The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books

by Tim LaHaye

  “We’re still going to try to do this?” Chloe said. “It’s hopeless!”

  “It’s never hopeless as long as I’m breathin’,” Ken said.

  Rayford stared out the cockpit windshield of the Gulfstream, imagining that any second Ken and all that was left of his own family would be surrounded by armed GC guards. They would never expose him, but dare he just sit and wait to leave when the airport reopened? His body boiled with frustration, wanting to do something, anything.

  Ken was a creative, resourceful, smart guy. And it did appear he still had those blades spinning. What was he going to do? Let Chopper Two chase him some more? There was no hope in that.

  “Shut it down, One!” the command came again. “You are surrounded with no possible escape!”

  Chopper Two was within thirty feet of Ken, also on the ground now with blades engaged. Rayford watched, amazed, as Ken went straight up about a hundred feet, then pointed the nose of the chopper at the Gulfstream and seemed to fall right in front of it. It hit the tarmac at such an angle that it slid fifty feet and spun to a stop next to the open door.

  “Let’s go kids!” Ken shouted. “Right now!”

  He smacked the door open with a running back–like stiff-arm and grabbed Buck, tugging him past the front seat and out. Buck waited on the ground and caught Tsion as Ken handed him off. Tsion charged up the steps of the Gulfstream and stood ready to shut the door.

  Buck was grateful Ken took a little more time with Chloe. “Go all the way in!” he said. “Tsion’s got the door!”

  Rayford watched in horror as GC vehicles raced his way yet again. He had to get airborne. Betting ground control could not see people boarding his plane, he got on the radio. “Gulf Alpha Tango to ground control, requesting permission to get out of the way of this activity.”

  “Roger, Gulf. Just stay out of the way of security vehicles.”

  Rayford started rolling, though he knew only two had boarded. The Gulfstream screamed and whined as he slowly moved forward, edging past Chopper One, his door dragging on the pavement and throwing sparks. He couldn’t leave the ground until everyone was aboard, then he had to pressurize the cabin before getting too high.

  Buck’s brain went into slow motion, and a kaleidoscope of images raced through his mind. In what seemed the next millisecond he remembered taking a bullet to his heel in Egypt while diving with Tsion aboard a Learjet piloted by Ken. Now while whirling to grab the door as the Gulfstream edged by, he saw clearly through the struts of the chopper that GC men sprinted toward them, taking aim.

  Buck screamed, “Ken! Ken! Go! Go! Go!” as Ritz caught up to him. Buck pumped his legs as fast as he could, and Ken loped right behind with those long limbs. The Gulfstream picked up steam, and Buck felt the pull of the power on his body. He glanced back at Ken, whose face was inches from his, desperate determination in his eyes.

  Buck was about to leap up the steps when Ken’s forehead opened. Buck felt the heat and smelled the metal as the killing bullet sliced his own ear on the way by, and his face was splashed by Ken’s gore. The big man’s eyes were wide and vacant as he dropped out of sight.

  Buck was yanked along, sobbing and screaming, his arm caught in the wire that supported the open door. He wanted to jump off, to run back to Ken, to kill someone. But he was unarmed, and Ken had to have been dead before he hit the ground. In spite of himself, despite his grief and horror and anger, Buck’s instincts turned to his own survival.

  The Gulfstream was now speeding along too fast for Buck’s legs to keep up. Tsion leaned out as far as he could, straining with all his might to pull the door up and Buck with it. But the more he pulled, the more entangled Buck became. Chloe was helping now, crying and screaming herself, and Buck worried about the baby.

  He lifted his feet to keep from scraping the leather off his shoes and burning his feet. The Gulfstream was at takeoff speed, the door stuck open, Buck pinned in the support—and he knew Rayford had no choice but to throttle up.

  Buck tried to swing forward and catch a foot on the step, but the momentum and the wind made him unable to move. He was nearly horizontal now, and the vibration in the aluminum skin of the plane changed when the wheels left the ground. He squinted against the wind and grit that stung his eyes, and he could see Rayford would be lucky to clear the ten-foot fence in the grass at the wrong end of the runway.

  The plane lumbered over the fence, and Buck felt as if he could have lowered a toe and brushed it. One thing was sure: He was not going to get into that plane now that it was in the air. The door would have to be shut mechanically. He could wait for that to sever his arm and fall to his death, or he could take his chances in the underbrush on the far side of the fence.

  Buck pulled and twisted and jerked until his elbow cleared the wire. The horrified faces of his wife and his pastor were the last images he saw before he felt himself fall, cartwheeling, hitting the tops of tall bushes, and lodging himself, scraped and torn and bleeding, in the middle of a huge thicket.

  His body shuddered uncontrollably, and he worried about going into shock. Then he heard the Gulfstream turn, and he knew Chloe would never let her father leave without him. But if they came back, if they landed to look for him, they were all as good as dead. Ken was already gone. That was enough for one night.

  Painfully, he wrenched himself free and knew his injuries would require attention. No bones seemed broken, and as he stood, shivering in the cool of the night, he felt the bulge in his pocket. Was it possible? Had his phone survived?

  He didn’t dare hope as he flipped it open. The dial lit up. He hit Rayford’s number.

  “Buck?” he heard. “Is it really you?”

  Buck barked, his voice raw, “It’s me and I’m all right. Go on, and I’ll hook up with you later.”

  Rayford wondered if he was dreaming. He was certain he had killed his own son-in-law. “Are you sure, Buck?” he shouted.

  Chloe, who had collapsed in despair, now grabbed the phone out of Rayford’s hand.

  “Buck! Buck! Where are you?”

  “Past the fence in some nasty underbrush! I don’t think they saw me, Chlo’! Nobody’s coming this way. If they saw me running for the plane, they have to think I made it aboard.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “I have no idea! Are you all right?”

  “Am I all right? Of course! Ten seconds ago I was a widow! Is Ken with you?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, no! They’ve got him?”

  “He’s gone, Chloe.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Rayford decided to fly north as fast as he could, guessing that GC forces would assume he was heading west. “Tsion, dig through Ken’s stuff and see if he has any record of friends of his in Greece. He mentioned our putting down there or Turkey if necessary.”

  Tsion and Chloe opened Ken’s flight bag. “This is painful, Rayford,” Tsion said. “This brother flew me to safety when there was a bounty on my head.”

  Rayford could not speak. He and Ken had clicked so quickly that he had made an instant friend. Because of their hours together in the air, he’d spent more time with him than anyone but Buck. And being closer to Ken’s age, he felt a true kinship. He knew violence and death were the price of this period of history, but how he hated the shock and grief of the losses. If he began thinking of all the tragedy he had suffered—from missing out on the Rapture with his wife and son, to the loss of Bruce, Loretta, Donny and his wife, Amanda . . . and there were more—he would go mad.

  Ken was in a better place, he told himself, and it sounded as hollow as any platitude. Yet he had to believe it was true. The loss was all his. Ken was finally free.

  Rayford was bone weary. He was not supposed to be handling the flight back. Ken had reserved his hours behind the controls so he could pilot the Tribulation Force back to the States.

  “What is all this?” Chloe asked suddenly. “He’s got lists and ideas and plans for businesses, and—”

  “I’ll tell you l
ater,” Rayford said. “He was quite the entrepreneur.”

  “And brilliant,” Tsion said. “I never figured him for this kind of thinker. Some of this reads like a manifesto of survival for the saints.”

  “No names though? Nothing that looks like a contact in Greece? I’m going to start that way, just in case. I can’t fly much farther anyway.”

  “But we can’t land without a local contact, can we, Dad?”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “Can Mac help?”

  “He’d call me if he was free to talk. I’m sure they’ve involved him in this fiasco. Pray he’ll somehow misdirect them.”

  Buck’s facial lacerations were deep but below the cheekbones, so there was little bleeding. His right thumb felt as if it had been pulled back to his wrist. He could not stop the bleeding from his left ear where the bullet that had killed Ken had sliced it nearly in half. He quickly took off his shirt and undershirt, using the latter to wipe his face and sop his ear. He put his shirt back on, hoping he wouldn’t appear so monsterlike that he would scare off anyone who might help him.

  Buck crept to the airport edge of the underbrush but didn’t dare get near the fence. Though no searchlights pointed that way, the fence provided a perfect background for any watchful eye to detect movement. He sat with his back to a large bush to catch his breath. His ankles and knees were tender, as was his right elbow. He must have taken the brunt of the crash into the spiky plant on his right side. He tilted his cell phone toward the light to see his foggy reflection in the lighted dial.

  Feeling a sting below the cuff, Buck pulled his pant legs up a few inches to find both shins bleeding into his socks. His muscles ached, but under the circumstances he felt fortunate. He had his phone, and he could walk.

  “We might have found something,” Tsion said. In Rayford’s peripheral vision he could see the rabbi showing a phone directory page to Chloe.

  “That looks Greek to me. What do you think, Dad? He’s got a number for a Lukas Miklos, nickname Laslos.”

  “What city?”

  “Doesn’t say.”

  “Any other notations? Can you tell if it’s a friend or a business contact?”

  “Try the number. It’s all we’ve got.”

  “Wait,” Tsion said. “There’s a star by the name and an arrow pointing down to the word lignite. I don’t know that word.”

  “I don’t either,” Rayford said. “Sounds like a mineral or something. Dial him up, Chloe. If I’m landing in Greece, I’ve got to start initial descent in a few minutes.”

  Buck couldn’t remember the name of Jacov’s mother-in-law. And he never caught Stefan’s last name. He didn’t want to call Chaim; his place had to be crawling with GC. He walked in the darkness, staying in the shadows, and made a huge loop around the airport and onto the main road. There he could either hitchhike or flag a taxi. Not knowing where else to turn, he would go to the Wailing Wall. Nicolae had publicly warned Moishe and Eli to disappear from there by the end of the stadium meeting, which told Buck they would be there for sure.

  “Yes, hello, ma’am,” Chloe said. “Does anyone there speak English? . . . English! . . . I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. Does anyone there—” She covered the phone. “I woke her. She sounds scared. She’s getting someone. Sounds like she’s waking him up.

  “Yes! Hello? Sir? . . . Are you Mr. Miklos? . . . Do you speak English? . . . Not so good? Do you understand English? . . . Good! I am sorry to wake you, but I am a friend of Ken Ritz’s from America!” Chloe covered the phone again. “He knows him!”

  Chloe asked where he lived, whether there was an airstrip in town, and if they could visit him and talk about Ken if they landed there. Within minutes, Rayford was in touch with the tower at Ptolemaïs in northern Greece.

  “Macedonia,” Tsion said. “Praise God.”

  “We’re not safe yet, Tsion,” Rayford said. “We’re depending on the kindness of a stranger.”

  For the first time, Buck was grateful the Global Community had chosen the American dollar as its currency. He was cash rich, and that might keep eyes averted and mouths closed. Somewhere deep in his wallet, too, was his ever-useful phony identity . . . as long as he could keep from being searched and having both IDs exposed.

  “Mr. Miklos was suspicious,” Chloe reported. “But once I convinced him we were friends of Ken’s, he even told me what to tell the tower. Tell them you’re Learjet Foxtrot Foxtrot Zulu. That’s the plane of one of his suppliers. He runs a mining company. He will be there to meet us.”

  “This looks nothing like a Lear,” Rayford said.

  “He said the tower won’t even pay attention.”

  When Buck reached the road, he was surprised to see traffic still heavy. Witnesses must have still been streaming out of Jerusalem. And all the air traffic told him the airport had reopened already. He saw no roadblocks. The GC had to assume he had boarded the Gulfstream.

  He moved to the side of the road leading into Jerusalem, which was much less congested than the other side. He waved his bloody undershirt at empty cabs coming from the airport, trying to show more white than red. He straightened up and tried to look sober and healthy. Buck lucked out on the fourth cab, which rumbled off the road and skidded in the gravel.

  “You got money, mate?” the cabby said before unlocking the back door.

  “Plenty.”

  “Not many pedestrians coming this way. First I’ve seen in weeks.”

  “Lost my ride,” Buck said, getting in.

  “A mite cut up now, ain’t ya?”

  “I’m all right. Got caught in some thorns.”

  “I should say.”

  “You an Aussie?”

  “How’d you guess? Where to, mate?”

  “The Wailing Wall.”

  “Ah, you won’t get within a half mile of it tonight, sir.”

  “That so?”

  “Big doings. You know the story of those two—”

  “Yeah, what about ’em?”

  “They’re there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And they’re not supposed to be, ya know.”

  “I know.”

  “Word is the potentate is still in Jerusalem but not near the Wall. Huge crowd there with weapons. Civilians and military. Big mess. I’m a fan of the potentate, mind ya, but offerin’ a bounty on the heads of these two wasn’t wise.”

  “Think not?”

  “Well, look what you’ve got now. Somebody’s gonna kill ’em tonight and want to be made the hero. That’s both citizens and guards. Who’s to say they won’t turn the guns on each other?”

  “You think those two will buy it tonight?”

  “Have to. They’ve planted themselves in their usual spot, got the whole city up in arms about the bloody water and the drought, takin’ credit for it and all. Proud of it they are. They’ve killed a lot of mates who’ve tried to take ’em out, but what chance have they got now? They’ve put themselves behind that iron fence there, in a cage for target practice.”

  “I say they’re still there and alive come daybreak.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “If they are, would you do something for me?”

  “Depends.”

  “If I’m right, and you’ve got to admit it’s against all odds—”

  “Oh, I’ll grant ya that.”

  “—you find a Bible and read the book of Revelation.”

  “Oh, you’re one of them, are you?”

  “Them?”

  “The witnesses. I’ve taken at least three loads of ’em to the airport tonight, and every last one of ’em’s wanted to get me to join ranks. You gonna try to save me, mate?”

  “I can’t save you, friend. But I’m surprised God hasn’t gotten your attention by now.”

  “Oh, I can’t deny somethin’ strange is happening. But I’ve got a pretty good gig going, if you know what I mean, and I don’t guess God would look kindly on it. Lots of money on the other side of the street, ya know.”

/>   “Worth more than your soul?”

  “Just might be. But I’ll tell ya what. If those two are still there come mornin’, I’ll do what you say.”

  “Got a Bible?”

  “I told ya. Had three carloads of your type tonight. Got three Bibles. Wanna make it four?”

  “No, but I could use one of those if you can spare it.”

  “I’m a businessman, mate. I’ll sell it to ya.”

  Rayford parked the jet at the end of a runway with similar-sized craft, and he and Chloe and Tsion walked cautiously into the mostly deserted terminal. A middle-aged couple eyed them warily from a dark corner. He was short and stocky with full, dark, curly hair. She was heavyset, her hair in curlers under a scarf.

  After shy handshakes, Lukas Miklos said, “Ken Ritz gave you my name?”

  “We found you in his address book, sir,” Rayford said.

  Miklos flinched and sat back. “How do I know you knew him?”

  “I’m afraid we have bad news for you.”

  “Before you start with the bad news, I must know I can trust you. Tell me something about Ken that only a friend would know.”

  Rayford looked at the others and spoke carefully. “Former military, flew commercially, owned his own charter company for many years. Tall, late fifties.”

  “Did you know he used to fly one of my suppliers, when first I began serving energy plants?”

  “No, sir. He did not mention that.”

  “He never spoke to you of me?”

  “Not by name. He mentioned he knew someone in Greece who might provide hospitality on our way from the States.”

  “To where?”

  “To Israel.”

  “And you were there for what?”

  “For the Meeting of the Witnesses.”

  Miklos and his wife looked at each other. “Are you believers?”

  Rayford nodded.