by Tim LaHaye
Suddenly the feed switched to the camera outside, and David knew Chang had to have tipped off Buck. He had turned his lens on the opposition watching the monitors. Many fell to their knees and tore their robes.
The scene switched back inside, where the pig squealed and strained and Carpathia laughed, approaching with the knife. He lunged at the animal and it dodged, making him slip. “Want to play?” Nicolae roared and leaped aboard, knocking the pig to its knees. It quickly righted itself, and the potentate nearly slid off. He caught himself on one of the ropes, pulled himself back up, and reached with the knife, slashing the animal’s throat.
The pig went wild and dumped Carpathia to the floor. The animal thrashed as Carpathia struggled to his feet, his clothes covered in blood. The handlers held on, and the pig soon slowed and lost its footing.
Nicolae, abandoning any semblance of ritual, resheathed his knife and cupped both hands under the blood pouring from the dying pig’s neck. Before he was even upright again, he flung blood toward the altar and splattered the pig handlers, who ducked and howled in hysterics. Fortunato and Moon were caught in the melee and appeared to force smiles, though they also looked as if they were about to collapse.
David sat with his mouth open, wondering how anyone could take seriously a man who not only thumbed his nose at God, but who also acted like a drunken reveler at a frat party.
When the pig finally stopped moving, Nicolae attempted to butcher it with the knife and found neither himself nor the blade equal to the task. “Pity!” he cried, to the laughter of his people, and plopped himself down in his throne. “I wanted roast pork!”
Carpathia seemed to quickly tire of the silliness. “Get the pig out of here,” he said, “and bring in my image.” He stood and hurried to a spigot of rushing water. The camera stayed on his face, but it was clear he disrobed under the spray. “Cold!” he shouted, finally reaching for a towel provided by yet another lackey. Someone handed him the robe, sash, and sandals from the day before, and he looked directly into the lens. “Now, once my image is in place,” he said, “we are out to Solomon’s scaffold.”
Chang patched in Chaim. “Is this not the most vile man who ever lived?” Rosenzweig said. “Is he not the antithesis of whom he claims to be? I call on all who have resisted or delayed in accepting his mark and plead with you to refuse it. Avoid the sentence of grievous sores and certain death.”
David shifted and stretched his legs, eager to interact with someone about what everyone had seen. The most logical person he could think of was Hannah.
Buck feared his appropriated TV camera would be revealed when the small contingent of Orthodox Jews who had unintentionally worked together to shield it from Carpathia and his minions suddenly bolted away. The Temple Mount had become a roiling stew of angry citizens, and not just those without the mark of the beast. Loyalists had apparently come to the end of their patience with the loathsome sores all over their bodies. And the fiasco Carpathia had just perpetrated in the temple could not have amused more than his basest, most rabid supporters.
Messianic believers, new Christ-followers, the Orthodox Jews, and seemingly even thousands of undecided among the general populace had seen the new Carpathia. It was as if he had abandoned any attempt to persuade or convince anyone. He was to be revered and worshiped and followed because he was god, and anyone who didn’t agree would suffer. But those who agreed most wholeheartedly were suffering the most.
But to have murdered a man in cold blood on international television, to literally drench his hands with the man’s blood, to have announced the end of ceremonial sacrifices—except to himself—and then to not just claim the temple as his own house but to also defile it in such a graphic, disgusting way was more than the natural mind could comprehend.
Men in flowing beards cried out, “He would sacrifice a pig in the Holy of Holies and cavort in its blood?” They fell to their knees, weeping and moaning. But even more people crowded the pillars at the top of the steps, calling for Carpathia’s own blood.
It became clear to Buck when Carpathia finally irrevocably tipped the scale against himself. The holy men shushed the crowd when Nicolae’s small contingent of healthy men fetched the golden statue. A low rumble of dissent grew as thousands seemed unable to control themselves, while trying to hear what dastardly thing he would do next.
“Why worship at an altar of brass?” he said, his sneer filling the monitors. “If this is indeed the holiest of holy places, every supplicant should enjoy the privilege of bowing to my image, which our Most High Reverend Father has imbued with the power to speak when I am not present!”
Carpathia waited inside the temple for delivery of his statue, but when the assignees appeared to carefully tip it horizontally and bear it inside, they were surrounded by the mob. “Even GC personnel are fighting this, Chaim,” Buck said, and the old man nodded. Buck shot him a double take. Chaim seemed more than solemn. He appeared distracted, probably running over in his mind his next step. This situation had turned uglier than anyone in the Tribulation Force had expected, from what Buck remembered of all their discussions and planning sessions. Something had to give—and soon.
When the protestors rushed the men carrying the statue, other loyalists from inside rushed out, brandishing weapons. A few fired into the air and the crowd backed off, waving their fists and cursing. When the monitors showed the men transporting the life-size image to the west end of the temple and up the steps to the Holy of Holies, the crowd had had enough and began rioting. If a person wore a GC uniform and was not part of the melee, he or she was a target of it.
Most uniformed personnel were too weak even to fire their weapons, but when some did and a few fell under their bullets, the throng erupted and attacked. The medical tents toppled, benches and chairs were upended, the guillotine was knocked over and stomped into pieces. Morale Monitors and Peacekeepers were trampled, their weapons yanked from their hands, and soon the TV monitors came crashing down. All over the Temple Mount people raged, screeching, “Down with Carpathia! Death to the monster! May he die and stay dead!”
Buck pulled Chaim to a safe spot and tried to shield the contraband camera. His monitor showed that the cacophony had reached Carpathia, and he appeared pale and shaken. “I am coming out to calm my people,” he said into the lens. “They need only be reminded that I am their risen lord and god.”
Few heard that over the din, but those who did must have spread the word quickly, because as Buck followed Carpathia’s march back to the entrance of the temple, he looked up to see the Orthodox Jews leading the way to the fake Solomon’s scaffold, which was quickly reduced to splinters.
A band of zealots spotted Buck’s camera, and before he could convince them he was on their side, they grabbed it and smashed it to the ground. Desperate to see what would happen in front of the temple, Buck scampered up a tree and saw Viv Ivins meet Carpathia near the entrance. Something kept the rioters outside, and Buck guessed it could be only their reluctance to assassinate a man in the temple, despite what he had done there.
Nicolae looked petrified while trying to appear otherwise and kept looking back to find the rest of his entourage. They finally caught up, but simply remaining upright seemed to take the last vestiges of strength from Fortunato and Moon and many others. Carpathia pointed and shouted, and someone found him a microphone that was connected to loudspeakers in the outer court.
Like a madman choosing the wholly wrong approach to winning back the crowd, Carpathia held the mike in one hand and raised his other for attention, crying out, “You have breached the covenant! My pledge of seven years of peace for Israel is rescinded! Now you must allow me and my—”
But the rest was drowned out by the mutinous multitude. While they would not cross the threshold of the temple, they pressed right up to it, creating a human barrier between Carpathia and his freedom to step out. Suddenly they quieted and began to chuckle, then laugh, then roar with pleasure at what they had accomplished. It was as if they had co
rnered a helpless pest and now didn’t know what to do with him.
“My brothers and sisters of the Global Community,” Carpathia began again, “I will see that you are healed of your sores, and you will again see that it is I who love you and bring you peace!”
“You’ll not leave here alive, pretender!” someone shouted, and others took up the cause.
Then, crystal clear in the early afternoon air, came the piercing voice of the little man in the brown robe, and all eyes and ears turned toward him. “It is not the due time for the man of sin to face judgment, though it is clear he has been revealed!”
The crowd murmured, not wanting to be dissuaded from killing Carpathia.
Chaim strode slowly toward the bulk of the group, and they respectfully, silently parted. “As was foretold centuries ago,” Chaim continued as he angled toward the temple steps, “God has chosen to allow this evil for a time, and impotent as this enemy of your souls may be today, much more evil will be perpetrated upon you under his hand. When he once again gains advantage, he will retaliate against this presumption on his authority, and you would do well to not be here when his anger is poured out.”
“That is right!” Carpathia hollered, his voice sounding tinny compared to Chaim’s authoritative tone. “You will rue the day when you dared—”
“You!” Chaim roared, pointing at Nicolae. “You shall let God’s chosen ones depart before his curse is lifted, lest you face a worse plague in its place.”
Buck, still wedged in the tree, phoned Chang. “Camera’s trashed,” he said.
“So I gathered.”
“You getting this?”
“The GC’s trying to talk over it. It’s as if they can’t decide whether Carpathia would want it on the air. Heads are going to roll.”
“What’d Carpathia just say?” Buck said. “I missed it.”
“Something about his being at the Knesset, available to negotiate or to answer honest inquiries from his subjects.”
“They’ll never let him get out of the—”
But they did. The crowd backed away for Nicolae and his people as they had for Chaim.
“Any chance of tapping into the Knesset?” Buck said.
“Not that I know of,” Chang said. “Are you going?”
“If Chaim goes, I go.”
“Leave your phone open. I’ll patch it to everybody else.”
But before Buck could get down from the tree, Chaim raised his arms and gained the attention of the angry mob. “Let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains. Let him who is on the housetop not go down to take anything out of his house. And let him who is in the field not go back to get his clothes.”
“Why should we flee?” someone yelled. “We have exposed the potentate as an impotent pretender!”
“Because God has spoken!”
“Now we’re to believe you are God?”
“The great I Am has told me. Whatsoever he even thinks comes to pass, and as he purposes, so shall it stand.”
Buck was sure the people would have none of it, but Chaim had apparently spoken with such authority that they were instantly calmed. “Where shall we go?” someone asked.
“If you are a believer in Jesus Christ as Messiah,” Chaim said, “leave now for Petra by way of Mizpe Ramon. If you have transportation, take as many with you as you can. Volunteers from around the globe are also here to transport you, and from Mizpe Ramon you will be helicoptered in to Petra. The weak, the elderly, the infirm, find your way to the Mount of Olives, and you will be flown in from there.”
“And if we do not believe?”
“If you have an ear to hear, make your way to Masada, where you will be free to worship God as you once did here at his temple. There I will present the case for Jesus as Messiah. Do not wait! Do not hesitate! Go now, everyone!”
Buck was stunned to see many with Carpathia’s mark stagger into the throng that was quickly forming to depart the Temple Mount. He knew they could not change their minds, that they had once and for all turned their backs on God. But they were now in no-man’s-land. They were without the protection of God, and yet they had publicly crossed Antichrist. Should the plague of boils be lifted, surely GC forces would cut them down. The Orthodox Jews and the undecided were allowed at Masada, but no one who had taken the mark of the beast could enter.
David had been unable to raise Hannah on his computer, so he wrote his response to her e-mail and transmitted it just before watching the goings-on at the Temple Mount. Excitement coursed through him as he anticipated the first arrivals. He had spent hours setting up the basic framework of the wireless computer system, and now all he could do was wait.
Buck didn’t want to lose Chaim, but he needn’t have worried. The Temple Mount was soon empty and left a mess. Chaim descended the temple steps and motioned to Buck to follow. As they walked in the direction of the Knesset, Jerusalem seemed to explode around them. Looters smashed windows and knocked over merchandise kiosks in the streets. Drunken revelers sang and danced and sloshed drinks as they cavorted outside bars and clubs. Those suffering with boils wailed, and many tried to kill themselves in broad daylight.
Meanwhile, the Jewish believers, the undecideds, and the Orthodox Jews hurried along, seeking rides to the Mount of Olives, Masada, or Mizpe Ramon. Operation Eagle vehicles abounded, unidentified other than by eager drivers encouraging others with the mark of God on their foreheads to quickly get aboard. Drivers who saw Buck and Chaim either saluted or pointed to heaven. Everywhere people called out, “He is risen,” and were answered by, “Christ is risen indeed!” Many were singing.
Buck suffered from sensory overload. He mourned Hattie. He missed Chloe and Kenny and feared for their safety. He was both horrified and thrilled by what he had seen, and he was also puzzled yet hopeful. He had not expected Chaim to have to persuade people to flee Carpathia while they believed they had already gained the upper hand. And of course he had no idea what to expect at the Knesset.
As a commercial pilot Rayford had thrived on the schedule, the predictability of his days. But on this mission he had had to adapt at a moment’s notice, depending upon how God led Chaim. This could have been as simple as driving people from Jerusalem to Mizpe Ramon—roughly a hundred miles—then airlifting them about fifty miles southeast to Petra. But somewhere along the line both Masada and the Mount of Olives had been added to the itinerary, and it was Rayford’s job to stretch his personnel to fit the task. One responsibility he carved out for himself was picking up Chaim and Buck once everyone else was safe. Dr. Rosenzweig insisted on their being among the last to arrive at Petra, akin to a captain and his first mate’s being the last ones off a ship, but Rayford wouldn’t know until the last minute where to pick them up.
“Binoculars?” Z said. “I can do ya one better’n that, Chloe. You lookin’ up or out?”
“Mostly out,” Chloe said, yawning. “Nothing specific.” She didn’t want Zeke to know what was on her mind. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. She simply didn’t want any input. The adults had sat watching the temple debacle, and the flight to Petra was underway. Once she was satisfied that Buck was safe, she would be able to sit idle no more.
Zeke had come up with an interesting idea weeks before. Like everyone else, she liked the way he thought, though his way of expressing himself might fool a stranger into thinking he was less than bright. He had encouraged Chloe to clone herself via the Internet. “You know, recruit other people like you. There have to be lots of young moms who are feeling left out of the action. Teach ’em what you do, get ’em to do it in their areas and regions. You can’t do it all yourself anyway.”
The concept had ignited like a gaslit fire. Chloe uploaded manuals and lists of duties, procedures, cross-referenced contact databases—everything a regional director of the International Commodity Co-op would need. She was virtually working herself out of a job.
Now she had gone to the jack-of-all-trades and the one man besides her father who had inventoried the entire
Strong Building. Zeke had gone further than Rayford, however. He had computerized a list of everything he had found. A tower that huge bore a mother lode of treasures. “I mean, there are binocs,” he said. “Some really super-powerful, top-of-the-line types too. But knowin’ you, you want the most powerful eyes I can find ya, am I right?”
“As usual.”
“It’ll be dawn soon. You want it like right now?”
“If possible.”
“Be right back.”
Zeke took several minutes. His computer told him where this item was, and he headed for the elevators.
Ming headed back to bed while Tsion reported that Chang had informed him he would try to patch Chicago in to the Knesset meeting of Chaim and Buck with Carpathia. “I need to sleep,” Tsion told Chloe, “but I will keep an ear open for that . . . unless you want to.”
“I’ve had enough of St. Nick for one night,” she said. “Why don’t you just record it and get some rest?”
Tsion nodded with a look that said her idea had scored with him. “That way I can listen if I want and not worry if I nod off.”
Zeke returned, looking as if he couldn’t wait to see Chloe’s reaction. He handed her a plain white box that surprised her with its weight. She sat and opened it, producing a huge, squatty telescope about a foot long that took two hands to pull from the wrapping. “Wow,” she said. “Will this need a tripod?”