by Tim LaHaye
The staff erupted in applause, but Kat wasn’t finished. “It was the sweetest thing. When she prayed, she told Jesus that, like Jonah, she had been running from Him. She said, ‘I kept trying to give myself to You, but I would borrow myself back. Now I want to be Yours for good.’ ”
Later, as Kenny walked her home, Ekaterina said, “I had no idea how thrilling and rewarding this was going to be. In Greece we worked with the kids where we worshiped. We knew they were the only ones who still had to make decisions. But we pretty much left that responsibility in the laps of their parents, forgetting, I guess, how kids look up to their teachers. Often they’ll listen more to us than to Mom or Dad. In all the years I worked with kids, I never prayed with one to become a believer. That was a huge failure, and I didn’t even know it. Someday I need to take this COT idea back home.”
“I think it would work anywhere,” Kenny said. “I’m surprised there aren’t more ministries like it around the world.”
A neighbor man about Rayford’s age wandered over to the Al Jizah construction site one afternoon. “You the ones the Lord sent?” he said.
“That would be us, sir.”
“Can you do anything about getting Him to turn the water back on?”
“That’s why we’re here, but as you can imagine, the leadership of this nation is going to have to get in line.”
“I hope you’re not expecting a warm welcome in Cairo. Those young men who talked the other leaders out of going to the feast are dead, slain by lightning in the very presence of their colleagues.”
Rayford stretched. “The Lord’s justice is swift, friend. He clearly made an example of those two, as His Word warned. When their ends came, there could have been no question why. And I believe we’ll be seen as the messengers we are. We’re praying the whole ordeal will give us a hearing among the young people here, show them there’s no trifling with God.”
“Well, know that every other believer is praying the same thing. Why must we suffer for the actions of a few?”
The Millennium Force met in a semiprivate back room at the Valley Bistro just south of the Valley of Jehoshaphat. “So, we’re still looking for a natural to try to infiltrate the Other Light?” Bahira said.
Raymie nodded, but—no surprise—Zaki jumped in. “Qasim’s already done it, and he has a report for us.”
“Zaki, we’ve been over this,” Raymie said. “He’s probably already given us away.”
“No, and he’s prepared to debrief us. Trust me; there’s stuff you’re going to want to hear.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“He’s probably outside by now, waiting for me to bring him in.”
“You told him where we were meeting?”
“Well, yeah. It was no secret, was it?”
“Zaki, if we’re going to do this, be this force, we don’t want a lot of people knowing about it. I’m not afraid of the young people of the Other Light, because they can’t hurt us. But they can sure hurt a lot of other people, so we have to stay under the radar.”
“Fine, but can I bring him in?”
Raymie looked to Bahira, who rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“I guess there’s no harm in hearing what he has to say,” Raymie said.
That was clearly all Zaki needed to hear. He rushed out and returned seconds later with Qasim, who pulled out a notebook and appeared to be waiting for his cue.
“Before you start,” Raymie said, “I need to be clear. You realize you’re not part of this group and you don’t work under our auspices.”
“Granted. But it’s in your best interest to know what the competition is up to, wouldn’t you say? And they’re up to a lot. Those so-called nightclubs of theirs, at least the one in Paris, are so underground hardly anybody even knows about them.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Kenny said. “No matter what they’re doing in there, they’re breaking every law on the books, and if they flaunted it, they’d be in deep trouble.”
“Rumors say they have these dances and orgies and do a bunch of drugs, but unless they were just putting on a show for me, none of that was going on. They just meet there and talk and scheme and plan.”
“How’d you get in?” Kenny said.
Qasim looked self-conscious. “I said I was a friend of a friend of Ignace and Lothair Jospin. The younger one, the redhead, met me at a prearranged spot. He was pretty circumspect, I have to say, wanting to know who I knew and how I knew you.”
“You meaning me, right?” Kenny said.
“Of course.”
“Brilliant. How hard do you think it’ll be for them to find out I’m a believer, working in a ministry?”
“I covered all that.”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“Sure. I was good. I told him you were a subversive, infiltrating the enemy. Little did he know that that’s really what I was doing.”
Raymie feared Qasim would come off to TOL the way he appeared here—totally amateurish. He sighed. “So, what did you learn?”
“Well, for one thing, these people are serious.”
“Come on,” Bahira said. “That goes without saying. They’re in the minuscule minority, what they’re doing violates the law of almighty God, and they know it! Some of their people have died, and while they revere Satan—”
“They like to say Lucifer; they say Satan is a pejorative label the believers gave to a poor guy who got a raw deal.”
“Regardless, while they revere him, he’s powerless and can’t even be planting these ideas in their heads. These people are totally making this stuff up as they go along, and it’s entirely in the flesh. They’ve been seduced by the world and by their own pride. They can’t even blame it on the devil!”
“That doesn’t make them any less passionate, Bahira,” Qasim said. “They trust me, though. I know that.”
“How do you know?”
“They gave me a copy of their ‘If It’s True’ manifesto.”
“Really?” Kenny said. “They haven’t even sent me one.”
“That’s because they don’t trust you yet. But I won ’em over. They’ll be sending you one.”
“You see why we needed another guy?” Zaki said. “I told you Qasim could pull this off.”
Bahira scowled. “Don’t be so sure. For one thing, he’s not working for us. And for all we know, all he’s done is expose us.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” Qasim said. “But thanks for the gratitude. Now, you want to see this manifesto or not?”
TWELVE
WITHOUT SO much as a call or an official invitation, Rayford Steele’s small band entered the Egyptian parliament building that had been rebuilt in Cairo during the first year of the millennial kingdom. Whatever had been going on, the entire place fell mute, and all heads turned to watch the men approach the dais.
The man presiding immediately said, “We’ve been expecting you,” and several members of the government stood to applaud. Others glared at them until the ovation petered out.
Tsion strode to the microphone with the others forming a half circle behind him. “Excuse me,” he said as the presiding official moved away and took his seat.
“Micah!” someone shouted, and it seemed to Rayford that many who began clapping again recognized Chaim, the famed leader of the Jewish remnant at Petra during the Great Tribulation, standing behind Tsion. But again, the applause was short-lived.
Rayford had seen Tsion Ben-Judah in countless situations, but never had he seen him carry himself with such authority and—clearly—anger. “On your knees!” he shouted, and immediately the assembled slid from their chairs to the floor.
“Woe to you, says the Lord God of Israel, for helping to scatter His people throughout the generations. He healed your land and reestablished you, populating you solely with believers until your offspring were born. Yet you kept the name of your nation, a stench in the nostrils of God. Egypt: ‘temple of the soul of Ptah,’ indeed! Ptah a pagan deity from generations past. W
here is he in your time of need?
“You deigned to rebuild this structure after the global earthquake, somehow believing God would be pleased by an edifice that looks nothing like a temple dedicated to Him but rather harks back to your days worshiping patron deities? Still, all He required of you was to observe the sacrifices and feasts, and you thumbed your noses at Him. Is it any wonder He has cursed your land?
“Where was your backbone, your leadership, when unbelievers persuaded you to commit the affront of absenting yourself from the Feast of Tabernacles?”
A man looking not much younger than Kenny stood. “Sir, if I may argue our side of the issue—”
“Your side? You are accursed! Or are you a believer, confident you shall live past your hundredth birthday?”
“It merely happens that I respectfully disagree—”
“Respectfully? You are fortunate you remain on this earth, for God willed that your young compatriots become examples for the rest of this nation.”
“But, sir, that is precisely our point. What kind of a loving God is so capricious that He would—”
“Demolish this building!” Tsion roared. “Rebuild it as a temple to the Lord. Delight in His ways. Seek His face. Follow His statutes. Never again disobey His commands. And henceforth this land shall be known as Osaze, ‘loved by God.’ Lest you fear that His wrath evidences something other than His love, imagine what He could have done in the face of this ultimate insult.
“Now we His servants shall travel throughout Osaze, teaching the whole counsel of God to the wicked and the undecided and the unbelieving. Woe to anyone who attempts to hamper this effort! While the Lord has not told us when He will restore the life-giving waters, He hereby confirms His immediate judgment of sin. There shall be no more even temporary tolerance of disbelief. Those who choose their own way will continue to perish by their hundredth birthdays, and anyone who dares blaspheme before that shall immediately surely die.”
As Rayford followed Tsion and the others out, the entire auditorium was filled with weeping and men and women pleading for forgiveness and mercy.
Raymie was intrigued as Qasim pulled the document from his robe. The others huddled close to read over one another’s shoulders. It read:
To the thinking members of the global society: Use your brains! You are capable of rational thought. We of the Other Light acknowledge that everyone who entered this period of history was a believer in God, either surviving the last seven years on earth as they knew it or returning from heaven with Him.
We do not deny that God was the Creator and that Jesus is His Son. We deny that He ever came to earth in the flesh or that He died and was resurrected. We aver that He unfairly treated one of His own creations, an angel, and summarily cast him out of His presence, forever besmirching his name and reputation.
Worse, He has left men and women no choice but to believe in Him and serve Him, denying our free will. We have no quarrel with those who believe and follow Him and consider themselves devout. We simply insist on the right to decide for ourselves.
And now we come to the crux of our manifesto: If it’s true that we, as His opponents, are not allowed to live past the age of one hundred, this merely proves our point: He will not countenance an alternate point of view. Critics and even some of our most loyal members have suggested that if it’s true, we should have abandoned our ill-fated cause when the first wave of deaths hit.
We, however, insist on our right to rebel, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. Because of the new world, the population is exploding as never before. Literally billions more souls will be born with every generation, and therein lies our hope. Even if it’s true, our progeny, properly informed and coached, will—by the end of the Millennium—amass an innumerable force. God’s own prophecies indicate this.
Even if it’s true that we will continue to die out every hundred years, if we remain committed to our cause against the vengeful, bloodthirsty God of the Old Testament, we have hope. If we can equip the eventual mega-army of dissidents to where they can actually emerge victorious in the end, perhaps the new ruler will resurrect us and allow us to reign with him.
The biggest mistake God makes will be to loose our leader for a season at the end of this Millennium, for that shall truly signal the end of His kingdom. Let us not be deterred by intermittent defeats. Watch our ranks grow with every generation, and we will in the end prove that God is anything but gracious and loving and forgiving.
Our hope and wish and instruction to the future torchbearers of the Other Light is that they continue to add to and refine this manifesto until—by the last generation—it becomes the most motivational and strategic call to arms the world has ever known.
And be encouraged. Even if it’s true that we die out every generation, it stands to reason that our progeny will become more numerous each time. And if that’s true, it should be exponentially encouraging to each new wave that carries on our message.
So, what if it’s true? Add to this document. Refine it. Improve it. Pass it on. And we’ll see you on the victory stand in the end.
The Other Light
Abdullah Ababneh had not been in Amman an hour before he was engaged by a neighbor curious to know what he thought of the most recent judgment from God.
“I did not know we even had people of the Other Light within our borders,” the neighbor said. “But God exterminated one this morning.”
“TOL is spreading quickly,” Abdullah said, unwilling, of course, to reveal that he was in Jordan for the express purpose of infiltrating them. “Tell me what happened.”
“If possible,” the man said, “there is a faction within TOL that is even more radical than their mainstream. They believe that if they can somehow impregnate women with glorified bodies, they can create a super mongrel race of potential converts to their side who would be partially glorified and perhaps able to live past one hundred. Imagine if they are right.”
“They are wrong,” Abdullah said. “Simply wrong.”
“How can you say that?”
“It only stands to reason, friend. Why do you think that among the glorified there is no marrying or giving in marriage? The glorified bodies of women must have no childbearing capabilities, because they are not even interested in reproductive activity.”
“You may be right, and I hope you are, but that didn’t stop a TOLer from attempting to rape a glorified woman this morning.”
“And . . . ?”
“Her story is that she fought him off, but he subdued her. However, before he could proceed, he died in her arms. When she reported it to authorities, they found his ashes in her bedroom.”
“He had been struck by lightning, and she was not affected?”
“She may have been immune anyway, because of the nature of her body, but her account is that he merely died. The incineration had to have happened while she was running for help.”
“But her dwelling was not damaged?”
“Not even the blanket on her bed. It reminds me of those strange stories from the past. Spontaneous combustion.”
“We must spread this story far and wide,” Abdullah said. “Does anyone know how old the perpetrator was? The younger the better, for it will convince these people that such acts will cost them even the few years they have.”
“DNA tests identified him as a local eighty-six-year-old.”
“Perfect,” Abdullah said. “I grieve for anyone lost in their sin, but this will be a lesson for others.”
__
That evening Abdullah and Yasmine strolled familiar streets. “How I wish,” she said, “that we had been friends like this when we were husband and wife.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We’re way past regrets, Abdullah. I rejoice that you became a believer, and the past must remain the past. We share a blessing not everyone can claim: children who follow the Lord and serve Him.”
“Um-hmm.”
“Are you listening to me, Abdullah?”
&nbs
p; “Hm? Sure. Sorry.”
“You’re distracted. About what?”
“I need to find Zeke.”
“Mr. Zuckermandel? You’ve told me of him—the one who was so helpful with disguises for the Trib Force?”
“He’s going to have to work some magic. How am I, a natural, supposed to look younger than one hundred? Maybe we missed God’s instruction. Perhaps it’s you who are to infiltrate the Other Light. You don’t look a day over ninety-five.”
Kenny visited Ekaterina that evening, hoping to muster the courage to tell her how affectionate he had become toward her. He could never quite seem to find the words, and she kept changing the subject. She moved from exulting anew over what had happened with the little girl that day to asking how well he knew the Jordanian. “You know, the one who’s been working at COT for years but was gone the last several days.”
“Qasim?”
“That’s it. Where’s he been?”
“I understand he was visiting France.”
“Whatever for? Does he have people there?”
Kenny shrugged, feeling guilty about being evasive but also knowing that it was too early in their relationship—in fact, it was not even a friendship yet; merely an acquaintance—for him to be telling Ekaterina anything about the Millennium Force or Qasim and his self-motivated infiltrations of the Other Light.
And then it hit him. Ekaterina would be the perfect infiltrator! The right age. The right gender. No baggage. And she was a ton more mature than Qasim. She could do whatever the Millennium Force needed, and she would know how to keep confidences.
Ah, what was he thinking? He barely knew her and wanted to be more than friends, and he was already thinking of recruiting her for a clandestine operation with a Force she wasn’t even aware of? What was wrong with him?
THIRTEEN