The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (250 page)

“You all know me as a forgiving potentate,” Carpathia said, as the masses began to queue up once more to file past him. This time they would have the weird experience of touching and chatting with a man who had been dead nearly three days and who still stood in the remains of his own coffin.

“Ironically,” he continued, “the person or persons responsible for my demise may no longer be pursued for murder. Attempted murder of a government official is still an international felony, of course. The guilty know who they are, but as for me, I hereby pardon any and all. No official action is to be taken by the government of the Global Community. What steps fellow citizens may take to ensure that such an act never takes place again, I do not know and will not interfere with.

“However, individual would-be assassins aside, there are opponents to the Global Community and to my leadership. Hear me, my people: I need not and will not tolerate opposition. You need not fear because you came here to commemorate my life on the occasion of my death, and you remain to worship me as your divine leader. But to those who believe it is possible to rebel against my authority and survive, beware. I shall soon institute a program of loyalty confirmation that will prove once and for all who is with us and who is against us, and woe to the haughty insurrectionist. He will find no place to hide.

“Now, loyal subjects, come and worship.”

Rayford pulled Albie into Buck and Chloe’s bedroom by his elbow. As he was shutting the door he saw Chaim staggering toward Tsion, gesturing, grunting through his bandages and wired jaw, trying to get Tsion to follow.

Rayford’s phone rang. “Stay put,” Rayford told Albie. Then, into the phone, “Steele here.”

“Rayford, it’s Hattie!” She was near hysterics.

“Where are you?” he said.

“The less you know the better, but get your people out of the safe house.”

“Why?”

“They’re onto you. Don’t ask me how I know. And Carpathia has come back from the dead. Did you see?”

“No.”

“It’s all true, isn’t it, Rayford?”

“Of course it is, and you knew that almost as soon as most of us did. I didn’t think doubt was why you were holding out.”

“It wasn’t, totally. But I was still holding out hope that it couldn’t all be just the way Dr. Ben-Judah said.”

“What’re you going to do about it, Hattie? You know how we all feel about it and about you.”

“Nothing right now, Rayford. I just wanted to warn you.”

“Thanks, but now
I’m
warning
you.
Don’t wait any longer.”

“I have to go, Rayford.”

“Dr. Rosenzweig has made his decision.”

“I’ve really got to—what? He has? He was supposed to be dead. Is he there? May I talk with him?”

“I’ll have him call you when he’s able.”

“I don’t want my phone ringing at the wrong time.”

“Then call us back tomorrow, Hattie, hear? We’ll all be praying you do the right thing.”

David did not know where Viv Ivins had been sitting. Surely she had been in the VIP section, but he did not notice her until she appeared at Carpathia’s side. Fortunato was to her right, so as people swept past they encountered first Leon, then Viv, and finally Carpathia. It was as if this setup was designed to put people at ease. They need not fear a recently dead man who wanted to touch and be touched.

Leon gently pushed them to Viv, who said something soothing and guided them quickly past Carpathia. He seemed to be looking each one in the eye and cooing something as he grasped his or her hand with both of his. No one was allowed to pause, and all seemed overcome as they floated away. Many swooned and some passed out. David did some quick figuring. If Nicolae gave, say, three million people five or six seconds apiece, it would take more than 200 twenty-four-hour days. Surely those who waited more than a few hours would give up.

“Can this wait, Captain Steele?” Albie said.

Rayford blocked his path. “Why, Albie?”

“Don’t
you
want to see what’s happening on the news?”

“I’ll watch the replay.”

“So, you want to see it too.”

“Of course,” Rayford said. “But I’m starting to wonder if we want to see it for the same reason.”

“What are you saying?”

“What is your real name?”

“You know my name, Rayford.”

“May I check your mark?”

Albie squinted at him. “In my culture, that is a terrible insult. Especially after everything we have been through.”

“Your culture never had the mark before. What’s the insult?”

“To not be personally trusted.”

“You yourself advised me to trust no one.”

“That’s a principle, my friend. You think I would fake and lie to you about something I know to be so real to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you had better check my mark. You could not insult me further.”

“Take it as a compliment, Albie. If you’re for real, you were so convincing as a GC commander that you made me wonder.”

“I must have.”

“You did. How did you know we were outmanned twelve to three?”

“I do my homework. It’s part of the job. How do you think I outlived the average black marketer by two times? I’m careful. I don’t just find a uniform and affect an identity without learning the nuances.”

“How did you know three Jeeps carried four Peacekeepers each?”

“That is GC protocol. Night patrols are called squadrons and have a leader, three vehicles, and eleven subordinates. By day they travel in pairs.”

“Uh-huh. And BASALT?”

“Never heard of it. I was glad he explained.”

“Guest lecturing?”

“Made it up.”

“Chesapeake?”

“Guessing. Hoping. I had read something about a GC training facility there. I’m glad I was so convincing, Rayford, because our lives depended on it. It’s what I do.”

“Midwest Regional what-did-you-call-him, Director—”

“Director Crawford, right.”

“And you know him from . . . ?”

“A directory I thought it would behoove me to familiarize myself with.”

“You’ve never met him?”

“How would I?”

“You’re still a closet hater of Carpathia?”

“Out of the closet soon, I hope. I don’t enjoy long-term playacting. Satisfied?”

“How did you know about the funeral moratorium and, what did you call it? CPR?”

“I read.”

“You read.”

“You should know that about me.”

“I think I need to know a lot more about you.”

Now Albie was mad. “I won’t pretend not to be deeply offended,” he said, ripping off his uniform cap and slamming it to the floor. Rayford was suddenly aware that they alone remained on the main floor and he heard no footsteps above. Everyone must have been huddled around the television in the underground shelter.

Albie unstrapped his gun and drew it, Rayford retreating until the back of his head hit the bedroom door. Albie turned the weapon around so he was holding the barrel. He thrust it at Rayford. “Here,” he said. “Shoot me if I am a liar.”

Rayford hesitated.

“Go on, take it!”

“I’m not going to shoot you, Albie.”

“Even if I’m a phony? Even if I’ve turned on you, lied to you? Compromised you? Even if I was GC after all? Let me tell you, Captain Steele, if that
were
true about me and I were
you
, I would shoot me without remorse.” He stood offering the weapon. “But I will say this. If I
were
GC, this is where and when I would shoot you too. And I would kill every one of your comrades as they rushed from the underground. Then I would secure the place and let Squadron Commander Datillo burn the evidence to the ground. What will it be, Captain Steele? This is a limited offer. Hadn’t you better check me to see if you signed the death warrants of all your friends? Or will you risk their lives to keep from insulting me further?”

Rayford would not reach for the gun, so Albie tossed it on the bed. Rayford wished he had taken it, not sure whether he could beat Albie to it now if he had to. Albie took a step closer, making Rayford flinch, but Albie merely stuck his forehead in Rayford’s face.

“Touch it, rub it, wash it, put petrol on it. Do whatever you have to do to convince yourself. I already know who I am. If I’m phony, shoot me. If I’m real, assume I have turned command back over to you. Either way, you could not have offended me more.”

“I don’t mean to offend you, Albie. But I must—”

“Just get on with it! If you are to be the leader, take command!”

David scanned the far reaches of the crowd where carts zigzagged with bullhorns, advising the people that the GC regretted to inform them that “only those already inside the courtyard will be able to greet His Excellency personally. Thanks for understanding, and do feel free to remain for final remarks in an hour or so.”

David searched and searched for Annie, finally telling the Wong family he had to go.

Mr. Wong, his face ravaged by tears and exhaustion, said, “No! You get us into receiving line.”

“I’m sorry,” David said. “They’ve closed the line.”

“But we in courtyard! VIP seat! You make happen.”

“No,” David said, leaning close. “You’re the VIP. You make it happen.”

As the older man sputtered, David squeezed Mom’s shoulder and embraced both Ming and Chang, whispering in their ears, “
Jesus
is risen.”

Both responded under their breath, “He is risen indeed.”

“Forgive me, Albie,” Rayford said. “Please don’t be insulted.”

“You have already insulted me, my friend, so you might as well put your mind at ease.”

“I’m trying to put
your
mind at ease, Albie.”

“That will require more of an apology than you have the time or energy or, I may say, insight to give. Now check the mark, and let’s get out of here.”

Rayford reached for Albie, who seemed to stiffen. A loud rap on the door made them both jump. Tsion poked his head in. “My apologies, gentlemen, but Carpathia has resurrected! You must come see!”

Rayford retrieved the gun.

“Keep it,” Albie said, as they headed downstairs.

“But that would insult you even more.”

“I told you, I cannot be more deeply insulted.”

Rayford reached back awkwardly, holding the gun out to Albie.

Albie shook his head, grabbed the gun, and slammed it into its holster. As he snapped the strap he said, “The only thing more offensive than not being trusted by an old friend is your simpering style of leadership. Rayford, you and those you are responsible for are entering the most dangerous phase of your existence. Don’t blow it with indecision and poor judgment.”