The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (330 page)

“Waiting for you, partner.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d run right into their line of fire. Go to the other end of the runway, and I’ll meet you there. But if they come after me, just keep going.”

“Yeah, I know, and you’ll see me in heaven.”

“Exactly—now quit being stupid and go!”

“I’m not being stupid, Mac. I’m obeying.”

“You’re supposed to obey
me,
so do as I say.”

“Sorry. You’ve been superseded.”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to put down your weapon and walk this way.”

“You got GC on that plane!?”

“Negative. Come unarmed, and you will be safe.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“God is telling you to come.”

Mac shook his head. “Ah, stand by.”

“Come now.”

Mac sighed, his eyes darting back and forth between the jet door and his own plane. He pushed the transmit button. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come that way.”

“Come.”

The voice had not been George’s.

“Unarmed?”

“Come.”

Mac waited a beat, then unstrapped the Uzi and laid it on the ground. He turned off the walkie-talkie and jammed it into his pocket. He walked past the car and stood directly under the cockpit. He felt exposed, vulnerable, indefensible. If that jet door opened now, he was a dead man.

He heard nothing above him, saw nothing beside him. Mac stepped out from under the plane and headed directly in front of it. He kept imagining he heard movement behind him—the engines roaring to life, footsteps from the cabin to the door, the door opening, weapons firing.

He prayed urgently as he strode along, “Lord, save me!”

Immediately he felt as if God’s hands were upon him, and he barely felt his feet on the ground. “O you of little faith, why do you doubt?”

The voice was clear as crystal, but the walkie-talkie was off and George had his engines roaring. Mac broke into a trot, then a run. Every step sounded like a gunshot. Hannah was lowering the door when he got there, and he leaped in.

“Flyin’ or backseat drivin’?” George said, unstrapping as if ready to take the copilot’s chair.

“Here is fine,” Mac said. “I don’t think I could ride a bike right now.”

Chang was relieved to hear from Rayford and eager to meet Naomi even if only online. He was tempted to scold her for scaring him, and so decided to wait until the next day to try to make contact. Meanwhile, he checked in on Mac and his team, fearing the worst despite all the praying that had been going on.

Mac answered his phone, sounding exhausted.

“I need to meet this Michael someday,” Chang said, after hearing the story. “You guys get all the fun.”

“I could use a little less fun, frankly,” Mac said. “And you might as well know, Sebastian here doesn’t call him Michael anymore. Calls him Roger.”

“Roger?”

“Says he told him he assumed he was Michael, and the guy said, ‘Roger.’”

“So Stefanich and those guys are just sitting on the runway with a wounded plane?”

“Yeah, and they’re gonna need some repair work before they can take off again.”

“Why didn’t they shoot you?”

“I thought you could find out. What was going on in that cockpit when I strolled out from underneath, unarmed?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Within half an hour the rest of the Tribulation Force had heard the good news out of Greece, and Chang had paved the way for George to land south of Rome for the refuel. They were on their own for getting back to the safe house without going through Kankakee, Illinois, and without arousing more suspicion. That should be the easiest part of their ordeal.

When Chang was finally able to hack back into the Ptolemaïs GC system and find transmissions between the plane and the Kozani tower, he could only shake his head. The pilot had reported seeing the plane at the end of the runway, putting down, and seeing a car approaching. But at the same time Chang figured Michael had instructed George to turn on his landing lights, the pilot reported a light so blinding that “we have lost visual contact with the plane and the auto.”

A few minutes later the pilot reported being struck—by what, he did not know. His jet was being jostled and the front end lifted, but no one aboard could take his hands from his eyes because of the intense light. They heard shooting and feared for their lives, heard one of their tires blow, and shut down the engines. In essence they sat in fear, unable to peek out of the cockpit for the next several minutes, until they heard the plane thunder past them and rise.

Chang listened as they finally ventured out, shoulder radios left on, weapons ordered at the ready, only to find their damaged plane, wounded landing gear, flat tire, beat-up squad car, and an Uzi on the runway. Only now they were being rescued by a fleet of GC in cars, who reported that others had picked up the injured officers at the side of the road on the way. They were being treated for severe burns they claimed were caused by a ray gun.

It was still a couple of hours before Ming was to leave San Diego for the Far East. Chang was finally finished with his night’s work. He dropped into bed, spent. How strange, he thought, to feel so pivotal and indispensable and then discover that the entire success of an operation was out of his hands. In fact, he had been out of commission when God worked his miracles.

There were victims to grieve, martyrs to praise, and much work ahead. Chang didn’t know how long he could evade detection. He was willing to hang in and work in the office during the day, doing his real work after hours, for as long as God chose to protect him.

Rayford stirred at dawn’s first light, amazed he had been able to sleep at all. Petra was already humming, families gathering the morning’s manna and filling any container they could find with the pure springwater God provided.

Thousands were working on the caves, thousands of others erecting more tents. On everyone’s lips were stories of the miracle from the day before and the promise of live teaching from Dr. Tsion Ben-Judah himself later in the day.

From the elders and organizers came word that building materials were on their way and that the people should pray for the safety of pilots and truckers who would begin delivering materials. Volunteers were sought with expertise in various crafts. Rayford knew the current spirit could not last forever. The memory of the miracle would fade, inevitably, though he could not imagine it. And people, regardless of their shared faith, would find living elbow to elbow taxing after a while. But for now he would enjoy this.

Rayford would have to get back to the Tribulation Force at some point, but Carpathia’s people would target anyone coming or going from Petra. Perhaps if the supplies were able to get in, that would be a clue it was prudent to try to get out.

Naomi and her team of computer gurus already reported that
The Truth
cyberzine had been transmitted from Buck Williams, recounting stories from around the world. The whole episode of what had gone on in Greece the day before was played out in detail, as was the truth about what had happened at Petra.

A team of computer experts from Israel said they had the technology to project
The Truth
onto a giant screen, if one could be fashioned. And among the various supplies already in the camp was enough white canvas to be stretched several stories high. Thousands gathered to read the stories.

Rayford loved the idea that it was not just believers, not just the so-called Judah-ites, who read
The Truth.
Many undecideds and even some who had taken the mark of Antichrist risked their lives by downloading Buck’s magazine from the Tribulation Force site. All over the world the believers’ underground and Co-op personnel translated it and printed it and distributed it. Carpathia could get away with nothing.

Sadly, Rayford knew, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of uncommitted people right there in Petra. Tsion had already promised to address them too, going so far as to say many of them would
still
be deceived and eventually spirited away by liars and charlatans. It was hard to understand or believe. How could someone have survived what Rayford had lived through and even question the one true God of the universe? It was beyond him.

Late in the morning, nearly twenty-four hours since the bombing, the people began to gather. Word spread that Dr. Ben-Judah would begin his teaching on the mercy of God. Throughout the crowd, however, stories also spread from around the world that persecution had intensified against believers and particularly against Jews.

Chang had tapped into the feeds to Akbar’s and Fortunato’s and Carpathia’s offices and had set on automatic the utility that sent to Buck Williams’s computer the reports from the sub-potentates around the world. As the sun rose in various countries, news of the bloodshed and mayhem of the night before and the relentless daytime raids was transmitted not just to New Babylon, but also from Chang to Buck and from Buck to the world through
The Truth.

As the crowds gathered to hear Dr. Ben-Judah, they were riveted to the giant screen, set on a wall away from the sun for best viewing. Buck had transmitted the visuals Chang had sent him from the United South American States, and the masses booed and hissed as the shy man accepted the mark of loyalty. They cheered, then wept, then sang and praised God for the testimony of the brave martyrs who faced the blade with such peace and courage.

The remnant at Petra seemed outraged en masse at the reports from Greece about a midnight raid that had destroyed what was left of the small contingent of underground believers. Buck had added audio to that video report, reminding his readers and listeners and watchers that it had fallen to Greek believers to be among the first to give their lives rather than accept the mark of the beast.

Now, it seemed, on every continent the Morale Monitors and the Peacekeepers had been revitalized, financed, equipped, and motivated to more than turn up the heat. From every corner of the globe came reports of the end of the patience of the Global Community for dissenters or even the undecided. It was either accept the mark now or face the consequences immediately. Even many who had already taken the mark of Carpathia were punished for not bowing to worship his image three times a day.

Leon Fortunato came on—in full regalia and introduced by every title and pedigree he had ever enjoyed—to warn that “those of Jewish descent who are as stubborn as the Judah-ites and insist on worshiping a god other than our father and risen lord, Nicolae Carpathia, shall find themselves receiving their just reward. Yea, death is too good for them. Oh, they shall surely die, but it is hereby decreed that no Jew should be allowed the mercy of a quick end by the blade. Graphic and reproachful as that is, it is virtually painless. No, these shall suffer day and night in their dens of iniquity, and by the time they expire due to natural causes—brought about by their own rejection of Carpathianism—they will be praying, crying out, for a death so expedient as the loyalty enforcement facilitator.”

Those in Petra appeared to Rayford shocked by the lengths New Babylon would go to, to take revenge on its enemies and humiliate Jews. But their greatest wrath and derision were saved for the report from GCNN about what had happened the day before, right there in the red rock city.

An anchorman intoned that the attack on Petra—two incendiary bombs and a land-based launch missile—had missed their target and that the enemy encamped there had swiftly struck back and downed the two fighter-bombers, killing the pilots. The laughter began with that report and turned to waving fists and hisses and boos as Carpathia came on to mourn the deaths of the martyred airmen.

“While there is no denying that it was pilot error, still the Global Community, I am sure, joins me in extending its deepest sympathy to the surviving families. We decided not to risk any more personnel in trying to destroy this stronghold of the enemy, but we will starve them out by cutting off supply lines. Within days, this will be the largest Jewish concentration camp in history, and their foolish stubbornness will have caught up with them.

“Fellow citizens of the new world order, my compatriots in the Global Community, we have these people and their leaders to thank for the tragedy that besets our seas and oceans. I have been repeatedly urged by my closest advisers to negotiate with these international terrorists, these purveyors of black magic who have used their wicked spells to cause such devastation.