Armageddon: The Cosmic Battle Of The Ages (27 page)

“Where is Figueroa?”

“He has not been seen since we left New Babylon, Excellency.”

“What about his people? The Asian kid. The Scandinavian young man.”

“The Asian is unaccounted for. The Scandinavian died from the heat, remember?”

“I cannot keep track of everyone who dies from one of these plagues. Who is running television now?”

“It has been farmed out to the affiliates. Things are impossible in New Babylon.”

“I know
that, Leon! I want someone assigned who can put an end to this. What will people think?”

Fortunato cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Highness, but they will wonder what some on the cabinet are wondering. They are asking, `What about the fact that so many of these things we have suffered through were foretold? Is there some truth to all this? Who is Carpathia anyway?”’

“They want to know who Carpathia is?” Nicolae said, his voice rising. “My own cabinet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what about you, Leon? Who do you say that I am?”

“I know who you are, sir, and I worship you.”

“Are you implying there are those in my inner circle who do not?”

“I am telling you only what I hear, Majesty.”

“Maybe it is time we tell them, Leon. Maybe it is time they know who I am, if they truly do not know.”

Chang knew he would be unable to sleep. He and Naomi walked toward her quarters, their pace slowing more and more the closer they got. “What an incredible time to be alive,” he said.

“Really?” she said. “If I could choose, I’d rather have known Jesus earlier and gone to be with him at the Rapture.”

“Well, sure, if we had that choice.”

“We had it.”

“Yeah.”

“Actually, Chang, in my mind the greatest time to be alive will be after the Glorious Appearing. Besides getting to be with Jesus in a time of peace on earth, I’ll get to live with you for a thousand years.”

Chang was staggered by the thought. He stopped and took both her hands in his. “I wonder what I’ll look like when I’m a thousand and twenty years old,” he said. “A wrinkled-up little old Chinese man, I guess.”

“You’ll still be cute to me. I’ll be an old Jewish lady with lots of kids between the ages of five hundred and nine hundred-and-something years old.”

He cupped her face in the moonlight. “I am so grateful to have found you.”

Buck lay on his cot, across the room from Kenny’s, his arms aching from holding his Bible up to read it. He was studying everything he could find on the coming battle. Rayford had promised he would be assigned to Jerusalem, and at first he was disappointed, thinking all the action would be outside Petra or in the Jezreel Valley. But from what he could tell, those were just staging areas for the armies of the world. Much of the conflict would be in Jerusalem.

And there was no place he would rather be.

RAYFORD
WAS
astounded that things could get worse. Just when he thought there was nothing Carpathia could do to top his evil exploits, reports flooded into the computer center that made it clear Carpathia had turned up the heat all over the world. More persecution, more torture, more beheadings.

Tsion’s appeal to people to contact the Internet counselors at Petra had generated an overwhelming response. This necessitated that the elders train more counselors and Naomi and Chang train more teachers to get more people up to speed on the computers.

Tsion had been preaching for ages that the world was speeding headlong toward Armageddon, but Rayford had never felt it so personally. He began really looking forward to seeing his Savior face-to-face and to reuniting with his loved ones and friends.

But there was much to do yet. Mac, Abdullah, and Ree recruited pilots and planes from all over the world to continue the massive airlift to Petra. There were days when Rayford wondered if they could even begin to catch up to the demand. The only prerequisite for a free ride to safety was the mark of the believer. It was assumed a person without the mark of Carpathia would be persecuted or executed.

Most amazing to Rayford, as he studied the Scriptures every day, was that the end of the strange prediction in Revelation 16:10-11 regarding the plague in New Babylon proved true of Carpathia’s followers all over the world: “His kingdom became full of darkness; and they gnawed their tongues because of the pain. They blasphemed the God of heaven because of their pains and their sores, and did not repent of their deeds.”

How could it be, Rayford wondered, that all these plagues and judgments could fall and yet the vast majority of people would not change their ways?

Chang had, of course, mercifully ceded control of international television back to the Global Community. And it was clear from Carpathia’s public pronouncements that he was taking the credit for “finally having this thing under control.”

“The next time he says that,” Chang told Rayford, “I’m going to immediately switch to this commercial we devised last week.”

The tape showed a particularly strong clip from Tsion’s last broadcast speech and closed with a voice-over: “Proclamations from your potentate are allowed only by the goodwill of Tsion Ben-Judah and your friends at Petra.”

Chang had for several days been testing the bugging job Buck and George had done in the private conference room in Baghdad. He got to where he could coordinate the video with the audio, switch to whoever was talking, and even follow Carpathia as he moved at the head of the table. Two of the hidden video devices had the ability to follow a person around the room.

The arrival of the ten regional potentates from around the world was broadcast by
GCNN
, and Buck couldn’t remember such pomp and circumstance since Carpathia had mocked the Stations of the Cross in Jerusalem. Parades, marching bands, light shows, dancing girls, announcements, and pronouncements. Stands full of cheering supplicants lined the routes, as representatives from each of the regions preceded their potentate.

Finally the dignitaries and a few thousand sycophants lucky enough to get tickets were ushered into the great room of the new conference hall, where Carpathia was to hold forth on an exciting new chapter in world history.

The Most High Reverend Father of Carpathianism, Leon Fortunato, was tapped to make the royal introduction, of course. He was in full regalia, which started at the top with a brimless fez of cardinal-red felt with a flat top adorned by a tassel of alternating gold and silver strings with mirrored bits that reflected the stage lights all over the auditorium. He wore a new robe of purple and iridescent yellow with six bars of brocade on each sleeve.

Fortunato was so obsequious and fawning in his introduction that anyone but Antichrist himself would have been ill with embarrassment. Carpathia stood in mock humility, clearly fighting a smile, and bathed in the worship from his toadies.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, one and all,” Carpathia said, arms outstretched. “You are too kind to this humble servant from modest beginnings who has found himself thrust into a responsibility far beyond what he ever dreamed, only to discover by a spark of the divine that he was truly god-even to the point that he resurrected himself from the dead.

“And yet you-yes, each and every one of you-have made my task easier, in spite of crushing opposition and obstacles on every side. Every region has been well served by dynamic sub-potentates who have pulled together in times of crisis and helped make our fractious world a truly global community.”

Carpathia was interrupted countless times by tumultuous applause, and each time he seemed to bask in the glow of it. “This,” he said, “may be the most momentous and historic occasion in the history of our world. Despite the decimation of our citizenry-and our government-by relentless plagues and what our enemies glibly refer to as `judgments from heaven,’ I have called the top leaders together from every corner of the earth. Tomorrow, in a highly secure, private meeting, I will outline my marvelous, truly inspired plan to once and for all lead us to our goal of true global harmony.

“Our detractors have been given ample opportunity to see the error of their ways and to join our international family. I truly believed for too long that they were merely misunderstanding our aim and were ignorant of the benefits of standing shoulder to shoulder with us. Imagine what we could accomplish with everyone on board!

“Well, that day will soon come, my friends. We shall work together to enlist our enemies as fellow laborers, or we will eradicate them from our midst and be left with only loyalists … loyalists who share a common goal and purpose: true utopia, paradise on earth.

“No doubt all-even the opposition-have to agree that we have been fair. We have been patient. We have tried. But the time for tolerance has come to an end. Do you detect an end of patience? I freely admit it. It is time to get on board or be eliminated. Within half a year, I pledge to every loyal citizen of our Global Community, the opposition to peace will be destroyed. You will be living in the peaceful wonderland of your dreams.”

Representatives of the sub-potentates from the ten regions, when interviewed by TV reporters, all played a variation of the same tune: “This is the privilege of a life-time. What I wouldn’t give to be in the private confer-ence that follows this.”

When the ceremonies were over, so was the broadcast. But the best part would come early the next morning at the meeting of potentates-which everybody in the Global Community assumed, because it was a closed-door session, was also private.

But it was as if selected members of the Trib Force were in the room. Gathered around a big-screen TV deep in the caverns of Petra, Rayford’s hand-selected lineup of colleagues watched every moment through the miracle of technology and Chang’s expert manevering.

Chang sat in the back, manning the controls. Rayford sat with Buck on one side and George on the other. Tsion and Chaim were also there. All would fill in the other key members, who were busy with Co-op and air-lift duties.

As the room in Baghdad was filling, Rayford asked Chang to pan the room. “Let’s get a look at who’s there.”

The big conference table had room for three at each end and six on each side. Each spot had a microphone, and all but the three at the far end also had a name card. Only two places were set at the head of the table, one for Carpathia-who was not there yet-on the left and the other for Fortunato-who was nervously tapping his gigantic ruby ring on the first of two luxurious leather notebooks to his right.

To the left of Carpathia’s spot and proceeding to the other end were the potentates from the United African States, the United European States, the United Great Britain States, the United South American States, the United North American States, and Viv Ivins.

Each wore the epitome of a themed outfit from his or her respective region, from the colorful dashiki of the African potentate to the wide sombrero and gauchos of the South American and the ten-gallon hat and embroidered cowboy suit of the North American.

Viv Ivins wore her customary powder-blue suit, which nearly matched her hair color, but for the first time her outfit was completed by a gigantic diamond brooch and a blouse so white it played havoc with the video feed.

To Fortunato’s right and extending to the other end of the table were the potentates from the United Carpathian States, the United Russian States, the United Indian States, the United Asian States, the United Pacific States, and Suhail Akbar.

Again, these potentates were dressed in their finest regional garb, the most dramatic of which was a jet-black-and-silver kimono worn by the Asian leader. Suhail wore his most formal dress uniform of the Global Community military Peacekeeping forces, topped by a navy cap with gleaming gold braid.

The three chairs at the end of the table opposite Carpathia and Fortunato were filled with three males who looked to Rayford like triplet manikins. All wore plain black suits, buttoned up, with black ties. No jewelry, no headwear, nothing else. They sat with their hands clasped before them on the table, not moving and looking neither right nor left.

“I don’t recognize those three, Tsion,” Rayford said. “You?”

The rabbi shook his head. “Oddly, they seem to be not even blinking. Everyone else certainly seems to be stealing glances at them frequently. Do you think they are real? Could they be cardboard cutouts?”

“Chang,” Rayford said, “focus on just them, could you?”

He did, and also reported, “They are real. I taped them sitting down. You want to see it?”

“As long as we don’t miss Carpathia’s entrance.”

“You won’t.”

Chang ran back the tape, showing the three taking their seats. They seemed to be one, moving in unison. “Which door did they come in?” Rayford said.

“I missed that part. They seemed to simply appear.” “Okay, back to live.”

A short buzz made Fortunato jump and reach inside his robe, as if to turn off a pager. He stood quickly and straightened his robe, removing his fez. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “please rise for your supreme potentate, His Highness, His Majesty, His Excellency, our lord and risen king, Nicolae Carpathia, the first and last, world without end, amen.”

Except for the three mystery men, who still didn’t budge, all stood, removing headwear. A military man in dress blues opened the door and Carpathia entered, whereupon Fortunato fell, rather loudly, to his knees. Nicolae was dressed in a black, pin-striped suit with a white shirt and a bright turquoise tie.

While Leon knelt, face buried in his hands on the floor and rear end aloft, displaying more expanse of his robe than anyone might have wished to see, Nicolae stopped a couple of feet behind his own chair and allowed the assembled to approach him one by one.

Individually they bowed and shook his hand with both of their own. Many kissed his hand or his ring, and more than one briefly knelt like Leon, whispering expressions of devotion and deference. They returned to stand behind their chairs.

When all had finished there was an awkward silence, as apparently Leon was next on the docket and unaware of his cue. Finally Carpathia cleared his throat, Leon looked up suddenly and clambered to his feet, catching the hem of his robe under the toe of his shoe. A distinct rip could be heard as he straightened up, stumbling and catching himself on Carpathia’s chair, which was on rollers and nearly pitched him into his lord and risen king, first and last, world without end, amen.