The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books

by Tim LaHaye

  “That’s not good.”

  “Tell me about it,” David said. “Hey, Leah might need a new alias.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “She’s been asking around about Hattie using that Clendenon name. They might try to follow her to Hattie.”

  “They’re already onto Hattie. They don’t need Leah.”

  “Whatever you say, Rayford. Just a thought.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “You’d better be careful. They’re going to try to pin this on you.” David told him of the autopsy and evidence investigation.

  “So I missed, just like you thought?”

  “Looks pretty sure at this point.”

  “Then how can they pin it on me?”

  “What, they’re obligated to the truth? If you didn’t do it, someone on the platform did.”

  “My money’s on one of the three insurgent kings,” Rayford said. “Probably Litwala.”

  “Even if you’re right, you’re a less embarrassing assassin than somebody behind Nicolae. I’ll bet you’re the scapegoat.”

  Buck had sat with the morose Chaim Rosenzweig the whole day. The old man had alternately slept and wept, threatening suicide. Buck wanted to go out and find them something to eat, but he didn’t dare leave Chaim. The drunk came back to toss a bundle of used clothes up to the window, but he wasn’t interested in more money to find food. Once he had his fifty, he was gone.

  Buck called the desk. “Anybody down there that could bring us some food for a fee?”

  “What, you think we got room service?”

  “Just tell me if you know anybody who wants to make a few Nicks.”

  “Yeah, OK. When the concierge gets off his break, I’ll send ’im up. You’ll recognize him by his tuxedo.”

  Amazingly, ten minutes later someone knocked tentatively. Buck wished he had a gun. “Who is it?”

  “I’ll get you food,” a man said. “How much?”

  “Ten.”

  “Deal.”

  Buck sent him out for local fare. It was all he could do to get Chaim to eat a few bites. Presently, David called.

  “Is it true?” he asked. “About Chaim?”

  Buck was stunned. “What about him?”

  “That he’s dead, burned up at his home along with his whole staff?”

  “You know that’s not true, David. Hasn’t anyone told you I’m with him?”

  “I’m just telling you what’s on television.”

  “So that’s how they’re going to spin it? Hero statesman dies in a fire. That keeps him out of the conspiracy?”

  “They’re convinced one of the three insurgents did it,” David said, “but that would be bad for morale. What’s Chaim’s theory? He was right there.”

  “We need to talk about this later, David. I need to get him out of here.”

  “How?”

  “I finally got hold of T. He’s bringing the Super J. I directed him to a blocked-off road. We have to be there when he puts down so he can be in the air again before anyone’s the wiser. We’ll have to stop in Greece for fuel, though—wouldn’t want to risk it over here.”

  Tsion was alarmed. Chloe was proposing madness. “Can I trust you with Kenny,” she said, “that you won’t fall asleep?”

  “I would give my life for that child, you know that. But you must not go. This is foolishness.”

  “Tsion, I can’t sit here doing nothing. I have informed everybody in the co-op generally what’s going on, but there’s little I can do until the buying-selling restrictions are sanctioned. Don’t keep me from doing something worthwhile.”

  “I am not your superior, Chloe. I could not deprive you of anything. I’m just urging you to think this through. Why must you go? And why must it be now? Cameron’s car is at the airport. If you take the Suburban, you leave me with no vehicle.”

  “You have nowhere to go, Tsion. You can’t outrun the GC anyway. Your best bet is to stay right here, listen for them, turn the power off if you hear them, and become invisible.”

  Tsion threw up his arms. “I cannot dissuade you, so do what you are going to do. But don’t be long.”

  “Thank you. And promise me you will do anything but let Kenny fall into GC hands.”

  “I would die first.”

  “I want him to die first.”

  “That I will not do.”

  “You would let them take him.”

  “Over my body.”

  “But don’t you see, Tsion? That’s how it will be! You’ll be a martyr, but you will still have lost Kenny to the enemy.”

  “You’re right. You’d better stay here.”

  “Nice try.”

  “This is not a smart thing to do in broad daylight.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Too late. You’re already being reckless.”

  “Good-bye, Tsion.”

  “What do you make of this?” Hickman was saying as David listened in.

  “Ramblings,” Leon said. “Hallucinations. Gibberish. Not uncommon in such a situation.”

  “But first he said that about thinking he had done all you asked. What was that about?”

  “Nicolae was not addressing me! I have never, would never, could never ask him to do anything! Anyway, if he was talking to me, it would indicate that he thought I had attacked him.”

  “But then what is his obsession with the—what does he call it?”

  “The veil? Or the vale? What?”

  “Listen. Listen to what he says.”

  David pressed both earphones close and listened carefully. After Carpathia’s first lament, which echoed through the sound system, the PA system appeared to have failed, but his next words were picked up through the recording machine mike. “The veil,” Carpathia rasped. “Was it rent in twain from the top to the bottom?” Carpathia struggled to make himself understood. “Father,” he managed. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

  David shuddered.

  The exchange reminded him of something he and Mac had heard from the morgue. He called Mac. “What was it Dr. Eikenberry said about reports of Nicolae’s last words?”

  “Just that it would have been impossible.”

  “That’s what I thought. Once she got in there and saw the damage, she said he wouldn’t have been able to speak, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  David re-cued the recording and found it.

  “Well,” Dr. Eikenberry said, “this gives the lie to the ‘last words’ business, doesn’t it?”

  “It sure does,” Pietr said. “Unless he could speak supernaturally.”

  He and the doctor and Kiersten laughed. “This man could not have said a word,” Dr. Eikenberry concluded. “Maybe they want to invent something for posterity, but no one had better ask me if it was possible.”

  A few minutes after nine in the morning, Central Standard Time, Rayford put the Gulfstream down in Kankakee. He had told Leah to watch for a smallish jet and to be ready to board quickly. But as he taxied by the terminal, he saw her sleeping in a chair by the window.

  He left the jet whining on the tarmac, knowing how conspicuous that would look to ground control, and sprinted into the terminal. “Donna!” he said, as he approached. “Donna Clendenon!”

  She jumped and squinted at him. “Do I know you?” she said, clearly terrified.

  “Marv Berry,” he said, grabbing her bag. “We’ve got to go.”

  “Hi, Marv,” she whispered. “You’ve got to tell a girl when you get a makeover.”

  Rayford heard some kind of warning through the PA system, and a couple of orange-vested officials started his way. He ignored them and was airborne quickly, certain that Kankakee had no GC pursuit craft and little interest in a small jet flyer that had boorishly violated their protocols.

  He told Leah, “All I get out of Palwaukee is a tower guy who says T is not there and won’t be back until tomorrow, and that he’s not at liberty to say where he went.”

  “I got the
same. What do you make of it?”

  “I don’t know. Wish there was someone in his church I could ask. But T and I have never needed to communicate through third parties. He’s usually reachable by cell. He’s always wanted to be in on the action, and I need someone to go and ferry Buck and Chaim over here. I’m tempted to call Albie and see if he can find someone.”

  “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard,” Leah said.

  “Albie? Long story. Good guy.”

  “So tell me.”

  “Not until you and I clear up a few things.”

  “Until you do, you mean,” she said.

  Rayford told her what had happened to him in Israel, on the flight to Greece, and in Greece. “I know that sounds a little too convenient,” he said, “and I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I just made it up to—”

  “Made it up?” she said, obviously emotional. “If you made that up, you’d burn in hell.”

  “So, will you be the first to forgive me?”

  “Of course. And I need to apologize too. I—”

  “You’ve done nothing close to what I did,” Rayford said. “Forget it.”

  “Don’t brush me off, Rayford. I feel awful about how I’ve responded to you.”

  “Fair enough. We’re even.”

  “Don’t be flippant.”

  “I’m not. You can imagine how I feel about—”

  “I’m not saying I was as terrible as you,” she said wryly.

  David responded to an announcement that all GC management personnel from director level and above were to report immediately to the small theater in the education wing. What now?

  As dozens crowded into the room, Fortunato stood at the lectern like a professor. “Quickly now, quickly please, find your seats. I’ve been informed that more than a million people are in New Babylon already with probably at least two million more to come. Our social services are being taxed to their limits, and these people have no outlet for their grief. I want to know if there is any reason we cannot put the body of the potentate in position even this evening and begin the procession past the bier. We’re estimating that not half the mourners will stay for the burial, which may have to be postponed as well. Do we have adequate lighting?”

  Someone shouted yes.

  “And concessions? Stations with water, food, medical services?”

  “Could be in place within an hour!” someone said.

  “Good. The bier itself and its pedestal?”

  “Pedestal is finished and waiting.”

  “Bier is finished! Per specifications.”

  “Really?” Fortunato said. “I was told there was some question whether it could be vacuum sealed—”

  “Solved, with a little help. Once the body is, ah, placed inside, the air can be quickly removed and the hole secured. The stopper is a hard rubber compound that will be screwed into the Plexiglas—”

  “Thank you, we can skip the details. The entire container is transparent?”

  “Yes, sir. And on the pedestal it will sit nearly fifteen feet off the ground.”

  “Yet the mourners will have access . . . ?”

  “Via stairs leading up one side and down the other. They will, of course, be unable to touch the glass, as they will be separated from it by approximately five feet with velvet ropes and, um, armed security.”

  “Thank you,” Fortunato said. “Now there are certain details I would like us all to hear, except those of you who need to supervise construction of the restoring stations. You may be excused now, and let’s shoot for an 8:00 p.m. start time. Let’s get the word out to the people so they can begin assembling. Yes, Mr. Blod.”

  Guy had been waving and now stood.

  “I’m afraid my statue will not be ready until dawn, as originally planned. We’re making progress, and I believe it will be stunning, but even the initial goal was nearly impossible.”

  “No problem. You may go now too, and we’ll all look forward to your handiwork.”

  As Guy rushed from the room, Leon called upon Dr. Eikenberry to come to the microphone. “It has been her difficult duty to prepare for burial the body of our beloved leader. As she is a loyal citizen of the Global Community and was a great admirer of the potentate, you can imagine what an emotional task this was. I have asked her to report on her findings and summarize the challenges she faced to allow the mourners to have one last encounter with His Excellency in as dignified and memorable a manner as possible, under the circumstances.”

  Dr. Eikenberry had lost the severe look David had seen when he first met her. Her white coat was gone, and she seemed to have applied fresh makeup and had her hairdo softened. He wondered when she had had time for that.

  “Thank you, Supreme Commander,” she began. “This has indeed been a most difficult and emotional day for me and my assistants, Pietr Berger and Kiersten Scholten. We treated the body of Nicolae Carpathia with utmost reverence and respect. As expected, the cause of death was severe brain trauma caused by a single bullet from a Saber handgun. The projectile entered the potentate’s body just below the nape of his neck in the posteri—in the back and exited through the top of the crani—through the top of his head. The particularly devastating power of this type of projectile destroyed two vertebrae, severed the spinal cord, obliterated the brain stem and posterior of the brain, and left residual damage to the carotid artery and much of the soft tissue in the throat.

  “Because of the spinning bullet, the back of the neck and head were laid open, causing the greatest challenge for repair and reconstruction. Without getting into the details, the gaping wound has been stapled and stitched, camouflaged with wax and putty and coloring and a minimum of artificial hair. If the result contributes to an appropriate farewell to the greatest leader the world has ever known, I am grateful and consider it a privilege to have served the Global Community this way.”

  Amid tears and sustained applause, Dr. Eikenberry began to leave, then returned to the podium with an index finger raised. “If I may add one thing,” she said. “There is recorded evidence that His Excellency’s last words were an expression of forgiveness to the perpetrator of this heinous crime. Forgiveness has long been ascribed to the divine, and as a medical professional, I must tell you why I concur with this assessment. Besides the sentiment of those last words, I can tell you that there is no human explanation for the potentate’s ability to speak at all, given the physical damage. Truly this was a righteous man. Truly this was the son of god.”

  At Palwaukee Rayford tried in person to get more information out of the tower fill-in. “I’m sorry, sir,” the man said. “But not only am I not at liberty to tell you, I couldn’t if I wanted to. He didn’t tell me where he was going but only when he expected to return.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You haven’t seen me around here, don’t know I’m a friend of T’s?”

  The man squinted at Rayford, and Leah cleared her throat. “He, ah, may not recognize you.”

  Rayford couldn’t believe his own stupidity. “Listen, son, I have permission to take an associate’s vehicle, but he neglected to leave the keys with me. I need to know you won’t feel obligated to phone any authorities if I were to hot-wire the car.”

  The man’s look was not as reassuring as his words. “I won’t even be looking your direction.”

  “He doesn’t trust you,” Leah said as they strode to the Land Rover.

  “Why should he? I wouldn’t either. See? Even forgiven sin has its consequences.”

  “Do we have to spiritualize everything?” Leah said, but Rayford could tell she was bemused. Once they were on the road, she said, “We’re not going straight to the safe house in broad daylight, are we?”

  “Of course not. We have a stop first.”

  He drove to Des Plaines and the one-pump gas station run by Zeke and Zeke Jr. Zeke emerged quickly but hesitated when he saw Rayford. He looked past him to Leah. “I recognize the vehicle,” he said. “But not t
he occupants.”

  “It’s me, Zeke. And this is Leah.”

  “That wasn’t Z’s handiwork, was it?”

  “Hers was.”

  “Humph. Not bad. Yours either. Need auto work?”

  “Yup.”

  Zeke ignored the pump and opened the ancient garage door. Rayford pulled in, and he and Leah got out so Zeke could raise the car on the rack. Then the three of them took a hidden staircase to the basement, where Zeke Jr. looked up expectantly. “’sup?” he said.

  “You know me?” Rayford said.

  “Not till you spoke, but I woulda got it. Wha’dya need?”

  “New ID for her.”

  Zeke Jr. stood, rolls of fat jiggling under his black vest and shirt. “Gerri Seaver,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How’s Gerri Seaver sound?”

  “How does she look?” Leah said.

  Zeke grabbed a file. “Like this.”

  “You’re a genius,” she said. The blonde was roughly her age, height, and weight. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Lots more to choose from these days,” he said shyly. He directed her to a sink and gave her the chemicals necessary to make her a blonde. She and Rayford drove off two hours later with foodstuffs, a full tank, and Leah in a scarf over wet, freshly bleached hair. Her dental appliance had been changed, as had the color of her contacts. In her purse was a wallet with documents to match.

  “I’m going to take the northern route,” Rayford said. “That’ll give us a good look at any other traffic.”

  “Unless they’re hidden.”

  “Not too many places to do that,” he said. “Shall we wait till dark too?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “We both live or die by the decision,” he said.

  “That helps.”

  He phoned the safe house. Tsion answered. “She’s where? . . . Tell me she’s not! . . . Oh, Tsion! What about the radiation, the—”

  Tsion told him what David had told them about the radiation. Rayford pulled over and covered the mouthpiece. “We’re waiting till dark,” he said, popping a U-turn.

  “Where to till then?”