The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books

by Tim LaHaye

“North roadblock here,” he said, careful to make sure he was heard, but not perfectly.

  “Status?”

  “Busy.”

  “Carry on.”

  George hopped back into the truck, and as Chloe pulled away and Mac followed, George said, “Looky here. I knew there was something about that old gal I really liked.” In amongst the ammunition, Mrs. P. had had Co-op people pack bread, cheese, and fruit. “Chloe and Hannah took most of it,” George said. “And I’m gonna take most of what’s left unless you grab now.”

  Mac grabbed. And the unlikely convoy rolled west into the night toward their ride home. How long the ruse would hold was the mystery. For now, Mac enjoyed the food and the hope that they had beaten the odds.

  CHAPTER 11

  The report from Mac allowed Chang to breathe easier for the first time in hours. He checked back in to Carpathia’s office, where Akbar was debriefing the big boss.

  “We’ve had a setback, but there’s no way this bunch can—”

  “A setback?”

  “Without going into all the details, sir, the hostage killed one of our people—a woman—and has escaped. We assume he’s on the run with the three who—”

  “He killed one of his captors?”

  “Yes, Highness. We assume—”

  “My kind of a man. Why cannot he be on our side?”

  “We assume, sir, that he is reconnecting with the three who came for him, and we’re hoping they will be foolish enough to try to get back to the airport. We have that sealed tight.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Carpathia sounded distracted, as if the rest of the story was not as interesting. “Suhail, how was damage control today?”

  “Too early to tell, sir.”

  “Come, come, I count on you as one who does not try to simply appease me. They heard the pilot’s report, and my telling them he was mistaken, that the bombs had missed their targets. Well, what are people saying?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Excellency. I have spent my entire day between your office and my own, trying to ride herd on this Greece thing.”

  “Let me tell you this, Suhail: The disc from the plane clearly shows direct hits and those traitors burning! Whatever is the magic that allows those people to survive simply cannot extend outside that area.”

  “Begging your pardon, but not that long ago we lost ground troops outside—”

  “I know that, Suhail! Do you think I do not know that?”

  “Apologies, Potentate.”

  “I want us to find the safe place surrounding that area, where we have not seen our weapons of war swallowed up by the earth, and from which we can stop all traffic in and out. They will need supplies, and we must see that they do not get them.”

  “Our armed forces have been so decimated, sir—”

  “Are you telling me we have no pilots or planes that can cut off supplies to Petra?”

  “No, sir. I’m sure we can do that. Ah, on another matter, sir, our ancient-text experts say that the next curse could be that the lakes and rivers of the world fall into the same predicament as the seas.”

  “Freshwater sources all turn to blood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Impossible! Everyone would die! Even our enemies.”

  “There are those who believe the Judah-ites will be protected, as they have been against our forces recently.”

  “Where will they get their water?”

  “The same place they got their protection. Perhaps there is wisdom in negotiating with their leader to have the curses lifted.”

  “Never!”

  “Not to be contrary, sir, but we cannot survive long with this devastation. And if the rivers and lakes do also turn—”

  “You are not aware of everything, Suhail. I too have supernatural power.”

  “I have seen it, sir.”

  “You will see more. Reverend Fortunato is prepared to match the wizardry of the Judah-ites blow for blow, and he has designates who can do this around the world.”

  “Well, that—”

  “Now show me what I want to see, Suhail.”

  “North roadblock, this is Central.”

  “Roadblock,” Mac said. “Go ahead, Central.”

  “Disposition of suspicious truck?”

  “Repeat?”

  “One of our squads reported that your first stop after they passed was a truck.”

  “Affirmative. Clean.”

  “Traveling west to east?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “We traced a cell phone to the west side of the city and then east before losing it.”

  Mac looked at George. “What do they want to hear?”

  “You know nothing about that.”

  Mac transmitted. “Can’t help you there.”

  “Truck proceeded east?”

  “Roger that.”

  “You reported lots of traffic.”

  “Ten-four.”

  “Busy?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Squads said they saw nothing but the truck when they passed.”

  “Busy now.”

  “What’s your ten-twenty, roadblock?”

  Mac looked at George again. “They’re onto us.”

  George pulled the weapons from beneath the seat and Rayford’s walkie-talkie from his pocket. “Jinnah, Irene, be advised. We’ll soon have company.”

  Mac clicked the GC radio button a few times. “Repeat,” he said.

  “Your ten-twenty, roadblock. What’s your location?”

  Chang froze. He had been nearly dozing, listening to Carpathia and Akbar’s sparring while they watched reports from the United North American States and the United South American States. He had not kept up with the Ptolemaïs project.

  The local GC had traced Elena’s cell phone to the west side of the city, and it had remained in one location for more than an hour. Commander Nelson Stefanich and the survivors of the philosopher team were personally leading the raid on a pub in that area.

  He phoned Mac.

  “Talk fast, Chang. We may be in deep weeds here.”

  “How far west of the city are you?”

  “Not sure. I’ve had this thing floored, but I don’t think it goes faster’n fifty. They chasin’ us?”

  “Are you too far from the Co-op to help them?”

  “Depends. What’s up?”

  “GC’s raiding the pub right now. You know the next thing to go will be the Co-op.”

  “Any chance they got out?”

  “Can’t imagine. I couldn’t warn them.”

  “I’m guessing we’re less than thirty minutes from our plane. We’ll go back if you think we can help.”

  “Hang on, a report’s coming through. Judah-ite underground discovered beneath pub. Firefight. Sixteen GC dead, and another dozen injured. Building grenaded and torched. Several adjacent buildings destroyed. No enemy survivors.”

  While Mac filled in George, the GC continued to try to reach Mac on the radio, asking for some kind of a code. “We’ve blocked off both ends of the north road due to the raid, so wrap it up,” they said. “Still need your all-clear code.”

  George looked devastated and tried to grab the GC radio from Mac. “I’ll give ’em an all-clear code.”

  “Take it easy, friend.”

  “This was my fault, Mac! What was I thinking, hanging on to that phone?”

  “I wish we could have gone back,” Mac said. “I’d like to have taken out a few of them myself. But our brothers and sisters are in heaven, and it sounds like they put up some kind of a fight.”

  “That’s it?” George said. “We’re supposed to feel good because I got a bunch of people killed and now they’re in heaven?”

  “Need the all-clear code now,” the radio said.

  “I ought to tell them it’s Psalm 94:1,” Mac said.

  “I know what I’d like to tell ’em. Have the women stop and we’ll get those GC to tell us the code.”

  “They’d probably give away where
we are.”

  “Not with the DEW starin’ ’em in the face. Let me get it out of ’em, Mac. Please. I’ve got to do this.”

  “Chloe, pull it over,” Mac said.

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  “We okay?”

  “Temporarily.”

  Mac’s phone chirped. Chang. “Stefanich and Plato and a bunch of GC are looking for the truck and the two GC squads. They’re heading west.”

  “Let’s make this quick,” Mac said, jumping out as Chloe emerged and Hannah pulled up behind.

  “Pop that trunk, Chloe,” George said, “and Hannah, let me have the DEW.”

  Chloe opened the trunk, and Mac shone a flashlight in on the nearly wasted Peacekeeper. George pulled him from the trunk with one hand, and he lay crying on the ground. “Blisters,” he sobbed. “Careful, please. Or kill me.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” George said, wielding the DEW. “See this?”

  The man opened one eye and nodded miserably.

  “This is what cooks your flesh, and there’s plenty more juice in it.”

  “Please, no.”

  George turned it on, and the thing whirred to life.

  “Please!”

  He aimed it at the man’s ankle, and the man stiffened, whining. “Give me your all-clear code.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Give me the all-clear or—”

  “It’s in the glove box! In my book!”

  Chloe went to check. She brought back a small, black leather ring binder. “It’s full of all kinds of notes,” she said.

  George took it and dropped it onto the man.

  “We’ve got to get rolling,” Mac said. “They’re never going to buy the all-clear from us now anyway. They’re on their way.”

  “These guys are deadweight,” George said. “Maybe we can slow the others by leaving them here in the road.”

  The man was ripping through the pages. He gingerly held the notebook up to the light from the truck’s headlamp. “It’s one-one-six-four-eight!” he said.

  George dragged him onto the road while Mac brought the other from the other car. The men lay writhing. “Just kill us,” the second one pleaded.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking,” George said. “Bad as this is, trust me, you should prefer it.”

  “Leave one of the cars here,” Mac said. “Block the road with it and the truck. It won’t take the GC long to get around them, but any slowdown has to help.”

  Chloe maneuvered one car nose to nose with the truck across the highway; then they ripped out the distributor caps from both vehicles and took the keys.

  “Last call for clear code,” the radio said.

  Mac hollered it into the mike. Then, “Chloe, you drive. And keep it to the floor. I’ll ride shotgun. I don’t expect them to catch us now, but everybody stay armed and ready.”

  George put the DEW in the trunk and climbed in the back with Hannah. The economy car was too small for the four of them and seemed to groan with the weight, but Chloe soon had the thing chugging along at over seventy miles an hour.

  George said, “So, Mac, what’s Psalm 94:1?”

  Mac turned as far as he could in the seat. “‘O God,’” he said, “‘to whom vengeance belongs, shine forth!’”

  The GC radio came to life again. “We need an immediate ten-twenty. Personnel on the north road report zero traffic and no sign of you.”

  “Give me that,” George said, pulling it from Mac’s hand. He mashed the button. “Yeah, you’ll find us at Psalm 94:1.”

  Chang fixed himself some tea, adding a strange concoction that included instant coffee with the highest concentration of caffeine he could find. He would crash when this ordeal was over, but he couldn’t risk dozing now. It was clear the Greek GC had a bead on his people, and it wouldn’t be long before they figured out Mac must have a plane at the abandoned strip not twenty minutes more up the road. He certainly wasn’t going to escape into Albania. How long would it take Mac and his people to board, and how far could they get before needing to refuel?

  Meanwhile, from what Chang could hear, Carpathia was at least entertained—if not totally distracted—by feeds from his regions where it was still daytime. The potentate for Region 0, the United South American States, announced an event he said his wife, “the first lady,” was personally attending right then.

  “And where are you while she is doing your work?” Carpathia asked.

  “Oh, my revered risen one, you may rest assured that I am doing the greater work. We have taken you at your word regarding the effort to root out infidels here, and I am working closely with our Peacekeepers and Morale Monitors, as well as with civilian undercover groups. We expect to have dozens more face the guillotine or take your mark within twenty-four hours.”

  “Dozens? My dear friend, we are hearing from your compatriots around the world that some are finding hundreds, even thousands, who will suffer for their disloyalty. Some are stepping up efforts even in our part of the world, in the dark of night.”

  The South American sighed. “Sir, sadly, we are so dependent on the seas that our forces have been dramatically reduced.”

  “But surely so have your dissidents, have they not?”

  “That is true. But please, allow me to take you live to Uruguay, where my wife attends the public ceremony culminating in loyalty enforcement.”

  Chang switched quickly to Mac and his crew—nothing new—then tapped into the video feed from the United South American States. The first lady was receiving enthusiastic applause. She had her arm around a shy-looking middle-aged man. “This gentleman is finally getting his mark of loyalty to our risen potentate!”

  More cheering.

  “And tell us, Andrés, what took you so long?”

  “I was afraid,” he said, smiling.

  “Afraid of what?”

  “The needle.”

  Many laughed and cheered.

  “But you will do it today?”

  “A very small 0, yes,” he said.

  “You are no longer afraid of the needle?”

  “Yes, I am still. But I fear the blade much more.”

  The crowd cheered and continued to applaud as Andrés sat stiffly for the application of the mark. His forehead was swabbed, someone held his hand, the machine was applied, and he looked genuinely relieved and happy.

  The first lady said, “You may now return to what you were doing when you were discovered without the mark.”

  The camera followed Andrés as he ran back to the image of Carpathia and fell to his knees before it. The first lady told the crowd, “Andrés avoided detection for so long because he obeyed the decree to worship the image, and no one suspected.”

  Carpathia did not seem impressed. “He worships me and yet he is afraid of a little pinprick. Agh!”

  “But you will be most pleased, Potentate,” the South American leader said. “Following the leads of several loyal citizens, we have uncovered a den of opposition. Six were killed when they resisted arrest, but thirteen have been brought to this worship and enforcement center.”

  “How many will take the mark now?” Carpathia said. “How many have had their attitudes adjusted by the very presence of the loyalty enforcement facilitator?”

  “Well, uh, actually none so far, sir.”

  Chang heard a fist slam. “Stubborn!” Carpathia said. “So stubborn. Why are these people so resolute? so stupid? so shortsighted?”

  “Today they will pay, Highness.”

  “Right now, even as we speak?” Carpathia’s voice evidenced his excitement.

  “Yes, right now.”

  “What is the music?”

  “The condemned ones hum and sing, my lord. It is not uncommon.”

  “Shut them up!”

  “One moment. Excuse me, sir.” He called to someone in the background, “Jorge! Communicate to the officers at the site that the supreme potentate does not allow the music. Yes, now! Your
Highness, it will be stopped.”

  “These have definitely chosen the blade?”

  “They have, sir. They are in line.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  “Only to carry out your wish to stop the music, sir.”

  “Get on with it! The blade will silence them.”

  Chang recoiled when he saw a guard with a huge rifle and bayonet nudging the first person in line, a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She was singing, her face turned toward heaven. The guard yelled at her, but she did not acknowledge. He bumped her and she stumbled, but still she sang, eyes upward.

  He jabbed her in the ribs with the butt of the rifle, and she dropped to one knee, then rose and continued singing. Now he set himself to her side, planted his feet, and drove the bayonet through her arm and into her side. She cried out as the bayonet was removed, and she reached with her other hand to press it over the wound. Her singing now came in sobs as the people behind her fell to their knees.

  “What is she singing?” Carpathia demanded.

  The sound was enhanced, and Chang found himself breathless as he listened to the woman’s pitiful, labored singing. She could no longer hold up her head, but she stood wobbling, clearly woozy, struggling to sing, “. . . did e’er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?”

  The guard was joined by others, swinging the stocks of their rifles at the heads of those who bowed.

  “Tell the guards to stop making a spectacle of it!” Carpathia raged. “They are playing right into these people’s hands. Let the crowd see that no matter what they do or say or sing, still their heads belong to us!”

  The guillotine was readied as the woman continued to force out the lyrics, though she had long since lost the tune. As she was grabbed by guards on each side and wrestled into place, she cried out, “. . . demands my soul, my life, my all!”

  The blade dropped and the crowd erupted.

  “Aah!” Carpathia sighed. “Can we not see from the other side?”

  “The other side, sir?” the South American potentate repeated.

  “Of the blade! Of the blade! Get a camera around there! The body does not drop! It merely collapses. I want to see the head drop!”

  The next several in line approached the killing machine with their palms raised. The guards kept grabbing their elbows and pulling down their arms, but the condemned kept raising them. The guards slashed at their hands with bayonets, but the people instinctively moved and mostly avoided being cut.