The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books

by Tim LaHaye

  “Extremely good news,” the attendant repeated.

  Rayford was manually flying the plane as a diversion when his senior flight attendant gave him the message. He had no idea what it meant, but it was so unlike Chloe to initiate communication lately, he was intrigued.

  He asked his first officer to take over. Rayford unstrapped himself and made his way out, surprised to see Cameron Williams. He hoped Williams wasn’t the extent of Chloe’s good news. Pleasant as it was to think the man might already be making good on his promise to look up Bruce Barnes, Rayford also hoped that Chloe wasn’t about to announce some ill-advised whirlwind romance in the bud.

  He shook hands with the writer and expressed his pleasant, but wary, surprise. Chloe reached for his neck with both hands and gently pulled him down to where she could whisper to him. “Daddy, could you and I sit back there for a couple of minutes so I can talk to you?”

  Buck sensed disappointment in Captain Steele’s eyes at first. He looked forward to telling the pilot why he was glad to be flying to Chicago. Sitting next to Chloe had been only a bonus. He peeked back at Steele with his daughter, engaged in intense conversation and then praying together. Buck wondered if there was any airline regulation against that. He knew Rayford couldn’t fraternize for long.

  In a few minutes Chloe stepped into the aisle, and Rayford stood and embraced her. They both appeared overcome with emotion. A middle-aged couple across the aisle leaned out and stared, brows raised. The captain noticed, straightened, and headed toward the cockpit. “My daughter,” he said awkwardly, pointing at Chloe who smiled through her tears. “She’s my daughter.”

  The couple looked at each other and the woman spoke. “Right. And I’m the queen of England,” she said, and Buck laughed out loud.

  CHAPTER 23

  Buck called New Hope Village Church to set up an early evening meeting with Bruce Barnes, then spent most of the afternoon at the Chicago bureau of Global Weekly. News of his becoming their boss had swept the place, and he was greeted with coolness by Lucinda Washington’s former assistant, a young woman in sensible shoes. She told him in no uncertain terms, “Plank did nothing about replacing Lucinda, so I assumed I would move into her slot.”

  Her attitude and presumption alone made Buck say, “That’s unlikely, but you’ll be the first to know. I wouldn’t be moving offices just yet.”

  The rest of the staff still grieved over Lucinda’s disappearance and seemed grateful for Buck’s visit. Steve Plank had hardly ever come to Chicago and had not been there since Lucinda had vanished.

  Buck camped out in Lucinda’s old office, interviewing key people at twenty-minute intervals. He also told each about his writing assignment and asked their personal theories of what had happened. His final question to each was, “Where do you think Lucinda Washington is right now?” More than half said they didn’t want to be quoted but expressed variations of, “If there’s a heaven, that’s where she is.”

  Near the end of the day, Buck was told that CNN was live at the U.N. with big news. He invited the staff into the office and they watched together. “In the most dramatic and far-reaching overhaul of an international organization anyone can remember,” came the report, “Romanian president Nicolae Carpathia was catapulted into reluctant leadership of the United Nations by a nearly unanimous vote. Carpathia, who insisted on sweeping changes in direction and jurisdiction of the United Nations, in what appeared an effort to gracefully decline the position, became secretary-general here just moments ago.

  “As late as this morning his press secretary and spokesman, Steven Plank, former executive editor of the Global Weekly, had denied Carpathia’s interest in the job and outlined myriad demands the Romanian would insist upon before even considering the position. Plank said the request for Carpathia’s elevation came from outgoing Secretary-General Mwangati Ngumo of Botswana. We asked Ngumo why he was stepping down.”

  Ngumo’s face filled the screen, eyes downcast, his expression carefully masked. “I have long been aware that divided loyalties between my country and the United Nations have made me less effective in each role. I had to choose, and I am first and foremost a Motswana. We have the opportunity now to become prosperous, due to the generosity of our friends in Israel. The time is right, and the new man is more than right. I will cooperate with him to the fullest.”

  “Would you, sir, have stepped down had Mr. Carpathia declined the position?”

  Ngumo hesitated. “Yes,” he said, “I would have. Perhaps not today, and not with as much confidence in the future of the United Nations, but yes, eventually.”

  The CNN reporter continued, “In only a matter of hours, every request Carpathia had outlined in an early morning press conference was moved as official business, voted upon, and ratified by the body. Within a year the United Nations headquarters will move to New Babylon. The makeup of the Security Council will change to ten permanent members within the month, and a press conference is expected Monday morning in which Carpathia will introduce several of his personal choices for delegates to that body.

  “There is no guarantee, of course, that even member nations will unanimously go along with the move to destroy ninety percent of their military strength and turn over the remaining ten percent to the U.N. But several ambassadors expressed their confidence ‘in equipping and arming an international peacekeeping body with a thoroughgoing pacifist and committed disarmament activist as its head.’ Carpathia himself was quoted as saying, ‘The U.N. will not need its military might if no one else has any, and I look forward to the day when even the U.N. disarms.’

  “Also coming out of today’s meetings was the announcement of a seven-year pact between U.N. members and Israel, guaranteeing its borders and promising peace. In exchange, Israel will allow the U.N. to selectively franchise the use of the fertilizer formula, developed by Nobel prizewinner Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig, which makes desert sands tillable and has made Israel a top exporter.”

  Buck stared as CNN broadcast Rosenzweig’s excitement and unequivocal endorsement of Carpathia. The news also carried a report that Carpathia had asked several international groups already in New York for upcoming meetings to get together this weekend to hammer out proposals, resolutions, and accords. “I urge them to move quickly toward anything that contributes to world peace and a sense of global unity.”

  A reporter asked Carpathia if that included plans for one world religion and eventually one world government. His response: “I can think of little more encouraging than the religions of the world finally cooperating. Some of the worst examples of discord and infighting have been between groups whose overall mission is love among people. Every devotee of pure religion should welcome this potential. The day of hatred is past. Lovers of humankind are uniting.”

  The CNN anchor continued, “Among other developments today, there are rumors of the organization of groups espousing one world government. Carpathia was asked if he aspired to a position of leadership in such an organization.”

  Carpathia looked directly into the network pool camera and with moist eyes and thick voice said, “I am overwhelmed to have been asked to serve as secretary-general of the United Nations. I aspire to nothing else. While the idea of one world government resonates deep within me, I can say only that there are many more qualified candidates to lead such a venture. It would be my privilege to serve in any way I am asked, and while I do not see myself in the leadership role, I will commit the resources of the United Nations to such an effort, if asked.”

  Smooth, Buck thought, his mind reeling. As commentators and world leaders endorsed one world currency, one language, and even the largesse of Carpathia expressing his support for the rebuilding of the temple in Israel, the staff of Global Weekly’s Chicago bureau seemed in a mood to party. “This is the first time in years I’ve felt optimistic about society,” one reporter said.

  Another added, “This has to be the first time I’ve smiled since the disappearances. We’re supposed to be objective and cynical, but
how can you not like this? It’ll take years to effect all this stuff, but someday, somewhere down the line, we’re going to see world peace. No more weapons, no more wars, no more border disputes or bigotry based on language or religion. Whew! Who’d have believed it would come to this?”

  Buck took a call from Steve Plank. “You been watching what’s going on?” Plank said.

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

  “Mind-boggling.”

  “Listen, Carpathia wants you here Monday morning.”

  “What for?”

  “He likes you, man. Don’t knock it. Before the press conference he’s going to have a meeting with his top people and the ten delegates to the permanent Security Council.”

  “And he wants me there?”

  “Yup. And you can guess who some of his top people are.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, one’s obvious.”

  “Stonagal.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Todd-Cothran. I assume he’ll move in as new ambassador from the U.K.”

  “Maybe not,” Steve said. “Another Brit is there. I don’t know his name, but he’s also with this international finance group Stonagal runs.”

  “You think Carpathia told Stonagal to have someone else in the wings, in case Carpathia wants to squeeze Todd-Cothran out?”

  “Could be, but nobody tells Stonagal anything.”

  “Not even Carpathia?”

  “Especially not Carpathia. He knows who made him. But he’s honest and sincere, Buck. Nicolae will not do anything illegal or underhanded or even too political. He’s pure, man. Pure as the driven snow. So, can you make it?”

  “Guess I’d better. How many press will be there?”

  “You ready for this? Only you.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m serious. He likes you, Buck.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. He didn’t ask for a thing, not even favorable coverage. He knows you have to be objective and fair. The media will get the whole scoop at the press conference afterward.”

  “Obviously I can’t pass this up,” Buck said, aware his voice sounded flat.

  “What’s the matter, Buck? This is history! This is the world the way we’ve always wanted it and hoped it would be.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m right. There’s something else Carpathia wants.”

  “So there is a catch.”

  “No, nothing hinges on this. If you can’t do it, you can’t do it. You’re still welcome Monday morning. But he wants to see that stewardess friend of yours again.”

  “Steve, no one calls them stews anymore. They’re flight attendants.”

  “Whatever. Bring her with you if you can.”

  “Why doesn’t he ask her himself? What am I now, a pimp?”

  “C’mon, Buck. It’s not like that. Lonely guy in a position like this? He can’t be out hustling up dates. You introduced them, remember? He trusts you.”

  He must, Buck thought, if he’s inviting me to his big pre-press-conference meeting. “I’ll ask her,” he said. “No promises.”

  “Don’t let me down, buddy.”

  Rayford Steele was as happy as he had been since his own decision to receive Christ. To see Chloe smiling, to see her hungry to read Irene’s Bible, to be able to pray with her and talk about everything together was more than he had dreamed of. “One thing we need to do,” he said, “is to get you your own Bible. You’re going to wear that one out.”

  “I want to join that core group of yours,” she said. “I want to get all the stuff from Bruce firsthand. The only part that bothers me is that it sounds like things are going to get worse.”

  Late in the afternoon they dropped in on Bruce, who confirmed Chloe’s view. “I’m thrilled to welcome you into the family,” he said, “but you’re right. God’s people are in for dark days. Everybody is. I’ve been thinking and praying about what we’re supposed to do as a church between now and the Glorious Appearing.”

  Chloe wanted to know all about that, so Bruce showed her from the Bible why he believed Christ would appear in seven years, at the end of the Tribulation. “Most Christians will be martyred or die from war, famine, plagues, or earthquakes,” he said.

  Chloe smiled. “This isn’t funny,” she said, “but maybe I should have thought of that before I signed on. You’re going to have trouble convincing people to join the cause with that in your sign-up brochure.”

  Bruce grimaced. “Yes, but the alternative is worse. We all missed out the first time around. We could be in heaven right now if we’d listened to our loved ones. Dying a horrible death during this period is not my preference, but I’d sure rather do it this way than while I was still lost. Everyone else is in danger of death, too. The only difference is, we have one more way to die than they do.”

  “As martyrs.”

  “Right.”

  Rayford sat listening, aware how his world had changed in such a short time. It had not been that long ago that he had been a respected pilot at the top of his profession, living a phony life, a shell of a man. Now here he was, talking secretly in the office of a local church with his daughter and a young pastor, trying to determine how they would survive seven years of tribulation following the Rapture of the church.

  “We have our core group,” Bruce said, “and Chloe, you’re welcome to join us if you’re serious about total commitment.”

  “What’s the option?” she said. “If what you’re saying is true, there’s no room for dabbling.”

  “You’re right. But I’ve also been thinking about a smaller group within the core. I’m looking for people of unusual intelligence and courage. I don’t mean to disparage the sincerity of others in the church, especially those on the leadership team. But some of them are timid, some old, many infirm. I’ve been praying about sort of an inner circle of people who want to do more than just survive.”

  “What are you getting at?” Rayford asked. “Going on the offensive?”

  “Something like that. It’s one thing to hide in here, studying, figuring out what’s going on so we can keep from being deceived. It’s great to pray for the witnesses springing up out of Israel, and it’s nice to know there are other pockets of believers all over the world. But doesn’t part of you want to jump into the battle?”

  Rayford was intrigued but not sure. Chloe was more eager. “A cause,” she said. “Something not just to die for but to live for.”

  “Yes!”

  “A group, a team, a force,” Chloe said.

  “You’ve got it. A force.”

  Chloe’s eyes were bright with interest. Rayford loved her youth and her eagerness to commit to a cause that to her was only hours old. “And what is it you call this period?” she asked.

  “The Tribulation,” Bruce said.

  “So your little group inside the group, a sort of Green Berets, would be your Tribulation force.”

  “Tribulation Force,” Bruce said, looking at Rayford and rising to scribble it on his flip chart. “I like it. Make no mistake, it won’t be fun. It would be the most dangerous cause a person could ever join. We would study, prepare, and speak out. When it becomes obvious who the Antichrist is, the false prophet, the evil, counterfeit religion, we’ll have to oppose them, speak out against them. We would be targeted. Christians content to hide in basements with their Bibles might escape everything but earthquakes and wars, but we will be vulnerable to everything.

  “There will come a time, Chloe, that followers of Antichrist will be required to bear the sign of the beast. There are all kinds of theories on what form that might take, from a tattoo to a stamp on the forehead that might be detected only under infrared light. But obviously we would refuse to bear that mark. That very act of defiance will be a mark in itself. We will be the naked ones, the ones devoid of the protection of belonging to the majority. You still want to be part of the Tribulation Force?”


  Rayford nodded and smiled at his daughter’s firm reply. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Two hours after the Steeles had left, Buck Williams parked his rental car in front of New Hope Village Church in Mount Prospect, Illinois. He had a sense of destiny tinged with fear. Who would this Bruce Barnes be? What would he look like? And would he be able to detect a non-Christian at a glance?

  Buck sat in the car, his head in his hands. He was too analytical, he knew, to make a rash decision. Even his leaving home years before to pursue an education and become a journalist had been plotted for years. To his family it came like a thunderbolt, but to young Cameron Williams it was a logical next step, a part of his long-range plan.

  Where Buck sat now was not part of any plan. Nothing that had happened since that ill-fated flight to Heathrow had fit into any predefined pattern for him. He had always liked the serendipity of life, but he processed it through a grid of logic, attacked it from a perspective of order. The firestorm of Israel had jarred him, but even then he had been acting from a standpoint of order. He had a career, a position, a role. He had been in Israel on assignment, and though he hadn’t expected to become a war correspondent overnight, he had been prepared by the way he had ordered his life.

  But nothing had prepared him for the disappearances or for the violent deaths of his friends. While he should have been prepared for this promotion, that hadn’t been part of his plan, either. Now his theory article was bringing him close to flames he had never known were burning in his soul. He felt alone, exposed, vulnerable, and yet this meeting with Bruce Barnes had been his idea. Sure, the airline pilot had suggested it, but Buck could have ignored him without remorse. This trip had not been about getting in a few extra hours with the beautiful Chloe, and the Chicago bureau could have waited. He was here, he knew, for this meeting. Buck felt a bone weariness as he headed for the church.

  It was a pleasant surprise to find that Bruce Barnes was someone near Buck’s own age. He seemed bright and earnest, having that same authority and passion Rayford Steele exhibited. It had been a long time since Buck had been in a church. This one seemed innocuous enough, fairly new and modern, neat and efficient. He and the young pastor met in a modest office.