by Tim LaHaye
In a few minutes, the visitor was standing in front of Coliquin’s bamboo desk. Behind Coliquin was an open lanai leading out to swaying palm trees and the blue ocean beyond that.
“Nice place to work,” the man said with a smile.
“For the time being,” Coliquin remarked. “While the world is expounding on the Israel thing, I’m staying out of the public eye, getting some real work done.” Then Coliquin got to the point of their meeting. “So, what about Caesar Demas?”
“Seems his wife shot him to death, after seeing pictures of his cavorting with another woman.”
“You don’t say,” Coliquin replied with mock surprise. “Well, so much for his plans to run for king of the world. It’s actually better for him this way. Divorce would have been simpler for poor Caesar, but probably more painful.”
They laughed.
“And Belltether?”
“Done.”
Then Tomasso handed the little briefcase to Coliquin and added, “Everything that Belltether was working on should be in there, including his tapes and notes of your interview with him and his stuff on the problems with your orphanages in Romania.”
“Well done.”
Tomasso smiled and said he’d like to hit the beach for a few days before leaving.
After he left, Coliquin made an international call to Baghdad, to his manager for international development. After chatting for a few moments, Coliquin asked how the project in Iraq was going, and the manager replied, “About that one hundred acres owned by the U.S. government … the State Department says it should be able to transfer the parcel to your global foundation. Then we can begin construction on your international headquarters.”
“That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.”
“Only, we need a name for the project.”
“That’s simple. I’ve always been a student of history,” Coliquin explained.
“So … the name?”
“Why, New Babylon, of course.”
SIXTY-EIGHT
One Week Later
In the courtroom of the U.S. District Court in Manhattan, federal judge Wendell Tierney was giving the government lawyers an astonished look. “If I understand you then, you’re asking this court to permit you to dismiss all the charges against all of the defendants, including Abigail Jordan? All of the defendants dismissed except one … all dismissed but her husband, Joshua Jordan?”
Assistant Attorney General Gowers had flown in from Washington to make the pitch to the judge. “Yes, your honor, exactly.”
“And these are not negotiated pleas but are outright dismissals?”
“That’s correct.”
The judge took a second to flip through the court file. Then he turned to Harry Smythe and Abigail Jordan, who were seated at counsel table. “Mr. Smythe, I assume your client, Mrs. Jordan, has no objection to having the charges dismissed against her and the other members of this political group of hers?”
Harry Smythe turned to Abigail. She clearly had something to say. “Your honor,” she began, “I believe that these charges were false and meritless from the beginning. I think these dismissals are happening because the White House is fearful of what we would be able to show at trial about the conduct of President Jessica Tulrude. I was reluctant to be dismissed from this case unless my husband got the same benefit. My husband, Joshua, however, has urged me to accept this dismissal, so I am agreeing, even though the government, for some inexplicable reason, is still hanging on to the criminal charges against my husband. This looks like a vendetta to me.”
Harry Smythe, sensing an oration from Abigail on the subject of her husband’s prosecution was imminent, cut in at the microphone: “In other words, your honor, we have no objections to the dismissals.”
Judge Tierney closed the file on the bench in front of him. “Fine. Dismissals granted. What is the position of the Department of Justice on Mr. Jordan’s case?”
Gowers stepped back to the microphone. “Mr. Jordan is currently in Israel. We will be asking Israel to cooperate with us so he can be extradited to the United States for trial.”
Judge Tierney knew the tough reputation of Israel in opposing controversial extradition cases. “Good luck with that,” he noted with a tinge of cynicism.
After the hearing, Harry and Abigail walked out a side entrance with the help of a friendly court clerk, so they could avoid the cameras and reporters.
Harry said, “You know they can now subpoena you because you’re not a defendant and force you to testify against Josh?”
“Sure … assuming it ever comes to trial.”
But Harry Smythe was thinking about another legal wrinkle. “… And realizing that Josh will not have to face a trial unless he’s returned to the United States. You and I know full well that Israel will protect him and block his extradition to the U.S.” Then he paused, realizing what he was saying. “This is going to be rough on you, Abby. His best chance is to stay where he is. If he comes back here, he could spend the rest of his life in prison. At the same time, the United States has a material witness order against you, preventing you from leaving the country while your husband’s case is pending. So it seems that the government has successfully kept the two of you separated at the opposite ends of the world. Wow, talk about cruel and unusual punishment …”
As Abigail walked out into the sunlight, she looked between the buildings to the sky, which was blue and cloudless, but her vision was obscured by tears. In an impassioned voice she whispered, “Josh, dear, when? When are we going to be together?”
Stepping to the curb, Harry began looking for a cab. After a few minutes a taxi pulled up. Harry opened the car door and waited for Abigail to climb in. By that time Abigail had a sly, confident smile on her face as she wiped the tears with a manicured finger. She stepped confidently to the cab.
Harry Smythe, exasperated, said, “Okay, Abby. I know that look. You’ve got something else up your sleeve that you’re not going to share with your lawyer …”
Deborah and Ethan were hanging on the railing of the military ship, looking out over the water. Ethan was listening intently. Then Deborah stopped talking and pointed to something far off. It was the skyline of New York City looking faint and miniature in the misty distance.
“America,” she sighed. “Home.”
She turned to look at two other people standing at the railing, out of listening range. Deborah wondered aloud, “What’s going to happen to them?” And she nodded toward the man and the woman with their heads leaning against each other.
Ethan looked at the couple, then turned back to the sea. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about them. If there was ever a couple that could get themselves out of this mess, it would be your parents.”
At the other end of the railing, Joshua leaned on a crutch, a reminder of his helicopter crash in Israel. Abigail had his arm tightly tucked in hers.
“Gotta hand it to you,” Joshua beamed. “I’ve got a pretty smart wife.” He looked up to the blue and white flag of Israel that was snapping in the breeze over the deck of the Israeli military ship. “So we’re here at the border of international waters, just within United States jurisdiction, so you haven’t violated your material witness order. And I’m on an Israeli ship with one of their ambassadors on board, so I’m outside of the reach of the United States and technically still within the sovereign state of Israel. Yeah, you’re smart …”
“No, not smart enough,” she said. “When our rendezvous ends in an hour or so, I get on a boat with Deborah, Cal, and Ethan and head into New York harbor. But you sail back to Israel. Josh, how do I stop that from happening?”
“Easy. I enter the United States with you, turn myself in, and take on the White House and the Department of Justice.”
“Easy? Courageous but foolish. They’ll detain you without bail. You’ll be stuck in jail for at least a year waiting for trial. Meanwhile the Tulrude administration will kick into overtime with the full force of the federal government trying to destroy
you. The truth won’t matter to Tulrude. And if you’re convicted, you’ll die in prison.”
Joshua smiled, “So let’s forget about all the legal stuff. Let’s talk about something pleasant. And carefree … like that envelope you said that Phil Rankowitz received in the mail.”
Abigail had to smile at her husband’s smart-aleck sense of humor. She pulled the package out of her purse. “Here it is. Your copy of Mr. Belltether’s article, and all his background research on Alexander Coliquin and his global initiative to unite the world’s religions around a global-warming agenda. He must have mailed it just before he was murdered. The way that Belltether put it, Alexander Coliquin could be poised to execute a plan for global control. Phil’s going to post the whole thing on AmeriNews.”
“And you think he’s the one? Coliquin, I mean?”
“I shudder just thinking about it, but if he is …”
“I know what you’re thinking … evil personified.”
But Abigail studied her husband. “That’s putting it mildly. The Bible describes that ‘lawless one’ as a genius in multiple areas: a demonic polymath, good communications skills, political savvy, a master of economics, military strategy, and administration. He’s got it all. And even the ability to appeal to the religious yearnings of the human race. Josh, we have to let God handle this,” she added with a somber kind of resolve. “This is way above our pay grade. I mean it, Josh. We leave this one alone. Okay?”
“I agree. God’s going to handle it. Since I prayed in that Iranian jail I’ve been reading my Bible every chance I have. I get what you’re saying about the sovereignty of God, but shouldn’t we at least make ourselves available … to join Him in the effort if He calls us?”
“I’m not sure exactly what God would call us to do, Josh.”
Joshua ventured a thought about that. “It just goes against every fiber of my training …”
“What does?”
“To sit by and watch the enemy gain a foothold, to give the devil the high ground.”
She shook her head and giggled. “My husband has been a follower of Jesus for just a few weeks, and already he’s talking like a country preacher!” Then Abigail moved in closer to her husband. “Kiss me.”
He smiled and pulled her to him with one arm. It was a long kiss and said more than they could have explained. Then Joshua pulled his head back and asked, “Where’s Cal? I need to talk to him.”
“He’s up on the bridge with the captain. They’re giving him a personal tour of the ship — VIP treatment. You forget, your son has a father who’s a national hero over in Israel.”
Abigail said she’d spare him the clumsy trip up the stairway with his crutch and would fetch Cal herself. A few minutes later, Cal was next to Joshua at the ship’s railing. Abigail gave them time together and sauntered over to Deborah and Ethan.
Joshua turned to face his son, with the rolling waves at his back. “I’ll be in Israel for a while, trying to figure out which way to go with my situation.”
“How about I go to Israel with you? I’ll just stay on board the ship. I’ve brought my passport.”
“I wish you could. Cal, I’ve missed you something fierce. But things being as they are, you need to finish up at Liberty University first. And I need you by your mother’s side. She’s going to need your support and advice. Frankly, you’re the only person I can trust to do that while I’m away.”
Cal was going to question that. After all, Deborah was practically a military clone of her father, or at least Cal had always thought so. But now he was starting to understand something about his father.
“Besides,” Joshua added with a grin, “now that you’re talking about going to law school, I can’t think of a better mentor for you than Abigail Jordan — America’s smartest lawyer.”
Cal smiled and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Joshua turned back to the sea and put his arm around his son’s shoulder. He could hear his wife laughing with Deborah and Ethan farther down the deck.
He felt good that at least right now his family was all together — and safe. With Joshua’s feeling that history was rushing to a conclusion and his sensation that time was vanishing between his fingers like loose sand, he would never take that for granted. Not ever.
The private room at Walter Reed Hospital had Secret Service agents posted outside. Inside, there was a nurse on each side of the bed. The patient, Virgil Corland, the former president of the United States, whose executive powers had since been transferred to Jessica Tulrude, had been in a coma for months. His attending physicians were now calling it a “persistent vegetative state.”
Suddenly the two nurses snapped to attention, flagpole straight. The distraught former first lady, Winnie Corland, entered the room, escorted by the attending physician. She had just come from a private meeting at the White House with President Tulrude.
“I know how hard this will be for you,” Tulrude had remarked as they strolled in the Rose Garden, “but soon your suffering — and Virgil’s — will be over.”
Winnie gave Tulrude a quick, restrained hug when she was about to leave. But in the back of her mind she thought how bizarre the illogic of Tulrude’s last statement was. If Virgil is suffering, then that must mean that he’s not in a persistent vegetative state. Which means we shouldn’t pull the plug. Yet one fact was undeniable. Three years before, Corland had signed an irrevocable medical directive, ordering that all life-support systems be removed if he ever fell into that kind of state.
Winnie also thought back to Virgil’s complaints about Tulrude. How many times, around two or three in the morning, would he slip into bed in the private quarters of the White House and whisper to her about his mistrust of Jessica Tulrude? His favorite tag for her was “that scheming wife of Macbeth.”
The attending physician reached out and squeezed Winnie’s arm. “I believe we are ready, Mrs. Corland. Would you prefer to leave the room?”
She shook her head no. Then she had to fight back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her. Winnie Corland wasn’t thinking about the implications for America or the impact on the world for that matter, though there would clearly be ramifications. Now she was facing only her own private pain.
The two nurses reached to the switches controlling the ventilator and the oxygen. That would be turned off first. They would keep the lines for the sedative open until the end, to control “involuntary movements” that might appear distressing to Winnie. But Winnie wasn’t watching the nurses. She had her eyes riveted on something else. On her husband. She would watch him until the end.
The nurse reached for the control panel.
“Wait a minute!”
The nurses jumped a little at Winnie’s shout. She scurried up to her husband’s side. “His eyes,” she called out pointing to his face. Virgil Corland’s eyes, which had seemed so fixed and unmoving for months, were now roving from one point to another and seemed to be taking in the room. Then Corland blinked and muttered something unintelligible. Winnie kneeled next to him, her face awash with tears that were rolling down her cheeks. “What did you say, darling? Talk to me …”
The doctor tried to urge her away from her husband, explaining that this was not at all unusual and talking obtusely about something called “locked-in syndrome.” But all of that was about to become irrelevant. Because the immobile patient in the bed suddenly had a voice.
Virgil Corland spoke three garbled words. “Had a dream …”
Winnie was dumbfounded. She burst into tears and cradled his head. “Tell me, dear, what dream, sweetheart?”
Virgil Corland tried to enunciate. His lips were dry. He tried again. Finally some words came out. Four of them. They were faint, raspy, and parched, as if they had just arrived from some dry and desolate place. Yet at the same time they seemed to possess the power of a prophet’s cry in the wilderness.
“The King is coming …”
About the Author
From Tim LaHaye, creator and coauthor of
the world-renowned Left Behind Series—the most successful adult fiction series ever written—and Craig Parshall comes this epic story ripped from the headlines of world events and filtered through Scriptural prophecy. Set in the very near future, Thunder of Heaven chronicles the earth-shattering events leading up to the Apocalypse foretold in Revelation.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Tim LaHaye’s books always entertain, educate, and thrill, but Thunder of Heaven takes it to a new level. I never thought the End of Days would cost me so much sleep!
Glenn Beck
number one New York Times bestselling author
Tim LaHaye writes about the prophetic future with such accuracy and passion that once you get started reading what he has written, you do not put the book away until it is finished! In our generation, he has led the way back to a proper appreciation of the prophetic writings of Scripture. Everywhere I go, I meet someone who has read one of Tim’s books and been blessed by it. This book will continue that tradition!
Dr. David Jeremiah
senior pastor of Shadow Mountain Community Church
founder and CEO of Turning Point
Dr. Tim LaHaye writes about the future with the kind of gripping detail that others would use to describe the past. I’ve been reading Tim LaHaye’s books for over thirty years, but Thunder of Heaven may be his best yet!”
Mike Huckabee
former Arkansas governor
Other Books by Tim LaHaye
The End Series
Edge of Apocalypse (with Craig Parshall)
Thunder of Heaven (with Craig Parshall)
Revelation Unveiled
Finding the Will of God in a Crazy, Mixed-Up World
How to Win Over Depression