Tribulation Force

by Tim LaHaye

  “How’s he going to get away with not returning it?”

  “He’s going to thank the president for the gift, and—”

  “He already did that the other day. I heard him.”

  “But this time he will make it obvious he’s thanking the president for a gift, not for a loan. You get hired by the White House first, and you come with the plane, on the president’s salary budget. What can the president do, look betrayed? Say Nicolae is lying? He’ll just have to find a way to look as generous as Nicolae makes him out to be. Is that brilliant?”

  “It’s boorish. It’s thievery. Why would I want to work for a man like that? Why would you?”

  “I’ll work with and for Nicolae for as long as he’ll let me, Rayford. I have never learned so much in so short a time. This is not thievery at all. Nicolae says the United States is looking for ways to support the U.N. now, and here is a way. You know the world is coming together, and someone is going to lead the new one-world government. Getting this plane is one way to show that President Fitzhugh defers to Secretary-General Carpathia.”

  Hattie sounded like a parrot. Carpathia had taught her well, if not to understand, at least to believe.

  “OK,” Rayford summarized, “Carpathia somehow gets Pan-Con and the White House to put me at the top of the list of pilots for Air Force One. He has you agitate me at home so I’ll want to move. I take the job, he gets the plane and never gives it back. I’m the pilot, but I’m paid by the U.S. government. And this all ties in with Carpathia eventually becoming the leader of the world.”

  Hattie rested her chin in her entwined fingers, elbows on the desk. She cocked her head. “That wasn’t so complicated, was it?”

  “I don’t get why I’m so important to him.”

  “He asked who was the best pilot I ever worked for and why.”

  “And I won,” Rayford said.

  “You won.”

  “Did you tell him we almost had a fling?”

  “Did we?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Of course I didn’t tell him that, and neither will you if you want to keep a good job.”

  “But you told him I was a Christian.”

  “Sure, why not? You tell everyone else. I think he’s a Christian, anyway.”

  “Nicolae Carpathia?”

  “Of course! At least he lives by Christian principles. He’s always concerned for the greater good. That’s one of his favorite phrases. Like this airplane deal. He knows the U.S. wants to do this, even if they didn’t think of it. They might feel a little put out for a while, but since it is for the greater good of the world, they’ll eventually see that and be glad they did it. They’ll look like generous heroes, and he’s doing that for them. That’s Christian, isn’t it?”

  Buck was scribbling furiously. He had left his recorder in his bag at the hotel, expecting to get it when he returned from the Global Weekly office to interview Rabbi Marc Feinberg, one of the key proponents of rebuilding the Jewish temple. But when Buck had entered the hotel lobby, he had nearly run into Feinberg, who was pulling a large trunk on wheels. “I’m sorry, my friend. I was able to get an earlier flight, and I’m going. Walk with me.”

  Buck had dug his notebook from one pocket and pen from the other. “How do you feel about the pronouncements?” Buck asked.

  “Let me say this: Today I have become a bit of a politician. Do I believe God is a concept? No! I believe God is a person! Do I believe that all the religions of the world can work together and become one? No, probably not. My God is a jealous God and will share his glory with no other. However, can we tolerate each other? Certainly.

  “But, you may ask, why do I say I have become a politician? Because I will compromise for the sake of rebuilding the temple. As long as I do not have to sacrifice my belief in the one true God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, I will tolerate and cooperate with anyone with a good heart. I do not agree with them or with their methods, many of them, but if they want to get along, I want to get along. Above all, I want the temple rebuilt on its original site. This was virtually done as of today. I predict the temple will be constructed within the year.”

  The rabbi burst through the front doors and asked the doorman to hail him a cab. “But, sir,” Buck said, “if the head of the new one-world religion considers himself a Christian—”

  Feinberg waved Buck off. “Ach! We all know it will be Mathews, and that he will likely be the next pope, too! Considers himself a Christian? He is a Christian through and through! He believes Jesus was Messiah. I’d sooner believe Carpathia is Messiah.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Believe me, I have considered it. Messiah is to bring justice and lasting peace. Look what Carpathia has done in just weeks! Does he fit all the criteria? We’ll find out Monday. Are you aware that my colleague Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah is—”

  “Yes, I’ll be watching.” There were plenty of other sources Buck could talk to about Carpathia, and he wanted to speak with Ben-Judah personally. What he wanted from Feinberg was the temple story. He redirected the subject. “What is so important about the rebuilding of the temple?”

  Rabbi Feinberg stepped and spun, watching the line of cabs, obviously worried about the time. But though he did not maintain eye contact with Buck, he continued to expound. He gave Buck the short course, as if teaching a class of Gentiles interested in Jewish history.

  “King David wanted to build a temple for the Lord,” he said. “But God felt David had shed too much blood as a man of war, so he let David’s son Solomon build it. It was magnificent. Jerusalem was the city where God would place his name and where his people would come to worship. The glory of God appeared in the temple, and it became a symbol of the hand of God protecting the nation. The people felt so secure that even when they turned from God, they believed Jerusalem was impregnable, as long as the temple stood.”

  A cab pulled up and the doorman loaded the large valise into the trunk. “Pay the man and ride with me,” Feinberg said. Buck had to smile as he pulled a bill from his pocket and pressed it into the doorman’s hand. Even if he had to pay for the cab ride, it would be a cheap interview.

  “Kennedy,” Feinberg told the driver.

  “Excuse me while I use my phone,” Buck said. “Rabbi, let me see your bill so I get the number of the hotel.” He called the concierge and told her he would need his bag stored longer than he had expected. She asked him to hold and came back on. “Sir, someone took that bag for you.”

  “Someone what?”

  “Took that bag for you. Said he was your friend and would see that you got it.”

  Buck was stunned. “You let my bag be taken by a stranger who claimed to be a friend of mine?”

  “Sir, it’s not as bleak as all that. I think the man could easily be located if necessary. He’s on the news every night.”

  “Mr. Carpathia?”

  “Yes, sir. One of his people, a Mr. Plank, promised he would deliver it to you.”

  Feinberg seemed pleased when Buck finally got off the phone. “Back to the temple!” he shouted, and the driver pulled his foot off the gas. “Not you!” Feinberg said. “Us!”

  Buck wondered what a man with such unbounded energy and enthusiasm might do in another profession. “You’d have been a killer racquetball player,” he said.

  “I am a killer racquetball player!” Feinberg said. “I’m an A-minus. What are you?”

  “Retired.”

  “And so young!”

  “Too busy.”

  “Never too busy for physical exercise,” the rabbi said, smacking himself on his flat, hard stomach. “Ah, the temple,” he said. The cab was soon stuck in traffic, and Buck kept scribbling.

  When Hattie excused herself to answer the phone on her desk, Rayford slipped his New Testament and Psalms from his pocket. He had been memorizing verses from the Psalms, and as his anxiety over meeting Carpathia grew, he turned to those favorites and ran them over in his mind.

  He found Psalm 91 and rea
d verses he had underlined: “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.’ A thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand; but it shall not come near you. No evil shall befall you, nor shall any plague come near your dwelling; for He shall give His angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways.”

  When he looked up, Hattie was off the phone and looking at him expectantly. “Sorry,” he said, closing the Bible.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “The secretary-general is ready for you.”

  With the cabby’s assurance that the rabbi was not going to miss his plane, Feinberg warmed to his subject. “The temple and the city of Jerusalem were destroyed by King Nebuchadnezzar. Seventy years later a decree was given to rebuild the city and eventually the temple. The new temple, under the direction of Zerubbabel and Joshua, the high priest, was so inferior to the temple of Solomon that some of the elders wept when they saw the foundation.

  “Still, that temple served Israel until it was desecrated by Antiochus Epiphanes, a Greco-Roman ruler. About 40 BC, Herod the Great had the temple destroyed piece by piece and rebuilt. That became known as Herod’s Temple. And you know what became of that.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “You’re a religion writer and you don’t know what happened to Herod’s Temple?”

  “I’m actually a pinch hitter for the religion writer on this story.”

  “A pinch hitter?”

  Buck smiled. “You’re an A-minus racquetball player and you don’t know what a pinch hitter is?”

  “It’s not a racquetball term, I know that,” Rabbi Feinberg said. “And other than football, which you call soccer, I don’t care about other sports. Let me tell you what happened to Herod’s Temple. Titus, a Roman general, laid siege to Jerusalem, and even though he gave orders that the temple not be destroyed, the Jews did not trust him. They burned it rather than allow it to fall into pagan hands. Today the Temple Mount, the site of the old Jewish temple, is occupied by the Mohammedans and houses the Muslim mosque called the Dome of the Rock.”

  Buck was curious. “How were the Muslims persuaded to move the Dome of the Rock?”

  “That proves the magnificence of Carpathia,” Feinberg said. “Who but Messiah could ask devout Muslims to move the shrine that in their religion is second in importance only to Mecca, the birthplace of Mohammed? But you see, the Temple Mount, the Dome of the Rock, is built right over Mount Moriah, where we believe Abraham expressed his willingness to God to sacrifice his son Isaac. Of course we do not believe Mohammed to be divine, so as long as a Muslim mosque occupies the Temple Mount, we believe our holy place is being defiled.”

  “So this is a great day for Israel.”

  “A great day! Since the birth of our nation, we have collected millions from around the world for the rebuilding of the temple. Work has begun. Many prefabricated walls are finished and will be shipped in. I will live to see the reconstruction of the temple, and it will be even more spectacular than in the days of Solomon!”

  “At last we meet,” Nicolae Carpathia said, rising and coming around his desk to shake hands with Rayford Steele. “Thank you, Ms. Durham. We will sit right here.”

  Hattie left and shut the door. Nicolae pointed to a chair and sat down across from Rayford. “And so our little circle is connected.”

  Rayford felt strangely calmed. He was being prayed for, and his mind was full of the promises from the Psalms. “Sir?”

  “It is interesting to me how small the world is. Perhaps that is why I believe so strongly that we are becoming truly a global community. Would you believe I met you through an Israeli botanist named Chaim Rosenzweig?”

  “I know the name, of course, but we have never met.”

  “Indeed you have not. But you will. If not while you are here, then Saturday on the plane to Israel. He introduced me to a young journalist who had written about him. That journalist met your flight attendant, Ms. Durham, while on your plane, and eventually introduced her to me. She is now my assistant, and she introduced you to me. A small world.”

  Earl Halliday had said the same thing when he’d heard that Hattie Durham, a former Pan-Con employee, was working for the man who wanted Rayford as pilot of Air Force One. Rayford did not respond to Carpathia. He didn’t believe they had met coincidentally. It was not such a small world. It was possible all had been where God had wanted them to be so Rayford could be sitting where he was today. This wasn’t something he wanted or had sought, but he was finally open to it.

  “So, you want to be the pilot of Air Force One.”

  “No, sir, that was not my desire. I am willing to fly her to Jerusalem with your delegation, at the request of the White House, and then decide about the request to become the pilot.”

  “You did not seek the position?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you are willing.”

  “To give it a try.”

  “Mr. Steele, I want to make a prediction. I want to presume that you will see this plane, experience the latest technology, and want never to fly anything less.”

  “That may very well be.” But not for that reason, Rayford thought. Only if it’s what God wants.

  “I also want to let you in on a little secret, something that has not been announced yet. Ms. Durham has assured me that you are a man who can be trusted, a man of your word, and as of recently also a religious man.”

  Rayford nodded, unwilling to say anything.

  “Then I will trust you to keep my confidence until this is announced. Air Force One is being lent to the United Nations as a gesture of support by the president of the United States.”

  “That’s been on the news, sir.”

  “Of course, but what has not been announced is that the plane will then be given to us, along with the crew, for our exclusive use.”

  “How nice of President Fitzhugh to offer that.”

  “How nice indeed,” Carpathia said. “And how generous.”

  Rayford understood how people could be charmed by Carpathia, but sitting across from him and knowing he was lying made it easier to resist his charm.

  “When do you fly back?” Carpathia said.

  “I left it open. I’m at your disposal. I do need to be home before we leave Saturday, however.”

  “I like your style,” Carpathia said. “You are at my disposal. That is nice. You realize, of course, that should you get this job—and you will—that this is not a platform for proselytizing.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that the United Nations, which shall become known as Global Community, and I in particular, are proactively nonsectarian.”

  “I am a believer in Christ,” Rayford said. “I attend church. I read my Bible. I tell people what I believe.”

  “But not on the job.”

  “If you become my superior and that becomes a directive, I will be obligated to obey.”

  “I will and it will and you will,” Carpathia said. “Just so we understand each other.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I like you, and I believe we can work together.”

  “I don’t know you, sir, but I believe I can work with anybody.” Where had that come from? Rayford almost smiled. If he could work with the Antichrist, who couldn’t he work with?

  As the cab pulled up to the curb at Kennedy International, Rabbi Marc Feinberg said, “I’m sure you won’t mind including my trip in your total, as you did interview me.”

  “Certainly,” Buck said. “Global Weekly is more than happy to provide you a trip to the airport, provided we don’t have to fly you to Israel.”

  “Now that you mention it—,” the rabbi said with a twinkle, but he did not finish the thought. He merely waved, retrieved his valise from the cabby, and hurried into the terminal.

  Nicolae Carpathia pressed the intercom button. “Ms. Durham, have you arran
ged for a car to the hangar?”

  “Yes, sir. Rear entrance.”

  “We are ready.”

  “I’ll buzz you when security arrives.”

  “Thank you.” Nicolae turned to Rayford. “I want you to see the plane.”

  “Certainly,” Rayford said, though he would rather have started toward home. Why on earth had he said he was at Carpathia’s disposal?

  “Back to the hotel, sir?”

  “No,” Buck said. “The U.N. building, please.”

  He dug in his pocket for his cell phone and called Steve Plank at the U.N. “What’s the idea of absconding with my bag?”

  “Just trying to do you a favor, old buddy. You at the Plaza? I’ll bring it to you.”

  “That’s where I’m staying, but let me come to you. That’s what you intended anyway, wasn’t it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Be there in an hour.”

  “Carpathia may not be here.”

  “I’m not coming to see him. I’m coming to see you.”

  When Hattie buzzed, Carpathia stood and his door opened. Two security guards flanked Nicolae and Rayford as they made their way through the corridors to a freight elevator, down to the first floor below ground level, and into a parking dock, where a limousine waited. The driver leaped out to open the door for Carpathia. Rayford was walked around to the other side, where his door was opened.

  Rayford found it strange that though he had been offered no refreshment at the office, Carpathia now insisted on showing him everything available in the limo, from whiskey to wine, to beer and soft drinks. Rayford accepted a Coke.

  “Are you not a drinker?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Used to be?”

  “Never a hard drinker, but occasionally unwise. I haven’t touched a drop since I lost my family.”

  “I was sorry to hear of that.”

  “Thank you, but I have come to terms with it. I miss them terribly—”

  “Of course.”

  “But I have peace about it.”

  “Your religion believes that Jesus Christ has taken his own to heaven, is that it?”