Desecration: Antichrist Takes the Throne

by Tim LaHaye

“I am so sorry, Nicolae,” and Chang got the impression she said his name the way she had when Carpathia was a small boy. Nicolae again fell silent.

  “I did not do it as an act of insubordination, I swear. I merely envied your moment and felt a deep need to share it. I would like to think I earned the right with—”

  “Earned the right? To sit on my throne? To take my place?”

  “—with my years of service, with my uncompromising devotion, with my love for you. Oh, don’t dismiss me, Your Worship. Forgive me. Please! Nicolae!”

  Chang heard her weeping. Then Nicolae: “Suhail, let us administer the test to each other.” Ms. Ivins’s crying faded as she must have moved back to her seat.

  Akbar was brief and confident, and when it was Carpathia’s turn, of course the questions were slightly revised. But Carpathia was in a testy mood.

  “State your name,” Akbar began.

  “God.”

  “Is today Sunday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the sky blue?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a male?”

  “No.”

  “Do you serve the Global Community?”

  “No.”

  “Are you loyal to the citizens under your authority?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever done anything disloyal to the Global Community?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you leak confidential information to someone inside GC headquarters that undermines the effectiveness of your cabinet?”

  “No. And I would personally kill anyone who did.”

  “Did you rise from the dead and are you the living lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can the Global Community count on your continuing loyalty for as long as you serve as supreme potentate?”

  “No.”

  “You astound me, Excellency.”

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know how you do that.”

  “Tell me!” Carpathia said.

  “Your answers all proved truthful, even where you were obviously sporting with me and saying the opposite of the truth.”

  “The truth is what I say it is, Suhail. I am the father of truth.”

  CHAPTER 18

  On the flight home, Buck called Lukas Miklos.

  “I imagine you want to talk to the young man whose life you saved, eh, Cameron?”

  “I do, Laslos. And I’m sorry all my other messages to you about what happened that night had to be texted. I wish I could have given you your wife’s message in person, but—”

  “I understand, my friend,” Laslos said, his voice quavery. “I remember every detail of it. I wish only that I could have gone to heaven with her.”

  “I can’t imagine how hard it is,” Buck said. “But the church needs you there, and—”

  “Oh, Cameron, I am useless. I am not free to help in any real ways anymore. Sometimes I wish they would just find me so I could testify for God before they kill me.”

  Buck wanted to counter him, but what could he say? “We sure appreciate your help in getting those kids out of the country.”

  “I’ll do what I can. I look forward to getting them connected with your pilot, but it’s unlikely I can risk coming out of the shadows to meet him. I will get them as close to the airport as I dare. Here, let me have you talk to the boy.”

  “Hello, sir?” Marcel said, and Buck remembered the voice from their only encounter.

  “I’m so glad to talk to you again, son. I didn’t expect I ever would.”

  “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Williams. I know you got in trouble for that. Will I meet you in Chicago?”

  “You sure will.”

  “Mr. Miklos has told me so much about you and your family and friends. I hope I will be safe there.”

  “Safer than where you are, I guess. And the girl?”

  “Georgiana, um, Stavros,” Marcel said. “I was so surprised when I heard she had the same story as mine. We finally were introduced at a co-op center.”

  “And you have been able to communicate with her?”

  “It’s all set. We will meet her on the road. Mr. Miklos will stay with us for as far as he can.”

  “That’s quite a journey on foot.”

  “He has arranged for someone to drive us, at least until we are a couple of miles from the airport. Then the pilot, Mr. Sebastian, is it—?”

  “Yes.”

  “—will come find us and walk us in as prisoners.”

  “We’ll be praying for you all.”

  Chang listened to several minutes’ worth of small talk, then a pitiful effort by Viv Ivins to again reconnect with Nicolae and get his forgiveness. Finally Nicolae summoned Akbar. “Suhail,” he said, “I am not going to replace Mr. Moon as supreme commander.”

  “I see.”

  “The job and the title are redundant.”

  “Whatever you say, Excellency.”

  “I will count on you more and more, and you may inherit duties that might otherwise have been carried out by a supreme commander.”

  “As you wish.”

  “First assignment: Take action on our security leak.”

  “I’m, we’re—sir, we are already conducting a full investigation at the palace, but as you know, we turned up nothing on the plane. . . .”

  “How does that make sense? You told me it was as if someone were relaying our very conversations to someone with access to the central database.”

  “That’s what it seemed. We are scouring headquarters for weaknesses in our fire walls, but the late Mr. Hassid put the system in place, and there was not a better person in the world for that job.”

  “His replacement, the South American—”

  “Mexican, sir. Figueroa.”

  “You have confidence in him?”

  “A stellar record. Not the technician Hassid was, but capable. He is overseeing the testing, and he himself will also be tested, of course.”

  “I want to send a message to whoever is subverting us from inside. Get them to panic, put them on the defensive.”

  “I’m open to any suggestion, Potentate.”

  “Charge the Indians.”

  “Sir?”

  “The stewards. Convict them of treason.”

  “Uh, on what evidence?”

  “They are the only logical ones, Suhail. The pilot was not even on board during most of our meetings. They were.”

  “But they tested clean.”

  “Who knows that but you and I?”

  “Um-hm.”

  “No one, am I correct?”

  “You are.”

  “Whisper it to Leon. And to Viv. Then release it to the media. They should disembark in New Babylon in handcuffs. Do you have two pair on board?”

  “I do, but—”

  “A problem?”

  “I’m at your service, sir, but I’m missing something. The mole will see we fingered the wrong perpetrators. Rather than put him or her on the defensive, it may make us look like soft opponents.”

  “So much the better. Let him grow overconfident. Still, he will see what we do with people we believe are insurrectionists.”

  “If convicted, the penalty is death.”

  “Oh, Suhail! If they get off this plane in shackles, consider them convicted. The executions should follow within forty-eight hours.”

  “Done.”

  “And your conscience, Director?”

  “My conscience?”

  “Knowing the truth, does this give you pause?”

  “No, sir. You are the father of truth. My conscience is at your service.”

  There was a long pause. “They do good work, though, do they not?” Carpathia said at last. “The stewards?”

  “Quite.”

  “No need to inform them or cuff them until we touch down. But do get the information trail started. And then we need to discuss the final solution for the Israeli dissidents and the Judah-ites. Let me know as soon as you have casualty statistics on Ope
ration Petra.”

  Laslos wished he could go with the two young people all the way to the safe house in America. What an adventure! But how could he justify abandoning his brothers and sisters in Greece? The net was tightening and few of them would survive until the Glorious Appearing, but no one would question giving the teenagers a better chance.

  Being involved in getting them connected with this pilot made Laslos feel alive again. He dreaded the end of the caper when his friend K would drive him back to Ptolemaïs. He would then walk the last mile and a half to his secret place and settle into his awful routine.

  The plan was for K to pick up the boy and him in the country at the north edge of town. They would stay on the outskirts, getting Marcel close enough to the co-op to where he could walk there and get his meager bag of belongings. Georgiana Stavros would wait for them on the southern end of town, off the road that led to the airport. Cameron Williams and Marcel had told him she was a tall brunette, fair-skinned for a Greek, and pretty. Laslos liked to imagine that she looked like his wife when first he met her more than forty years before.

  Chang noticed that Carpathia’s plane sounded as if it was descending when Suhail Akbar returned to talk with the potentate. “Ah, Director,” Nicolae began, “we are planning something very special for Petra when Ben-Judah is confirmed present, no?”

  “Sir, we need to talk.”

  “Answer my question, Suhail.”

  “Yes, of course, but I have bad news.”

  “I do not want bad news! Everybody was healthy! We had plenty of equipment for the Petra offensive. You were going to ignore the city—waiting to destroy it when Micah and Ben-Judah were both there—and overtake those not yet inside. What could be bad news? What do we hear from them?”

  “Nothing. Our—”

  “Nonsense! They were to report as soon as they had overtaken the insurgents. The world was to marvel at our complete success without firing a shot, no casualties for us versus total destruction of those who oppose me. What happened?”

  “We’re not sure yet.”

  “You must have had two hundred commanding officers alone!”

  “More than that.”

  “And not a word from one of them?”

  “Our stratospheric photo planes show our forces advancing to within feet of overrunning approximately five hundred thousand outside Petra.”

  “A cloud of dust and the enemy, in essence, plowed under.”

  “That was the plan, Excellency.”

  “And what? The old men in robes and long beards fought back with hidden daggers?”

  “Our planes waited until the dust cloud settled and now find no evidence of our troops.”

  Carpathia laughed.

  “I wish I were teasing you, Potentate. High-altitude photographs ten minutes after the offensive show the same crowd outside Petra, and yet—”

  “None of our troops, yes, you said that. And our armaments? One of the largest conglomerations of firepower ever assembled, you told me, split into three divisions. Invincible, you said.”

  “Disappeared.”

  “Can those photographs be transmitted here?”

  “They’re waiting in your office, sir. But people I trust verify what we’re going to see . . . or not see, I should say.”

  Carpathia’s voice sounded constricted, as if he’d rather explode than speak. “I want the potentate of each of the world regions on his way to New Babylon within the hour. Any who are not en route sixty minutes from now will be replaced. See to that immediately, and when you determine when the one from the farthest distance will arrive, set a meeting for the senior cabinet and me with the ten of them for an hour later. And these Jews,” he said slowly, “we expect them all to be in Petra as soon as they can be transported there?”

  “Actually, they will not all fit. We expect Petra itself to be full and the rest to camp nearby.”

  “What is required to level Petra and the surrounding area?”

  “Two planes, two crews, two annihilation devices. We could launch a subsequent missile to ensure thorough devastation, though that might be overkill.”

  “Ah, Suhail. You will one day come to realize that there is no such thing as overkill. Let the Jews and the Judah-ites think they have had their little victory. And keep the failed operation quiet. We never launched it. Our missing troops and vehicles and armaments never existed.”

  “And what of the questions from their families?”

  “The questions should go to the families. We demand to know where these soldiers are and what they have done with our equipment.”

  “Tens of thousands AWOL? That’s what we will contend?”

  “No, Suhail. Rather, I suggest you go on international television and tell the GCNN audience that the greatest military effort ever carried out was met by half a million unarmed Jews who made it disappear! Perhaps you could use a flip chart! Now you see us; now you do not!”

  “I’m scared,” Marcel told Laslos as they stole out of the hideaway at nightfall.

  “There is no need to be, son. You are just excited. You have endured tragedy, as we all have, but you are being given a second chance. If you are not safe with the Tribulation Force, you will never be.”

  They walked the mile and a half in the dark on dirt paths Laslos had come to know well. Though he walked more than he rode and never drove anymore, he still felt the pain and weariness of his age. Marcel seemed to have to wait for him, and Laslos wished he could tell him to go on. But he wanted to feel useful. He was part of the escapade, part of the plan. These precious young people would be in his charge until he sent them off with Godspeed to rendezvous with George Sebastian.

  Half a mile outside Ptolemaïs, Laslos spotted K’s tiny white car well off a rarely used road. Laslos stopped Marcel with a touch, then made a birdcall. K tapped the brake and the taillights went on briefly. “That means no one is around,” Laslos said. “Run to the car. I will be there.”

  He knew Marcel wanted to stretch those lanky legs, and as Laslos shuffled along as quickly as he could, he enjoyed watching the boy lope to the car. K had long since removed the inside light, so when the door opened, the car still looked dark. When Laslos arrived, K was behind the wheel, Marcel next to him.

  Laslos squeezed into the minuscule backseat, directly behind Marcel. K, older than Laslos, bald and bony, wore a small black stocking cap and spoke with difficulty because most of his front teeth were missing. He said, “He ith rithen,” and the boy and Laslos—though wheezing—said, “Christ is risen indeed.”

  K drove carefully to the edge of the city and parked on a dark street. “You know where you are?” Laslos asked the boy.

  “I think so,” Marcel said. “The co-op is in the cellar under the pub a block and a half that way?”

  “And you know the password?”

  “Of course. They have my stuff.”

  “And they will confirm that the girl—”

  “Georgiana.”

  “—yes, is waiting.”

  Marcel nodded and jumped out of the car. Laslos quickly cranked down his window. “Psst! Do not run,” he whispered. And the boy slowed.

  K turned and grinned at him. “Young people,” he said.

  “How long until our luck runs out, K?”

  K shook his head and his smile faded. “We are already living on next month’th time, Lathloth.”

  “What happens if you ever get stopped?”

  “Thath the end of it,” K said. “They’ll take me to get the mark but I’ll tell them to jutht kill me, becauth I’m through fighting.”

  Laslos clapped his friend on the shoulder. “But you’re doing damage until the time comes, eh?”

  “Muth ath I can.”

  Marcel returned, a canvas bag over his shoulder. “Any problem?” Laslos said.

  He shook his head, tossing the bag in the back, leaving just enough room for the girl. “She’s supposed to be there, and nobody followed me. Look for one small stone on top of two others, eight kilo
meters from the airport. She’ll be in the underbrush near there. Just pull over and she’ll find us.”

  K stayed outside the city and headed toward the airport road. They saw no GC Peacekeepers or vehicles, but still Laslos found his right leg bouncing, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. When they passed the 10K sign, Laslos leaned forward and helped K watch the odometer. A few minutes later Marcel said, “There!”

  K’s headlights showed two small stones on the left side of the road with another laid casually atop them. No one would have noticed if they hadn’t been looking for them. K checked his mirrors, and Laslos shifted so he could look out the back too. “Nobody,” he said.

  K pulled off to the side, his right front tire crunching the three stones. He sat with the engine idling and the lights on, squinting into the rearview mirror. “Let’s go, young lady,” Laslos muttered. “We don’t want to be seen.”

  “Want me to call for her?” Marcel said.

  “She was supposed to find us, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Always stick to the plan. If the plan changes, you don’t improvise. You leave.”

  K nodded. “Ten thecondth,” he said. “I won’t thtay here longer.”

  “There she is!” Marcel said.

  Georgiana ran up to the car, and Laslos leaned across Marcel’s bag to open her door. She was shivering in jeans and a white, short-sleeve shirt, and a ratty, red baseball cap hooding her eyes. She carried a small, dark green satchel, barely a foot long. “Marcel,” she said. “Good to see you again.”

  “Yeah, hi! Let’s go!”

  She jumped in and put her bag between her feet. “You must be Laslos,” she said. “I’m Georgiana.” She squeezed his arm. Her dark fingers were cold. She put her hands on K’s shoulders. “And this must be K.”

  Marcel raised a hand, and she gripped it. “This is exciting,” she said, then rubbed her palms together.

  “He ith rithen,” K said.

  “Amen!” she said, nearly squealing. “He is risen indeed!”

  “Is that all you brought?” Laslos said.

  “It’s all I have, sir,” she said, smiling. “And all I need.”

  “Venturing out into the new world with hardly a thing to your name.”

  “God is able,” she said. “Marcel tells me you have a gun.”