NICOLAE:
                      The Rise of the Antichrist
                      Book 3 of the Left Behind Series

                           TIM LAHAYE & JERRY B. JENKINS




                            CHAPTER ONE
It was the worst of times; it was the worst of times.
Rayford Steele's knees ached as he sat behind the wheel of the rented Lincoln. He
had dropped to the pavement at the crushing realization of his pastor's death. The
physical pain, though it would stay with him for days, would prove minor compared
to the mental anguish of having yet again lost one of the dearest people in his life.
Rayford felt Amanda's eyes on him. She laid one comforting hand on his thigh. In
the backseat his daughter, Chloe, and her husband, Buck, each had a hand on his
shoulder.
What now? Rayford wondered, What do we do without Bruce? Where do we go?
The Emergency Broadcast System station droned on with the news of chaos,
devastation, terror, and destruction throughout the world. Unable to speak over the
lump in his throat, Rayford busied himself maneuvering his way through the
incongruous traffic jams. Why were people out? What did they expect to see?
Weren't they afraid of more bombs, or fallout?
“I need to get to the Chicago bureau office,” Buck said.
“You can use the car after we get to the church,” Rayford managed. “I need to get
the word out about Bruce.”
Global Community peacekeeping forces supervised local police and emergency
relief personnel directing traffic and trying to get people to return to their homes.
Rayford relied on his many years in the Chicago area to use back roads and side
streets to get around the major thoroughfares, which were hopelessly clogged.
Rayford wondered if he should have taken Buck up on his offer to drive. But
Rayford had not wanted to appear weak. He shook his head. There's no limit to the
pilot's ego! He felt as if he could curl into a ball and cry himself to sleep.
Nearly two years since the vanishing of his wife and son, along with millions of
others, Rayford no longer harbored illusions about his life in the twilight of history.
He had been devastated. He lived with deep pain and regret. This was so hard....
Rayford knew his life could be even worse. Suppose he had not become a believer
in Christ and was still lost forever. Suppose he had not found a new love and was
alone. Suppose Chloe had also vanished. Or he had never met Buck. There was
much to be grateful for. Were it not for the physical touch of the other three in that
car, Rayford wondered if he would have had the will to go on.
He could hardly imagine not having come to know and love Bruce Barnes. He had
learned more and been enlightened and inspired more by Bruce than anyone else
he'd ever met. And it wasn't just Bruce's knowledge and teaching that made the
difference. It was his passion. Here was a man who immediately and clearly saw
that he had missed the greatest truth ever communicated to mankind, and he was not
about to repeat the mistake.
“Daddy, those two guards by the overpass seem to be waving at you,” Chloe said.
“I'm trying to ignore them,” Rayford said. “All these nobodies-trying-to-be-
somebodies think they have a better idea about where the traffic should go. If we
listen to them, we'll be here for hours. I just want to get to the church.”
“He's hollering at you with a bullhorn,” Amanda said, and she lowered her window
a few inches.
“You in the white Lincoln!” came the booming voice. Rayford quickly turned off
the radio. “Are you Rayford Steele?”
“How would they know that?” Buck said.
“Is there any limit to the Global Community intelligence network?” Rayford said,
disgusted.
“If you're Rayford Steele,” came the voice again, “please pull your vehicle to the
shoulder!”
Rayford considered ignoring even that but thought better of it. There would be no
outrunning these people if they knew who he was. But how did they know?
He pulled over.
Buck Williams pulled his hand from Rayford's shoulder and craned his neck to see
two uniformed soldiers scampering down the embankment. He had no idea how
Global Community forces had tracked down Rayford, but one thing was certain: it
would not be good for Buck to be discovered with Carpathia's pilot.
“Ray,” he said quickly, “I've got one set of phony IDs in the name of Herb Katz.
Tell 'em I'm a pilot friend of yours or something.”
“OK,” Rayford said, “but my guess is they'll be deferential to me. Obviously,
Nicolae is merely trying to reconnect with me.”
Buck hoped Rayford was right. It made sense that Carpathia would want to make
sure his pilot was all right and could somehow get him back to New Babylon. The
two uniforms now stood behind the Lincoln, one speaking into a walkie-talkie, the
other on a cell phone. Buck decided to go on the offensive and opened his door.
“Please remain in the vehicle,” Walkie-Talkie said.
Buck slumped back into his seat and switched his phony papers with his real ones.
Chloe looked terrified. Buck put his arm around her and drew her close. “Carpathia
must have put out an all points bulletin. He knew your dad had to rent a car, so it
didn't take long to track him down.”
Buck had no idea what the two GC men were doing behind the car. All he knew was
that his entire perspective on the next five years had changed in an instant. When
global war broke out an hour before, he wondered if he and Chloe would survive the
rest of the Tribulation. Now with the news of Bruce's death, Buck wondered if they
wanted to survive. The prospect of heaven and being with Christ sure seemed better
than living in whatever remained of this world, even if Buck had to die to get there.
Walkie-Talkie approached the driver's-side window. Rayford lowered it. “You are
Rayford Steele, are you not?”
“Depends on who's asking,” Rayford said.
“This car, with this license number, was rented at O'Hare by someone claiming to
be Rayford Steele. If that's not you, you're in deep trouble.”
“Wouldn't you agree,” Rayford said, “that regardless who I am, we're all in deep
trouble?”
Buck was amused at Rayford's feistiness, in light of the situation.
“Sir, I need to know if you are Rayford Steele.”
“I am.”
“Can you prove that, sir?”
Rayford appeared as agitated as Buck had ever seen him. “You flag me down and
holler at me through a bullhorn and tell me I'm driving Rayford Steele's rental car,
and now you want me to prove to you that I'm who you think I am?”
“Sir, you must understand the position I'm in. I have Global Community potentate
Carpathia himself patched through to a secure cell phone here. I don't even know
where he's calling from. If I put someone on the phone and tell the potentate it's
Rayford Steele, it had blamed better be Rayford Steele.”
Buck was grateful that Rayford's cat-and-mouse game had taken the spotlight off
the others in the car, but that didn't last. Rayford slipped from his breast pocket his
ID wallet, and as the GC man studied it, he asked idly, “And the others?”
“Family and friends,” Rayford said. “Let's not keep the potentate waiting.”
“I'm going to have to ask you to take this call outside the car, sir. You understand
the security risks.”
Rayford sighed and left the car. Buck wished Walkie-Talkie would disappear too,
but he merely stepped out of Rayford's way and pointed him toward his partner, the
one with the phone. Then he leaned in and spoke to Buck. “Sir, in the event that we
transport Captain Steele to a rendezvous point, would you be able to handle the
disposition of this vehicle?”
Do all uniformed people talk this way? Buck wondered. “Sure.”
Amanda leaned over. “I'm Mrs. Steele,” she said. “Wherever Mr. Steele is going,
I'm going.”
“That will be up to the potentate,” the guard said, “and providing there's room in the
chopper.”
“Yes sir,” Rayford said into the phone, “I'll see you soon then.”
Rayford handed the cell phone to the second guard. “How will we get to wherever
we're supposed to go?”
“A copter should be here momentarily.”
Rayford motioned for Amanda to pop the trunk but to stay in the car. As he
shouldered both their bags, he leaned in her window and whispered. “Amanda and I
have to rendezvous with Carpathia, but he couldn't even tell me where he was or
where we would meet. That phone is only so secure. I get the feeling it's not far
away, unless they're coptering us to an airfield from which we'll fly somewhere else.
Buck, you'd better get this car back to the rental company soon. It'll be too easy to
connect you with me otherwise.”
Five minutes later Rayford and Amanda were airborne. “Any idea where we're
going?” Rayford shouted to one of the Global Community guards.
The guard clapped the chopper pilot on the shoulder and shouted, “Are we at liberty
to say where we're going?”
“Glenview!” the pilot hollered.
“Glenview Naval Air Station has been closed for years,” Rayford said.
The chopper pilot turned to look at him. “The big runway's still open! The man's
there now!”
Amanda leaned close to Rayford. “Carpathia's in Illinois already?”
“He must have been out of Washington before the attack. I thought they might have
taken him to one of the bomb shelters at the Pentagon or the National Security
Administration, but his intelligence people must have figured those would be the
first places the militia would attack.”


“This reminds me of when we were first married,” Buck said as Chloe snuggled
close to him.
“What do you mean `when we were first married'? We're still newlyweds!”
“Shh!” Buck said quickly. “What're they saying about New York City?”
Chloe turned up the radio. “... devastating carnage everywhere here in the heart of
Manhattan. Bombed-out buildings, emergency vehicles picking their way through
debris, Civil Defense workers pleading with people over loudspeakers to stay
underground.”
Buck heard the panic in the reporter's voice as he continued. “I'm seeking shelter
myself now, probably too late to avoid the effects of radiation. No one knows for
certain if the warheads were nuclear, but everyone is being urged to take no risks.
Damage estimates will be in the billions of dollars. Life as we know it here may
never be the same. There's devastation as far as the eye can see.
“All major transportation centers have been closed if not destroyed. Huge traffic
jams have snarled the Lincoln Tunnel, the Triborough Bridge, and every major
artery out of New York City. What has been known as the capital of the world looks
like the set of a disaster movie. Now back to the Cable News/Global Community
News Network in Atlanta.”
“Buck,” Chloe said, “our home. Where will we live?”
Buck didn't answer. He stared at the traffic and wondered at the billowing clouds of
black smoke and intermittent balls of orange flame that seemed to hover directly
over Mt. Prospect. It was like Chloe to worry about her home. Buck was less
concerned about that. He could live anywhere and seemed to have lived
everywhere. As long as he had Chloe and shelter, he was all right. But she had made
their ridiculously expensive Fifth Avenue penthouse flat her own.
Finally, Buck spoke. “They won't let anybody back into New York for days, maybe
longer. Even our vehicles, if they survived, won't be available to us.”
“What are we going to do, Buck?”
Buck wished he knew what to say. He usually had an answer. Resourcefulness had
been the trademark of his career. Regardless of the obstacle, he had somehow made
do in every imaginable situation or venue in the world at one time or another. Now,
with his new, young wife beside him, not knowing where she would live or how
they would manage, he was at a loss. All he wanted to do was to make sure his
father-in-law and Amanda were safe, in spite of the danger of Rayford's work, and
to somehow get to Mt. Prospect to assess what was happening to the people of New
Hope Village Church and to inform them of the tragedy that had befallen their
beloved pastor.
Buck had never had patience for traffic jams, but this was ridiculous. His jaw
tightened and his neck stiffened as his palms squeezed the wheel. The late-model
car was a smooth ride, but inching along in near gridlock made the huge automotive
power plant feel like a stallion that wanted to run free.
Suddenly an explosion rocked their car and nearly lifted it off its tires. Buck
wouldn't have been surprised had the windows blown in around them. Chloe
shrieked and buried her head in Buck's chest. Buck scanned the horizon for what
might have caused the concussion. Several cars around them quickly pulled off the
road. In the rearview mirror Buck saw a mushroom cloud slowly rise and assumed it
was in the neighborhood of O'Hare International Airport, several miles away.
CNN/GCN radio almost immediately reported the blast. “This from Chicago: Our
news base there has been taken out by a huge blast. No word yet on whether this
was an attack by militia forces or a Global Community retaliatory strike. We have
so many reports of warfare, bloodshed, devastation, and death in so many major
cities around the globe that it will be impossible for us to keep up with all of it....”
Buck looked quickly behind him and out both side windows. As soon as the car
ahead gave him room, he whipped the wheel left and punched the accelerator. Chloe
gasped as the car jumped the curb and went down through a culvert and up the other
side. Buck drove on a parkway and passed long lines of creeping vehicles.
“What are you doing, Buck?” Chloe said, bracing herself on the dashboard.
“I don't know what I'm doing, babe, but I know one thing I'm not doing: I'm not
poking along in a traffic jam while the world goes to hell.”


The guard who had flagged down Rayford from the overpass now lugged his and
Amanda's baggage out of the helicopter. He led the Steeles, ducking under the
whirring blades, across a short tarmac and into a single-story brick building at the
edge of a long airstrip. Weeds grew between the cracks in the runway. A small
Learjet sat at the end of the strip close to the chopper, but Rayford noticed no one in
the cockpit and no exhaust from the engine. “I hope they don't expect me to fly that
thing!” he hollered at Amanda as they hurried inside.
“Don't worry about that,” their escort said. “The guy who flew it here will get you
as far as Dallas and the big plane you'll be flying.”
Rayford and Amanda were ushered to garishly colored plastic chairs in a small,
shabbily appointed military office, decorated in early Air Force. Rayford sat,
gingerly massaging his knees. Amanda paced, stopping only when their escort
motioned that she should sit down. “I am free to stand, am I not?” she said.
“Suit yourself. Please wait here a few moments for the potentate.”


Buck was waved at, pointed at, and hollered at by traffic cops, and he was honked at
and obscenely gestured at by other motorists. He was not deterred. “Where are you
going?” Chloe insisted.
“I need a new car,” he said. “Something tells me it's going to be our only chance to
survive.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don't you see, Chlo'?” he said. “This war has just broken out. It's not going to end
soon. It's going to be impossible to drive a normal vehicle anywhere.”
“So what're you gonna do, buy a tank?”
“If it wasn't so conspicuous, I just might.”
Buck cut across a huge grassy field, through a parking lot, and beside a sprawling
suburban high school. He drove between tennis courts and across soccer and
football fields, throwing mud and sod in the air as the big car fishtailed. Radio
reports continued from around the world with news of casualties and mayhem while
Buck Williams and his bride careened on, speeding through yield signs and sliding
around curves. Buck hoped he was somehow pointed in the right direction. He
wanted to wind up on Northwest Highway, where a series of car dealerships
comprised a ghetto of commercialism.
A last sweeping turn led Buck out of the subdivision, and he saw what his favorite
traffic reporter always said was “heavy, slow, stop-and-go” traffic all along
Northwest Highway. He was in a mood and in a groove, so he just kept going.
Pulling around angry drivers, he rode along a soft shoulder for more than a mile
until he came upon those car dealerships. “Bingo!” he said.


Rayford was stunned, and he could tell Amanda was too, at the demeanor of
Nicolae Carpathia. The dashing young man, now in his mid-thirties, had seemingly
been thrust to world leadership against his own will overnight. He had gone from
being nearly an unknown in the lower house of Romanian government to president
of that country, then almost immediately had displaced the secretary-general of the
United Nations. After nearly two years of peace and a largely successful campaign
to charm the masses following the terror-filled chaos of the global vanishings,
Carpathia now faced significant opposition for the first time.
Rayford had not known what to expect from his boss. Would Carpathia be hurt,
offended, enraged? He seemed none of the above. Ushered by Leon Fortunato, a
sycophant from the New Babylon office, into the long-unused administrative office
at the former Glenview Naval Air Station, Carpathia seemed excited, high.
“Captain Steele!” Carpathia exalted. “Al—, uh, An—, uh, Mrs. Steele, how good to
see you both and to know that you are well!”
“It's Amanda,” Amanda said.
“Forgive me, Amanda,” Carpathia said, reaching for her hand with both of his.
Rayford noticed how slow she was to respond. “In all the excitement, you
understand ...”
The excitement, Rayford thought. Somehow World War III seems more than
excitement.
Carpathia's eyes were ablaze, and he rubbed his hands together, as if thrilled with
what was going on. “Well, people,” he said, “we need to get headed home.”
Rayford knew Carpathia meant home to New Babylon, home to Hattie Durham,
home to Suite 216, the potentate's entire floor of luxuriously appointed offices in the
extravagant and sparkling Global Community headquarters. Despite Rayford and
Amanda's sprawling, two-story condo within the same four-block complex, neither
had ever remotely considered New Babylon home.
Still rubbing his hands as if he could barely contain himself, Carpathia turned to the
guard with the walkie-talkie. “What is the latest?”
The uniformed GC officer had a wire plugged in his ear and appeared startled that
he had been addressed directly by Carpathia himself. He yanked out the earplug and
stammered, “What? I mean, pardon me, Mr. Potentate, sir.”
Carpathia leveled his eyes at the man. “What is the news? What is happening?”
“Uh, nothing much different, sir. Lots of activity and destruction in many major
cities.”
It seemed to Rayford that Carpathia was having trouble manufacturing a look of
pain. “Is this activity largely centered in the Midwest and East Coast?” the potentate
asked.
The guard nodded. “And some in the South,” he added.
“Virtually nothing on the West Coast then,” Carpathia said, more a statement than a
question. The guard nodded. Rayford wondered if anyone other than those who
believed Carpathia was Antichrist himself would have interpreted Carpathia's look
as one of satisfaction, almost glee. “How about Dallas/Ft. Worth?” Carpathia asked.
“DFW suffered a hit,” the guard said. “Only one major runway is still open.
Nothing's coming in, but lots of planes are heading out of there.”
Carpathia glanced at Rayford. “And the military strip nearby, where my pilot was
certified on the 757?”
“I believe that's still operational, sir,” the guard said.
“All right then, very good,” Carpathia said. He turned to Fortunato. “I am certain no
one knows our whereabouts, but just in case, what do you have for me?”
The man opened a canvas bag that seemed incongruous to Rayford. Apparently he
had gathered Air Force leftovers for a disguise for Carpathia. He produced a cap
that didn't match a huge, dress overcoat. Carpathia quickly donned the getup and
motioned that the four others in the room should gather around him. “The jet pilot is
where?” he asked.
“Waiting just outside the door, per your instructions, sir,” Fortunato said.
Carpathia pointed to the armed guard. “Thank you for your service. You may return
to your post via the helicopter. Mr. Fortunato and the Steeles and I will be flown to
a new plane, on which Captain Steele will transport me back to New Babylon.”
Rayford spoke up. “And that is in—?”
Carpathia raised a hand to silence him. “Let us not give our young friend here any
information he would have to be responsible for,” he said, smiling at the uniformed
guard. “You may go.” As the man hurried away, Carpathia spoke quietly to
Rayford. “The Condor 216 awaits us near Dallas. We will then fly west to go east, if
you know what I mean.”
“I've never heard of a Condor 216,” Rayford said. “It's unlikely I'm qualified to—”
“I have been assured,” Carpathia interrupted, “that you are more than qualified.”
“But what is a Condor 2—”
“A hybrid I designed and named myself,” Carpathia said. “Surely you do not think
what has happened here today was a surprise to me.”
“I'm learning,” Rayford said, sneaking a glance at Amanda, who appeared to be
seething.
“You are learning,” Carpathia repeated, smiling broadly. “I like that. Come, let me
tell you about my spectacular new aircraft as we travel.”
Fortunato raised a forefinger. “Sir, my recommendation is that you and I run
together to the end of the airstrip and board the jet. The Steeles should follow when
they see us get on board.”
Carpathia held the oversized hat down onto his styled hair and slipped in behind
Fortunato as the aide opened the door and nodded to the waiting jet pilot. The pilot
immediately took off running toward the Learjet as Fortunato and Carpathia jogged
several yards behind. Rayford slipped an arm around Amanda's waist and drew her
close.
“Rayford,” Amanda said, “have you ever once in your life heard Nicolae Carpathia
misspeak?”
“Misspeak?”
“Stutter, stammer, have to repeat a word, forget a name?”
Rayford suppressed a smile, amazed he could find anything humorous on what
could easily be the last day of his life on earth. “Besides your name, in other
words?”
“He does that on purpose, and you know it,” she said.
Rayford shrugged. “You're probably right. But with what motive?”
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Hon, do you see no irony in your being offended by the man we're convinced is the
Antichrist?” Amanda stared at him. “I mean,” he continued, “listen to yourself. You
expect common courtesy and decency from the most evil man in the history of the
universe?”
Amanda shook her head and looked away. “When you put it that way,” she
muttered, “I suppose I am being oversensitive.”
Buck sat in the sales manager's office of a Land Rover dealership. “You never cease
to amaze me,” Chloe whispered.
“I've never been conventional, have I?”
“Hardly, and now I suppose any hope of normalcy is out the window.”
“I don't need any excuse for being unique,” he said, “but everyone everywhere will
be acting impulsively soon enough.”
The sales manager, who had busied himself with paperwork and figuring a price,
turned the documents and slid them across the desk toward Buck. “You're not
trading the Lincoln, then?”
“No, that's a rental,” Buck said. “But I am going to ask you to return that to O'Hare
for me.” Buck looked up at the man without regard to the documents.
“That's highly unusual,” the sales manager said. “I'd have to send two of my people
and an extra vehicle so they could get back.”
Buck stood. “I suppose I am asking too much. Another dealer will be willing to go
the extra mile to sell me a vehicle, I'm sure, especially when no one knows what
tomorrow may bring.”
“Sit back down, Mr. Williams. I won't have any trouble getting my district manager
to sign off on throwing in that little errand for you. As you can see, you're going to
be able to drive your fully loaded Range Rover out of here within an hour for under
six figures.”
“Make it half an hour,” Buck said, “and we've got a deal.”
The sales manager rose and thrust out his hand. “Deal.”



                           CHAPTER TWO
THE Learjet was a six-seater. Carpathia and Fortunato, deep in conversation,
ignored Rayford and Amanda as the couple passed. The Steeles ducked into the last
two seats and held hands. Rayford knew global terror was entirely new to Amanda.
It was new to him. On this scale, it was new to everyone. She gripped his hands so
tight his fingers turned white. She was shuddering.
Carpathia turned in his seat to face them. He had that fighting-a-grin look Rayford
found so maddening in light of the situation. “I know you are not certified on these
little speedsters,” Carpathia said, “but you might learn something in the copilot's
chair.”
Rayford was much more worried about the plane he would be expected to fly out of
Dallas, something he had never seen or even heard of. He looked at Amanda,
hoping she would plead with him to stay with her, but she quickly let go of his hand
and nodded. Rayford climbed toward the cockpit, which was separated from the
other seats by a thin panel. He strapped himself in and looked apologetically at the
pilot, who offered his hand and said, “Chico Hernandez, Captain Steele. Don't
worry, I've already done the preflight check, and I don't really need any help.”
“I wouldn't be of any help anyway,” Rayford said. “I haven't flown anything smaller
than a 707 for years.”
“Compared to what you usually fly,” Hernandez said, “this will seem like a
motorbike.”
And that's exactly what it seemed to Rayford. The Learjet screamed and whined as
Hernandez carefully lined it up on the runway. They seemed to hit top ground speed
in seconds and quickly lifted off, banking hard to the right and setting a course for
Dallas. “What tower do you connect with?” Rayford asked.
“The tower's empty at Glenview,” Hernandez said.
“I noticed.”
“I'll let a few towers know I'm coming along the way. The weather people tell us
we're clear all the way, and Global Community intelligence spots no enemy aircraft
between here and touchdown.”
Enemy aircraft, Rayford thought. There's an interesting way to refer to American
militia forces. He recalled not liking the militias, not understanding them, assuming
them criminals. But that had been when the American government was also their
enemy. Now they were allies of lame duck United States President Gerald Fitzhugh,
and their enemy was Rayford's enemy—his boss, of all things, but his enemy
nonetheless. Rayford had no idea where Hernandez came from, what his
background was, whether he was sympathetic and loyal to Carpathia or had been
pressed into reluctant service as Rayford himself had. Rayford slipped on earphones
and found the proper dials so he could communicate to the pilot without allowing
for anyone else to hear. “This is your pretend first officer,” he said softly. “Do you
read me?”
“Loud and clear, 'Copilot',” Hernandez said. And as if reading Rayford's mind,
Hernandez added, “This channel is secure.”
Rayford took that to mean that no one else, inside or outside the plane, could hear
their conversation. That made sense. But why had Hernandez said that? Had he
realized that Rayford wanted to talk? And how comfortable would Rayford be
talking to a stranger? Just because they were fellow pilots didn't mean he could bare
his soul to this man. “I'm curious about Global Community One,” Rayford said.
“You haven't heard?” Hernandez asked.
“Negative.”
Hernandez shot a glance behind him at Carpathia and Fortunato. Rayford chose not
to turn, so as not to arouse any suspicion. Apparently, Hernandez had found
Carpathia and Fortunato in earnest discussions again, because he told what he knew
about Rayford's former plane.
“I suppose the potentate would have told you himself if he had had the chance,”
Hernandez said. “There's not good news out of New York.”
“I heard that,” Rayford said. “But I hadn't heard how widespread the damage was at
the major airports.”
“Just about total destruction, I understand. We know for sure that the hangar where
she was located was virtually vaporized.”
“And the pilot?”
“Earl Halliday? He was long gone by the time of the attack.”
“He's safe then?” Rayford said. “That's a relief! Do you know him?”
“Not personally,” Hernandez said. “But I've heard a lot about him in the past few
weeks.”
“From Carpathia?” Rayford said.
“No. From the North American delegation to the Global Community.”
Rayford was lost, but he didn't want to admit it. Why would the North American
delegation be talking about Earl Halliday? Carpathia had asked Rayford to find
someone to fly the Global Community One 757 to New York while Rayford and
Amanda were taking a brief vacation in Chicago. Carpathia was to spend a few days
confusing the press and the insurrectionists (President Fitzhugh and several
American militia groups) by ignoring his published itinerary and being shuttled
from place to place. When the militia attacked and the Global Community
retaliated, Rayford had assumed that at least the timing was a surprise. He also
assumed that his selection of his old friend and boss at Pan-Continental Airlines as
the one to ferry the empty 757 to New York was of little consequence to Nicolae
Carpathia. But apparently Carpathia and the North American delegation had known
exactly whom he would choose. What was the point of that? And how did Halliday
know to get out of New York in time to avoid being killed?
“Where is Halliday now?” Rayford asked.
“You'll see him in Dallas.”
Rayford squinted, trying to make it all compute. “I will?”
“Who did you think was going to take you through the paces of the new aircraft?”
When Carpathia had told Rayford he might learn a few things by sitting in the
copilot's chair, Rayford had had no idea it would entail more than a few interesting
tidbits about this quick, small jet. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Earl Halliday
knew about the new plane and is conversant enough to teach me to drive it?”
Hernandez smiled as he scanned the horizon and maneuvered the Learjet. “Earl
Halliday practically built the Condor 216 himself. He helped design it. He made
sure anyone who was certified on a seven-five-seven would be able to fly it, even
though it's much bigger and a whole sight more sophisticated than Global
Community One.”
Rayford felt an ironic emotion rise within him. He hated Carpathia and knew
precisely who he was. But as strange as his wife's taking offense at Carpathia's
insistence on getting her name wrong, Rayford suddenly felt left out of the loop. “I
wonder why I would not have been informed of a new plane, especially if I am
supposed to be its pilot,” he said.
“I can't say for sure,” Hernandez said, “but you know the potentate tends to be very
wary, very careful, and very calculating.”
Don't I know it? Rayford thought. Conniving and scheming is more like it. “So he
apparently doesn't trust me.”
“I'm not sure he trusts anyone,” Hernandez said. “If I were in his shoes, I wouldn't
either. Would you?”
“Would I what?”
“Would you trust anyone if you were Carpathia?” Hernandez said.
Rayford did not respond.


“Do you feel like you just spent the devil's money?” Chloe asked Buck as he
carefully pulled the beautiful, new, earth-toned Range Rover out of the dealership
and into traffic.
“I know I did,” Buck said. “And the Antichrist has never invested a better dollar for
the cause of God.”
“You consider spending almost a hundred thousand dollars on a toy like this an
investment in our cause?”
“Chloe,” Buck said carefully, “look at this rig. It has everything. It will go
anywhere. It's indestructible. It comes with a phone. It comes with a citizen's band
radio. It comes with a fire extinguisher, a survival kit, flares, you name it. It has four-
wheel drive, all-wheel drive, independent suspension, a CD player that plays those
new two-inch jobs, electrical outlets in the dashboard that allow you to connect
whatever you want directly to the battery.”
“But Buck, you slapped down your Global Community Weekly credit card as if it
were your own. What kind of a limit do you have on that thing?”
“Most of the cards Carpathia issues like this have a quarter:of-a-million-dollar
limit,” Buck said. “But those of us at senior levels have a special code built into
ours. They're unlimited.”
“Literally unlimited?”
“Didn't you see the eyes of that sales manager when he phoned for verification?”
“All I saw,” Chloe said, “was a smile and a done deal.”
“There you go.”
“But doesn't somebody have to approve purchases like that?”
“I report directly to Carpathia. He might want to know why I bought a Range
Rover. But it should certainly be easy enough to explain, what with the loss of our
apartment, our vehicles, and the need to be able to get wherever we have to go.”
Once again, Buck soon grew impatient with the traffic. This time, when he left the
road and made his way through ditches, gullies, parkways, alleys, and yards, the
ride was sure and, if not smooth, purposeful. That vehicle was made for this kind of
driving.
“Look what else this baby has,” Buck said. “You can switch between automatic or
manual transmission.”
Chloe leaned down to look at the floorboard. “What do you do with the clutch when
you're in automatic?”
“You ignore it,” Buck said. “You ever drive a stick?”
“A friend in college had a little foreign sports car with a stick shift,” she said. “I
loved it.”
“You wanna drive?”
“Not on your life. At least not now. Let's just get to the church.”


“Anything else I should know about what we're going to encounter in Dallas?”
Rayford asked Hernandez.
“You're gonna be ferrying a lot of VIPs back to Iraq,” Hernandez said. “But that's
nothing new for you, is it?”
“Nope. I'm afraid it's lost its luster by now.”
“Well, for what it's worth, I envy you.”
Rayford was stunned to silence. Here he was, what Bruce Barnes referred to as a
tribulation saint, a believer in Christ during the most horrifying period in human
history, serving Antichrist himself against his own will and certainly at the peril of
his wife, his daughter, her husband, and himself. And yet he was envied.
“Don't envy me, Captain Hernandez. Whatever you do, don't envy me.”


As Buck neared the church, he noticed yards full of people. They stared at the sky
and listened to radios and TVs that blared from inside their houses. Buck was
surprised to see one lone car in the parking lot at Hope. It belonged to Loretta,
Bruce's assistant.
“I don't look forward to this,” Chloe said.
“I hear you,” Buck said.
They found the woman, now nearly seventy, stiffly in the outer office staring at the
television, balled-up tissues rested in her lap, and she riffled atnir in her bony
fingers. Her reading glasses rode low on her nose, and she peered over the top of
them at the television. She did not seem to look at Buck and Chloe's as they entered,
but it soon became clear she knew were there. From the inner office, Buck heard a
printer producing page after page after page.
Loretta had been a southern belle in her day. Now she sat red-eyed and sniffling,
fingers working that tissue as if creating some piece of art. Buck glanced up to see a
helicopter view of the bombed-out Northwest Community Hospital. “People been
callin',” Loretta said. “I don't know what to tell 'em. He couldn't survive that, could
he? Pastor Bruce, I mean. He couldn't still be alive now, could he? Did y'all see
him?”
“We didn't see him,” Chloe said carefully, kneeling next to the old woman. “But my
dad did.”
Loretta turned quickly to stare at her. “Mr. Steele saw him? And is he all right?”
Chloe shook her head. “I'm sorry, ma'am, he's not. Bruce is gone.”
Loretta lowered her chin to her chest. Tears gathered and pooled in her half-glasses.
She spoke hoarsely—
“Would y'all mind turnin' that off then, please. I was just praying I'd catch a glimpse
of Pastor Bruce. But if he's under one of those sheets, I don't care to see that.”
Buck turned off the TV as Chloe embraced the old woman. Loretta broke down and
sobbed. “That young man was like family to me, you know.”
“We know,” Chloe said, crying herself now. “He was family to us, too.”
Loretta pulled back to look at Chloe. “But he was my only family. You know my
story, don't you?”
“Yes, ma'am—”
“You know I lost everybody.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I mean, everybody. I lost every living relative I had. More than a hundred. I came
from one of the most devout, spiritual heritages a woman could come from. I was
considered a pillar of this church. I was active in everything a church woman. I just
never really knew the Lord.”
Chloe held her close and cried with her.
“That young man taught me everythin',” Loretta continued. “I learned more from
him in two years than I learned in more than sixty years in Sunday school and
church before that. I'm not blamin' anybody but myself. I was deaf and blind
spiritually. My daddy had gone on before, but I lost Mama, all six of my brothers
and sisters, all of their kids, their kids' husbands and wives. I lost my own children
and grandchildren. Everybody. If somebody had made a list of who in this church
would be most likely to go to heaven when they died, I would have been at the top
of the list, right up there with the pastor.”
This was as painful for Buck as it seemed for Chloe and Loretta. He would grieve in
his own way and his own time, but for now he didn't want to dwell on the tragedy.
“What're you working on in the office, ma'am?” he said.
Loretta cleared her throat. “Bruce's stuff, of course,” she managed.
“What is it?”
“Well, you know when he got back from that big teaching trip of his in Indonesia,
he had some sort of a virus or something. One of the men rushed him to the hospital
so fast that he left his laptop computer here. You know he took that thing with him
everywhere he went.”
“I know he did,” Chloe said.
“Well, as soon as he was settled into that hospital, he called me. He asked me to
bring that laptop to him if I could. I would've done anythin' for Bruce, of course. I
was on my way out the door with it when the phone rang again. Bruce told me they
were taking him out of the emergency room and straight to intensive care, so he
wouldn't be able to have any visitors for a while. I think he had a premonition.”
“A premonition?” Buck said.
“I think he knew he might die,” she said. “He told me to keep in touch with the
hospital for when he could have visitors. He was fond of me, but I know he wanted
that laptop more than he wanted to see me.”
“I'm not so sure about that,” Chloe said. “He loved you like a mother.”
“I know that's true,” Loretta said. “He told me that more than once. Anyway, he
asked if I would print out everything he had on his hard drive off his computer, you
know, everything except what he called program files and all that.”
“What?” Chloe asked. “His own Bible studies and sermon preparation, stuff like
that?”
“I guess,” Loretta said. “He told me to make sure I had plenty of paper. I thought he
meant like just a ream or something.”
“It's taken more than that?” Buck said.
“Oh, yes sir, much more than that. I stood there feeding that machine every two
hundred pages or so until I'd finished up two reams. I'm scared to death of those
computers, but Bruce talked me through how to print out everything that had a file
name that began with his initials. He told me if I just typed in 'Print BB*.*' that it
should spit out everything he wanted. I sure hope I did the right thing. It's given him
more than he could ever want. I suppose I should just shut it down now.”
“You've got a third ream going in there?” Chloe said.
“No. I got some help from Donny.”
“The phone guy?” Buck said.
“Oh, Donny Moore is a whole lot more than just a phone guy,” Loretta said.
“There's hardly anything electronic he can't fix or make better. He showed me how I
can use those old boxes of continuous-feed computer paper in our laser printer. He
just hauled a box out and fed it in one end and it comes out the other so I don't have
to keep feeding it.”
“I didn't know you could do that,” Buck said.
“Neither did I,” Loretta said. “There's a lot of stuff Donny knows that I don't. He
said our printer was pretty new and fancy and should be kicking out close to fifteen
pages a minute.”
“And you've been doing this how long?” Chloe said.
“Just about ever since I talked to Bruce from the hospital this morning. There was
probably a five- or ten-minute break after those first two reams and before Donny
helped me get that big box of paper under there.”
Buck slipped into the inner office and stood watching in amazement as the high-
tech printer drew page after page from the paper box through its innards and out the
other side into a stack that was threatening to topple. He straightened the stack and
stared at the box. The first two reams of printed material, all single-spaced, lay
neatly on Bruce's desk. The old paper box, the likes of which Buck hadn't seen in
years, noted that it contained five thousand sheets. He guessed that it had already
used 80 percent of its total. Surely, there must be some mistake. Could Bruce have
produced more than five thousand pages of notes? Perhaps there was a glitch and
Loretta had mistakenly printed everything, including program files, Bibles and
concordances, dictionaries, and the like.
But there had been no glitch. Buck casually fanned through first one ream and then
the other, looking for something other than Bruce's own notes. Every page Buck
glanced at contained personal writing from Bruce. This included his own
commentary on Bible passages, sermon notes, devotional thoughts, and letters to
friends and relatives and churchmen from around the globe. At first Buck felt guilty,
as if he were invading Bruce's privacy. And yet why had Bruce urged Loretta to
print all this stuff? Was he afraid he might be gone? Had he wanted to leave it for
their use?
Buck bent over the fast-rising stack of continuous-feed sheets. He lifted it from the
bottom and allowed the pages to drop before his eyes one at a time. Again, page
after page of single-spaced copy, all from Bruce. He must have written several
pages a day for more than two years.
When Buck rejoined Chloe and Loretta, Loretta said again, “We might as well shut
it off and throw the pages away. He'll have no use for all that stuff now.”
Chloe had risen and now sat, looking exhausted, in a side chair. It was Buck's turn
to kneel before Loretta. He placed his hands on her shoulders and spoke earnestly.
“Loretta, you can still serve the Lord by serving Bruce.” She began to protest, but
he continued. “He's gone, yes, but we can rejoice that he's with his family again,
can't we?” Loretta pressed her lips together and nodded. Buck continued. “I need
your help on a big project. There's a gold mine in that room. From just glancing at
those pages, I can see that Bruce is still with us. His knowledge, his teaching, his
love and compassion, they are all there. The best we can do for this little flock that
has lost its shepherd is to get those pages reproduced. I don't know what this place
will do for a pastor or a teacher, but in the meantime, people need access to what
Bruce has written. Maybe they've heard him preach it, maybe they've seen it in
other forms before. But this is a treasure that everyone can use.”
Chloe spoke up. “Buck, shouldn't you try to edit it or shape it into some sort of book
form first?”
“I'll take a look at it, Chloe, but there's a certain beauty in simply reproducing it in
the form it's in. This was Bruce off-the-cuff, in the middle of his study, writing to
fellow believers, writing to friends and loved ones, writing to himself. I think
Loretta ought to take all those pages to a quick-print shop and get them started. We
need a thousand copies of all that stuff, printed on two sides and bound simply.”
“That'll cost a fortune,” Loretta said.
“Don't worry about that now,” Buck said. “I can't think of a better investment.”
As the Learjet made its initial descent into the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, Fortunato
ducked into the cockpit and knelt between Hernandez and Rayford. Each slipped the
headphone off the ear closest to Carpathia's aide. “Anybody hungry?” he said.
Rayford hadn't even thought of food. For all he knew, the world was blowing itself
to bits and no one would survive this war. The very mention of hunger, however,
triggered something in him. He realized he was famished.
He knew Amanda would be as well. She was a light eater, and he often had to make
sure she remembered to eat.
“I could eat,” Hernandez said. “In fact, I could eat a lot.”
“Potentate Carpathia would like you to contact DFW tower and have something
nice waiting for us.”
Hernandez suddenly looked panicky. “What do you think he means by 'something
nice'?”
“I'm sure you'll arrange for something appropriate, Captain Hernandez.”
Fortunato backed out of the cockpit and Hernandez rolled his eyes at Rayford.
“DFW tower, this is Global Community Three, over.”
Rayford glanced back as Fortunato took his seat. Carpathia had swung around and
was in deep conversation with Amanda.


Chloe worked with Loretta in fashioning a terse, two-sentence statement that was
sent out by phone to the six names at the top of the prayer chain list. Each would
call others who would call others, and the news would quickly spread throughout
the New Hope body. Meanwhile, Buck recorded a brief message on the answering
machine that simply said: “The tragic news of Pastor Bruce's death is true. Elder
Rayford Steele saw him and believes he may have died before any explosives hit the
hospital. Please do not come to the church, as there will be no meetings or services
or further announcements until Sunday at the regular time.” Buck turned the ringer
off on the phone and directed all calls to the answering machine, which soon began
clicking every few minutes, as more and more parishioners called in for
confirmation. Buck knew Sunday morning's meeting would be packed.
Chloe agreed to follow Loretta home and make sure she was all right while Buck
was calling Donny Moore. “Donny,” Buck said, “I need your advice, and I need it
right away.”
“Mr. Williams, sir,” came Donny's characteristic staccato delivery, “advice is my
middle name. And as you know, I work at home, so I can come to you or you can
come to me and we can talk whenever you want.”
“Donny, I'm not mobile just now, so if you could find your way clear to visiting me
at the church, I'd sure appreciate it.”
“I'll be right over, Mr. Williams, but could you tell me something first? Did Loretta
have the phones off the hook there for a while?”
“Yes, I believe she did. She didn't have answers for people who were calling about
Pastor Bruce. With nothing to tell people, she just turned off the phones.”
“That's a relief,” Donny said. “I just got her set up with a new system a few weeks
ago, so I hope nothing was wrong. How is Bruce, by the way?”
“I'll tell you all about that when you get here, Donny, OK?”


Rayford saw billowing black clouds over the Dallas/Ft. Worth commercial airport
and thought of the many times he had landed big craft on those long runways. How
long would it take to rebuild here? Captain Hernahdez guided the Lear jet to a
nearby military strip, the one Rayford had visited so recently. He saw no other
aircraft on the ground. Clearly, someone had moved all the planes to keep the strip
from being a target.
Hernandez landed the Lear jet as smoothly as a man can land a plane that small, and
they immediately taxied to the end of the runway and directly into a large hangar.
Rayford was surprised that, indeed, the rest of the hangar was empty, too.
Hernandez shut down the engines, and they deplaned. As soon as Carpathia had
room, he put back on his disguise. He whispered something to Fortunato, who asked
Hernandez where they would find the food. “Hangar three,” Hernandez said. “We're
in hangar one. The plane's in hangar four.”
The disguise proved unnecessary. There was not much space between the hangars,
and the small contingent moved quickly into and out of small doors at the sides of
the buildings. Hangars two and three were also empty, except for a table piled with
catered lunches near the side door that led to hangar four.
They approached the tables, and Carpathia turned to Rayford. “Say good-bye to
Captain Hernandez,” he said. “After he has eaten, he will be on assignment for me
near the old National Security Agency building in Maryland. It is unlikely you will
see him again. He flies only the small craft.”
It was all Rayford could do to keep from shrugging. What did he care? He had just
met the man. Why was it so important for Carpathia to keep him updated on
personnel? He had not told Rayford of Earl Halliday's involvement in helping
design a new plane. He had not told Rayford that he expected to need a new plane.
He had not even sought Rayford's input about the plane he would be flying. Rayford
would never understand the man.
Rayford ate ravenously and tried to encourage Amanda to eat more than usual. She
did not. As the group made its last move between hangars, Rayford heard the
characteristic whine of the Learjet and realized Hernandez was already airborne.
Interestingly, Fortunato disappeared soon after they entered hangar four. There,
standing at attention in a neat row, were four of the ten international ambassadors
who represented huge land masses and populations and reported directly to
Carpathia. Rayford had no idea where they had been or how they had gotten here.
All he knew was that it was his job to get them all to New Babylon for emergency
meetings in light of the outbreak of World War III.
At the end of the row was Earl Halliday, standing stiffly and staring straight ahead.
Carpathia shook hands with each of the four ambassadors in turn and ignored
Halliday, who seemed to expect that. Rayford walked directly to Halliday and stuck
out his hand. Halliday ignored it and spoke under his breath. “Get away from me,
Steele, you scum!”
“Earl!”
“I mean it, Rayford. I have to bring you up to speed on this plane, but I don't have to
pretend to like it.”
Rayford backed away, feeling awkward, and joined Amanda, who had been left
alone and looked out of place herself.
“Rayford, what in the world is Earl doing here?” she asked.
“I'll tell you later. He's not happy, I can tell you that. What was Carpathia talking to
you about on the plane?”
“He wanted to know what I wanted to eat, of all things. That man!”
Two aides from New Babylon entered and greeted Carpathia with embraces. One
motioned for Earl and Rayford to join him in a corner of the hangar as far from the
Condor 216 as they could get. Rayford had purposely avoided staring at the
monstrous aircraft. Though it sat facing the door that would open to the runway and
was more than 150 feet from where they stood, still the Condor seemed to dominate
the hangar. Rayford had known from a glance that here was a plane that had been in
development for years, not just months. It was clearly the biggest passenger plane
he had ever seen, and it was painted such a brilliant white that it seemed to
disappear against the light walls in the dimly lit hangar. He could only imagine how
difficult it would be to spot in the sky. Carpathia's aide, dressed just like Carpathia
in a natty black suit, white shirt, and bloodred tie with a gold stickpin, leaned in
close to Rayford and Earl and spoke earnestly. “Potentate Carpathia would like to
be airborne as soon as possible. Can you give us an estimated time of departure?”
“I've never even seen this plane,” Rayford said, “and I have no idea—”
“Rayford,” Earl interrupted, “I'm telling you, you can fly this plane within half an
hour. I know you; I know planes. So trust me.”
“Well, that's interesting, Earl, but I won't make any promises until I've been put
through the paces.”
The Carpathia wanna-be turned to Halliday. “Are you available to fly this plane, at
least until Steele here feels he's—”
“No sir, I am not!” Halliday said. “Just let me have Steele for thirty minutes and
then let me get back to Chicago.”


Donny Moore proved more of a talker than Buck appreciated, but he decided
feigning interest was a small price for the man's expertise. “So, you're a phone
systems guy, but you sell computers—”
“On the side, right, yes sir. Just about double my income that way. Got a trunk full
of catalogs, you know.”
“I'd like to see those,” Buck said.
Donny grinned. “I thought you might.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out a
stack, apparently one of each of the manufacturers he represented. He spread six out
before Buck on the coffee table.
“Whoa,” Buck said, “I can see already there are going to be too many choices. Why
don't you just let me tell you what I'm looking for, and you tell me if you can
deliver?”
“I can tell you right now I can deliver,” Donny said. “Last week I sold a guy thirty
sub-notebooks with more power than any desktop anywhere, and—”
“Excuse me a moment, Donny,” Buck said. “Did you hear that printer quit?”
“I sure did. It just stopped now. It's either out of paper, out of ink, or done with
whatever it was doing. I sold that machine to Bruce, you know. Top of the line.
Prints regular paper, continuous feed-whatever you need.”
“Let me just check on it,” Buck said. He rose and peeked into the inner office. The
screen on Bruce's laptop had already suspended itself. No warning lights on the
printer told of shortages of ink or paper. Buck pushed a button on the laptop and the
screen came alive. It indicated the print job was finally over. Buck guessed there
were about a hundred pages left from the five-thousand-page box Loretta had run
through the printer. What a treasure, Buck thought.
“When's Bruce gonna be back here?” Buck heard Donny ask from the other room.


Rayford and Earl boarded the Condor alone. Earl held a finger to his lips and
Rayford assumed he was looking for bugs. He checked the intercom system
thoroughly before speaking. “You never know,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” Rayford said.
“You tell me about it, Rayford!”
“Earl, I'm much more in the dark than you are. I didn't even know you were
involved in this project. I had no idea you were working for Carpathia. You knew I
was, so why didn't you tell me?”
“I'm not working for Carpathia, Rayford. I was pressed into service. I'm still a Pan-
Con chief pilot at O'Hare, but when duty calls—”
“Why didn't Carpathia tell me he was aware of you?” Rayford said. “He asked me
to find somebody to fly Global Community One into New York. He didn't know I
would choose you.”
“He must have,” Earl said. “Who else would you pick? I was asked to help design
this new plane, and I thought it would be fun just to test it a little bit. Then I get
asked to fly the original plane to New York. Since the request came from you, I was
flattered and honored. It was only when I got on the ground and realized the plane
and I were targets that I got out of New York and headed back to Chicago as fast as
I could. I never got there. I got word from Carpathia's people while I was in the air
that I was needed in Dallas to brief you on this plane.”
“I'm lost,” Rayford said.
“Well, I don't know much either,” Earl said. “But it's clear Carpathia wanted my
going to New York and winding up dead to look like your decision, not his.”
“Why would he want you dead?”
“Maybe I know too much.”
“I've been flying him all over the place,” Rayford said. “I have to know more than
you, and yet I don't sense he's thinking about doing me in.”
“Just watch your back, Rayford. I've heard enough to know this is not all what it
seems to be and that this man does not have the world's best interests at heart.”
There's the understatement of the ages, Rayford thought.
“I don't know how you got me into this, Rayford, but—”
“I got you into this? Earl, you have a short memory. You're the one who encouraged
me to become the pilot of Air Force One. I wasn't looking for that job, and I
certainly never dreamed it would turn into this.”
“Piloting Air Force One was a plum assignment,” Earl said, “whether you
recognized that at the time or not. How was I to know what would come of it?”
“Let's stop blaming each other and decide what we're supposed to do now.”
“Ray, I'm gonna bring you up to speed on this plane, but then I think I'm a dead
man. Would you tell my wife that—”
“Earl, what are you talking about? Why do you think you won't make it back to
Chicago?”
“I have no idea, Ray. All I know is that I was supposed to be in New York with that
plane when it got obliterated. I don't see myself as any threat to the Carpathia
administration, but if they cared a whit about me, they would have gotten me out of
New York before I had the idea I'd better get out of there.”
“Can't you get yourself some sort of emergency assignment at DFW? There has to
be a huge need for Pan-Con personnel over there, in light of everything.”
“Carpathia's people have arranged a ride back to Chicago for me. I just have this
feeling I'm not safe.”
“Tell them you don't want to put them out. Tell them you've got plenty of work to
do at DFW.”
“I'll try. Meanwhile, let me show you this rig. And Ray, as an old friend, I want you
to promise me that if anything does happen to me—”
“Nothing is going to happen to you, Earl. But of course I'll keep in touch with your
wife either way.”


Donny Moore fell silent at the tragic news. He sat staring, eyes wide, seemingly
unable to form words. Buck busied himself leafing through the catalogs. He couldn't
concentrate. He knew there would be more questions. He didn't know what to tell
Donny. And he needed this man's help.
Donny's voice came hoarse with emotion. “What's gonna happen to this church?”
“I know this sounds like a cliché,” Buck said, “but I believe God will provide.”
“How will God. provide anybody like Pastor Bruce?”
“I know what you mean, Donny. Whoever it is won't be another Pastor Bruce. He
was unique.”
“I'm still having trouble believing it,” Donny said. “But I don't guess anything
should surprise me anymore.”


Rayford sat behind the controls of the Condor 216. “What am I supposed to do for a
first officer?” he asked Earl.
“They've got somebody on his way over from one of the other airlines. He'll fly
with you as far as San Francisco, where McCullum will join you.”
“McCullum? He copiloted for me from New Babylon to Washington, Earl. When I
went to Chicago, he was supposed to go back to Iraq.”
“I only know what I'm told, Rayford.”
“And why are we flying west to go east, as Carpathia says?”
“I have no idea what's going on here, Rayford. I'm new to this. Maybe you know
better than I do. The fact is, most of the war and devastation seems to be east of the
Mississippi. Have you noticed that? It's almost as if it was planned. This plane was
designed and built here in Dallas, but not at DFW where it might have been
destroyed. It's ready for you just when you need it. As you can see it has the
controls of a seven-five-seven and yet it's a much bigger plane. If you can fly a 'fifty-
seven, you can fly this. You just need to get used to the size of it. The people you
need are where you need them when you need them. Figure it out, boy. None of this
seems a surprise to Carpathia, does it?”
Rayford had no idea what to say. It didn't take long to catch on.
Halliday continued, “You'll fly on a straight line from Dallas to San Francisco, and
my guess is you won't see any devastation from the air, and you won't be threatened
from attack heading that way either. There might be militia people somewhere out
west who would like to shoot rockets at Carpathia, but there are precious few people
who know he's heading that way. You'll stop in San Francisco just long enough to
get rid of this copilot and pick up your usual one.”


Buck touched Donny's arm, as if rousing him from sleep. Donny looked at him
blankly. “Mr. Williams, this has all been hard enough even with Pastor Bruce here. I
don't know what we're going to do now.”
“Donny,” Buck said gravely, “you have an opportunity here to do something for
God, and it's the greatest memorial tribute you could ever give to Bruce Barnes.”
“Well then, sir, whatever it is, I want to do it.”
“First, Donny, let me assure you that money is no object.”
“I don't want any profit off something that will help the church and God and Bruce's
memory.”
“Fine. Whatever profit you build in or don't build in is up to you. I'm just telling you
that I need five of the absolute best, top-of-the-line computers, as small and
compact as they can be, but with as much power and memory and speed and
communications abilities as you can wire into them.”
“You're talking my language, Mr. Williams.”
“I hope so, Donny, because I want a computer with virtually no limitations. I want
to be able to take it anywhere, keep it reasonably concealed, store everything I want
on it, and most of all, be able to connect with anyone anywhere without the
transmission being traced. Is that doable?”
“Well, sir, I can put together something for you like those computers that scientists
use in the jungle or in the desert when there's no place to plug in or hook up to.”
“Yeah,” Buck said. “Some of our reporters use those in remote areas. What do they
have, built-in satellite dishes?”
“Believe it or not, it is something like that. And I can add another feature for you,
too.”
“What's that?”
“Video conferencing.”
“You mean I can see the person I'm talking to while I'm talking to him?”
“Yes, if he has the same technology on his machine.”
“I want all of it, Donny. And I want it fast. And I need you to keep this
confidential.”
“Mr. Williams, these machines could run you more than twenty thousand dollars
apiece.”
Buck had thought money would be no object, but this was one expense he could not
lay off on Carpathia. He sat back and whistled through his teeth.



                         CHAPTER THREE
“CALL it a hunch, Rayford, but I put something in here just for you.”
Rayford and Earl were finished in the cockpit. He trusted Earl. He knew that if Earl
thought he could fly this thing, then he could. He still was going to insist on his and
his temporary first officer's taking off, staging, and landing before he risked flying
anyone else. It wouldn't have bothered Rayford to crash and kill himself along with
the Antichrist, but he didn't want to be responsible for innocent lives, particularly
that of his own wife.
“So, what did you do for me, Earl?”
“Just look at this,” Earl said. He pointed to the button that allowed the captain to
speak to the passengers.
“Captain's intercom,” Rayford said. “So what?”
“Reach under your seat with your left hand and run your fingers along the side edge
of the bottom of your chair,” Earl said.
“I feel a button.”
“I'm going to step back into the cabin now,” Earl said. “You mash the normal
intercom button and make an announcement. Wait for a count of three, and then
push that button under your seat. Make sure your headphones are still on.”
Rayford waited until Halliday had left and latched the cockpit door. Rayford got on
the intercom. “Hello, hello, hey Earl yada yada yada.” Rayford counted silently to
himself, then pushed the button under his seat. He was amazed to hear through his
earphones Earl Halliday speaking in just above a whisper. “Rayford, you can tell
I'm speaking in lower than even conversational tones. If I did my job right, you can
hear me plain as day from all over this plane. Every one of the speakers is also a
transmitter and leads back to only your headphone jack. I wired it in such a way that
it's undetectable, and this plane has been gone over by Global Community's best
bug finders. If it's ever detected, I'll just tell them I thought that was what they
wanted.”
Rayford came hustling out of the cockpit. “Earl, you're a genius! I'm not sure what
I'll hear, but it has to be an advantage to know what's going on out here.”


Buck was boxing up all the pages from Bruce's printout when he heard the Range
Rover in the parking lot. By the time Chloe reached the office, he had packaged
pages and Bruce's computer into one huge carton. As he lugged it out, he told
Chloe, “Drop me off at the Chicago bureau office, and then you'd better check with
The Drake and be sure our stuff is still there. We'll want to keep that room until we
find a place to live closer to here.”
“I was hoping you'd say that,” Chloe said. “Loretta is devastated. She's going to
need a lot of help here. What are we going to do about a funeral?”
“You're going to have to help handle that, Chlo'. You'll want to check with the
coroner's office, have the body delivered to a funeral home nearby here, and all that.
With so many casualties, it's going to be a mess, so they'll probably be glad to know
that at least one body has been claimed. We're each going to need a vehicle. I have
no idea where I'll be expected to go. I can work out of the Chicago office in light of
the fact that no one will be going to New York for a long time, but I can't promise
I'll be around here all the time.”
“Loretta, bless her heart, thought of the same thing in spite of all she's going
through. She reminded me that there's a fleet of extra cars among the congregation
and has been ever since the Rapture. They lend these out for just such crises as this
one.”
“Good,” Buck said. “Let's get you fixed up with one of those. And remember, we're
going to need to get this material reproduced for members of the congregation.”
“You're not going to have time to go through all that, are you, Buck?”
“No, but I'm confident that anything in here will be profitable for all.”
“Buck, wait a minute. There's no way we can reproduce that until someone has read
all of it. There's got to be private, personal stuff in there. And you know there will
be direct references to Carpathia and to the Tribulation Force. We can't risk being
exposed like that.”
Buck had an ego crisis. He loved this woman, but she was ten years his junior and
he hated when it seemed as if she was telling him what to do, especially when she
was right. As he lay the heavy box of pages and the computer in the back of the
Range Rover, Chloe said, “Just entrust it to me, hon. I'll spend every day between
now and Sunday poring over it line by line. By then we'll have something to share
with the rest of New Hope, and we can even announce that we might have
something in copied form for them within a week or so.”
“When you're right, you're right. But where will you do this?”
“Loretta has offered to let us stay with her. She's got that big old house, you know.”
“That would be perfect, but I hate to impose.”
“Buck, we would hardly be imposing. She'll hardly know we're there. Anyway, I
sense she's so lonely and beside herself with grief that she really needs us.”
“You know it's unlikely I'll be there much,” Buck said.
“I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
They were in the Range Rover now. “Then what do you need me for?” Buck said.
“I keep you around because you're cute.”
“But seriously, Chloe, I'll never forgive myself if I'm in some other city or country
and the war comes right here to Mt. Prospect.”
“You've forgotten the shelter under the church.”
“I haven't forgotten it, Chloe. I'm just praying it'll never come to that. Does anybody
else know about that place except the Tribulation Force?”
“No. Not even Loretta. It's an awfully small place. If Daddy and Amanda and you
and I had to stay there for any length of time, it wouldn't be much fun.”
Half an hour later, Buck pulled into the Chicago area office of Global Community
Weekly magazine. “I'm going to get us a couple of cell phones,” Chloe said. “I'll
call The Drake and then get down there and get our stuff. I'll also talk with Loretta
about a second vehicle.”
“Get five of those cell phones, Chloe, and don't scrimp.”
“Five?” she said. “I don't know if Loretta would even know how to use one.”
“I'm not thinking of Loretta. I just want to make sure we have a spare.”


The Condor 216 was outfitted even more lavishly than Global Community One had
been, if that was possible. No detail had been missed, and the latest communications
devices had been installed. Rayford had bidden farewell to Earl Halliday, urging
Earl to let him know that his home was intact and his wife was safe, as soon as he
knew. “You're not going to like what's happened to our airport,” Rayford had told
him. “You won't be landing at O'Hare.”
Rayford and his temporary copilot had irritated Carpathia by making a trial takeoff
and fly-around before letting the others board the plane. Rayford was glad he had.
While it was true that everything in the cockpit was identical to a 757, the bigger,
heavier plane behaved more like a 747, and it took some getting used to. Now that
the loaded and airborne Condor 216 was streaking toward San Francisco at thirty-
three thousand feet and at more than seven hundred miles per hour, Rayford put the
craft on autopilot and urged his first officer to stay alert.
“What are you going be doing, sir?” the younger man asked.
“Just sitting here,” Rayford said. “Thinking. Reading.”
Rayford had cleared his flight path with an Oklahoma tower and now pushed the
button to communicate with his passengers. “Potentate Carpathia and guests, this is
Captain Steele. Our estimated time of arrival in San Francisco is 5:00 P.M., Pacific
Standard Time. We expect clear skies and smooth flying.”
Rayford sat back and pulled his earphone band toward the back of his head, as if
pulling the phones off. However, they were still close enough to his ears so that he
could hear and his copilot, because his own earphones were on, could not. Rayford
pulled from his flight bag a book and opened it, resting it on the controls before
him. He would have to remember to turn a page occasionally. He would not really
be reading. He would be listening. He slipped his left hand under the seat and
quietly depressed the hidden button.
The first voice he heard, clear as if she were talking to him on the phone, was
Amanda's. “Yes, sir, I understand. You need not worry about me, no sir.”
Now Carpathia spoke: “I trust everyone got enough to eat in Dallas. We will have
an entire flight crew joining us in San Francisco, and we will be well taken care of
throughout our flight to Baghdad and then on to New Babylon.”
Another voice: “Baghdad?”
“Yes,” Carpathia said. “I have taken the liberty of flying into Baghdad the
remaining three loyal ambassadors. Our enemies might have assumed we would fly
them directly into New Babylon. We will pick them up and begin our meetings on
the short hop from Baghdad to New Babylon.
“Mrs. Steele, if you would excuse us—”
“Certainly,” Amanda said.
“Gentlemen,” Carpathia spoke more quietly now, but still clearly enough that
Rayford could understand every word. Someday he would have to thank Earl
Halliday on behalf of the kingdom of Christ. Earl had no interest in serving God, at
least not yet, but whatever motivated him to do Rayford a favor like that, it was
certainly going to benefit the enemies of the Antichrist.
Carpathia was saying: “Mr. Fortunato remained in Dallas briefly to arrange my next
radio broadcast from there. I will do it from here; however, it will be patched to
Dallas and broadcast, again to throw off any enemies of the Global Community. I
do need him in on our talks in the night, so we will wait on the ground in San
Francisco until he is able to join us. As soon as we leave the ground out of San
Francisco, we will trigger both L.A. and the Bay Area.”
“The Bay Area?” came a heavily accented voice.
“Yes, that is San Francisco and the Oakland area.”
“What do you mean by 'trigger'?”
Carpathia's tone became grave. “ 'Trigger' means just what it sounds like it means,”
he said. “By the time we land in Baghdad, more than Washington, New York, and
Chicago will have been decimated. Those are just three of the North American cities
that will suffer the most. So far, only the airport and one suburb have suffered in
Chicago. That will change within the hour. You already know about London. Do
you gentlemen understand the significance of a one-hundred-megaton bomb?”
There was silence. Carpathia continued. “To put it in perspective, history books tell
us that a twenty-megaton bomb carries more power than all those dropped in World
War II, including the two that fell on Japan.”
“The United States of Great Britain had to be taught,” came the accented voice
again.
“Indeed they did,” Carpathia said. “And in North America alone, Montreal,
Toronto, Mexico City, Dallas, Washington, D.C., New York, Chicago, San
Francisco, and Los Angeles will become object lessons to those who would oppose
us.”
Rayford whipped off his earphones and unbuckled himself. He stepped through the
cockpit door and made eye contact with Amanda. He motioned for her to come to
him. Carpathia looked up and smiled. “Captain Steele,” he greeted him, “is
everything well?”
“Our flight is uneventful, sir, if that's what you're asking. That's the best kind of
flight. I can't say much for what's happening on the ground, however.”
“True enough,” Carpathia said, suddenly sober. “I will soon address the global
community with my condolences.”
Rayford pulled Amanda into the galley way. “Were Buck and Chloe going to stay at
The Drake again tonight?”
“There wasn't time to talk about it, Ray,” she said. “I can't imagine what other
choice they'd have. It sounds like they may never get back to New York.”
“I'm afraid Chicago is a certain someone's next target,” Rayford said.
“Oh, I can't imagine,” Amanda said.
“I have to warn them.”
“Do you want to risk a phone call that could be traced?” she asked.
“Saving their lives would be worth any risk.”
Amanda embraced him and went back to her seat.
Rayford used his own cell phone after making sure his first officer had his own
earphones on and was otherwise engaged. Reaching The Drake Hotel in Chicago,
Rayford asked for the Williamses. “We have three guests named Williams,” he was
told. “None with the first name of Cameron or Buck or Chloe.”
Rayford racked his brain. “Uh, just put me through to Mr. Katz then,” he said.
“Herbert Katz?” the operator said.
“That's the one.”
After a minute: “No answer, sir. Would you like to leave a message on their voice
mail?”
“I would,” Rayford said, “but I would also like to be sure that the message light is
lit and that they are flagged down for an urgent message should they visit the front
desk.”
“We'll certainly do that, sir. Thank you for calling The Drake.”
When the voice mail tone came on, Rayford spoke quickly. “Kids, you know who
this is. Don't take the time to do anything. Get as far away from downtown Chicago
as you can. Please trust me on this.”


Buck had had innumerable run-ins with Verna Zee in the Chicago office. Once he
felt she had overstepped her bounds and had moved too quickly into her former
boss's office after Lucinda Washington disappeared in the Rapture. Then, when
Buck himself was demoted for ostensibly missing the most important assignment of
his life, Verna did become Chicago bureau chief and lorded it over him. Now that
he was the publisher, he had been tempted to fire her. But he had let her remain,
provided she did the job and kept her nose clean.
Even feisty Verna seemed shell-shocked when Buck swept into the office late that
afternoon. As usual in times of international crisis, the staff was huddled around the
TV. A couple of employees looked up when Buck came in. “What do you think of
this, chief?” one said, and several others noticed him. Verna Zee made a beeline for
Buck.
“You have several urgent messages,” she said. “Carpathia himself has been trying to
reach you all day. There's also an urgent message from a Rayford Steele.”
Now there was a choice for all time. Whom should Buck call? He could only guess
what spin Carpathia wanted to put on World War III. He had no idea what Rayford
might want. “Did Mr. Steele leave a number?”
“You're returning his call first?”
“Excuse me?” he said. “I believe I asked you a question.”
“His message was simply that you should call your hotel room.”
“Call my hotel room?”
“I would have done it for you myself, boss, but I didn't know where you were
staying. Where are you staying?”
“None of your business, Verna.”
“Well, pardon me!” she said and marched away, which was Buck's hope.
“I'll be borrowing your office temporarily,” Buck called after her.
She stopped and spun around. “For how long?”
“For as long as I need it,” he said. She scowled. Buck rushed in and shut the door.
He dialed The Drake and asked for his own room. Hearing the fear in Rayford's
voice, not to mention the message itself, made the color drain from his face. Buck
called information for the number of the Land Rover dealership in Arlington
Heights. He asked for the sales manager and said it was an emergency.
Within a minute, the man was on the line. As soon as Buck identified himself, the
man said, “Everything all right with the—”
“The car is fine, sir. But I need to reach my wife, and she's driving it right now. I
need the phone number on that built-in phone.”
“That would take a little digging.”
“I can't tell you how urgent this is, sir. Let me just say that it's worth my developing
a quick case of buyer's remorse and returning the vehicle if I can't get that number
right now.”
“One moment.”
A couple of minutes later Buck dialed the number. It rang four times. “The mobile
customer you have dialed is either away from the vehicle or out of the calling zone.
Please try your call—”
Buck slammed down the phone, picked it up, and hit the redial button. While
listening to the ring, he was startled when the door burst open and Verna Zee
mouthed, “Carpathia on the line for you.”
“I'm gonna have to call him back!” Buck said.
“You're what?!”
“Take a number!”
“Dial 1-800-FIRED,” she said.


Rayford was frantic. He forgot any pretense of doing anything but sitting there, and
he stared straight ahead into the late afternoon sky, earphones firmly engaged and
his left hand pressing the hidden button hard. He heard Carpathia's aide: “Well, of
all the—”
“What?” Carpathia said.
“I'm trying to get this Williams character on the line for you, and he's told his girl
there to take a number.”
It was all Rayford could do to keep from calling Buck again himself, knowing for
sure now that he was at the Chicago office. But if someone told Carpathia Buck
couldn't talk to him because he was on with Rayford Steele, that would be
disastrous. He heard Carpathia's reassuring voice again. “Just give him the number,
my friend. I trust this young man. He is a brilliant journalist and would not keep me
waiting without good reason. Of course, he is trying to cover the story of a lifetime,
would you not agree?”


Buck ordered Verna Zee to shut the door on her way out and to leave him alone
until he was off the phone. She sighed heavily and shook her head, slamming the
door.
Buck continued to hit the redial button, hating the sound of that recorded
announcement more than anything he had ever heard in his life.
Suddenly the intercom came alive. “I'm sorry to bother you,” Verna said in a sickly
sweet, singsong voice, “but you have yet another urgent phone call. Chaim
Rosenzweig from Israel.”
Buck punched the intercom button. “I'm afraid I'm gonna have to call him back, too.
Tell him I'm very sorry.”
“You should tell me you're very sorry,” Verna said. “I'm tempted to patch him
through anyway.”
“I'm very sorry, Verna,” Buck said with sarcasm. “Now leave me alone, please!”
The car phone kept ringing. Buck hung up on the recorded message several times.
Verna punched back in. “Dr. Rosenzweig says it's a matter of life and death,
Cameron.”
Buck quickly punched into the blinking line. “Chaim, I'm very sorry, but I'm in the
middle of an urgent matter here myself. Can't I call you back?”
“Cameron! Please don't hang up on me! Israel has been spared the terrible bombings
that your country has suffered, but Rabbi Ben-Judah's family was abducted and
slaughtered! His house has burned to the ground. I pray he is safe, but no one knows
where he is!”
Buck was speechless. He hung his head. “His family is gone? Are you sure?”
“It was a public spectacle, Cameron. I was afraid it would come sooner or later.
Why, oh why did he have to go public with his views about Messiah? It's one thing
to disagree with him, as I do, a respected and trusted friend. But the religious zealots
in this country hate a person who believes that Jesus is Messiah. Cameron, he needs
our help. What can we do? I have not been able to get through to Nicolae.”
“Chaim, do me one huge favor and leave Nicolae out of this, please!”
“Cameron! Nicolae is the most powerful man in the world, and he has pledged to
help me and to help Israel and to protect us. Surely, he will step in and preserve the
life of a friend of mine!”
“Chaim, I'm begging you to trust me on this. Leave Nicolae out of it. Now I must
call you back. I have family members in trouble myself!”
“Forgive me, Cameron! Get back to me as soon as you can.”
Buck punched in on his original line and hit redial again. As the numbers sounded
in his ear, Verna came on the intercom. “Someone's on the line for you, but since
you don't want to be bothered—”
Chloe's car phone was busy! Buck slammed the phone down and punched in on the
intercom. “Who is it?”
“I thought you didn't want to be bothered.”
“Verna, I have no time for this!”
“If you must know, it was your wife.”
“Which line?”
“Line two, but I told her you were probably on the phone with Carpathia or
Rosenzweig.”
“Where was she calling from?”
“I don't know. She said she would wait for your call.”
“Did she leave a number?”
“Yes. It's—”
When Buck heard the first two numbers, he knew it was the car phone. He turned
off the intercom and hit the redial button. Verna poked her head in the door and
said, “I'm not a secretary, you know, and I'm certainly not your secretary!”
Buck had never been angrier with anyone. He stared at Verna. “I'm coming across
this desk to kick that door shut. You had better not be in the way.”
The car phone was ringing. Verna still stood there. Buck rose from his chair, phone
still to his ear, and stepped up onto the desk and across Verna's mess of papers. Her
eyes grew wide as he lifted his leg, and she ducked out of the way as he kicked the
door shut with all his might. It sounded like a bomb and nearly toppled the wall
partitions. Verna screamed. Buck almost wished she'd been in the doorway.
“Buck!” came Chloe's voice from the phone.
“Chloe! Where are you?”
“I'm dn my way out of Chicago,” she said. “I got the phones and went to The Drake,
but there was a message for me at the desk.”
“I know.”
“Buck, something in Daddy's voice made me not even take the time to get anything
from our room.”
“Good!”
“But your laptop and all your clothes and all your toiletries and everything I brought
from New York—”
“But your dad sounded serious, didn't he?”
“Yes. Oh, Buck, I'm being pulled over by the police! I made a U-turn and I was
speeding, and I went through a light, and I was even on the sidewalk for a while.”
“Chloe, listen! You know the old saying about how it's easier to ask forgiveness
than permission?”
“You want me to try to outrun him?”
“You'll probably be saving his life! There's only one reason your father would want
us out of Chicago as far and as fast as possible!”
“OK, Buck, pray for me! Here goes nothing!”
“I'll stay on the line with you, Chloe.”
“I need both hands to drive!”
“Hit the speaker button and hang that phone up!” Buck said.
But then he heard an explosion, tires squealing, a scream, and silence. Within
seconds the electricity went off in the Global Community Weekly office. Buck felt
his way out into the hall where battery-operated emergency lights near the ceiling
illuminated the doors. “Look at that!” someone shouted, and the staff pushed its
way through the front doors and began climbing atop their own cars to watch a huge
aerial attack on the city of Chicago.


Rayford clandestinely listened in horror as Carpathia announced to his compatriots,
“Chicago should be under retaliatory attack, even as we speak. Thank you for your
part in this, and for the strategic nonuse of radioactive fallout. I have many loyal
employees in that area, and though I expect to lose some in the initial attack, I need
not lose any to radiation to make my point.”
Someone else spoke up. “Shall we watch the news?”
“Good idea,” Carpathia said. Rayford could remain seated no longer. He didn't
know what he would say or do, if anything, but he simply could not stay in that
cockpit, not knowing whether his loved ones were safe. He entered the cabin as the
television was coming on, showing the first images from Chicago. Amanda gasped.
Rayford went and sat with her to watch. “Would you go to Chicago for me?”
Rayford whispered.
“If you think I would be safe.”
“There's no radiation.”
“How do you know that?”
“I'll tell you later. Just tell me you'll go if I can get permission from Carpathia to
have you fly out of San Francisco.”
“I'll do anything for you, Rayford. You know that.”
“Listen to me, sweetheart. If you can't get an immediate flight, and I mean before
this plane leaves the ground again, you must reboard the Condor. Do you
understand?”
“I understand, but why?”
“I can't tell you now. Just get an immediate flight to Milwaukee if I can get it
cleared. If the plane is not airborne before we are—”
“What?”
“Just be sure, Amanda. I couldn't bear losing you.”
Following the news from Chicago, the cable news channel broke for a commercial,
and Rayford approached Carpathia. “Sir, may I have a moment?”
“Certainly, Captain. Awful news out of Chicago, is it not?”
“Yes, sir, it is. In fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You know I have
family in that area.”
“Yes, and I hope they are all safe,” Carpathia said.
Rayford wanted to kill him where he sat. He knew full well the man was the
Antichrist, and he also knew that this very person would be assassinated one day
and be resurrected from the dead by Satan himself. Rayford had never dreamed he
might be an agent in that assassination, but at that instant he would have applied for
the job. He fought for composure. Whoever killed this man would be merely a pawn
in a huge cosmic game. The assassination and resurrection would only make
Carpathia more powerful and satanic than ever.
“Sir,” Rayford continued, “I was wondering if it would be possible for my wife to
deplane in San Francisco and head back to Chicago to check on my people.”
“I would be happy to have my staff check on them,” Carpathia said, “if you will
simply give me their addresses.”
“I would really feel a lot better if she could be there with them to help as needed.”
“As you wish,” Carpathia said, and it was all Rayford could do not to breathe a huge
sigh of relief in the man's face.


“Who's got a cell phone I can borrow?” Buck shouted over the din in the parking lot
of Global Community Weekly.
A woman next to him thrust one into his hands, and he was shocked to realize she
was Verna Zee. “I need to make some long-distance calls,” he said quickly. “Can I
skip all the codes and just pay you back?”
“Don't worry about it, Cameron. Our little feud just got insignificant.”
“I need to borrow a car!” Buck shouted. But it quickly became clear that everyone
was heading to their own places to check on loved ones and assess the damage.
“How about a ride to Mt. Prospect?”
“I'll take you,” Verna muttered. “I don't even want to see what's happening in the
other direction.”
“You live in the city, don't you?” Buck said.
“I did until about five minutes ago,” Verna said.
“Maybe you got lucky.”
“Cameron, if that big blast was nuclear, none of us will last the week.”
“I might know a place you can stay in Mt. Prospect,” Buck said.
“I'd be grateful,” she said.
Verna went back inside to gather up her stuff. Buck waited in her car, making his
phone calls. He started with his own father out west. “I'm so glad you called,” his
father said. “I tried calling New York for hours.”
“Dad, it's a mess here. I'm left with the clothes on my back, and I don't have much
time to talk. I just called to make sure everybody was all right. ”
“Your brother and I are doing all right here,” Buck's dad said. “He's still grieving
the loss of his family, of course, but we're all right.”
“Dad, the wheels are coming off of this country. You're not gonna really be all right
until—”
“Cameron, let's not get into this again, OK? I know what you believe, and if it gives
you comfort—”
“Dad! It gives me little comfort right now. It kills me that I was so late coming to
the truth. I've already lost too many loved ones. I don't want to lose you too.”
His father chuckled, maddening Buck. “You're not going to lose me, big boy.
Nobody seems to want to even attack us out here. We feel a little neglected.”
“Dad! Millions are dying. Don't be glib about this.”
“So, how's that new wife of yours? Are we ever gonna get to meet her?”
“I don't know, Dad. I don't know exactly where she is right now, and I don't know
whether you'll ever get the chance to meet her.”
“You ashamed of your own father?”
“It's not that at all, Dad. I need to make sure she's all right, and we're going to have
to try to get out that way somehow. Find a good church there, Dad. Find somebody
who can explain to you what's going on.”
“I can't think of anybody more qualified than you, Cameron. And you're just gonna
have to let me ruminate on this myself.”



                          CHAPTER FOUR
RAYFORD heard Carpathia's people setting up for his broadcast. “Is there any way
anyone will be able to tell we are airborne?” Carpathia asked.
“None,” he was assured. Rayford wasn't so sure, but certainly, unless Carpathia
made some colossal error, no one would have a clue precisely where in the air he
was.
At the sound of a knock on the cockpit door, Rayford shut off the hidden button and
turned expectantly. It was a Carpathia aide. “Do whatever you have to do to shut
down all interference and patch us back through to Dallas. We go live on satellite in
about three minutes, and the potentate should be able to be heard everywhere in the
world.”
Yippee, Rayford thought.


Buck was on the phone with Loretta when Verna Zee slipped behind the wheel. She
slung her oversized bag onto the seat behind her, then had trouble fastening her seat
belt, she was shaking so. Buck shut off the phone. “Verna, are you all right? I just
talked with a woman from our church who has a room and private bath for you.”
A mini traffic jam dissipated as Verna and Buck's coworkers wended their way out
of the small parking lot. Headlights provided the only illumination in the area.
“Cameron, why are you doing this for me?”
“Why not? You lent me your phone.”
“But I've been so awful to you.”
“And I've responded in kind. I'm sorry, Verna. This is the last time in the world we
should care so much about getting our own way.”
Verna started the car but sat with her face in her hands. “You want me to drive?”
Buck asked. “No, just give me a minute.”
Buck told her of his urgency to locate a vehicle and try to find Chloe.
“Cameron! You must be frantic!”
“Frankly, I am.”
She unlatched her seat belt and reached for the door handle. “Take my car,
Cameron. Do whatever you have to do.”
“No,” Buck said. “I'll let you lend me your car, but let's get you settled first.”
“You may not have a minute to spare.”
“All I can do is trust God at this point,” Buck said.
He pointed Verna in the right direction. She sped to the edge of Mt. Prospect and
slid up to the curb in front of Loretta's beautiful, rambling, old home. Verna did not
allow Buck to even take the time to make introductions. She said, “We all know
who each other is, so let's let Cameron get going.”
“I arranged for a car for you,” Loretta said. “It should be here in a few minutes.”
“I'll take Verna's for now, but I sure appreciate it.”
“Keep the phone as long as you need it,” Verna said, as Loretta welcomed her.
Buck pushed the driver's seat all the way back and adjusted the mirror. He punched
in the number he'd been given for Nicolae Carpathia and tried to return that call.
The phone was answered by an aide. “I'll tell him you returned his call, Mr.
Williams, but he's conducting an international broadcast just now. You might want
to tune it in.”
Buck whipped on the radio while racing toward the only route he could imagine
Chloe taking to escape Chicago.
“Ladies and gentlemen, from an unknown location, we bring you, live, Global
Community Potentate Nicolae Carpathia.”
Rayford swung around in his chair and propped open the cockpit door. The plane
was on autopilot, and both he and his first officer sat watching as Carpathia
addressed the world. The potentate looked amused as he was being introduced and
winked at a couple of his ambassadors. He pretended to lick his finger and smooth
his eyebrows, as if primping for his audience. The others stifled chuckles. Rayford
wished he had a weapon.
On cue, Carpathia mustered his most emotional voice. “Brothers and sisters of the
Global Community, I am speaking to you with the greatest heaviness of heart I have
ever known. I am a man of peace who has been forced to retaliate with arms against
international terrorists who would jeopardize the cause of harmony and fraternity.
You may rest assured that I grieve with you over the loss of loved ones, of friends,
of acquaintances. The horrible toll of civilian lives should haunt these enemies of
peace for the rest of their days.
“As you know, most of the ten world regions that comprise the Global Community
destroyed 90 percent of their weapon hardware. We have spent nearly the last two
years breaking down, packaging, shipping, receiving, and reassembling this
hardware in New Babylon. My humble prayer was that we would never have had to
use it.
“However, wise counselors persuaded me to stockpile storehouses of
technologically superior weapons in strategic locations around the globe. I confess I
did this against my will, and my optimistic and overly positive view of the goodness
of mankind has proven faulty.
“I am grateful that somehow I allowed myself to be persuaded to keep these
weapons at the ready. In my wildest dreams, I never would have imagined that I
would have to make the difficult decision to turn this power against enemies on a
broad scale. By now you must know that two former members of the exclusive
Global Community executive council have viciously and wantonly conspired to
revolt against my administration, and another carelessly allowed militia forces in his
region to do the same. These forces were led by the now late president of the United
States of North America Gerald Fitzhugh, trained by the American militia, and
supported also by secretly stored weapons from the United States of Great Britain
and the formerly sovereign country of Egypt.
“While I should never have to defend my reputation as an antiwar activist, I am
pleased to inform you that we have retaliated severely and with dispatch. Anywhere
that Global Community weaponry was employed, it was aimed specifically at rebel
military locations. I assure you that all civilian casualties and the destruction of
great populated cities in North America and around the world was the work of the
rebellion.
“There are no more plans for counterattacks by Global Community forces. We will
respond only as necessary and pray that our enemies understand that they have no
future. They cannot succeed. They will be utterly destroyed.
“I know that in a time of global war such as this, most of us live in fear and grief. I
can assure you that I am with you in your grief but that my fear has been overcome
by confidence that the majority of the global community is together, heart and soul,
against the enemies of peace.
“As soon as I am convinced of security and safety, I will address you via satellite
television and the Internet. I will communicate frequently so you know exactly what
is going on and will see that we are making enormous strides toward rebuilding our
world. You may rest assured that as we reconstruct and reorganize, we will enjoy
the greatest prosperity and the most wonderful home this earth can afford. May we
all work together for the common goal.”
While Carpathia's aides and ambassadors nodded and clapped him on the back,
Rayford caught Amanda's eye and resolutely shut the cockpit door.


Verna Zee's car was a junky old import. It was rattly and drafty, a four-cylinder
automatic. In short, it was a dog. Buck decided to test its limits and reimburse
Verna later, if necessary. He sped to the Kennedy and headed toward the Edens
junction, trying to guess how far Chloe might have gotten from The Drake in heavy
traffic that would now be impassable.
What he didn't know was whether she would take Lake Shore Drive (which locals
referred to as the LSD) or the Kennedy. This was more her bailiwick than his, but
his question soon became moot. Chicago was in flames, and most of the drivers of
cars that clogged the Kennedy in both directions stood on the pavement gaping at
the holocaust. Buck would have given anything to have had the Range Rover at that
moment.
When he whipped Verna's little pile of junk onto the shoulder, he found he wasn't
alone. Traffic laws and civility went out the window at a time like this, and there
was almost as much traffic off the road as on. He had no choice. Buck had no idea
whether he was destined to survive the entire seven years of the Tribulation anyway,
and he could think of only one better reason to die than trying to rescue the love of
his life.
Ever since he had become a believer, Buck had considered the privilege of giving
his life in the service of God. In his mind, regardless of what really killed Bruce, he
believed Bruce was a martyr to the cause. Risking his life in traffic may not have
been as altruistic as that, but one thing he was sure of: Chloe would not have
hesitated had the shoe been on the other foot.
The biggest jam-ups came at the bridge overpasses, where the shoulders ended and
those fighting to go around stalled traffic had to take turns picking their way
through. Angry motorists rightfully tried to block their paths. Buck couldn't blame
them. He would have done the same in their places.
He had stored the number of the phone in the Range Rover and continued to redial
every chance he got. Every time he first heard a hint of the message “The mobile
customer you have called—”, he disconnected and tried again.


Just before the initial descent into San Francisco, Rayford huddled with Amanda.
“I'm gonna get that door open and get you off this plane as soon as possible,” he
said. “I'm not going to wait for the postflight checklist or anything. Don't forget, it's
imperative that whatever flight you find is off the ground before we are.”
“But why, Ray?”
“Just trust me, Amanda. You know I have your best interests in mind. As soon as
you can, call me on my universal cell phone and let me know Chloe and Buck are
all right.”
Buck left the expressway and picked his way through side streets for more than an
hour until reaching Evanston. By the time he got to Sheridan Road along the lake,
he found it barricaded but not guarded. Apparently every law enforcement officer
and emergency medical technician was busy. He thought about ramming one of the
construction horses, but didn't want to do that to Verna's car. He stepped out and
moved the horse enough to drive through. He was going to leave the opening there,
but someone hollered from an apartment, “Hey! What are you doing?”
Buck looked up and waved in the direction of the voice. “Press!” he shouted.
“All right, then! Carry on!”
To make himself look more legitimate, Buck took the time to get out of the car and
replace the barrier before driving on. He saw the occasional police car with lights
flashing and some uniformed men standing at side streets. Buck merely put on his
emergency flashers and kept going. No one stood in his way. No one drew down on
him. No one so much as shined a light at him. To Buck it seemed as if they assumed
that if he had gone to the trouble of getting so deep into a prohibited area and was
now proceeding with such confidence, he must be all right. He could hardly believe
how clear the sailing was with all the arteries leading into Sheridan Road blocked
off. The question now was what he would find on Lake Shore Drive.


Frustrated was too mild a word for the way Rayford felt as he landed the Condor
216 in San Francisco and taxied to a private jetway. There he sat with the
unenviable task of carrying Antichrist himself wherever he wanted to go. Carpathia
had just told bald-faced lies to the largest audience that had ever listened to a single
radio broadcast. Rayford knew beyond doubt that shortly after takeoff toward New
Babylon, San Francisco would be devastated from the air the same way Chicago
had been. People would die. Business and industry would crumble. Transportation
centers would be destroyed, including that very airport. Rayford's first order of
business was to get Amanda off that plane and out of that airport and into the
Chicago area. He didn't even want to wait for the jetway to be maneuvered out to
the plane. He opened the door himself and lowered the telescoping stairs to the
runway. He motioned for Amanda to hurry. Carpathia made some farewell small
talk as she hurried past, and Rayford was grateful that she merely thanked the man
and kept moving. Ground personnel waved at Rayford and tried to get him to pull
the stairs back up. He shouted, “We have one passenger who needs to make a
connection!”
Rayford embraced Amanda and whispered, “I checked with the tower. There's a
flight to Milwaukee leaving from a gate at the end of this corridor in less than
twenty minutes. Make sure you're on it.” Rayford kissed Amanda and she hurried
down the steps.
He saw the ground crew waiting for him to pull the stairs back up so they could get
the jetway into position. He could think of no legitimate reason to stall, so he simply
ignored them, walked back into the cockpit, and began postflight checks.
“What's going on?” his copilot asked. “I want to switch places with your guy as
soon as I can.”
If you only knew what you were walking into, Rayford thought. “Where are you
headed tonight?”
“What possible business is that of yours?” the young man said.
Rayford shrugged. He felt like the little Dutch boy with his thumb in the dike. He
couldn't save everyone. Could he save anyone? A Carpathia aide poked his head
into the cockpit. “Captain Steele, you're being summoned by the ground crew.”
“I'll handle it, sir. They'll have to wait for our postflight check. You realize that with
a new plane there's a lot we need to be sure of before we attempt a trans-Pacific
flight.”
“Well, we've got McCullum waiting to board, and we've got a full flight crew
waiting besides. We'd kind of like to have some service.”
Rayford tried to sound cheery. “Safety first.”
“Well, hurry it up!”
While the first officer double-checked items on his clipboard, Rayford checked with
the tower on the status of the outbound flight to Milwaukee. “Behind schedule
about twelve minutes, Condor 216. It shouldn't affect you.”
But it will, Rayford thought.
Rayford stepped into the cabin. “Excuse me, sir, but isn't Mr. Fortunato joining us
for the next leg of the flight?”
“Yes,” an aide said. “He left Dallas half an hour after we did, so he shouldn't be
long.”
He will be if I can help it.


Buck finally hit the brick wall he knew would be inevitable. He had bounced over a
couple of curbs and couldn't avoid smashing one traffic barrier where Sheridan
Road jogged to meet Lake Shore Drive. All along the Drive he saw cars off the
road, emergency vehicles with lights flashing, and disaster relief specialists trying to
flag him down. He floored Verna Zee's little car, and no one dared step in front of
him. He had most of the lanes open all the way down the Drive, but he heard people
shouting, “Stop! Road closed!”
The radio told him that gridlock within the city proper had ground all fleeing traffic
to a halt. One report said it had been that way since the moment of the first blast.
Buck wished he had time to scan the exits that led to the beach. There were plenty
of places where a Range Rover might have left the road, crashed, or been hidden. If
it became clear to Chloe that she could not have made any decent time by heading
to the Kennedy or the Eisenhower from The Drake, she might have tried the LSD.
But as Buck got to the Michigan Avenue exit that would have taken him within
sight of The Drake, he would have had to kill someone or go airborne to go any
farther. The barricade that shut down Lake Shore Drive and the exit looked like
something from the set of Les Miserables. Squad cars, ambulances, fire trucks,
construction and traffic horses, caution lights, you name it, were stretched across the
entire area, manned by a busy force of emergency workers. Buck came to a
screeching halt, swerving and sliding about fifty feet before his right front tire blew.
The car spun as emergency workers danced out of the way.
Several swore at him, and a woman police officer advanced, gun drawn. Buck
started to get out, but she said, “Stay right where you are, pal!” Buck lowered the
window with one hand and reached for his press credentials with the other. The
policewoman would have none of that. She thrust her weapon through the window
and pressed it to his temple. “Both hands where I can see 'em, scumbag!” She
opened the door, and Buck executed the difficult procedure of getting out of a small
car without the use of his hands. She made him lie flat on the pavement, spread-
eagle.
Two other officers joined the first and roughly frisked Buck.
“Any guns, knives, needles?”
Buck went on the offensive. “Nope, just two sets of IDs.”
The cops pulled a wallet out of each of his back pockets, one containing his own
papers, the other the documents of the fictitious Herb Katz.
“So, which one are you, and what's the deal?”
“I'm Cameron Williams, publisher of Global Community Weekly. I report directly
to the potentate. The phony ID is to help me get into unsympathetic countries.”
A young, slender cop pulled Buck's real ID wallet from the hands of the woman
officer. “Let me just have a look at this,” he said with sarcasm. “If you really report
to Nicolae Carpathia, you'd have level 2-A clearance, and I don't see—oops, I guess
I do see level 2-A security clearance here.”
The three officers huddled to peer at the unusual identification card. “You know,
carrying phony 2-A security clearance is punishable by death—”
“Yes, I do.”
“We aren't even going to be able to run your license plate, with the computers so
jammed.”
“I can tell you right now,” Buck said, “that I borrowed this car from a friend named
Zee. You can check that for sure before you have it junked.”
“You can't leave this car here!”
“What am I gonna do with it?” Buck said. “It's worthless, it's got a flat tire, and
there's no way we're gonna find help for that tonight.”
“Or for the next two weeks, most likely,” one of the cops said. “So, where were you
goin' in such an all-fired hurry?”
“The Drake.”
“Where have you been, pal? Don't you listen to the news? Most of Michigan
Avenue is toast.”
“Including The Drake?”
“I don't know about that, but it can't be in too good a shape by now.”
“If I walk up over that rise and get onto Michigan Avenue on foot, am I gonna die
of radiation poisoning?”
“Civil Defense guys tell us there's no fallout readings. That means this must have
been done by the militia, trying to spare as much human life as possible. Anyway, if
those bombs had been nuclear, the radiation would have traveled a lot farther than
this already.”
“True enough,” Buck said. “Am I free to go?”
“No guarantees you'll get past the guards on Michigan Avenue.”
“I'll take my chances.”
“Your best bet is with that clearance card. I sure hope it's legit, for your sake.”


Rayford couldn't stall the ground crew any longer, at least by merely ignoring them.
He pulled the stairs in as if to receive the jetway, but did not fully move them out of
the way, knowing that the jetway would never connect. Rather than stay and watch,
he returned to the cockpit and busied himself. I don't even want fuel before
Amanda's plane is off the ground.
It was a full fifteen minutes before Rayford's usual copilot switched places with his
temporary one, and a full flight service crew entered the plane. Every time the
ground crew radioed Rayford that they were ready to begin refueling, he told them
he wasn't ready. Finally, an exasperated laborer barked into his radio, “What's the
holdup up there, chief? I was told this was a VIP plane that needed fast service.”
“You were told wrong. This is a cargo plane, and it's a new one. We've got a
learning curve in the cockpit, plus we're switching crews. Just hold tight. Don't call
us, we'll call you.”
Rayford breathed a sigh of relief twenty minutes later when he discovered that
Amanda's plane was en route to Milwaukee. Now he could refuel, play it by the
book, and settle in for the long flight over the Pacific.
“Some plane, huh?” McCullum said as he checked out the cockpit.
“Some plane,” Rayford agreed. “It's been a long day for me, Mac. I'd appreciate a
good, long snooze once we get her on course.”
“My pleasure, Cap. You can sleep the night away for all I care. You want me to
come in and wake you for initial descent?”
“I'm not quite confident enough to leave the cockpit,” Rayford said. “I'll be right
here if you need me.”


It suddenly hit Buck that he had taken a huge risk. It wouldn't be long before Verna
Zee learned that he had, at least at one time, been a full-fledged member of New
Hope Village Church. He had been so careful about not taking a leadership role
there, not speaking in public, not being known to very many people. Now, one of
his own employees—and a long-standing enemy at that—would have knowledge
that could ruin him, even cost him his life.
He called Loretta's home on Verna's phone. “Loretta,” he said, “I need to speak with
Verna.”
“She's quite distraught just now,” Loretta said. “I hope you're prayin' for this girl.”
“I certainly will,” Buck said. “How are you two getting along?”
“As well as can be expected for two complete strangers,” Loretta said. “I'm just
tellin' her my story, as I assumed you wanted me to.”
Buck was silent. Finally, he said, “Put her on, would you, Loretta?”
She did, and Buck got straight to the point. “Verna, you need a new car.”
“Oh no! Cameron, what happened?”
“It's only a flat tire, Verna, but it's going to be impossible to get fixed for several
days, and I don't think your car is worth worrying about.”
“Well, thanks a lot!”
“How 'bout I replace it with a better car?”
“I can't argue with that,” she muttered.
“I promise. Now, Verna, I'm going to abandon this vehicle. Is there anything you
need out pf it?”
“Nothing I can think of. There is a hairbrush I really like in the glove box.”
“Verna!”
“That does seem a little trivial in light of everything.”
“No documents, personal belongings, hidden money, anything like that?”
“No. Just do what you gotta do. It would be nice if I didn't get in trouble for this.”
“I'll leave word with the authorities that when they get around to it they can tow this
car to any junkyard and trade whatever the yard gives them for it for the towing
fee.”
“Cameron,” Verna whispered, “this woman is one strange, old bird.”
“I don't have time to discuss that with you now, Verna. But give her a chance. She's
sweet. And she is providing shelter.”
“No, you misunderstand. I'm not saying she isn't wonderful. I'm just saying she's got
some really strange ideas.”
As Buck scrambled over an embankment to bring Michigan Avenue into view, he
fulfilled his promise to Loretta that he would pray for Verna. Exactly how to pray,
he didn't know. Either she becomes a believer, or I'm dead.
All Buck could think of as he came into sight of the dozens of bombed-out
buildings along Michigan Avenue and knew that they continued almost the entire
length of the Magnificent Mile, was his experience in Israel when Russia had
attacked. He could imagine the sound of the bombs and the searing heat of the
flames, but in that instance the Holy Land had been miraculously delivered from
damage. There was no such intervention here. He hit the redial button on Verna's
phone, forgetting that he had last called Loretta, not the cell phone in the Range
Rover.
When he did not get the usual recording about the “mobile customer you have
called,” he stood still and prayed Chloe would answer. When it was Loretta, he was
speechless at first.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
“I'm sorry, Loretta,” he said. “Wrong number.”
“I'm glad you called, Buck. Verna was about to call you.”
“About what?”
“I'll let her tell you.”
“Cameron, I called the office. A few people are still there, monitoring things and
promising to lock up when they're finished. Anyway, there were a couple of phone
messages for you.”
“From Chloe?”
“No, I'm sorry. There was one from Dr. Rosenzweig in Israel. Another was from a
man claiming to be your father-in-law. And another from a Miss White, who says
she needs to be picked up at Mitchell Field in Milwaukee at midnight.”
Miss White? Buck thought. Crafty of Amanda to keep hidden how connected our
little family has become.
“Thanks, Verna. Got it.”
“Cameron, how are you going to pick anyone up in Milwaukee without a vehicle?”
“I've still got a few hours to figure that out. Right now that much time seems like a
luxury.”
“Loretta has offered her car, provided I'm willing to drive,” Verna said.
“I hope that won't be necessary,” Buck said. “But I appreciate it. I'll let you know.”
Buck didn't feel much like a journalist, standing in the midst of the chaos. He should
have been drinking it all in, impressing it upon his brain, asking questions of people
who seemed to be in charge. But no one seemed in charge. Everyone was working.
And Buck didn't care whether he could translate this into a story or not. His
magazine, along with every other major media outlet, was controlled, if not owned,
by Nicolae Carpathia. As much as he strived to keep things objective, everything
seemed to come out with the spin of the master deceiver. The worst part was,
Nicolae was good at it. Of course, he had to be. It was his very nature. Buck just
hated the idea that he himself was being used to spread propaganda and lies that
people were eating like ice cream.
Most of all though, right now, right here, he cared about nothing but Chloe. He had
allowed the thought to invade his mind that he might have lost her. He knew he
would see her again at the end of the Tribulation, but would he have the will to go
on without her? She had become the center of his life, around which everything else
revolved. During the short time they had been together, she had proved more than
he ever could have hoped for in a wife. It was true they were bound in a common
cause, that made them look past the insignificant and the petty, which seemed to get
in so many other couples' way. But he sensed she would never have been catty or a
nag anyway. She was selfless and loving. She trusted him and supported him
completely. He would not stop until he found her. And until he knew for sure, he
would never believe her dead.
Buck dialed the number in the Range Rover. How many dozens of times had he
done this now? He knew the routine by heart. When he got a busy signal, his knees
nearly buckled. Had he dialed the right number? He'd had to punch it in anew
because redial would have given him Loretta's home again. He stopped dead on the
sidewalk, mayhem all around him, and with fingers shaking, carefully and
resolutely punched in the numbers. He pressed the phone to his ear. “The mobile
customer you have called—” Buck swore and gripped Verna's phone so tightly he
thought it might break. He took a step and pulled his arm back as if to fire the
blasted machine into the side of a building. He followed through but hung onto the
phone, realizing it would be the stupidest thing he had ever done. He shook his head
at the word that had burst from his lips when that cursed recording had come on. So,
the old nature is still just under the surface.
He was mad at himself. How, in such dire circumstances, could he have dialed the
wrong number?
Though he knew he would hear that recording again and that he would hate it as
never before, he couldn't keep himself from hitting the redial button yet again. Now
the line was busy! Was it a malfunction? Some cruel cosmic joke? Or was
somebody, somewhere, trying to use that phone?
There was no guarantee it was Chloe. It could be anyone. It could be a cop. It could
be an emergency worker. It could be someone who found her wrecked Range
Rover.
No, he would not allow himself to believe that. Chloe was alive. Chloe was trying
to call him. But where would she call? No one was at the church. For all he knew,
no one was still at the Global Community Weekly office. Did Chloe know Loretta's
number? It would be easy enough to get. The question was whether he should try
calling the places she might have called, or just keep redialing her number in hopes
of catching her between calls.


The senior flight attendant of a crew that was two-thirds as many people as the
entire passenger list rapped on the cockpit door and opened it as Rayford taxied
slowly down the runway. “Captain,” she said as he lifted the headphone from his
right ear, “not everyone is seated and buckled in.”
“Well, I'm not going to stop,” he said. “Can't you handle it?”
“The offending party, sir, is Mr. Carpathia himself.”
“I don't have jurisdiction over him,” Rayford said. “And neither do you.”
“Federal Aviation Administration rules require that—”
“In case you haven't noticed, 'federal anything' means nothing anymore. Everything
is global. And Carpathia is above global. If he doesn't want to sit down, he can
stand. I've made my announcement, and you have given your instructions, right?”
“Right.”
“Then you go get strapped in and let the potentate worry about himself.”
“If you say so, Captain. But if this plane is as powerful as a 757, I wouldn't want to
be standing when you accelerate—”
But Rayford had replaced his earphones and was getting the plane into position for
takeoff. As he awaited instructions from the tower, Rayford surreptitiously slipped
his left hand beneath the seat and depressed the intercom button. Someone was
asking Carpathia if he didn't want to sit down. Rayford was aware of McCullum
looking at him expectantly, as if he had heard something through his earphones that
Rayford had not. Rayford quickly released the intercom button and heard
McCullum say, “We have clearance, Cap. We can roll.” Rayford could have begun
gradually and slowly picked up enough speed to go airborne. But everybody
enjoyed a powerful takeoff once in a while, right? He throttled up and took off
down the runway with such speed and power that he and McCullum were driven
back into their seats.
“Yeehaa!” McCullum cried. “Ride 'em cowboy!”
Rayford had a lot to think about, and taking off for only the second time in a new
aircraft, he should have remained focused on the task at hand. But he couldn't resist
pressing that intercom button again and hearing what he might have done to
Carpathia. In his mind's eye he pictured the man somersaulting all the way to the
back of the plane, and he only wished there was a back door he could open from the
cockpit.
“Oh, my goodness!” he heard over the intercom. “Potentate, are you all right?”
Rayford heard movement, as if others were trying to unstrap themselves to help
Carpathia, but with the plane still hurtling down the runway, those people would be
pinned in their seats by centrifugal force.
“I am all right,” Carpathia insisted. “It is my own fault. I will be fine.”
Rayford turned off the intercom and concentrated on his takeoff. Secretly, he hoped
Carpathia had been leaning against one of the seats at the time of the initial thrust.
That would have spun him around and nearly flipped him over. Probably my last
chance to inflict any justice.


No one paid attention to Buck anyway, but still, he didn't want to be conspicuous.
He ducked around a corner and stood in the shadows, punching the redial button
over and over, not wanting a second to pass between calls if Chloe was using her
phone. Somehow, in the brief moment it took between hearing that busy signal and
hanging up and punching redial again, his own phone rang. Buck shouted, “Hello!
Chloe?” before he had even hit the receive button. His fingers were shaking so
badly he nearly dropped the phone. He pushed the button and shouted, “Chloe?”
“No, Cameron, it's Verna. But I just heard from the office that Chloe tried to reach
you there.”
“Did somebody give her the number of this phone?”
“No. They didn't know you had my phone.”
“I'm trying to call her now, Verna. The line is busy.”
“Keep trying, Cameron. She didn't say where she was or how she was, but at least
you know she's alive.”
“Thank God for that!”



                            CHAPTER FIVE
BUCK wanted to jump or shout or run somewhere, but he didn't know where to go.
Knowing Chloe was alive was the best news he'd ever had, but now he wanted to
act on it. He kept pushing the redial button and getting that busy signal.
Suddenly his phone rang again.
“Chloe!”
“No, sorry, Cameron, it's Verna again.”
“Verna, please! I'm trying to reach Chloe!”
“Calm down, big boy. She got through to the Weekly office again. Now, listen up.
Where are you now and where have you been?”
“I'm on Michigan Avenue near Water Tower Place, or what used to be Water Tower
Place.”
“How did you get there?”
“Sheridan to Lake Shore Drive.”
“OK,” Verna said. “Chloe told somebody in our office that she's the other way on
Lake Shore Drive.”
“The other way?”
“That's all I know, Cameron. You're gonna need to look off the road, lakeside, the
other way from where you might expect on Lake Shore Drive.”
Buck was already moving that way as he spoke. “I don't see how she could have
gotten onto the lakeside if she was heading south on the Drive.”
“I don't know either,” Verna said. “Maybe she was hoping to go around everything
by heading that way, saw that she couldn't, and popped a U-turn.”
“Tell anybody who hears from her that she should stay off the phone until I can
connect. She's gonna have to direct me right to her, if possible.”


Any remaining doubts Rayford Steele had about the incredible and instant evil
power that Nicolae Carpathia wielded were eradicated a few minutes after the
Condor 216 left the ground at San Francisco International. Through the privately
bugged intercom he heard one of Carpathia's aides ask, “Now, sir, on San
Francisco?”
“Trigger,” came the whispered reply.
The aide, obviously speaking into a phone, said simply, “It's a go.”
“Look out the window on that side,” Carpathia said, the excitement obvious in his
voice. “Look at that!” Rayford was tempted to turn the plane so he could see too,
but this was something he would rather try to forget than have visually burned into
his memory. He and McCullum looked at each other as their earphones came alive
with startled cries from the control tower. “Mayday! Mayday! We're being attacked
from the air!” The concussions knocked out communications, but Rayford knew the
bombs themselves would easily take out that whole tower, not to mention the rest of
the airport and who knew what portion of the surrounding area.
Rayford didn't know how much longer he could take being the devil's own pilot.
Buck was in reasonably good shape for a man in his early thirties, but now his joints
ached and his lungs pleaded for air as he sprinted to Chicago Avenue and headed
east toward the lake. How far south might Chloe have gotten before turning around?
She had to turn around. Otherwise, how could she have gone off the road and
wound up on that side?
When he finally got to the Drive, he found it empty. He knew it was barricaded
from the north at the Michigan Avenue exit. It had to have been blocked from the
far south end too. Gasping, he hurdled the guardrail, jogged to the middle, heard the
clicking of meaningless traffic lights, and raced across to the other side. He jogged
south, knowing Chloe was alive but not knowing what he might find. The biggest
question now, assuming Chloe didn't have some life-threatening injury, was
whether those print-outs of Bruce's personal commentaries—or worse the computer
itself—might have fallen into the wrong hands. Surely, parts of that narrative were
quite clear about Bruce's belief that Nicolae Carpathia was the antichrist.
Buck didn't know how he was able to put one foot in front of the other, but on he
ran, pushing redial and holding the phone to his ear as he went. When he could go
no further, he slumped into the sand and leaned back against the outside of the
guardrail, gasping. Finally Chloe answered her phone.
Having not planned what to say, Buck found himself majoring on the majors. “Are
you all right? Are you hurt? Where are you?” He hadn't told her he loved her or that
he was scared to death about her or that he was glad she was alive. He would
assume she knew that until he could tell her later.
She sounded weak. “Buck,” she said, “Where are you?”
“I'm heading south on Lake Shore Drive, south of Chicago Avenue.”
“Thank God,” she said. “I'm guessing you've got about another mile to go.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I'm afraid I am, Buck,” she said. “I don't know how long I was unconscious. I'm
not even sure how I got where I am.”
“Which is where, exactly?”
Buck had risen and was walking quickly, there was no running left in him, despite
his fear that she might be bleeding or in shock.
“I'm in the strangest place,” she said, and he sensed her fading. He knew she had to
still be in the vehicle because that phone was not removable. “The airbag
deployed,” she added.
“Is the Rover still driveable?”
“I have no idea, Buck.”
“Chloe, you're gonna have to tell me what I'm looking for. Are you out in the open?
Did you elude that cop?”
“Buck, the Range Rover seems to be stuck between a tree and a concrete abutment.”
“What?”
“I was doing about sixty,” she said, “when I thought I saw an exit ramp. I took it,
and that's when I heard the bomb go off.”
“The bomb?”
“Yes, Buck, surely you know a bomb exploded in Chicago.”
One bomb? Buck thought. Maybe it was merciful she was out for all the bombs that
followed.
“Anyway, I saw the squad car pass me. Maybe he wasn't after me after all. All the
traffic on Lake Shore Drive stopped when they saw and heard the bomb, and the
cop slammed into someone. I hope he's all right. I hope he doesn't die. I'll feel
responsible.”
“So, where did you wind up then, Chloe?”
“Well, I guess what I thought was an exit wasn't really an exit. I never hit the brake,
but I did take my foot off the gas. The Range Rover was in the air for a few
seconds. I felt like I was floating for a hundred feet or so.
“There's some sort of a dropoff next to me, and I landed on the tops of some trees
and turned sideways. The next thing I knew, I woke up and I was alone here.”
“Where?” Buck was exasperated, but he certainly couldn't blame Chloe for not
being more specific.
“Nobody saw me, Buck,” she said dreamily. “Something must have turned my
lights off. I'm stuck in the front seat, kind of hanging here by the seat belt. I can
reach the rearview mirror, and all I saw was traffic all racing away and then no
more traffic. No more emergency lights, no nothing.”
“There's nobody around you?”
“Nobody. I had to turn the car off and then back on to get the phone to turn on. I
was just praying you'd come looking for me, Buck.”
She sounded as if she were about to fall asleep. “Just stay on the line with me,
Chloe. Don't talk, just keep the line open so I can be sure I don't miss you.”
The only lights Buck saw were emergency flashers far in the distance toward the
inner city, fires still blazing here and there, and a few tiny lights from the boats on
the lake. Lake Shore Drive was dark as midnight. All the streetlights were out north
of where he had seen the traffic light flashing. He came around a long bend and
squinted into the distance. From the faint light of the moon he thought he saw a torn
up stretch of guardrail, some trees, and a concrete abutment, one of those that
formed an underpass to get to the beach. He moved slowly forward and then
stopped to stare. He guessed he was two hundred yards from the spot. “Chloe?” he
said into the phone.
No response.
“Chloe? Are you there?”
He heard a sigh. “I'm here, Buck. But I don't feel so good.”
“Can you reach your lights?”
“I can try.”
“Do. Just don't hurt yourself.”
“I'll try to pull myself up that way by the steering wheel.”
Buck heard her groan painfully. Suddenly in the distance, he saw the crazy, vertical
angle of headlights shining out onto the sand. “I see you, Chloe. Hang on.”


Rayford assumed that McCullum assumed that Rayford was sleeping. He was
slouched in his pilot's chair, chin to his chest, breathing evenly. But his headphones
were on, and his left hand had depressed the intercom receiver. Carpathia was
talking in low tones, thinking he was keeping his secrets from the flight crew.
“I was so excited and so full of ideas,” the potentate said, “that I could not stay
seated. I hope I do not have a bruise to show for it.” His lackeys all roared with
laughter.
Nothing funnier than the boss's joke, Rayford thought.
“We have so much to talk about, so much to do,”
Carpathia continued. “When our compatriots join us in Baghdad, we will get right
to work.”
The destruction of the San Francisco airport and much of the Bay Area had already
made the news. Rayford saw the fear in McCullum's eyes. Maybe the man would
have felt more confident had he known that his ultimate boss, Nicolae Carpathia,
had most everything under control for the next few years.
Suddenly Rayford heard the unmistakable voice of Leon Fortunato. “Potentate,” he
whispered, “we'll need replacements for Hernandez, Halliday, and your fiancee, will
we not?”
Rayford sat up. Was it possible? Had they already eliminated those three, and why
Hattie Durham? He felt responsible that his former senior flight attendant was now
not only in Carpathia's employ, but was also his lover and the soon-to-be mother of
his child. So, was he not going to marry her? Did he not want a child? He had put
on such a good front before Rayford and Amanda when Hattie had announced the
news.
Carpathia chuckled. “Please do not put Ms. Durham in the same category as our late
friends. Hernandez was expendable. Halliday was a temporary necessity. Let us
replace Hernandez and not worry about replacing Halliday. He served a purpose.
The only reason I asked you to replace Hattie is that the job has passed her by. I
knew that her clerical skills were suspect when I brought her on. I needed an
assistant, and of course I wanted her. But I will use the excuse of her pregnancy to
get her out of the office.”
“Did you want me to handle that for you?” Fortunato said.
“I will tell her myself, if that is what you mean,” Carpathia said. “I would like you
to handle finding new secretarial personnel.”
Rayford fought for composure. He did not want to give anything away to
McCullum. No one could ever know Rayford could hear those conversations. But
now he was hearing things he never wanted to hear. Maybe there was some
advantage to knowing this stuff, and perhaps it might be useful to the Tribulation
Force. But life had become so cheap that in a matter of hours he had lost a new
acquaintance, Hernandez, and a dear old mentor and friend, Earl Halliday. He had
promised Earl he would communicate with Earl's wife should anything happen. He
did not look forward to that.
Rayford shut off the intercom. He flipped the switch that allowed him to speak to
his first officer through the headphones. “I think I will take a break in my quarters,”
he said. McCullum nodded, and Rayford made his way out of the cockpit and into
his chamber, which was even more lavishly appointed than his area on the now-
destroyed Global Community One. Rayford removed his shoes and stretched out on
his back. He thought about Earl. He thought about Amanda. He thought about
Chloe and Buck. And he worried. And it all started with the loss of Bruce. Rayford
turned on his side and buried his face in his hands and wept. How many close to
him might he lose today alone?


The Range Rover was lodged between the trunk and lower branches of a large tree
and the concrete abutment. “Turn those lights off, hon!” Buck called out. “Let's not
draw attention to ourselves now.”
The wheels of the vehicle pressed almost flat against the wall, and Buck was
amazed that the tree could sustain the weight. Buck had to climb into the tree to
look down through the driver's-side window. “Can you reach the ignition?” he
asked.
“Yes, I had to turn the car off because the wheels were spinning against the wall.”
“Just turn the key halfway and lower the window so I can help you.”
Chloe seemed to be dangling from the seat belt. “I'm not sure I can reach the
window button on that side.”
“Can you unlatch your seat belt without hurting yourself?”
“I'll try, Buck, but I hurt all over. I'm not sure what's broken and what isn't.”
“Try to brace yourself somehow and get loose of that thing. Then you can stand on
the passenger's-side window and lower this one.” But Chloe was so hopelessly
entangled in the strap that it was all she could do to swing her body around and turn
the ignition switch halfway. She pulled herself up with her right hand to reach the
window button. When the window was open, Buck reached down with both hands
to try to support her. “I was so worried about you,” he said.
“I was worried about me too,” Chloe said. “I think I took all the damage to my left
side. I think my ankle's broken, my wrist is sprained, and I feel pain in my left knee
and shoulder.”
“Makes sense, from the looks of things,” Buck said. “Does it hurt if I hold you this
way so you can put your good foot down on the passenger's-side window?”
Buck lay across the side of the nearly upended Range Rover and reached way down
in to put one forearm under Chloe's right arm and grab her waistband at the back
with the other. He lifted as she pushed the seat belt button. She was petite, but with
no foundation or way to brace himself it was all Buck could do to keep from
dropping her. She moved her feet out from under the dashboard and stood gingerly.
Her feet were on the passenger's-side door, and her head now was near the steering
wheel.
“You're not bleeding anywhere?”
“I don't think so.”
“I hope you're not bleeding internally.”
“Buck, I'm sure I'd be long gone by now if I were bleeding internally.”
“So you're basically all right if I can get you out of there?”
“I really want out of here in a bad way, Buck. Can we get that door open, and can
you help me climb?”
“I just have one question for you first. Is this how our married life is going to be?
I'm going to buy you expensive cars, and you're going to ruin them the first day?”
“Normally that would be funny—”
“Sorry.”
Buck directed Chloe to use her good foot as a base and her good arm to push as he
pulled open the door. The bottom of the door scraped on the abutment, and Buck
was struck with how relatively little other damage there was to the vehicle, from
what he could see in the dim light. “There should be a flashlight in the glove box,”
he said. Chloe handed it up to him. He looked all around the vehicle. The tires were
still good. There was some damage to the front grille, but nothing substantial. He
turned off the flashlight and slid it into his pocket. With much groaning and
whimpering, Chloe came climbing out of the car, with Buck's help.
As they both sat on the upturned driver's side, Buck felt the heavy machine moving
in its precarious position.
“We have to get you down from here,” he said.
“Let me see that flashlight for a second,” Chloe said. She shined it above her. “It
would be easier to go two feet up to the top of the abutment,” she said.
“You're right,” he said. “Can you make it?”
“I think I can,” she said. “I'm the little engine who could.”
“Tell me about it.”
Chloe hopped to where she could reach the top of the wall with her good hand, and
she asked Buck to push until she had most of her weight atop the wall. When she
made the last thrust with her good leg, the Range Rover shifted just enough to
loosen itself from the wickedly bent tree branches. The tree and the Range Rover
shuddered and began to move. “Buck! Get out of there! You're going to be
crushed!”
Buck was spread-eagled on the side of the Range Rover that had been facing up.
Now it was shifting toward the abutment, the tires scraping and leaving huge marks
on the concrete. The more Buck tried to move, the faster the vehicle shifted, and he
realized he had to stay clear of that wall to survive. He grabbed the luggage rack as
it moved toward him and pulled himself to the actual top of the Range Rover.
Branches snapped free from under the vehicle and smacked him in the head,
scraping across his ear. The more the car moved, the more it seemed to want to
move, and to Buck that was good news—provided he could keep from falling. First
the car moved, then the tree moved, then both seemed to readjust themselves at
once. Buck guessed that the Range Rover, once free of the pressure from the
branches, had about three feet to drop to the ground. He only hoped it would land
flat. It didn't.
The heavy vehicle, left tires pressed against the concrete and several deeply bowed
branches pushing it from the right side, began slipping to the right. Buck buried his
head in his hands to avoid the springing out of those branches as the Range Rover
fell clear of them. They nearly knocked him into the wall again. Once the Range
Rover was free of the pressure of the branches, it lurched down onto its right side
tires and nearly toppled. Had it rolled that way, it would have crushed him into the
tree. But as soon as those tires hit the ground, the whole thing bounced and lurched,
and the left tires landed just free of the concrete. The momentum made the left side
of the vehicle smash into the concrete, and finally it came to rest.
Less than an inch separated the vehicle from the wall now, but there the thing sat on
uneven ground. Damaged branches hung above it. Buck used the flashlight to
illuminate the violated car. Except for the damage to the font grille and the scrapes
on both sides, one from concrete and one from tree branches, the car looked little
the worse for wear.
Buck had no idea how to reset an airbag, so he decided to cut it off and worry about
that later if he could get the Range Rover to run. His side ached, and he was certain
he had cracked a rib when the Rover had finally hit. bottom. He gingerly climbed
down and stood under the tree, the branches now blocking his view of Chloe.
“Buck? Are you all right?”
“Stay right where you are, Chloe. I'm gonna try something.”
Buck climbed in the passenger side, strapped himself behind the wheel, and started
the engine. It sounded perfect. He carefully watched the gauges to make sure
nothing was empty, dry, or overheated. The Rover was in automatic and four-wheel
drive. When he tried to go forward it seemed he was in a rut. He quickly switched to
stick shift and all-wheel drive, gunned the engine, and popped the clutch. Within
seconds he was free of the tree and out onto the sand. He took a sharp right and
moved back up next to the guardrail that separated the sand from Lake Shore Drive.
He drove about a quarter of a mile until he found a spot he could slip through the
guardrail and turn around. He headed back up toward the overpass where Chloe
stood, favoring one foot and holding her left wrist in her other hand. To Buck she
had never looked better.
He pulled up next to her and ran around to help her into the car. He fastened her seat
belt and was on the phone before he got back into the car. “Loretta? Chloe is safe.
She's banged up a little, and I'd like to get her checked out as soon as possible. If
you could call around and find any doctor in the church who has not been pressed
into service, I'd sure appreciate it.”
Buck tried to drive carefully so as not to exacerbate Chloe's pain. However, he
knew the shortest way home. When he got to the huge barrier at Michigan Avenue
on the LSD, he swung left and went up over the embankment he had previously
walked. He saw Verna's now deceased automobile and ignored the waves and
warnings of the cops he had talked to not so long ago. He sped up Lake Shore
Drive, went around the barriers at Sheridan, followed Chloe's directions to
Dempster, and was soon back into the northwest suburbs.
Loretta and Verna were watching from the window as he pulled into the drive. Only
then did he smack himself in the head and remember. He jumped out of the car and
raced around to the back. Fumbling with the keys, he opened the back latch and
found, strewn all over, Bruce's pages. The computer was there too, along with the
phones Chloe had bought. “Chloe,” he said, and she turned gingerly. “As soon as
we get you inside, I'd better get back to Carpathia.”


Rayford was back in the cockpit. As the night wore on, the cabin grew more and
more quiet. The conversation deteriorated into small talk. The dignitaries were well
fed by the crew, and Rayford got the impression they were settling in for the long
haul.
Rayford awakened with a start and realized his finger had slipped off the intercom
button. He pressed it again and still heard nothing. He had heard more than he
wanted to hear already anyway. He decided to stretch his legs.
As he walked back through the main cabin to watch one of the televisions in the
back of the plane, everyone except Carpathia ignored him. Some dozed and some
were being attended to by the flight crew, who were clearing trays and finding
blankets and pillows. Carpathia nodded and smiled and waved to Rayford. How can
he do that? Rayford wondered. Bruce said the Antichrist would not be indwelt by
Satan himself until halfway into the Tribulation, but surely this man is the
embodiment of evil.
Rayford could not let on that he knew the truth, despite the fact that Carpathia was
well aware of his Christian beliefs. Rayford merely nodded and walked on. On
television he saw live reports from around the world. Scripture had come to life.
This was the Red Horse of the Apocalypse. Next would come more death by famine
and plagues until a quarter of the population of the earth that remained after the
Rapture was wiped out. His universal cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Few people
not on that plane knew his number. Thank God for technology, he thought. He
didn't want anyone to hear him. He slipped deeper into the back of the plane and
stood near a window. The night was as black as Carpathia's soul.
“This is Rayford Steele,” he said.
“Daddy?”
“Chloe! Thank God! Chloe, are you all right?”
“I had a little car accident, Dad. I just wanted you to know that you saved my life
again.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got that message you left at The Drake,” she said. “If I had taken the time to go to
our room, I probably wouldn't be here.”
“And Buck's OK?”
“He's fine. He's late returning a call to you-know-who, so he's trying to do that right
now.”
“Let me excuse myself, then,” Rayford said. “I'll get back to you.”
Rayford strode back to the cockpit, trying not to appear in a hurry. As he passed
Fortunato, Leon was handing a phone to Carpathia. “Williams from Chicago,” he
said. “It's about time.”
Carpathia made a face as if he felt Leon was overreacting. As Rayford reached the
cockpit, he heard Carpathia exalt, “Cameron, my friend! I have been worried about
you.”
Rayford quickly settled in and set his earphones. McCullum looked at him
expectantly, but Rayford ignored him and closed his eyes, pressing the secret
button.
“I am curious about coverage,” Carpathia was saying. “What is happening there in
Chicago? Yes—yes—devastation, I understand—yes. Yes, a tragedy—”
Sickening, Rayford thought.
“Cameron,” Carpathia said, “would it be possible for you to get to New Babylon
within the next few days? Ah, I see—Israel? Yes, I see the wisdom of that. The so-
called holy lands were spared again, were they not? I would like pooled coverage of
high-level meetings in Baghdad and New Babylon. I would like to have your pen on
it, but Steve Plank, your old friend, can run the point. You and he can work together
to see that the appropriate coverage is carried in all our print media....”
Rayford would be eager to talk to Buck. He admired his son-in-law's moxie and
ability to set his own agenda and even gracefully decline suggested directives from
Carpathia. Rayford wondered how long Carpathia would stand for that. For now, he
apparently respected Buck enough and was, Rayford hoped, still unaware of Buck's
true loyalties.
“Well,” Carpathia was saying, “of course I am grieving. You will keep in touch
then, and I will hear from you from Israel.”



                            CHAPTER SIX
BUCK sat bleary-eyed at the breakfast table, his ear stinging and his rib cage tender.
Only he and Loretta were up. She was heading to the church office after having
been assured she would not have to handle the arrangements for Bruce's body or for
the memorial service, which would be part of Sunday morning's agenda. Verna Zee
was asleep in a small bedroom in the finished basement. “It feels so good to have
people in this place again,” Loretta said. “Y'all can stay as long as you need to or
want to.”
“We're grateful,” Buck said. “Amanda may sleep till noon, but then she'll get right
on those arrangements with the coroner's office. Chloe didn't sleep much with that
ankle cast. She's dead to the world now, though, so I expect her to sleep a long
time.”
Buck had used the dining-room table to put back in order all the pages from Bruce's
transcripts that had been strewn throughout the back of the Range Rover. He had a
huge job ahead of him, checking the text and determining what would be best for
reproduction and distribution. He set the stacks to one side and laid out the five
deluxe universal cell phones Chloe had bought. Fortunately, they had been packed
in spongy foam and had survived her accident.
He had told her not to scrimp, and she certainly hadn't. He didn't even want to guess
the total price, but these phones had everything, including the ability to take calls
anywhere in the world, due to a built-in satellite chip.
After Loretta left for the church, Buck rummaged for batteries, then quickly taught
himself the basics from the instruction manual and tried his first phone call. For
once, he was glad he had always been manic about hanging onto old phone
numbers. Deep in his wallet was just the one he needed. Ken Ritz, a former
commercial pilot and now owner of his own jet charter service, had bailed out Buck
before. He was the one who had flown Buck from a tiny airstrip in Waukegan,
Illinois, to New York the day after the vanishings. “I know you're busy, Mr. Ritz,
and probably don't need my business,” Buck said, “but you also know I'm on a big,
fat expense account and can pay more than anyone else.”
“I'm down to one jet,” Ritz said. “It's at Palwaukee, and right now both it and I are
available. I'm charging two bucks a mile and a thousand dollars a day for down
time. Where do you want to go?”
“Israel,” Buck said. “And I have to be back here by Saturday night at the latest.”
“Jet lag city,” Ritz said. “It's best to fly that way early evening and land there the
next day. Meet me at Palwaukee at seven, and we've got a deal.”


Rayford had finally fallen off to sleep for real, snoring, according to McCullum, for
several hours.
About an hour outside Baghdad, Leon Fortunato entered the cockpit and knelt next
to Rayford. “We're not entirely sure of security in New Babylon,” he said. “No one
expects us to land in Baghdad. Let's keep maintaining with the New Babylon tower
that we're on our way directly there. When we pick up our other three ambassadors,
we may just stay on the ground for a few hours until our security forces have had a
chance to clear New Babylon.”
“Will that affect your meetings?” Rayford said, trying to sound casual.
“I don't see how it concerns you one way or the other. We can easily meet on the
plane while it is being refueled. You can keep the air-conditioning on, right?”
“Sure,” Rayford said, trying to think quickly, “there is still a lot I'd like to teach
myself about this craft. I'll stay in the cockpit or in my quarters and keep out of your
way.”
“See that you do.”


Buck checked in with Donny Moore, who said he had found some incredible deals
on individual components and was putting together the five mega-laptops himself.
“That'll save you a little money,” he said. “Just a little over twenty thousand apiece,
I figure.”
“And I can have these when I get back from a trip, on Sunday?”
“Guaranteed, sir.”
Buck told key people at Global Community Weekly his new universal cell phone
number and asked that they keep it confidential except from Carpathia, Plank, and
Rosenzweig. Buck carefully packed his one big, leather shoulder bag and spent the
rest of the day working on Bruce's transcripts and trying to reach Rosenzweig. The
old man had seemed to be trying to tell him, not in so many words, that he knew Dr.
Ben-Judah was alive and safe somewhere. He just hoped Rosenzweig had followed
his advice and was keeping Carpathia out of the picture. Buck had no idea where
Tsion Ben-Judah might be hiding out. But if Rosenzweig knew, Buck wanted to talk
with him before he and Ken Ritz hit the ground at Ben Gurion Airport.
How long, he wondered, before he and his loved ones would be hiding out in the
shelter under the church?


Security was tight at Baghdad. Rayford had been instructed not to communicate
with the tower there so as not to allow enemy aircraft to know where they were.
Rayford was convinced that the retaliatory strikes by Global Community forces in
London and Cairo, not to mention North America, would have kept all but the
suicidal out of Iraq. However, he did what he was told.
Leon Fortunato communicated by phone with both Baghdad and New Babylon
towers. Rayford phoned ahead to be sure there was a place he and McCullum could
stretch their legs and relax inside the terminal. Despite his years of flying, there
came certain points even for him when he became claustrophobic aboard a plane.
A ring of heavily armed GC soldiers surrounded the plane as it slowly rolled to a
stop at the most secure end of the Baghdad terminal. The six-member crew of
stewards and flight attendants were the first to get off. Fortunato waited until
Rayford and McCullum had run through their postflight checklist. He got off with
them. “Captain Steele,” he said, “I will be bringing the three other ambassadors
back on board within the hour.”
“And when would you like to leave for New Babylon?”
“Probably not for another four hours or so.”
“International aviation rules prohibit me from flying again for twenty-four hours.”
“Nonsense,” Fortunato said. “How do you feel?”
“Exhausted.”
“Nevertheless, you're the only one qualified to fly this plane, and you'll be flying it
when we say you'll be flying it.”
“So international aviation rules go out the window?”
“Steele, you know that international rules on everything are embodied in the man
sitting on that plane. When he wants to go to New Babylon, you'll fly him to New
Babylon. Understood?”
“And if I refuse?”
“Don't be silly.”
“Let me remind you, Leon, that once I've gotten a break, I'll want to be on that
plane, familiarizing myself with all its details.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just stay out of our way. And I would appreciate it if you
would refer to me as Mr. Fortunato.”
“That means a lot to you, does it, Leon?”
“Don't push me, Steele.”
As they entered the terminal, Rayford said, “As I am the only one who can fly that
plane, I would appreciate it if you would call me Captain Steele.”


Late in the afternoon, Chicago time, Buck broke from the fascinating reading of
Bruce Barnes's writing and finally got through to Chaim Rosenzweig.
“Cameron! I have finally talked live with our mutual friend. Let us not mention his
name on the phone. He did not speak to me long, but he sounded so empty and
hollow that it moved me to my very soul. It was a strange message, Cameron. He
simply said that you would know whom to talk with about his whereabouts.”
“That I would know?”
“That's what he said, Cameron. That you would know. Do you suppose he means
NC?”
“No! No! Chaim, I'm still praying you're keeping him out of this.”
“I am, Cameron, but it is not easy! Who else can intercede for the life of my friend?
I am frantic that the worst will happen, and I will feel responsible.”
“I'm coming there. Can you arrange a car for me?”
“Our mutual friend's car and driver are available, but dare I trust him?”
“Do you think he had anything to do with the trouble?”
“I should think he had more to do with getting our friend to safety.”
“Then he is probably in danger,” Buck said.
“Oh, I hope not,” Rosenzweig said. “Anyway, I will meet you at the airport myself.
Somehow we will get you where you need to go. Can I arrange a room for you
somewhere?”
“You know where I've always stayed,” Buck said, “but I think I'd better stay
somewhere else this time.”
“Very well, Cameron. There's a nice hotel within driving distance of your usual, and
I am known there.”
Rayford stretched and stood watching the Cable News Network/Global Community
Network television broadcast originating in Atlanta and beamed throughout the
world. It was clear Carpathia had completely effected his will and spin onto the
news directors at every venue. While the stories carried the horrifying pictures of
war, bloodshed, injury, and death, each also spoke glowingly of the swift and
decisive action of the potentate in responding to the crisis and crushing the
rebellion. Water supplies had been contaminated, power was out in many areas,
millions were instantly homeless.
Rayford noticed activity outside the terminal. A dolly carrying television
equipment, including a camera, were wheeled toward the Condor 216. Soon
enough, CNN/GCN announced the impending live television broadcast from
Potentate Carpathia at an unknown location. Rayford shook his head and went to a
desk in the corner, where he found stationery from a Middle Eastern airline and
began composing a letter to Earl Halliday's wife.
Logic told Rayford he should not feel responsible. Apparently Halliday had been
cooperating with Carpathia and his people on the Condor 216 long before Rayford
was even aware of it. However, there would be no way Mrs. Halliday would know
or understand anything except that it appeared Rayford had led his old friend and
boss directly to his death. Rayford didn't even know yet how Earl had been killed.
Perhaps everyone on his flight to Glenview had perished. All he knew was that the
deed had been done, and Earl Halliday was no more. As he sat trying to compose a
letter with words that could never be right, he felt a huge, dark cloud of depression
begin to settle on him. He missed his wife. He missed his daughter. He grieved over
his pastor. He mourned the loss of friends and acquaintances, new and old. How had
it come to this?
Rayford knew he was not responsible for what Nicolae Carpathia meted out against
his enemies. The terrible, dark judgment on the earth rendered by this evil man
would not stop if Rayford merely quit his job. Hundreds of pilots could fly this
plane. He himself had learned in half an hour. He didn't need the job, didn't want the
job, didn't ask for the job. Somehow, he knew God had placed him there. For what?
Was this surprising bugging of the intercom system by Earl Halliday a gift directly
from God that allowed Rayford to somehow protect a few from the wrath of
Carpathia?
Already he believed it had saved his daughter and son-in-law from certain death in
the Chicago bombings, and now, as he looked at television reports from America's
West Coast, he wished there had been something he could have done to have
warned people in San Francisco and Los Angeles of their impending doom. He was
fighting an uphill battle, and in himself he didn't have the strength to carry on.
He finished the brief note of condolence and regret to Mrs. Halliday, lowered his
head to his arms on the desk, felt a lump in his throat, but was unable to produce
tears. He knew he could cry twenty-four hours a day from now until the end of the
Tribulation, when his pastor had promised that Christ would return yet again in
what Bruce had called “the Glorious Appearing.” How he longed for that day!
Would he or his loved ones survive to see it, or would they be “tribulation martyrs,”
as Bruce had been? At times like this Rayford wished for some quick, painless
death that would take him directly to heaven to be with Christ. It was selfish, he
knew. He wouldn't really want to leave those he loved and who loved him, but the
prospect of five more years of this was nearly unbearable.
And now came a brief address from Global Community Potentate Nicolae
Carpathia. Rayford knew he was sitting within two hundred feet of the man, and yet
he watched it on television, as did millions of others across the globe.


It was nearly time for Buck to head for Palwaukee Airport. Verna Zee was back at
the Global Community Weekly office with the new (to her) used car Buck had
promised to buy her from the fleet of leftovers from New Hope. Loretta was at the
church office fielding the constant phone calls about Sunday's memorial service.
Chloe hobbled around on a cane, needing crutches but unable to manage them with
her sprained wrist in a sling. That left Amanda to take Buck to the airport.
“I want to ride along,” Chloe said.
“Are you sure you're up to it, hon?” Buck said.
Chloe's voice was quavery. “Buck, I hate to say it, but in this day and age we never
know when we might or might not ever see each other again.”
“You're being a little maudlin, aren't you?” he said.
“Buck!” Amanda said in a scolding tone. “You cater to her feelings now. I had to
kiss my husband good-bye in front of the Antichrist. You think that gives me
confidence about whether I'll ever see him again?”
Buck was properly chastised. “Let's go,” he said. He jogged out to the Range Rover
and swung his bag into the back, returning quickly to help Chloe to the car. Amanda
sat in the backseat and would drive Chloe home later.
Buck was amazed that the built-in TV had survived Chloe's crash. He was not in a
position to see it, but he listened as Amanda and Chloe watched. Nicolae Carpathia,
in his usual overly humble manner, was holding forth:
“Make no mistake, my brothers and sisters, there will be many dark days ahead. It
will take tremendous resources to begin the rebuilding process, but because of the
generosity of the seven loyal global regions and with the support of those citizens in
the other three areas who were loyal to the Global Community and not to the
insurrectionists, we are amassing the largest relief fund in the history of mankind.
This will be administered to needy nations from New Babylon and the Global
Community headquarters under my personal supervision. With the chaos that has
resulted from this most sinister and unwise rebellion, local efforts to rebuild and
care for the displaced will likely be thwarted by opportunists and looters. The relief
effort carried out under the auspices of the Global Community will be handled in a
swift and generous way that will allow as many loyal members of the Global
Community as possible to return to their prosperous standard of living.
“Continue to resist naysayers and insurrectionists. Continue to support the Global
Community. And remember that though I did not seek this position, I accept it with
gravity and with resolve to pour out my life in service to the brotherhood and
sisterhood of mankind. I appreciate your support as we set about to sacrificially
stand by each other and pull ourselves out of this morass and to a higher plane than
any of us could reach without the help of the other.”
Buck shook his head. “He sure tells 'em what they wanna hear, doesn't he?”
Chloe and Amanda were silent.


Rayford told First Officer McCullum to hang loose and be ready to depart for New
Babylon whenever they were asked. He guessed it would be several hours yet. “But,
at least stay available,” Rayford told him.
When Rayford boarded the plane, ostensibly to familiarize himself better with all
the new whistles and bells, he went first to the pilot's quarters, noticing that
Carpathia and his aides were merely greeting and small-talking with the seven loyal
ambassadors to the Global Community.
When Rayford moved from his quarters into the cockpit, he noticed Fortunato look
up. He whispered something to Carpathia. Carpathia agreed, and the entire meeting
was moved back one compartment in the middle of the aircraft. “This will be more
comfortable anyway,” Carpathia was saying. “There is a nice conference table in
here.”
Rayford shut the cockpit door and locked it. He pulled out pre- and postflight
checklists and put them on a clipboard with other blank sheets, just to make it look
good in case someone knocked. He sat in his chair, applied his headphones, and hit
the intercom button.
The Middle Eastern ambassador was speaking. “Dr. Rosenzweig sends his most
heartfelt and loyal greetings to you, Potentate. There is an urgent personal matter he
wants me to share with you.”
“Is it confidential?” Carpathia said.
“I don't believe so, sir. It concerns Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah.”
“The scholar who has been creating such a furor with his controversial message?”
“One and the same,” the Middle Eastern ambassador said. “Apparently his wife and
two stepchildren have been murdered by zealots, and Dr. Ben-Judah himself is in
hiding somewhere.”
“He should have expected no better,” Nicolae said. Rayford shuddered as he always
did when Carpathia's voice waxed grave.
“I couldn't agree with you more, Potentate,” the ambassador said. “I can't believe
those zealots let him slip through their fingers.”
“So, what does Rosenzweig want from me?”
“He wants you to intercede on Ben-Judah's behalf.”
“With whom?”
“I suppose with the zealots,” the ambassador said, bursting into laughter.
Rayford recognized Carpathia's laughter as well, and soon the others joined in.
“OK, gentlemen, calm down,” Carpathia said. “Perhaps what I should do is accede
to Dr. Rosenzweig's request and speak directly with the head of the zealot faction. I
would give him my full blessing and support and perhaps even supply some
technology that would help him find his prey and eliminate him with dispatch.”
The ambassador responded, “Seriously, Potentate, how shall I respond to Dr.
Rosenzweig?”
“Stall him for a while. Be hard to reach. Then tell him that you have not found the
proper moment to raise the issue with me. After an appropriate lapse, tell him I have
been too busy to pursue it. Finally, you can tell him that I have chosen to remain
neutral on the subject.”
“Very good, sir.”
But Carpathia was not neutral. He had just begun to warm to the subject. Rayford
heard the squeak of a leather seat and imagined Carpathia leaning forward to speak
earnestly to his cadre of international henchmen, “But let me tell you this,
gentlemen. A person such as Dr. Ben-Judah is much more dangerous to our cause
than an old fool like Rosenzweig. Rosenzweig is a brilliant scientist, but he is not
wise in the ways of the world. Ben-Judah is more than a brilliant scholar. He has the
ability to sway people, which would not be a bad thing if he served our cause. But
he wants to fill his countrymen's minds with this blather about the Messiah having
already returned. How anyone can still insist on taking the Bible literally and
interpreting its prophecies in that light is beyond me, but tens of thousands of
converts and devotees have sprung up in Israel and around the world due to his
preaching at Teddy Kollek Stadium and in other huge venues. People will believe
anything. And when they do, they are dangerous. Ben-judah's time is short, and I
will not stand in the way of his demise. Now, let us get down to business.”
Rayford pulled up the top two sheets on his clipboard and began to take notes, as
Carpathia outlined immediate plans.
“We must act swiftly,” he was saying, “while the people are most vulnerable and
open. They will look to the Global Community for help and aid, and we will give it
to them. However, they will give it to us first. We had an enormous storehouse of
income before the rebuilding of Babylon. We will need much more to effect our
plan of raising the level of Third World countries so that the entire globe is on equal
footing. I tell you, gentlemen, I was so excited and full of ideas last night that I
could not sit down for our takeoff out of San Francisco. I was nearly thrown into
this room from the forward cabin when we started down the runway. Here is what I
was thinking about:
“You all have been doing a wonderful job of moving to the one-world currency. We
are close to a cashless society, which can only help the Global Community
administration. Upon your return to your respective areas, I would like you to
announce, simultaneously, the initiation of a ten-cent tax on all electronic money
transfers. When we get to the totally cashless system, you can imagine that every
transaction will be electronic. I estimate that this will generate more than one and a
half trillion dollars annually.
“I am also initiating a one-dollar-per-barrel tax on oil at the well, plus a ten-cents-
per-gallon tax at the pump on gasoline. My economic advisers tell me this could net
us more than half a trillion dollars every year. You knew the time would come for a
tax to the Global Community on each area's Gross National Product. That time has
come. While the insurrectionists from Egypt, Great Britain, and North America
have been devastated militarily, they must also be disciplined with a 50 percent tax
on their GNP. The rest of you will pay 30 percent.
“Now do not give me those looks, gentlemen. You understand that everything you
pay in will be returned to you in multiplied benefits. We are building a new global
community. Pain is part of the process. The devastation and death of this war will
blossom into a Utopia unlike any the world has ever seen. And you will be in the
forefront of it. Your countries and regions will benefit, and you personally most of
all.
“Here is what else I have in mind. As you know, our intelligence sources quickly
became convinced that the attack on New York had been planned by American
militia under the clandestine leadership of President Fitzhugh. This only confirmed
my earlier decision to virtually strip him of executive power. We now know that he
was killed in our retaliatory attack on Washington, D.C., which we have been able
to effectively lay at the feet of the insurrectionists. Those limited few who remain
loyal to him will likely turn against the rebels and see that they were bumbling
fools.
“As you know, the second largest pool of oil, second only to the one in Saudi
Arabia, was discovered above the Prudhoe Bay in Alaska. During the state of this
leadership vacuum in North America, the Global Community will appropriate the
vast oil fields in Alaska, including that huge pool. Years ago it was capped off to
satisfy environmentalists; however, I have ordered teams of laborers into the region
to install a series of sixteen-inch pipelines that would route that oil through Canada
and to waterways where it could be barged to international trade centers. We
already own the rights to oil in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iraq, Iran, and the rest of the
Middle East. That gives us control of two-thirds of the world's oil supply.
“We will gradually but steadily raise the price of oil, which will further finance our
plans to inject social services into underprivileged countries and make the world
playing field equal for everyone. From oil alone, we should be able to profit at a rate
of about one trillion dollars per year.
“I will soon be appointing leaders to replace the three ambassadors of the regions
that turned against us. That will bring the Global Community administration back to
its full complement of ten regions. While you are now known as ambassadors to the
Global Community, forthwith I will begin referring to you as sovereign heads of
your own kingdoms. You will each continue to report directly to me. I will approve
your budgets, receive your taxes, and give you bloc grants. Some will criticize this
as making it appear that all nations and regions are dependent upon the Global
Community for their income and thus assuring our control over the destiny of your
people. You know better. You know that your loyalty will be rewarded, that the
world will be a better place in which to live, and that our destiny is a Utopian
society based on peace and brotherhood.
“I am sure you all agree that the world has had enough of an antagonistic press.
Even I, who have no designs on personal gain and certainly only altruistic motives
for humbly and unwillingly accepting the heavy mantle of responsibility for world
leadership, have been attacked and criticized by editorialists. The Global
Community's ability to purchase all the major media outlets has virtually eliminated
that. While we may have been criticized for threatening freedom of speech or
freedom of the press, I believe the world can see that those unchecked freedoms led
to excesses that stifled the ability and creativity of any leader. While they may once
have been necessary to keep evil dictators from taking over, when there is nothing
to criticize, such oppositional editorialists are anachronistic.”
Rayford felt a tingle up his spine and nearly turned, convinced someone was
standing right outside the cockpit door. Finally the feeling became so foreboding
and pervasive that he whipped off his headphones and stood, leaning to peek
through the fish-eye peephole. No one was there. Was God trying to tell him
something? He was reminded of the same sense of fear that had overcome him
when Buck had told his terrifying story of sitting through a meeting where
Carpathia had single-handedly hypnotized and brainwashed everyone in the room
except Buck.
Rayford sat back in his seat and put the headphones on. When he depressed the
intercom button, it was as if he were hearing a new Carpathia. Nicolae spoke very
softly, very earnestly, in a monotone. None of the flourishes and inflections that
usually characterized his speech were evident. “I want to tell you all something, and
I want you to listen very carefully and understand fully. This same control that we
now have over all media, we also need over industry and commerce. It is not
necessary for us to buy or own all of it. That would be too obvious and too easily
opposed. Ownership is not the issue. Control is. Within the next few months we
shall all announce unanimous decisions allowing us to control business, education,
health care, and even the way your individual kingdoms choose their leaders. The
fact is, democracy and voting will be suspended. They are inefficient and not in the
best interests of the people. Because of what we will provide people, they will
quickly understand that this is correct. Each of you can go back to your subjects and
honestly tell them that this was your idea, you raised it, you sought support of your
colleagues and me for it, and you prevailed. I will publicly reluctantly accede to
your wishes, and we will all win.”
Rayford listened to a long silence, wondering if his bugging device was
malfunctioning. He released and depressed it several times, finally deciding that no
one was saying anything in the conference area. So this was the mind control Buck
had witnessed firsthand. Finally, Leon Fortunato spoke up. “Potentate Carpathia,”
he began deferentially, “I know I am merely your aide and not a member of this
august body. However, may I make a suggestion?”
“Why, yes, Leon,” Carpathia said, seeming pleasantly surprised. “You are in a
significant position of trust and confidence, and we all value your input.”
“I was just thinking, sir,” Fortunato said, “that you and your colleagues here might
consider suspending popular voting as inefficient and not in the best interests of the
people, at least temporarily.”
“Oh, Mr. Fortunato,” Carpathia said, “I do not know. How do you feel people
would respond to such a controversial proposal?”
The others seemed unable to keep from talking over each other. Rayford heard them
all agreeing with Fortunato and urging Carpathia to consider this. One repeated
Carpathia's statement about how much healthier the press was now that the Global
Community owned it and added that ownership of industry and commerce was not
as necessary as ownership of the press, as long as it was Carpathia controlled and
Global Community led.
“Thank you very much for your input, gentlemen. It has been most stimulating and
inspiring. I will take all these matters to heart and let you know soon of their
disposition and implementation.”
The meeting lasted another couple of hours and consisted mostly of Carpathia's so-
called kings parroting back to him everything he had assured them that they would
find brilliant when they thought about it. Each seemed to raise these as new and
fresh ideas. Not only had Carpathia just mentioned them, but often the ambassadors
would repeat each other as if not having heard.
“Now, gentlemen,” Carpathia concluded, “in a few hours we will be in New
Babylon, and I will soon appoint the three new ambassador rulers. I want you to be
aware of the inevitable. We cannot pretend that the world as we know it has not
been almost destroyed by this outbreak of global war. It is not over yet. There will
be more skirmishes. There will be more surreptitious attacks. We will have to
reluctantly access our power base of weaponry, which you all know I am loath to
do, and many more thousands of lives will be lost in addition to the hundreds of
thousands already taken. In spite of all of our best efforts and the wonderful ideas
you have shared with me today, we must face the fact that for a long time we will be
fighting an uphill battle.
“Opportunists always come to the fore at a time such as this. Those who would
oppose us will take advantage of the impossibility of our peacekeeping forces to be
everywhere at once, and this will result in famine, poverty, and disease. In one way,
there is a positive side to this. Due to the incredible cost of rebuilding, the fewer
people we must feed and whose standard of living we must raise, the more quickly
and economically we can do this. As the population level decreases and then
stabilizes, it will be important for us to be sure that it does not then explode again
too quickly. With proper legislation regarding abortion, assisted suicide, and the
reduction of expensive care for the defective and handicapped, we should be able to
get a handle on worldwide population control.”
All Rayford could do was pray. “Lord,” he said silently, “I wish I was a more
willing servant. Is there no other role for me? Could I not be used in some sort of
active opposition or judgment against this evil one? I can only trust in your purpose.
Keep my loved ones safe until we see you in all your glory. I know you have long
since forgiven me for my years of disbelief and indifference, but still it weighs
heavily on me. Thank you for helping me find the truth. Thank you for Bruce
Barnes. And thank you for being with us as we fight this ultimate battle.”



                         CHAPTER SEVEN
BUCK had always had the ability to sleep well, even when he couldn't sleep long.
He could have used a dozen or more hours the night before, after the day he had
had. However, seven-plus hours had been just enough because when he was out, he
was out. He knew Chloe had slept fitfully only because she told him in the morning.
Her tossing and turning and winces of pain had not affected his slumber.
Now, as Ken Ritz landed the Learjet in Easton, Pennsylvania, “just to top off the
tank before headin' to Tel Aviv,” Buck was alert. He and the lanky, weathered,
veteran pilot in his late fifties seemed to have picked up where they left off the last
time he had employed this freelance charter service. Ritz was a talker, a raconteur,
opinionated, interesting, and interested. He was as eager to know Buck's latest
thoughts on the vanishings and the global war as he was in sharing his own views.
“So, what's new with the jet-setting young magazine writer since I saw you last,
what, almost two years ago?” Ritz had begun.
Buck told him. He recalled that Ritz had been forthright and outspoken when they
first met, admitting that he had no more idea than anyone else what might have
caused the vanishings but coming down on the side of aliens from outer space. It
had hit Buck as a wild idea for a buttoned-down pilot, but Buck hadn't come to any
conclusions at that time either. One theory was as good as the next. Ritz had told
him of many strange encounters in the air that made it plausible that an airman
might believe in such things.
That gave Buck the confidence to tell his own story without apology. It didn't seem
to faze Ritz, at least negatively. He listened quietly, and when Buck was through,
Ritz simply nodded.
“So,” Buck said, “do I seem as weird to you now as you did to me when you were
propounding the space aliens theory?”
“Not really,” Ritz said. “You'd be amazed at the number of people just like you that
I've run into since the last time we talked. I don't know what it all means, but I'm
beginning to believe there are more people who agree with you than agree with
me.”
“I'll tell you one thing,” Buck said, “if I'm right, I'm still in big trouble. We are all
gonna go through some real horror. But people who don't believe are going to be in
worse trouble than they could ever imagine.”
“I can't imagine worse trouble than we're in right now.”
“I know what you mean,” Buck said. “I used to apologize and try to make sure I
wasn't coming on too strong or being obnoxious, but let me just urge you to
investigate what I've said. And don't assume you've got a lot of time to do it.”
“That's all part of the belief system, isn't it?” Ritz said. “If what you say is true, the
end isn't that far off. Just a few years.”
“Exactly.”
“Then, if a fella was gonna check it out, he better get to it.”
“I couldn't have said it better myself,” Buck said.
After refueling in Easton, Ritz spent the hours over the Atlantic asking “what if”
questions. Buck had to keep assuring him he was not a student or a scholar, but he
amazed even himself at what he remembered from Bruce's teaching.
“It must have hurt like everything to lose a friend like that,” Ritz said.
“You can't imagine.”


Leon Fortunato instructed everyone on the plane when to get off and where to stand
for the cameras when they finally reached New Babylon.
“Mr. Fortunato,” Rayford said, careful to follow Leon's wishes, at least in front of
others, “McCullum and I don't really need to be in the photograph, do we?”
“Not unless you'd like to go against the wishes of the potentate himself,” Fortunato
said. “Please just do what you're told.”
The plane was on the ground and secure in New Babylon for several minutes before
the doors were opened and the Carpathia-controlled press was assembled. Rayford
sat in the cockpit, still listening over the two-way intercom. “Remember,” Carpathia
said, “no smiles. This is a grave, sad day. Appropriate expressions, please.”
Rayford wondered why anyone would have to be reminded not to smile on a day
like this.
Next came Fortunato's voice: “Potentate, apparently there's a surprise waiting for
you.”
“You know I do not like surprises,” Carpathia said.
“It seems your fiancee is waiting with the crowd.”
“That is totally inappropriate.”
“Would you like me to have her removed?”
“No, I am not sure how she might react. We certainly would not like a scene. I just
hope she knows how to act. This is not her strength, as you know.”
Rayford thought Fortunato was diplomatic to not respond to that.
There was a rap at the cockpit door. “Pilot and copilot first,” Fortunato called out.
“Let's go!”
Rayford buttoned his dress uniform jacket and put his hat on as he stepped out of
the cockpit. He and McCullum trotted down the steps and began the right side of a
V of people who would flank the potentate, the last to disembark.
Next came the flight service crew, who seemed awkward and nervous. They knew
enough not to giggle, but simply looked down and walked directly to their spots.
Fortunato and two other Carpathia aides led the seven ambassadors down the steps.
Rayford turned to watch Carpathia appear in the opening at the top of the stairs.
The potentate always seemed taller than he really was in these situations, Rayford
thought. He appeared to have just shaved and washed his hair, though Rayford had
not been aware he had the time for that. His suit, shirt, and tie were exquisite, and
he was understatedly elegant in his accessories. He waited ever so briefly, one hand
in his right suit pocket, the other carrying a thin, glove-leather portfolio. Always
looking as if he's busily at the task at hand, Rayford thought.
Rayford was amazed at Carpathia's ability to strike just the right pose and
expression. He appeared concerned, grave, and yet somehow purposeful and
confident. As lights flashed all around him and cameras whirred, he resolutely
descended the steps and approached a bank of microphones. Every network insignia
on each microphone had been redesigned to include the letters “GCN,” the Global
Community Network.
The only person he couldn't fully control chose that moment to burst Carpathia's
bubble of propriety. Hattie Durham broke from the crowd and ran directly for him.
Security guards who stepped in her way quickly realized who she was and let her
through. She did everything, Rayford thought, except squeal in delight. Carpathia
looked embarrassed and awkward for the first time in Rayford's memory. It was as
if he had to decide which would be worse: to brush her off or to welcome her to his
side.
He chose the latter, but it was clear he was holding her at bay. She leaned in to kiss
him and he bent to brush her cheek with his lips. When she turned to plant an open-
mouthed kiss on his lips, he pulled her ear to his mouth and whispered sternly.
Hattie looked stricken. Near tears, she began to pull away from him, but he grabbed
her wrist and kept her standing next to him there at the microphones.
“It is so good to be back where I belong,” he said. “It is wonderful to reunite with
loved ones. My fiancee is overcome with grief, as I am, at the horrible events that
began so relatively few hours ago. This is a difficult time in which we live, and yet
our horizons have never been wider, our challenges so great, our future so
potentially bright.
“That may seem an incongruous statement in light of the tragedy and devastation
we have all suffered, but we are all destined for prosperity if we commit to standing
together. We will stand against any enemy of peace and embrace any friend of the
Global Community.”
The crowd, including the press, applauded with just the right solemnity. Rayford
was sick to his stomach, eager to get to his own apartment, and desperate to phone
his wife as soon as he was sure it was daytime in the States.


“Don't worry about me, buddy boy,” Ken Ritz told Buck as he helped him off the
Learjet. “I'll hangar this baby and find a place to crash for a few days. I've always
wanted to tour this country, and it's nice to be in a place that hasn't been blown to
bits. You know how to reach me. When you're ready to head back, just leave a
message here at the airport. I'll be checking in frequently.”
Buck thanked him and grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He headed
toward the terminal. There, beyond the plate-glass window, he saw the enthusiastic
wave of the wispy little old man with the flyaway hair, Chaim Rosenzweig. How he
wanted this man to become a believer! Buck had come to love Chaim. That was not
an expression he would have used about the other man back when he first met the
scientist. It had been only a few years, but it seemed so long ago. Buck had been the
youngest senior writer in the history of Global Weekly— in fact, in the history of
international journalism. He had unabashedly campaigned for the job of profiling
Dr. Rosenzweig as the Weekly's “Man of the Year.”
Buck had first met the man a little more than a year before that assignment, after
Rosenzweig had won a huge international prize for his invention (Chaim himself
always called it more of a discovery) of a botanic formula.
Rosenzweig's concoction, some said without much exaggeration, allowed flora to
grow anywhere—even on concrete.
The latter had never been proven; however, the desert sands of Israel soon began to
blossom like a greenhouse. Flowers, corn, beans, you name it, every spare inch of
the tiny nation was quickly cleared for agriculture. Overnight, Israel had become the
richest nation in the world.
Other nations had been jealous to get hold of the formula. Clearly, this was the
answer to any economic woes. Israel had gone from vulnerable, geographically
defenseless country to a world power—respected, feared, envied.
Rosenzweig had become the man of the hour and, according to Global Weekly,
“Man of the Year.”
Buck had enjoyed meeting him more than any powerful politician he had ever
interviewed. Here was a brilliant man of science, humble and self-effacing, naive to
the point of childlikeness, warm, personable, and unforgettable. He treated Buck
like a son.
Other nations wanted Rosenzweig's formula so badly that they assigned high-level
diplomats and politicians to court him. He acceded to audiences from so many
dignitaries that his life's work had to be set aside. He was past retirement age
anyway, but clearly here was a man more comfortable in a laboratory or a
classroom than in a diplomatic setting. The darling of Israel had become the icon of
world governments, and they all came calling.
Chaim had told Buck at one point that each suitor had his own not-so-hidden
agenda. “I did my best to remain calm and diplomatic,” he told Buck, “but only
because I was representing my mother country. I grew almost physically ill,” he
added with his charming Hebrew-accented dialect, “when each began trying to
persuade me that I would personally become the wealthiest man in the world if I
would condescend to rent them my formula.”
The Israeli government was even more protective of the formula. They made it so
clear that the formula was not for sale or rent that other countries threatened war
over it, and Russia actually attacked. Buck had been in Haifa the night the
warplanes came screaming in. The miraculous delivery of that country from any
damage, injury, or death—despite the incredible aerial assault— made Buck a
believer in God, though not yet in Christ. There was no other explanation for
bombs, missiles, and warships crashing and burning all over the nation, yet every
citizen and building escaping unscathed.
That had sent Buck, who had feared for his life that night, on a quest for truth that
was satisfied only after the vanishings and his meeting Rayford and Chloe Steele.
It had been Chaim Rosenzweig who had first mentioned the name Nicolae
Carpathia to Buck. Buck had asked the old man if any of those who had been sent to
court him about the formula had impressed him. Only one, Rosenzweig had told
him; a young midlevel politician from the little country of Romania. Chaim had
been taken with Carpathia's pacifist views, his selfless demeanor, and his insistence
that the formula had the potential to change the world and save lives. It still rang in
Buck's ears that Chaim Rosenzweig had once told him, “You and Carpathia must
meet one day. You would like each other.”
Buck could hardly remember when he had not been aware of Nicolae Carpathia,
though his first exposure even to the name had been in that interview with
Rosenzweig. Within days after the vanishings, the man who had seemingly
overnight become president of Romania was a guest speaker at the United Nations.
His brief address was so powerful, so magnetic, so impressive, that he had drawn a
standing ovation even from the press—even from Buck. Of course, the world was in
shock, terrified by the disappearances, and the time had been perfect for someone to
step to the fore and offer a new international agenda for peace, harmony, and
brotherhood.
Carpathia was thrust, ostensibly against his will, into power. He displaced the
former secretary-general of the United Nations, reorganized it to include ten
international mega-territories, renamed it the Global Community, moved it to
Babylon (which was rebuilt and renamed New Babylon), and then set about
disarming the entire globe.
It had taken more than Carpathia's charismatic personality to effect all this. He had a
trump card. He had gotten to Rosenzweig. He had convinced the old man and his
government that the key to the new world was Carpathia's and Global Community's
ability to broker Rosenzweig's formula in exchange for compliance with
international rules for disarmament. In exchange for a Carpathia-signed guarantee
of at least seven years of protection from her enemies, Israel licensed to him the
formula that allowed him to extract any promise he needed from any country in the
world. With the formula, Russia could grow grain in the frozen tundra of Siberia.
Destitute African nations became hothouses of domestic food sources and
agricultural exports.
The power the formula allowed Carpathia to wield made it possible for him to bring
the rest of the world willingly to its knees. Under the guise of his peacenik
philosophies, member nations of the Global Community were required to destroy 90
percent of their weaponry and to donate the other 10 percent to Global Community
headquarters. Before anyone realized what had happened, Nicolae Carpathia, now
called the grand potentate of the Global Community, had quietly become the most
militarily powerful pacifist in the history of the globe. Only those few nations that
were suspicious of him kept back any firepower. Egypt, the new United States of
Great Britain, and a surprisingly organized underground group of American militia
forces had stockpiled just enough fire-power to become a nuisance, an irritant, a
trigger for Carpathia's angry retaliation. In short, their insurrection and his
incredible overreaction had been the recipe for World War III, which the Bible had
symbolically foretold as the Red Horse of the Apocalypse.
The irony of all this was that the sweet-spirited and innocent Chaim Rosenzweig,
who always seemed to have everyone else's interests at heart, became an unabashed
devotee of Nicolae Carpathia. The man whom Buck and his loved ones in the
Tribulation Force had come to believe was Antichrist himself played the gentle
botanist like a violin. Carpathia included Rosenzweig in many visible diplomatic
situations and even pretended Chaim was part of his elite inner circle. It was clear to
everyone else that Rosenzweig was merely tolerated and humored. Carpathia did
what he wanted. Still, Rosenzweig nearly worshiped the man, once intimating to
Buck that if anyone embodied the qualities of the long-sought Jewish Messiah, it
was Nicolae himself.
That had been before one of Rosenzweig's younger proteges, Rabbi Tsion Ben-
Judah, had broadcast to the world the findings of his government-sanctioned quest
for what Israel should look for in the Messiah.
Rabbi Ben-Judah, who had conducted a thorough study of ancient manuscripts,
including the Old and New Testaments, had come to the conclusion that only Jesus
Christ had fulfilled all the prophecies necessary to qualify for the role. To his regret,
Rabbi Ben-Judah had come just short of receiving Christ and committing his life to
him when the Rapture occurred. That sealed for sure his view that Jesus was
Messiah and had come for his own. The Rabbi, in his mid-forties, had been left
behind with a wife of six years and two teenage stepchildren, a boy and a girl. He
had shocked the world, and especially his own nation, when he withheld the
conclusion of his three-year study until a live international television broadcast.
Once he had clearly stated his belief, he became a marked man.
Though Ben-Judah had been a student, protege, and eventually a colleague of Dr.
Rosenzweig, the latter still considered himself a nonreligious, nonpracticing Jew. In
short, he did not agree with Ben-Judah's conclusion about Jesus, but mostly it was
simply something he didn't want to talk about.
That, however, made him no less a friend of Ben-Judah's and no less an advocate.
When Ben-Judah, with the encouragement and support of the two strange,
otherworldly preachers at the Wailing Wall, began sharing his message, first at
Teddy Kollek Stadium and then in other similar venues around the world, everyone
knew it was just a matter of time before he would suffer for it.
Buck knew that one reason Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah was still alive was that any
attempt on his life was treated by the two preachers, Moishe and Eli, as attempts on
their own. Many had died mysterious and fiery deaths trying to attack those two.
Most everyone knew that Ben-Judah was “their guy,” and thus he had so far eluded
mortal harm.
That safety seemed at an end now, and that was why Buck was in Israel. Buck was
convinced that Carpathia himself was behind the horror and tragedy that had come
to Ben-Judah's family. News reports said black-hooded thugs pulled up to Ben-
Judah's home in the middle of a sunny afternoon when the teenagers had just
returned from Hebrew school. Two armed guards were shot to death, and Mrs. Ben-
Judah and her son and daughter were dragged out into the street, decapitated, and
left in pools of their own blood.
The murderers had driven away in a nondescript and unmarked van. Ben-Judah's
driver had raced to the rabbi's university office as soon as he heard the news, and he
had reportedly driven Ben-Judah to safety. Where, no one knew. Upon his return,
the driver denied knowledge of Ben-Judah's whereabouts to the authorities and the
press, claiming he had not seen him since before the murders and that he merely
hoped to hear from him at some point.



                         CHAPTER EIGHT
RAYFORD thought he had had enough sleep, catching catnaps on his long journey.
He had not figured the toll that tension and terror and disgust would exact on his
mind and body. In his and Amanda's own apartment, as comfortable as air-
conditioning could make a place in Iraq, Rayford disrobed to his boxers and sat on
the end of his bed. Shoulders slumped, elbows on knees, he exhaled loudly and
realized how exhausted he truly was. He had finally heard from home. He knew
Amanda was safe, Chloe was on the mend, and Buck—as usual—was on the move.
He didn't know what he thought about this Verna Zee threatening the security of the
Tribulation Force's new safe house (Loretta's). But he would trust Buck, and God, in
that.
Rayford stretched out on his back atop the bedcovers. He put his hands behind his
head and stared at the ceiling. How he'd love to get a peek at the treasure trove of
Bruce's computer archives. But as he drifted off to a sound sleep, he was trying to
figure a way to get back to Chicago by Sunday. Surely there had to be some way he
could make it to Bruce's memorial service. He was pleading his case with God as
sleep enveloped him.


Buck had often been warmed by Chaim Rosenzweig's ancient-faced smile of
greeting. There was no hint of that now. As Buck strode toward the old man,
Rosenzweig merely opened his arms for an embrace and said hoarsely, “Cameron!
Cameron!”
Buck bent to hug his tiny friend, and Rosenzweig clasped his hands behind Buck
and squeezed tightly as a child. He buried his face in Buck's neck and wept bitterly.
Buck nearly lost his balance, the weight of his bag pulling him one way and Chaim
Rosenzweig's vice-grip pulling him forward. He felt as if he might stumble and fall
atop his friend. He fought to stay upright, holding Chaim and letting him cry.
Finally Rosenzweig released his grip and pulled Buck toward a row of chairs. Buck
became aware of Rosenzweig's tall, dark-complected driver standing about ten feet
away with his hands clasped before him. He appeared concerned for his employer,
and embarrassed.
Chaim nodded toward him. “You remember Andre,” Rosenzweig said.
“Yeah,” Buck said, nodding, “how ya doin'?” Andre responded in Hebrew. He
neither spoke nor understood English. Buck knew no Hebrew.
Rosenzweig spoke to Andre and he hurried away. “He'll bring the car around,”
Chaim said.
“I have only a few days here,” Buck said. “What can you tell me? Do you know
where Tsion is?”
“No! Cameron, it's so terrible! What a hideous, horrible defiling of a man's family
and of his name!”
“But you heard from him—”
“One phone call. He said you would know where to begin looking for him. But,
Cameron, have you not heard the latest?”
“I can't imagine.”
“The authorities are trying to implicate him in the murders of his own family.”
“Oh, come on! No one is going to buy that! Nothing even points in that direction.
Why would he do that?”
“Of course, you and I know he would never do such a thing, Cameron, but when
evil elements are out to get you, they stop at nothing. You heard, of course, about
his driver.”
“No.”
Rosenzweig shook his head and lowered his chin to his chest.
“What?” Buck asked. “Not him too?”
“I'm afraid so. A car bombing. His body was barely recognizable.”
“Chaim! Are you sure you're safe? Does your driver know how to—”
“Drive defensively? Check for car bombs? Defend himself or me? Yes to all of
those. Andre is quite skilled. It makes me no less terrified, I admit, but I feel I am
protected the best I can be.”
“But you are associated with Dr. Ben-Judah. Those looking for him will try to
follow you to him.”
“Which means you should not be seen with me either,” Rosenzweig said.
“It's too late for that,” Buck said.
“Don't be too sure. Andre assured me we were not followed here. It wouldn't
surprise me if someone picked us up at this point and followed us, but for the
instant, I believe we are here undetected.”
“Good! I cleared customs with my phony passport. Did you use my name when
booking me a room?”
“Unfortunately I did, Cameron. I'm sorry. I even used my own name to secure it.”
Buck had to suppress a smile at the man's sweet naivete. “Well, friend, we'll just use
that to keep them off our trail, hm?”
“Cameron, I'm afraid I'm not too good at all this.”
“Why don't you have Andre drive you directly to that hotel. Tell them my plans
have changed and that I will not be in until Sunday.”
“Cameron! How do you think of such things so quickly?”
“Hurry now. And we must not be seen together anymore. I will leave here no later
than Saturday night. You can reach me at this number.”
“Is it secure?”
“It's a satellite phone, the latest technology. No one can tap into it. Just don't put my
name next to that number, and don't give that number to anyone else.”
“Cameron, where will you begin looking for Tsion?”
“I have a couple of ideas,” Buck said. “And you must know, if I can get him out of
this country, I'll do it.”
“Excellent! If I were a praying man, I'd pray for you.”
“Chaim, one of these days soon, you need to become a praying man.”
Chaim changed the subject. “One more thing, Cameron. I have placed a call to
Carpathia for his assistance in this.”
“I wish you hadn't done that, Chaim. I don't trust him the way you do.”
“I've sensed that, Buck,” Rosenzweig said, “but you need to get to know the man
better.”
If you only knew, Buck thought. “Chaim, I'll try to communicate with you as soon
as I know anything. Call me only if you need to.”
Rosenzweig embraced him fiercely again and hurried off. Buck used a pay phone to
call the King David Hotel. He booked a room for two weeks under the name of
Herb Katz. “Representing what company?” the clerk said.
Buck thought a moment. “International Harvester,” he said, deciding that that would
have been a great description of both Bruce Barnes and Tsion Ben-Judah.


Rayford's eyes popped open. He had not moved a muscle. He had no idea how long
he had slept, but something had interrupted his reverie. The jangling phone on the
bedside table made him jump. Reaching for it, he realized his arm was asleep. It
didn't want to go where he wanted it to. Somehow he forced himself to grasp the
receiver. “Steele here,” he gargled.
“Captain Steele? Are you all right?” It was Hattie Durham.
Rayford rolled onto his side and tucked the receiver under his chin. Leaning on his
elbow, he said, “I'm all right, Hattie. How are you?”
“Not so good. I'd like to see you if I could.” Despite the closed curtains, the brilliant
afternoon sun forced its way into the room.
“When?” Rayford said.
“Dinner tonight?” she said. “About six?”
Rayford's mind was reeling. Had she already been told of her lessened role in the
Carpathia administration? Did he want to be seen in public with her while Amanda
was away? “Is there a rush, Hattie? Amanda's in the States, but she'll be back in a
week or so—”
“No, Rayford, I really need to talk to you. Nicolae has meetings from now until
midnight, and their dinner is being catered. He said he didn't have a problem with
my talking with you. I know you want to be appropriate and all that. It's not a date.
Let's just have dinner somewhere where it will be obvious that we're just old friends
talking. Please?”
“I guess,” Rayford said, curious.
“My driver will pick you up at six then, Rayford.”
“Hattie, do me a favor. If you agree this shouldn't look like a date, don't dress up.”
“Captain Steele,” she said, suddenly formal, “stepping out is the last thing on my
mind.”


Buck settled into his room on the third floor of the King David Hotel. On a hunch
he called the offices of the Global Community East Coast Daily Times in Boston
and asked for his old friend, Steve Plank. Plank had been his boss at Global Weekly
what seemed eons ago. He had abruptly left there to become Carpathia's press
secretary when Nicolae became secretary-general of the United Nations. It wasn't
long before Steve was tabbed for the lucrative position he now held.
It was no surprise to Buck to find that Plank was not in the office. He was in New
Babylon at the behest of Nicolae Carpathia and no doubt feeling very special about
it.
Buck showered and took a nap.


Rayford felt as if he could use another several hours' sleep. He certainly didn't
intend to stay out long with Hattie Durham. He dressed casually, just barely
presentable enough for a place like Global Bistro, where Hattie and Nicolae were
often seen.
Of course, Rayford would not be able to let on that he had known about Hattie's
demotion before she did. He would have to let her play the story out with all her
characteristic emotion and angst. He didn't mind. He owed her that much. He still
felt guilty about where she was, both geographically and in her life. It didn't seem
that long ago that she had been the object of his lust. Rayford had never acted on it,
of course, but it was Hattie whom he was thinking of the night of the Rapture. How
could he have been so deaf, so blind, so out of touch with reality? A successful
professional man, married more than twenty years with a college-age daughter and a
twelve-year-old son, daydreaming about his senior flight attendant and justifying it
because his wife had been on a religious kick! He shook his head. Irene, the lovely
little woman he had for so long taken for granted, the one with the name of an aunt
many years her senior, had known real truth with a capital T long before any of
them.
Rayford had always been a churchgoer and would have called himself a Christian.
But to him church was a place to see and be seen, to network, to look respectable.
When preachers got too judgmental or too literal, it made him nervous. And when
Irene had found a new, smaller congregation that seemed much more aggressive in
their faith, he had begun finding reasons not to go with her. When she started
talking about the salvation of souls, the blood of Christ, and the return of Christ, he
became convinced she was off her nut. How long before she had him traipsing
along behind her, passing out literature door-to-door?
That was how he had justified the dalliance, only in his mind, with Hattie Durham.
Hattie was fifteen years his junior, and she was a knockout. Though they had
enjoyed dinner together a few times and drinks several times, and despite the silent
language of the body and the eyes, Rayford had never so much as touched her. It
had not been beyond Hattie to grab his arm as she brushed past him or even to put
her hands on his shoulders when speaking to him in the cockpit, but Rayford had
somehow kept from letting things go further. That night over the Atlantic, with a
fully loaded 747 on autopilot, he had finally worked up the courage to suggest
something concrete to her. Ashamed as he was now to admit it even to himself, he
had been ready to take the next, bold, decisive step toward a physical relationship.
But he had never gotten the words out of his mouth. When he left the cockpit to find
her, she had nearly bowled him over with the news that about a quarter of his
passengers had disappeared, leaving everything material behind. The cabin, which
was normally a black, humming, sleep chamber at four o'clock in the morning,
quickly became a beehive of panic as people realized what was happening. That was
the night Rayford told Hattie he didn't know what was happening any more than she
did. The truth was that he knew all too well. Irene had been right. Christ had
returned to rapture his church, and Rayford, Hattie, and three-fourths of their
passengers had been left behind.
Rayford had not known Buck Williams at that time, didn't know Buck was a first
class passenger on that very flight. He couldn't know that Buck and Hattie had
chatted, that Buck had used his computer and the Internet to try to reach her people
to see if they were OK. Only later would he discover that Buck had introduced
Hattie to the new, sparkling international celebrity leader, Nicolae Carpathia.
Rayford had met Buck in New York. Rayford was there to apologize to Hattie for
his inappropriate actions toward her in the past and to try to convince her of the
truth about the vanishings. Buck was there to introduce her to Carpathia, to
interview Carpathia, and to interview Rayford-Hattie's captain. Buck was merely
trying to put a story together about various views of the disappearances.
Rayford had been earnest and focused in his attempts to persuade Buck that he had
found the real truth too.
That was the night Buck met Chloe. So much had happened in so short a time. Less
than two years later, Hattie was the personal assistant and lover of Nicolae
Carpathia, the Antichrist. Rayford, Buck, and Chloe were believers in Christ. And
all three of them agonized over the plight of Hattie Durham.
Maybe tonight, Rayford thought, he could finally have some positive influence on
Hattie.


Buck had always been able to awaken himself whenever he wanted. The gift had
failed him very infrequently. He had told himself he wanted to be up and moving by
6:00 P.M. He awoke on time, less refreshed than he had hoped, but eager to get
going. He told his cabbie, “The Wailing Wall, please.”
Moments later, Buck disembarked. There, not far from the Wailing Wall, behind a
wrought-iron fence, stood the men Buck had come to know as the two witnesses
prophesied in Scripture.
They called themselves Moishe and Eli, and truly they seemed to have come from
another time and another place. They wore ragged, burlap-like robes. They were
barefoot with leathery, dark skin. Both had long, dark gray hair and unkempt
beards. They were sinewy with bony joints and long muscled arms and legs.
Anyone who dared get close to them smelled smoke. Those who dared attack them
had been killed. It was as simple as that. Several had rushed them with automatic
weapons, only to seem to hit an invisible wall and drop dead on the spot. Others had
been incinerated where they stood, by fire that had come from the witnesses'
mouths.
They preached nearly constantly in the language and cadence of the Bible, and what
they said was blasphemous to the ears of devout Jews. They preached Christ and
him crucified, proclaiming him the Messiah, the Son of God.
The only time they had been seen apart from the Wailing Wall was at Teddy Kollek
Stadium, when they appeared on the platform with Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah, a recent
convert to Christ. News coverage broadcast around the world showed these two
strange men, speaking in unison, not using microphones and yet being heard
distinctly in the back rows. “Come nigh and listen,” they had shouted, “to the
chosen servant of the most high God! He is among the first of the 144,000 who shall
go forth from this and many nations to proclaim the gospel of Christ throughout the
world! Those who come against him, just as those who have come against us before
the due time, shall surely die!”
The witnesses had not stayed on the platform or even in the stadium for that first big
evangelistic rally at Kollek Stadium. They slipped away and were back at the
Wailing Wall by the time the meeting was over. That coming together in a huge
stadium was reproduced dozens of times in almost every country of the world over
the next year and a half, resulting in tens of thousands of converts.
Enemies of Rabbi Ben-Judah did try to “come against” him during those eighteen
months, as the witnesses had warned. It seemed others had gotten the point and had
repented of their intentions. A lull of three to four weeks since any threats on his life
had been a pleasant respite for the indefatigable Ben-Judah. But now he was in
hiding, and his family and his driver had been slaughtered.
Ironically, the last time Buck had been at the Wailing Wall to watch and hear the
two witnesses, he had been with Rabbi Ben-Judah. They had come back later the
same night and dared approach the fence and speak to the men who had killed all
others who had gotten that close. Buck had been able to understand them in his own
language, though his tape recording of the incident later proved they had been
speaking in Hebrew. Rabbi Ben-Judah had begun reciting the words of Nicodemus
from the famous meeting of Jesus by night, and the witnesses had responded the
way Jesus had. It had been the most chilling night of Buck's life.
Now, here he was, alone. He was looking for Ben-Judah, who had told Chaim
Rosenzweig that Buck would know where to start looking. He could think of no
better place.
As usual, a huge crowd had gathered before the witnesses, though people knew well
enough to keep their distance. Even the rage and hatred of Nicolae Carpathia had
not yet affected Moishe and Eli. More than once, even in public, Carpathia had
asked if there was not someone who could do away with those two nuisances. He
had been informed apologetically by military leaders that no weapons seemed
capable of harming them. The witnesses themselves continually referred to the folly
of trying to harm them “before the due time.”
Bruce Barnes had explained to the Tribulation Force that, indeed, in due time God
would allow the witnesses to become vulnerable, and they would be attacked. That
incident was still more than a year and a half away, Buck believed, but even the
thought of it was a nightmare to his soul.
This evening the witnesses were doing as they had done every day since the signing
of the treaty between Israel and Carpathia: They were proclaiming the terrible day
of the Lord. And they were acknowledging Jesus Christ as “the Mighty God, the
Everlasting Father, and the Prince of Peace. Let no other man anywhere call himself
the ruler of this world! Any man who makes such a claim is not the Christ but the
Antichrist, and he shall surely die! Woe unto anyone who preaches another gospel!
Jesus is the only true God, maker of heaven and earth!”
Buck was always thrilled and moved by the preaching of the witnesses. He looked
around the crowd and saw people from various races and cultures. He knew from
experience that many of them understood no Hebrew. They were understanding the
witnesses in their own tongues, just as he was.
Buck edged a quarter of the way into the crowd of about three hundred. He stood on
tiptoes to see the witnesses. Suddenly both stopped preaching and moved forward
toward the fence. The crowd seemed to step back as one, fearing for its life. The
witnesses now stood inches from the fence, the crowd keeping about a fifty-foot
distance with Buck near the back.
To Buck it seemed clear the witnesses had noticed him. Both stared directly into his
eyes, and he could not move. Without gesturing or moving, Eli began to preach.
“He who has ears to hear, let him hear! Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek
Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for He is risen, as He said.”
Believers in the crowd mumbled their amens and their agreement. Buck was riveted.
Moishe stepped forward and seemed to speak directly to him. “Do not be afraid, for
I know whom you seek. He is not here.”
Eli again: “Go quickly and tell His disciples that Christ is risen from the dead!”
Moishe, still staring at Buck: “Indeed He is going before you into Galilee. There
you will see Him. Behold, I have told you.”
The witnesses stood and stared silently for so long, unmoving, it was as if they had
turned to stone. The crowd grew nervous and began to dissipate. Some waited to see
if the witnesses would speak again, but they did not. Soon only Buck stood where
he had stood for the last several minutes. He couldn't take his eyes off the eyes of
Moishe. The two merely stood at the fence and stared at him. Buck began to
advance on them, coming to within about twenty feet. The witnesses didn't move.
They seemed not even to be breathing. Buck noticed no blink, no twitch. In the
fading twilight, he carefully watched their faces. Neither opened his mouth, and yet
Buck heard, plain as day in his own language, “He who has ears to hear, let him
hear.”



                           CHAPTER NINE
THE intercom summoned Rayford to the front door of his condominium, where
Hattie's driver waited. He led Rayford to the white stretch Mercedes and opened the
back door. There was room on the seat next to Hattie, But Rayford chose to sit
across from her. She had honored his request not to dress up, but even casually
attired, she looked lovely. He decided not to say so.
Trouble was etched on her face. “I really appreciate your agreeing to see me.”
“Sure. What's up?”
Hattie glanced toward the driver. “Let's talk at dinner,” she said. “The Bistro OK?”
Buck stood riveted before the witnesses as the sun went down. He looked around to
be sure it was still just him and them. “That's all I get? He's in Galilee?”
Again, without moving their lips, the witnesses spoke: “He who has ears to hear, let
him hear.”
Galilee? Did it even exist anymore? Where would Buck start, and when would he
start? Surely he didn't want to be poking around there in the night. He had to know
where he was going, have some sort of bearing. He spun on his heel to see if any
taxis were in the area. He saw a few. He turned back to the witnesses. “If I came
back here later tonight, might I learn more?”
Moishe backed away from the fence and sat on the pavement, leaning against a
wall. Eli gestured and spoke aloud, “Birds of the air have nests,” he said, “but the
Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”
“I don't understand,” Buck said. “Tell,me more.”
“He who has ears—”
Buck was frustrated. “I'll come back at midnight. I'm pleading for your help.”
Eli was now backing away too. “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the
age.”
Buck left, still planning to come back, but also strangely warmed by that last
mysterious promise. Those were the words of Christ. Was Jesus speaking directly to
him through the mouths of these witnesses? What an unspeakable privilege! He
took a cab back to the King David, confident that he would, before long, be reunited
with Tsion Ben-Judah.


Rayford and Hattie were welcomed expansively by the maitre d' of the Global
Bistro. The man recognized her, of course, but not Rayford. “Your usual table,
ma'am?” “No, thank you, Jeoffrey, but neither would we like to be hidden.”
They were led to a table set for four. But even though two busboys hurried out to
clear away two sets of dinnerware, and the waiter pulled out a chair for Hattie while
pointing Rayford to one next to her, Rayford was still thinking of appearances. He
sat directly across from Hattie, knowing they would nearly have to shout to hear
each other in the noisy place. The waiter hesitated, looking irritated, and finally
moved Rayford's tableware back to in front of him. That was something Hattie and
Rayford might have chuckled over in their past, which included a half-dozen
clandestine dinners where each seemed to be wondering what the other was thinking
about their future. Hattie had been more flirtatious than Rayford, though he had
never discouraged her.
Televisions throughout the Bistro carried the continuing news of war around the
world. Hattie signaled for the maitre d', who came running. “I doubt the potentate
would appreciate this news depressing patrons who came in here for a little
relaxation.”
“I'm afraid it's on every station, ma'am.”
“There's not even a music station of some kind?”
“I'll check.”
Within moments, all the television sets in the Global Bistro showed music videos.
Several applauded this, but Rayford sensed Hattie barely noticed.
In the past, when they were playing around the edges of an affair of the mind,
Rayford had to remind Hattie to order and then encourage her to eat. Her attention
had been riveted on him, and he had found that flattering and alluring. Now the
opposite seemed the case.
Hattie studied her menu as if she faced a final exam on it in the morning. She was as
beautiful as ever, now twenty-nine and pregnant for the first time. She was early
enough along that no one would know unless she told them. She had told Rayford
and Amanda the last time they were together. At that time she seemed thrilled,
proud of her new diamond, and eager to talk about her pending marriage. She had
told Amanda that Nicolae was “going to make an honest woman of me yet.”
Hattie was wearing her ostentatious engagement ring; however, the diamond was
turned in toward her palm so only the band was visible. Hattie was clearly not a
happy woman, and Rayford wondered if this all stemmed from her getting the cold
shoulder from Nicolae at the airport. He wanted to ask her, but this meeting was her
idea. She would say what she wanted to say soon enough.
Though the Global Bistro had a French-sounding name, Hattie herself had helped
conceive it, and the menu carried international cuisine, mostly American. She
ordered an unusually large meal. Rayford had just a sandwich. Hattie small-talked
until she had finished her food, including dessert. Rayford knew all the cliches, such
as that she was now eating for two, but he believed she was eating out of
nervousness and in an attempt to put off what she really wanted to talk about.
“Can you believe it's been nearly two years since you last served as my senior flight
attendant?” he said, trying to get the ball rolling.
Hattie sat up straight in her chair, folded her hands in her lap, and leaned forward.
“Rayford, this has been the most incredible two years of my life.”
He looked at her expectantly, wondering if she meant that was good or bad. “You've
expanded your horizons,” he said.
“Think about it, Rayford. All I ever wanted to be was a flight attendant. The entire
cheerleading squad at Maine East High School wanted to be flight attendants. We
all applied, but I was the only one who made it. I was so proud, but flying quickly
lost its appeal. Half the time I had to remind myself where we were going and when
we would get there and when we would get back. But I loved the people, I loved the
freedom of traveling, and I loved visiting all those places. You know I had a couple
of serious boyfriends here and there, but nothing ever worked out. When I finally
worked my way up to the planes and routes that only seniority could bring, I had a
huge crush on one of my pilots, but that never worked either.”
“Hattie, I wish you wouldn't dredge that up. You know how I feel about that
period.”
“I know, and I'm sorry. Nothing ever came of it, though I could have hoped for
more. I've accepted your explanation and your apology, and that's not what this is
about at all.”
“That's good, because as you know, I am again happily married.”
“I envy you, Rayford.”
“I thought you and Nicolae were going to get married.”
“So did I. Now I'm not so sure. And I'm not so sure I want to either.”
“If you want to talk about it, I'm happy to listen. I'm no expert in matters of the
heart, so I probably won't have any advice, but I'm an ear if that's what you want.”
Hattie waited until the dishes were cleared, then told the waiter, “We'll be here
awhile.”
“I'll apply this to your tab,” the waiter said. “I doubt anyone will be giving you the
bum's rush.” He smiled at Rayford, seeming to appreciate his own humor. Rayford
forced a smile.
When the waiter was gone, Hattie seemed to feel the freedom to continue. “Rayford,
you may not know this, but I actually had a thing for Buck Williams once. You
remember he was on your plane that night.”
“Of course.”
“I didn't look at him romantically then, of course, because I was still enamored with
you. But he was sweet. And he was cute. And he had that big, important job. He and
I are closer in age, too.”
“And ... ?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, when you dumped me—”
“Hattie, I never dumped you. There was nothing to dump. We were not an item.”
“Yet.”
“OK, yet,” he said. “That's fair. But you have to admit there had been no
commitment or even an expression of a commitment.”
“There had been plenty of signals, Rayford.”
“I have to acknowledge that. Still, it's unfair to say I dumped you.”
“Call it whatever you want so you can deal with it, but I felt dumped, OK? Anyway,
all of sudden Buck Williams looked more attractive to me than ever. I'm sure he
thought I was using him to meet a celebrity, which also happened. I was so grateful
for Buck's introducing me to Nicolae.”
“Forgive me, Hattie, but this is old news.”
“I know, but I'm getting somewhere. Bear with me. As soon as I met Nicolae, I was
stricken. He was only about as much older than Buck as Buck was older than I. But
he seemed so much older. He was a world traveler, an international politician, a
leader. He was already the most famous man in the world. I knew he was going
places. I felt like a giggling schoolgirl and couldn't imagine I had impressed him in
the least. When he began to show interest, I thought it was merely physical. And, I
admit, I would have probably slept with him in a minute and not regretted it. We
had an affair, and I fell in love, but as God is my witness—oh, Rayford, I'm sorry. I
shouldn't use those kind of references around you—I never expected him to be truly
interested in me. I knew the whole thing was temporary, and I was determined to
just enjoy it while it lasted.
“It got to the point where I dreaded his being away. I kept telling myself to maintain
a level head. The end would have to come soon, and I really believe I was prepared
for it. But then he shocked me. He made me his personal assistant. I had no
experience, no skills. I knew it was just a way to keep me available to him after
hours. That was all right with me, though I was afraid of what my life might
become when he became even busier. Well, my worst fears were realized. He's still
charming and smooth and dynamic and powerful and the most incredible person
I've ever met. But I mean exactly to him what I always feared I did. You know the
man usually works at least eighteen hours a day and sometimes twenty? I mean
nothing to him, and I know it.
“I used to be involved in some discussions. He used to bounce an idea or two off
me. But what do I know about international politics? I would make some silly
statement based on my limited knowledge, and he would either laugh at me or
ignore me. Then he came to where he never sought my opinions anymore. I was
allowed little playthings, like helping develop this restaurant and being available to
greet groups touring the new Global Community headquarters. But I'm merely
window-dressing now, Rayford. He didn't give me a ring until after I was pregnant,
and he still hasn't asked me if I would marry him. I guess that's supposed to be
understood.”
“By accepting his ring, did you not imply that you would marry him?”
“Oh, Rayford, it wasn't nearly that romantic. He merely asked me to close my eyes
and stick out my hand. Then he put the ring on my finger. I didn't know what to say.
He just smiled.”
“You're saying you don't feel committed?”
“I don't feel anything anymore. And I don't think he ever felt anything for me except
physical attraction.”
“And all the trappings? The wealth? Your own car and driver? I assume you have
an expense account—”
“I have all that, yes.” Hattie seemed tired. She continued. “To tell you the truth, all
that stuff is a lot like what flying was to me. You quickly get tired of the routine. I
was drunk with the power and the glitter and the glamour of it for a while, sure. But
it's not who I am. I know no one here. People treat me with deference and respect
only because of who I live with. But they don't really know him either. Neither do I.
I'd rather he be mad at me than ignore me. I asked him the other day if I could go
back to the States for a while and visit my friends and family. He was irritated. He
said I didn't even have to ask. He said, 'Just let me know and go ahead and arrange
it. I've got more to do than worry about your little schedule.' I'm just a piece of
furniture to him, Rayford.”
Rayford was biding his time. There was so much he wanted to tell her. “How much
do you talk?”
“What do you mean? We don't talk. We just coexist now.”
Rayford spoke carefully, “I'm just curious about how much he knows about Chloe
and Buck.”
“Oh, you don't have to worry about that. Smart as he is and well connected as he is,
and for as many 'eyes' as he has out there surveilling everything and everybody, I
don't think he has any idea of a connection between you and Buck. I have never
mentioned that Buck married your daughter. And I never would.”
“Why?”
“I don't think he needs to know, that's all. For some reason, Rayford, he trusts you
implicitly on some things and not at all on others.”
“I've noticed.”
“What have you noticed?” she asked.
“Being left out of the plans for the Condor 216, for one,” Rayford said.
“Yeah,” she said, “and wasn't that creative of him to use his office suite number as
part of the name of the plane?”
“It just seemed bizarre to be his pilot and to be surprised by new equipment.”
“If you lived with him, that would not surprise you. I've been out of the loop for
months. Rayford, do you realize that I was not contacted by anyone when the war
broke out?”
“He didn't call you?”
“I didn't know whether he was dead or alive. I heard him on the news, just like
everyone else. He didn't even call after that. No aide let me know. No assistant so
much as sent me a memo. I called everywhere. I talked to every person in the
organization I knew. I even got as far as Leon Fortunato. He told me he would tell
Nicolae that I called. Can you imagine? He would tell him I called!”
“So when you saw him at the airstrip ... ?”
“I was testing him. I won't deny it. I wasn't as eager to see him as I let on, but I was
giving him one more chance. Wasn't it obvious I spoiled his big appearance?”
“That's the impression I had,” Rayford said, wondering if he was wise in
surrendering his neutral role.
“When I tried to kiss him, he told me it was inappropriate and to act like an adult.
At least in his remarks he referred to me as his fiancee. He said I was overcome
with grief, as he was. I know him well enough to know there was no grief. I could
see it written all over him. He loves this stuff. And regardless of what he says, he's
right in the middle of it. He talks like a pacifist, but he hopes people will attack him
so he can justify retaliating. I was so horrified and sad, hearing about all the death
and destruction, but he comes back here to his self-made palace, pretending to
grieve with all the heartbroken people around the world. But in private it's like he's
celebrating. He can't get enough of this. He's rubbing his hands, making plans,
devising strategies. He's putting together his new team. They're meeting right now.
Who knows what they'll dream up!”
“What are you gonna do, Hattie? This is no kind of life for you.”
“He doesn't even want me in the office anymore.”
Rayford knew that but couldn't let on. “What do you mean?”
“I was actually fired today, by my own fiance. He asked if he could meet me in my
quarters.”
“Your quarters?”
“We don't really live together anymore. I'm just down the hall, and he visits once in
a great while in the middle of the night—between meetings, I guess. But I've been a
fairly high-maintenance girl-next-door for a long time.”
“So what did he want?”
“I thought I knew. I thought he'd been away long enough that he just wanted the
usual. But he just told me he was replacing me.”
“You mean you're out?”
“No. He still wants me around. Still wants me to bear his child. He just thinks the
job has passed me by. I told him, 'Nicolae, that job passed me by the day before I
took it. I've never been cut out to be a secretary. I was OK with the public relations
and the people contacts, but making me your personal assistant was a mistake.'”
“I always thought you looked the part.”
“Well, thanks for that, Rayford. But losing that job was a relief in a way.”
“Only in a way?”
“Yes. Where does this leave me? I asked him what the future was for us. He had the
audacity to say, 'Us?' I said, 'Yes! Us! I'm wearing your ring and carrying your
child. When do we make this permanent?'”


Buck woke with a start. He had been dreaming. It was dark. He turned on a small
lamp and squinted at his watch. He still had several hours before his appointment
with Moishe and Eli at midnight. But what had that dream been all about? Buck had
dreamed that he was Joseph, Mary's husband. He had heard an angel of the Lord
saying, “Arise, flee to Egypt, and stay there until I bring you word.”
Buck was confused. He had never been communicated to in a dream, by God or
anyone else. He had always considered dreams just aberrations based on daily life.
Here he was in the Holy Land, thinking about God, thinking about Jesus,
communicating with the two witnesses, trying to steer clear of the Antichrist and his
cohorts. It made sense he might have a dream related to biblical stories. Or was God
trying to tell him that he would find Tsion Ben-Judah in Egypt, rather than wherever
it seemed the witnesses were sending him? They always spoke so circumspectly. He
would have to simply ask them. How could he be expected to understand biblical
references when he was so new at all this? He wanted to sleep until eleven-thirty
before taking a cab to the Wailing Wall, but he found it difficult to fall back to sleep
with the weird dream playing itself over and over in his mind. One thing he didn't
want to do, especially with the news of war coming out of Cairo, was to go
anywhere near Egypt. He wasn't much more than two hundred miles from Cairo as
the crow flew anyway. That was plenty close enough, even if Carpathia had not
used nuclear weapons on the Egyptian capital.
Buck lay back in the darkness, wondering.


Rayford was torn. What could he tell his old friend? She was clearly in pain, clearly
at a loss. He couldn't blurt that her lover was the Antichrist and that Rayford and his
friends knew it. What he really wanted was to plead with her, to beg her to receive
Christ. But hadn't he already done that once? Hadn't he spelled out to her everything
he had learned following the vanishings, which he now knew as the Rapture?
She knew the truth. At least she knew what he believed was the truth. He had spilled
his guts to her, Chloe, and Buck at a restaurant in New York, and he felt he had
alienated Hattie by repeating what he had said to her earlier that day in private. He
had been certain his daughter was embarrassed to death. And he had been convinced
that the erudite Buck Williams was merely tolerating him. It had been a shock to
find that Chloe took a huge step closer to her own personal decision to follow Christ
after seeing his passion that night. That meeting had also been a huge influence on
Buck.
Now he tried a new tack. “Let me tell you something, Hattie. You need to know that
Buck and Chloe and I all care very deeply about you.”
“I know, Rayford, but—”
“I don't think you do know,” Rayford said. “We have all wondered if this was the
best thing for you, and each of us feels somehow responsible for your having left
your job and loved ones and gone first to New York and now to New Babylon. And
for what?”
Hattie stared at him. “But I hardly heard from any of you.”
“We didn't feel we had a right to say anything. You're an adult. It's your life. I felt
my antics had pushed you away from the aviation industry. Buck feels guilty for
having introduced you to Nicolae in the first place. Chloe often wonders if she
couldn't have said or done Something that might have changed your mind.”
“But why?” Hattie said. “How did any of you know I was not happy here?”
Now Rayford was stuck. How, indeed, did they know? “We just sensed the odds
were against you,” he said.
“And I don't suppose I gave you any indication that you were right, always trying to
impress you whenever I saw you or Buck with Nicolae.”
“There was that, yes.”
“Well, Rayford, it may also come as a shock to you to know that I had never
foreseen becoming pregnant out of wedlock either.”
“Why should that surprise me?”
“Because I can't say my morals were exactly pristine. I mean, I was close to an
affair with you. I'm just saying I wasn't raised that way, and I certainly wouldn't
have planned to have a baby without being married.”
“And now?”
“The same is true now, Rayford.” Hattie's voice had flattened. It was clear she was
tired, but now she sounded defeated, almost dead. “I am not going to use this
pregnancy to force Nicolae Carpathia to marry me. He wouldn't anyway. He's not
forced by anyone to do anything. If I pushed him, he'd probably tell me to have an
abortion.”
“Oh no!” Rayford said. “You'd never consider that, would you?”
“Wouldn't consider it? I think about it every day.” Rayford winced and rubbed his
forehead. Why did he expect Hattie to live like a believer when she was not? It
wasn't fair to assume she agreed with him on these issues. “Hattie, do me a big
favor, will you?”
“Maybe.”
“Would you think about that very carefully before you take any action? Would you
seek counsel from your family, from your friends?”
“Rayford, I hardly have any friends anymore.”
“Chloe and Buck and I still consider you our friend. And I believe Amanda could
become your friend if she got to know you.”
Hattie snorted. “I have a feeling that the more Amanda got to know me, the less
she'd like me.”
“That just proves you don't know her,” Rayford said. “She's the type who doesn't
even have to like you to love you, if you know what I mean.”
Hattie raised her eyebrows. “What an interesting way to say that,” she said. “I guess
that's the way parents feel about their kids sometimes. My dad once told me that,
when I was a rebellious teenager. He said, 'Hattie, it's a good thing I love you so
much, because I don't like you at all.' That brought me up short, Rayford. You know
what I mean?”
“Sure,” he said. “You really ought to get to know Amanda. She'd be like another
mother-figure to you.”
“One is more than enough,” Hattie said. “Don't forget, my mother's the one that
gave me this crazy name that belongs to someone two generations older than me.”
Rayford smiled. He had always wondered about that. “Anyway, you said Nicolae
didn't mind if you took a trip back to the States?”
“Yeah, but that was before the war broke out.”
“Hattie, several airports are still taking incoming flights. And as far as I know, no
nuclear-equipped warheads landed on any major cities. The only nuclear radiation
fallout was in London. You'd want to stay out of there for at least a year, I should
think. But even the devastation in Cairo didn't have radiation associated with it.”
“You think he'd still let me go back to the States soon then?”
“I wouldn't know, but I'm trying to get back there by Sunday to check on Amanda
and to attend a memorial service.”
“How are you getting there, Rayford?”
“Commercial. Personally, I think carting around even a dozen or fewer dignitaries is
extravagant for the Condor 216. Anyway, the potentate—”
“Oh, please, Rayford, don't call him that.”
“Does that sound as ridiculous to you as it does to me?”
“It always has. For such a brilliant, powerful man, that stupid title makes him sound
like a buffoon.”
“Well, I don't really know him well enough to call him Nicolae, and that last name
is a mouthful.”
“Don't most of you church types consider him the Antichrist?”
Rayford flinched. He never would have expected that out of her mouth. Was she
serious? He decided it was too soon to come clean. “The Antichrist?”
“I can read,” she said. “In fact, I like Buck's writing. I've read his pieces in the
Weekly. When he covers all the various theories and talks about what people think,
it comes out that there's a big faction who believes that Nicolae might be the
Antichrist.”
“I've heard that,” Rayford said.
“So you could call him Antichrist, or A.C. for short,” she said.
“That's not funny,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “I'm sorry. I don't go in for all that cosmic war between good
and evil stuff anyway. I wouldn't know if a person was the Antichrist if he was
staring me in the face.”
He's probably stared you in the face more than anyone else over the last couple of
years, Rayford thought.
“Anyway, Hattie, I think you should ask—for lack of a better title—Global
Community Grand Potentate Nicolae Carpathia if it's still all right that you take a
brief trip home. I'm taking a Saturday morning flight that will arrive nonstop in
Milwaukee at about noon Chicago time the same day. From what I understand,
there's room in the big house of a woman from our church. You could stay with us.”
“I couldn't do that, Rayford. My mother is in Denver. They haven't suffered any
damage yet, have they?”
“Not as far as I know. I'm sure we could book you through to Denver.” Rayford was
disappointed. Here was a chance to have some influence on Hattie, but there would
be no getting her to the Chicago area.
“I'm not going to ask Nicolae,” she said.
“You don't want to go?”
“Oh, I want to go. And I will go. I'm just going to leave word that I'm gone. That's
what he said last time I checked with him. He told me I was an adult and should
make these decisions for myself. He's got more important things on his mind.
Maybe I'll see you on the flight to Milwaukee. In fact, unless you hear otherwise
from me, why don't you assume my driver will pick you up Saturday morning. You
think it would be all right with Amanda if we sat together?”
“I hope you're not being facetious,” Rayford said, “because if you really wanted to
talk, I'd let her know in advance.”
“Wow, I don't remember your first wife being so possessive.”
“She would have been if she'd known what kind of a man I was.”
“Or what kind of a woman I was.”
“Well, maybe—”
“You go ahead and check with your wife, Rayford. If I have to sit by myself, I'll
understand. Who knows? Maybe we can sit across the aisle from each other.”
Rayford smiled tolerantly. He hoped for at least that.



                           CHAPTER TEN
BUCK followed a strong urge to take his bag when he left the King David that
night. In it was his small dictation machine, his sub-notebook computer (which
would soon be replaced by the mother of all computers), his camera, that great cell
phone, his toiletries, and two changes of clothing.
He left his key at the front desk and took a cab to the Wailing Wall, asking the
cabbie if he spoke English. The driver held up his thumb and forefinger an inch
apart and smiled apologetically.
“How far to Galilee?” Buck said.
The cabbie took his foot off the accelerator. “You go to Galilee? Wailing Wall in
Jerusalem.”
Buck waved him on. “I know. Wailing Wall now. Galilee later.”
The cabbie headed for the Wailing Wall. “Galilee now Lake Tiberius,” he said.
“About 120 kilometers.”
Hardly anyone was at the Wailing Wall or even in the entire temple mount area at
this time of the night. The newly rebuilt temple was illuminated magnificently and
looked like something in a three-dimensional picture show. It seemed to hover on
the horizon. Bruce had taught Buck that one day Carpathia would sit in that new
temple and proclaim himself God. The journalist in Buck wanted to be there when
that happened.
Buck did not at first see the two witnesses. A small group of sailors strolled past the
wrought-iron fence at the end of the Wall where the witnesses usually stood and
preached. The sailors chatted in English and one pointed. “I think that's them, right
over there,” he said. The others turned and stared. Buck followed their gaze past the
fence and to a stone building. The two mysterious figures sat with their backs
against it, feet tucked under them, chins resting on their knees. They were
motionless, appearing to sleep. The sailors gawked and tiptoed closer. They never
got within a hundred feet of the fence, apparently having heard enough stories. They
weren't going to rouse the two, the way they might do to animals at the zoo for
sport. These were more than animals. These were dangerous beings who had been
known to toast people who trifled with them. Buck did not want to draw attention to
himself by boldly approaching the fence. He waited until the sailors got bored and
moved on.
As soon as the young men were out of the area, Eli and Moishe raised their heads
and looked directly at Buck. He was drawn to them. He walked directly to the fence.
The witnesses rose and stood about twenty feet from Buck. “I need clarification,”
Buck whispered. “Can I know more about my friend's location?”
“He who has ears—”
“I know that,” Buck said, “but I—”
“You would dare interrupt the servants of the Most High God?” Eli said.
“Forgive me,” Buck said. He wanted to explain himself but decided to remain
silent.
Moishe spoke. “You must first communicate with one who loves you.”
Buck waited for more. The witnesses stood there, silent. He held out both hands in
puzzlement. He felt a vibration in his shoulder bag and realized his cell phone was
buzzing. Now what was he supposed to do? If he wasn't to interrupt the servants of
the Most High God, did he dare take a call while conversing with them? He felt a
fool. He moved away from the fence and grabbed the phone, clicked it open, and
said, “This is Buck.”
“Buck! It's Chloe! It's about midnight there, right?”
“Right, Chloe, but right now I'm—”
“Buck, were you sleeping?”
“No, I'm up and I'm—”
“Buck, just tell me you're not at the King David.”
“Well, I'm staying there, but—”
“But you're not there right now, right?”
“No, I'm at—”
“Honey, I don't know how to tell you this, but I just have this feeling that you
should not be in that hotel tonight. In fact, I just have a premonition that you
shouldn't be in Jerusalem overnight. I don't know about tomorrow, and I don't know
about premonitions and all that, but the feeling is so strong—”
“Chloe, I'm gonna need to call you back, OK?”
Chloe hesitated. “Well, OK, but you can't take the time to talk to me for a moment
when—”
“Chloe, I won't stay at the King David tonight, and I won't stay in Jerusalem
overnight, OK?”
“That makes me feel better, Buck, but I'd still like to talk—”
“I'll call you back, hon, OK?”
Buck didn't know what he thought about this new level of what Bruce had referred
to as “walking in the spirit.” The witnesses had implied he would find who he was
looking for in Galilee, which didn't really exist anymore. The Sea of Galilee was
now Lake Tiberius. His dream, if he could put any stock in that, implied he should
go to Egypt for some reason. Now the witnesses wanted him to use his ears to
understand. He was sorry he was not “John the Revelator,” but he was going to have
to ask for more information. And how had they known he had to talk to Chloe first?
He had been around the two witnesses enough to know that they were never too far
from the miraculous. He just wished they didn't have to be so cryptic. He was here
on a dangerous mission. If they could help him, he wanted their help.
Buck set his bag down and straddled it, trying to indicate that he was willing to stop
anything else he was doing and simply listen. Moishe and Eli huddled and seemed
to be whispering. They approached the fence. Buck began to move toward them, as
he had done the last time he visited with Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah, but both witnesses
held up a hand and he stopped a few feet from his bag and several feet short of the
fence. Suddenly the two began to shout at the top of their lungs. Buck was at first
startled and backed up, tripping over his own bag. He righted himself. Eli and
Moishe traded off quoting verses Buck recognized from Acts and Bruce's teaching.
They shouted: “And it shall come to pass in the last days, says God, that I will pour
out of My Spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your
young men shall see visions, your old men shall dream dreams.”
Buck knew there was more to the passage, but the witnesses stopped and stared at
him. Was he an old man already, having just turned thirty-two? Was he one of the
old men who dreamed a dream? Did they know that? Were they telling him his
dream was valid?
They continued: “And on My menservants and on My maidservants I will pour out
My Spirit in those days; and they shall prophesy. I will show wonders in heaven
above and signs in the earth beneath: blood and fire and vapor of smoke. The sun
shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the coming of the
great and awesome day of the Lord. And it shall come to pass that whoever calls on
the name of the Lord shall be saved.”
Buck was inspired, moved, excited to get on about his task. But where should he
start? And why couldn't the witnesses just tell him? He was surprised to realize he
was no longer alone. The shouting of Scripture by the witnesses had produced
another small crowd. Buck didn't want to wait any longer. He picked up his bag and
moved toward the fence. People warned him not to advance. He heard warnings in
other languages, and a few in English. “You'll regret that, son!”
Buck came within a few feet of the witnesses. No one else dared come close. He
whispered, “By 'Galilee' I can only assume you mean Lake Tiberius,” he said. How
was one supposed to tell people who seemed to have come back from Bible times
that their geography was out of date? “Will I find my friend in Galilee, or on the Sea
of Galilee, or where?”
“He who has ears to hear ...”
Buck knew better than to interrupt and show his frustration. “How do I get there?”
he asked.
Eli spoke softly. “It will go well with you if you return to the multitude,” he said.
Return to the multitude? Buck thought. He backed up and rejoined the crowd.
“Are you all right, son?” someone said. “Did they hurt you?” Buck shook his head.
Moishe began to preach in a loud voice: “Now after John was put in prison, Jesus
came to Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, and saying 'The time
is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel.'
“And as He walked by the Sea of Galilee, He saw Simon and Andrew his brother
casting a net into the sea; for they were fishermen. Then Jesus said to them, 'Follow
Me, and I will make you become fishers of men.'
“They immediately left their nets and followed Him.”
Buck wasn't sure what to make of all that, but he sensed he had gotten all he was
going to get from the witnesses that night. Though they continued to preach, and
more people gathered seemingly from nowhere to listen, Buck drifted away. He
lugged his bag to a short taxi line and climbed into the back of a small cab.
“Can a fella get a boat ride up the Jordan River into Lake Tiberius at this time of
night?” he asked the driver.
“Well, sir, to tell you the truth, it's a lot easier coming the other way. But, yes, there
are motorized boats heading north. And some do run in the night. Of course, your
touring boats are daytime affairs, but there's always someone who will take you
where you want to go for the right price, any time of the day or night.”
“I figured that,” Buck said. Not long later he was dickering with a boatman named
Michael, who refused to give a last name.
“In the daytime I can carry twenty tourists on this rig, and four strong young men
and I pilot it by arm power, if you know what I mean.”
“Oars?”
“Yes sir, just like in the Bible. Boat's made of wood. We cover the twin outboards
with wood and burlap, and no one's the wiser. Makes for a pretty long, tiring day.
But when we have to go back upriver, we can't do that with the oars.”
It was only Michael, the twin outboards, and Buck heading north after midnight, but
Buck felt as if he had paid for twenty tourists and four oarsmen as well. Buck began
the trip standing in the bow and letting the crisp air race through his hair. He soon
had to zip his leather jacket to the neck and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.
Before long he was back next to Michael, who piloted the long, rustic, wood boat
from just ahead of the outboard motors. Few other crafts were on the Jordan that
night.
Michael shouted above the wind and the sound of the water. “So, you don't really
know who you're looking for or exactly where they'll be?”
They had set out from near Jericho, and Michael had told him they had more than a
hundred kilometers to travel against the current. “Could take nearly three hours just
to get to the mouth of Lake Tiberius,” he had added.
“I don't know much,” Buck admitted. “I'm just counting on figuring it out when I
get there.”
Michael shook his head. “Lake Tiberius is no pond. Your friend or friends could be
on either shore or at either end.”
Buck nodded and sat, burying his chin in his chest to keep warm, to think, and to
pray.
“Lord,” he said silently, “you've never spoken to me audibly, and I don't expect you
to start now, but I could sure use more direction. I don't know if the dream was from
you and I'm supposed to go through Egypt on the way back or what. I don't know if
I'm going to find Ben-Judah with some fishermen or whether I'm even on the right
track by heading to the old Sea of Galilee. I've always enjoyed being independent
and resourceful, but I confess I'm at the end of myself here. A lot of people have to
be looking for Ben-Judah, and I desperately want to be the first one to find him.”
The small craft had just gone around a bend when the engines sputtered and the
lights, fore and aft, went out. So much for the answer to that prayer, Buck thought.
“Trouble, Michael?”
Buck was struck by the sudden silence as the boat drifted. It seemed headed toward
shore. “No trouble, Mr. Katz. Until your eyes grow accustomed to the darkness,
you're not going to be able to see that I've got a high-powered weapon pointed at
your head. I would like you to remain seated and answer a few questions.”
Buck felt a strange calmness. This was too bizarre, too strange even for his weird
life. “I mean you no harm, Michael,” he said. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“I'm not the one who should be afraid just now, sir,” Michael said. “I have twice
within the last forty-eight hours fired this weapon into the heads of people I've
believed were enemies of God.”
Buck was nearly speechless. “One thing I can assure you of, Michael, is that I am in
no way an enemy of God. Are you telling me you are a servant of his?”
“I am. The question is, Mr. Katz, are you? And if you are, how will you prove it?”
“Apparently,” Buck said, “we will need to assure each other we are on the same
side.”
“The responsibility is yours. People coming up this river looking for someone I
don't want them to find wind up dead. If you're the third to go, I'll still sleep like a
baby tonight.”
“And you justify this homicide how?” Buck said.
“Those were the wrong people looking for the wrong person. What I want from you
is your real name, the name of the person you're looking for, why you are looking
for that person, and what you plan to do should you find that person.”
“But Michael, until I'm sure you are on my side, I could never risk revealing that
information.”
“Even to the point where you'd be willing to die to protect your friend?”
“I hope it doesn't come to that, but yes.”
Buck's eyes were adjusting to the darkness. Michael had carefully pointed the craft
in such a way that when the power had been cut it drifted back and gently nudged
an outcropping of dirt and rock jutting from the shore.
“I am impressed with that answer,” Michael said. “But I will not hesitate to add you
to the list of dead enemies if you can't convince me you have the right motives for
locating whoever it is you want to locate.”
“Test me,” Buck said. “What will convince you I'm not bluffing, but at the same
time convince me that you have the same person in mind?”
“Excellent,” Michael said. “True or false: the person you are looking for is young.”
Buck responded quickly. “Compared to you, false.”
Michael continued: “The person you are looking for is female.”
“False.”
“The person you are looking for is a medical doctor.”
“False.”
“A Gentile?”
“False.”
“Uneducated?”
“False.”
“Bilingual?”
“False.”
Buck heard Michael move the huge weapon in his hands. Buck quickly added,
“Bilingual doesn't say enough. Multilingual is more like it.” Michael stepped
forward and pressed the barrel of the weapon against Buck's throat. Buck grimaced
and shut his eyes.
“The man you are looking for is a rabbi, Dr. Tsion Ben-Judah.”
Buck did not respond. The weapon pushed harder against his neck. Michael
continued: “If you are seeking to kill him, and I was his compatriot, I would kill
you. If you were seeking to rescue him, and I represented his captors, I would kill
you.”
“But in the latter case,” Buck managed, “you would have been lying about serving
God.”
“True enough. And what would happen to me then?”
“You might kill me, but you will ultimately lose.”
“And how do we know that?”
Buck had nothing to lose. “It's all been foretold. God wins.”
“If that's true, and I turn out to be your brother, you can tell me your real name.”
Buck hesitated.
“If it turns out that I am your enemy,” Michael continued, “I'll kill you anyway.”
Buck couldn't argue with that. “My name is Cameron Williams. I am a friend of Dr.
Ben-Judah.”
“Would you be the American he talks about?”
“Probably.”
“One last test, if you don't mind.”
“I seem to have no choice.”
“True. Quickly list for me six prophecies of Messiah that were fulfilled in Jesus
Christ, according to the witnesses who preach at the Wailing Wall.”
Buck breathed a huge sigh of relief and smiled. “Michael, you are my brother in
Christ. All the prophecies of the Messiah were fulfilled in Jesus Christ. I can tell
you six that have to do with your culture alone. He would be a descendant of
Abraham, a descendant of Isaac, a descendant of Jacob, from the tribe of Judah, heir
to the throne of David, and born in Bethlehem.”
The weapon rattled as Michael lay it on the deck and reached to embrace Buck. He
squeezed him with a huge bear hug and was laughing and weeping. “And who told
you where you might find Tsion?”
“Moishe and Eli.”
“They are my mentors,” Michael said. “I am one who became a believer under their
preaching and that of Tsion.”
“And have you murdered others looking for Dr. Ben-Judah?”
“I do not consider it murder. Their bodies will be buoyed up and burned by the salt
when they reach the Dead Sea. Better their bodies than his.”
“Are you, then, an evangelist?”
“In the manner of Paul the apostle, according to Dr. Ben-Judah. He says there are
144,000 of us around the world, all with the same assignment that Moishe and Eli
have: to preach Christ as the only everlasting Son of the Father.”
“Would you believe you were an almost instant answer to prayer?” Buck said.
“That would not surprise me in the least,” Michael said. “You must realize that you
are the same.”
Buck was spent. He was glad Michael had to go back to the outboards and busy
himself with the boat. Buck turned his face away and wept. God was so good.
Michael left him alone with his thoughts for a while, but then called out with good
news. “You know, we're not going all the way to Lake Tiberius.”
“We're not?” Buck said, moving back toward Michael.
“You're doing what you're supposed to do by heading toward Galilee,” Michael
said. “About halfway between Jericho and Lake Tiberius we will put ashore on the
east side of the river. We will hike about five kilometers inland to where my
compatriots and I have hidden Dr. Ben-Judah.”
“How are you able to elude the zealots?”
“An escape plan has been in place since the first time Dr. Ben-Judah spoke at
Kollek Stadium. For many months we thought the guarding of his family was
unnecessary. It was him the zealots wanted. At the first sign of a threat or an attack,
we sent to Tsion's office a car so small it appeared only the driver could fit in it.
Tsion lay on the floor of the backseat, curled into a ball and covered with a blanket.
He was raced to this very boat, and I took him upriver.”
“And these stories about his driver having been in on the slaughter of his family?”
Michael shook his head. “That man was exonerated in a most decisive way, would
you not agree?”
“Was he also a believer?”
“Sadly, no. But he was loyal and sympathetic. We believed it was only a matter of
time. We were wrong. Dr. Ben-Judah is not aware of the loss of his driver, by the
way.”
“He, of course, knows about his family?”
“Yes, and you can imagine how awful that is for him. When we loaded him into the
boat he remained in that fetal position, covered by the blanket. In a way, that was
good. It allowed us to keep him in hiding until we got him to the drop-off point. I
could hear his loud sobbing over the sound of the boat throughout the entire voyage.
I can still hear it.”
“Only God can console him,” Buck said.
“I pray so,” Michael said. “I confess, the consolation period has not yet begun. He
has not been able to speak. He cries and cries.”
“What are your plans for him?” Buck said.
“He must leave the country. His life is worthless here. His enemies far outnumber
us. He will not be safe anywhere, but at least outside Israel he has a chance.”
“And where will you and your friends take him?”
“Me and my friends!?”
“Who, then?”
“You, my friend!”
“Me?” Buck said.
“God spoke through the two witnesses. He assured us a deliverer would come. He
would know the rabbi. He would know the witnesses. He would know the messianic
prophecies. And most of all, he would know the Lord's Christ. That, my friend, is
you.”
Buck nearly buckled. He had felt God's protection. He had felt the excitement of
serving him. But he had never felt so directly and specifically a servant of his. He
was humbled to the point of shame. He felt suddenly unworthy, undisciplined,
inconsistent. He had been so blessed, and what had he done with his newfound
faith? He had tried to be obedient, and he had tried to tell others. But surely he was
unworthy to be used in such a way. “What do you expect me to do with Tsion?”
“We don't know. We assumed you would smuggle him out of the country.”
“That will not be easy.”
“Face it, Mr. Williams, it was not easy for you to find the rabbi, was it? You very
nearly got yourself killed.”
“Did you think you were going to have to kill me?”
“I was merely hopeful that I would not. The odds were against your being the agent
of delivery, but I was praying.”
“Is there an airport anywhere near that can handle a Learjet?”
“There is a strip west of Jericho near Al Birah.”
“That's back downriver, right?”
“Yes, which is an easier trip, of course. But you know that is the airport that serves
Jerusalem. Most flights in and out of Israel start or end at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel
Aviv, but there is also a lot of air traffic near Jerusalem.”
“The rabbi has to be one of the most recognizable people in Israel,” Buck said.
“How in the world will I get him through customs?”
Michael smiled in the darkness. “How else? Super-naturally.”
Buck asked for a blanket, which Michael produced from a compartment near the
back. Buck wrapped it around his shoulders and pulled it up over his head. “How
much farther?” he asked.
“About another twenty minutes,” Michael said.
“I need to tell you something you may find strange,” Buck said.
“Something stranger than tonight?”
Buck chuckled. “I don't suppose. It's just that I may have been warned in a dream to
leave through Egypt rather than Israel.”
“You may have?”
“I'm not used to this kind of communication from God, so I don't know.”
“I wouldn't argue with a dream that seemed to come from God,” Michael said.
“But does it make sense?”
“It makes more sense than trying to smuggle a target of the zealots out of here
through an international airport.”
“But Cairo has been destroyed. Where are flights in and out of there being rerouted
to?”
“Alexandria,” Michael said. “But still, you have to get out of Israel somehow.”
“Find me a small strip somewhere, and we can avoid customs and go from there.”
“What then do you do about going through Egypt?”
“I don't know what to make of it. Maybe the dream simply meant I should take
other than a usual route.”
“One thing is certain,” Michael said. “This will have to be done after dark. If not
tonight, then tomorrow night.”
“I wouldn't be able to do it tonight if the skies opened and God pointed in my face.”
Michael smiled. “My friend, if I had gone through what you've gone through and
seen prayer answered the way you have, I would not be challenging God to do
something so simple.”
“Let's just say then that I am praying God will let me wait one more day. I have to
be in touch with my pilot, and we're all going to have to work together at
determining the best spot from which to head back to the United States.”
“There is one thing you should know,” Michael said.
“Just one?”
“No, but something very important. I believe Dr. Ben-Judah will be reluctant to
flee.”
“What choice does he have?”
“That's just it. He may not want a choice. With his wife and children gone, he may
see no reason to go on, let alone to live.”
“Nonsense! The world needs him! We must keep his ministry alive.”
“You don't need to convince me, Mr. Williams. I'm just telling you, you may have a
selling job to get him to flee to the United States. I believe, however, that he will
likely be safer there than anywhere, if he can be safe anyplace.”
“Your boots will stay driest if you stand in the bow and leap out when you hear the
bottom scraping the sand,” Michael said. He had turned east and raced toward the
shore. In what seemed to Buck the last instant, Michael cut the engines and raised
them from the water. He nimbly jogged up next to Buck and peeled his eyes,
bracing himself. “Fling your bag as far as you can, jump with me, and make sure
you outrun the boat!”
The boat slid along the bottom, and Buck followed orders. But when he leaped, he
fell sideways and rolled. The boat barely missed him. He sat up, covered with wet
sand.
“Help me, please!” Michael said. He had grabbed the boat and was tugging it onto
land. Once they had secured it, Buck brushed himself off, happily found his boots
were fairly dry, and began following his new friend. Buck had only his bag.
Michael had only his weapon. But he also knew where he was going.
“I must ask you to be very silent now,” Michael whispered as they pushed their way
through underbrush. “We are secluded, but we take no chances.”
Buck had forgotten how long five kilometers could be. The ground was uneven and
moist. The overgrowth slapped him in the face. He switched his bag from shoulder
to shoulder, never fully comfortable. He was in good shape, but this was hard. This
was not jogging or cycling or running on a treadmill. This was working your way
through sandy shoreline to who knew where?
He dreaded seeing Dr. Ben-Judah. He wanted to be Reunited with his friend and
brother in Christ, but what does one say to one who has lost his family? No
platitudes, no words would make it better. The man had paid one of the steepest
prices anyone could pay, and nothing short of heaven could make it better.
Half an hour later, panting and sore, he and Michael came within sight of the
hideout. Michael put a finger to his lips and bent low. He held aside a bundle of
dried twigs, and they advanced. Twenty yards farther, in a grove of trees, was an
opening to an underground shelter invisible to anyone who hadn't come there on
purpose.



                        CHAPTER ELEVEN
BUCK was struck that there were no real beds and no pillows in the hideout. So this
is what the witnesses meant when they quoted that verse about having nowhere to
lay his head, Buck thought.
Three other gaunt and desperate-looking young men, who could have been
Michael's brothers, huddled in the dugout, where there was barely room to stand.
Buck noticed a clear view at ground level to the path behind him. That explained
why Michael had not had to declare himself or give any signal to approach.
He was introduced all around, but only Michael, of the four, understood English.
Buck squinted, looking for Tsion. He could hear him, but he could not see him.
Finally, a dim, electric lantern was illuminated. There, sitting in the corner, his back
to the wall, was one of the first and surely the most famous of what would become
the 144,000 witnesses prophesied of in the Bible.
He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He wore
a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark dress pants that rode high on
his shins and left a gap between the cuffs and the top of his socks. He wore no
shoes.
How young Tsion appeared! Buck knew him to be a youthful middle age anyway,
but sitting there rocking and crying he appeared young as a child. He neither looked
up nor acknowledged Buck.
Buck whispered that he would like a moment alone with Tsion. Michael and the
others climbed through the opening and stood idly in the underbrush, weapons at
the ready. Buck crouched next to Dr. Ben-Judah.
“Tsion,” Buck said, “God loves you.” The words had surprised even Buck. Could it
possibly seem to Tsion that God loved him now? And what kind of a platitude was
that? Was it now his place to speak for God?
“What do you know for sure?” Buck asked, wondering himself what in the world he
was talking about. Tsion's reply, in his barely understandable Israeli accent,
squeaked from a constricted throat: “I know that my Redeemer lives.”
“What else do you know?” Buck said, listening as much as speaking.
“I know that He who has begun a good work in me will be faithful to complete it.”
Praise God! Buck thought. Buck slumped to the ground and sat next to Ben-Judah,
his back against the wall. He had come to rescue this man, to minister to him. Now
he had been ministered to. Only God could provide such assurance and confidence
at a time of such grief.
“Your wife and your children were believers—”
“Today they see God,” Tsion finished for him.
Buck had worried, Buck had wondered: Would Tsion Ben-Judah be so devastated at
his inequitable loss that his faith would be shaken? Would he be so fragile that it
would be impossible for him to go on? He would grieve, make no mistake. He
would mourn. But not as the heathen, who have no hope.
“Cameron, my friend,” Tsion managed, “did you bring your Bible?”
“Not in book form, sir. I have the entire Scripture on my computer.”
“I have lost more than my family, Buck.”
“Sir?”
“My library. My sacred books. All burned. All gone. The only things I love more in
this life were my family.”
“You brought nothing from your office?”
“I threw on a ridiculous disguise, the long locks of the Orthodox. Even a phony
beard. I carried nothing, so as not to look like a resident scholar.”
“Could not someone forward the books from your office?”
“Not without endangering their life. I am the chief suspect in the murder of my
family.”
“That's nonsense!”
“We both know that, my friend, but a man's perception soon becomes his reality.
Anyway, where could someone send my things without leading my enemies to
me?”
Buck dug into his bag and produced his laptop. “I'm not sure how much battery life
is left,” he said. He turned on the back-lit screen.
“This would not happen to have the Old Testament in Hebrew?” Tsion said.
“No, but those programs are widely available.”
“At least they are now,” Tsion said, a sob still in his throat. “My most recent studies
have led me to believe that our religious freedoms will soon become scarce at an
alarming pace.”
“What would you like to see, sir?” At first Buck thought Tsion had not heard his
question. Then he wondered if Tsion had spoken and he himself had not heard the
answer. The computer ground away, bringing up a menu of Old Testament books.
Buck stole a glance at his friend. Clearly, he was trying to speak. The words would
not come.
“I sometimes find the Psalms comforting,” Buck said. Tsion nodded, now covering
his mouth with his hand. The man's chest heaved and he could hold back the sobs
no longer. He leaned over onto Buck and collapsed in tears. “The joy of the Lord is
my strength,” he moaned over and over. “The joy of the Lord is my strength.”
Joy, Buck thought. What a concept in this place, at this time. The name of the game
now was survival. Certainly joy took on a different meaning than ever before in
Buck's life. He used to equate joy with happiness. Clearly Tsion Ben-Judah was not
implying that he was happy. He might never be happy again. This joy was a deep
abiding peace, an assurance that God was sovereign. They didn't have to like what
was happening. They merely had to trust that God knew what he was doing.
That made it no easier. Buck knew well that things would get worse before they
ever got better. If a man was not rock solid in his faith now, he never would be.
Buck sat in that damp, moist, earthen hideout in the middle of nowhere, knowing
with more certainty than ever that he had put his faith in the only begotten Son of
the Father. With his bent and nearly broken brother sobbing in his lap, Buck felt as
close to God as he had the day he trusted Christ.
Tsion composed himself and reached for the computer. He fumbled with the keys
for a minute before asking for help. “Just bring up the Psalms,” he said. Buck did,
and Tsion cursored through them, one hand on the computer mouse and the other
covering his mouth as he wept. “Ask the others to join us for prayer,” he whispered.
A few minutes later, the six men knelt in a circle. Tsion spoke to them briefly in
Hebrew, Michael quietly whispering the interpretation into Buck's ear. “My friends
and brothers in Christ, though I am deeply wounded, yet I must pray. I pray to the
God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. I praise you because you are the one and only
true God, the God above all other gods. You sit high above the heavens. There is
none other like you. In you there is no variation or shadow of turning.”
With that, Tsion broke down again and asked that the others pray for him.
Buck had never heard people praying together aloud in a foreign language. Hearing
the fervency of these witness-evangelists made him fall prostrate. He felt the cold
mud on the backs of his hands as he buried his face in his palms. He didn't know
about Tsion but felt as if he were being borne along on clouds of peace. Suddenly
Tsion's voice could be heard above the rest. Michael bent down and whispered in
Buck's ear, “If God is for us, who can be against us?”
Buck did not know how long he lay on the floor. Eventually the prayers became
groanings and what sounded like Hebrew versions of amens and hallelujahs. Buck
rose to his knees and felt stiff and sore. Tsion looked at him, his face still wet but
seemingly finished crying for now. “I believe I can finally sleep,” the rabbi said.
“Then you should. We'll not be going anywhere tonight. I'll make arrangements for
after dark tomorrow.”
“You should call your friend,” Michael said.
“You realize what time it is?” Buck said.
Michael looked at his watch, smiled, shook his head, and said simply, “Oh.”
“Alexandria?” Ken Ritz said by phone the next morning. “Sure, I can get there
easily enough. It's a big airport. When will you be along?”
Buck, who had bathed and washed out a change of clothes in a tiny tributary off the
Jordan, dried himself with a blanket. One of Tsion Ben-Judah's Hebrew-speaking
guards was nearby. He had cooked breakfast and now appeared to roast Tsion's
socks and underwear over the small fire.
“We'll leave here tonight, as soon as the sky is black,” Buck said. “Then, however
long it takes a forty-foot wood boat with two outboard motors and six adult men
aboard to get to Alexandria—”
Ritz was laughing. “This is my first time over here, as I think I told you,” he said,
“but one thing I'm pretty sure about: if you think you're coming from where you are
to Alexandria without carrying that boat across dry land to the sea, you're kidding
yourself.”
At midday all six men were out of the dugout. They were confident no one had
followed them to this remote location and that as long as they stayed out of sight
from the air, they could stretch their legs and breathe a little.
Michael was not as amused at Buck's naivete as Ken Ritz had been. He found little
to smile about and nothing to laugh about these days. Michael leaned back against a
tree. “There are some small airports here and there in Israel,” he said. “Why are you
so determined to fly out of Egypt?”
“Well, that dream—I don't know, this is all new to me. I'm trying to be practical,
listen to the witnesses, follow the leadings of God. What am I supposed to do about
that dream?”
“I'm a newer believer than you, my friend,” Michael said. “But I wouldn't argue
with a dream that was so clear.”
“Maybe we have some advantage in Egypt we would not have in Israel,” Buck
suggested.
“I can't imagine what,” Michael said. “For you to legally get out of Israel and into
Egypt, you still have to go through customs somewhere.”
“How realistic is that, considering my guest?”
“You mean your contraband cargo?”
Now there had been an attempt at humor, but still Michael had not smiled when he
said it.
“I'm just wondering,” Buck said, “how carefully customs officers and border guards
will be looking for Dr. Ben-Judah.”
“You're wondering? I'm not wondering. We either avoid the border crossings or
seek yet another supernatural act.”
“I'm open to any suggestion,” Buck said.


Rayford was on the phone with Amanda. She had filled him in on everything. “I
miss you more than ever right now,” he told her.
“Having me come back here was sure the right idea,” she said. “With Buck gone
and Chloe still tender, I feel needed here.”
“You're needed here too, sweetheart, but I'm counting the days.”
Rayford told her about his conversation with Hattie and her plans to fly to the
States. “I trust you, Rayford. She sounds like she's hurting. We'll pray for her. What
I wouldn't give to get that girl under some sound teaching.”
Rayford agreed. “If she could only stop through our area on her way back. Maybe
when Bruce is going through some chapter on—” Rayford realized what he had
said.
“Oh, Ray—”
“It's still too fresh, I guess,” he said. “I just hope God provides some other Bible
teacher for us. Well, it won't be another Bruce.”
“No,” Amanda said, “and it won't likely be soon enough to do Hattie any good,
even if she does come here.”
Late that afternoon, Buck took a call from Ken Ritz. “You still want me to meet you
in Alexandria?”
“We're talking about it, Ken. I'll get back to you.”
“Can you drive a stick shift, Buck?” Michael asked.
“Sure.”
“An ancient one?”
“They're the most fun, aren't they?”
“Not as ancient as this one,” Michael said. “I've got an old school bus that smells of
fish and paint. I use it for both professions. It's on its last legs, but if we could get
you down to the southern mouth of the Jordan, you might be able to use it to find a
way across the border into the Sinai. I'd stock you with petrol and water. That
thing'll drink more water than it will gasoline any day.”
“How big is this bus?”
“Not big. Holds about twenty passengers.”
“Four-wheel drive?”
“No, sorry.”
“An oil burner?”
“Not as much as water, but yes, I'm afraid so.”
“What's in the Sinai?”
“You don't know?”
“I know it's a desert.”
“Then you know all you need to know. You'll be jealous of the bus engine and its
water needs.”
“What are you proposing?”
“I sell you the bus, fair and square. You get all the paperwork. If you get stopped,
the tags are traced to me, but I sold the bus.”
“Keep talking—”
“You hide Dr. Ben-Judah under the seats in the back. If you can get him across the
border and into the Sinai, that bus should get you as far as Al Arish, less than fifty
kilometers west of the Gaza Strip and right on the Mediterranean.”
“And what, you'll meet us there with your wood boat and ferry us to America?”
Finally, Buck had elicited a resigned smile from Michael. “There is an airstrip there,
and it's unlikely the Egyptians will care about a man wanted in Israel. If they even
seem to care, they can be bought.”
One of the other guards appeared to have understood the name of the seaport city,
and Buck guessed he was asking in Hebrew for Michael to explain his strategy. He
spoke earnestly to Michael, and Michael turned to Buck. “My comrade is right
about the risk. Israel might have already announced a huge ransom for the rabbi.
Unless you could beat their price, the Egyptians might lean toward selling him
back.”
“How will I know the price?”
“You'll just have to guess. Keep bidding until you can beat it.”
“What would be your guess?”
“Not less than a million dollars.”
“A million dollars? Do you think every American has that kind of money?”
“Don't you?”
“No! And anyone who did wouldn't carry it in cash.”
“Would you have half that much?”
Buck shook his head and walked away. He slipped down into the hideout. Tsion
followed. “What's troubling you, my friend?” the rabbi said.
“I need to get you out of here,” Buck said. “And I have no idea how.”
“Have you prayed?”
“Constantly.”
“The Lord will make a way somehow.”
“It seems impossible right now, sir.”
“Yahweh is the God of the impossible,” Tsion said.
Night was falling. Buck felt all dressed up with nowhere to go. He borrowed a map
from Michael and carefully studied it, looking north and south along the waterways
that divided Israel from Jordan. If only there were a clear water route from the
Jordan River or Lake Tiberius to the Mediterranean! Buck resolutely rerolled the
map and handed it to Michael. “You know,” he said, thinking, “I have two sets of
identification. I'm in the country under the name of Herb Katz, an American
businessman. But I have my real ID as well.”
“So?”
“So, how 'bout we get me across the border as Herb Katz and the rabbi as Cameron
Williams?”
“You forget, Mr. Williams, that even we ancient, dusty countries are now
computerized. If you came into Israel as Herb Katz, there is no record that Cameron
Williams is here. If he's not here, how can he leave?”
“All right then, let's say I leave as Cameron Williams and the rabbi leaves as Herb
Katz. Though there is no record of my being here under my own name, I can show
them my clearance level and my proximity to Carpathia and tell them not to ask any
questions. That often works.”
“There's an outside chance, but Tsion Ben-Judah does not speak like an American
Jew, does he?”
“No, but—”
“And he does not look in the least like you or your picture.”
Buck was frustrated. “We are agreed that we have to get him out of here, aren't
we?”
“No question,” Michael said.
“Then what do you propose? I am at an end.”
Dr. Ben-Judah crawled to them, obviously not wanting even to stand in the low,
earthen shelter. “Michael,” he said, “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your
sacrifice, for your protection. I appreciate also your sympathy and your prayers.
This is very hard for me. In my flesh, I would rather not go on. Part of me very
much wants to die and to be with my wife and children. Only the grace of God
sustains me. Only he keeps me from wanting to avenge their deaths at any price. I
foresee for myself long, lonely days and nights of dark despair. My faith is
immovable and unshakable, and for that I can only thank the Lord. I feel called to
continue to try to serve him, even in my grief. I do not know why he has allowed
this, and I do not know how much longer he will give me to preach and teach the
gospel of Christ. But something deep within me tells me that he would not have
uniquely prepared me my whole life and then allowed me this second chance and
used me to proclaim to the world that Jesus is Messiah unless he had more use for
me.
“I am wounded. I feel as if a huge hole has been left in my chest. I cannot imagine it
ever being filled. I pray for relief from the pain. I pray for release from hatred and
thoughts of vengeance. But mostly I pray for peace and rest so that I may somehow
rebuild something from these remaining fragments of my life. I know my life is
worthless in this country now. My message has angered all those except the
believers, and now with the trumped-up charges against me, I must get out. If
Nicolae Carpathia focuses on me, I will be a fugitive everywhere. But it makes no
sense for me to stay here. I cannot hide out forever, and I must have some outlet for
my ministry.”
Michael stood between Tsion and Buck and put his hands on them. “Tsion, my
friend, you know that my compatriots and I are risking everything to protect you.
We love you as our spiritual father, and we will die before we see you die. Of
course we agree that you must go. Sometimes it seems that short of God sending an
angel to whisk you away, no one as recognizable and as much a fugitive as you
could slip past Israeli borders. In the midst of your pain and suffering, we dare not
ask you for counsel. But if God has told you anything, we need to hear it and we
need to hear it now.
“The sky is getting black, and unless we want to wait another twenty-four hours, the
time to move is now. What shall we do? Where shall we go? I am willing to lead
you through customs at any border crossing with weapons, but we all know the folly
of that.”
Buck looked to Dr. Ben-Judah, who simply bowed his head and prayed aloud once
more. “O God, our help in ages past—”
Buck immediately began to shiver and dropped to his knees. He sensed the Lord
impressing upon him that the answer was before them. Echoing in his mind was a
phrase he could only assume was of God: “I have spoken. I have provided. Do not
hesitate.”
Buck felt humbled and emboldened, but still he didn't know what to do. If God had
told him to go through Egypt, he was willing. Was that it? What had been provided?
Michael and Tsion were now on their knees with Buck, huddled together, shoulders
touching. None of them spoke. Buck felt the presence of the Spirit of God and
began to weep. The other two seemed to be shivering as well. Suddenly Michael
spoke, “The glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.”
Words filled Buck's mind. Though he could barely pronounce them through his
emotion, he blurted, “You give me living water and I thirst no more.” What was
that? Was God telling him he could travel into the Sinai desert and not die of thirst?
Tsion Ben-Judah prostrated himself on the floor, sobbing and groaning. “Oh God,
oh God, oh God—”
Michael lifted his face and said, “Speak Lord, for your servants hear. Heed the
words of the Lord. He who has ears to hear, let him hear. ...”
Tsion again: “The Lord of hosts has sworn, saying, 'Surely as I have thought, so
shall it come to pass, and as I have purposed, so it shall stand.'”
It was as if Buck had been steamrollered by the Spirit of God. Suddenly he knew
what they must do. The pieces of the puzzle were all there. He, and they, had been
waiting for some miraculous intervention. The fact was, if God wanted Tsion Ben-
Judah out of Israel, he would make it out. If he did not, then he would not. God had
told Buck in a dream to go another way, through Egypt. He had provided
transportation through Michael. And now he had promised that his glory would be
their rear guard.
“Amen,” Buck said, “and amen.” He rose and said, “It's time, gentlemen. Let's
move.”
Dr. Ben-Judah looked surprised. “Has the Lord spoken to you?”
Buck shot him a double take. “Did he not speak to you, Tsion?”
“Yes! I just wanted to make sure we were in agreement.”
“If I have a vote,” Michael said, “we're unanimous. Let's get going.”
Michael's compatriots pulled the boat into position as Buck slung in his bag and
Tsion climbed aboard. As Michael fired up the engines and they started back down
the Jordan, Buck handed Tsion the identification papers that carried Buck's own
name and picture. Tsion looked surprised. “I have felt no leading that I should use
these,” he said.
“And I have a definite leading that I should not have them on my person,” Buck
said. “I am in the country as Herb Katz, and I'll leave the country as Herb Katz. I'll
ask you for the documents back when we get into the Sinai.”
“This is exciting,” Tsion said, “is it not? We are talking confidently about getting
into the Sinai, and we have no idea how God is going to do it.”
Michael left the boat in the hands of one of his friends and sat with Buck and Tsion.
“Tsion has a little cash, a few credit cards, and his own papers. If he is found with
those, he will be detained and likely put to death. Shall we keep those for him?”
Tsion reached for his wallet and opened it in the moonlight. He removed the cash,
folded it once, and stuck it in his pocket. The credit cards he began flipping one by
one into the Jordan River. It was as close to amusement as Buck had noticed in the
man since he had first seen him in the hideout. Almost everything went into the
drink—all forms of identification and the miscellaneous documentation he had
gathered over the years. He pulled out a small photo section and gasped. He turned
the pictures toward the moon and wept openly. “Michael, I must ask you to
someday ship these to me.”
“I will do it.”
Tsion flipped the old wallet into the water. “And now,” Michael said, “I believe you
should return Mr. Williams's papers to him.”
Tsion reached for them. “Wait a minute,” Buck said. “Should we not try to get him
some phony ID, if he's not going to use mine?”
“Somehow,” Tsion said, “what Michael says seems right. I am a man who has been
stripped of everything, even his identity.”
Buck took back his ID and began rummaging in his bag for a place to hide it. “No
good,” Michael said. “There's nowhere on your person or in your bag they will not
search and find an extra ID.”
“Well,” Buck said, “I can't toss mine into the Jordan.” Michael held out a hand. “I
will ship it to you along with Tsion's photographs,” he said. “It's the safest.”
Buck hesitated. “You must not be found with that either,” he said.
Michael took it. “My life is destined to be short anyway, brother,” he said. “I feel
most honored and blessed to be one of the witnesses predicted in the Scriptures. But
my assignment is to preach in Israel, where the real Messiah is hated. My days are
limited whether I am caught with your papers or not.”
Buck thanked him and shook his head. “I still don't see how we're going to get
Tsion across any border without papers, real or phony.”
“We already prayed,” Tsion said. “I do not know how God is going to do this either.
I just know that he is.”
Buck's practicality and resourcefulness were at war with his faith. “But don't we at
least have to do our part?”
“And what is our part, Cameron?” the rabbi said. “It is when we are out of ideas and
options and actions that we can only depend upon God.”
Buck pressed his lips together and turned his face away. He wished he had the same
faith Tsion had. In many ways, he knew he did. But still it didn't make sense to just
plunge ahead, daring border guards to guess who Tsion was.


“I'm sorry for calling now,” Chloe said. “But, Daddy, I've been trying to reach Buck
on his cell phone.”
“I wouldn't worry about Buck, honey. You know he finds ways to stay safe.”
“Oh, Dad! Buck finds ways to nearly get himself killed. I know he was at the King
David under his phony name, and I'm tempted to call there, but he promised he
would stay away from there tonight.”
“Then I'd wait on that, Chloe. You know Buck rarely cares much about what time of
the day it is. If the story or the caper takes him all night, then it takes him all night.”
“You're a big help.”
“I'm trying to be.”
“Well, I just don't understand why he wouldn't have his cell phone with him all the
time. You keep yours in your pocket, don't you?”
“Usually. But maybe it's in his bag.”
“So if his bag is in the hotel and he's out gallivanting, I'm out of luck?”
“I guess so, hon.”
“I wish he'd take his phone with him, even if he doesn't take his bag.”
“Try not to worry, Chloe. Buck always turns up somewhere.”


When Michael docked at the mouth of the Jordan, he and his fellow guards scanned
the horizon and then casually walked to his tiny car and crammed themselves inside.
Michael drove to his home, which had a tiny lean-to that served as a garage. That
was too small for the bus that dominated the alley behind his humble place. Lights
came on. A baby cried. Michael's wife padded out in a robe and embraced him
desperately. She spoke urgently to him in Hebrew. Michael looked apologetically at
Buck. “I need to keep in touch more,” he said, shrugging.
Buck patted his pocket, feeling for his phone. It was not there. He dug in his bag
and found it. He should keep in touch with Chloe more too, but for right now it was
more important that he get ahold of Ken Ritz. While Buck was on the phone he was
aware of all the activity around him. Silently, Michael and his friends went to work.
Oil and water were dumped into the engine and radiator of the rickety old school
bus. One of the men filled the gas tank from cans stored at the side of the house.
Michael's wife handed out a stack of blankets and a basket of clothes for Tsion.
As Buck hung up from talking to Ritz, who had agreed to meet them at Al Arish in
the Sinai, Buck passed Michael's wife on his way out to the bus. She hesitated
shyly, glancing at him. He slowed, assuming she did not understand English but
also wanting to express his gratitude.
“English?” he tried. She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “I, uh, just
wanted to thank you,” he said. “So, uh, thank you.” He spread his hands and then
clasped them together under his chin, hoping she would know what he meant. She
was a tiny, fragile-looking, dark-eyed thing. Sadness and terror were etched on her
face and in her eyes. It was as if she knew she was on the right side, but that her
time was limited. It couldn't be long before her husband was found out. He was not
only a convert to the true Messiah, but he had also defended an enemy of the state.
Buck knew Michael's wife must be wondering how long it would be before she and
her children suffered the same fate that Tsion Ben-Judah's family suffered. And
short of that, how long before she lost her husband to the cause, worthy though it
was.
It would have been against custom for her to have touched Buck, so he was startled
when she approached. She stood just two feet from his face and stared into his eyes.
She said something in Hebrew and he recognized only the last two words: “Y'shua
Hamashiach.”
When Buck slipped away in the darkness and arrived at the bus, Tsion was already
stretched out under the seats in the back. Food and extra water and oil and gasoline
had already been stored.
Michael approached, his three friends behind him. He embraced Buck and kissed
him on both cheeks. “Go with God,” he said, handing him the ownership
documents. Buck reached to shake hands with the other three, who apparently knew
he wouldn't understand them anyway, and said nothing.
He stepped onto the bus and shut the door, settling into the creaky chair behind the
wheel. Michael signaled him from outside to slide open his driver's-side window.
“Feather it,” Michael said.
“Feather it?” Buck said.
“The throttle.”
Buck put the pedal down and released it, turning the key. The engine roared noisily
to life. Michael put up both hands to urge him to be as quiet as possible. Buck
slowly let out the clutch, and the old crate shuddered and jumped and lurched. Just
to get out of the alleyway and onto the main thoroughfare, Buck felt as if he were
riding the clutch. Shifting, clutching, and, yes, feathering the throttle, he was finally
free of the tiny neighborhood and out onto the road. Now, if he could just follow
Michael's instructions and directions and somehow get to the border, the rest would
be up to God. He felt an unusual sense of freedom, simply piloting a vehicle—
albeit one like this—on his own. He was on a journey that would lead him
somewhere. By dawn, he could be anywhere: detained, imprisoned, in the desert, in
the air, or in heaven.



                         CHAPTER TWELVE
IT didn't take Buck long to learn what Michael meant by “feathering” the throttle.
Any time Buck clutched to shift, the engine nearly stalled. When he came to a
complete stop, he had to keep his left foot on the clutch, his right heel on the brake,
and feather the throttle with the toes of his right foot.
Along with the title to the dilapidated rig, Michael had included a rough map.
“There are four different places where you can cross over from Israel into Egypt by
auto,” Michael had told him. The two most direct were at Rafah on the Gaza Strip.
“But these have always been heavily patrolled. You might rather head south directly
out of Jerusalem through Hebron to Beersheba. I would advise continuing southeast
out of Beersheba, though that is slightly out of your way. About two-thirds of the
way between Beersheba and Yeroham is a southern but mostly western cutoff that
takes you through the northern edge of the Negev. You're less than fifty kilometers
from the border there, and when you come within less than ten kilometers, you can
head north and west or continue due west. I couldn't guess which border would be
easier to get through. I would recommend the southern, because you can then
continue to a northwest route that takes you directly into Al Arish. If you take the
northern pass, you must go back up to the main road between Rafah and Al Arish,
which is more heavily traveled and more carefully watched.”
That had been all Buck needed to hear. He would take the southernmost of the four
border crossings and pray he was not stopped until then.
Tsion Ben-Judah stayed on the floor under the seats until Buck had rumbled far
enough south of Jerusalem that they both felt safe. Tsion moved up and crouched
next to Buck. “Are you tired?” he asked. “Would you like me to take over driving?”
“You're joking.”
“It may be many months before I am able to find humor in anything,” Tsion said.
“But you're not serious about sitting behind the wheel of this bus, are you? What
would we do if we were stopped? Trade places?”
“I was just offering.”
“I appreciate it, but it's out of the question. I'm fine, well rested. Anyway, I'm scared
to death. That will keep me alert.”
Buck downshifted to navigate a curve, and Tsion swung forward from the
momentum. He hung on to the metal pole next to the driver's seat, and he spun
around and smacked into Buck, pushing him to the left.
“I told you, Tsion, I'm awake. You need not continually try to rouse me.”
He looked at Tsion to see if he had elicited a smile. It appeared Tsion was trying to
be polite. He apologized profusely and slid into the seat behind Buck, his head low,
his chin resting on his hands, which gripped the bar that separated the driver from
the first seat. “Tell me when I need to duck.”
“By the time I know that, you'll likely already be seen.”
“I do not think I can take riding long on the floorboards,” Ben-Judah said. “Let us
both just be on the lookout.”
It was difficult for Buck to get the old bus to move faster than seventy kilometers
per hour. He feared it would take all night to get to the border. Maybe that was OK.
The darker and the later the better. As he chugged along, watching the gauges and
trying not to do anything that might draw attention to them, he noticed in his
rearview mirror that Tsion had slumped in the seat and was trying to rest on his
side. Buck thought the rabbi had said something. “I beg your pardon?” Buck said.
“I am sorry, Cameron. I was praying.” Later Buck heard him singing. Later still,
weeping. Well after midnight, Buck checked his map and noted that they were
rolling through Haiheul, a small town just a tick north of Hebron. “Will the tourists
be out at this time of night in Hebron?” Buck asked.
Tsion leaned forward. “No. But still, it is a populated area. I will be careful.
Cameron, there is something I would like to talk to you about.”
“Anything.”
“I want you to know that I am deeply grateful that you have sacrificed your time
and risked your life to come for me.”
“No friend would do less, Tsion. I've felt a deep bond with you since the day you
first took me to the Wailing Wall. And then we had to flee together after your
television broadcast.”
“We have been through some incredible experiences, it is true.” Tsion said. “That is
why I knew if I could merely get Dr. Rosenzweig to point you in the direction of the
witnesses, you would find me. I did not dare let on to him where I was. Even my
driver knew only to take me to Michael and the other brothers in Jericho. My driver
was so distraught at what happened to my family that he was in tears. We have been
together for many years. Michael promised to keep him informed, but I would like
to call him myself. Perhaps I can use your secure phone once we have passed the
border.”
Buck didn't know what to say. He had more confidence than Michael that Tsion
could take yet more bad news, but why did he have to be the one to bear it? The
intuitive rabbi seemed to immediately suspect Buck was hiding something. “What?”
he asked. “Do you think it is too late to call him?”
“It is very late,” Buck said.
“But if the situation were reversed, I would be overjoyed to hear from him at any
time of the day or night.”
“I'm sure he felt—feels the same,” Buck said lamely.
Buck peeked into the rearview mirror. Tsion stared at him, a look of realization
coming over him. “Maybe I should call him now,” he suggested. “May I use your
phone?”
“Tsion, you are always welcome to whatever I have. You know that. I would not
phone him now, no.”
When Tsion responded, Buck knew that he knew. His voice was flat, full of the pain
that would plague him the rest of his days. “Cameron, his name was Jaime. He had
been with me since I started teaching at the university. He was not an educated man;
however, he was wise in the ways of the world. We talked much about my findings.
He and my wife were the only ones besides my student assistants who knew what I
was going to say on the television broadcast. He was close, Cameron. So close. But
he is no longer with us, is he?”
Buck thought about merely shaking his head, but he could not do that. He busied
himself looking for road signs for Hebron, but the rabbi, of course, would not let it
go.
“Cameron, we are too close and have gone through too much for you to hold out on
me now. Clearly you have been told the disposition of Jaime. You must understand
that the toll the bad news has taken on me can be made neither worse by hearing
more, nor better by hearing less. We believers in Christ, of all people, must never
fear any truth, hard as it may be.”
“Jaime is dead,” Buck said.
Tsion hung his head. “He heard me preach so many times. He knew the gospel.
Sometimes I even pushed him. He was not offended. He knew I cared about him. I
can only hope and pray that perhaps after he delivered me to Michael, he had time
to join the family. Tell me how it happened.”
“Car bomb.”
“Instantaneous, then,” he said. “Perhaps he never knew what hit him. Perhaps he did
not suffer.”
“I'm so sorry, Tsion. Michael didn't think you could take it.”
“He underestimates me, but I appreciate his concern. I worry about everyone
associated with me. Anyone who appears they might know anything of my
whereabouts may suffer if they are not forthcoming. That includes so many. I will
never forgive myself if they all pay the ultimate price for merely having known me.
Frankly, I worry about Chaim Rosenzweig.”
“I wouldn't worry about him just yet,” Buck said. “He's still closely identified with
Carpathia. Ironically, that's his protection for now.”
Buck drove cautiously through Hebron, and he and Tsion rode in silence all the way
to Beersheba. In the wee hours of the morning, about ten kilometers south of
Beersheba, Buck noticed the heat gauge rising. The oil gauge still looked OK, but
the last thing Buck wanted was to overheat. “I'm gonna add some water to this
radiator, Tsion,” he said. The rabbi seemed to be dozing.
Buck pulled far off the road onto the gravel shoulder. He found a rag and climbed
out. Once he got the hood propped up, he gingerly opened the radiator cap. It was
steaming, but he was able to dump a couple of liters of water in before the thing
boiled over. While he was working he noticed a Global Community peacekeeping
force squad car slowly drive past. Buck tried to look casual and took a deep breath.
He wiped his hands and dropped the rag into his water can, noticing the squad car
had pulled over about a hundred feet in front of the bus and was slowly backing up.
Trying not to look suspicious, Buck tossed the water can into the bus and came back
around to shut the hood. Before he shut it, the squad car backed onto the road and
turned to face him on the shoulder. With the headlights shining in his eyes, Buck
heard the Global Community peacekeeper say something to him in Hebrew over his
loudspeaker.
Buck held out both arms and hollered, “English!”
In a heavy accent, the peacekeeper said, “Please to remain outside your vehicle.”
Buck turned to lower the hood, but the officer called out to him again, “Please to
stand where you are.”
Buck shrugged and stood awkwardly, hands at his sides. The officer spoke into his
radio. Finally the young man emerged. “Happy evening to you, sir,” he said.
“Thank you,” Buck said. “Just had some overheating problems is all.”
The officer was dark and slender, wearing the gaudy uniform of the Global
Community, Buck wished he'd had his own passport and papers. Nothing sent a GC
operative running more quickly than Buck's 2-A clearance.
“Are you alone?” the officer asked.
“Name's Herb Katz,” Buck said.
“I asked you are you alone?”
“I'm an American businessman, here on pleasure.”
“Your papers, please.”
Buck pulled out his phony passport and wallet. The young man studied them with a
flashlight and pointed the light into Buck's face. Buck didn't think that was
necessary with the headlights already blinding him, but he said nothing.
“Mr. Katz, can you tell me where you got this vehicle?”
“I bought it tonight. Just before midnight.”
“And you bought it from?”
“I have the papers. I can't pronounce his name. I'm an American.”
“Sir, the plates on this vehicle trace to a resident of Jericho.”
Buck, still playing dumb, said, “Well, there you go! That's where I bought it, in
Jericho.”
“And you say you purchased it before midnight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you aware of a manhunt in this country?”
“Tell me,” Buck said.
“It happens that the owner of this vehicle was detained, just over an hour ago, in
connection with aiding and abetting a murder suspect.”
“You don't say?” Buck said. “I just took a boat ride with this man. He runs a tour
boat. Hold him I needed a vehicle to just get me from Israel to Egypt so I could fly
home to America. He told me he had just the rig, and this is it.”
The officer moved toward the bus. “I'm going to need to see those papers,” he said.
“I'll get them for you,” Buck said, stepping in front of him and jumping onto the
bus. He grabbed the papers and waved them as he came down the steps. The officer
backed away and into the light of his own headlamps again.
“The papers seem to be in order, but it's just too coincidental that you purchased this
vehicle only hours before this man was arrested.”
“I don't see what buying a bus has to do with what some guy is messed up with,”
Buck said.
“We have reason to believe that the man who sold you this vehicle has been
harboring a murderer. He was found with the suspect's papers and those of an
American. It will not be long before we persuade him to tell us where he has
harbored the suspect.” The officer looked at his own notes. “Are you familiar with a
Cameron Williams, an American?”
“Doesn't sound like the name of any friend I've got. I'm from Chicago.”
“And you are leaving tonight, from Egypt?”
“That's right.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Buck repeated.
“Why do you need to leave through Egypt? Why do you not fly out of Jerusalem or
Tel Aviv?”
“No flights tonight. I want to get home. I've chartered a flight.”
“And why didn't you simply hire a ride?”
“If you look closely at that title and bill of sale, you'll see I paid less for the bus than
I would have for a ride.”
“One moment, sir.” The officer went back to his squad car and sat talking on the
radio for several minutes.
Buck prayed he would think of something that would keep the peacekeeper from
searching the bus.
Soon the young man emerged again. “You claim to never have heard of Cameron
Williams. We are now determining if the man who sold you this vehicle will
implicate you in his scheme.”
“His scheme?” Buck said.
“It will not take us long to find out where he has hidden our suspect. It will be in his
best interest to tell us the whole truth. He has a wife and children, after all.”
For the first time in his life, Buck was tempted to kill a man. He knew the officer
was just a pawn in a cosmic game, the war between good and evil. But he
represented evil. Would Buck have been justified, the way Michael had felt
justified, in killing those who might kill Tsion? The officer heard squawking on his
radio and hurried back to the squad car. He returned in a moment.
“Our techniques have worked,” he said. “We have extracted the location of the
hiding place, somewhere between Jericho and Lake Tiberius off the Jordan River.
But under the threat of torture and even death, he swears you were merely a tour
guest to whom he sold the vehicle.”
Buck sighed. Others might consider that mutual ruse a coincidence. To him it was
as much a miracle as what he had seen at the Wailing Wall.
“Just for safety's sake, however,” the officer said, “I have been asked to search your
vehicle for any evidence of the fugitive.”
“But you said—”
“Have no fear, sir. You are in the clear. Perhaps you were used to transport some
evidence out of the country without your knowing it. We simply need to check the
vehicle for anything that might lead us to the suspect. I will thank you to stand aside
and remain here while I search your vehicle.”
“You don't need a warrant or my permission or anything?”
The officer turned menacingly toward Buck. “Sir, you have been pleasant and
cooperative. But do not make the mistake of thinking that you are talking with local
law enforcement here. You can see from my car and my uniform that I represent the
peacekeeping forces of the Global Community. We are restricted by no conventions
or rules. I could confiscate this vehicle without so much as your signature. Now
wait here.”
Wild thoughts ran through Buck's mind. He considered trying to disarm the officer
and racing away in the man's squad car with Tsion. It was ludicrous, he knew, but
he hated inaction. Would Tsion jump the officer? Kill him? Buck heard the officer's
footsteps move slowly to the back of the bus and then to the front again. The
flashlight beam danced around inside the bus.
The officer rejoined him. “What did you think you were going to do? Did you think
you were going to get away with this? Did you think I was going to allow you to
drive this vehicle across the border into Egypt and to simply dump it? Were you
going to leave it at an airport somewhere for local authorities to clean up?”
Buck was dumbfounded. This was what the officer was worried about now? Had he
not seen Tsion Ben-Judah on the bus? Had God supernaturally blinded him? “Uh, I,
uh, actually had thought of that. Yes, I understood that many of the locals who try to
pick up extra money helping with baggage and the like, that they, uh, would be
thrilled to have such a vehicle.”
“You must be a very wealthy American, sir. I realize this bus is not worth much, but
it sure is a big tip for a baggage handler, wouldn't you say?”
“Call me frivolous,” Buck said.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Katz.”
“Well, you're welcome. And thank you.” The officer reentered his vehicle and
pulled across the road, heading north back into Beersheba. Buck, his knees like jelly
and his fingers twitching, slammed the hood shut and boarded the bus.
“How in the world did you pull that off, Tsion? Tsion! It's me! You can come out
now, wherever you are. No way you fit up in the luggage rack. Tsion?”
Buck stood on a seat and scanned the racks. Nothing. He lay on the floor and looked
beneath the seats. Nothing but his own bag, the pile of clothes, the foodstuffs, and
the water, oil, and gasoline. If Buck hadn't known better, he'd have thought Tsion
Ben-Judah had been raptured after all.
Now what? No traffic had passed while Buck was engaged with the officer. Did he
dare shout into the darkness? When had Tsion left the bus? Rather than make a
scene for anyone who might happen along, Buck merely climbed aboard, restarted
the engine, and drove down the shoulder of the road. After about two hundred
yards, he tried to pop a U-turn and found that he had to accomplish it with a three-
point turn instead. He drove down the other shoulder, clouds of dust rising behind
him, illuminated by the red taillights. C'mon, Tsion! Tell me you didn't start off
walking all the way toward Egypt!
Buck thought of honking the horn. Instead he drove another couple of hundred
yards north and turned around yet again. This time his lights picked up the small,
furtive wave of his friend from a grove of trees in the distance. He slowly rolled the
bus to the area and opened the door. Tsion Ben-Judah leaped aboard and lay on the
floor next to Buck. He was panting.
“If you have ever wondered what the saying meant about the Lord working in
mysterious ways,” Tsion said, “there was your answer.”
“What in the world happened?” Buck said. “I thought we'd had it for good.”
“So did I!” Tsion said. “I was dozing and barely understood that you were going to
do something with the engine. When you raised the hood, I realized I needed to
relieve myself. You were pouring the water when I got off. I was only about fifteen
feet off the road when the squad car rolled by. I did not know what you would do,
but I knew I could not be on that bus. I just started walking this way, praying you
would somehow talk your way out of it.”
“Did you hear our conversation, then?”
“No. What all was said?”
“You won't believe it, Tsion.” And Buck told him the whole story as they rolled on
toward the border.
As the old bus putted along in the darkness, Tsion apparently grew brave. He sat in
the front seat, directly behind Buck. He was not hiding, not leaned over. He bent
forward and spoke earnestly into Buck's ear. “Cameron,” he said, his voice quavery
and weak, “I am going nearly mad wondering who will take care of the disposition
of my family.”
Buck hesitated. “I don't quite know how to ask you this, sir, but what generally
happens in cases like this? When pseudo-official factions do something like this, I
mean.”
“That is what bothers me. You never see what happens to the bodies. Do they bury
them? Do they burn them? I do not know. But the mere imagining of it is deeply
troubling to me.”
“Tsion, far be it from me to advise you spiritually. You are a man of the Word and
of deep faith.”
Tsion interrupted him. “Do not be foolish, my young friend. Just because you are
not a scholar does not mean you are any less mature in the faith. You were a
believer before I was.”
“Still, sir, I am at the end of my insight in knowing how to deal with such personal
tragedy. I could not have remotely handled what you're going through in any way
near how you're handling it.”
“Do not forget, Cameron, that I am mostly running on emotion. No doubt my
system is in shock. My worst days are yet to come.”
“Frankly, Tsion, I have feared the same thing for you. At least you have been able
to cry. Tears can be a great release. I fear for those who go through such trauma and
find it impossible to shed tears.”
Tsion sat back and said nothing. Buck prayed silently for him. Finally, Tsion leaned
forward again. “I come from a heritage of tears,” he said. “Centuries of tears.”
“I wish I could do something tangible for you, Tsion,” Buck said.
“Tangible? What is more tangible than this? You have been of such encouragement
to me I cannot tell you. Who else would do this for a man he hardly knows?”
“It seems I've known you forever.”
“And God has given you resources that even my closest friends do not have.” Tsion
seemed deep in thought. Finally he said, “Cameron, there is something you can do
that would be of some comfort to me.”
“Anything.”
“Tell me about your little group of believers there in America. What did you call
them? The core group, I mean?”
“The Tribulation Force.”
“Yes! I love hearing such stories. Wherever I have gone in the world to preach and
to help be an instrument in converting the 144,000 Jews who are becoming the
witnesses foretold in the Scriptures, I have heard wonderful tales of secret meetings
and the like. Tell me all about your Tribulation Force.”
Buck began at the beginning. He started on the plane when he was merely a
passenger and Hattie Durham was a flight attendant, Rayford Steele the pilot. As he
talked, he kept glancing in the rearview mirror to see if Tsion was really listening or
merely tolerating a long story. Buck had always been amazed that his own mind
could be on two tracks at once. He could be telling a story and thinking of another at
the same time. All the while he told Tsion of hearing Rayford spill his own story of
a spiritual quest, of meeting Chloe and traveling back from New York to Chicago
with her on the very day she prayed with her father to receive Christ, of meeting and
being counseled by Bruce Barnes and mentored and tutored by him whenever
possible, Buck was trying to hold at bay his fear of facing the border crossing. At
the same time he was wondering whether he should complete his story. Tsion did
not know yet of the death of Bruce Barnes, a man he had never met but with whom
he had corresponded and with whom he hoped to minister one day.
Buck brought the story up to just a few days before, when the Tribulation Force had
reunited in Chicago, just before war erupted. Buck sensed Tsion growing more
nervous as they neared the border. He seemed to move more, to interrupt more, to
talk more quickly, and to ask more questions.
“And Pastor Bruce had been on the church staff for many years without having truly
been a believer?”
“Yes. That was a sad, difficult story even for him to tell.”
“I cannot wait to meet him,” Tsion said. “I will grieve for my family, and I will
miss my mother country as if she truly were my parent. But to get to pray with your
Tribulation Force and open the Scriptures with them, this will be balm for my pain,
salve for my wound.”
Buck took a deep breath. He wanted to stop talking, to concentrate on the road, on
the border ahead. Yet he could never be less than fully honest with Tsion. “You will
meet Bruce Barnes at the Glorious Appearing,” he said.
Buck peeked in the mirror. Clearly Tsion had heard and understood. He lowered his
head. “When did it happen?” he asked.
Buck told him.
“And how did he die?”
Buck told him what he knew. “We're probably never going to know whether it was
the virus he picked up overseas or the impact of the blast on the hospital. Rayford
said there seemed to be no marks on his body.”
“Perhaps the Lord spared him from the bombing by taking him first.”
Buck considered that God was providing Rabbi Ben-Judah to be the new scriptural
and spiritual mentor for the Tribulation Force, but he didn't dare suggest that. No
way an international fugitive could become the new pastor of New Hope Village
Church, especially if Nicolae Carpathia had his sights trained on him. Anyway,
Tsion might consider Buck's idea a crazy one. Was there not some easier way God
could have put Tsion in a position to help the Tribulation Force without costing him
his wife and children?
In spite of his nervousness, in spite of his fear, in spite of the distraction of driving
in unknown, dangerous territory with a less-than-desirable conveyance, suddenly
Buck saw it all laid out before him. He wouldn't call it a vision. It was simply a
realization of the possibilities. Suddenly he knew the first use for the secret shelter
beneath the church. He envisioned Tsion there, supplied with everything he needed,
including one of those great computers Donny Moore was dolling up.
Buck grew excited just thinking about it. He would provide for the rabbi every
software package he needed. He would have the Bible in every version, every
language, with all the notes and commentaries and dictionaries and encyclopedias
he needed. Tsion would never again have to worry about losing his books. They
would all be in one place, on one massive hard drive.
And what might Donny come up with that would allow Tsion to broadcast
surreptitiously on the Internet? Was it possible his ministry could be more dramatic
and wider than ever? Could he do his teaching and preaching and Bible studies on
the Net to the millions of computers and televisions all over the world? Surely there
must be some technology that would allow him to do this without being detected. If
cell phone manufacturers could provide chips allowing a caller to jump between
three-dozen different frequencies in seconds to avoid static and interception, surely
there was a way to scramble a message over the Net and keep the sender from being
identified.
In the distance Buck saw GC squad cars and trucks near two one-story buildings
that straddled the road. The buildings would be the exit from Israel. Up the road
would be the entrance into the Sinai. Buck downshifted and checked his gauges.
The heat was starting to rise only slightly, and he was convinced if he drove slowly
and was able to shut off the vehicle for a while at the border crossing, that would
take care of it. He was doing fine on fuel, and the oil gauge looked OK.
He was irritated. His mind was engaged with the possibilities of a ministry for Tsion
Ben-Judah that would outstrip anything he had ever been able to accomplish before,
but it also reminded him that he too could, in essence, broadcast over the Internet
the truth about what was going on in the world. For how long could he pretend to be
a cooperative, if not loyal employee, of Nicolae Carpathia? His journalism was no
longer objective. It was propaganda. It was what George Orwell would have called
“newspeak” in his famous novel 1984.
Buck didn't want to face a border crossing. He wanted to sit with a yellow pad and
noodle his ideas. He wanted to excite the rabbi over the possibilities. But he could
not. Apparently his rattletrap and its vulnerable personal cargo would have the full
attention of the border guards. Whatever vehicles had preceded them were long
gone, and none appeared in the rearview mirror.
Tsion lay on the floor beneath the seats. Buck pulled up to two uniformed and
helmeted guards at a lowered crossbar. The one on the driver's side of the bus
signaled that he should slide open the window and then spoke to him in Hebrew.
“English,” Buck said.
“Passport, visa, identification papers, vehicle registration, any goods to declare, and
anything on board you want us to know about before we search should be passed
through the window or told to us before we raise the gate.”
Buck stood and retrieved from the front seat all the papers related to the vehicle. He
added his phony passport, visa, and identification. He slipped back behind the wheel
and passed everything out to the guard. “I am also carrying foodstuffs, gasoline, oil,
and water.”
“Anything else?”
“Anything else?” Buck repeated.
“Anything else we need to see, sir! You will be interrogated inside, and your vehicle
will be searched over there.” The guard pointed just beyond the building on the
right side of the road.
“Yes, I have some clothing and some blankets.”
“Is that all?”
“Those are the only other things I am carrying.”
“Very good, sir. When the bar is raised, please pull your vehicle to the right and
meet me in the building on the left.”
Buck slowly drove under the angled crossbar, keeping the bus in first gear, the
noisiest. Tsion reached past Buck's chair and grabbed his ankle. Buck took it as
encouragement, as thanks, and, if necessary, farewell. “Tsion,” he whispered, “your
only hope is to stay as far in the back as possible. Can you scoot all the way to the
back?”
“I will try.”
“Tsion, Michael's wife said something to me when I left. I didn't understand it. It
was in Hebrew. The last two words were something like Y'shua Hama-some-thing.”
“Y'shua Hamashiach means 'Jesus the Messiah,'” Tsion said, his voice quavery.
“She was wishing you the blessing of God on your trip, in the name of Y'shua
Hamashiach.”
“The same to you, my brother,” Buck said.
“Cameron, my friend, I will see you soon. If not in this life, then in the everlasting
kingdom.”
The guards were approaching, obviously wondering what was keeping Buck. He
shut off the engine and opened the door, just as a young guard approached. Buck
grabbed a water can and shouldered his way past the guard. “Been having a little
trouble with the radiator,” he said. “You know anything about radiators?”
Distracted, the guard raised his eyebrows and followed Buck to the front of the bus.
He raised the hood and they added water. The older guard, the one who had talked
to him at the gate, said “Come on, let's go, let's go!”
“Be right with you,” Buck said, aware of every nerve in his body. He made a huge
noise, slamming the hood. The younger guard moved toward the door, but Buck
passed him, excused himself, put one foot on the steps, and tossed the water can
into the bus. He thought about “helping” the guard search the bus. He could stand
with him and point out the blankets and cans of gas, oil, and water. But he had
already come dangerously close, he feared, to making them suspicious. He came
back off the bus and into the face of the young guard. “Thanks so much for your
help. I don't know much about engines, really. Business is my game. America, you
know.”
The young guard looked him in the eyes and nodded. Buck prayed he would merely
follow him into the building on the other side of the border crossing. The older
guard was waiting, staring at him, now waving for him to come over. Buck had no
choice now. He left Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah, the most recognizable and notorious
fugitive in Israel, in the hands of border guards.
Buck hurried into the processing building. He was as distracted as he'd ever been,
but he couldn't let it show. He wanted to turn and see if Tsion was dragged off the
bus. No way he could escape on foot as he had on the road not long before. There
was nowhere to go here, nowhere to hide. Barbed wire fences lined each side. Once
you got in the gate, you had to go one way or the other. There was no going around.
The original guard had Buck's papers spread out before him. “You entered Israel
through what entry point?”
“Tel Aviv,” Buck said. “It should all be there—”
“Oh, it is. Just checking. Your papers seem to be in order, Mr. Katz,” he added,
stamping Buck's passport and visa. “And you are representing ... ?”
“International Harvesters,” Buck said, making it plural because he meant it.
“And you're leaving the area when?”
“Tonight. If my pilot meets up with me at Al Arish.”
“And how will you dispose of the vehicle?”
“I was hoping to sell it cheap to someone at the airport.”
“Depending upon how cheap, that should be no problem.”
Buck seemed frozen into place. The guard looked over his shoulder and out across
the road. What was he looking at? Buck could only imagine Tsion detained,
handcuffed, and led across the road. What a fool he had been to not try to find some
secret compartment for Tsion. This was madness. Had he driven a man to his death?
Buck couldn't stand the thought of losing yet another member of his new family in
Christ.
The guard was on the computer. “This shows you were detained near Beersheba
earlier this morning?”
“Detained is overstating it a bit. I was adding water to the radiator and was
questioned briefly by a GC peacekeeping officer.”
“Did he tell you the previous owner of your vehicle has been arrested in connection
with the escape of Tsion Ben-Judah?“
”He did.”
“You might be interested in this, then.” The guard turned and pointed a remote
control device at a television up in the corner. The Global Community Network
News was reporting that a Michael Shorosh had been arrested in connection with
the harboring of a fugitive from justice. “Global Community spokesmen say that
Ben-Judah, formerly a respected scholar and clergyman, apparently became a
radical fanatic fundamentalist, and point to this sermon he delivered just a week ago
as evidence that he overreacted to a New Testament passage and was later seen by
several neighbors slaughtering his own family.”
Buck watched in horror as the news ran a tape of Tsion speaking at a huge rally in a
filled stadium in Larnaca, on the island of Cyprus. “You'll note,” the newsman said,
as the tape was stopped, “the man on the platform behind Dr. Ben-Judah has been
identified as Michael Shorosh. In a raid on his Jericho home shortly after midnight
tonight, peacekeeping forces found personal photos of Ben-Judah's family and
identification papers from both Ben-Judah and an American journalist, Cameron
Williams. Williams's connection to the case has not been determined.”
Buck prayed they would not show his face on television. He was startled to see the
guard look over his shoulder to the door. Buck whirled to see the young guard come
in, staring at him. The young man let the door close behind him and leaned back
against it, his arms folded over his chest. He watched the news report with them.
The tape showed Ben-Judah reading from Matthew. Buck had heard Tsion preach
this message before. The verses, of course, had been taken out of context. “Whoever
denies Me before men, him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven.
“Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace but
a sword. For I have come to 'set a man against his father, a daughter against her
mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law'; and 'a man's enemies will
be those of his own household.' He who loves father or mother more than Me is not
worthy of Me. And he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of
Me. And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me.”
The news reporter said solemnly, “This just a few days before the rabbi murdered
his own wife and children in broad daylight.”
“That's something, isn't it?” the older guard said.
“That's something all right,” Buck said, fearing his voice betrayed him.
The guard at the desk was stacking Buck's papers. He looked past Buck to the
young guard. “Everything all right with the vehicle, Anis?”
Buck had to think quickly. Which would look more suspicious? Not turning to look
at the young man, or turning to look at him? He turned to look. Still standing before
the closed door, arms over his chest, the rigid young man nodded once. “All is in
order. Blankets and supplies. ”
Buck had been holding his breath. The man at the desk slid his papers across. “Safe
journey,” he said.
Buck nearly wept as he exhaled. “Thank you,” he said.
He turned toward the door, but the older guard was not finished. “Thank you for
visiting Israel,” he added. Buck wanted to scream. He turned around and nodded.
“Yeah, uh, yes. You're welcome.”
He had to will himself to walk. Anis did not move as Buck approached the door. He
came face-to-face with the young man and stopped. He sensed the older guard
Watching.
“Excuse me,” Buck said.
“My name is Anis,” the man said.
“Yes, Anis. Thank you. Excuse me, please.” Finally Anis stepped aside and Buck
shakily left. His hands trembled as he folded his papers and stuffed them into his
pocket. He boarded the rickety old bus and fired it up. If Tsion had found
somewhere to hide, how would Buck find him now? He executed the fragile dance
between clutch and accelerator and got the rig moving. Finally up to speed, he
shifted into third, and the engine smoothed out a bit. He called out, “If you're still on
board, my friend, stay right where you are until the lights of that border crossing
disappear. Then I want to know everything.”



                     CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RAYFORD was tired of being awakened by the phone. However, few people in
New Babylon outside of Carpathia and Fortunato ever called him. And they usually
had the sense not to disturb him in the middle of the night. So, he decided, the
ringing phone was either good news or bad news. One chance out of two, in this day
and age, wasn't bad.
He picked up the phone. “Steele,” he said.
It was Amanda. “Oh, Rayford, I know it's the middle of the night there, and I'm
sorry to wake you. It's just that we've had a little excitement here, and we want to
know if you know anything.”
“Know anything about what?”
“Well, Chloe and I were just going over all these pages from Bruce's computer
printout. We told you about that?”
“Yeah.”
“We got the strangest call from Loretta at the church. She said she was just working
there alone, taking a few phone calls. She said she just had an overwhelming urge to
pray for Buck.”
“For Buck?”
“Yes. She said she was so overcome with the emotion of it that she quickly stood up
from her chair. She said she thought that made her lightheaded, but something made
her fall to her knees. Once she was kneeling, she realized she wasn't dizzy but was
just praying earnestly for Buck.”
“All I know, hon, is that Buck is in Israel. I think he's trying to find Tsion Ben-
Judah, and you know what's happened to his family.”
“We know,” Amanda said. “It's just that Buck has a way of getting himself into
trouble.”
“He also has a way of getting himself out of trouble,” Rayford said.
“Then what do you make of this premonition, or whatever it was, of Loretta's?”
“I wouldn't call it a premonition. We all could use prayer these days, couldn't we?”
Amanda sounded annoyed. “Rayford, this was no fluke. You know Loretta is as
levelheaded as they come. She was so upset she shut the office and came home.”
“You mean before nine o'clock at night? What has she become, a slacker?”
“Come on, Ray. She didn't go in until about noon today. You know she often stays
till nine. People call at all hours.”
“I know. I'm sorry.”
“She wants to talk to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes. Will you talk to her?”
“Sure, put her on.” Rayford had no idea what to say to her. Bruce would have had
an answer for something like this.
Loretta indeed sounded shaken. “Captain Steele, I'm so sorry 'bout troubling you at
this time of the night. What is it, goin' on like three o'clock over there?”
“Yes ma'am, but it's all right.”
“No, it's not all right. There's no reason to raise you out of a sound sleep. But sir,
God told me to pray for that boy, I just know it.”
“Then I'm glad you did.”
“Do you think I'm crazy?”
“I've always thought you were crazy, Loretta. That's why we love you so much.”
“I know you're sporting with me, Captain Steele, but seriously, have I lost my
marbles?”
“No ma'am. God seems to be working in much more direct and dramatic ways all
the time. If you were led to pray for Buck right then, you remember to ask him what
was happening.”
“That's just the thing, Mr. Steele. I had this overwhelming sense that Buck was in
deep trouble. I just hope he makes it out of there alive. We're all hoping he can be
back here in time for the Sunday service. You'll be here, won't you?”
“The Lord willing,” Rayford said, stunned to hear from his own lips a phrase he had
always considered silly when Irene's old friends had used it.
“We want everybody together Sunday,” Loretta said.
“It's my highest priority, ma'am. And Loretta, would you do me a favor?”
“After gettin' you up in the middle of the night? You name it.”
“If the Lord prompts you to pray for me, would you do it with all your might?”
“'Course I will. You know that. I hope you're not just bein' funny now.”
“I've never been more serious.”
When the lights of the border crossing disappeared behind him, Buck pulled the bus
off the road, shifted into neutral, set the brake, turned sideways in his seat, and
sighed heavily. He could barely produce volume in his voice. “Tsion, are you on
this bus? Come out now, wherever you are.”
From the back of the bus came an emotion-filled voice. “I am here, Cameron. Praise
the Lord God Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.”
The rabbi crawled out from under the seats. Buck met him in the aisle and they
embraced. “Talk to me,” Buck said.
“I told you the Lord would make a way somehow,” Tsion said. “I don't know if the
young Anis was an angel or a man, but he was sent from God.”
“Anis?”
“Anis. He walked up and down the aisle of the bus, shining his flashlight here and
there. Then he knelt and shined it under the seats. I looked right into the beam. I was
praying that God would blind his eyes. But God did not blind him. He came back to
where I was and dropped to his elbows and knees. He kept the flashlight in my face
with one hand and reached with the other to grab me by the shirt. He pulled me
close to him. I thought my heart would burst. I imagined myself dragged into the
building, a trophy for a young officer.
“He whispered hoarsely to me through clenched teeth in Hebrew, 'You had better be
who I think you are, or you are a dead man.' What could I do? There was no more
hiding. No more future in pretending I wasn't here. I said to him, 'Young man, my
name is Tsion Ben-Judah.'
“Still holding my shirt in his fist and with his flashlight blinding me, he said, 'Rabbi
Ben-Judah, my name is Anis. Pray as you have never prayed before that my report
will be believed. And now may the Lord bless you and keep you. May the Lord
make His face shine upon you and give you peace.' Cameron, as God is my witness,
the young man stood and walked out of the bus. I have been lying here, praising
God with my tears ever since.”
There was nothing more to say. Tsion slumped into a seat in the middle of the bus.
Buck returned to the wheel and drove off to the border crossing in Egypt.
Half an hour later Buck and Tsion pulled up to the entrance into the Sinai. This
time, God merely used the carelessness of the system to allow Ben-Judah to slip
through. The only crossing gate was on the other side of the border into the Sinai.
When Buck was told to stop, one guard immediately boarded and began barking
orders in his own tongue. Buck said, “English?”
“English it is, gentlemen.” He looked back at Tsion. “You'll be able to go back to
sleep in a few minutes there, old-timer,” he said. “You've got to come in and be
processed first. I'll search your bus while you're in there, and you'll be on your
way.”
Buck, emboldened by the most recent miracle, looked at Tsion and shrugged. He
waited as Tsion made way for the guard to get past him and begin the search, but
Tsion motioned to Buck that he should get going. Buck hurried off the bus and into
the building. As his papers were being processed, the guard said, “No trouble at the
Israeli checkpoint then?”
Buck nearly smiled. No problem? There's no problem when God is on your side.
“No, sir.”
Buck couldn't help himself. He kept looking over his shoulder for Tsion. Where had
he gone now? Had God made him invisible?
This was a much easier and quicker process. Apparently the Egyptians were used to
simply rubber-stamping whatever the Israelis had approved. You couldn't get to this
checkpoint without going through the previous, so unless the Israelis were trying to
dump their castoffs, it was usually smooth sailing. Buck's papers were stamped and
stacked and handed back to him with just a few questions. “Less than a hundred
kilometers to Al Arish,” the guard said. “No commercial flights scheduled out of
there at this time, of course.”
“I know,” Buck said. “I have made my own arrangements.”
“Very good then, Mr. Katz. All the best.”
All the best is right! Buck thought.
He turned to hurry out to the bus. There was no sign of Tsion. The original guard
was still on the bus. As Buck began to board, Tsion came from behind the bus and
stepped in front of him. They boarded together. The guard was going through
Buck's bag. “Impressive equipment, Mr. Katz.”
“Thanks.”
Tsion casually moved past the guard and went back to where he had been sitting
when they arrived. He stretched out on the seat.
“And you work for whom?” the guard asked.
“International Harvesters,” Buck said. Tsion rose up briefly in his seat, and Buck
nearly laughed. Surely Tsion appreciated that.
The guard closed the bag. “You're both all processed then and ready to proceed?”
“All set,” Buck said.
The guard looked toward the back. Tsion was snoring. The guard turned
toward,Buck and spoke quietly, “Carry on.”
Buck tried not to be too eager to drive off, but he popped the clutch when the guard
was clear of the front of the bus, and soon he was out onto the road again. “All
right, Tsion, where were you that time?”
Tsion sat up. “Did you like my snore?” Buck laughed.
“Very impressive. Where were you when the guard thought you were being
processed with me?”
“Merely standing behind the bus. You got off and went one way, I got off and went
the other.”
“You're joking.”
“I did not know what to do, Cameron. He was so friendly, and he had seen me. I
certainly wasn't going to walk into the processing center with no papers. When you
returned, I figured I had been gone an appropriate time.”
“The question now,” Buck said, “is how long before that guard mentions he saw
two men on the bus.”
Tsion carefully made his way up to the seat behind Buck. “Yes,” he said. “First he
will have to convince them that he was not seeing things. Maybe it will not come
up. But if it does, they will soon give chase.”
“I trust the Lord to deliver us, because he has promised he will,” Buck said. “But I
also think we had better be as prepared as possible.” He pulled off to the side of the
road. He topped off the water in the radiator and dumped nearly two liters of oil into
the engine. He filled the gas tanks.
“It is like we are living in the New Testament,” Tsion said.
Buck, clutching and shifting, said “They might be able to overtake this old bus. But
if we can make it to Al Arish, we'll be on that Learjet and out over the
Mediterranean before they know we're gone.”
For the next two hours, the road grew worse. The temperature rose. Buck kept an
eye on the rearview mirror and noticed that Tsion kept looking back as well.
Occasionally a smaller, faster car would appear on the horizon and fly past them.
“What are we worried about, Cameron? God would not bring us so far only to have
us captured. Would he?”
“You're asking me? I never had anything like this happen to me until I ran into
you!”
They rode in silence for half an hour. Finally, Tsion spoke, and Buck thought he
sounded as strong as he had since Buck first saw him in the hideout. “Cameron, you
know I have had to force myself to eat up until now, and I have not done a good job
at it.”
“So eat something! There's lots of stuff in here!”
“I believe I will. The pain in my heart is so deep that I feel as if I will never do
anything again only for the sake of my own enjoyment. I used to love to eat. Even
before I knew Christ, I knew that food was God's provision for us. He wanted us to
enjoy it. I am hungry now, but I will eat only for sustenance and energy.”
“You don't have to explain it to me, Tsion. I only pray that sometime between now
and the Glorious Appearing, you'll get some relief from the deep wound you must
feel.”
“You want anything?”
Buck shook his head, then thought better of it. “Anything there with lots of fiber
and natural sugar?”
He didn't know what was ahead, but he didn't want to be physically weak,
regardless.
Tsion snorted. “High in fiber and natural sugars? This is food from Israel, Cameron.
You just described everything we eat.”
The rabbi tossed Buck several fig bars that reminded him of granola and fruit. Buck
had not realized his own level of hunger until he began to eat. He suddenly felt
supercharged and hoped Tsion felt the same. Especially when he saw flashing
yellow lights on the horizon far behind them.
The question now was whether to try to outrun the official vehicle or to feign
innocence and merely let it pass. Perhaps it was not after them anyway. Buck shook
his head. What was he thinking? Of course this was probably their Waterloo. He
was confident God would bring them through, but he also didn't want to be naive
enough to think an emergency vehicle would be coming at them from the border
crossing without Buck and Tsion in its sights. “Tsion, you'd better secure everything
and get out of sight.”
Tsion leaned to stare out the back. “More excitement,” he muttered. “Lord, have we
not had enough for one day? Cameron, I will put most of it away, but I am taking a
few morsels with me to my bed.”
“Suit yourself. From the looks of those cars at the border, they're small and have
very little power. If I step on it, it will take them a long time to catch us.”
“And when they do?” Tsion said, from beneath the seats in the back.
“I am trying to think of a strategy now.”
“I will be praying,” Tsion said.
Buck nearly laughed. “Your praying has resulted in a lot of mayhem tonight,” he
said.
There was no response from the back. Buck pushed the bus for all it was worth. He
got it up to over eighty kilometers an hour, which he guessed was in the fifty mile-
an-hour range. It rattled and shook and bounced, and the various metal parts
squeaked in protest. He knew that if he could see the border patrol car, its driver
could see him. There was no sense cutting the lights and hoping they assumed he
had pulled off the road.
It seemed he might be pulling away from them. He could not judge distances well in
the darkness, but they didn't appear to be coming at high speed. The lights were
flashing, and he was convinced they were after him, but he pushed ahead.
From the back: “Cameron, I think I have the right to know. What is your plan?
What will you do when they overtake us, as they surely will?”
“Well, I'll tell you one thing, I'm not going back to that border. I'm not even sure I'll
let them pull me over.”
“How will you know what they want?”
“If it's the man who searched the bus, we'll know what they want, won't we?”
“I suppose we will.”
“I will holler at him from the window and urge him to deal with us at the airport.
There's no sense driving all the way back to the border.”
“But will that not be his decision?”
“I guess I'll have to engage in civil disobedience then,” Buck said.
“But what if he forces you off the road? Makes you pull over?”
“I'll try to avoid hitting him at all costs, but I will not stop, and if I am forced to
stop, I will not turn around.”
“I appreciate your resolve, Cameron. I will pray, and you do as God leads you.”
“You know I will.”
Buck guessed they were thirty kilometers from the airport outside Al Arish. If he
could even keep the bus close to sixty kilometers per hour, they could make it in
half an hour. The border patrol car would surely overtake them before that. But they
were so much closer to the airport than to the border, he was certain the officer
would see the wisdom of following them to the airport rather than leading them
back to the border.
“Tsion, I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“Stay down and out of sight, but find my phone in my bag and get it to me.”
When Tsion crawled next to Buck with his phone, Buck asked him, “Sir, how old
are you?”
“That is considered an impolite question in my culture,” Tsion said.
“Yeah, like I care about that now.”
“I'm forty-six, Cameron. Why do you ask?”
“You seem in pretty good shape.”
“Thank you. I work out.”
“You do? Really?”
“Does that surprise you? You would be surprised at the number of scholars who
work out. Of course there are many who do not, but—”
“I just want to make sure you'll be able to run if you need to.”
“I hope it does not come to that, but yes, I can run. I am not as fast as I was as a
young man, but I have surprising endurance for one of my vintage.”
“That's all I wanted to know.”
“Remind me to ask you some personal question sometime,” Tsion said.
“Seriously, Tsion. I did not offend you, did I?”
Buck was strangely warmed. The rabbi actually chuckled. “Oh, my friend, think
about it. What would it take to offend me now?”
“Tsion, you'd better get back where you were, but can you tell me how much
gasoline we have left?”
“The gauge is right there in front of you, Cameron. You tell me.”
“No, I mean in our extra cans.”
“I will check, but surely we do not have time to fill our tanks while we are being
chased. What do you have in mind?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
“Because I am a student. I will always be a student. Anyway, we are in this
together, are we not?”
“Well, let me just give you a hint. While you're tapping on the sides of those gas
cans to tell me how much we have left, I'm going to be checking the cigarette lighter
on the dashboard.”
“Cameron, cigarette lighters are the first to go in old vehicles, are they not?”
“For our sakes, let's hope not.”
Buck's phone buzzed. Startled, he flipped it open. “Buck here.”
“Buck! It's Chloe!”
“Chloe! I really can't talk to you now. Trust me. Don't ask any questions. For right
now I'm OK, but please ask everybody to pray and pray now. And listen, somehow,
on the Internet or something, find the phone number for the airport at Al Arish,
south of the Gaza Strip on the Mediterranean in the Sinai. Get hold of Ken Ritz,
who should be waking there. Have him call me at this number,”
“But Buck—”
“Chloe, it's life or death!”
“You call me as soon as you're safe!”
“Promise!”
Buck clapped the phone shut and heard Tsion from the back. “Cameron! Are you
planning to blow up this bus?”
“You really are a scholar, aren't you?” Buck said.
“I just hope you wait until we get to the airport. I mean, a flaming bus may get us
there faster, but your pilot friend may just ferry our remains to the States.”
“That's all right, Chloe,” Rayford said, “I long since gave up trying to sleep. I'm up
reading anyway.” Chloe told him of her strange conversation with Buck.
“Don't waste time on the Internet,” Rayford said, “I've got a guide to all those phone
numbers. Hang on.”
“Daddy,” she said, “it's gotta be a closer phone call for you anyway. Call Ken Ritz
and tell him to call Buck.”
“I'm tempted to fly over there myself, if I had a small enough craft.”
“Daddy, we don't need both you and Buck endangering your lives at the same
time.”
“Chloe, we do that every day.”
“Better hurry, Dad.”


Buck guessed the border patrol car was less than half a mile behind him. He put the
accelerator to the floor and the bus lurched. The steering wheel shook and bounced
as they hurtled down the road. The gauges still looked OK for the moment, but
Buck knew it was only a matter of time before the radiator overheated.
“I am guessing we have about eight liters of gasoline,” Tsion said.
“That will be plenty.”
“I agree, Cameron. That will be more than enough to make martyrs of us both.”
Buck eased off the throttle just enough to smooth out the ride. Smooth, of course,
was a misnomer. Buck felt it in his back and hips as they bounced along. The border
patrol car had closed to within a quarter mile.
Tsion called out from the back: “Cameron, it is clear we are not going to outrun
them to the airport, do you agree?”
“Yes! So?”
“Then it makes no sense to push this vehicle to its limit. It would be smarter to
conserve water, oil, and gasoline to be sure we make it to the airport. If we break
down, all your resolve means nothing.”
Buck couldn't argue with that. He immediately slowed to about fifty kilometers per
hour and sensed he had bought several miles. However, this also allowed the border
patrol car to pull right up behind him.
A siren sounded and a spotlight flashed in his outside rearview mirror. Buck merely
waved and drove on. Soon it was yellow flashing lights, the spotlight, the siren, and
the horn of the patrol car. Buck ignored them all. Finally, the squad car pulled even
with him. He glanced down to see the very guard who had searched the bus. “Fasten
your seat belt, Tsion!” Buck hollered. “The chase is on!” “I wish I had a seat belt!”
Buck continued at his modest speed as the patrol car stayed with him and the guard
pointed that he should pull over. Buck waved at him and drove on. The guard pulled
in front of the bus and slowed, again pointing to the side of the road. When Buck
made no attempt to pull off, the car slowed even more, forcing him to swerve
around it. He had no acceleration, however, and the patrol car, now on the other side
of him, sped up to keep him from passing. Buck merely backed off and got behind
the car again. When it stopped, he stopped.
When the guard got out, Buck backed up and drove around him, building about a
hundred-yard gap before the guard jumped back in and quickly caught up again.
This time, the guard pulled alongside and showed Buck a handgun. Buck opened his
window and hollered, “If I stop, this bus will stall! Follow me to Al Arish!”
“No!” came the reply. “You follow me back to the border!”
“We are much closer to the airport! I don't think this bus can make it back to the
border!”
“Then leave it! You can ride back with me!”
“I'll see you at the airport!”
“No!”
But Buck slid his window shut. When the guard pointed his weapon at Buck's
window, Buck ducked but kept going.
Buck's phone was buzzing. He clicked it open. “Talk to me!”
“This is Ritz. What's the deal?”
“Ken, have you passed through customs there?”
“Yeah! I'm ready when you are.”
“You ready for some fun?”
“I thought you'd never ask! I haven't had any real fun for ages.”
“You're gonna risk your life and break the law,” Buck said.
“Is that all? I've been there before.”
“Tell me your position and all, Ken,” Buck said.
“Looks like I'm the only plane going out of here tonight. I'm just outside of a hangar
at the end of the runway. My plane is, I mean. I'm talking to you from the little
terminal here.”
“But you've been processed, and you're ready to leave Egypt?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“What did you tell them as far as other passengers and cargo?”
“I figured you wouldn't want me to talk about anybody but you.”
“Perfect, Ken! Thanks! And who do they think I am?”
“You're exactly who I say you are, Mr. Katz.”
“Ken, that's great. Hang on just a second.” The guard had pulled in front of the bus
and now slammed on his brakes. Buck had to swerve almost all the way off the road
to miss him, and when he pulled back on, the bus fishtailed and nearly went over.
“I am rolling back here!” Tsion said.
“Enjoy the ride!” Buck said. “I'm not stopping, and I'm not turning around.”
The guard had turned off his flashing yellow lights and his spotlight. The siren was
silent now too. He quickly caught up with the bus and tapped it from behind. He
tapped it again. And again.
“He's afraid to hurt that squad car, isn't he?” Buck said.
“Do not be so sure,” Tsion said.
“I'm sure.” Buck slammed on the brakes, making Tsion slide forward and cry out.
Buck heard the screeching tires behind him and saw the squad car lurch off the right
side of the road and down into loose gravel. Buck punched the accelerator. The bus
stalled. As he tried to start it he saw the squad car, still in the gravel, coming up
along his right side. The engine kicked in, and Buck popped the clutch. He picked
up the phone. “Ken, you still there?”
“Yeah, what in the world's going on?”
“You wouldn't believe it!”
“You bein' chased or something?”
“That's the understatement of the year, Ritz! I don't think we're gonna have time to
go through customs there. I need to know how to get to your plane. You need to be
cleared, engines running, door open, and stairs down.”
“This is gonna be fun!” Ritz said.
“You have no idea,” Buck said. The pilot quickly told Buck the layout of the airstrip
and the terminal and precisely where he was. “We're within about ten minutes of
you,” Buck said. “If I can keep this thing rolling, I'll try to get as close to the
runway and your plane as possible. What am I gonna run into?”
The squad car came up onto the road, spun, and now faced the bus. Buck swerved
left, but the car cut him off. Buck couldn't avoid smashing him. The impact turned
the car around in the road and knocked the hood off. Buck sensed little damage to
the big old bus, but the temperature gauge was rising.
“Who's chasing you anyway?” Ritz said.
“Egyptian border patrol,” Buck said.
“Then you can bet they're gonna radio ahead here. There'll be some kind of a
roadblock.”
“I just hit the squad car. Is this going to be a roadblock I can blast through?”
“You'll have to play that one by ear. If you're as close as you say you are, I'd better
get out to my plane.”
“The cigarette lighter works!” Buck hollered to Tsion.
“I am not sure I wanted to hear that!”
The smashed patrol car resumed pursuit. Buck saw the lights of the airstrip in the
distance. “Tsion, come up here. We need to strategize.”
“Strategy? It is lunacy!”
“And what would you call what else we've been through?”
“The lunacy of the Lord! Just tell me what to do, Cameron, and I will do it. Nothing
will be able to stop us tonight.”
The guard in the squad car had apparently radioed ahead not only for a roadblock
but also for help. Two sets of headlights, side-by-side and covering both lanes of the
road, headed toward the bus. “Have you heard the phrase 'playing chicken'?” Buck
asked.
“No,” Tsion said, “but it is becoming clear to me. Are you going to challenge
them?”
“Don't you agree they have more to lose than we do?”
“I do. I am hanging on. Do what you have to do!”
Buck pressed the accelerator to the floor. The heat gauge was pressed to the
maximum and quivering. Steam billowed from the engine. “Here's what we're going
to do, Tsion! Listen carefully!”
“Just concentrate on your driving, Cameron! Tell me later!”
“There will be no later! If these cars don't back down, there's going to be a
tremendous crash. I think we'll be able to keep going either way. When we get to
whatever roadblock they have for us at the airport, we have to make a quick
decision. I need you to pour all those gas containers into the one big water bucket,
the one that's wide open at the top. I'll have the cigarette lighter hot and ready to go.
If we come upon a roadblock I think I can smash through, I'll just keep going and
get as close to the runway as possible. The Lear is going to be off to our right and
about a hundred yards from the terminal. If the roadblock is not something we can
smash through, I'll try to go around it. If that's impossible, I'm going to pull the
wheel hard to the left and slam on the brakes. That will make the back end swing
around into the roadblock and anything loose will slide to the back door. You must
put that bucket of gasoline in the aisle about eight feet from the back door, and
when I give you the signal, toss that cigarette lighter into it. It needs to be just
enough ahead of the collision so it's burning before we hit.”
“I do not understand! How will we escape that?”
“If the roadblock is impenetrable, it's our only hope! When that back door blows
open and that burning gasoline flies out, we have to be hanging on up here with all
our might so we don't get thrown back into it. While they're concentrating on the
fire, we jump out the front and run toward the jet. Got it?”
“I get it, Cameron, but I am not optimistic!”
“Hang on!” Buck shouted as two cars from the airport closed on him. Tsion hooked
one arm around the metal pole behind Buck and wrapped his other around Buck's
chest, grabbing the back of the chair like a human seat belt.
Buck gave no indication of slowing or swerving and headed straight for the two sets
of headlights. At the last instant he closed his eyes, fully expecting a huge collision.
When he opened his eyes, the road was clear. He looked first one way then the other
behind him. Both cars had gone off the road, one of them rolling. The original
pursuit car was still behind him, and Buck heard gunfire.
Less than a mile ahead the small airport loomed. Huge fences of mesh and barbed
wire flanked the entrance, and just inside sat a blockade of a half-dozen vehicles
and several armed soldiers. Buck could see he would not be able to blast through it
or go around.
He pressed in the cigarette lighter as Tsion lugged the gas cans and the bucket to the
back.
“It is sloshing around!” Tsion called out.
“Just do the best you can!”
As Buck raced toward the open gate and the huge blockade, the patrol car still
following close behind, the cigarette lighter popped out. Buck grabbed it and tossed
it back to Tsion. It bounced and rolled under a seat. “Oh no!” Buck shouted.
“I have got it!” Tsion said. Buck peeked in the rearview mirror as Tsion climbed out
from under a seat, tossed the cigarette lighter into the bucket, and scrambled to the
front.
The back of the bus burst into flames. “Hang on!” Buck shouted, pulling hard to the
left and slamming on the brakes. The bus whirled so fast it nearly tipped over. The
back smashed into the stockade of cars, and the back door burst open, flaming
gasoline splashing everywhere.
Buck and Tsion jumped out and ran, low as they could, around the left side of the
blockade as guards began firing into the bus and others screamed and ran from the
flames. Tsion was limping. Buck grabbed the older man and dragged him around
the dark side of the terminal near the runway.
There was the Learjet, ready for takeoff. Never had a plane looked like such an
oasis of safety. Buck looked back twice, but no one seemed to have seen them
escape. It was too good to be true, but it fit with everything else that had happened
that night.
Fifty feet from the plane, Buck heard shots and turned to see a half-dozen guards
racing toward them, firing high-powered weapons. When they reached the steps,
Buck grabbed Tsion by the belt in the back and threw him aboard. As Buck dived
into the plane, a bullet ripped through the bottom of the heel of his right boot. Pain
shot through the side of his foot as he yanked the door shut, Ritz already rolling.
Buck and Tsion crawled up to behind the cockpit.
Ritz muttered, “Those rascals shoot my plane, I'm gonna be really mad.”
The plane took off like a rocket and rose quickly. “Next stop,” Ritz announced,
“Palwaukee Airport, State of Illinois, in the U.S. of A.”
Buck lay on the floor, unable to move. He wanted to look out the window, but he
didn't dare. Tsion buried his face in his hands. He wept and seemed to be praying.
Ritz turned. “Well, Williams, you sure left a mess down there. What was that all
about?”
“It would take a week to tell,” Buck said, panting.
“Well,” Ritz said, “whatever it was, that was sure fun.”
An hour later, Buck and Tsion sat in reclining seats, assessing the damage. “It is
only sprained,” Tsion said. “I caught my foot under one of the seat supports when
we first hit. I was afraid I had broken it. It will heal quickly.”
Buck slowly took off his right boot and held it up so Tsion could see the trajectory
of the bullet. A clean hole had been blasted from the sole to the ankle. Buck took off
a bloody sock. “Would you look at that?” he said, smiling. “I won't even need
stitches. Just a nick there.” Tsion used Ken Ritz's first-aid kit to treat Buck's foot
and found an Ace bandage for his own ankle.
Finally settled back with their wounded limbs elevated, Tsion and Buck looked at
each other. “Are you as exhausted as I am?” Buck said.
“I am ready to sleep,” Tsion said, “but we would be remiss, would we not, if we did
not return thanks.”
Buck leaned forward and bowed his head. The last thing he heard, before he slipped
into a sleep of sweet relief, was the beautiful cadence of Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah's
prayer, thanking God that “the glory of the Lord was our rear guard.”



                    CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BUCK awoke nearly ten hours later, pleased that Tsion was still sleeping. He
checked Tsion's Ace bandage. The ankle was swollen, but it didn't look serious. His
own foot was too tender to go back into his boot. He limped forward. “How are you
doing, Cap?”
“A lot better, now that we're over American airspace. I had no idea what you guys
got yourselves into, and who knew what kind of fighter pilots might have been on
my tail.”
“I don't think we were worth all that, with World War III going on,” Buck said.
“Where'd you leave all your stuff?”
Buck whirled around. What was he looking for? He had brought nothing with him.
Everything he brought had been in that leather bag, which by now was charred and
melted. “I promised to call my wife back, too!” he said.
“You'll be happy to know I already talked to your people,” Ritz said. “They were
mighty relieved to hear you were on your way home.”
“You didn't say anything about my wound or about my passenger, did you?”
“Give me some credit, Williams. You and I both know your wound isn't worth
worrying about, so no wife needs to hear about that until she sees it. And as for your
passenger, I have no idea who he is or whether your people knew you were bringing
him home for dinner, so, no, I didn't say a word about him either.”
“You're a good man, Ritz,” Buck said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I like a compliment as much as the next guy, but I hope you know you owe me
battle pay on top of everything else.”
“That can be arranged.”
Because Ritz had carefully documented his plane and passenger on the way out of
the country a few days before, he was on record and easily made it back through the
North American radar net. He did not announce his extra passenger, and because
personnel at Palwaukee Airport were not in the habit of processing international
travelers, no one there paid any attention when an American pilot in his fifties, an
Israeli rabbi in his forties, and an American writer in his thirties disembarked. Ritz
was the only one not limping.
Buck had finally reached Chloe from the plane. It sounded to him as if she might
have bitten his head off for keeping her up all night worrying and praying, had she
not been so relieved to hear his voice. “Believe me, babe,” he said, “when you hear
the whole story, you'll understand.”
Buck had convinced her that only the Tribulation Force and Loretta could know
about Tsion. “Don't tell Verna. Can you come alone to Palwaukee?”
“I'm not up to driving yet, Buck,” she said. “Amanda can drive me out there. Verna
isn't even staying with us anymore. She has moved in with friends.”
“That could be a problem,” Buck said. “I may have made myself vulnerable to the
worst possible person in my profession.”
“We'll have to talk about that, Buck.”
It was as if Tsion Ben-Judah was in some international witness protection program.
He was smuggled into Loretta's home under the cover of night. Amanda and Chloe,
who had heard from Rayford the news about Tsion's family, greeted him warmly
and compassionately but seemed not to know how much to say. Loretta had a light
snack waiting for all of them. “I'm old and not too up on things,” she said, “but I'm
quickly getting the picture here. The less I know about your friend, the better, am I
right?”
Tsion answered her circumspectly. “I am deeply grateful for your hospitality.”
Loretta soon trundled off to bed, expressing her delight in offering hospitality as her
service to the Lord. Buck, Chloe, and Tsion limped into the living room, followed
by a chuckling Amanda. “I wish Rayford were here,” she said. “I feel like the only
teetotaler in a car full of drunks. Every chore that requires two feet is going to fall to
me.”
Chloe, characteristically direct, leaned forward and reached for Tsion's hand with
both of hers. “Dr. Ben-Judah, we have heard so much about you. We feel blessed of
God to have you with us. We can't imagine your pain.”
The rabbi took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his lips quivering. “I cannot tell
you how deeply grateful I am to God that he has brought me here, and to you who
have welcomed me. I confess my heart is broken. The Lord has shown me his hand
so clearly since the death of my family that I cannot deny his presence. Yet there are
times I wonder how I will go on. I do not want to dwell on how my loved ones lost
their lives. I must not think about who did this and how it was accomplished. I
know my wife and children are safe and happy now, but it is very difficult for me to
imagine their horror and pain before God received them. I must pray for relief from
bitterness and hatred. Most of all, I feel terrible guilt that I brought this upon them. I
do not know what else I could have done, short of trying to make them more secure.
I could not have avoided serving God in the way he has called me.”
Amanda and Buck each moved to put a hand on Tsion's shoulders, and with the
three of them touching him, they all prayed as he wept.
They talked well into the night, Buck explaining that Tsion would be the object of
an international manhunt, which would likely have even Carpathia's approval.
“How many people know about the underground shelter at the church?”
“Believe it or not,” Chloe said, “unless Loretta has read the printouts from Bruce's
computer, even she thinks it was just some new utility installation.”
“How was he able to keep that from her? She was at the church every day while it
was being excavated.”
“You'll have to read Bruce's stuff, Buck. In short, she was under the impression that
all that work was for the new water tank and parking lot improvements. Just like
everyone else in the church thought.”
Two hours later, Buck and Chloe lay in bed, unable to sleep. “I knew this was going
to be difficult,” she said. “I guess I just didn't know how much.”
“Do you wish you'd never gotten involved with somebody like me?”
“Let's just say it hasn't been boring.”
Chloe then told him about Verna Zee. “She thought we were all wacky.”
“Aren't we? The question is, how much damage can she do to me? She knows
completely where I stand now, and if that gets back to people at the Weekly, it'll
shoot up the line to Carpathia like lightning. Then what?”
Chloe told Buck that she and Amanda and Loretta had at least persuaded Verna to
keep Buck's secret for now.
“But why would she do that?” Buck said. “We've never liked each other. We've
been at each other's throats. The only reason we traded favors the other night was
that World War III made our skirmishes look petty.”
“Your skirmishes were petty,” Chloe said. “She admitted she was intimidated by
you and jealous of you. You were what she had always hoped to be, and she even
confessed that she knew she was no journalist compared to you.”
“That doesn't give me confidence about her ability to keep my secret.”
“You would have been proud of us, Buck. Loretta had already told Verna her entire
story, how she was the only person in her extended family not taken in the Rapture.
Then I got my licks in, telling her all about how you and I met, where you were
when the Rapture happened, and how you and I and Daddy became believers.”
“Verna must have thought we were all from another planet,” Buck said. “Is that why
she moved out?”
“No. I think she felt in the way.”
“Was she sympathetic at all?”
“She actually was. I took her aside once and told her that the most important thing
was what she decided to do about Christ. But I also told her that our very lives
depended upon her protecting the news of your loyalties from your colleagues and
superiors. She said, 'His superiors? Cameron's only superior is Carpathia.' But she
also said something else very interesting, Buck. She said that as much as she
admires Carpathia and what he has done for America and the world—gag—she
hates the way he controls and manipulates the news.”
“The question, Chloe, is whether you extracted from her any promises of my
protection.”
“She wanted to trade favors. Probably wanted some sort of a promotion or raise. I
told her you would never work that way, and she said she figured that. I asked if she
would promise me that she would at least not say anything to anyone until after she
had talked to you. And then, are you ready for this? I made her promise to come to
Bruce's memorial service Sunday.”
“And she's coming?”
“She said she would. I told her she'd better be there early. It'll be packed.”
“It sure will. How foreign is all this going to be to her?”
“She claims she's been in church only about a dozen times in her life, for weddings
and funerals and such. Her father was a self-styled atheist, and her mother
apparently had been raised in some sort of a strict denomination that she turned her
back on as an adult. Verna says the idea of attending church was never discussed in
her home.”
“And she was never curious? Never searched for any deeper meaning in life?”
“No. In fact, she admitted she's been a pretty cynical and miserable person for years.
She thought it made her the perfect journalist.”
“She always gave me the willies,” Buck said. “I was as cynical and negative as any,
but hopefully there was a balance of humor and personability there.”
“Oh yeah, that's you all right,” Chloe teased. “That's why I'm still tempted to have a
child with you, even now.”
Buck didn't know what to say or think. They had had this discussion before. The
idea of bringing a child into the Tribulation was, on the surface, unconscionable,
and yet they had both agreed to think about it, pray about it, and see what Scripture
said about it. “You want to talk about this now?”
She shook her head. “No. I'm tired. But let's not shut the door on it.”
“You know I won't, Chlo',” he said. “I also need to tell you I'm on a different time
zone. I slept all the way back.”
“Oh, Buck! I've missed you. Can't you at least stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Sure. Then I'm going to sneak over to the church and see how Bruce's shelter
turned out.”
“I'll tell you what you ought to do,” Chloe said, “is finish reading Bruce's stuff.
We've been marking passages we want Daddy to read at the memorial service. I
don't know how he'll get through all of it without taking the whole day, but it's
astounding stuff. Wait till you see it.”
“I can't wait.”


Rayford Steele was having a crisis of conscience. Packed and ready to go, he sat
reading the Global Community International Daily while awaiting word from Hattie
Durham's driver that he was in front of the building. Rayford missed Amanda. In
many ways, they still seemed strangers, and he knew that in the little more than five
years before the Glorious Appearing, they would never have the time to get to know
each other and develop the lifelong relationship and bond he had shared with Irene.
For that matter, he still missed Irene. On the other hand, Rayford felt guilty that in
many ways, he was closer to Amanda already than he had ever been to Irene.
That was his own fault, he knew. He had not known nor shared Irene's faith until it
was too late. She had been so sweet, so giving. While he knew of worse marriages
and less loyal husbands, he often regretted that he was never the husband to her that
he could have been. She had deserved better.
To Rayford, Amanda was a gift from God. He recalled not even having liked her at
first. A handsome, wealthy woman slightly older than he, she was so nervous upon
first meeting him that she gave the impression of being a jabberer. She didn't let him
or Chloe get a word in, but kept correcting herself, answering her own questions,
and rambling.
Rayford and Chloe were bemused by her, but seeing her as a future love interest
never crossed his mind. They were impressed with how taken Amanda had been
with Irene from her brief encounter. Amanda had seemed to catch the essence of
Irene's heart and soul. The way she described her, Rayford and Chloe might have
thought she had known her for years.
Chloe had initially suspected Amanda of having designs on Rayford. Having lost
her family in the Rapture, she was suddenly a lonely, needy woman. Rayford had
not sensed anything but a genuine desire to let him know what his former wife had
meant to her. But Chloe's suspicion had put him on guard. He made no attempt to
pursue Amanda and was careful to watch for any signs coming the other way. There
were none.
That made Rayford curious. He watched how she assimilated herself into New
Hope Village Church. She was cordial to him, but never inappropriate, and never-in
his mind-forward. Even Chloe eventually had to admit that Amanda did not come
off as a flirt to anyone. She quickly became known around New Hope as a servant.
That was her spiritual gift. She busied herself about the work of the church. She
would cook, clean, drive, teach, greet, serve on boards and committees, whatever
was necessary. A full-time professional woman, her spare time was spent in church
life. “It's always been all or nothing with me,” she said. “When I became a believer,
it was lock, stock, and barrel.”
From a distance, having hardly socialized with her after that first encounter when
she merely wanted to talk to him and Chloe about Irene, Rayford became an
admirer. He found her quiet, gentle, giving spirit most attractive. When he first
found himself wanting to spend time with her, he still wasn't thinking of her
romantically. He just liked her. Liked her smile. Liked her look. Liked her attitude.
He had sat in on one of her Sunday school classes. She was a most engaging teacher
and a quick study. The next week, he found her sitting in his class. She was
complimentary. They joked about someday team-teaching. But that day didn't come
until after they had double-dated with Buck and Chloe. It wasn't long before they
were desperately in love. Having been married just a few months before in a double
ceremony with Buck and Chloe had been one of the small islands of happiness in
Rayford's life during the worst period of human history.
Rayford was eager to get back to the States to see Amanda. He also looked forward
to some time with Hattie on the plane. He knew the work of drawing her to Christ
was that of the Spirit and not his responsibility, but still he felt he should maximize
every legitimate opportunity to persuade her. His problem that Saturday morning
was that every fiber of his being fought against his role as pilot for Nicolae
Carpathia. Everything he had read, studied, and learned under Bruce Barnes's
tutelage had convinced him and the other members of the Tribulation Force, as well
as the congregation at New Hope, that Carpathia himself was the Antichrist. There
were advantages to believers to have Rayford in the position he found himself, and
Carpathia knew well where Rayford stood. What Nicolae did not know, of course,
was that one of his other trusted employees, Cameron Williams, was now Rayford's
son-in-law and had been a believer nearly as long as Rayford.
How long could it last? Rayford wondered. Was he endangering Buck's and Chloe's
lives? Amanda's? His own? He knew the day would come when what Bruce
referred to as “tribulation saints” would become the mortal enemies of the
Antichrist. Rayford would have to choose his timing carefully. Someday, according
to Bruce's teaching, to merely have the right to buy and sell, citizens of the Global
Community would have to take the “mark of the beast.” No one knew yet exactly
what form this would take, but the Bible indicated it would be a mark on the
forehead or on the hand. There would be no faking. The mark would somehow be
specifically detectable. Those who took the mark could never repent of it. They
would be lost forever. Those who did not take the mark would have to live in
hiding, their lives worth nothing to the Global Community.
For now, Carpathia seemed merely amused by and impressed with Rayford. Perhaps
he thought he had some connection, some insight to the opposition by keeping
Rayford around. But what would happen when Carpathia discovered that Buck was
not loyal and that Rayford had known all along? Worse, how long could Rayford
justify in his own mind that the benefits of being able to eavesdrop and spy on
Carpathia outweighed his own culpability in abetting the work of the evil one?
Rayford glanced at his watch and speed-read the rest of the paper. Hattie and her
driver would be there in a few moments. Rayford felt as if he had undergone
sensory overload. Any one of the traumas he had witnessed since the day the war
broke out might have institutionalized a normal man during normal times. Now, it
seemed, Rayford had to take everything in stride. The most heinous, horrible
atrocities were part of daily life. World War III had erupted, Rayford had
discovered one of his dearest friends dead, and he had heard Nicolae Carpathia give
the word to destroy major cities and then announce his grief and disappointment on
international television.
Rayford shook his head. He had done his job, flown his new plane, landed it thrice
with Carpathia aboard, had gone to dinner with an old friend, gone to bed, had
several phone conversations, rose, read his paper, and was now ready to blithely fly
home to his family. What kind of a crazy world had this become? How could
vestiges of normality remain in a world going to hell?
The newspaper carried the stories out of Israel, how the rabbi who had so shocked
his own nation and culture and religion and people—not to mention the rest of the
world—with his conclusions about the messiahship of Jesus, had suddenly gone
mad. Rayford knew the truth, of course, and looked forward with great anticipation
to meeting this brave saint.
Rayford knew Buck had somehow spirited him out of the country, but he didn't
know how. He would be eager to get the details. Was this what they all had to look
forward to? The martyrdom of their families? Their own deaths? He knew it was.
He tried to push it from his mind. The juxtaposition between the easy, daily, routine
life of a jumbo-jet pilot—the Rayford Steele he was a scant two years ago—and the
international political pinball he felt like today was almost more than his mind could
assimilate. The phone rang. His ride was here.


Buck was astonished at what he found at the church. Bruce had done such a good
job camouflaging the shelter that Buck had almost not been able to find it again.
Alone in the cavernous place, Buck headed downstairs. He walked through the
fellowship hall, down a narrow corridor, past the washrooms, and past the furnace
room. He was now at the end of a hallway with no light—it would have been dark
there at noon. Where was that entrance? He felt around the wall. Nothing. He
moved back into the furnace room and flipped on the switch. A flashlight rested
atop the furnace. He used it to find the hand-sized indentation in one of the concrete
blocks on the wall. Setting himself and feeling the nagging sting in his right heel
from his recent wound, he pushed with all his might, and a section of block wall slid
open slightly. He stepped in and pulled it closed behind him. The flashlight
illuminated a sign directly in front of him and six stair steps down: “Danger! High
Voltage. Authorized Personnel Only.”
Buck smiled. That would have scared him off if he hadn't known better. He moved
down the steps and took a left. Four more steps down was a huge steel door. The
sign at the landing of the stairs was duplicated on the door. Bruce had shown him,
the day of the weddings, how to open that seemingly locked door.
Buck gripped the knob and turned it first right and then left. He pushed the handle
in about a quarter of an inch, then back out half an inch. It seemed to free itself, but
still it didn't turn right or left. He pushed in as he turned it slightly right and then
left, following a secret pattern devised by Bruce. The door swung open, and Buck
faced what appeared to be a man-sized circuit-breaker box. Not even a church the
size of New Hope would carry that many circuit breakers, Buck knew. And as real
as all those switches were, they led to no circuits. The chassis of that box was
merely another door. It Opened easily and led to the hidden shelter. Bruce had done
an amazing amount of work since Buck had seen it just a few months before.
Buck wondered when Bruce had had the time to get in there after hours and do all
that work. No one else knew about it, not even Loretta, so it was a good thing Bruce
was handy. It was vented, air-conditioned, well-lit, paneled, ceilinged, floored, and
contained all the necessities. Bruce had sectioned the twenty-four-by-twenty-four-
foot area into three rooms. There was a full bath and shower, a bedroom with four
double bunk beds, and a larger room with a kitchenette on one end and a
combination living room/study on the other. Buck was struck by the lack of
claustrophobia, but he knew that with more than two people in there—and being
aware of how far underground you were—it could soon become close.
Bruce had spared no expense. Everything was new. There was a freezer, a
refrigerator, a microwave, a range and oven, and it seemed every spare inch possible
had been converted into storage space. Now, Buck wondered, what did Bruce do
about connections?
Buck crawled along the carpet and looked behind a sleeper sofa. There was a bank
of telephone jacks. He traced the wiring up the wall and tried to spot where it would
come out in the hallway. He turned off the lights, closed the circuit-breaker door,
closed the metal door, jogged up the steps, and slid the brick door shut. In a dark
corner of the hallway he shined the flashlight and saw the section of conduit that led
from the floor up through the ceiling. He moved back into the fellowship hall and
looked out the window. From the lights in the parking lot, he could make out that
the conduit went outside at the ceiling level and snaked its way up toward the
steeple.
Bruce had told Buck that the reconditioned steeple had been the one vestige of the
old church, the original building that had been torn down thirty years before. In the
old days it actually had bells that beckoned people to church. The bells were still
there, but the ropes that had once extended through a trapdoor to a spot where one
of the ushers could ring them from the foyer had been cut. The steeple was now just
decorative. Or was it?
Buck lugged a stepladder from a utility room up into the foyer and pushed open the
trapdoor. He hoisted himself above the ceiling and found a wrought-iron ladder that
led into the belfry. He climbed up near the old bells, which were covered with
cobwebs and dust and soot. When he reached the section open to the air, his last
step made his hair brush a web, and he felt a spider skitter through his hair. He
nearly lost his balance swatting it away and trying to hang on to the flashlight and to
the ladder. It was just yesterday that he had been chased across the desert, rammed,
shot at, and virtually chased through flames to his freedom. He snorted. He would
almost rather go through all that again than have a spider run through his hair.
Buck peeked down from the opening and looked for the conduit. It ran all the way
up to the tapered part of the steeple. He reached the top of the ladder and stepped
out through the opening. He was around the side of the steeple not illuminated from
the ground. The old wood didn't feel solid. His sore foot began to twitch. Wouldn't
this be great? he thought. Slip off the steeple of your own church and kill yourself in
the middle of the night.
Carefully surveying the area to be sure no cars were around, Buck briefly shined the
flashlight at the top of where the conduit ran up the steeple. There was what
appeared to be a miniature satellite dish, about two-and-a-half inches in diameter.
Buck couldn't read the tiny sticker applied to the front of it, so he stood on tiptoe
and peeled it off. He stuck it in his pocket and waited until he was safely back inside
the steeple, down the ladder, and through the trapdoor to the stepladder before
pulling it out. It read “Donny Moore Technologies: Your Computer Doctor.”
Buck put the stepladder away and began shutting off the lights. He grabbed a
concordance off the shelf in Bruce's office and looked up the word housetop.
Bruce's installing that crazy mini-satellite dish made him think of a verse he once
heard or read about shouting the good news from the housetop. Matthew 10:27-28
said, “Whatever I tell you in the dark, speak in the light; and what you hear in the
ear, preach on the housetops. And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot
kill the soul. But rather fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.”
Wasn't it just like Bruce to take the Bible literally?
Buck headed back to Loretta's house, where he would read Bruce's material until
about six. Then he wanted to sleep until noon and be up when Amanda brought
Rayford home from Mitchell Field in Milwaukee.
Would he ever cease to be amazed? As he drove the few blocks, he was struck by
the difference between the two vehicles he had driven within the last twenty-four
hours. This, a six-figure Range Rover with everything but a kitchen sink, and that
probably still-smoldering bus he had “bought” from a man who might soon be a
martyr. More amazing, however, was that Bruce had planned so well and prepared
so much before his departure. With a little technology, the Tribulation Force and its
newest member, Tsion Ben-Judah, would soon be proclaiming the gospel from a
hidden location and sending it via satellite and the Internet to just about anybody in
the world who wanted to hear it, and to many who didn't.
It was two-thirty in the morning, Chicago time, when Buck returned from the
church and sat before Bruce's papers on the dining room table at Loretta's home.
They read like a novel. He drank in Bruce's Bible studies and commentary, finding
his sermon notes for that very Sunday. Buck couldn't speak publicly in that church.
He was vulnerable and exposed enough already, but he could sure help Rayford put
together some remarks.


Despite his years of flying, Rayford had never found a cure for jet lag, especially
going east to west. His body told him it was the middle of the evening, and after a
day of flying, he was ready for bed. But as the DC-10 taxied toward the gate in
Milwaukee, it was noon Central Standard Time. Across the aisle from him, the
beautiful and stylish Hattie Durham slept. Her long blonde hair was in a bun, and
she had made a mess of her mascara trying to wipe away her tears.
She had wept off and on almost the entire flight. Through two meals, a movie, and a
snack, she had unburdened herself to Rayford. She did not want to stay with Nicolae
Carpathia. She had lost her love for the man. She didn't understand him. While she
wasn't ready to say he was the Antichrist, she certainly was not as impressed with
him behind closed doors as most of his public was with him.
Rayford had carefully avoided declaring his starkest beliefs about Carpathia.
Clearly Rayford was no fan and hardly loyal, but he didn't consider it the better part
of wisdom to state categorically that he agreed with most Christian believers that
Carpathia fit the bill of the Antichrist. Of course, Rayford had no doubt about it. But
he had seen broken romances heal before, and the last thing he wanted was to give
Hattie ammunition that could be used against him with Carpathia. Soon enough it
wouldn't matter who might bad-mouth him to Nicolae. They would be mortal
enemies anyway.
Most troubling to Rayford was Hattie's turmoil over her pregnancy. He wished she
would refer to what she was carrying as a child. But it was a pregnancy to her, an
unwanted pregnancy. It may not have been at the beginning, but now, given her
state of mind, she did not want to give birth to Nicolae Carpathia's child. She didn't
refer to it as a child or even a baby.
Rayford had the difficult task of trying to plead his case without being too obvious.
He had asked her, “Hattie, what do you think your options are?”
“I know there are only three, Rayford. Every woman has to consider these three
options when she's pregnant.” Not every woman, Rayford thought. Hattie had
continued: “I can carry it to term and keep it, which I don't want to do. I can put it
up for adoption, but I'm not sure I want to endure the entire pregnancy and birth
process. And, of course, I can terminate the pregnancy.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“What do you mean 'what does that mean?'” Hattie had said. “Terminate the
pregnancy means terminate the pregnancy.”
“You mean have an abortion?”
Hattie had stared at him like he was an imbecile. “Yes! What did you think I
meant?”
“Well, it just seems you're using language that makes it sound like the easiest
option.”
“It is the easiest option, Rayford. Think about it. Obviously, the worst scenario
would be to let a pregnancy run its entire course, go through all that discomfort,
then go through the pain of labor. And then what if I got all those maternal instincts
everybody talks about? Besides nine months of living in the pits, I'd go through all
that stuff delivering somebody else's child. Then I'd have to give it up, which would
just make everything worse.”
“You just called it a child there,” Rayford had said.
“Hmm?”
“You had been referring to this as your pregnancy. But once you deliver it, then it's
a child?”
“Well, it will be someone's child. I hope not mine.”
Rayford had let the matter drop while a meal was served. He had prayed silently
that he would be able to communicate to her some truth. Subtlety was not his forte.
She was not a dumb woman. Maybe the best tack was to be direct.
Later in the flight, Hattie herself had brought up the issue again. “Why do you want
to make me feel guilty for considering an abortion?”
“Hattie,” he had said, “I can't make you feel guilty. You have to make your own
decisions. What I think about it means very little, doesn't it?”
“Well, I care what you think. I respect you as someone who's been around. I hope
you don't think that I think abortion is an easy decision, even though it's the best and
simplest solution.”
“Best and simplest for whom?”
“For me, I know. Sometimes you have to look out for yourself. When I left my job
and ran off to New York to be with Nicolae, I thought I was finally doing something
for Hattie. Now I don't like what I did for Hattie, so I need to do something else for
Hattie. Understand?”
Rayford had nodded. He understood all too well. He had to remind himself that she
was not a believer. She would not be thinking about the good of anyone but herself.
Why should she? “Hattie, just humor me for a moment and assume that that
pregnancy, that 'it' you're carrying, is already a child. It's your child. Perhaps you
don't like its father. Perhaps you'd hate to see what kind of a person its father might
produce. But that baby is your blood relative too. You already have maternal
feelings, or you wouldn't be in such turmoil about this. My question is, who's
looking out for that child's best interest? Let's say a wrong has been done. Let's say
it was immoral for you to live with Nicolae Carpathia outside of marriage. Let's say
this pregnancy, this child, was produced from an immoral union. Let's go farther.
Let's say that those people are right who consider Nicolae Carpathia the Antichrist.
I'll even buy the argument that perhaps you regret the idea of having a child at all
and would not be the best mother for it. I don't think you can shirk responsibility for
it the way a rape or incest victim might be justified in doing.
“But even in those cases, the solution isn't to kill the innocent party, is it?
Something is wrong, really wrong, and so people defend their right to choose. What
they choose, of course, is not just the end of a pregnancy, not just an abortion, it's
the death of a person. But which person? One of the people who made a mistake?
One of the people who committed a rape or incest? Or one of the people who got
pregnant out of wedlock? No, the solution is always to kill the most innocent party
of all.”
Rayford had gone too far, and he had known it. He had glanced up at Hattie holding
her hands over her ears, tears streaming down her face. He had touched her arm, and
she had wrenched away. He had leaned further and grabbed her elbow. “Hattie,
please don't pull away from me. Please don't think I said any of that to hurt you
personally. Just chalk it up to somebody standing up for the rights of someone who
can't defend him— or herself. If you won't stand up for your own child, somebody
has to.”
With that, she had wrenched fully away from him and had buried her face in her
hands and wept. Rayford had been angry with himself. Why couldn't he learn? How
could he sit there spouting all that? He believed it, and he was convinced it was
God's view. It made sense to him. But he also knew she could reject it out of hand
simply because he was a man. How could he understand? No one was suggesting
what he could or could not do with his own body. He had wanted to tell her he
understood that, but again, what if that unborn child was a female? Who was
standing up for the rights of that woman's body?
Hattie had not spoken to him for hours. He knew he deserved that. But, he
wondered, how much time is there to be diplomatic? He had no idea what her plans
were. He could only plead with her when he had the chance. “Hattie,” he had said.
She hadn't looked at him. “Hattie, please let me just express one more thing to you.”
She had turned slightly, not looking fully at him, but he had the impression she
would at least listen.
“I want you to forgive me for anything I said that hurt you personally or insulted
you. I hope you know me well enough by now to know that I would not do that
intentionally. More important, I want you to know that I am one of a few friends
you have in the Chicago area who loves you and wants only the best for you. I wish
you'd think about stopping in and seeing us in Mt. Prospect on your way back. Even
if I'm not there, even if I have to go on back to New Babylon before you, stop in and
see Chloe and Buck. Talk to Amanda. Would you do that?”
Now she had looked at him. She had pressed her lips together and shook her head
apologetically. “Probably not. I appreciate your sentiments, and I accept your
apology. But no, probably not.”
And that's the way it had been left. Rayford was angry with himself. His motives
were pure, and he believed his logic was right. But maybe he had counted too much
on his own personality and style and not enough on God himself to work in Hattie's
heart. All he could do now was pray for her.
When the plane finally stopped at the gate, Rayford helped Hattie pull her bag from
the overhead rack. She thanked him. He didn't trust himself to say anything more.
He had apologized enough.
Hattie wiped her face one more time and said, “Rayford, I know you mean well. But
you drive me nuts sometimes. I should be glad nothing ever really developed
between us.”
“Thanks a lot,” Rayford said, feigning insult.
“I'm serious,” she said. “You know what I mean. We're just too far apart in age or
something, I guess.”
“I guess,” Rayford said. So, that was how she summarized it. Fine. That wasn't the
issue at all, of course. He may not have handled it the best way, but he knew trying
to fix it now would accomplish nothing.
As they emerged from the gateway, he saw Amanda's welcome smile. He rushed to
her, and she held him tight. She kissed him passionately but pulled away quickly. “I
didn't mean to ignore you, Hattie, but frankly I was more eager to see Rayford.”
“I understand,” Hattie said flatly, shaking hands and looking away.
“Can we drop you somewhere?” Amanda said.
Hattie chuckled. “Well, my bags are checked through to Denver. Can you drop me
there?”
“Oh, I knew that!” Amanda said. “Can we walk you to your gate?”
“No, I'll be fine. I know this airport. I've got a little layover here, and I'm just gonna
try to relax.”
Rayford and Amanda said their good-byes to Hattie, and she was cordial enough,
but as they walked away, she caught Rayford's eye. She pursed her lips and shook
her head. He felt miserable.
Rayford and Amanda walked hand-in-hand, then arm-in-arm, then arms around
each other's waist, all the way to the escalators that led down to baggage claim.
Amanda hesitated and pulled Rayford back from the moving stairway. Something
on a TV monitor had caught her eye. “Ray,” she said, “come look at this.”
They stood watching as a CNN/GNN report summarized the extent of the damage
from the war around the world. Already, Carpathia was putting his spin on it. The
announcer said, “World health care experts predict the death toll will rise to more
than 20 percent internationally. Global Community Potentate Nicolae Carpathia has
announced formation of an international health care organization that will take
precedence over all local and regional efforts. He and his ten global ambassadors
released a statement from their private, high-level meetings in New Babylon
outlining a proposal for strict measures regulating the health and welfare of the
entire global community. We have a reaction now from renowned cardiovascular
surgeon Samuel Kline of Norway.”
Rayford whispered, “This guy is in Carpathia's back pocket. I've seen him around.
He says whatever Saint Nick wants him to say.”
The doctor was saying, “The International Red Cross and the World Health
Organization, as wonderful and effective as they have been in the past, are not
equipped to handle devastation, disease, and death on this scale. Potentate
Carpathia's visionary plan is not only our only hope for survival in the midst of
coming famine and plagues, but also it seems to me—at first glance—a blueprint
for the most aggressive international health care agenda ever. Should the death toll
reach as high as 25 percent due to contaminated water and air, food shortages, and
the like, as some have predicted, new directives that govern life from the womb to
the tomb can bring this planet from the brink of death to a Utopian state as regards
physical health.”
Rayford and Amanda turned toward the escalator, Rayford shaking his head. “In
other words, Carpathia clears away the bodies he has blown to bits or starved or
allowed to become diseased by plagues because of his war, and the rest of us lucky
subjects will be healthier and more prosperous than ever.”
Amanda looked at him. “Spoken like a true, loyal, employee,” she said. He wrapped
his arms around her and kissed her. They stumbled and nearly tumbled when the
escalator reached the bottom.
Buck embraced his new father-in-law and old friend like the brother he was. He
considered it a tremendous honor to introduce Tsion Ben-Judah to Rayford and to
watch them get acquainted. The Tribulation Force was together once more, bringing
each other up-to-date and trying to plan for a future that had never seemed less
certain.



                      CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAYFORD forced himself to stay up until a normal bedtime Saturday night. He,
Buck, and Tsion went over and over Bruce's material. More than once Rayford was
moved to tears. “I'm not sure I'm up to this,” he said.
Tsion spoke softly. “You are.”
“What would you have done had I been unable to get back?”
Buck said, “I don't know, but I can't risk speaking in public. And certainly Tsion
can't.”
Rayford asked what they were going to do about Tsion. “He can't stay here long,
can he?” he said.
“No,” Buck said. “It won't be long before it gets back to Global Community brass
that I was involved in his escape. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if Carpathia
already knows.”
They decided amongst themselves that Tsion should be able to come to New Hope
Sunday morning, possibly with Loretta, as a guest who appeared to be an old friend.
There was enough difference in their ages that, except for his Middle Eastern look,
he might appear to be a son or a nephew. “But I wouldn't risk his exposure any
further than that,” Rayford said. “If the shelter is ready, we need to sneak him in
there before the end of the day tomorrow.”
Late in the evening a bleary-eyed Rayford called a meeting of the Tribulation Force,
asking Tsion Ben-Judah to wait in another room. Rayford, Amanda, Buck, and
Chloe sat around the dining room table, Bruce's pages piled high before them. “I
suppose it falls to me,” Rayford said, “as the senior member of this little band of
freedom fighters, to call to order the first meeting after the loss of our leader.”
Amanda shyly raised her hand. “Excuse me, but I believe I am the senior member, if
you're talking age.”
Rayford smiled. There was precious little levity anymore, and he appreciated her
feeble attempts. “I know you're the oldest, hon,” he said, “but I've been a believer
longer. Probably by a week or so.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
“The only order of business tonight is voting in a new member. I think it's obvious
to all of us that God has provided a new leader and mentor in Dr. Ben-Judah.”
Chloe spoke up. “We're asking an awful lot of him, aren't we? Are we sure he wants
to live in this country? In this city?”
“Where else could he go?” Buck asked. “I mean, it's only fair to ask him rather than
to make assumptions, I guess, but his options are limited.”
Buck told the others about the new phones, the coming computers, how Bruce had
outfitted the shelter for phone and computer broadcasting, and how Donny Moore
was designing a system that would be interception-and trace-proof.
Rayford thought everyone seemed encouraged. He finalized preparations for the
memorial service the next morning and said he planned to be unabashedly
evangelistic. They prayed for the confidence, peace, and blessing of God on their
decision to include Tsion in the Tribulation Force. Rayford invited him into the
meeting.
“Tsion, my brother, we would like to ask you to join our little core group of
believers. We know you have been deeply wounded and may be in pain for a long,
long time. We're not asking for an immediate decision. As you can imagine, we
need you not to just be one of us, but also to be our leader, in essence, our pastor.
We recognize that the day may come when we might all be living with you in the
secret shelter. Meanwhile, we will try to maintain as normal lives as possible, trying
to survive and spread the good news of Christ to others until his Glorious
Appearing.”
Tsion rose at one end of the table and placed both hands atop it. Buck, who so
recently had thought Tsion looked younger than his forty-six years, now saw him
weary and spent, grief etching his face. His words came slowly, haltingly, through
quivering lips.
“My dear brothers and sisters in Christ,” he said in his thick, Israeli accent, “I am
deeply honored and moved. I am grateful to God for his provision and blessing to
me in bringing young Cameron to find me and save my life. We must pray for our
brothers, Michael and his three friends, whom I believe are among the 144,000
witnesses God is raising up around the world from the tribes of Israel. We must also
pray for our brother Anis, whom Cameron has told you about. He was used of God
to deliver us. I know nothing more about him, except that should it come out that he
could have detained me, he too may be a martyr before we know it.
“Devastated as I am over my own personal loss, I see the clear hand of God
Almighty in guiding my steps. It was as if my blessed homeland were a saltshaker
in his hand, and he upended it and shook me out across the desert and into the air. I
landed right where he wants me. Where else can I go?
“I need no time to think about it. I have already prayed about it. I am where God
wants me to be, and I will be here for as long as he wishes. I do not like to live in
hiding, but neither am I a reckless man. I will gratefully accept your offer of shelter
and provisions, and I look forward to all the Bible software Cameron has promised
to put on the new computer. If you and your technical adviser, young Mr. Moore,
can devise a way to multiply my ministry, I would be thankful. Clearly, my days of
international travel and speaking are over. I look forward to sitting with fellow
believers in your church tomorrow morning and hearing more about your wonderful
mentor, my predecessor, Bruce Barnes.
“I cannot and will not promise to replace him in your hearts. Who can replace one's
spiritual father? But as God has blessed me with a mind that understands many
languages, with a heart that seeks after him and always has, and with the truth he
has imparted to me and which I discovered and accepted and received only a little
too late, I will dedicate the rest of my life to sharing with you and anyone else who
will hear it the Good News of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Savior,
my Messiah, and my Savior.”
Tsion seemed to collapse into his chair, and, as one, Rayford and the rest of the
Tribulation Force turned and knelt before theirs.
Buck felt the presence of God as clearly as he had during his escapade in Israel and
Egypt. He realized his God was not limited by space and time. Later, when he and
Chloe went up to bed, leaving Rayford alone in the dining room to put the final
touches on his memorial service message, they prayed that Verna Zee would follow
through on her promise to attend.
“She's the key,” Buck said. “Chloe, if she gets spooked and says anything to
anybody about me, our lives will never be the same.”
“Buck, our lives haven't been the same from one day to the next for almost two
years.”
Buck gathered her in, and she nestled against his chest. Buck felt her relax and
heard her deep, even breathing as she fell asleep minutes later. He lay awake
another hour, staring at the ceiling.
Buck awoke at eight in an empty bed. He smelled breakfast. Loretta would have
already been at church. He knew Chloe and Amanda had bonded and frequently
worked together, but he was surprised to find Tsion also putzing around in the
kitchen. “We will add a little Middle Eastern flavor to our morning repast, no?” he
asked.
“Sounds good to me, brother,” Buck said. “Loretta will be back to pick you up at
about nine. Amanda, Chloe, and I will head over as soon as we're finished with
breakfast.”
Buck knew there would be a crowd that morning, but he didn't expect the parking
lots to be full and the streets lined with cars for blocks. If Loretta hadn't had a
reserved spot, she might have done better to leave her car at home and walk to the
church with Tsion. As it was, she told Buck later, she had to wave someone out of
her spot when she got back with him.
It didn't make sense for Tsion to be seen with Buck at church. Buck sat with Chloe
and Amanda. Loretta sat near the back with Tsion. Loretta, Buck, Chloe, and
Amanda kept an eye out for Verna.
Rayford would not have known Verna if she was standing in front of him. He was
occupied with his own thoughts and responsibilities that morning. Fifty minutes
before the service he signaled the funeral director to move the casket into the
sanctuary and open it.
Rayford was in Bruce's office when the funeral director hurried back to him. “Sir,
are you sure you still want me to do that? The sanctuary is full to overflowing
already.”


Rayford didn't doubt him but followed him to look for himself. He peeked through
the platform door. It would have been inappropriate to open the casket in front of all
those people. Had Bruce's body been on display, waiting for them when they
arrived, that would have been one thing. “Just wheel the closed coffin out there,”
Rayford said. “We'll schedule a viewing later.”
As Rayford headed back to the office, he and the funeral director came upon the
casket and the attendants in an otherwise empty corridor that led to the platform.
Rayford was overcome with a sudden urge. “Could you open it just for me,
briefly?”
“Certainly, sir, if you would avert your eyes a moment.”
Rayford turned his back and heard the lid open and the movement of material.
“All right, sir,” the director said.
Bruce looked less alive and even more like the shell Rayford knew this body to be
than he had under the shroud outside the demolished hospital where Rayford had
found him. Whether it was the lighting, the passage of time, or his own grief and
fatigue, Rayford did not know. This, he knew, was merely the earthly house of his
dear friend. Bruce was gone. The likeness that lay here was just a reflection of the
man he once was. Rayford thanked the director and headed back to the office.
He was glad he had taken that last look. It wasn't that he needed closure, as so many
said of such a viewing. He had simply feared that the shock of Bruce appearing so
lifeless at a corporate viewing might render him speechless. But it didn't now. He
was nervous, yet he felt more confidence than ever about representing Bruce and
representing God to these people.


The lump in Buck's throat began the moment he entered the sanctuary and saw the
crowd. The number didn't surprise him, but how early they had assembled did. Also,
there was not the usual murmuring as at a normal Sunday morning service. No one
here seemed even to whisper. The silence was eerie, and anyone could have
interpreted it as a tribute to Bruce. People wept, but no one sobbed. At least not yet.
They simply sat, most with heads bowed, some reading the brief program that
included Bruce's vital statistics. Buck was amazed by the verse someone, probably
Loretta, ran-along the bottom of the back page of the program. It read simply, “I
know that my Redeemer lives.”
Buck felt Chloe shudder and knew she was near tears. He put his arm around her
shoulder and his hand brushed Amanda just beyond her. Amanda turned, and Buck
saw her tears. He put a hand on her shoulder, and there they sat in their silent grief.
At precisely ten o'clock, just the way (Buck thought) a pilot would do it, Rayford
and one other elder emerged from the door at the side of the platform. Rayford sat
while the other man stepped to the pulpit and motioned that all should rise. He led
the congregation in two hymns sung so slowly and quietly and with such meaning
that Buck could barely get the words out. When the songs had concluded, the elder
said, “That is the extent of our preliminary service. There will be no offering today.
There will be no announcements today. All meetings will resume next Sunday, as
scheduled. This memorial service is in memory of our dear departed pastor, Bruce
Barnes.”
He proceeded to tell when and where Bruce was born and when and where he died.
“He was preceded by his wife, a daughter, and two sons, who were raptured with
the church. Our speaker this morning is Elder Rayford Steele, a member of this
congregation since just after the Rapture. He was a friend and confidant of Bruce.
He will deliver the eulogy and a brief message. You may come back at 4:00 P.M.
for a viewing if you wish.”
Rayford felt as if he were floating in another dimension. He had heard his name and
knew well what they were about that morning. Was this a mental defense
mechanism? Was God allowing him to set aside his grief and his emotions so he
could speak clearly? That was all he could imagine. Were his emotions to overcome
him, there would be no way he could speak.
He thanked the other elder and opened his notes. “Members and friends of New
Hope Village Church,” he began, “and relatives and friends of Bruce Barnes, I greet
you today in the matchless name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.
“If there is one thing I have learned out there in the world, it is that a speaker should
never apologize for himself. Allow me to break that rule first and get it out of the
way, because I know that despite how close Bruce and I were, this is not about me.
In fact, Bruce would tell you, it's not about him either. It's about Jesus.
“I need to tell you that I'm up here this morning not as an elder, not as a parishioner,
and certainly not as a preacher. Speaking is not my gift. No one has even suggested
that I might replace Bruce here. I am here because I loved him and because in many
ways—primarily because he left a treasure trove of notes behind—I am able in a
small way to speak for him.”
Buck held Chloe close, as much for his own comfort as for hers. He felt for
Rayford. This had to be so hard. He was impressed with Rayford's ability to be
articulate in this situation. He himself would have been blubbering, he knew.
Rayford was saying, “I want to tell you how I first met Bruce, because I know that
many of you met him in much the same way. We were at the point of the greatest
need in our lives, and Bruce had beat us to it by only a few hours.”
Buck heard the story he had heard so many times before, of Rayford's having been
warned by his wife that the Rapture was coming. When he and Chloe had been left
behind and Irene and Raymie had been taken, at the end of himself he had sought
out the church where she had heard the message. Bruce Barnes had been the only
person left on the staff, and Bruce knew exactly why. He became, in an instant, an
unabashed convert and evangelist. Bruce had pleaded with Rayford and Chloe to
hear his own testimony of losing his wife and three young children in the middle of
the night. Rayford had been ready. Chloe had been skeptical. It would be a while
before she came around.
Bruce had provided them with a copy of a videotape his senior pastor had left
behind for just this purpose. Rayford had been amazed that the pastor could have
known in advance what he would be going through. He had explained from the
Bible that all this had been predicted and then had been careful to explain the way
of salvation. Rayford now took the time, as he had on so many occasions in Sunday
school classes and testimony meetings, to go through that same simple plan.
Buck never ceased to be moved by what Bruce had always called “the old, old
story.” Rayford said, “This has been the most misunderstood message of the ages.
Had you asked people on the street five minutes before the Rapture what Christians
taught about God and heaven, nine in ten would have told you that the church
expected them to live a good life, to do the best they could, to think of others, to be
kind, to live in peace. It sounded so good, and yet it was so wrong. How far from
the mark!
“The Bible is clear that all our righteousnesses are like filthy rags. There is none
righteous, no not one. We have turned, every one, to his own way. All have sinned
and fall short of the glory of God. In the economy of God, we are all worthy only of
the punishment of death.
“I would be remiss and would fail you most miserably if we got to the end of a
memorial service for a man with the evangelistic heart of Bruce Barnes and did not
tell you what he told me and everyone else he came in contact with during the last
nearly two years of his life on this earth. Jesus has already paid the penalty. The
work has been done. Are we to live good lives? Are we to do the best we can? Are
we to think of others and live in peace? Of course! But to earn our salvation?
Scripture is clear that we are saved by grace through faith, and that not of ourselves;
not of works, lest anyone should boast. We live our lives in as righteous a manner
as we can in thankful response to that priceless gift of God, our salvation, freely
paid for on the cross by Christ himself.
“That is what Bruce Barnes would tell you this morning, were he still housed in the
shell that lies in the box before you. Anyone who knew him knows that this
message became his life. He was devastated at the loss of his family and in grief
over the sin in his life and his ultimate failure to have made the transaction with
God he knew was necessary to assure him of eternal life.
“But he did not wallow in self-pity. He quickly became a student of the Scriptures
and a teller of the Good News. This pulpit could not contain him. He started house
churches all over America and then began speaking throughout the world. Yes, he
was usually here on Sundays, because he believed his flock was his primary
responsibility. But you and I, all of us, let him travel because we knew that here was
a man of whom the world was not worthy.”
Buck watched closely as Rayford stopped speaking. He stepped to the side of the
pulpit and gestured at the coffin. “And now,” he said, “if I can get through this, I
would like to speak directly to Bruce. You all know that the body is dead. It cannot
hear. But Bruce,” he said, raising his eyes, “we thank you. We envy you. We know
you are with Christ, which Paul the apostle says is 'far better.'
“We confess we don't like this. It hurts. We miss you. But in your memory we
pledge to carry on, to stay at the task, to keep on keeping on against all odds. We
will study the materials you have left behind, and we will keep this church the
lighthouse you made it for the glory of God.”
Rayford stepped back into the pulpit, feeling drained. But he was not half done. “I
would also be remiss if I did not try to share with you at least the core thoughts
from the sermon Bruce had prepared for today. It is an important one, one none of
us in leadership here would want you to have missed. I can tell you I have been over
it many times, and it blesses me each time. But before I do that, I feel compelled to
open the floor to anyone else who feels led to say anything in memory of our dear
brother.”
Rayford took one step back from the microphone and waited. For a few seconds he
wondered if he had caught everyone off guard. No one moved. Finally, Loretta
stood.
“Y'all know me here,” she said. “I've been Bruce's secretary since the day
everybody else disappeared. If you'll pray I can maintain my composure, I have just
a few things to say about Pastor Barnes.”
Loretta told her now-familiar story, of how she was the only one of more than a
hundred blood relatives who was left behind at the Rapture. “There are only a dozen
or so of us in this room who were members of this church before that day,” she said.
“We all know who we are, and grateful as we are to have finally found the truth, we
live in regret for all the wasted years.”
Buck, Chloe, and Amanda turned in their pew to hear Loretta better. Buck noticed
tissues and handkerchiefs all over the sanctuary. Loretta finished with this: “Brother
Barnes was a very bright man who had made a very huge mistake. As soon as he got
right with the Lord and committed himself to serve him for the rest of his days, he
became pastor to the rest of us. I can't tell you the countless numbers that he
personally led to Christ. But I can tell you this: He was never condescending never
judgmental, never short-tempered with anyone. He was earnest and compassionate,
and he loved people into the kingdom. Oh, he never was polite to the point where he
wouldn't tell people exactly how it was. There are enough people in here who can
attest to that. But winnin' people to Christ was his main, whole, and only goal. I just
pray that if there's anybody here who is still wonderin' or holdin' out, that you'll
realize maybe you're the reason that we'll always be able to say that Bruce did not
die in vain. His passion for souls continues beyond the grave.” And Loretta broke
down. She sat. The stranger next to her, the dark-complected man known only to
her and the Tribulation Force, gently put his arm around her.
Rayford stood listening as people from all over the sanctuary stood and testified to
the impact Bruce Barnes had had on their lives. It went on and on and on for more
than an hour. Finally, when there seemed to be a lull, Rayford said, “I hate to
arbitrarily end this, but if there is anyone else, let me ask you to stand quickly. After
one more, I'll then allow any who need to leave to do so. Staying for my summary
of what would have been Bruce's sermon this morning is optional.”
Tsion Ben-Judah stood. “You do not know me,” he said. “I represent the
international community where your pastor toiled so long and so earnestly and so
effectively. Many, many Christian leaders around the globe knew him, sat under his
ministry, and were brought closer to Christ because of him. My prayer for you is
that you would continue his ministry and his memory, that you would, as the
Scriptures say, 'not grow weary in doing good.'”
Rayford announced, “Stand if you would. Stretch, embrace a friend, greet
someone.” People stood and stretched and shook hands and embraced, but few said
anything. Rayford said, “While you are standing I would like to excuse any who are
overcome, hungry, restless, or for any other reason need to leave. We are long past
our normal closing time. We will tape the rest of this service for any who have to
leave. I will be summarizing Bruce's message for this morning, apologizing in
advance for reading some of it to you. I am not the preacher he was, so bear with
me. We'll take a couple of minutes' break now, so feel free to leave if you need to.”
Rayford backed away from the pulpit and sat. En masse, the congregation sat back
down and looked expectantly at him. When it was clear no one was leaving,
someone giggled, then another, and a few more. Rayford smiled and shrugged and
returned to the pulpit.
“I guess there are things more important in this life than personal comfort, aren't
there?” he said. A few amens resounded. Rayford opened his Bible and Bruce's
notes.
Buck knew what was coming. He had been over the material nearly as many times
as Rayford had and had helped condense it. Still, he was excited. People would be
inspired by what Bruce believed had happened, what he predicted would happen,
and what was yet to come. Rayford began by explaining, “As best we have been
able to determine, these sermon notes were written onboard an aircraft while Bruce
was returning from Indonesia last week. The name of the file is 'Sermon' with
today's date, and what he has here is a rough outline and a lot of commentary.
Occasionally he lapses into personal notations, some of which I feel free to share
with you now that he is gone, others that I feel compelled to keep from you now
that he is gone.
“For instance, shortly after outlining where he wants to go with this message, he
notes, 'I was ill all night last night and feel not much better today. I was warned
about viruses, despite all my shots. I can't complain. I have traveled extensively
without problem. God has been with me. Of course, he is with me now, too, but I
fear dehydration. If I'm not better upon my return, I'll get checked out.'
“So,” Rayford added, “we get a glimpse of the ailment that brought him low and
which led to his collapse at the church upon his return. As most of you know, he
was rushed to the hospital, where it is our belief that he died from this ailment and
not from the blast.
“Bruce has outlined a message here that he believed was particularly urgent,
because, as he writes, 'I have become convinced we are at the end of the eighteen-
month period of peace, which follows the agreement the Antichrist has made with
Israel. If I am right, and we can set the beginning of the Tribulation at the time of
the signing of the treaty between the nation of Israel and what was then known as
the United Nations, we are perilously close to and must prepare for the next
ominous and dire prediction in the Tribulation timeline: The Red Horse of the
Apocalypse. Revelation 6:3-4 indicates that it was granted to the one who sat on it
to take peace from the earth, and that people should kill one another; and there was
given to him a great sword. In my mind, this is a prediction of global war. It will
likely become known as World War III. It will be instigated by the Antichrist, and
yet he will rise as the great solver of it, the great peacemaker, as he is the great
deceiving liar. '
“'This will immediately usher in the next two horses of the apocalypse, the black
horse of plague and famine, and the pale horse of death. These will be nearly
simultaneous—it should not surprise any of us to know that global war would result
in famine, plague, and death.'
“Do any of you find this as astounding as I did when I first read it?” Rayford asked.
All over the sanctuary, people nodded. “I remind you that this was written by a man
who died either just before or just after the first bomb was volleyed in the global
war we find ourselves in. He didn't know precisely when it would occur, but he
didn't want to let one more Sunday pass without sharing this message with you. I
don't know about you, but I'm inclined to heed the words of one who interprets the
prophecy of Scripture so accurately. Here's what Bruce, in his own notes, says is yet
to come:
“'The time is short now for everyone. Revelation 6:7-8 says the rider of the pale
horse is Death and that Hades follows after him. Power was given to them over a
fourth of the earth, to kill with sword, with hunger, with death, and by the beasts of
the earth. I confess I don't know what the Scripture is referring to when it says the
beasts of the earth, but perhaps these are animals that devour people when they are
left without protection due to the war. Perhaps a great beast of the earth is some
symbolic metaphor for the weapons employed by the Antichrist and his enemies.
Regardless, in short order one-fourth of the world's population will be wiped out.'
“Bruce continues: 'I shared this with three close compatriots not long ago, and asked
them to consider that there were four of us in the room. Was it possible that one of
us would be gone in due time? Of course it was. Might I lose a fourth of my
congregation? I pray my church will be spared, but I have so many congregations
now around the world, it is impossible to imagine that all could be spared. Of the
quarter of the earth's population that will perish, surely many, many of these will be
tribulation saints. '
“'Given the level of modern technology, global war will take little time at all to
wreak its havoc and devastation. These three last horsemen of the apocalypse will
gallop one right after the other. If people were horrified by the painless, bloodless,
disappearance of the saints at the Rapture, which resulted in enough chaos of its
own because of crashes and fires and suicides, imagine the desperation of a world
ripped to shreds by global war, famine, plague, and death.'”
Rayford looked up from Bruce's notes. “My wife and I watched the news yesterday
at the airport,” he said, “as I'm sure many of you watched wherever you were, and
we saw these very things reported from all around the world. Only the greatest
skeptic would accuse us of having written this after the fact. But let's say that you're
skeptical. Let's say you believe we are charlatans. Who then wrote the Bible? And
when was it written? Forget Bruce Barnes and his present-day predictions, a week
before the fact. Consider these prophecies made thousands of years ago. You can
imagine the pain it brought Bruce to have to prepare this sermon. In a side note he
writes, 'I hate preaching bad news. My problem in the past was that I always hated
hearing bad news too. I shut it out. I didn't listen. It was there if I merely had ears to
hear. I must share more bad news in this message, and though it grieves me, I
cannot shirk the responsibility.'
“You'll note Bruce's turmoil here,” Rayford said. “Because I'm the one who has to
deliver this, I empathize totally with where he was. The next part of his outline
indicates that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, once they have visited their
judgments on the earth, represent the first four of the seven Seal Judgments that
Revelation 6:1-16 indicates will occur during the first twenty-one months of the
Tribulation. According to Bruce's calculations, using as a reference point the treaty
signed between Israel and the United Nations, which we now know as the Global
Community, we are closing in on the end of that twenty-one-month period.
Therefore, it behooves us to understand clearly the fifth, sixth, and seventh Seal
Judgments predicted in Revelation. As you know from what Bruce has taught
before, there are yet to come two more seven-part judgments that will carry us
through to the end of the seven-year Tribulation and the glorious appearing of
Christ. The next seven will be the Trumpet Judgments, and the seven following that
will be the Vial Judgments. Whoever becomes your pastor-teacher will, I'm sure,
carefully walk you through those as the time draws near. Meanwhile, let me, with
Bruce's notes and commentary, make us all aware of what we have to look forward
to just within the next few weeks.”
Rayford was exhausted, but worse than that, he had gone over and over in his mind
what he was about to share. It was not good news. He felt weak. He was hungry. He
was enough in tune with his body to know he needed sugar. “I'm going to ask for
just a five-minute break. I know many of you may need to use the facilities. I need
to get a drink. We'll meet back here at precisely one o'clock.”
He left the platform, and Amanda made a beeline for the side door, meeting him in
the corridor. “What do you need?” she asked.
“Besides prayer?”
“I've been praying for you all morning,” she said. “You know that. What do you
want? Some orange juice?”
“You make me sound like a diabetic.”
“I just know what I would need if I'd been standing up there that long between
meals.”
“Juice sounds great,” he said. While she hurried off, Buck joined Rayford in the
hallway.
“Do you think they're ready for what's to come?” Buck asked.
“Frankly, I think Bruce has been trying to tell them this for months. There's nothing
like today's newscasts to convince you your pastor is right.”
Buck assured Rayford he would continue praying for him. When he returned to his
seat, he found that, again, it appeared not one person had left. It didn't surprise Buck
that Rayford was back in the pulpit exactly when he said he would be.
“I won't keep you much longer,” he said. “But I'm sure you all agree that this is life-
and-death stuff. From Bruce's notes and teaching we learn that Revelation 6:9-11
points out that the fifth of the seven Seal Judgments concerns tribulation martyrs.
The Scripture says, 'I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for
the word of God and for the testimony which they held. And they cried with a loud
voice, saying, “How long, O Lord, holy and true, until You judge and avenge our
blood on those who dwell on the earth?” Then a white robe was given to each of
them; and it was said to them that they should rest a little while longer, until both
the number of their fellow servants and their brethren, who would be killed as they
were, was completed.'
“In other words,” Rayford continued, “many of those who have died in this world
war, and are yet to die until a quarter of the world's population is gone, are
considered tribulation martyrs. I put Bruce in this category. While he may not have
died specifically for preaching the gospel or while preaching the gospel, clearly it
was his life's work and it resulted in his death. I envision Bruce under the altar with
the souls of those slain for the word of God and for the testimony they held. He will
be given a white robe and told to rest a while longer until even more martyrs are
added to the total. I must ask you today, are you prepared? Are you willing? Would
you give your life for the sake of the gospel?”
Rayford paused to take a breath and was startled when someone cried out, “I will!”
Rayford didn't know what to say. Suddenly, from another part of the sanctuary: “So
will I!”
Three or four others said the same in unison. Rayford choked back tears. It had been
a rhetorical question. He had not expected an answer. How moving! How inspiring!
He felt led not to let others follow based on emotion alone. He continued, his voice
thick, “Thank you, brothers and sisters. I fear we may all be called upon to express
our willingness to die for the cause. Praise God you are willing. Bruce's notes
indicate that he believed these judgments are chronological. If the Four Horsemen
of the Apocalypse lead to the white-robed tribulation martyrs under the altar in
heaven, that could be happening even as we speak. And if it is, we need to know
what the sixth seal is. Bruce felt so strongly about this Seal Judgment that on his
computer he cut and pasted right here into his notes several different translations
and versions of Revelation 6:12-17. Let me just read you the one he marked as the
most stark and easily understood:
“ 'I looked when He'—and you'll recall that the he mentioned here is the Lamb, who
is described in verse fourteen of the previous chapter as 'Him who lives forever and
ever,' who is, of course, Jesus Christ himself—'He opened the sixth seal, and
behold, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair,
and the moon became like blood. And the stars of heaven fell to the earth, as a fig
tree drops its late figs when it is shaken by a mighty wind. Then the sky receded as
a scroll when it is rolled up, and every mountain and island was moved out of its
place. And the kings of the earth, the great men, the rich men, the commanders, the
mighty men, every slave and every free man, hid themselves in the caves and in the
rocks of the mountains, and said to the mountains and rocks, ”Fall on us and hide us
from the face of Him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb! For
the great day of His wrath has come, and who is able to stand?“'”
Rayford looked up and scanned the sanctuary. Some stared at him, ashen. Others
peered intently at their Bibles. “I'm no theologian, people. I'm no scholar. I have had
as much trouble reading the Bible as any of you throughout my lifetime, and
especially over the nearly two years since the Rapture. But I ask you, is there
anything difficult to understand about a passage that begins, 'Behold, there was a
great earthquake'? Bruce has carefully charted these events, and he believed that the
first seven seals cover the first twenty-one months of the seven-year tribulation,
which began at the time of the covenant between Israel and the Antichrist. If you
happen to be one who doesn't believe the Antichrist has appeared on the scene yet,
then you don't believe there's an agreement between Israel and that person. If that is
true, all this is still yet to come. The Tribulation did not begin with the Rapture. It
begins with the signing of that treaty.
“Bruce taught us that the first four Seal Judgments were represented by the Four
Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I submit to you that those horsemen are at full gallop.
The fifth seal, the tribulation martyrs who had been slain for the word of God and
for the testimony which they held, and whose souls are under the altar, has begun.
“Bruce's commentary indicates that more and more martyrs will be added now.
Antichrist will come against tribulation saints and the 144,000 witnesses springing
up all over the world from the tribes of Israel.
“Hear me, from a very practical standpoint. If Bruce is right—and he has been so
far—we are close to the end of the first twenty-one months. I believe in God. I
believe in Christ. I believe the Bible is the Word of God. I believe our dear departed
brother 'rightly divided the word of truth,' and thus I am preparing to endure what
this passage calls 'the wrath of the Lamb.' An earthquake is coming, and it is not
symbolic. This passage indicates that everyone, great or small, would rather be
crushed to death than to face the one who sits on the throne.”
Buck was furiously taking notes. This was not new to him, but he was so moved by
Rayford's passion and the idea of the earthquake being known as the wrath of the
Lamb that he knew it had to be publicized to the world.
Perhaps it would be his swan song, his death knell, but he was going to put in the
Global Community Weekly that Christians were teaching of the coming “wrath of
the Lamb.” It was one thing to predict an earthquake. Armchair scientists and
clairvoyants had been doing that for years. But there was something about the
psyche of the current world citizen that caused him or her to become enamored of
catchphrases. What better catch-phrase than one from the Word of God?
Buck listened as Rayford concluded: “At the end of this first twenty-one-month
period, the mysterious seventh Seal Judgment will usher in the next twenty-one-
month period, during which we will receive the seven Trumpet Judgments. I say the
seventh Seal Judgment is mysterious because Scripture is not clear what form it will
take. All the Bible says is that it is apparently so dramatic that there will be silence
in heaven for half an hour. Then seven angels, each with a trumpet, prepare
themselves to sound. We will study those judgments and talk about them as we
move into that period. However, for now, I believe Bruce has left us with much to
think and pray about.
“We have loved this man, we have learned from this man, and now we have
eulogized him. Though we know he is finally with Christ, do not hesitate to grieve
and mourn. The Bible says we are not to mourn as do the heathen, who have no
hope, but it does not say we should not mourn at all. Embrace the grief and grieve
with all your might. But don't let it keep you from the task. What Bruce would have
wanted above all else is that we stay about the business of bringing every person we
can into the kingdom before it is too late.”
Rayford was exhausted. He closed in prayer, but rather than leaving the platform he
merely sat and lowered his head. There was not the usual rush for the doors. Most
continued to sit, while a few slowly and quietly began to make their way out.



                       CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BUCK helped Chloe into the Range Rover, but before he could get around to the
driver's side, he was accosted by Verna Zee.
“Verna! I didn't see you! I'm glad you made it.”
“I made it all right, Cameron. I also recognized Tsion Ben-Judah!”
Buck fought to keep from covering her mouth with his hand. “I'm sorry?”
“He's going to be in deep trouble when the Global Community peacekeeping forces
find out where he is. Don't you know he's wanted all over the world? And that your
passport and ID were found on one of his accomplices? Buck, you're in as much
trouble as he is. Steve Plank has been trying to get ahold of you, and I'm tired of
pretending I have no idea what you're up to.”
“Verna, we're going to have to go somewhere and talk about this.”
“I can't keep your secret forever, Buck. I'm not going down with you. That was a
pretty impressive meeting, and it's obvious everybody loved that Barnes guy. But do
all these people believe that Nicolae Carpathia is the Antichrist?”
“I can't speak for everyone.”
“But how about you, Buck? You report directly to the man. Are you going to write
a story in one of his own magazines that says that?”
“I already have, Verna.”
“Yeah, but you've always represented it as a neutral report of what some believe.
This is your church! These are your people! You buy into all this stuff.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk about this or not?” Buck said.
“I think we'd better. Anyway, I want to interview Tsion Ben-Judah. You can't blame
me for going for the scoop of a lifetime.”
Buck bit his tongue to keep from saying she wasn't enough of a writer to do justice
to a story like Ben-Judah anyway. “Let me get back to you tomorrow,” he said.
“And then we can—”
“Tomorrow? Today, Buck. Let's meet at the office this afternoon.”
“This afternoon is not good. I'm coming back here for the viewing at four.”
“Then how about six-thirty?”
“Why does it have to be today?” Buck asked.
“It doesn't. I could just tell Steve Plank or Carpathia himself or anybody I want
exactly what I've seen today.”
“Verna, I took a huge risk in helping you out the other night and letting you stay at
Loretta's home.”
“You sure did. And you may regret it for the rest of your life.”
“So none of what you heard here today made any impact on you?”
“Yes, it did. It made me wonder why I went soft on you all of a sudden. You people
are wacko, Buck. I'm gonna need some compelling reason to keep quiet about you.”
That sounded like extortion, but Buck also realized that Verna had apparently
stayed for the entire service that morning. Something had to be working on her.
Buck wanted to find out how she could relegate the prophecies of Revelation and
what had happened in the world in the last twenty months or so to mere
coincidence. “All right,” he said. “Six-thirty at the office.”
Rayford and the other elders had agreed there would be no more formality at the
viewing. No prayer, no message, no eulogies, no nothing. Just a procession of
people filing past the coffin and paying their last respects. Someone had suggested
opening the fellowship hall for refreshments, but Rayford, having been tipped off by
Buck, decided against it. A ribbon was draped across the stairway, from wall to
wall, to keep everyone from going downstairs. A sign indicated the viewing would
last from 4 to 6 P.M.
At about five, while a crowd of hundreds slowly moved past the casket in a line that
stretched out the front door, through the parking lot, and down the street, Buck
wheeled into Loretta's parking spot with the Range Rover full of people.
“Chloe, I promise this is the last time I take advantage of your ailment and use you
as a decoy.”
“A decoy for what? Do you think Carpathia is here and is going to grab you or
Tsion?”
Buck chuckled. Rayford had been in the sanctuary since just before four. Now,
Buck, Chloe, Amanda, Tsion, and Loretta emerged from the Range Rover. Amanda
got on one side of Chloe and Loretta on the other. They helped her up the back steps
as Buck opened the door. Buck peeked at the parishioners waiting in line to get into
the church. Nearly all ignored his little group. Those who idly watched them
seemed to be concentrating on the pretty young newlywed, her ankle cast, her sling,
and her cane.
As the three women made their way to the office, planning to view the body when
the crowd dissipated, Buck and Tsion slipped away. When Buck entered the office
about twenty minutes later, Chloe asked, “Where's Tsion?”
“He's around,” Buck said.


Rayford stood near Bruce's coffin, shaking hands with mourners. Donny Moore
approached. “I'm sorry to bother you with a question right here,” Donny said, “but
would you know where I could find Mr. Williams? He ordered some stuff from me,
and I've got it for him.”
Rayford directed him to the office.
As Donny and dozens of others filed past, Rayford wondered how long Hattie
Durham would be with her mother in Denver. Carpathia had scheduled a meeting
with Pontifex Maximus Peter Mathews, who had recently been named Supreme
Pontiff of Enigma Babylon One World Faith, a conglomeration of all the religions
in the world. Carpathia wanted Rayford back to New Babylon by the Thursday after
next to fly the Condor 216 to Rome. There he was to pick up Mathews and bring
him to New Babylon. Carpathia had made noises about headquartering Mathews
and One World Faith in New Babylon, along with almost every other internaional
organization.
Rayford found himself numb, shaking hand after hand. He tried not to look at
Bruce's body. He busied himself remembering what else he'd heard Carpathia
saying through that ingenious reverse intercom bugging device the late Earl
Halliday had installed in the Condor. Most interesting to Rayford was Carpathia's
insistence on taking over leadership of several of the groups and committees that
had been headed by his old friend and financial angel Jonathan Stonagal. Buck had
told Rayford and the rest of the Tribulation Force that he was in the room when
Carpathia murdered Stonagal and then brainwashed everyone else to believe they'd
just witnessed a suicide. With Carpathia now angling his way into the leadership of
international relations committees, commissions on international harmony, and,
most important, secret financial cooperatives, his motives for that murder became
clear.
Rayford let his mind wander to the good old days, when all he had to do was show
up at O'Hare on time, fly his routes, and come home. Of course, he was not a
believer then. Not the kind of husband and father he should have been. The good
old days really hadn't been so good at all.
He couldn't complain about excitement in his life. While he despised Carpathia and
hated to be in a position of actual service to the man, he had long since decided to
be obedient to God. If this was where God wanted him, it was where he would
serve. He just hoped Hattie Durham might come back through Chicago before he
had to leave. Somehow, he and Amanda and Chloe and Buck had to pull her away
from Nicolae Carpathia. It had been encouraging to him, in a perverse way, that she
had found her own reasons to distance herself from Nicolae. But Carpathia might
not be so easily dumped, considering that she was carrying his child and he was so
jealous of his public image.
Buck was busy with Donny Moore, learning the incredible features of the new
computers, when he heard Loretta on the phone.
“Yes, Verna,” she was saying, “he's busy with someone right now, but I'll tell him
you said Steve Plank called.”
Buck excused himself from Donny for a second and mouthed to Loretta, “If she's at
the office, ask her if my checks are there.”
Buck had been away from both the New York and Chicago offices on paydays for
several weeks and was pleased to see Loretta nodding after she had asked Verna
about the checks. One thing he had seen in Bruce's printouts, and which had been
corroborated by Tsion, was that he needed to start investing in gold. Cash would
soon be meaningless. He had to start stockpiling some sort of financial resource
because, even in the best-case scenario, even if Verna became a believer and
protected him from Carpathia, he couldn't maintain this ruse for long. That
relationship would end. His income would dry up. He would not be able to buy or
sell without the mark of the beast anyway, and the new world order Carpathia was
so proud of could virtually starve him out.


By a quarter to six, the sanctuary was nearly empty. Rayford headed back to the
office. He shut the door behind him. “We can have our moment alone with Bruce's
body in a few minutes,” he said.
The Tribulation Force, plus Loretta and minus Tsion, sat somberly. “So, that's what
Donny Moore brought you?” Rayford said, nodding at the stack of laptops.
“Yep. One for each of us. I asked Loretta if she wanted one too.”
Loretta waved him off, smiling. “I wouldn't know what to do with it. I probably
couldn't even open it.”
“Where's Tsion?” Rayford said. “I really think we ought to keep him with us for a
while and—”
“Tsion is safe,” Buck said, looking carefully at Rayford.
“Uh-huh.”
“What does that mean?” Loretta asked. “Where is he?”
Rayford sat in a chair on wheels and rolled it close to Loretta. “Ma'am, there are
some things we are not going to tell you, for your own good.”
“Well,” she said, “what would you say if I told you I didn't appreciate that very
much?”
“I can understand, Loretta—”
“I'm not so sure you can, Captain Steele. I've had things kept from me all my life
just because I was a polite, southern lady.”
“A southern belle is more like it,” Rayford said.
“Now you're patronizin' me, and I don't appreciate that either.”
Rayford was taken aback. “I'm sorry, Loretta, I meant no offense.”
“Well, it offends me to have secrets kept from me.”
Rayford leaned forward. “I'm quite serious about doing this for your own good. The
fact is, someday, and I mean someday very soon, very high-placed officials may try
to force you to tell them where Tsion is.”
“And you think if I know where he is, I'll crack.”
“If you don't know where he is, you can't crack and don't even have to worry about
it.”
Loretta pursed her lips and shook her head. “I know y'all are livin' dangerous lives. I
feel like I've risked a lot just by puttin' you up. Now I'm only your landlady, is that
it?”
“Loretta, you're one of the dearest people in the world to us, that's who you are. We
wouldn't do anything to hurt you. That's why, even though I know it offends
you—and that's the last thing I want to do—I'm not going to let you intimidate me
into telling you where Tsion is. You'll be able to communicate with him by phone,
and we can communicate with him by computer. Someday you may thank us for
withholding this from you.”
Amanda interrupted. “Rayford, are you and Buck saying that Tsion is where I think
he is?”
Rayford nodded.
“Is that necessary already?” Chloe asked.
“I'm afraid so. I wish I could say how long it will be for the rest of us.”
Loretta, clearly peeved, stood and paced, her arms folded across her chest. “Captain
Steele, sir, could you tell me one thing? Could you tell me that you're not keepin'
this from me because you think I'd blab it all over?”
Rayford stood. “Loretta, come here.”
She stopped and stared at him.
“Come on now,” he said. “Come right over here and let me hug you. I'm young
enough to be your son, so don't be taking this as condescending.”
Loretta seemed to be refusing to smile, but she did slowly approach Rayford. He
embraced her. “Ma'am, I've known you long enough to know that you don't tell
secrets. The fact is, the people who might ask you about Tsion Ben-Judah's
whereabouts wouldn't hesitate to use a lie detector or even truth serum if they
thought you knew. If they could somehow force you to give him up against your
will, it could really hurt the cause of Christ.”
She hugged him. “All right then,” she said. “I still think I'm a tougher bird than you
people seem to think, but all right. If I didn't think you were doin' this with my best
interests in mind, misguided as y'all are, I'd throw you out of my boardinghouse.”
That made everybody smile. Everybody except Loretta.
There was a knock at the door. “Excuse me, sir,” the funeral director said to
Rayford. “The sanctuary is empty.”
Buck was last in line as the five of them filed into the sanctuary and stood by
Bruce's coffin. At first Buck felt guilty. He was strangely unmoved. He realized he
had expended his emotion during the memorial service. He knew so well that Bruce
was no longer there that he largely felt nothing by simply noting that his friend was,
indeed, dead.
And yet he was able to use these moments, standing there with the people closest to
him in the world, to think about how dramatically and specifically God had acted in
his behalf even just within the last several hours. If there was one thing he had
learned from Bruce, it was that the Christian life was a series of new beginnings.
What had God done for him lately? What hadn't he done for him? Buck only wished
he would feel the same compulsion to renew his commitment to the service of
Christ when God didn't seem so close.
Twenty minutes later, Buck and Chloe pulled into the parking lot of Global
Community Weekly. Only Verna's car was in the lot.
To Buck, it seemed Verna looked both surprised and disappointed to see Chloe
hobbling in with him. Chloe must have noticed too. “Am I not welcome here?” she
said.
“Of course,” Verna said. “If Buck needs someone to hold his hand.”
“Why would I need someone to hold my hand?”
They sat in a small conference room with Verna at the head of the table. She leaned
back in her seat and steepled her fingers. “Buck, we both know I hold all the cards
now, don't we?”
“What happened to the new Verna?” Buck asked.
“There was no new Verna,” she said. “Just a slightly mellower version of the old
Verna.”
Chloe leaned forward. “Then nothing we've said, nothing you and I have talked
about, nothing you've seen or heard or experienced at Loretta's house or at the
church has meant anything to you whatsoever?”
“Well, I have to admit I appreciate the new car. It is better than the one I had. Of
course, that was only fair, and the least Buck could do for me after ruining mine.”
“So,” Chloe said, “your moments of vulnerability, your admitting that you had been
jealous of Buck, and your realization that you had been inappropriate in how you
talked with him, that was all, what, made up?”
Verna stood. She put her hands on her hips and stared down at Buck and Chloe.
“I'm really surprised at how petty this conversation has begun. We're not talking
about office politics here. We're not talking about personality conflicts. The fact is,
Buck, you're not loyal to your employer. It's not just a matter of worrying, because
it isn't journalism the way it's supposed to be. I've got a problem with that myself. I
even told Chloe that, didn't I, Chloe?”
“You did.”
“Carpathia has bought up all the news outlets, I know that,” Verna continued.
“None of us old-fashioned journalists enjoy the prospect of covering news our
owner is making. We don't like being expected to put his spin on everything. But,
Buck, you're a wolf in sheep's clothing. You're a spy. You're the enemy. You not
only don't like the man, you also think he's the Antichrist himself.”
“Why don't you sit down, Verna?” Chloe said. “We all know the little negotiation
hints from the books that teach you how to look out for number one. I can't speak
for Buck, but your trying to tower over me doesn't intimidate me.”
“I'll sit down, but only because I want to.”
“So, what's your game?” Chloe said. “Are you about to engage in extortion?”
“Speaking of that,” Buck said, “I'll thank you for my checks for the last several
weeks.”
“I haven't touched them. They're in your top drawer. And no, I'm not a blackmailer.
It just seems to me your life depends on who knows or doesn't know that you're
harboring Tsion Ben-Judah.”
“That's something you think you know?”
“I saw him in church this morning!”
“At least you thought you did,” Chloe said.
Buck flinched and looked at her. So did Verna. For the first time, Buck saw a flicker
of uncertainty on Verna's face.
“You're telling me I didn't see Tsion Ben-Judah in church this morning?”
“It certainly sounds unlikely,” Chloe said. “Wouldn't you say?”
“Not really. I know Buck was in Israel and that his papers were found with a Ben-
Judah sympathizer.”
“And so you saw Buck in church with Ben-Judah?”
“I didn't say that. I said I saw Ben-Judah. He was sitting with that woman who put
me up the other night, Loretta.”
“So Loretta's dating Tsion Ben-Judah, is that what you're saying?”
“You know what I'm saying, Chloe. Ben-Judah even spoke in that service. If that
wasn't him, I'm no journalist.”
“No comment,” Buck said.
“I resent that!”
Chloe kept the pressure on. “You were sitting somewhere where we couldn't see
you—”
“I was in the balcony, if you must know.”
“And from the balcony you could see a man sitting in the back with Loretta?”
“I didn't say that. I meant I could tell he was sitting with her. They both spoke and it
sounded like it was coming from the same area.”
“So Ben-Judah escapes from Israel, apparently with Buck's help. Buck is brilliant
enough to leave his official papers with some enemy of the state. When Buck gets
Ben-Judah safely into North America; he brings him out in public at his own
church, and then Ben-Judah stands and speaks in front of hundreds of people. This
is your thought?”
Verna was sputtering. “Well, he, well, if that wasn't Ben-Judah, who was it?”
“This is your story, Verna.”
“Loretta will tell me. I got the impression she liked me. I'm sure I saw him walking
out the back with her. A small, kind of stocky Israeli?”
“And you could tell from behind who he was?”
“I'm gonna call Loretta right now.” She reached for a phone. “I don't suppose you'd
give me her phone number.”
Buck wondered if that was a good idea. They had not prepped Loretta. But after the
incident in the office with Rayford earlier, he believed Loretta could handle Verna
Zee. “Sure,” Buck said, scribbling the number.
Verna hit the speaker button and dialed.
“Loretta's phone, Rayford Steele speaking.”
Apparently, Verna had not expected that. “Oh, uh, yes. Loretta please.”
“May I ask—”
“Verna Zee.”
When Loretta came on, she was her typical, charming self. “Verna, dear! How are
you? I heard you were at the service today, but I missed you. Did you find it as
moving as I did?”
“We'll have to talk about that sometime, Loretta. I just wanted to—”
“I can't think of a better time than now, sweetheart. Would you like to meet
someplace, come over, what?”
Verna looked irritated. “No, ma'am, not now. Sometime, maybe. I just wanted to
ask you a question. Who was that man with you in church this morning?”
“That man?”
“Yes! You were with a Middle Eastern man. He spoke briefly. Who was he?”
“Is this on the record?”
“No! I'm just asking.”
“Well I'm just telling you that that's a personal, impertinent question.”
“So you're not going to tell me?”
“I don't believe it's any of your business.”
“What if I told you that Buck and Chloe said you'd tell me?”
“First off, I'd probably say you were a liar. But that would be impolite and more
impertinent than the question you asked.”
“Just tell me if that was Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah of Israel!”
“It sounds like you've already named him. What do you need my input for?”
“So, it was him?”
“You said it. I didn't.”
“But was it?”
“You want the honest truth, Verna? That man is my secret lover. I keep him under
the bed.”
“What? What? So, come on—”
“Verna, if you'd like to talk about how moved you were by our memorial service
this morning, I'd love to chat with you some more. Do you?”
Verna hung uppn Loretta. “All right, so you've all gotten together and decided not
to tell the truth. I don't think I'll have much trouble convincing Steve Plank or even
Nicolae Carpathia that it appears you're harboring Tsion Ben-Judah.”
Chloe looked at Buck. “You think Buck would do something so royally stupid it
would not only get him fired, but it would also get him killed? And you're going to
use the threat of this news to the Global Community higher-ups in exchange for
what?”
Verna stalked out of the room. Buck looked at Chloe, winked, and shook his head.
“You're priceless,” he said.
Verna rushed back in and slapped Buck's checks on the table. “You know your time
is short, Buck.”
“Truth to tell,” Buck said, “I believe all of our time is short.”
Verna sat down resignedly. “You really believe this stuff, don't you?”
Buck tried to change the tone. He spoke sympathetically. “Verna, you've talked with
Loretta and Amanda and Chloe and me. We've all shared our stories. You heard
Rayford's story this morning. If we're all wacko, then we're all wacko. But were you
not in the least impressed with some of the things that Bruce Barnes garnered from
the Bible? Things that are coming true right now?”
Verna, at last, was silent for a moment. Finally she spoke. “It was kind of strange.
Kind of impressive. But isn't it just like Nostradamus? Can't these prophecies be
read into? Can't they mean anything you want them to mean?”
“I don't know how you could believe that,” Chloe said. “You're smarter than that.
Bruce said that if the treaty between the United Nations and Israel was the covenant
referred to in the Bible, it would usher in the seven-year tribulation period. First
there would be the seven Seal Judgments. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
would be the horse of peace—for eighteen months—the horse of war, the horse of
plague and famine, and the horse of death.”
“That's all symbolic, isn't it?” Verna said.
“Of course it is,” Chloe said. “I haven't seen any horsemen. But I have seen a year
and a half of peace. I have seen World War III break out. I've seen it result in
plagues and famine with more to come. I've seen lots of people die, and more will.
What will it take to convince you? You can't see the fifth Seal Judgment, the
martyred saints under the altar in heaven. But did you hear what Rayford said Bruce
believes is coming next?”
“An earthquake, yes, I know.”
“Will that convince you?”
Verna turned in her chair and stared out the window. “I suppose that would be
pretty hard to argue with.”
“I have some advice for you,” Chloe said. “If that earthquake is as devastating as
the Bible makes it sound, you may not have time to change your mind about all of
this before your time is up.”
Verna stood and walked slowly to the door. Holding it open, she said softly, “I still
don't like the idea of Buck's pretending to Carpathia to be something he's not.”
Buck and Chloe followed her out toward the front door. “Our private lives, our
beliefs, are none of our employer's business,” Buck said. “For instance, if I knew
you were a lesbian, I wouldn't feel it necessary to tell your superiors.”
Verna whirled to face him. “Who told you that? What business is that of yours? You
tell anybody that and I'll—”
Buck raised both hands. “Verna, your personal life is confidential with me. You
don't have to worry that I'll ever say anything to anybody about that.”
“There's nothing to tell!”
“My point exactly.”
Buck held the door open for Chloe. In the parking lot, Verna said, “So we're
agreed?”
“Agreed?” Buck said.
“That neither of us is going to say anything about the other's personal life?”
Buck shrugged. “Sounds fair to me.”


The funeral director was on the phone with Rayford. “So,” he was saying, “with the
backlog of deaths, the scarcity of grave sites, and so forth, we're estimating
interment no sooner than three weeks, possibly as late as five weeks. We store the
bodies at no charge to you, as this is a matter of public health.”
“I understand. If you could simply inform us once the burial has occurred, we'd
appreciate it. We will not have a service, and no one will attend.”
Loretta sat at the dining room table next to Rayford. “That seems so sad,” she said.
“Are you sure not even one of us should go?”
“I've never been much for graveside services,” Rayford said. “And I don't think
anything more needs to be said over Bruce's body.”
“That's true,” she said. “It's not like that's him. He's not going to feel lonely or
neglected.”
Rayford nodded and pulled a sheet from a stack of Bruce's papers. “Loretta, I think
Bruce would have wanted you to see this.”
“What is it?”
“It's from his personal journal. A few private thoughts about you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“I mean, are you sure he'd want me to see it?”
“I can go only by my own feelings,” he said. “If I had written something like this, I
would want you to see it, especially after I was gone.”
Loretta, her fingers shaking, pulled the sheet to where she could read it with her
bifocals. She was soon overcome. “Thank you, Rayford,” she managed through her
tears. “Thank you for letting me see that.”


“Buck! I had no idea Verna was a lesbian!” Chloe said.
“You had no idea? Neither did I!”
“You're kidding!”
“I'm not. You think that little revelation was of God too?”
“I'd sooner think it was a wild coincidence, but you never know. That tidbit may
have saved your life.”
“You may have saved my life, Chloe. You were brilliant in there.”
“Just sticking up for my man. She rattled the wrong cage.”



                    CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A WEEK and a half later, as Rayford was preparing to head back to New Babylon
to resume his duties, he got a call from Leon Fortunato. “You haven't heard
anything from the potentate's woman, have you?”
“The potentate's woman?” Rayford repeated, trying to let his disgust show.
“You know who I'm talking about. She flew over there on the same flight you did.
Where is she?”
“I wasn't under the impression I was responsible for her.”
“Steele, you don't really want to withhold information about somebody Carpathia
wants to know about.”
“Oh, he wants to know where she is. In other words, he hasn't heard from her?”
“You know that's the only reason I'd be calling you.”
“Where does he think she is?”
“Don't play games with me, Steele. Tell me what you know.”
“I don't know precisely where she is. And I don't feel the liberty to be reporting on
her whereabouts or even where I think she is, without her knowledge.”
“I think you'd better remember who you work for, pal.”
“How can I forget?”
“So, you want me to imply to Carpathia that you're harboring his fiancee?”
“If that's what you're worried about, I can put your mind at ease. The last time I saw
Hattie Durham was at Mitchell Field in Milwaukee when I arrived.”
“And she went on where?”
“I really don't think I should be sharing her itinerary if she chose not to.”
“You could regret this, Steele.”
“You know what, Leon? I'll sleep tonight.”
“We're assuming she went to see her family in Denver. There was no war damage
there, so we don't understand why we can't get through by phone.”
“I'm sure you have many resources for locating her. I'd rather not be one of them.”
“I hope you're financially secure, Captain Steele.”
Rayford did not respond. He didn't want to get into more of a war of words with
Leon Fortunato.
“There's been a slight change of plans by the way, as it relates to your picking up
Supreme Pontiff Mathews in Rome.”
“I'm listening.”
“Carpathia will be going with you. He wants to accompany Mathews back to New
Babylon.”
“How does that affect me?”
“I just wanted to make sure you didn't leave without him.”


Buck had already had his tongue-lashing by phone from Steve Plank about having
allowed his passport and ID to fall into the wrong hands in Israel. “They tortured
that Shorosh guy within an inch of his life, and he still swore you were just a
passenger on his boat.”
“It was a nice big, wood boat,” Buck had said.
“Well, the boat is no more.”
“What was the point of destroying a man's boat and torturing him?”
“Are we on the record?”
“I don't know, Steve. Are we talking as journalists, friends, or is this a warning from
a colleague?”
Steve changed the subject. “Carpathia still likes the copy you're sending out from
Chicago. He thinks Global Community Weekly is the best magazine in the world.
Of course, it always has been.”
“Yeah, yeah. If you forget about objectivity and journalistic credibility—”
“We all forgot about that years ago,” Plank had said. “Even before we were owned
by Carpathia, we still had to dance to somebody's tune.”


Buck brought Amanda, Chloe, Rayford, and Tsion up to speed on their new laptop
computers. Tsion had been using his secure phone to talk to everyone at Loretta's
place, which they began calling their “safe house.” More than once Loretta said,
“That man sounds like he's next door.”
“That's cellular technology for you,” Buck said.
Tsion required daily visits from his fellow Tribulation Force members, just to keep
his spirits up. He was fascinated by the new technology, and he spent much of his
time monitoring the news. He was tempted to try to communicate via E-mail to
many of his spiritual children around the world; however, he feared they might be
tortured in attempts to determine his whereabouts. He asked Buck to ask Donny
how he might go about communicating widely without the recipients of his missives
suffering for it. The solution was simple. He would merely put his messages on a
central bulletin board, and no one would know who was accessing them.
Tsion spent much of his days poring over Bruce's material and getting it into
publishable shape. That was made easier by Buck's getting it to Tsion on disk.
Frequently Tsion uploaded portions and in essence broadcast them to certain
members of the Tribulation Force. He was especially impressed with what Bruce
had to say about Chloe and Amanda. In his personal journal Bruce frequently
mentioned his dream that they work together, researching, writing, and teaching cell
groups and house churches. Eventually it was agreed that Amanda would not return
to New Babylon until after Rayford got back from his flight to Rome. That would
give her a few more days with Chloe to plan a ministry similar to what Bruce had
outlined. They didn't know where it would take them or what the opportunities
would be, but they enjoyed working together and seemed to learn more that way.
Buck was glad Verna Zee was keeping her distance. Much of the staff of the
Chicago office was deployed to various bombed-out cities to report on the resultant
chaos. There was no doubt in Buck's mind that the black horse of plagues and
famine and the pale horse of death had come galloping in on the heels of the red
horse of war.


On Wednesday evening, Amanda drove Rayford to Milwaukee for his flight to Iraq.
“Why couldn't Mathews fly on his own plane to see Carpathia?” she said.
“You know Carpathia. He likes to take the upper hand by being the most deferential
and kind. He not only sends a plane for you, he also comes along and accompanies
you back.”
“What does he want from Mathews?”
“Who knows? It could be anything. The increase in converts we're seeing has to be
very troubling for Mathews. We are one faction that doesn't buy into the one-world
faith routine.”


At six Thursday morning, Loretta's household was awakened by the phone. Chloe
grabbed it. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and told Buck, “Loretta's got it.
It's Hattie.”
Buck leaned close to listen with her. “Yes,” Loretta was saying, “you woke me,
darlin', but it's all right. Captain Steele said you might call.”
“Well, I'm flying through Milwaukee on my way back to New Babylon, and I
purposely scheduled a six-hour layover. Tell anybody there who cares that I'll be at
Mitchell Field if they want to talk to me. They shouldn't feel obligated, and I won't
be offended if they don't come.”
“Oh, they'll come, hon. Don't you worry about that.”


That same hour was three o'clock in the afternoon in Baghdad when Rayford's
commercial flight landed. He had planned to stay onboard to wait for the short flight
on to New Babylon a little over an hour later, but his cell phone vibrated in his
pocket. He wondered if this would be the call from Buck, or from Carpathia about
Buck, that would end the speculation and suspicion of the Tribulation Force. They
all knew it couldn't be long before Buck's position was jeopardized past the point of
safety. Rayford also had a fleeting thought that this might be a call from Hattie
Durham. He had waited as long as he could before heading back, hoping to connect
with her before her return. Like Carpathia and Fortunato, he had no luck trying to
reach her by phone in Denver.
But the call was from his copilot, Mac McCullum. “Get off that plane, Steele, and
stretch your legs. Your taxi is here.”
“Hey, Mac! What's that mean?”
“It means the big boss doesn't want to wait. Meet me at the helipad on the other side
of the terminal. I'm coptering you back to headquarters.”
Rayford had wanted to put off his return to New Babylon as long as possible, but at
least a helicopter ride was a diversion. He envied McCullum's ability to easily
switch back and forth between copiloting jumbo jets and flying whirlybirds.
Rayford hadn't piloted a helicopter since his military days more than twenty years
before.


Global Community Weekly was released to the public every Thursday, with the
following Monday's date on the cover. Buck tingled with excitement merely
anticipating that day's issue.
At the safe house it was decided that Amanda and Chloe would drive up to
Milwaukee to pick up Hattie. Loretta would come home from the church office in
time to host a small luncheon for her. Buck would go to the office to see the first
copies of the magazine and head for Loretta's house when he got the call from
Chloe that she and Amanda and Hattie were home.
Buck had gone out on a limb with his cover story.
Purporting, as usual, to take a neutral, objective, journalistic viewpoint, Buck
started with much of the material Bruce would have preached the Sunday morning
of his own funeral. Buck did the writing, but he assigned reporters from every
Global Community Weekly office still standing in several countries to interview
local and regional clergymen about the prophecies in the book of Revelation.
For some reason, his reporters—most of them skeptics—went at this task with glee.
Buck was faxed, modemed, phoned, couriered, and mailed dispatches from all over
the world. His cover story title, and the specific question he wanted his reporters to
ask religious leaders, was “Will we suffer the 'wrath of the Lamb'?”
Buck had enjoyed this self-assigned task more than all the other cover stories he had
ever done. That included his Man of the Year stories, even the one on Chaim
Rosenzweig. He had spent nearly three days and nights, hardly sleeping, collating,
contrasting, and comparing the various reports.
He, of course, could detect fellow believers in some of the comments. Despite the
skepticism and cynicism of most of the reporters, tribulation-saint pastors and a few
converted Jews were quoted that the “wrath of the Lamb” predicted in Revelation 6
was literal and imminent. The vast majority of the quotes were from clergy formerly
representing various and sundry religions and denominations, but now serving
Enigma Babylon One World Faith. Almost to a person, these men and women “faith
guides” (no one was called a reverend or a pastor or a priest anymore) took their
lead from Pontifex Maximus Peter Mathews. Buck himself had talked to Mathews.
His view, echoed dozens of times, was that the book of Revelation was “wonderful,
archaic, beautiful literature, to be taken symbolically, figuratively, metaphorically.
This earthquake,” Mathews had told Buck by phone, a smile in his voice, “could
refer to anything. It may have happened already. It may refer to something someone
imagined going on in heaven. Who knows? It may be some story related to the old
theory of an eternal man in the sky who created the world. I don't know about you,
but I have not seen any apocalyptic horsemen. I haven't seen anyone die for their
religion. I haven't seen anyone 'slain for the word of God,' as the previous verses
say. I haven't seen anyone in a white robe. And I don't expect to endure any
earthquake. Regardless of your view on the person or concept of God, or a god,
hardly anyone today would imagine a supreme spirit—being full of goodness and
light subjecting the entire earth—already suffering from so recent a devastating
war—to a calamity like an earthquake.”
“But,” Buck had asked him, “are you not aware that this idea of fearing the 'wrath
of the Lamb' is a doctrine still preached in many churches?”
“Of course,” Mathews had responded. “But these are the same holdovers from your
right-wing, fanatical, fundamentalist factions who have always taken the Bible
literally. These same preachers, and I daresay many of their parishioners, are the
ones who take the creation account—the Adam and Eve myth, if you will—literally.
“They believe the entire world was under water at the time of Noah and that only he
and his three sons and their wives survived to begin the entire human race as we
now know it.”
“But you, as a Catholic, as the former pope—”
“Not just the former pope, Mr. Williams, also a former Catholic. I feel a great
responsibility as leader of the Global Community's faith to set aside all trappings of
parochialism. I must, in the spirit of unity and conciliation and ecumenism, be
prepared to admit that much Catholic thought and scholarship was just as rigid and
narrow-minded as that which I'm criticizing here.”
“Such as?”
“I don't care to be too specific, at the risk of offending those few who still like to
refer to themselves as Catholics, but the idea of a literal virgin birth should be seen
as an incredible leap of logic. The idea that the Holy Roman Catholic Church was
the only true church was almost as damaging as the evangelical Protestant view that
Jesus was the only way to God. That assumes, of course, that Jesus was, as so many
of my Bible-worshiping friends like to say, 'the only begotten Son of the Father.' By
now I'm sure that most thinking people realize that God is, at most, a spirit, an idea,
if you will. If they like to infuse him, or it, or her, with some characteristics of
purity and goodness, it only follows that we are all sons and daughters of God.”
Buck had led him. “The idea of heaven and hell then ... ?”
“Heaven is a state of mind. Heaven is what you can make of your life here on earth.
I believe we're heading toward a Utopian state. Hell? More damage has been done
to more tender psyches by the wholly mythical idea that—well, let me put it this
way: Let's say those fundamentalists, these people who believe we're about to suffer
the 'wrath of the Lamb,' are right that there is a loving, personal God who cares
about each one of us. How does that jibe? Is it possible he would create something
that he would eventually burn up? It makes no sense.”
“But don't Christian believers, the ones you're trying to characterize, say that God is
not willing that any should perish? In other words, he doesn't send people to hell.
Hell is judgment for those who don't believe, but everyone is given the
opportunity.”
“You have summarized their position well, Mr. Williams. But, as I'm sure you can
see, it just doesn't hold water.”
Early that morning, before the door was unlocked, Buck picked up the shrink-
wrapped bundle of Global Community Weeklys and lugged them inside. The
secretaries would distribute one to each desk, but for now Buck ripped off the
plastic and set a magazine before him. The cover, which had been tweaked at the
international headquarters office, was even better than Buck had hoped. Under the
logo was a stylized illustration of a huge mountain range splitting from one end to
the other. A red moon hung over the scene, and the copy read: “Will You Suffer the
Wrath of the Lamb?”
Buck turned to the extra-long story inside that carried his byline. Characteristic of a
Buck Williams story, he had covered all the bases. He had quoted leaders from
Carpathia and Mathews to local faith guides. There was even a smattering of quotes
from the man on the street.
The biggest coup, in Buck's mind, was a sidebar carrying a brief but very cogent
and articulate word study by none other than Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah. He explained
who the sacrificed Lamb was in Scripture and how the imagery had begun in the
Old Testament and was fulfilled by Jesus in the New Testament.
Buck had been suspicious about not having been called on the carpet by anyone but
his old friend Steve Plank regarding his potential involvement in the escape of
Tsion Ben-Judah. Quoting Tsion extensively in his own sidebar could have made it
seem as if Buck were rubbing in the faces of his superiors his knowledge of Ben-
Judah's whereabouts. But he had headed that off. When the story was filed and sent
via satellite to the various print plant facilities, Buck added a note that “Dr. Ben-
Judah learned of this story over the Internet and has submitted his view via
computer from an undisclosed location.”
Also amusing to Buck, if anything about this cosmic subject could be amusing, was
that one of his enterprising young reporters from Africa took it. upon himself to
interview geological scholars in a university in Zimbabwe. Their conclusion? “The
idea of a global earthquake is, on the face of it, illogical. Earthquakes are caused by
faults, by underground plates rubbing against each other. It's cause and effect. The
reason it happens in certain areas at certain times is, logically, because it's not
happening other places at the same time. These plates move and crash together
because they have nowhere else to go. You never hear of simultaneous earthquakes.
There is not one in North America and one in South America at precisely the same
time. The odds against one earth-wide geological event, which would really be
simultaneous earthquakes all over the globe, are astronomical.”


McCullum landed the chopper on the roof of the Global Community international
headquarters building in New Babylon. He helped carry Rayford's bags into the
elevator that took them past Carpathia's Suite 216, an entire floor of offices and
conference rooms. Rayford had never understood its address, as it was not on the
second floor at all. Carpathia and his senior staff occupied the top floor of the
eighteen-story building.
Rayford hoped Carpathia would not know precisely when they arrived. He assumed
he would have to face the man when he flew him to Rome to pick up Mathews, but
Rayford wanted to get unpacked, freshen up, and settle in at his condo before
getting back on board a plane again right away. He was grateful they were not
intercepted. He had a couple of hours before takeoff. “See you on the 216, Mac,” he
said.


The phones began ringing at the Global Weekly office even before anyone else
began to arrive. Buck let the answering machine take the calls, and it wasn't long
before he rolled his chair to the receptionist's desk and just sat listening to the
comments. One woman said, “So, Global Community Weekly has stooped to the
level of the tabloids, covering every latest fairy tale to come out of the so-called
church. Leave this trash to the yellow journalists.”
Another said, “I wouldn't have dreamed people still believe this malarkey. That you
could dig up that many weirdos to contribute to one story is a tribute to investigative
journalism. Thanks for exposing them to the light and showing them what fools
they really are.”
Only the occasional call carried the tone of this one from a woman in Florida: “Why
didn't somebody tell me about this before? I've been reading Revelation since the
minute this magazine hit my doorstep, and I'm scared to death. What am I supposed
to do now?”
Buck hoped she would read deep enough into the article to discover what a
converted Jew from Norway said was the only protection from the coming
earthquake: “No one should assume there will be shelter. If you believe, as I do, that
Jesus Christ is the only hope for salvation, you should repent of your sins and
receive him before the threat of death visits you.”
Buck's personal phone buzzed. It was Verna.
“Buck, I'm keeping your secret, so I hope you're keeping your end of the bargain.”
“I am. What's got you so agitated this morning?”
“Your cover story, of course. I knew it was coming, but I didn't expect it to be so
overt. Do you think you've hidden behind your objectivity? Don't you think this
exposes you as a proponent?”
“I don't know. I hope not. Even if Carpathia didn't own this magazine, I would want
to come across as objective.”
“You're deluding yourself.”
Buck scrambled mentally for an answer. In one way, he appreciated the warning. In
another, this was old news. Maybe Verna was just trying to find some point of
contact, some reason to start a dialogue again. “Verna, I urge you to keep thinking
about what you heard from Loretta, Chloe, and Amanda.”
“And from you. Don't leave yourself out.” Her tone was mocking and sarcastic.
“I mean it, Verna. If you ever want to talk about this stuff, you can come to me.”
“With what your religion says about homosexuals, are you kidding?”
“My Bible doesn't differentiate between homosexuals and heterosexuals,” Buck
said. “It may call practicing homosexuals sinners, but it also calls heterosexual sex
outside of marriage sinful.”
“Semantics, Buck. Semantics.”
“Just remember what I said, Verna. I don't want our personality conflict to get in the
way of what's real and true. You were right when you said the outbreak of the war
made our skirmishes petty. I'm willing to put those behind us.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she sounded almost impressed. “Well, thank
you, Buck. I'll keep that in mind.”


By late morning Chicago time it was early evening in Iraq. Rayford and McCullum
were flying Carpathia, Fortunato, and Dr. Kline to Rome to pick up One World
Faith supreme pontiff Peter Mathews. Rayford knew Carpathia wanted to pave the
way for the apostate union of religions to move to New Babylon, but he wasn't sure
how Dr. Kline fit into this meeting. By listening in on his bugging device, he soon
found out.
As was his usual custom, Rayford took off, quickly reached cruising altitude, put
the plane on autopilot, and turned over control to Mac McCullum. “I feel like I've
been on a plane all day,” he said, leaning back in his seat, pulling the bill of his cap
down over his eyes, applying his headphones, and appearing to drift off to sleep. In
the approximately two hours it took to fly from New Babylon to Rome, Rayford
would get a lesson in new-world-order international diplomacy. But before they got
down to business, Carpathia checked with Fortunato on the flight plans of Hattie
Durham.
Fortunato told him, “She is on some kind of a multi-leg journey that has a long
layover in Milwaukee, then heads for Boston. She'll fly nonstop from Boston to
Baghdad. She'll lose several hours coming this way, but I think we can expect her
tomorrow morning.”
Carpathia sounded peeved. “How long before we get the international terminal
finished in New Babylon? I am tired of everything having to come through
Baghdad.”
“They're telling us a couple of months now.”
“And these are the same building engineers who tell us everything else in New
Babylon is state of the art?”
“Yes, sir. Have you noticed problems?”
“No, but it almost makes me wish this 'wrath of the Lamb' business was more than a
myth. I would like to put the true test to their earthquake-proof claims.”
“I saw that piece today,” Dr. Kline said. “Interesting bit of fiction. That Williams
can make an interesting story out of anything, can't he?”
“Yes,” Carpathia said solemnly. “I suspect he has made an interesting story of his
own background.”
“I don't follow.”
“I do not follow either,” Carpathia said. “Our intelligence forces link him to the
disappearance of Rabbi Ben-Judah.”
Rayford straightened and listened more closely. He didn't want McCullum to realize
he was listening on a different frequency, but neither did he want to miss anything.
“We are learning more and more about our brilliant young journalist,” Carpathia
said. “He has never been forthcoming about his ties to my own pilot, but then
neither has Captain Steele. I still do not mind having them around. They may think
they are in strategy proximity to me, but I am also able to learn much about the
opposition through them.”
So there it is, Rayford thought. The gauntlet is down.
“Leon, what is the latest on those two crazy men in Jerusalem?”
Fortunato sounded disgusted. “They've got the whole nation of Israel up in arms
again,” he said. “You know it hasn't rained there since they began all that preaching.
And that trick they pulled on the water supply—turning it to blood—during the
temple ceremonies, they're doing that again.”
“What has set them off this time?”
“I think you know.”
“I have asked you not to be circumspect with me, Leon. When I ask you a question,
I expect—”
“Forgive me, Potentate. They have been carrying on about the arrest and torture of
people associated with Dr. Ben-Judah. They are saying that until those suspects
have been released and the search has been called off, all water supplies will be
polluted by blood.”
“How do they do that?”
“No one knows, but it's very real, isn't it Dr. Kline?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “I have been sent samples. There is a high water content, but it is
mostly blood.”
“Human blood?”
“It has all the characteristics of human blood, although the type is difficult to
determine. It borders on some cross between human and animal blood.”
“How is morale in Israel?” Carpathia asked.
“The people are angry with the two preachers. They want to kill them.”
“That is not all bad,” Carpathia said. “Can we not get that done?”
“No one dares. The death count on those who've made attacks on them is over a
dozen by now. You learn your lesson after a while.”
“We are going to find a way,” Carpathia said. “Meanwhile, let the suspects go. Ben-
Judah cannot get far. Anyway, without being able to show his face in public, he
cannot do us much harm. If those two rascals do not immediately purify the water
supply, we will see how they stand up to an atomic blast.”
“You're not serious, are you?” Dr. Kline said.
“Why would I not be?”
“You would drop an atomic bomb on a sacred site in the Holy City?”
“Frankly, I do not worry about the Wailing Wall or the Temple Mount or the new
temple. Those two are giving me no end of grief, so mark my word: The day will
come when they push me too far.”
“It would be good to get Pontiff Mathews's opinion of all of this.”
“We have enough of an agenda with him,” Carpathia said. “In fact, I am sure he has
an agenda for me as well, though perhaps a hidden one.”
Later, after someone switched on the TV and the three men caught up on the
international coverage of the war cleanup effort, Carpathia turned his attention to
Dr. Kline.
“As you know, the ten ambassadors voted unanimously to fund abortions for
women in underprivileged countries. I have made an executive decision to make
that unilateral. Every continent has suffered from the war, so all could be considered
underprivileged. I do not anticipate a problem from Mathews on this, the way he
might have protested were he still pope. However, should he express some
opposition, are you prepared to discuss the long-term benefits?”
“Of course.”
“And where are we on the technology for predetermineing the health and viability
of a fetus?”
“Amniocentesis can now tell us everything we want to know. Its benefits are so far-
reaching that it is worth any risk the procedure might afford.”
“And Leon,” Carpathia said, “are we at a point where we can announce sanctions
requiring amniocentesis on every pregnancy, along with an abortion requirement for
any fetal tissue determined to result in a deformed or handicapped fetus?”
“Everything is in place,” Fortunato said. “However, you are going to want as broad
a base of support as possible before going public with that.”
“Of course. That is one of the reasons for this meeting with Mathews.”
“Are you optimistic?” Fortunato asked.
“Should I not be? Is Mathews not aware that I put him where he is today?”
“That's a question I ask myself all the time, Potentate. Surely you notice his lack of
deference and respect. I don't like the way he treats you as if he's an equal.”
“For the time being, he can be as pushy as he wants. He can be of great value to the
cause because of his following. I know he is having financial difficulty because he
cannot sell surplus churches. They are single-use facilities, so he will no doubt be
pleading his case for more of an allotment from the Global Community. The
ambassadors are already upset about this. For right now, though, I do not mind
having the upper hand financially. Maybe we can strike a deal.”



                     CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BUCK was amused that his cover story was the hottest topic of the day. Every talk
show, news show, and even some variety shows mentioned it. One comedy featured
an animated short of a woolly lamb going on the rampage. They called it “Our View
of the 'Wrath of the Lamb.'”
Glancing at the magazine before him, Buck suddenly realized that when he was
exposed, when he would have to step down, when he possibly became a fugitive, it
would be impossible to match the distribution of a magazine so well-established
around the world. He might have a larger audience via television and the Internet,
but he wondered if he would ever have the influence again that he had right now.
He looked at his watch. It was almost time to head for the safe house and the
luncheon with Hattie.


Rayford and Mac McCullum had about an hour's break after they hit the ground in
Rome and before they were to head back to New Babylon. They passed Peter
Mathews and one of his aides boarding the plane. Rayford was nauseated by
Carpathia's obsequious deference to Mathews. He heard the potentate say, “How
good of you to allow us to come and collect you, Pontiff. I am hoping we can have
meaningful dialogue, profitable to the good of the Global Community.”
Just before Rayford stepped out of earshot, Mathews told Carpathia, “As long as it's
profitable to the One World Faith, I don't much care whether you benefit or not.”
Rayford found reasons to excuse himself from McCullum and hurry back to the
plane and into the cockpit. He apologized to Fortunato for “having to check on a
few things” and was soon back in his customary spot. The door was locked. The
reverse intercom was on, and Rayford was listening.


Buck had not seen Hattie Durham in real distress since the night of the Rapture. He,
like most other men, usually saw her only as striking. Now the kindest term he
could think of for her was disheveled. She carried an oversized purse stuffed mostly
with tissues, and she made use of every last one. Loretta pointed her to the head of
the table, and when lunch was served, they all sat awkwardly, seeming to try to
avoid meaningful conversation.
Buck said, “Amanda, would you pray for us?”
Hattie quickly entwined her fingers under her chin, like a little girl kneeling at her
bedside. Amanda said, “Father, sometimes in the situations we find ourselves, it's
difficult to know what to say to you. Sometimes we're unhappy. Sometimes we're
distraught. Sometimes we have no idea where to turn. The world seems in such
chaos. However, we know we can thank you for who you are. We thank you that
you're a good God. That you care about us and love us. We thank you that you're
sovereign and that you hold the world in your hands. We thank you for friends,
especially old friends like Hattie. Give us words to say that might help her in
whatever decision making she must do, and thank you for the provision of this food.
In Jesus' name, Amen.”
They ate in silence, Buck noticing that Hattie's eyes were full of tears. Despite that,
she ate quickly and was done before the rest. She grabbed yet another tissue and
blew her nose.
“Well,” she said, “Rayford insisted that I drop in on you on my way back. I'm sorry
I missed him, but I think he really wanted me to talk to you anyway. Or maybe he
wanted you to talk to me.”
The women looked as puzzled as Buck felt. That was it? The floor was theirs? What
were they supposed to do? It was hard to meet this woman at her point of need if
she wasn't going to share that need.
Loretta began. “Hattie, what's troubling you the most just now?”
Either what Loretta said or how she said it unleashed a torrent of tears. “Fact is,”
Hattie managed, “I want an abortion. My family is encouraging me that way. I don't
know what Nicolae will say, but if there's no change in our relationship when I get
back there, I'm going to want an abortion for sure. I suppose I'm here because I
know you'll try to talk me out of it, and I guess I need to hear both sides. Rayford
already gave me the standard right-wing, pro-life position. I don't guess I need to
hear that again.”
“What do you need to hear?” Buck said, feeling very male and very insensitive just
then.
Chloe gave him a look that implied he should not push. “Hattie,” she said, “you
know where we stand. That's not why you're here. If you want to be talked out of it,
we can do that. If you won't be talked out of it, nothing we say will make any
difference.”
Hattie looked frustrated. “So, you think I'm here to get preached at.”
“We're not going to preach at you,” Amanda said. “From what I understand, you
know where we stand on the things of God as well.”
“Yes, I do,” Hattie said. “I'm sorry to have wasted your time. I guess I have a
decision to make about this pregnancy, and it was foolish of me to drag you into it.”
“Don't feel like you have to leave, darlin',” Loretta said. “This is my house, and I'm
your hostess, and you might risk offendin' me if you were to leave too early.”
Hattie looked at her as if to be sure Loretta was teasing. It was clear that she was. “I
can just as easily wait at the airport,” Hattie said. “I'm sorry to have put you through
all this inconvenience.”
Buck wanted to say something but knew he couldn't communicate at this level. He
looked into the eyes of the women, who intently watched their guest. Finally, Chloe
stood and walked behind Hattie's chair. She put her hands on Hattie's shoulders. “I
have always admired and liked you,” she said. “I think we could have been friends
in another situation. But Hattie, I feel led to tell you that I know why you came here
today. I know why you followed my dad's advice, though you may have done it
against your will. Something tells me your visit home was not successful. Maybe
they were too practical. Maybe they didn't give you the compassion you needed
along with their advice. Maybe hearing that they wanted you to end this pregnancy
was not what you really wanted.
“Let me just tell you, Hattie, if it's love you're looking for, you came to the right
place. Yes, there are things we believe. Things we think you should know. Things
we think you should agree with. Decisions we think you should make. We have
ideas about what you should do about your baby, and we have ideas about what you
should do about your soul. But these are personal decisions only you can make. And
while they are life-and-death, heaven-and-hell decisions, all we can offer is support,
encouragement, advice if you ask for it, and love.”
“Yeah,” Hattie said, “love, if I buy into everything you have to sell.”
“No. We are going to love you anyway. We're going to love you the way God loves
you. We're going to love you so fully and so well that you won't be able to hide
from it. Even if your decisions go against everything we believe to be true, and even
though we would grieve over the loss of innocent life if you chose to abort your
baby, we won't love you any less.”
Hattie burst into tears as Chloe rubbed her shoulders. “That's impossible! You can't
love me no matter what I do, especially if I ignore your advice!”
“You're right,” Chloe said. “We are not capable of unconditional love. That's why
we have to let God love you through us. He's the one who loves us regardless of
what we do. The Bible says he sent his Son to die for us while we were dead in our
sins. That's unconditional love. That's what we have to offer you, Hattie, because
that's all we have.”
Hattie stood awkwardly, and her chair scraped the floor as she turned to embrace
Chloe. They held each other for a long minute, and then the entire party moved into
the other room. Hattie tried to smile. “I feel foolish,” she said, “like a blubbering
schoolgirl.”
The other women didn't protest. They didn't tell her she looked fine. They simply
looked at her with love. For a moment Buck wished he was Hattie so he could
respond. He didn't know about her, but this sure would have won him over.


“I'll get right to it,” Peter Mathews told Carpathia. “If there are ways we can help
each other, I want to know what you need. Because there are things I need from
you.”
“Such as?” Carpathia asked.
“Frankly, I need amnesty from One World Faith's debt to your administration. We
might be able to pay back some of our allotment someday, but right now we just
don't have the income.”
“Having trouble selling off some of those surplus church buildings?” Carpathia
said.
“Oh, that's part of it, but a very small part. Our real problem lies with two religious
groups who not only have refused to join our union, but who are also antagonistic
and intolerant. You know who I'm talking about. One group is a problem that you
caused yourself by that agreement between the Global Community and Israel. The
Jews have no need for us, no reason to join. They still believe in the one true God
and a Messiah who's supposed to come in the sky by and by. I don't know what your
plan is after the contract runs out, but I could sure use some ammunition against
them.
“The other bunch are these Christians who call themselves tribulation saints.
They're the ones who think the Messiah already came and raptured his church and
they missed it. I figure if they are right, they're kidding themselves to think he'd
give them another chance, but you know as well as I do they're growing like
wildfire. The strange thing is, a whole bunch of their converts are Jews. They've got
these two nuts at the Wailing Wall telling everybody that the Jews are halfway there
with their belief in the one true God, but that Jesus is his Son, that he came back,
and that he's coming back again.”
“Peter, my friend, this should not be strange doctrine to you as a former Catholic.”
“I didn't say it was strange to me. I just never realized the depth of the intolerance
that we Catholics had and that those tribulation saint-types have now.”
“You have noticed the intolerance too?”
“Who hasn't? These people take the Bible literally. You've seen their propaganda
and heard their preachers at the big rallies. There are Jews buying into this stuff by
the tens of thousands. Their intolerance hurts us.”
“How so?”
“You know. The secret to our success, the enigma that is One World Faith, is
simply that we have broken down the barriers that used to divide us. Any religion
that believes there's only one way to God is, by definition, intolerant. They become
enemies of One World Faith and thus the global community as a whole. Our
enemies are your enemies. We have to do something about them.”
“What do you propose?”
“I was about to ask you that very question, Nicolae.”
Rayford could only imagine Nicolae wincing at Mathews' referring to him by his
first name.
“Believe it or not, my friend, I have already given this a great deal of thought.”
“You have?”
“I have. As you say, your enemies are my enemies. Those two at the Wailing Wall,
the ones the so-called saints refer to as the witnesses, have meant no end of grief for
me and my administration. I do not know where they come from or what they are up
to, but they have terrorized the people of Jerusalem, and more than once they have
made me look bad. This group of fundamentalists, the ones who are converting so
many Jews, look to these two as heroes.”
“So, what conclusion have you come to?”
“Frankly, I have been considering more legislation. Conventional wisdom says you
cannot legislate morale. I happen not to believe that. I admit my dreams and goals
are grandiose, but I will not be deterred. I foresee a global community of true peace
and harmony, a Utopia where people live together for the good of each other. When
that was threatened by insurrection forces from three of our ten regions, I
immediately retaliated. In spite of my long-standing and most sincere opposition to
war, I made a strategic decision. Now I am legislating morale. People who want to
get along and live together will find me most generous and conciliatory. Those who
want to cause trouble will be gone. It is as simple as that.”
“So, what are you saying, Nicolae? You're going to wage war on the
fundamentalists?”
“In a sense I am. No, we will not do it with tanks and bombs. But I believe the time
has come to enforce rules for the new Global Community. As this would seem to
benefit you as much as it would benefit me, I would like you to cooperate in
forming and heading an organization of elite enforcers, if you will, of pure thought.”
“How are you defining 'pure thought'?”
“I foresee a cadre of young, healthy, strong men and women so devoted to the cause
of the Global Community that they would be willing to train and build themselves
to the point where they will be eager to make sure everyone is in line with our
objectives.”
Rayford heard someone rise and begin pacing. He assumed it was Mathews,
warming to the idea. “These would not be uniformed people, I assume.”
“No. They would blend in with everyone else, but they would be chosen for their
insight and trained in psychology. They would keep us informed of subversive
elements who oppose our views. Surely you agree that we are long past the time
where we can tolerate the extreme negative by-product of free speech run amok.”
“Not only do I agree,” Mathews said quickly, “but I stand ready to assist in any way
possible. Can One World Faith help seek out candidates? train them? house them?
clothe them?”
“I thought you were running short of funds,” Carpathia said, chuckling.
“This will only result in more income for us. When we eliminate the opposition,
everyone benefits.”
Rayford heard Carpathia sigh. “We would call them the GCMM. The Global
Community Morale Monitors.”
“That makes them sound a little soft, Nicolae.”
“Precisely the idea. We do not want to call them the secret police, or the thought
police, or the hate police, or any kind of police. Make no mistake. They will be
secret. They will have power. They will be able to supersede normal due cause in
the interest of the better good for the global community.”
“To what limit?”
“No limit.”
“They would carry weapons?”
“Of course.”
“And they would be allowed to use these to what extent?”
“That is the beauty of it, Pontiff Mathews. By selecting the right young people, by
training them carefully in the ideal of a peaceful Utopia, and by giving them
ultimate capital power to mete out justice as they see fit, we quickly subdue the
enemy and eliminate it. We should foresee no need of the GCMM within just a few
years.”
“Nicolae, you're a genius.”


Buck was disappointed. When it came time to run Hattie back up to Milwaukee, he
felt little progress had been made. She had a lot of questions about just what it was
these women did with their time. She was intrigued by the idea of Bible studies.
And she had mentioned her envy of having close friends of the same sex who
seemed to really care about each other.
But Buck had been hoping there would have been some breakthrough. Maybe
Hattie would have promised not to have an abortion or broken down and become a
believer. He tried to push from his mind that Chloe might get the idea of taking and
raising as their own the unwanted baby Hattie was carrying. He and Chloe were
close to a decision about whether to bring a baby into this stage of history, but he
hardly wanted to consider raising the child of the Antichrist.
Hattie thanked everyone and climbed into the Range Rover with the women. Buck
implied he was going to take one of the other cars back to the Global Community
Weekly office, but instead he drove to the church. He stopped on the way for a treat
for his friend, and within minutes he had gone through the labyrinth that took him to
the inner sanctum of Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah's personal study chamber.
Every time Buck sneaked into that place, he was certain that claustrophobia,
loneliness, fear, and grief would have overcome his friend. Without fail, however, it
was Buck who was warmed by these visits. Tsion was hardly gleeful. He did not
laugh much, nor did he offer a huge smile when Buck appeared. His eyes were red,
and his face showed the lines of the recently bereaved. But he was also staying fit.
He worked out, running in place, doing jumping jacks, stretching, and who knew
what else. He told Buck he did this for at least an hour a day, and it showed. He
seemed in a better frame of mind each time Buck saw him, and he never
complained. That afternoon Tsion seemed genuinely pleased to have a visitor.
“Cameron,” he said, “were I not living with a heaviness of soul right now, certain
parts of this place, even its location, would be paradise. I can read, I can study, I can
pray, I can write, I can communicate by phone and computer. It is a scholar's dream.
I miss the interaction with my colleagues, especially the young students who helped
me. But Amanda and Chloe are wonderful students themselves.”
He greedily joined Buck in their fast-food snack. “I need to talk about my family. I
hope you don't mind.”
“Tsion, you may talk about your family with me anytime you want. You should
forgive me for not being more diligent in asking.”
“I know you, like many others, wonder if you should bring up such a painful
subject. As long as we do not dwell on how they died, I am most pleased to talk
about my memories. You know I raised my son and daughter from the ages of eight
and ten to fourteen and sixteen. They were my wife's children from her first
marriage. Her husband was killed in a construction accident. The children did not
accept me at first, but I won them over by my love for her. I did not try to take the
place of their father or pretend I was in charge of them. Eventually they referred to
me as their father, and it was one of the proudest days of my life.”
“Your wife seemed like a wonderful woman.”
“She was. The children were wonderful too, though my family was human just like
anyone else. I do not idealize them. They were all very bright. That was a joy to me.
I could converse with them about deep things, complicated things. My wife herself
had taught at the college level before having children. The children were both in
special private schools and were exceptionally good students. Most important of all,
when I began to tell them what I was learning in my research, they never once
accused me of heresy or of turning my back on my culture, my religion, or my
country. They were bright enough to see that I was discovering the truth. I did not
preach at them, did not try to unduly influence them. I would merely read them
passages and say, 'What do you deduce from this? What is the Torah saying here
about qualifications for Messiah?' I was so fervent in my Socratic method that at
times I believe they came to my ultimate conclusions before I did. When the
Rapture occurred, I immediately knew what had happened. In some ways I was
actually disappointed to find that I had failed my family and that all three of them
had been left behind with me. I would have missed them, as I miss them now, but it
also would have been a blessing to me had any of them seen the truth and acted
upon it before it was too late.”
“You told me they all became believers shortly after you did.”
Tsion stood and paced. “Cameron, I do not understand how anyone with any
exposure to the Bible could doubt the meaning of the mass vanishings. Rayford
Steele, with his limited knowledge, knew because of the testimony of his wife. I,
above all people, should have known. And yet you see it all around you. People are
still trying to explain it away. It breaks my heart.”
Tsion showed Buck what he was working on. He had nearly completed the first
booklet in what he hoped would be a series from Bruce's writings. “He was a
surprisingly adept scholar for a young man,” Tsion said. “He was not the linguist
that I am, and so I am adding some of that to his work. I think it makes for a better
final product.”
“I'm sure Bruce would agree,” Buck said.
Buck wanted to broach the subject of Tsion's helping the church, remotely of
course, locate a new pastor. How perfect if it could be Tsion! But that was out of the
question. Anyway, Buck did not want anything to interrupt Tsion's important work.
“You know, Tsion, that I will likely be the first to join you here on a permanent
basis.”
“Cameron, I cannot see you as content to hide out.”
“It'll drive me crazy, there's no doubt about that. But I have begun to get careless.
Riskier. It's bound to catch up with me.”
“You will be able to do what I do on the Internet,” Tsion said. “I am communicating
with many hundreds already, just by learning a few tricks. Imagine what you can do
with the truth. You can write the way you used to write, with total objectivity and
seriousness. You will not be influenced by the owner of the paper.”
“What was that you said about the truth?”
“You can write the truth, that's all.”
Buck sat and began noodling on paper. He drew the cover of a magazine and called
it simply “Truth.” He was excited.
“Look at this. I could design the graphics, write the copy, and disseminate it on the
Net. According to Donny Moore, it could never be traced back here.”
“I don't want to see you forced into self-incarceration,” Ben-Judah said. “But I
confess I would enjoy the company.”



                     CHAPTER NINETEEN
RAYFORD was proud of Hattie Durham. From what he could gather in New
Babylon, she had pulled another fast one on Nicolae and his henchman Leon
Fortunato. Apparently she had flown from Milwaukee to Boston, but rather than
taking her connecting flight on to Baghdad, she had stopped somewhere.
Rayford had been out of hearing range, of course, when the meetings with Peter
Mathews were continued at New Babylon headquarters. All he knew was that there
was great consternation around the place, especially among Nicolae and Leon, that
Hattie had slipped off schedule yet again. Though Nicolae had shown indifference
to her, not knowing where she was made her a loose cannon and a potential
embarrassment.
When word finally arrived that she had a new itinerary, Carpathia himself asked to
see Rayford in private.
The new secretarial staff was in place and operational by the time Rayford entered
Suite 216 and was granted audience with the potentate.
“It is good to see you again, Captain Steele. I fear I have not been as forthcoming
with my thanks for your service as I used to be, before so many distractions have
come about.
“Let me get straight to the point. I know that Ms. Durham once worked for you. In
fact, you came to us based on her recommendation. I know also that she has at times
confided in you. Thus, it should come as no surprise to you that there has been some
trouble in paradise, as they say. Let me be frank. The fact is, I believe Ms. Durham
always overestimated the seriousness of our personal relationship.”
Rayford thought back to when Nicolae had seemed to proudly announce that Hattie
was pregnant and that she was wearing his ring. But Rayford knew better than to try
to catch the liar of liars in a lie.
Carpathia continued: “Ms. Durham should have realized that in a position such as
the one I hold, there really is no room for a personal life that would enjoy the
commitment required by a marriage and family. She seemed pleased with the
prospect of bearing a child, my child. Thus, I did not discourage that or encourage
some other option. Should she take the pregnancy to term, I would of course
exercise my fiscal responsibility. However, it is unfair for her to expect me to
devote the time that might be available to the normal father.
“My advice to her would be to terminate the pregnancy. However, due to the fact
that this result of our relationship is really her responsibility, I will leave that
decision to her.”
Rayford was puzzled and didn't try to hide it. Why was Carpathia telling him this?
What assignment was going to fall to him? He didn't have long to wait.
“I have needs like any other man, Captain Steele. You understand. I would never
commit myself to just one woman, and I certainly made no such commitment to Ms.
Durham. The fact is that I already have someone else with whom I am enjoying a
relationship. Therefore, you can see my dilemma.”
“I'm not sure I do,” Rayford said.
“Well, I have replaced Ms. Durham as my personal assistant. I sense that she is
distraught from that and from what she has to deduce is a relationship that has
soured. I do not see it as souring; I see us both moving on. But, as I say, as she saw
it as more important a commitment than I did, she is thus more upset and
disappointed at the conclusion of it.”
“I need to ask you about the ring you gave her,” Rayford said.
“Oh, that is no problem. I will not be requiring that back. In fact, I always believed
that the stone was much too large to be worn as an engagement ring. It clearly is
decorative. She need not worry about returning that.”
Rayford was getting the picture. Carpathia was going to call on him, as Hattie's old
friend and boss, to deliver the news. Why else would he need all this information?
“I will do the right thing by Ms. Durham, Captain Steele. You may be assured of
that. I would not want her to become destitute. I know she is employable, probably
not as a clerical person, but certainly in the aviation industry.”
“Which has been devastated by the war, as you know,” Rayford said.
“Yes, but with her seniority and perhaps with some gentle pressure on my part...”
“And so you're saying that you will give her some sort of severance or a stipend or
settlement?”
Carpathia seemed to brighten. “Yes, if that will make it easier for her, I am happy to
do that.” I should think you would be, Rayford thought. “Captain Steele, I have an
assignment for you—”
“I deduced that.”
“Of course, you would. You are a bright man. We have received word that Ms.
Durham is back on her itinerary and is expected in Baghdad on a flight from Boston
on Monday.”
It finally hit Rayford why Hattie might have delayed her return. Perhaps she knew
of Amanda's plans. It would be just like Amanda to arrange to meet her somewhere
and accompany her back. Amanda would have had an ulterior motive, of course: to
keep Hattie from visiting a reproductive clinic. She also would have wanted to
continue expressing love to her. Rayford decided against telling Carpathia he was
headed to the airport in Baghdad Monday anyway to pick up his own wife.
“Assuming you are free, Captain Steele, and I will make sure that you are, I would
ask that you would meet Miss Durham's plane. As her old friend, you will be the
right one to break this news to her. Her belongings have been delivered to one of the
condominiums in your building. She will be allowed to stay there for a month
before deciding where she would like to relocate.”
Rayford interrupted. “Excuse me, but are you asking me to do something that you
yourself should be doing?”
“Oh, make no mistake, Captain Steele. I am not afraid of this confrontation. It
would be most distasteful for me, yes, but I recognize my responsibility here. It is
just that I am under such crushing deadlines for important meetings. We have
established many new directives and legislative encyclicals in light of the recent
insurrection, and I simply cannot be away from the office.”
Rayford thought Carpathia's meeting with Hattie Durham might have taken less
time than the meeting they were conducting right then. But what was the sense of
arguing with a man like this?
“Any questions, Captain Steele?”
“No. It's all very clear to me.”
“You will do it then?”
“I was not under the impression I had a choice.”
Carpathia smiled. “You have a good sense of humor, Captain Steele. I would not
say your job depends on it, but I appreciate that your military background has
trained you to realize that when a directive is given, it is to be carried out. I want
you to know that I appreciate it.”
Rayford stared at him. He willed himself not to say the obligatory, “You're
welcome.” He nodded and stood.
“Captain Steele, might I ask you to remain seated for a moment.”
Rayford sat back down. What now? Is this the beginning of the end?
“I would like to ask you about your relationship with Cameron Williams.” Rayford
did not respond at first. Carpathia continued. “Sometimes known as Buck Williams.
He was formerly a senior staff writer for Global Weekly, now Global Community
Weekly. He is my publisher there.”
“He's my son-in-law,” Rayford said.
“And can you think of any reason why he would not have shared that happy news
with me?”
“I suppose you'll have to ask him that, sir.”
“Well, then perhaps I should ask you. Why would you not have shared that with
me?”
“It's just personal family business,” Rayford said, trying to remain calm. “Anyway,
with him serving you at such a high level, I assumed you would become aware of it
soon enough.”
“Does it happen that he shares your religious beliefs?”
“I prefer not to speak for Buck.”
“I will take that as a yes.” Rayford stared at him. Carpathia continued, “I am not
saying that this is necessarily a problem, you understand.” I understand all right,
Rayford thought. “I was just curious,” Carpathia concluded. He smiled at Rayford,
and the pilot read everything in that smile that the Antichrist implied. “I will look
forward to a report of your meeting with Miss Durham, and I have full confidence
that it will be successful.”


Buck was at the Chicago office of Global Community Weekly when he took a call
from Amanda on his private phone. “I got the strangest call from Rayford,” she
said. “He asked if I had hooked up with Hattie on her flight out of Boston to
Baghdad. I told him no. I thought she was already back there. He said he thought
she was on another schedule now and that we would likely be arriving at about the
same time. I asked him what was up, but he seemed rushed and didn't feel free to
take the time to tell me. Do you know what's happening?”
“This is all news to me, Amanda. Did your flight refuel in Boston as well?”
“Yes. You know New York is completely shut down. So is Washington. I don't
know if these planes can go all the way from Milwaukee to Baghdad.”
“What would have taken Hattie so long to get back there?”
“I have no idea. If I had known she was going to delay her return, I would have
offered to have flown with her. We need to maintain contact with that girl.”
Buck agreed. “Chloe misses you already. She and Tsion are working hard on some
New Testament curriculum. It's almost as if they're in the same room, though they're
at least a quarter of a mile apart.”
“I know she's enjoying that,” Amanda said. “I wish I could talk Rayford into letting
me move back this way. I'd see less of him, but I don't see much of him in New
Babylon either.”
“Don't forget you can be in that 'same room' with Tsion and Chloe, no matter where
you are now.”
“Yeah,” she said, “except that we're nine hours later than you guys.”
“You'll just have to coordinate your schedules. Where are you now?”
“We're over the continent. Should be touching down in an hour or so. It's what
there, just a little after eight in the morning?”
“Right. The Tribulation Force is about as spread out as it's been for a while. Tsion
seems productive and contented, if not happy. Chloe is at Loretta's and excited
about her study and her teaching opportunities, though she knows she may not
always be free, legally, to do that. I'm here, you're there, and you'll be meeting up
with Rayford before you know it. I guess we're all present and accounted for.”
“I sure hope Rayford's right about Hattie,” Amanda said. “It'll be handy if he can
pick us both up.”


It was time for Rayford to head for Baghdad. He was confused. Why had Hattie
remained incommunicado in Denver for so long and then misled Fortunato about
her return flight when she did reestablish contact? If it wasn't for the purpose of
hooking up with Amanda, what was it? What would have interested her in Boston?
Rayford couldn't wait to see Amanda. It had been only a few days, but they were
still newlyweds, after all.
He did not relish his assignment with Hattie, especially with Amanda getting in at
the same time. One thing he could justify, however, based on what he had been told
about Hattie's encounter with Loretta, Chloe, and Amanda at the safe house, was
that Hattie would be comforted by Amanda's presence.
The question was, would this word from Rayford be bad news for Hattie? It might
make her future easier to accept. She knew it was over. She feared Carpathia might
not let her go. She would be offended, of course, insulted. She wouldn't want his
ring or his money or his condo. But at least she would know. To Rayford's male
mind, this seemed a practical solution. He had learned enough from Irene and
Amanda over the years, however, to know that regardless of how unattractive
Nicolae Carpathia had become to Hattie, still she would be hurt and would feel
rejected.
Rayford phoned Hattie's driver. “Could you drive me, or could I borrow your car?
I'm to pick up Miss Durham in Baghdad and also my—”
“Oh, sorry sir. I'm no longer Miss Durham's driver. I drive for someone else in the
executive suite.”
“You know where I could get wheels then?”
“You could try the motor pool, but that takes awhile. Lots of paperwork, you
know.”
“I don't have that kind of time. Any other suggestions?” Rayford was angry with
himself for not planning better.
“If the potentate called the motor pool, you'd have a vehicle as quick as you wanted
it.”
Rayford phoned Carpathia's office. The secretary said he was unavailable.
“Is he there?” Rayford asked.
“He is here, sir, but as I said, he's not available.”
“This is sort of urgent. If he's at all interruptible, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me talk
to him for just a second.”
When the secretary came back on the line, she said, “The potentate wants to know if
you could drop by his office for a moment before you finish your assignment for
him.”
“I'm a little short of time, but—”
“I'll tell him you'll be here then.”
Rayford was three blocks from Carpathia's building. He hurried down in the
elevator and jogged toward headquarters. He had a sudden thought and grabbed his
phone. As he ran, he called McCullum. “Mac? Are you free right now? Good! I
need a chopper ride to Baghdad. My wife's coming in, and I'm supposed to meet
Hattie Durham as well. Rumors about her? I'm not at liberty to say anything, Mac.
I'll be in Carpathia's office in a few minutes. Meet you on the helipad? Good!
Thanks!”


Buck was working on his laptop with his office door shut when the machine
signaled that he had incoming, real-time mail. He liked this feature. It was like
being on a chat line with just one person. The message was from Tsion. He asked,
“Shall we try the video feature?”
Buck typed, “Sure.” And he tapped in the code. It took a few minutes to program
itself, but then Tsion's image flickered on the screen. Buck tapped in, “Is that you,
or am I looking in the mirror?”
Tsion responded, “It's me. We could use the audio and talk to each other, if you're in
a secure area.”
“Better not,” Buck tapped in. “Did you want something specific?”
“I would like a companion for breakfast,” Tsion said. “I'm feeling much better
today, but I'm getting a little claustrophobic here. I know you can't sneak me out,
but could you get in without Loretta suspecting?”
“I'll try. What would you like for breakfast?”
“I have cooked up something American just for you, Buck. I'm turning my screen
now to see if it can pick it up.”
The machine was not really built to pan around a dark, underground shelter. Buck
typed in: “I can't see anything, but I'll trust you. Be there as soon as I can.” Buck
told the receptionist he would be gone for a couple of hours, but as he was heading
to the Range Rover, Verna Zee caught him. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“I'm sorry?” he said.
“I want to know where you'll be.”
“I'm not sure where all I'll be,” he said. “The desk knows I'll be gone for a couple of
hours. I don't feel obligated to share specifics.”
Verna shook her head.


Rayford slowed as he reached the grand entrance of Global Community
headquarters. The compound had been set in an unusual area where upscale
residences surrounded it. Something had caught Rayford's attention. Animal noises.
Barking. He had been aware of dogs in the area. Many employees owned expensive
breeds they enjoyed walking and tethering outside their places. They were
showpieces of prosperity. He had heard one or two barking at times. But now they
were all barking. They were noisy enough that he turned to see if he could detect
what was agitating them so. He saw a couple of dogs jerk away from their owners
and race down the street howling.
He shrugged and entered the building.


Buck considered swinging by Loretta's house and picking up Chloe. He would have
to think of a story to tell Loretta at the church office. He wouldn't be able to park or
walk into the church without her seeing him. Maybe he and Chloe would just spend
some time with her and then appear to be leaving the church the back way. If no one
was watching, they could slip down and see Tsion. It sounded like a plan. Buck was
halfway to Mt. Prospect when he noticed something strange. Roadkill. Lots of it.
And more potential roadkill skittering across the streets. Squirrels, rabbits, snakes.
Snakes? He had seen few snakes in the Midwest, particularly this far north. The
occasional garter snake was all. That's what these were, but why so many of them?
Coons, possum, ducks, geese, dogs, cats, animals everywhere. He lowered the
window of the Range Rover and listened. Huge clouds of birds swept from tree to
tree. But the sky was bright. Cloudless. There seemed to be no wind. No leaf even
shivered on a tree. Buck waited at a stoplight and noticed that, despite the lack of
wind, the streetlights swayed. Signs bent back and forth. Buck blew the light and
raced toward Mt. Prospect.


Rayford was ushered into Carpathia's office. The potentate had several VIPs around
a conference table. He quickly pulled Rayford aside. “Thank you for stopping in,
Captain Steele. I just wanted to reiterate my wish that I not have to face Ms.
Durham. She may want to talk to me. That will be out of the question. I—”
“Excuse me,” Leon Fortunato interrupted, “but Potentate, sir, we're getting some
strange readouts on our power meters.”
“Your power meters?” Carpathia asked, incredulous. “I leave maintenance to you
and your staff, Leon—”
“Sir!” the secretary said. “An emergency call for you or Mr. Fortunato from the
International Seismograph Institute.”
Carpathia looked irritated and whirled to face Fortunato. “Take that, will you,
Leon? I am busy here.”
Fortunato took the call and appeared to want to keep quiet until he blurted, “What?
What?!”
Now Carpathia was angry. “Leon!”
Rayford moved away from Carpathia and looked out the window. Below, dogs ran
in circles, their owners chasing them. Rayford reached in his pocket for his cell
phone and quickly called McCullum. Carpathia glared at him. “Captain Steele! I
was talking to you here—”
“Mac! Where are you? Start 'er up. I'm on my way now!”
Suddenly the power went out. Only battery-operated lights near the ceiling shined,
and the bright sun flooded through the windows. The secretary screamed. Fortunato
turned to Carpathia and tried to tell him what he had just heard. Carpathia shouted
above the din. “I would like order in here, please!”
And as if someone had flipped a switch, the day went black. Now even the grown
men moaned and shrieked. Those battery-operated lights in the corner cast a
haunting glow on the building, which began to shudder. Rayford made a dash for
the door. He sensed someone right behind him. He pushed the elevator button and
then smacked himself in the head, remembering there was no power. He dashed
upstairs to the roof, where McCullum had the chopper blades whirring.
The building shifted under Rayford like the surf. The chopper, resting on its skis,
dipped first to the left and then to the right. Rayford reached for the opening, seeing
Mac's wide eyes. As Rayford tried to climb in, he was pushed from behind and flew
up behind Mac. Nicolae Carpathia was scrambling in. “Lift off!” he shouted.
“Liftoff!”
McCullum raised the chopper about a foot off the roof. “Others are coming!” he
shouted.
“No more room!” Carpathia hollered. “Lift off!”
As two young women and several middle-aged men grabbed the struts, Mac pulled
away from the building. As he banked left, his lights illuminated the roof, where
others came shrieking and crying out the door. As Rayford watched in horror, the
entire eighteen-story building, filled with hundreds of employees, crashed to the
ground in a mighty roar and a cloud of dust. One by one the screaming people
hanging from the chopper fell away.
Rayford stared at Carpathia. In the dim light from the control panel he saw no
expression. Carpathia simply appeared busy about strapping himself in. Rayford
was ill. He had seen people die. Carpathia had ordered Mac away from people who
might have been saved. Rayford could have killed the man with his bare hands.
Wondering if he wouldn't have been better off to have died in the building himself,
Rayford shook his head and resolutely fastened his seat belt. “Baghdad!” he
shouted. “Baghdad Airport!”


Buck had known exactly what was coming and had been speeding through lights
and stop signs, jumping curbs, and going around cars and trucks. He wanted to get
to Chloe at Loretta's house first. He reached for his phone, but he had not stored
speed-dial numbers yet, and there was no way he could drive this quickly and punch
in an entire number at the same time. He tossed the phone on the seat and kept
going. He was going through an intersection when the sun was snuffed out. Day
went to night in an instant, and power went out all over the area. People quickly
turned on their headlights, but Buck saw the crevasse too late. He was heading for a
fissure in the road that had opened before him. It looked at least ten feet wide and
that deep. He figured if he dropped into it he would be killed, but he was going too
fast to avoid it. He wrenched the wheel to the left and the Range Rover rolled over
completely before plunging down into the hole. The passenger-side air bag
deployed and quietly deflated. It was time to find out what this car was made of.
Ahead of him the gap narrowed. There would be no going out that way unless he
could start going up first. He pushed the buttons that gave him all-wheel drive and
stick shift, shifted into low gear, crimped the front wheels slightly to the left, and
floored the accelerator. The left front tire bit into the steep bank of the crevasse, and
suddenly Buck shot almost straight up. A small car behind him dropped front first
into the hole and burst into flames.
The ground shifted and broke up. A huge section of sidewalk pushed up from the
ground more than ten feet and toppled into the street.
The sound was deafening. Buck had never raised his window after listening to the
animals, and now the thunderous crashing enveloped him as trucks flipped over and
streetlamps, telephone poles, and houses fell.
Buck told himself to slow down. Speed would kill him. He had to see what he was
encountering and pick his way through it. The Range Rover bounced and twisted.
Once he spun in a circle. People who had, for the moment, survived this were
driving wildly and smashing into each other.
How long would it last? Buck was disoriented. He looked at the compass on the
dash and tried to stay pointed to the west. For a moment there seemed almost a
pattern in the street. He went down then up then down then up as if on a roller
coaster, but the great quake had just begun. What at first appeared as jagged peaks
the Rover could handle quickly became swirling masses of mud and asphalt. Cars
were swallowed up in them.
Horror was not a good enough word for it. Rayford could not bring himself to speak
to Carpathia or even to Mac. They were headed toward Baghdad Airport, and
Rayford could not keep from staring at the devastation below. Fires had broken out
all over the place. They illuminated car crashes, flattened buildings, the earth roiling
and rolling like an angry sea. What appeared a huge ball of a gasoline fire caught
his eye. There, hanging in the sky so close it seemed he could touch it, was the
moon. The bloodred moon.


Buck was not thinking of himself. He was thinking of Chloe. He was thinking of
Loretta. He was thinking of Tsion. Could God have brought them through all this
only to let them die in the great earthquake, the sixth Seal Judgment? If they all
went to be with God, so much the better. Was it too much to ask that it be painless
for his loved ones? If they were to go, he prayed, “Lord, take them quickly.”
The quake roared on and on, a monster that gobbled everything in sight. Buck
recoiled in horror as his headlights shone on a huge house dropping completely
underground. How far was he from Chloe at Loretta's? Would he have a better
chance of getting to Loretta and Tsion at the church? Soon Buck found his the only
vehicle in sight. No streetlights, no traffic lights, no street signs. Houses were
crumbling. Above the road he heard screams, saw people running, tripping, falling,
rolling. The Range Rover bounced and shook. He couldn't count the times his head
hit the roof. Once a strip of curb rolled up and pushed the Range Rover on its side.
Buck thought the end was near. He was not going to take it lying down. There he
was, pressed up against the left side of the vehicle, strapped in. He reached for the
seat belt. He was going to unfasten it and climb out the passenger's-side window.
Just before he got it unlatched, the rolling earth uprighted the Range Rover, and off
he drove again. Glass broke. Walls fell. Restaurants disappeared. Car dealerships
were swallowed. Office buildings stood at jagged angles, then slowly toppled.
Again Buck saw a gap in the road he could not avoid. He closed his eyes and braced
himself, feeling his tires roll over an uneven surface and break glass and crumple
metal. He looked around quickly as he took a left and saw that he had driven over
the top of someone else's car. He hardly knew where he was. He just kept heading
west. If only he could get to the church or to Loretta's house. Would he recognize
either? Was there a prayer that anyone he knew anywhere in the world was still
alive?


Mac had caught a glimpse of the moon. Rayford could see he was awestruck. He
maneuvered the chopper so Nicolae could see it too. Carpathia seemed to stare at it
in wonder. It illuminated his face in its awful red glow, and the man had never
looked more like the devil.
Great sobs rose in Rayford's chest and throat. As he looked at the destruction and
mayhem below, he knew the odds were against his finding Amanda. Lord, receive
her unto yourself without suffering, please!
And Hattie! Was it possible she might have received Christ before this? Could there
have been somebody in Boston or on the plane who would have helped her make
the transaction?
Suddenly there came a meteor shower, as if the sky was falling. Huge flaming rocks
streaked from the sky. Rayford had seen it go from day to night and now back to
day with all the flames.


Buck gasped as the Range Rover finally hit something that made it stop. The back
end had settled into a small indentation, and the headlights pointed straight up. Buck
had both hands on the wheel, and he was reclining, staring at the sky. Suddenly the
heavens opened. Monstrous black and purple clouds rolled upon each other and
seemed to peel back the very blackness of the night. Meteors came hurtling down,
smashing everything that had somehow avoided being swallowed. One landed next
to Buck's door, so hot that it melted the windshield and made Buck unlatch his seat
belt and try to scramble out the right side. But as he did, another molten rock
exploded behind the Range Rover and punched it out of the ditch. Buck was thrown
into the backseat and hit his head on the ceiling. He was dazed, but he knew if he
stayed in one place he was dead. He climbed over the seat and got behind the wheel
again. He strapped himself in, thinking how flimsy that precaution seemed against
the greatest earthquake in the history of mankind.
There seemed no diminishing of the motion of the earth. These were not
aftershocks. This thing simply was not going to quit. Buck drove slowly, the Range
Rover's headlights jerking and bouncing crazily as first one side and then the other
dropped and flew into the air. Buck thought he recognized a landmark: a low-slung
restaurant at a corner three blocks from the church. Somehow he had to keep going.
He carefully drove around and through destruction and mayhem.
The earth continued to shift and roll, but he just kept going. Through his blown-out
window he saw people running, heard them screaming, saw their gaping wounds
and their blood. They tried to hide under rocks that had been disgorged from the
earth. They used upright chunks of asphalt and sidewalk to protect them, But just as
quickly they were crushed. A middle-aged man, shirtless and shoeless and bleeding,
looked heavenward through broken glasses and opened his arms wide. He screamed
to the sky, “God, kill me! Kill me!” And as Buck slowly bounced past in the Range
Rover, the man was swallowed into the earth.


Rayford had lost hope. Part of him was praying that the helicopter would drop from
the sky and crash. The irony was, he knew Nicolae Carpathia was not to die for yet
another twenty-one months. And then he would be resurrected and live another
three-and-a-half years. No meteor would smash that helicopter. And wherever they
landed, they would somehow be safe. All because Rayford had been running an
errand for the Antichrist.


Buck's heart sank as he saw the steeple of New Hope Village Church. It had to be
less than six hundred yards away, but the earth was still churning. Things were still
crashing. Huge trees fell and dragged power lines into the street. Buck spent several
minutes wending his way through debris and over huge piles of wood and dirt and
cement. The closer he got to the church, the emptier he felt in his heart. That steeple
was the only thing standing. Its base rested at ground level. The lights of the Range
Rover illuminated pews, sitting incongruously in neat rows, some of them
unscathed. The rest of the sanctuary, the high-arched beams, the stained-glass
windows, all gone. The administration building, the classrooms, the offices were
flattened to the ground in a pile of bricks and glass and mortar.
One car was visible in a crater in what used to be the parking lot. The bottom of the
car was flat on the ground, all four tires blown, axles broken. Two bare human legs
protruded from under the car. Buck stopped the Range Rover a hundred feet from
that mess in the parking lot. He shifted into park and turned off the engine. His door
would not open. He loosened his belt and climbed out the passenger side. And
suddenly the earthquake stopped. The sun reappeared. It was a bright, sunshiny
Monday morning in Mt. Prospect, Illinois. Buck felt every bone in his body. He
staggered over the uneven ground toward that little flattened car. When he was close
enough, he saw that the crushed body was missing a shoe. The one that remained,
however, confirmed his fear. Loretta had been crushed by her owp car.
Buck stumbled and fell facedown in the dirt, something gashing his cheek. He
ignored it and crawled to the car. He braced himself and pushed with all his might,
trying to roll the vehicle off the body. It would not budge. Everything in him
screamed against leaving Loretta there. But where would he take the body if he
could free it? Sobbing now, he crawled through the debris, looking for any entrance
to the underground shelter. Small recognizable areas of the fellowship hall allowed
him to crawl around what was left of the flattened church. The conduit that led to
the steeple had been snapped. He made his way over bricks and chunks of wood.
Finally he found the vent shaft. He cupped his hands over it and shouted down into
it, “Tsion! Tsion! Are you there?”
He turned and put his ear to the shaft, feeling cool air rush from the shelter. “I am
here, Buck! Can you hear me?”
“I hear you, Tsion! Are you all right?”
“I am all right! I cannot get out the door!”
“You don't want to see what's up here anyway, Tsion!” Buck shouted, his voice
getting weaker.
“How is Loretta?”
“Gone!”
“Was it the great earthquake?”
“It was!”
“Can you get to me?”
“I will get to you if it's the last thing I do, Tsion! I need you to help me look for
Chloe!”
“I am OK for now, Buck! I will wait for you!”
Buck turned to look in the direction of the safe house. People staggered in ragged
clothes, bleeding. Some dropped and seemed to die in front of his eyes. He didn't
know how long it would take him to get to Chloe. He was sure he would not want to
see what he found there, but he would not stop until he did. If there was one chance
in a million of getting to her, of saving her, he would do it.


The sun had reappeared over New Babylon. Rayford urged Mac McCullum to keep
going toward Baghdad. Everywhere the three of them looked was destruction.
Craters from meteors. Fires burning. Buildings flattened. Roads wasted.
When Baghdad Airport came into sight, Rayford hung his head and wept. Jumbo
jets were twisted, some sticking out of great cavities in the ground. The terminal
was flattened. The tower was down. Bodies strewn everywhere.
Rayford signaled Mac to set the chopper down. But as he surveyed the area,
Rayford knew. The only prayer for Amanda or for Hattie was that their planes were
still in the air when this occurred.
When the blades stopped whirring, Carpathia turned to the other two. “Do either of
you have a working phone?”
Rayford was so disgusted he reached past Carpathia and pushed open the door. He
slipped out from behind Carpathia's seat and jumped to the ground. Then he reached
in, loosened Carpathia's belt, grabbed him by the lapels, and yanked him out of the
chopper. Carpathia landed on his seat on the uneven ground. He jumped up quickly,
as if ready to fight. Rayford pushed him back up against the helicopter.
“Captain Steele, I understand you are upset, but—”
“Nicolae,” Rayford said, his words rushing through clenched teeth, “you can
explain this away any way you want, but let me be the first to tell you: You have
just seen the wrath of the Lamb!”
Carpathia shrugged. Rayford gave him a last shove against the helicopter and
stumbled away. He set his face toward the airport terminal, a quarter mile away. He
prayed this would be the last time he had to search for the body of a loved one in the
rubble.
                                EPILOGUE
“WHEN He opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an
hour. And I saw the seven angels who stand before God, and to them were given
seven trumpets. Then another angel, having a golden censer, came and stood at the
altar. He was given much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all the
saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke of the
incense, with the prayers of the saints, ascended before God from the angel's hand.
Then the angel took the censer, filled it with fire from the altar, and threw it to the
earth. And there were noises, thunderings, lightnings, and an earthquake.
“So the seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound.”
Revelation 8:1-6