by Tim LaHaye
“Processors and mark applicators get to sit,” Jock said. “The condemned stand in lines. Once their information is recorded and any personal belongings have been confiscated, they’re issued a plastic laundry basket they hand to the executioner. He or she sets it on the other side of where the blade comes down.
“Head drops in the basket, body stays where it knelt. Lifers without parole do collection duty. Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Spare me.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Jock got out. “Cuff her, Jess,” he said.
Jesse turned and opened the cage. “Hands,” he said.
“Better dope me again,” Chloe said.
“Say what?”
“You think I’m going to voluntarily be cuffed so you guys can take me somewhere I don’t want to go?”
Jock opened the back door.
“Hold on, Jock!” Jesse hollered. “She’s not cuffed yet!”
“What the—?”
Jock, seeming to Chloe to show off for the cameras, leaped into the backseat. Chloe sat with her fists balled under her thighs. “You like to be difficult, don’t you?” he said.
Jock grabbed her wrists and jerked her hands up and together where Jesse could reach them. As soon as she was cuffed, Jock slid back out of the car, pulling her by the cuffs and letting his body weight drag her out. She came out hands first, head banging the door, knees scraping the floor and then the ground. Jock pulled her to her feet.
Chloe hurt all over, but she was glad she had made them work.
Someone else could go gently into that good, good night of death.
Not her. Jock clamped a hand around her elbow and led her to the middle death machine. “This is going to be yours tomorrow if you don’t cooperate today.”
The stench overwhelmed her, and both men covered their mouths and noses with handkerchiefs. Chloe, mercifully cuffed in front this time, bent her elbows and held her nose closed with her fingers.
“As you can see,” Jock said, “we don’t wash the platforms or the ground either. I mean, who would that benefit?”
The area around the middle machine, like the others along the sixty-yard row, looked to Chloe like a slaughterhouse. The ground around it was black, caked with blood. “See that Dumpster back there?”
Directly behind the middle machine, maybe a hundred feet back, sat a Dumpster that looked half the size of a boxcar. It had no lid. “One collector takes the basket and dumps the head in there.
Two collectors drag the body to the same place. See those black trails from each station to the Dumpster? You know what that is.”
Chloe knew all right. She tried to hold her breath, but Jock kept pulling her arm so her hands came away from her nose. She prayed
he would not take her out and make her look in the Dumpster. “It gets emptied about once a week.”
The GC held the media back, but they yelled questions.
“What’s that on her jumpsuit? Did she soil herself?”
Chloe, mortified, hollered, “Chocolate!”
Jock whirled and batted her in the forehead with the back of his hand. “You say nothing to anyone but us, understand?”
“They drugged me with a choco—!”
Jock slipped around behind her and clamped his hand over her mouth. When she tried to bite him, he drove a knee into her lower back, knocking the wind from her. “Give me the tape, Jess.”
“It didn’t have to come to this, ma’am,” Jesse said, pulling a three-inch roll of duct tape from his jacket pocket. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to.”
Jock reached to pull a length of tape off the roll, freeing Chloe’s mouth. “Tell the truth for once! I was drugged! They—”
Jock pressed the tape under her nose so tight her upper lip bulged, and when he pressed the sides against her cheeks, she couldn’t move her jaw, let alone speak.
“God,” Chloe prayed silently, “help me be strong. I don’t want to go easy. I don’t want to be beat or scared into submission. And if they kill me, let me speak first. Remind me of all the verses I’ve memorized. Please, God, let me speak your words.”
Jock and Jesse took her back across the yard toward a steel door in the wall of one of the cell blocks. The door was at ground level, but she assumed stairs would lead below the ground to solitary confinement.
They stopped about ten yards from the door, and the media was about the same distance away on the other side. “Has she spilled any more?” a woman called out.
“Oh yes,” Jock said. Chloe vigorously shook her head. “More all the time,” he continued. “Of course we had to tell her there
would be no trading leniency for, ah, physical favors as it were.
She can only help herself by telling the truth. I’m confident we’ll get there. We’ve already gained more knowledge about the Judah-ite underground and the illegal black-market co-op from her than from any other source we’ve ever had. And as you know, she gave up Mr. Al Basrah, the leading subversive in the Middle East, and he is already dead.”
Chloe continued to shake her head, but she had no illusions that would be shown on GCNN that evening.
“That’s all for now, folks. We have a few more prerequisites for Mrs. Williams to qualify her for a life sentence rather than death, but our daily executions here will be held tomorrow at ten A.M., regardless. We do not foresee having the full house they did yesterday, with every machine busy for nearly half an hour, but the latest count is thirty-five on the docket, so five for each machine.”
The press began to disperse, but still Jock and Jesse stood there with Chloe. “I am going to finish my tour-guide speech, little lady, and you’re going to hear me out,” Jock said. “Some of the best days of my life have been spent in this yard, seeing people get what’s coming to them. Frankly, I was disappointed when I was transferred to San Diego, but the brass assured me a huge Judah-ite cell was suspected there. They told me I could cart them back here if we rooted them out. Here’s hoping you’re just the first.”
________
Mac was glad to have Zeke for company on the long flight.
Though uneducated, the young man was smart and inquisitive. He never ran out of questions or things to talk about.
“Abdullah’s kinda tough because he’s already so ethnic. He’s not good with accents, so I’ve got to keep him Middle Eastern but obviously something different than Jordanian. Rayford’s pretty
easy, ’cause I can go any direction with him. Buck’s the hardest, with all the facial scars. But anyway, let’s say I make you five guys into totally different people. What’re you gonna do?”
“I’m not totally sure myself, Z,” Mac said. “Rumor has it Carpathia’s calling in the ten kings—’course, he calls ’em regional potentates, but we know what’s going down, don’t we?”
“I do.”
“If Otto succeeds in New Babylon, we find out where the big shindig is gonna be before it happens, and we get in there and bug the place. We’re not going to try to stop prophesied events, of course, but it’ll be good to know exactly what’s happening.”
“What happens to Carpathia’s secretary?”
“Krystall? If I had a vote, I’d say we convince her we know what’s going to happen to New Babylon and get her out of there.”
“To Petra?”
Mac shook his head. “Much as we might like to do that, God has set that city aside as a city of refuge for his people only. Sad as it is, she made her decision, took her stand, and accepted the mark.
Getting her out of New Babylon just keeps her from dying in that mess when God finally judges the city. She’s going to die anyway, sometime between then and the Glorious Appearing, and when she does, she’s not going to like what eternal life looks like.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t befriend her and be grateful for her help. Or that we can’t feel sorry that she waited too long to see the truth.”
“I still wonder if we can trust her though,” Zeke said.
________
The San Diego evacuation deadline was moved up to midnight, partly because preparations were ahead of schedule and partly to
be safe. No one knew for sure when the GC would begin their next round of canvasing.
Buck was in the vehicle bay on a walkie-talkie with Ming, who was in his apartment watching Kenny and also manning the periscope. When she said the coast was clear, Buck sent loaded vehicles to the airstrip, where planes and pilots arranged by Lionel Whalum met them.
At 6 P.M. Ming radioed. “Buck, Chloe’s on TV.”
“Kenny watching?”
“I’ll get him into his room.”
Buck sprinted back, and by the time he got to his quarters, Rayford had shown up too. The news showed Chloe trying to communicate to the press and Jock backhanding her. Buck felt murderous, especially when they taped her mouth shut. He was used to the lies, but he couldn’t stand to see her mistreated.
“Where’s that look like to you, Ray?” he said.
Rayford shook his head. “Studying it.”
One of the woman reporters said, “Here in Louisiana prisons are notoriously hard, and none harder than Angola. International terrorist Chloe Williams will rue the day she pushed the Global Community to the point where she was sent here. The guillotine will be sweet relief compared to hard labor for the rest of her life.”
“Angola, Louisiana!” Buck said. “That’s where I’m going. I want to take Sebastian and Razor, and you’ll want to come, of course, Dad. Who else do you think we should—?”
“Hold on, Buck,” Rayford said. “We’re not going
to Louisiana.”
“What? You send three of your top people to Greece to get George, and you’re going to let the GC do what they want with Chloe?”
“No way she’s in Louisiana.”
“You just heard it!”
“Think, Buck. They want us to believe she’s in Louisiana.
They moved her from San Diego to keep away from a raid. They wouldn’t be announcing where they took her.”
Buck knew Rayford was right. “She’s at a prison though, isn’t she? They’re not faking that.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past them.”
“Ray, I can’t fly to Petra and leave her here. If I stay somewhere closer to back east, at least I’d have a chance to—”
“But how are we going to find out where she is?”
“I’d never forgive myself if I jetted off to safety and left her to die alone. I don’t know how you could either.”
“I’m not about to, if you must know.”
“C’mon, Dad, we’re in this thing together. Don’t be holding out on me.”
“I’ve got a call in to Krystall to see if she’s heard anything.
Problem is, it’s four in the morning over there, and she doesn’t think anybody has a clue anyway. The people who would know are in Al Hillah, and we have no access to them. It’s going to look pretty suspicious if Krystall starts asking them about Chloe.”
________
It was the middle of the evening in Illinois, and Chloe was surprised to have been left alone for hours. She had been right about solitary. The stairs led below ground, and she had been ushered into a small cell with no cot, no sink, no toilet, no chair, no bench, no nothing. Including no light or window. The duct tape had been removed from her mouth, and when the solid metal door was shut, she was in pitch darkness.
A small square hole in the door opened and was filled with Jock’s face. “I’m going to let you get some rest,” he said, “and I’m going to get some too. Think about anything you can tell me that
will benefit you, because when I come back, we’re going to see if we need to give you an injection to help you open up. Your little shenanigans today bought you this. You’re not going to like it in there if you’re claustrophobic or afraid of the dark.”
Chloe was both, but she was not about to admit it. She feared she would panic or go mad, but as she heard Jock’s footsteps retreat, she was overcome with a sense of peace. “Thank you, Lord,” she said. “I need you. I’m willing to die, but I don’t want to shame you. I need you to override the truth serum. Don’t let me give away anything or anybody, and keep me strong so I won’t worry so much about myself. Help me keep my mind, my focus, and my priorities. And be with Kenny and Buck and Dad.”
Just thinking about them brought a sob to her throat. Chloe pressed her back against the wall and lowered herself to the cold floor. “God, please, bring to mind Scriptures you want me to hear right now. Don’t let hunger or fatigue or fear keep me from remembering. You know who I am and who I’m not. I just want to be what you want me to be. You know better than I that you’re working with imperfection here.”
She lay on her side with no heart palpitations from the closed-in space or the darkness. That alone was evidence that God was hearing her. She began rehearsing in her mind her memory verses, starting as far back in the Bible as she could remember. But when she stalled, she panicked. “Lord, keep my mind fresh. Don’t let me forget. I want to be quoting you when I see you.”
Her mind became a jumble. How will I remember? What if my mind goes blank? “Lord, please.”
And suddenly, light. Was she dreaming? She blinked. The rusted, filthy chamber was bright enough to make her shield her eyes. A vision? A dream? A hallucination?
Then a voice. Quoting her favorite verses. She repeated them, word for word. “Is this your answer, God? You’ll speak them and I’ll repeat them? Thank you! Thank you!”
Loud banging on the door. “Keep it down in there!”
“Yes, peace, be still.” That voice came from the corner!
Chloe pulled her hands from her eyes and jumped at a figure, sitting, a finger to his lips.
“Is it you, Lord?” she said, breathless.
“No one can see God and live,” he whispered.
“Then who are you?”
“He sent me.”
“Praise God.”
“Yes, please.”
“Can anyone else see you?”
“Tomorrow. Not until then.”
“You’ll remind me of what God has promised?”
“I will.”
“You make me want to sing.”
“Do so.”
“Sing with me.”
“I am not here to sing but to speak. You sing.”
Chloe began singing. “‘When we walk with the Lord in the light of his word, what a glory he sheds on our way! While we do his good will, he abides with us still, and with all who will trust and obey.’”
“Shut up in there!”
Chloe sang louder. “‘Trust and obey, for there’s no other way to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.’”
“If I have to open this door, you’re going to wish I hadn’t!”
“‘Then in fellowship sweet we shall sit at his feet. . . .’”
That brought knocking—it sounded like with a stick—and Chloe laughed aloud. “They don’t like my voice,” she told her new friend.
“Or the words,” he said, and she laughed all the more.
“You going crazy in there?”
“No! Do you have any requests?”
“Only that you knock it off!”
“Sorry!” And she began again. “‘Standing on the promises of Christ my King, through eternal ages let his praises ring; glory in the highest I will shout and sing, standing on the promises of God.’”
“All right!” The small door flew open. The room went dark again. “You got a light in there?”
“Sure! The light of God.”
“I’m serious! What’ve you got in there?”
“Just the light of his presence.”
“If Jock gets back and finds you with something in there, you’ll regret it.”
“Regret the chance to surprise him? I don’t think so. Do you know how to sing harmony? Sing with me. ‘Standing on the promises that cannot fail . . .’”
The guard slammed the
door.
TWELVE
RAYFORD HAD only an inkling of what Buck must be going through. It had to be different for a husband than for a father. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” he told his son-in-law. “I have arranged with Lionel to leave us a two-seater. It’s fast, but it holds only so much fuel. We’ll have to take on more en route, maybe in Cypress. We’ll help get everyone else out of here; then we can sit at the airstrip for all I care. Fly to the Midwest somewhere, the South. Wherever you think we’d be closest to Chloe.”
“And do what?”
“We can take that little satellite TV and keep in touch with Mac and Otto and Krystall, see if we can get a clue,” Rayford said.
“You just want to be on the same continent when she dies, is that what you’re telling me?”
“Well, uh, no—”
“Dad, think about it. I don’t fly planes. You don’t have a backup pilot. Neither of us is military. You’ve got a two-seat plane for two guys, so there’s no thought of springing Chloe and bringing her along.”
Rayford sat and held his head in his hands. “I don’t know what else to do, Buck. I’m not leaving the States with her still in custody. But unless we find out where she is, I’m not putting a crew on it either.”
“Where’re we going to go?”
“How about Wisconsin, where Zeke was? He tells me the GC
never nose around. It’s fairly central, so if we do get word, we can be on our way quick.”
________
Jock led Chloe to a dimly lit room about a hundred paces from her cell. “It’s just you and me tonight, ma’am. No playing off the other cop, no bright lights in your eyes, no pressure.”
But when she saw where she was supposed to sit, a steel chair bolted to the floor with leather straps on the legs and armrests, she said, “No, it won’t be just you and me, Jock.”
“What do you mean?”
“You alone cannot strap me into that chair.”
“I think I could, but you wouldn’t like it.”
“And I’d make you wish you hadn’t done it alone. I’m not getting strapped down for any reason unless I’m overpowered. Uh-uh.”
“How about we try this the easy way?” he said. “How about we just talk awhile and see if you need restraining?”