to now the local GC presence had not been a problem. The Greek believers had been careful, Rayford knew from personal experience, but even they feared GC Security and Intelligence sources could not look the other way much longer. Part of the reason they felt they had been ignored was that local GC leadership believed Carpathia wanted the region that bore his name to have the lowest reported incidence of insurgence of the ten global supercommunities.