by Tim LaHaye
“But what if I believe he will? And if you believe?”
“We can agree in faith on this, Chang, but as much as we believe and trust and study, no one can claim to know the mind of God. If you want me to pray that God will remove it, I will. And I believe he can and will do what he chooses. But I want you to pledge that you will accept his decision either way.”
“Of course.”
“Do not say that glibly. I can see how much you want this, and if God does not grant it, I do not want to see your faith threatened.”
“I will be disappointed and I will wonder why, but I will accept it. Will you pray for me?”
Dr. Ben-Judah seemed to study Chang’s face. He pressed his lips together, then looked away. Finally, he said, “I will. Come, sit over here and wait. Much as you want to do this in private, I prefer having men of God agree together in prayer. Do you mind?”
“Of course not. I just hate to have them see me with this—”
“There is no getting around that. It may be part of the price.”
Chang nodded, and Tsion moved away to call for Eleazar and Chaim. They came, looking somberly at Chang, who sat on a rock and had begun to weep. Tsion briefed them and asked them to join him in the effort of prayer. The three approached, Ben-Judah in the middle, Tiberias on his left, and Rosenzweig on his right.
Tsion placed his left hand behind Chang’s head and the heel of his right hand on Chang’s forehead. The other two each took one of Chang’s hands and put their free hands on his shoulders. Chang shuddered at the gentle touch from these three men of God, and he felt loved by them and by God. His body stiffened and then relaxed.
“Creator God,” Tsion began, so softly Chang could barely hear him, “we acknowledge that you made this young man. You have known him and loved him since before the earth was formed. You, who are rich in mercy, loved us even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ and raised us up together, and made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, that in the ages to come he might show the exceeding riches of his grace in his kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace we have been saved through faith, and that not of ourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus. . . .
“Now, Chang Wong, knowing that you were not redeemed with corruptible things like silver or gold but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot, believe in God. He raised Christ from the dead and gave him glory so that your faith and hope are in God. We now come together in faith, believing. We pray to the God for whom anything is possible, the God who spared us like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego of old from the fire of the enemy and made it so that we were people on whose bodies the fire had no power; the hair of our heads was not singed, nor were our garments affected, and the smell of fire was not on us.
“God, according to your will, we ask that you remove from this boy any sign of the evil one.”
Chang went limp and felt as if his limbs weighed a hundred pounds apiece. He perspired profusely from every pore and felt sweat run down his face and arms and torso. The men’s hands were wet, but they remained still, unmoving in the silence.
Just when Chang felt that if the men let go he would slide off the rock, Tsion said, “Thank you, gentlemen.”
They squeezed Chang’s hands and shoulders and stepped back. Now he was supported only by Tsion, who still cupped the back of his head and had his right hand over Chang’s forehead. He pressed with that hand and let it slide around to the right so that now he had both hands behind Chang’s head.
Chang opened his eyes, blinking against the sun and studying the face of Dr. Ben-Judah as Tsion studied his.
Tsion smiled. “Gentlemen,” he said, “what do you see?”
Tiberias leaned in from one side and Rosenzweig from the other.
“Praise God!” Chaim said.
Eleazar lifted his head and roared with laughter in his deep bass voice. “I see only the mark of the believer! I have a mirror in my house. Come, see for yourself!”
Rayford had never seen Mac so despondent. Or so resolute.
“If somebody’s killed that old boy, I’m gonna have to do something about it, Ray,” Mac said. “Find me something to do that puts me right in the middle of it, and I’m not kidding.”
“Albie and I go way back too,” Rayford said.
“I know you do. And I feel like I’ve known him forever.”
“What’s your gut tell you, Mac? This just part of the GC’s propaganda, or is he gone?”
Mac sighed. “Well, no way he killed himself, but I feel like they got him.”
Rayford used Mac’s phone to call Buck and tell him they would be putting down at about 10 p.m., San Diego time.
“Buck’s phone. Hey, Mac, this is George.”
“Well, this is Mac’s phone, but it’s Rayford. How’s it going there, George?”
“Like you’d imagine. Buck’s in pretty bad shape. It’s all we can do to keep him from heading to GC headquarters by himself.”
“Can you guys come get us at ten?”
“Ten? You made good time.”
“Not bad. Only stopped once, then detoured a bit to drown my phone. Make Buck come with you. Maybe we can all help keep him cool.”
“You make him come with me. He’s not listening to me, and he shouldn’t have to.”
“Is he there?”
“He’s down with Kenny. The little guy’s having trouble getting to sleep without his mom.”
“Well, tell Buck I said it’s a directive. The four of us need to talk as soon as we hit the ground. Can somebody watch Kenny?”
“Sure. For right now we’ve got more babysitting volunteers than we can use.”
“Hey, you think it’s too late to call Lionel Whalum in Illinois?”
“Nah. He’s a night owl. ’Sup?”
“I figured out Chloe’s message. She’s convinced we’ve got to get everybody out of San Diego and to Petra.”
“I was afraid of that,” Sebastian said.
“Lionel’s the only guy I know with enough planes, enough contacts, and enough experience to pull off something like that—and fast.”
“This place was so perfect.”
“Every safe house we’ve had has been perfect until it all of a sudden wasn’t safe, George.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Call Lionel for me, would you? I need to try to get hold of Zeke. See if he’s ready to come out of mothballs and help us in Petra.”
“What’re you thinking, Captain?”
“Something for Buck to do so he doesn’t go crazy, and something for Mac and me to do so we feel like we’re doing something for Albie.”
“Hope I’m part of that.”
“We wouldn’t dream of trying anything without you, George.”
“Tired of that TV?” the night matron asked Chloe.
“Yeah. I hope I don’t miss it though.” Chloe had been watching the congregating of armies from every country in the United Carpathian States, excluding only the city of New Babylon, which was largely ignored on the news. In the flickering light of the TV, Chloe could see the woman was black.
“I’m Florence,” she said, jangling to the TV and turning it off with her nightstick. “I’ll be the one feeding you tonight if you’ve been good. You been good?”
“I’m officially hungry, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I asked you, but I do have your daily energy bar in my pocket if you want it.”
“I want it.”
“Didn’t take long for your tune to change. I heard you was all uppity and smart-alecky before, like nobody had nothin’ you needed or wanted.”
“I’d like to stay alive.”
“For how long? You better be coming up with something Jock can use or you won’t make your first hosing down.”
“And when is that?”
“Once a week. A week f
rom now.”
“I don’t bathe for a week?”
“Bathe all you want in that sink. How’s that water taste?”
“Not like water.”
Florence cackled. “Ain’t that the truth. You’ll get to like it though. You got to have it. That two hundred fifty calories a day will keep you alive, but you won’t be good for much else.”
“What else is there in here?”
“Oh, you know, a guard or two might take a liking to you, want a date. You know what I mean.”
Chloe laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“You think it’s funny? What you going to do?”
“That would be worth dying for,” Chloe said. “They’d have to kill me first.”
“You say that now. But you ain’t going to kill me. Look at the size I got on you.”
“One of us wouldn’t come out of here alive.”
“Big talk. You’ll be singing a different song when your body weight drops and you be stinking and that jumpsuit is falling off you.”
“I’ll warn you right now, while I’m lucid, you and anybody else around here would regret trying anything with me.”
“That so?”
“That’s so, and that includes Jock.”
“Jock don’t do that kind of thing, but he knows when to look the other way.”
“Well, he’ll look back to find somebody dead. One of his people or his star prisoner.”
“Why don’t you just give a little, girl? Tell Jock something. He’s not asking for much. And you’d be getting breaks nobody else has got for months. Come in here with no mark and still be alive? That should tell you something. You’re in a bargaining position.”
“They might as well kill me now.”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t like to.”
“You? You don’t even know me. I wouldn’t want to kill you.”
“You just said you would, missus. If I came in that cage.”
“Well, yes, if you intended me any harm, I’d defend myself.”
“I mean you all kinds of harm. You’re either with us or against us now, honey.”
“Well, I’m against you,” Chloe said.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Tell me what form these two hundred fifty calories come in.”
“You know. The energy bar.”
“And that’s all I get?”
“That’s it. Once a day.”
“A person can’t live on that.”
“You said it, not me. ’Course, the more you tell, maybe the more you get.”
“Maybe?”
“But not likely. Like since you didn’t earn it today, I’m in charge of it tonight. And you only get one every twenty-four hours. Way you been sassing me, I might just pass it on to Nigel for tomorrow.”
Chloe wanted to beg for it, but she would not. She would just fall silent and hope Florence would get some fun out of being the one in charge of the food each day.
“If you’re still awake and don’t tick me off anymore, I’ll bring it by about midnight. Now, in case you want to read or do your makeup, paint your toes, whatever, I’ll turn the lights on. And since the TV’s off, I’ll pipe in a little music to help you sleep.”
Oh, please, leave the lights and music off.
Florence waddled to the door, elbows resting on her leather equipment belt, which had everything but a gun—nightstick, can of Mace, ring of keys, empty holster, and for whatever reason, a supply of bullets. She flipped the lights on, all of them, and it seemed to Chloe it was brighter than when the sun had shone through the windows.
She could deal with that. She would turn her face to the wall. And despite her deep, private regret that she had cost herself a bit of food for a few more hours, Chloe would handle that as well. She would pray, think of her loved ones, rehearse her Bible memory verses, and hope to drift off to sleep.
But then came the music, louder than it needed to be. Much too loud. And of course it was “Hail Carpathia” on a loop that would no doubt play all night.
Buck had taught her his alternate words. That might amuse her for a few minutes. What were they again? She walked them through her mind, then began to hum along, then softly sing:
Fail Carpathia, you fake and stupid thing;
Fail Carpathia, fool of everything.
I’ll hassle you until you die;
You’re headed for a lake of fire.
Fail Carpathia, you fake and stupid thing.
Chang had raced from Eleazar Tiberias’s mirror to the tech center, where he leaped and shouted, exulting with Abdullah and Naomi.
Eventually, however, they showed him the tape of Albie, which sobered him. And despite being fresh from the palace, even Chang was stunned at the gall of the GC to air a so-called news story about Chloe that was so patently invented. He wondered how even GC sympathizers could buy such poppycock. But Naomi showed him samples of e-mails coming in from Judah-ites around the world that showed many were going to need reassurance and to be reminded that the devil is the father of lies.
“Our writers,” Naomi told Chang, “here in this section, are composing boilerplate responses, answers to the most common questions. These will be transmitted to the keypunch people, who can pick and choose and shoot them out immediately.”
She asked a writer to print out his current list of responses, then pulled it from the printer to show Chang.
The only thing the news seemed to get right was Chloe’s name and age and the fact that she is the daughter of Rayford and the wife of Cameron “Buck” Williams. While it’s true she attended Stanford University, neither was she a campus radical nor was she expelled. She dropped out after the Rapture but had a grade point average of 3.4 and had been active in student affairs.
Rayford Steele did serve, while already a believer, as pilot on the staff of Nicolae Carpathia, providing invaluable information to the cause of Christ’s followers everywhere. He was never fired and never charged with insubordination or drinking while on duty. He left after his second wife was killed in a plane crash.
The Judah-ites are anything but “the last holdouts in opposition to the New World Order.” Many Jewish and Muslim factions, as well as former militia groups primarily in the United North American States, still have refused to accept the mark of loyalty to the supreme potentate and must live clandestinely in fear for their lives.
Cameron Williams was indeed formerly a celebrated American journalist who also worked directly for the potentate, but he quit rather than “losing his job due to differences in management style.” As for his subversive cyber and printed magazine’s “limited circulation,” that, of course, is a matter of opinion. The Truth is circulated to the same audience that is ministered to daily by Dr. Tsion Ben-Judah, at last count still more than a billion.
Rayford Steele, Cameron Williams, and Chloe Williams are not “wanted for more than three dozen murders around the world.” The Tribulation Force acknowledges one kill for Cameron Williams and two for Rayford Steele, both in self-defense.
The International Commodity Co-op, headed by Mrs. Williams, has never hijacked any goods, nor does it sell for any kind of profit, but rather trades for the benefit of its members.
The Williamses have amassed no fortune on the black market or otherwise. In fact if not for the generosity of its members, no such Co-op could exist.
Mrs. Williams has never had an abortion or lost a child, and has had but one pregnancy, resulting in a son, now three-and-a-half years old. The Williamses have never claimed deity or special powers for their son, though they do believe Nicolae Carpathia is the Antichrist and that Jesus Christ will one day conquer Carpathia and bring his own kingdom to earth.
Limited contact with Mrs. Williams since her capture has confirmed that she is committed to not bargaining with the GC, and that is the policy of the Tribulation Force. Not only is she not offering anything to avoid a death sentence, but she has also been on the record many times in the past regarding her willingness to die for
the cause of Christ.
There is no evidence that Mrs. Williams provided any information about Tribulation Force activist Al Basrah, and neither is there evidence to support that he committed suicide.
“Will this do any good?” Chang said.
“Among our people it will,” Naomi said. “Even people who know better want to be reassured. Everybody else is preoccupied with troop buildup in the Jezreel Valley anyway.”
“What’s happening in San Diego?”
“Not much until Captain Steele and Mr. McCullum get there, which should be any minute now. We are gearing up for at least two hundred new arrivals over the next few days, so that should tell you something. Have you talked with your sister lately?”
“No. But I’ve been meaning to, and now, of course, I have news for her.”
“Well, she has news for you too.”
“What?”
“Oh, I can’t spoil it for her.”
“Naomi!”
“Now, no. I can’t wait to meet her, and I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot by breaking her confidence.”
“She told you something she hasn’t told me?”
“Not exactly. But my job makes me privy to information I might not otherwise know.”
“Such as . . .”
“Such as messages to the leadership. Rather than have them come and read them off the computer, often we print them out and deliver them ourselves.”
“And so from one of those you learned something about my sister that she would want to tell me herself.”
Naomi nodded.
“Well, I can take care of that in short order,” he said, pulling out his phone. “And then when will you have a few minutes?”
“Right now,” she said. “But only a few. It’s going to be a hectic day.”
“You owe me a story.”
“My story, you mean? It’s really my father’s and my story, but it’s not a long one, so yes, I’ll have time to tell it.”
“I’ll see you in ten minutes then,” Chang said, punching his sister’s number.
“Hello, Chang,” Ming said when she answered. “Forgive me for whispering, but I am babysitting Kenny Bruce, and he is finally asleep.”
“Just wondering how you were and how things are going out there.”