Arrived (25 page)

25

EARLY
the next morning in Petra, Lionel made contact with Darrion and the others in Illinois and discovered they had found Lenore and her friends. Lionel wrote down their information and promised he would give them an update on Mark as soon as he heard anything.

“Jim Dekker, Colin Dial, and Conrad are talking about a rescue,” Darrion said.

“I wouldn't recommend it,” Lionel said. “If the info we're getting from Fulcire's computer is right, Mark is deep in the jail there. It would take a magician to get in and out.”

Darrion said she would talk with the others and said good-bye.

Lionel had been glued to the computer for a long time, so he decided to take a walk. He found Sam Goldberg and Mr. Stein and explained the situation. The two were visibly upset and knelt where they were and prayed.

“Sovereign Lord, we ask you to send your ministering angels to encourage Mark right now,” Mr. Stein prayed. “Prepare him for whatever you have planned.”

After they had prayed, Sam took Lionel to meet his friend Lev Taubman and his mother. They had become believers shortly after family members had died in a rebellion.

“Lev has been in touch with some friends in Jerusalem,” Sam said.

“Believers?” Lionel said.

Lev shook his head. “But they have not taken the mark of Carpathia. They say they are going to fight with rebel forces against Carpathia. They want to save Jerusalem.”

“That'll be like a peewee football team trying to win against an NFL team,” Lionel said.

“What?” Sam said.

“They're going to lose the battle, and they'll probably all be killed.”

“I know that,” Sam said. “But Lev and I think we might be able to reach some of them for God. We want to go to Jerusalem before the big battle and tell them the truth.”

After hearing their plan, Lionel thought he should tell Judd and Vicki about this new development.

Mark sat alone in the darkness and waited. He could have played the interrogation a little better and made them think he was giving them solid information, but he was tired of playing.

His cell was down the hall and around the corner from the other prisoners. He felt something crawling on him and stood and flailed his arms. He settled on the cot and pulled a lone blanket around his shoulders.

Through the hall came singing, but Mark couldn't make out the words. Then another voice joined in and another. There had to be at least half a dozen people singing now.

Mark put his ear to the door. He heard the word
Jesus
in the song, slid to the floor, and closed his eyes. He thought of little Ryan, the Fogartys' son. How many times had Mark helped put him down for a nap singing “Jesus Loves Me”? That was one of Ryan's favorites, and he always asked Mark to sing it again and again.

A soft glow filled the room, and Mark greeted the angel. The being looked at him kindly and sat. Mark couldn't believe he was so comfortable with this heavenly visitor.

“What was that singing?” Mark said.

“I was teaching your friends a new song,” the angel said.

“Were they scared of you?”

“No. And they learned the words quickly.”

“What about the unbelievers? They must have been afraid.”

The angel smiled. “They managed to fall into a deep sleep.”

“That happens a lot with you, doesn't it?” Mark said. “Those guards on the bus did the same thing when you came around.”

The angel smiled again.

“What song did you teach them?”

The angel closed his eyes and began singing in a low, pleasing voice.

“What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Oh! precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

“That's good. You should get a band together and go on the road.”

“We lift our voices in praise every day, but I must say, the words of the hymn writers are unique.”

“What do you mean?” Mark said.

“Humans write about redemption, salvation, the power in the blood of Jesus. We angels know nothing about such things, other than what we observe. We cannot be ‘saved,' as you would call it. We had one chance to follow or rebel and that was it.”

“You mean when Satan was cast out of heaven?” Mark said.

“Correct. One third of the host of heaven followed Lucifer, and the others remained faithful to the Almighty. But all humans have fallen. All of them have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.”

“I guess I've never really thought about it that way. So why did we get a second chance and you didn't?”

The angel took a breath, as if he were smelling a sweet flower for the first time. “The grace of God,” he whispered. “We look at it and are encouraged. We see it at work and are in awe of the plan of the Lord. He became one of you, a kinsman redeemer—a person who was in every way like you, except that this person was without sin. Jesus, who was God, became human. … I was there, you know.”

“Where?”

“Bethlehem, on the hills overlooking the town. You should have seen those shepherds when we started singing.” The angel paused. “But I tell you too much.”

“No, please don't stop,” Mark said.

The angel put his hands on his knees. “We didn't know what to think, the Son of God coming to earth as a helpless baby. That he would submit to such a life, then give himself as a sacrifice on Golgotha.” The angel shuddered. “Such an ugly death.”

“You were there?”

“The Son could have called on us at any moment, and we would have taken him from that place.” He held out a fist. “We would have struck down those Romans like toy soldiers. But he didn't call on us. He took the shame and the beatings and the nails.” He shook his head. “How can you understand? How can any being comprehend such love?”

Mark bit his lip. “Can you teach me the song? I went to church, but I don't really remember it.”

The angel spoke the words again, then picked up the melody and Mark sang along. When he heard the words, Mark found he could memorize them immediately. Tears rimmed his eyes as he reached the next verse.

“Now by this I'll overcome—
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
Now by this I'll reach my home—
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Oh! precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

Footsteps approached and the angel stood, his nostrils flaring.

“Is this it?” Mark said.

“I'm not sure. From what I can tell, there may be one more test of your will. But stand strong, my friend. You are a child of the King, and you will soon be home.”

The door opened and Mark scooted to avoid it.

Deputy Commander Lockerbie walked through with another guard. “This way, Eisman.”

They led Mark through a series of hallways. He had no idea what time it was, but when the deputy commander took him outside, the cool, brisk air hit him in the face and Mark breathed deeply. The moon shone brightly in the cloudless sky.

Across the courtyard was a row of wooden tables, dwarfed by several guillotines. Mark had seen this setup on live feeds from GC prisons around the world. Some of the highest rated programs on television were rebel executions. Mark hadn't watched many of these, but the ones he had seen had turned his stomach.

In spite of the cool weather, flies buzzed around them. The smell was overpowering. Several huge trash bins stood alongside the main building.

The deputy commander excused the guard and turned to Mark. “This is where it happens. Unless you cooperate, tomorrow you'll be out here.”

“This is where I'll wind up no matter what I say and you know it.”

“Not necessarily. You give us information on pilots, supply routes, locations of hiding places, information like that, and we'll make things easier.” Lockerbie had a kind face, not unlike Mark's cousin John. In fact, the two looked remarkably alike. “We have information that your group has been in contact with the mole inside the palace in New Babylon. Do you know anything about that?”

“Look, I can help in a lot of ways, but if the palace has a mole, I'd suggest you get an exterminator or a trap. I don't know much about catching small animals.”

“Not that kind of mole. You know what I'm talking about.”

“You get nothing from me,” Mark said.

The deputy commander turned Mark around and keys jangled. Soon Mark's hands were free. He rubbed his wrists to get the circulation going again. “Why'd you do that?”

Lockerbie sighed. “Not all of us in here are the monsters you think we are. We do have some compassion.”

“You mean like a nice meal before you slice my neck?”

“No, I can see that you live. Simply take the mark and we'll put you in a cell of your own. After this all dies down you can be moved and have more privileges. I'll even find a Bible for you.”

“Right, like I really believe you're going to come through on all that.”

Lockerbie dug into his pocket and frowned. “They would have
my
head if they knew I was doing this, but I had a younger brother. He was killed in the outbreak of poison gas. You remind me of him.” He handed Mark a cell phone. “I'm going to let you stay out here for a while. You won't be able to run. There's razor wire all around, and the guards are armed. But think about your life and what it's worth. Call someone you know, someone who cares for you. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Mark took the phone and studied it as the deputy commander slipped inside. W
hat an obvious trick! The GC wants me to call my friends—any number they can trace. The phone might even have a bug in it so they can listen
.

Mark ambled over to a wooden table and glanced at a guard high in a tower. The ground was wet with dew. He sat on the table and studied a guillotine. The contraption disgusted him and he turned away.

Who could he call? No way was he going to dial Conrad, Shelly, or the others. He also didn't want to call Petra. Though he longed to talk with Judd, Lionel, or Vicki, he didn't want to mess up and have them give information the GC wanted.

Then he got an idea. A truly inspired idea.

The angel will like this one
, Mark thought.

Lionel hit the Record button while he watched the latest news from the United North American States. He had asked Naomi to get Judd and Vicki.

An anchorwoman named April Wojekowski held one hand to her ear as she searched for words. “I'm told that you're one of the rebels captured by Commander Fulcire in last night's raid, is that correct?”

“You got that right,” a young man said.

The voice sounded familiar.
Could it be Mark?

“That commander is a tough bird. He's been asking me lots of questions, and I've been giving him lots of answers.”

It is Mark!

“Is that so?” Wojekowski said.

“Yeah, they gave me one phone call, and I thought I'd make it to the media so you could have the story.”

“And what story is that?”

“I was part of a group called the Young Tribulation Force that started an underground Web site. We wanted people to know about the Global Community because we thought it was bad. Now, after talking with Commander Fulcire and the others here, I know the truth.”

“So the commander has set you straight?”

“Right.”

Lionel's heart sank. Was Mark giving the GC information? Had they somehow brainwashed him? Judd and Vicki ran in and Lionel put a finger to his lips. “Mark's on the phone with GCNN.”