by Tim LaHaye
“That has not gone unnoticed,” Fortunato would say. “He appreciates very much your suggesting the ocean harvesting operation. His Excellency believes this will result in huge profits to the entire world. He’s asking that your region split the income equally with his Global Community administration, and he will then redistribute the GC share to the less fortunate regions.”
If that made a king blanch, Fortunato went into overdrive. “Of course, His Excellency realizes the burden this puts on you. But, you know the old saying: ‘To whom much is given, much is required.’ The potentate believes you have governed with such brilliance and vigor that you can be counted on as one of the globe’s great benefactors. In exchange, he has given me the liberty to show you this list and these plans for your personal encouragement and comfort.” As Fortunato would unroll papers—which Rayford assumed were elaborate architectural drawings and lists of perquisites—he would say, “His Excellency himself pleaded with me to assure you that he does not in any way believe this is anything but appropriate for a person of your stature and station. While it may appear opulent to the point of ostentation, he asked that I personally convey that he believes you are worthy of such accommodations. While your new domicile, which will be constructed and equipped within the next six months, may appear to elevate you even beyond where he is, he insists that you not reject his plans.”
Whatever Fortunato showed them seemed to impress. “Well,” they would say, “I would never ask this for myself, but if His Excellency insists . . .”
Fortunato saved his slimiest approach. Just before his official conversation with each king was finished, he added: “Now, sir, His Excellency asked that I broach with you a delicate matter that must remain confidential. May I count on you?”
“Certainly!”
“Thank you. He is gathering sensitive data on the workings of the Enigma Babylon One World Faith. Being careful not to prejudice you, but also not wanting to act without your insight, he is curious. How do you feel about Pontifex Maximus Peter Mathews’s self-serving—no, that is pejorative—let me state it another way. Again, being careful not to sway you, do you share His Excellency’s, shall we say, hesitation over the pontiff’s independence from the rest of the Global Community administration?”
To a man, every king expressed outrage over Mathews’s machinations. Each considered him a threat. One said, “We do our share. We pay the taxes. We are loyal to His Excellency. With Mathews, it’s just take, take, take. It’s never enough. I, for one, and you may express this to His Excellency, would love to see Mathews out of office.”
“Then let me broach a yet more sensitive issue, if I may.”
“Absolutely.”
“If it came to taking an extreme course of action against the very person of the pontiff, would you be one upon whom His Excellency could depend?”
“You mean . . . ?”
“You understand.”
“You may count on me.”
The day before the Condor 216 was to deliver the dignitaries to New Babylon, Mac received word from Albie. “Your delivery is early and ready for pickup.”
Rayford spent nearly an hour scheduling his and Mac’s time in the cockpit and in the sleeping quarters so both would feel as fresh as possible at the end of the trip. Rayford penciled himself in for the last block of piloting. Mac would sleep and then be available to make the chopper run to make the pickup and pay off Albie. Meanwhile, Rayford would sleep in his quarters at the shelter. Come nightfall, Rayford and Mac would slip away and helicopter to the Tigris.
It worked almost as planned. Rayford had not anticipated David Hassid’s eagerness to debrief him on everything that had happened in his absence. “Carpathia actually has missiles pointing into outer space, anticipating judgmental meteors.”
Rayford flinched. “He believes the prophecies that God will pour out more judgments?”
“He would never admit that,” David said. “But it sure sounds like he’s afraid of it.”
Rayford thanked David and finally told him he needed rest. On his way out, Hassid shared one more bit of news, and it was all Rayford could do to stay off the Internet. “Carpathia has been manic the last several days,” David said. “He discovered that Web site where you can tap into a live camera shot of the Wailing Wall. He spent days carrying his laptop everywhere he went, watching and listening to the two preachers at the wall. He’s convinced they’re speaking directly to him, and of course they are. Oh, he’s mad. Twice I heard him scream, ‘I want them dead! And soon!’”
“That won’t happen before the due time,” Rayford said.
“You don’t have to tell me,” David said. “I’m reading Tsion Ben-Judah’s messages every chance I get.”
Rayford posted coded notes on bulletin boards all over the Net, trying to locate Amanda. He may have been too obscure, but he didn’t dare make it more obvious. He believed she was alive, and so unless it was proven otherwise, to him she was. All he knew was that if she could communicate with him, she would. As for the charges that she was working for Carpathia, there were moments he actually wished that were true. That would mean she was alive for sure. But if she had been a traitor—no, he would not allow himself to run with that logic. He believed the only reason he had not heard from her was that she did not have the means to contact him.
Rayford was so eager to prove Amanda was not entombed in the Tigris that he wasn’t sure he could sleep. He was fitful, peeking at the clock every half hour or so. Finally, about twenty minutes before Mac was due, Rayford showered and dressed and accessed the Internet.
The camera at the Wailing Wall carried live audio as well. The preachers Rayford knew to be the two witnesses prophesied in Revelation were holding forth. He could almost smell their smoky burlap robes. Their dark, bony bare feet and knuckled hands made them appear thousands of years old. They had long, coarse beards, dark, piercing eyes, and long, wild hair. Eli and Moishe they called each other, and they preached with power and authority. And volume. The video identified the one on the left as Eli, and subtitles carried his message in English. He was saying, “Beware, men of Jerusalem! You have now been without the waters of heaven since the signing of the evil pact. Continue to blaspheme the name of Jesus Christ, the Lord and Savior, and you will continue to see your land parched and your throats dry. To reject Jesus as Messiah is to spit in the face of almighty God. He will not be mocked.
“Woe unto him who sits on the throne of this earth. Should he dare stand in the way of God’s sealed and anointed witnesses, twelve thousand from each of the twelve tribes making a pilgrimage here for the purpose of preparation, he shall surely suffer for it.”
Here Moishe took over. “Yea, any attempt to impede the moving of God among the sealed will cause your plants to wither and die, rain to remain in the clouds, and your water—all of it—to turn to blood! The Lord of hosts hath sworn, saying, ‘Surely, as I have thought, so it shall come to pass, and as I have purposed, so it shall stand!’”
Rayford wanted to shout. He hoped Buck and Tsion were watching this. The two witnesses warned Carpathia to stay away from those among the 144,000 coming to Israel for inspiration. No wonder Nicolae had been seething. Surely he saw himself as the one who sits on the throne of the earth.
Rayford appreciated that Mac did not try to dissuade him from his mission. He had never been more determined to finish a task. He and Mac latched their gear to the struts for the short hop from New Babylon to the Tigris. Rayford strapped himself in and pointed toward Baghdad. By the time they landed, the sky was dark.
“You don’t have to do this with me, you know,” Rayford said. “No hard feelings if you just want to keep an eye out for me.”
“Not a chance, brother. I’ll be right there with you.”
They unloaded at a steep bank. Rayford stripped down, pulled on his wet suit and booties, and stretched the rubber cap over his head. Had the suit been any smaller, it would not have worked. “Did I get yours?” he asked.
“Albie sa
ys one size fits all.”
“Terrific.”
When they were completely outfitted with eighty-cubic-foot tanks, buoyancy control devices (BCDs), weight belts, and fins, they fog-proofed their masks with spit and pulled them on.
“I believe in my heart she’s not down there,” Rayford said.
“I know,” Mac said.
They inspected each other’s gear, inflated their BCDs, stuffed in their mouthpieces, then slid down the sandy bank into the cold, rushing water, and slipped beneath the surface.
Rayford had only guessed where the 747 dropped into the river. While he agreed with Pan-Con officials who told Carpathia the plane was too heavy to have been affected much by the current, he believed it could have gone dozens of feet downstream before embedding itself in the bottom. Because no vestige of the plane had ever surfaced, Rayford was convinced the fuselage had holes front and back. That would have resulted in the plane hitting the bottom rather than being held aloft by air pockets.
The water was murky. Rayford was a good diver, but he was still claustrophobic when unable to see more than a few feet, even with the powerful light strapped to his wrist. It seemed to shine no more than ten feet in front of him. Mac’s was even dimmer and suddenly disappeared.
Did Mac have bad equipment, or had he turned his off for some reason? It made no sense. The last thing Rayford wanted was to lose sight of his partner. They could spend too much time searching for the wreckage and have little time to investigate it.
Rayford watched clouds of sand shoot past and realized what had happened. Mac had been pulled downstream. He was far enough ahead that neither could see the other’s light.
Rayford tried to steer himself. It only made sense that the lower he went, the less the current would pull him. He let more air out of his BCD and kicked harder to dive, peeling his eyes to see past the end of his beam. Ahead a dim, blinking light appeared stationary. How could Mac have stopped?
As the blinking beam grew larger and stronger, Rayford kicked hard, laboring to align himself with Mac’s light. He was coming fast when the top of his head smacked violently into Mac’s tank. Mac hooked Rayford’s elbow in the crook of his own arm and held firm. Mac had snagged a tree root. His mask was half off and his regulator mouthpiece was out. With one arm holding Rayford and the other gripping the root, he wasn’t free to help himself.
Rayford grabbed the root, allowing Mac to let go of him. Mac reinserted his regulator and cleared his mask. Dangling in the current, each with a hand on the root, they were unable to communicate. Rayford felt the spot on his head where he had banged into Mac’s tank. A flap of rubber rose from his cap; a matching patch of skin and hair had been gouged from his scalp.
Mac pointed his light toward Rayford’s head and motioned him to lean over. Rayford didn’t know what Mac saw, but Mac signaled to the surface. Rayford shook his head, which made his wound throb.
Mac pushed away from the root, inflated his BCD, and rose to the top. Rayford reluctantly followed. In that current, he could do nothing without Mac. Rayford popped out of the water in time to see Mac reach an outcropping on the bank. Rayford labored to join him. When they had raised their masks and snorkels, Mac spoke quickly.
“I’m not trying to talk you out of your mission, Ray. But I am telling you we have to work together. See how far we’ve come from the chopper already?” Rayford was stunned to see the dim outline of the helicopter way upriver.
“If we don’t find the plane soon, that means we’re probably already past it. The lights don’t help much. We’re going to have to be lucky.”
“We’re going to have to pray,” Rayford said.
“And you’re gonna have to get that head treated. You’re bleeding.”
Rayford felt his head again and shined the light on his fingers. “It’s not serious, Mac. Now let’s get back to it.”
“We’ve got one shot. We need to stay close to the bank until we’re ready to search in the middle. Once we get out there, we’ll be going fast. If the plane is there, we could run right into it. If it’s not, we’ve got to get back to the bank. I’m going to wait for your lead, Ray. You follow me while I’m navigating the edge of the river. I’ll follow you when you signal me it’s time to venture out.”
“How will I know?”
“You’re the one doing the praying.”
CHAPTER 19
It was just before one o’clock in the afternoon in Mt. Prospect. Tsion had spent the morning logging another long message to the faithful and to the seekers on the Internet. The number of messages back to him continued to spiral. He called out to Buck, who trotted upstairs and looked over his shoulder at the quantity meter.
“So,” Buck said, “it’s finally slowed?”
“I knew you would say that, Cameron,” Tsion said, smiling. “A message came across at four this morning explaining that the server would now flash a new number not for every response but for every thousand.”
Buck shook his head and stared as the number changed every one to two seconds. “Tsion, this is astounding.”
“It is a miracle, Cameron. I am humbled and yet energized. God fills me with love for every person who stands with us, and especially for all who have questions. I remind them that almost anywhere you click on our bulletin board, you find the plan of salvation. The only problem is, because it is not our own Web site, all this has to be posted new every week.”
Buck put a hand on the rabbi’s shoulder. “It won’t be long before the mass meetings in Israel. I pray God’s protection for you.”
“I feel such boldness—not based on my own strength, but on the promises of God—that I believe I could walk alone to the Temple Mount without being harmed.”
“I’m not going to let you try that, Tsion, but you’re probably right.”
“Here, look, Cameron.” Tsion clicked onto the icon allowing him to see the two witnesses at the Wailing Wall. “I long to talk with them again in person. I feel a kinship even though they are supernatural beings, come from heaven. We will spend eternity with them, hearing the stories of God’s miracles from people who were there.”
Buck was fascinated. The two preached when they wanted to and fell silent when they chose. Crowds knew to keep their distance. Anyone trying to harm them had dropped dead or had been incinerated by fire from the witnesses’ mouths. And yet Buck and Tsion had stood within a few feet of them, only a fence separating them. It seemed they spoke in riddles, yet God always gave Buck understanding. As he watched now, Eli sat in Jerusalem’s gathering darkness with his back to an abandoned room made of stone. It looked as if guards may have once used it. Two heavy iron doors were sealed, and a small barred opening served as a window. Moishe stood, facing the fence that separated him from spectators. None was within thirty feet. His feet were spread, his arms straight at his sides. He did not move. It appeared Moishe was not blinking. He looked like something carved from stone, save for the occasional wisp of hair ruffling in the breeze.
Eli shifted his weight occasionally. He massaged his forehead, making him appear to be thinking or praying.
Tsion glanced at Buck. “You are doing what I do. When I need a break, I go to this site and watch my brothers. I love to catch them preaching. They are so bold, so forthright. They do not use Antichrist’s name, but they warn enemies of the Messiah of what is to come. They will be so inspiring to those of the 144,000 who can make it to Israel. We will join hands. We will sing. We will pray. We will study. We will be motivated to go forth with boldness to preach the gospel of Christ around the world. The fields are ripe and white unto harvest. We missed the opportunity to join Christ in the air, but what an unspeakable privilege to be alive during this time! Many of us will give our lives for our Savior, but what higher calling could a man have?”
“You should say that to your cyberspace congregation.”
“As a matter of fact, I was reciting the conclusion of today’s message. Now you do not have to read it.”
“I never miss.”
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br /> “Today I am warning believers and nonbelievers alike to stay away from trees and grass until the first Trumpet Judgment is passed.”
Buck looked at him quizzically. “And how will we know it has passed?”
“It will be the biggest news since the earthquake. We need to ask Ken and Floyd to help us clear several feet of grass from around the house and maybe trim some trees.”
“You take the predictions literally then?” Buck said.
“My dear brother, when the Bible is figurative, it sounds figurative. When it says all the grass and one-third of all trees will be scorched, I cannot imagine what that might be symbolic for. In the event our trees are part of the one-third, I want to be out of the way. Do you not?”
“Where are Donny’s garden tools?”
The Tigris was not frigid, but it was uncomfortable. Rayford used muscles he hadn’t used in years. His wet suit was too tight, his head throbbed, and keeping from being dragged downriver made navigating a chore. His pulse was higher than it should have been, and he worked hard to regulate his breathing. He worried about running out of air.
He disagreed with Mac. They may have only one shot, but if they didn’t find the plane that night, Rayford would come back again and again. He wouldn’t ask Mac to do the same, though he knew Mac would never abandon him.
Rayford prayed as he felt his way along behind Mac. Mac eased himself lower by releasing air from his BCD, and Rayford followed. When either Rayford or Mac went more than ten feet without something to grip on the side, the current threatened to pull them away from the bank.
Rayford worked hard to stay with Mac. “Please, God, help me finish this. Show me she isn’t there, and then direct me to her. If she’s in danger, let me save her.” Rayford fought to keep from his mind the possibility that Carpathia had been telling the truth about Amanda’s true loyalties. He didn’t want to believe it, not for a second, but the thought nagged him nonetheless.