by Tim LaHaye
“Sorry. But I figured as long as you’re there and undercover, you might want to know where Carpathia is.”
“I don’t care where he is. I’m here to find Buck.”
“All right then.”
“But just for smiles, where is he? Last I heard he was on a bullhorn outside Herod’s Gate. Moved there from his bunker near the Sea of Galilee. Unless they were just broadcasting his voice.”
“No, it was him all right. He’s moved his entire command post inside the Old City.”
“Impossible. I’m lookin’ down on it right now, and the place is crawling with—”
“I thought so too until I heard where. Underground.”
“You don’t mean—”
“Solomon’s Stables.”
“How do I get in there?”
“Follow somebody. Carpathia’s got an entire regiment there, and I got your new name on the list.”
“That might not have been prudent, Chang.”
“Why?”
“What if I choose not to go, am discovered missing, and someone sees me elsewhere?”
“Well, there is that possibility, yes. Tell them you’re on your way.”
“What if I’m not? I mean, I’d love to be your eyes and ears here, Chang, but my priority is Buck. And nothin’ we know about Carpathia now is going to amount to a hill of beans anyway. What’s gonna happen is gonna happen. Can you get me off that list?”
“Not without looking suspicious. Sorry, Mr. McCullum. I thought I was doing the right—”
“Don’t worry about it. None of it will matter tomorrow, will it?”
Mac saw GC activity and other choppers putting down at the Tombs of the Prophets, south of the Mount of Olives, east of the Old City. Caravans of jeeps quickly loaded the disgorged personnel and raced them toward the conflict. As soon as Mac stepped out of his copter at 2:45 p.m., an officer directing traffic pointed him to an armored personnel carrier. Mac saluted and jogged that way. He joined a dozen other like-uniformed soldiers, who merely nodded at each other, tight-lipped, and rode in stony silence.
The cavalcade headed north on Jericho Road and turned west in front of the Rockefeller Museum onto Suleiman Street.
“We headed to Herod’s Gate?” someone said.
“Is it open?” someone else said.
“Damascus Gate,” the driver announced.
As they passed Herod’s Gate, Mac joined the others in pressing against the windows on the south side of the vehicle. Somehow the resistance continued to hold the gate.
“If you’re assigned to the potentate,” the driver said, “follow me to the entrance to the stables. Everybody else head for the staging area at the Church of the Flagellation. When we have enough personnel, we’ll attack the insurgents from behind and blow ’em out Herod’s Gate.”
Mac felt himself swelling with pride over what Tsion and Buck had apparently accomplished before the rabbi was killed. If they had been at Herod’s Gate, they were responsible for helping hold that position against overwhelming odds. And neither of them battle trained.
Mac assumed Buck would agree that Tsion would not want his body removed from the Old City. He only hoped Buck had found an appropriate spot for the rabbi. Bodies fallen in an active battle had a way of getting trampled beyond recognition. That wouldn’t matter tomorrow either, but Mac knew he and Buck would be on the same page.
Mac found himself fighting anguish. No way Buck would let them worry and wonder for this long. Surely he could have found a way to check in if he was alive.
When the vehicle stopped and the driver gave the order, Mac and the soldiers got out and moved as directed. Mac dropped several paces behind his group and phoned Chang, speaking quietly. “Anything?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m not going to succeed, am I?”
“What do you want to hear, sir?”
“You know.”
“I’m past pretending, Mr. McCullum.”
“I appreciate that. Maybe I should just proceed to my assignment.”
“To the compound?”
“Yeah. I know I should have my head examined, but I’d love to be with ol’ Nick when Jesus gets here.”
Chang felt Naomi’s strong fingers on either side of his neck.
“You’re tense,” she said.
“Aren’t you?” he said.
“Relax, love. Messiah is coming.”
Chang couldn’t turn from the screens. “I’d like to lose no one else before that. No matter how much I tell myself they’ll be dead only a short while, it all seems so pointless now. I don’t want anyone hurt, let alone suffering, then dying. Mr. McCullum’s going was my idea.”
“But he sure jumped on it, didn’t he?”
“I knew he would. I wish I could have gone.”
“You know this place can’t function without your—”
“Don’t start, Naomi.”
“You know it’s true.”
“Regardless, I sent him for my own vicarious thrill. No way he’s going to find Buck, and if he does, Buck will be dead. Then what’s Mac supposed to do? If he gets found out, he’s history. And for what? He could be here watching for the return with everyone else.”
Naomi pulled a chair next to Chang and sat. “What do you hear from Mr. Smith?”
Chang sighed. “That’s turned out to be a waste of time and manpower too. So far he hasn’t found a thing. Either Captain Steele was obliterated by a missile or he was buried in the sand.”
“Could he have crawled to safety?”
“There’s no safety in that sun, Naomi.”
“That’s what I mean. Maybe he found shelter or built himself some shield against the heat.”
Chang shrugged. “Best-case scenario, I guess. But wouldn’t he think to leave some sign for us?”
“Maybe he was hurt too badly or simply had no resources.”
“He could arrange sticks or rocks, even a piece of clothing.”
“If he was able,” Naomi said.
Chang’s phone chirping made them both jump. “Yes, Mr. Smith?”
“I’m on his trail. He was on the move for a while, at least.”
“What did you find?”
“Blood, I’m afraid.”
CHAPTER 2
Mac had never seen the ancient walls of Jerusalem in such a state. While Herod’s Gate (some still called it the Flower Gate) was somehow still held by the resistance, places on either side of the walls had been blasted from their normal forty-foot height to half that. It would be only a matter of time before the Unity Army pushed through.
But for now the invading force seemed to be concentrating elsewhere. Mac would make sure he was last in line when the unit he was with jogged through the Damascus Gate. That way he could peel off at any time. He could find the entrance to the underground stables somehow, but not until he had at least tried to locate Buck.
Past sixty now, Mac remained fit with a daily run. But while the borrowed uniform looked as if it were made for him, the boots were going to leave blisters. As he hurried along, invisible in a sea of similarly attired plunderers, he recognized the irony that he could easily take a bullet from snipers who didn’t realize he was on their side of the conflict.
Mac had seen enough carnage in seven years to last an eternity, but nothing could have steeled him against the images that came into view as his little unit mince-stepped into the Old City. The narrow cobblestone streets that snaked through the markets and crowded houses were so full of broken and dead bodies that he had to keep his focus to keep from tripping over them. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for Buck, praying he was not already on the ground.
Mac’s nostrils were assaulted by smoke, sweat, gunpowder, burning flesh, manure, and the sickly sweet stench of overturned fruit and vegetable carts. He recoiled at two quick gunshots until he saw it was a Unity Army commander putting a horse and a mule out of their misery.
A bullhorn announced that Unity forces had occupied the Armenian Quarter to the
south, the Christian Quarter to the west, and much of the Jewish Quarter outside the Temple Mount. The insurgents still held the Temple Mount to the southeast and the Muslim Quarter to the northeast, from Herod’s Gate to just east of the Church of the Flagellation. Mac wondered how Carpathia and his staff had access to Solomon’s Stables beneath the Temple Mount.
He prayed that Buck was somewhere in the Muslim Quarter or the Temple Mount, knowing that if he found him anywhere else, Buck was likely dead. If only Mac could “capture” Buck and convincingly drag him out of the Old City . . .
Unity Army foot soldiers were filling the west side of the Church of the Flagellation, avoiding the other side, which was taking fire from the rebels. A GC commander shouted that the assembled were to be ready to storm the Pools of Bethesda after the next artillery volley.
“The rebels have apparently constructed a makeshift shrine to a dead rabbi there. They’ll be easy to spot. The body is hidden, but they have surrounded it with personnel and cardboard signs pleading that no one defile his resting place. We’re less than five minutes from a mortar launch that will obliterate that whole site. We will shell the enclave in such a way that there will be no escape through the Lion’s Gate to the east. Survivors will be pushed north toward Herod’s Gate, and we’ll be right behind them. The gate they have so ferociously held since yesterday they will now open themselves.”
The commander assigned various troops and platoons, some to follow the shelling of the pools and others to attack the fleeing rebels as they headed toward Herod’s Gate.
Mac racked his brain. There was no escaping now. He was deep inside this. While he would not, of course, fire upon the Unity Army’s enemies, neither could he risk being seen shooting GC forces. Surely it was Tsion’s remains the rebels were foolishly trying to protect, and he couldn’t imagine Buck having a part in that. Buck would have tried to entomb the body, but he would know the futility and meaninglessness of staying to guard it.
Was there a prayer that in the midst of the chaos Mac could raise his visor and be identified as a believer by even one of the rebels? Not all were believers themselves, of course. He could be seen by one and shot by another. What was he doing here? His odds were infinitely smaller than he dreamed, and getting worse every second.
“Come, Lord Jesus.”
Chang had broadcast the S. M. Lockridge presentation all over the world, having hacked into the Global Community’s broadcast center. The GC had been getting better at countering such invasions, but the sermon was short enough that it was over by the time they reacted. Chang also monitored the reaction to the message by those assembled at Petra.
Naomi said, “It’s time to step out into the sun to see for yourself.”
“I’m kind of locked in here,” he said.
“There’s nothing more you can do now,” she said. “And you don’t want to be inside when Jesus comes, do you?”
He looked at his watch. “If the elders are right, we’ve still got some time. Believe me, I’ll be out there before four. I’ll tell you what’s most bizarre about all this: the reports from all over the globe that Carpathia won’t allow to be broadcast.”
“Everybody crying over the destruction of Babylon?”
“Exactly. They have no clue what’s coming, so they can’t think of anything worse than that.”
“But look,” she said, pointing to the screen monitoring the Petra crowd. “Hundreds, maybe thousands, are kneeling. Let’s go see if they need people to counsel or—”
“In a minute. Let me show you some of these . . . look.”
But in the reflection of the screen, Chang saw her leaving. Her priorities were right, he knew, and he stood to follow. He quickly realized how long he had been sitting in one spot. He ached head to toe and stretched as he continued to watch his screens. “I should check with Mr. Smith!” he called out.
“He knows your number,” Naomi shot back.
“I’ll be right with you,” he said.
“I’m not waiting.”
“I’ll find you.”
“I hope so.”
From New York, Brussels, London, Buenos Aires, the Persian Gulf, Tokyo, Beijing, Toronto, Moscow, Johannesburg, New Delhi, Sydney, Paris, and other major cities came the laments of those in power. As they began their prepared remarks about the difficulty of suddenly being ripped away from New Babylon, of losing computer contact with the source of commerce and leadership, to a man or woman each began to weep. Their shoulders heaved, their lips quivered, their voices caught. From everywhere came vivid pictures of giants of commerce disintegrating into sobs.
“All is lost!” the woman in charge of the Tokyo Exchange wailed. “Had we been able to restore our connections within twenty-four hours, this might have been salvageable, but our entire economy is tied to New Babylon, and to see the pictures of her lying in utter ruin, smoke rising into space, well, it’s just, just . . . hopeless!” And she fell apart. Moments later came the report that she had committed suicide, as had many in the sub-potentate’s cabinet there.
A captain of industry from Europe announced that he had thousands of ships at sea that would virtually be dead in the water before the next sunrise.
Unity Army officials in the United North American States submitted their resignations en masse, “knowing that we face court-martial and execution,” because they had lost all their resources and would not be able to send reinforcements to Armageddon. “And wait until the millions of troops already marshaled there realize that no more food is coming, let alone any pay.”
As countless such reports flooded GC broadcast headquarters, some opportunistic official there kept forwarding them to Carpathia and asking what should be done.
Chang intercepted all such interactions and was amused at Carpathia’s obvious rage. “Do not make me say it again,” Carpathia shot back. “No such reports are to be made public. I am not to be quoted except to say that this seemingly devastating loss will be remedied by our victory in the Jezreel Valley, in Edom, and especially in Jerusalem, where I shall establish my eternal kingdom as the one and only true god. The temporary losses of finances and commerce will be forgotten once I have ushered in the ultimate New World Order. There will no longer be a shred of opposition from man or spirit, and this planet will become a paradise of bounty for all.”
Chang hurried out and joined Naomi. “Sometimes I think I’m looking forward to the end of all this just so I can get some rest.”
Naomi laughed and mimicked him. “Good to see You, Lord. Can I get back to You after a nap?”
“Go now, now, now!” the Unity Army commander hollered, rousting Mac and the other troops and their platoons out of the Church of the Flagellation. “You will be exposed only briefly! The mortars will be launched from behind you, and by the time the rebels take aim, they will be struck. Go! Go! Go!”
The troops, most half Mac’s age or younger, looked wide-eyed and panicky, but they seemed to gather strength and courage from one another. Again Mac maneuvered so he was at the back as they sprinted toward the Pools of Bethesda. “Ten seconds!” came the bullhorned announcement from behind them, but it came too late. Those in the front, clearly terrified that they had come within firing range of the resistance, slowed and many stopped, crouching and aiming.
That caused those behind to run into them, and many were trampled. Mac heard swearing and screaming just before the rebels opened fire. Unity forces quickly retaliated, but every second without supporting mortar fire made them more vulnerable. To Mac it seemed as if the crowd was about to turn back in a rage, firing upon their own superiors.
And the mortars were launched. Because so many in front of Mac had dropped, he had a clear view of the scruffy rebels, their faces mirroring the terror of seeing mortar shells arcing directly at their positions. They were shoulder to shoulder, not uniformed, pale and wasted from surviving more than most of their comrades had been able to endure. They had proudly stood their ground and defied the GC to overrun them and their shrine, but in
an instant it would all be over.
They could see it coming, see it happening, and Mac read it in their eyes. None turned away. There would be no escaping. Many apparently decided to go down fighting. They death-gripped their Uzis, rattling off loud bursts even as the first mortar shell hit and sent dozens of them flying in pieces.
The next hit a split second later and the place became a crater, with a hundred dead or dying and three times that many scurrying for the closest gate. As had been the plan, those who opted for the Lion’s Gate to the east were quickly killed or sent scampering back by yet another mortar round. Now, as scripted, those resistance forces remaining were running for their lives toward Herod’s Gate. The last vestiges of those guarding the gate had heard the blasts and seen the bloodbath, clearly realizing their compatriots had nowhere to go but toward their own positions. With the invaders on their heels, the gate had to be opened or they would all be pinned to the wall and slaughtered.
From Mac’s vantage point he could plainly see what awaited the fleeing rebels outside the gate. While he and the others had entered the Damascus Gate, surreptitious Unity personnel had slipped into place with what appeared to be colossal Gatling guns on massive caissons. From the looks of the barrels, Mac guessed the guns could accommodate fifty-caliber shells.
Those in the front of the advancing Unity forces were now shooting the rebels in the back, and the more who fell, the more were fired upon. Mac stole a glance behind him. He was bringing up the rear. “Lord, forgive me,” he breathed, spraying his Uzi and dropping at least a dozen GC from behind. He felt no remorse. All’s fair . . . It was only fitting, he decided, that the devil’s crew were dressed in all black. Live by the sword, die by the sword.
Unity personnel in front of him parted like the Red Sea as their counterparts outside the walls opened fire with the big guns. Mac, too, dived for cover, watching in horror as dozens of rebels were ripped to pieces.
It seemed to be over as quickly as it had begun. Rogue GC stepped among the bodies shooting this one and that who seemed to still be moving. Others fanned out and began helping themselves to weapons and whatever keepsakes they could find on the shattered bodies. This was Mac’s chance.