by Tim LaHaye
Buck waited for God to give him an answer for Chaim, but nothing came.
CHAPTER 2
Just before 9 a.m. and about an hour east of Mizpe Ramon, David told Leah to pull over. “I’m sorry, everyone,” he said, “but I just got something from Tsion you need to hear, and I have to get a message to Chang. It’s too hard with this thing bouncing in my lap.”
“Better hide the van,” Mac said. “We’re pretty conspicuous.”
Leah checked her mirrors, switched into four-wheel drive, and aimed toward the sand. Abdullah sat up, fastened his seat belt, and said, “You would think it was the end of the world.”
“Hilarious,” Mac said.
Leah stopped a couple of miles off the road in the shadow of a small crag and two scraggly trees. David set his machine on the seat and stood outside, leaning in. The others stretched, then gathered to hear him read Tsion’s copy of his back-and-forth with Chang.
“That does not sound so good,” Abdullah said. “What to do?”
“I’d take a tone with that boy,” Mac said.
“Just what I was thinking,” David said. “Somebody update Rayford while I’m working here.”
“Got it covered,” Mac said, flipping open his phone.
David wrote:
You’ve got time to interrupt Dr. Ben-Judah but not to check in with your immediate superior? You think this is a game, Chang? What happened to the smart-aleck know-it-all who was going to handle all this in his sleep? Nobody begrudges you your second thoughts and spiritual angst, but you had better come to grips with the fact that you accepted this assignment.
Bottom line, Chang, is that you don’t have time for this right now. Too many people are counting on you, and the very success of a life-and-death operation is in your hands. Doing harm to yourself because you can’t figure out why God might have let something happen would be the most royally selfish act you could conjure up.
Now as soon as I transmit this, I want a reply from you that you’re still on the job. If it is not forthcoming, I’ll be forced to initiate the codes that destroy your setup and all the stuff I built there and explained to you. You know we can’t risk your doing yourself in and leaving evidence that something was amiss. We need to know Suhail Akbar’s plans on investigating the crash site. You need to hack into Sandra’s files and be sure we’re up-to-date on Carpathia’s schedule. And if he holds meetings anywhere you can tap into, you’ve got to direct that transmission to Chicago, to Mizpe Ramon, and to me. Where’s the 216, who’s flying it, and is Carpathia using it for meetings?
Hear me, Chang. Something you wrote to Dr. Ben-Judah reminded me of something you said to me about this whole dual mark thing. I know you didn’t take it on purpose, though you wanted me to think you got used to it right away and see, as you called it, the “upside.” But it’s not so easy, is it, when we’re all so new at this and something doesn’t jibe with what God seems to say about it? Dr. Ben-Judah’s the expert, and you’ve got him baffled, so I won’t pretend to have an answer for you. But obviously something’s not right, and I don’t blame you for wanting to find out how God sees you now.
There’s no doubt in my mind that nothing can separate you from God and his love, but you’re not going to have peace until you know for sure what really happened that morning. Now, again, let me be clear: This is not your top priority. Most important for you is to complete the tasks I listed above and make sure we’re all safe and still undetected. Last we knew, Carpathia was to make his public appearance in Jerusalem at 11:00 a.m. Carpathian time.
But once you’re sure everything is under control and that we are all up to speed, try the coordinates I list below. It’s a long shot, but I programmed in a string that might allow access to surveillance equipment I did not install. It’s possible there’s a record, video or audio or both, of what went on that day. The problem is that Building D was a maintenance facility that the brass rarely, if ever, visited. I didn’t bother planting bugs there, but for all I know, something was already in place.
You told me in person, and Dr. Ben-Judah a little while ago, that you were trying to get out of taking the mark and were even prepared to tell the truth right up to the time they “stuck” you. I took that to mean up to the time you were given the mark. Maybe that is what you meant, but that’s not the way most people refer to the application of the tattoo and the embedding of the chip. I don’t know. Maybe I’m reaching. But maybe something else was going on. You never told me what happened from the time you got to the basement of Building D until you got to my office. Do you remember? And if not, why not?
So, first, tell me you’re there and doing your job. Give us everything we need. Then see what you can find for Building D. Answer back as soon as you’ve read this.
David transmitted the message, then let Mac read it before they headed off for Mizpe Ramon. Mac nodded. “How much time do you give him?”
David shrugged. “Not much, but I don’t want to nuke the system because he’s on a bathroom break either.”
Within minutes of their return to the road, David had a reply from Chang: “Following orders. And, Mr. Hassid, I thought the mark was administered in the basement of the palace. Blueprints show Building D several hundred yards from here. I have no memory of having been there. And by being ‘stuck,’ I meant the anesthetic they gave me prior to the procedure. I thought that was done in the palace too.”
Rayford was encouraged to hear how close the Quasi Two quartet and Leah were to Mizpe Ramon. He told Mac about the weapons George Sebastian was having flown in.
“Smitty will want to see those,” Mac said. “He was a combat man before he flew fighters, you know.”
Rayford hadn’t known, and he could hear Abdullah in the background, demanding to know what they were talking about.
“Just keep a rein on that camel there, desert boy,” Mac said.
“You watch it, Texas-cowboy boy. I will learn some slurs about you and torment your ancestors.”
“Just a minute, Ray,” Mac said. “Smitty, you mean my descendants. My ancestors are dead.”
“So much the better. I will make them turn over in their tombs.”
“Albie’s a gun guy too,” Rayford said. “But I’ve had my fill. Anyway, I need both him and Abdullah in the air.”
He was glad to hear of Leah and Hannah’s plans, but he fell silent at the news that David wanted to precede everyone to Petra. In the background he heard Hassid say, “I wanted to tell him that myself, Mac.”
But as Rayford turned it over in his mind, David’s setting up Petra for Chaim and the Israeli believers made sense. He asked Mac what anyone knew about Carpathia’s latest plans. Mac brought him up-to-date on the troubles with Chang.
“I need to know as soon as possible,” Rayford said. “The parade or whatever you want to call it, the desecration, and the attack could all happen this week.”
Buck carried his Corporal Jack Jensen GC Peacekeeper ID, but he wore civilian clothes and counted on his own new hair and eye color, not to mention his severely scarred face, to throw off anyone who might otherwise recognize him. He and Chaim left the King David by car at 9:30 and picked their way through heavy traffic to within walking distance of the Old City. Chaim’s robe was gathered at the waist by a braid of rope, but the hem brushed the ground and hid his feet, making it appear he was gliding.
The two were soon enveloped by the masses who lined the Via Dolorosa, where Carpathia was expected an hour before noon. Buck was struck by the crowds, despite the waning population around the world. The city still showed residue from the earthquake that had leveled a tenth of it, but nothing stopped the opportunists. On every corner hawkers presented Carpathia memorabilia, including real and plastic fronds to toss before him as he would make what was becoming known as his triumphal entry.
Apparently, Nicolae Carpathia the pacifist was no more. Convoys of tanks, military trucks, fighters and bombers on flatbed trucks, and even missiles slowly rolled through the streets. Buck knew they wouldn’t fit within
the Old City without choking the tiny thoroughfares, but they were pervasive everywhere else.
Buck kept an eye out for Hattie and a hand on his phone, but he had long since despaired of a reasonable explanation for her disappearance. He tried not to think the worst, but reaching him or anyone else in the Trib Force should have been easy for her.
Chaim trudged along beside him, hunched, hands deep in the folds of his brown robe, his nearly bald head hidden by the hood. He had uttered not a word since the hotel-room experience. He had merely traded the King David terry cloth for the burlap-looking but soft flannel robe and slipped into his sandals.
It seemed the city was short of Peacekeepers, local or international. Many shopwindows were boarded up, and anything and everything served as a taxi, even dilapidated private vehicles. At the occasional open appliance store, TVs blared from the windows as onlookers gathered and gaped. Buck put a hand on Chaim’s shoulder and nodded toward such a place. They joined the crowd to watch a replay of the crash of the Quasi Two, coverage of rubber-gloved technicians picking through the wreckage, and the somber statements from Potentate Carpathia, Most High Reverend Father Leon Fortunato, Supreme Commander Walter Moon and, finally, Security and Intelligence Director Suhail Akbar.
“Unfortunately,” the latter said, “while the investigation continues, we have been unable to confirm the evidence of any human remains. It is, of course, possible that four loyal patriots of the Global Community were vaporized upon impact in this tragedy. Medical personnel tell us they would have died without pain. Once we have confirmed the deaths, prayers will go to the risen potentate on behalf of their eternal souls, and we will extend our sympathies to their families and loved ones.”
The news anchor intoned that further investigation revealed pilot error on the part of Captain Mac McCullum and that a New Babylon–based loadmaster had warned the crew of a cargo weight-and-balance problem and had begged them not to take off.
Buck knew he should dread what was coming, but having felt the presence of God at the King David, he was filled with courage. He didn’t know how he and Chaim were going to avoid detection or what might happen once Carpathia had initiated his awful deed. He only wished he detected some evidence that Chaim had derived the same confidence from what had happened while they were on their knees.
David and the others in the van listened to Suhail Akbar’s conclusions on the radio as Leah followed careful directions and pulled to within sight of the landing strip outside Mizpe Ramon. David was moved by the shock and sadness in the voice of Tiffany, his assistant, as she was interviewed about him. He wished he could tell her he was all right, but he feared some might already suspect that.
He embraced Rayford, shook hands with Albie, and introduced Hannah all around. As the rest were briefed on plans wholly dependent on the unpredictable Carpathia, David was pointed to Rayford’s quarters, where he cleared a table and set up his computer to monitor Chang Wong’s success at keeping up with the potentate.
The young man had succeeded in getting the latest copy of Carpathia’s itinerary. It showed a meeting including NC, LF, WM, SA, and LH on the FX at 1000 hours. “I know that’s now,” Chang reported, “but I’m lost after the initials for the four we know. Help?”
“I don’t know LH either,” David wrote back, “but come on, smart boy. Go phonetic and assume FX is the Phoenix and patch me in there.”
“I’ve got the Akbar press conference downloaded. You want that first?”
“Priorities, man! The press conference was broadcast internationally.”
David rustled through his bag for earphones and was slipping them on just as Chang made the connection to the Phoenix. He felt the ambience of the idle plane, and Chang transmitted an inset screen listing GC replacements for David, Mac, and Abdullah. “A. Figueroa for you,” Chang wrote. “Know him? Apparently they’re not replacing Nurse Palemoon. Still no idea who LH is.”
“No need to prolong this meeting with Hut.” That was clearly Carpathia. “Get on with it.”
“Right away, Excellency,” Moon said. “Leon, uh, Reverend Fortunato would like to update you on the image and the animal.”
“I just saw him. Where is he?”
“The head, sir. Feeling some discomfort.”
“What is the problem?”
“I don’t know.”
“He was sitting right here a moment ago, Walter.”
“Squirming.”
“About what?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I—”
“Well, find out, would you? And get Akbar and Hut in here now.”
David heard Moon on a walkie-talkie, directing someone to “let Akbar and Hut board. And have the purser check on Reverend Fortunato.”
“Come back?”
“Fortunato. First-class can.”
Carpathia roared with laughter in the background. “An apt description, Mr. Moon!”
“I didn’t mean that, sir. I was just—”
“Can we get on with this, Walter? Should Fortunato not find his way back here, what is he going to tell me about the image and the animal?”
“He didn’t tell me, Lordship, but he seemed very excited.”
“Until he went to the bathroom in discomfort.”
“Exactly.”
After a few seconds of silence, Carpathia barked, “Walter, tell Suhail if he does not have his new man aboard in thirty seconds—”
“Supreme Potentate Carpathia, sir, Security and Intelligence Director Suhail Akbar of Pakistan and Global Community Morale Monitor Chief Loren Hut of Canada.”
Akbar said, “Forgive the delay, Potentate, but—”
“Sit, both of you. Director Akbar, where did you find this tall specimen and why is he not still a rodeo cowboy in Calgary?”
David noticed that Carpathia had pronounced the city with emphasis on the second syllable, just like the locals.
“I enjoy ropin’ dissidents more,” the young man said.
Carpathia laughed. “I was not speaking to you, Chief Hut, but—”
“Sorry.”
“—you saved yourself with that answer. Got everything you need?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, Potentate,” Carpathia corrected. “Sir will not cut it when addressing your risen—”
“Absolutely, Excellency, Lordship, Potentate. I was told. I just misspoke there.”
“You would mock me?”
“No, sir! Potentate!”
“I asked you a question.”
“I would not mock—”
“Whether you have what you need, imbecile! Honestly, Director Akbar, this is the best we could do?”
“He is quite accomplished and decorated, Excellency, and merely too intimidated in your presence to exhibit the loyalty he’s known for.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, sir, Potentate. I’m loyal to you and always have been.”
“And you worship me?”
“Whenever I can.”
Carpathia chuckled. “Is every Morale Monitor armed, Hut?”
“Here in Israel, yes, they are. And everywhere else, they will be by the end of next week.”
“Why the delay?”
“The sheer numbers. But we have the weapons. It’s just a matter of getting ’em to everyone.”
“Your top priority is here, Hut. You understand that.”
“Absolutely.”
“And then it is to arm every one of your troops.”
“Yes.”
“What is the male-female ratio among the monitors?”
“About sixty-forty males, Excellency.”
“About?”
“It’s almost exactly fifty-eight to forty-two.”
“Excellent. Leon! You are back!”
“Forgive me, Lordship.”
“Sit, please. Meet—”
“I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind, Excellency. And I have met Mr. Hut. Impressive young man.”
“Yes, well, I am glad you find him so. I will decide for m
yself by the end of next week when I learn whether he has accomplished his task. And I will be interested to know how he handles incorrigibles here.”
“In Israel, sir, Potentate?” Hut said.
“That is what ‘here’ would mean, yes.”
“I just can’t imagine anybody givin’ you a problem here, but if they do—”
David heard Carpathia suck in a breath. “Yes!” he hissed. “Tell me, Hut, what you have in store for people who would be so impudent as to oppose me here in the Holy City.”
“They would be immediately apprehended and incarcerated!”
“Wrong!” Carpathia shouted. “Wrong answer! Akbar, I swear, if you do not—”
David could hear Akbar whispering urgently. Then an earnest Loren Hut: “I would have them killed, Potentate. On the spot. Or I would kill them myself!”
“And how would you do this?”
“Probably shoot them.”
“Where?”
“In the street. In public. In front of everybody.”
“I mean, where on their body?”
“Their body?”
“Where would you shoot them?” Carpathia was speaking quickly now, his delivery liquid, as if savoring the mere thought.
“In the heart or in the head, Potentate, for a sure kill.”
“Yes! No! You have how many rounds in your personal side arm?”
“Me? I’m carryin’ a semiautomatic handgun with a nine-round clip.”
“Use it all!”
“All?”
“Start with the hands. First one, and when they grab it, the other. As they scream and dance and turn and try to flee, shoot first one foot, then the other.”
“I see.”
“Do you? As they lie howling and others abandon them in fear, you still have five rounds, do you not?”
“Yes.” Hut sounded terrified.
“Both knees, each shoulder. Particularly painful. Make them change their mind, Hut. Make them say they love me and that they are sorry they opposed me. And you know what to do with the final round.”
“Heart?”
“A cliché! No creativity!” David heard the leather seat squeak and imagined Carpathia shifting to act this out. “You put the hot muzzle of the weapon to their forehead, right where their mark should be. And you ask if they are prepared to pledge their loyalty. And even if they scream to the heavens that they have seen the light, you give them their own mark. It will be the only round they do not hear or feel. And then what?”