Glorious Appearing: The End Of Days (3 page)

“He is the loftiest idea in literature. He’s the highest personality in philosophy. He is the supreme problem in higher criticism. He’s the fundamental doctrine of true theology. He’s the core, the necessity for spiritual religion. He’s the miracle of the ages. Yes, He is. He’s the superlative of everything good that you choose to call Him. He’s the only one qualified to be our all-sufficiency. I wonder if you know Him today.”

As the preacher continued, more and more listeners stood, some raising their hands, others shouting agreement, others nodding.

“He supplies strength for the weak. He’s available for the tempted and tried. He sympathizes and He saves. He strengthens and sustains. He guards and He guides. He heals the sick. He cleanses the leper. He forgives the sinner. He discharges debtors. He delivers the captive. He defends the feeble. He blesses the young. He serves the unfortunate. He regards the aged. He rewards the diligent. And He beautifies the meek. I wonder if you know Him.

“Well, this is my king. He’s the key to knowledge. He’s the wellspring of wisdom. He’s the doorway of deliverance. He’s the pathway of peace. He’s the roadway of righteousness. He’s the highway of holiness. He’s the gateway of glory. Do you know Him?

“Well, His office is manifold. His promise is sure. His life is matchless. His goodness is limitless. His mercy is everlasting. His love never changes. His word is enough. His grace is sufficient. His reign is righteous. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. I wish I could describe Him to you.”

That elicited an ocean of laughter and more applause. The same had happened with his original audience, and Lockridge had paused, allowing it to fade before he continued.

“He’s indescribable. He’s incomprehensible. He’s invincible. He’s irresistible. Well, you can’t get Him out of your mind. You can’t get Him off of your hand. You can’t outlive Him and you can’t live without Him. The Pharisees couldn’t stand Him, but they found they couldn’t stop Him. Pilate couldn’t find any fault in Him. Herod couldn’t kill Him. Death couldn’t handle Him, and the grave couldn’t hold Him. That’s my king!”

Everyone was standing now, hands raised, many applauding, shouting, some dancing.

“And Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever and ever and ever! How long is that? And ever and ever! And when you get through with all the forevers, then amen! Good God Almighty! Amen!”

By the time Mac found himself within sight of the rocky Judean hills where Jerusalem lay smoking in the early afternoon sun, he had begun to despair of finding Buck. If he was all right, would he not have borrowed a phone to check in? The latest intelligence from Chang was that Buck had reported Tsion’s death to Rayford from inside the Old City.

Though the colossal armies of the world—now amalgamated into Carpathia’s Global Community Unity Army—stretched by the multimillions from north of Jerusalem to Edom, it was clear from the air that the current major offensive focused on the Old City.

Mac looked for a place to land. He had to look like a GC officer on assignment and head on foot to the Old City as if he knew what he was doing. In fact, he didn’t have a clue. The Old City was only a third of a mile square. And if he found Buck alive, what was he to do? Arrest him and muscle him to the chopper? Finding Buck dead or alive, Mac decided, would be like discovering a patch of dry ground in the Louisiana bayou.

Mac’s phone chirped, and he saw it was Chang. “Give me some good news.”

“Such as?”

“Such as Buck’s dead phone all of a sudden started showin’ his position.”

“No such luck. But I do have something. Carpathia’s on the rampage about the destruction of New Babylon, and he’s taking heat from all over the world.”

“Heat?”

“Everybody who depended on New Babylon is crying over the loss. I’m picking up televised reports from everywhere of leaders, diplomats, businessmen—you name it—literally weeping, decrying what’s become of New Babylon and their own interests. Some are committing suicide right on camera.”

“No way the GC is puttin’ that stuff on the air.”

“No, they aren’t, but yours truly still has his ways.”

“Attaboy, Chang, but how does that help me find Buck?”

“You’re not going to find Buck, Mr. McCullum.”

“What? You know that for sure?”

“I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Ye of little faith.”

“Sorry. But I figured as long as you’re there and undercover, you might want to know where Carpathia is.”

“I don’t care where he is. I’m here to find Buck.”

“All right then.”

“But just for smiles, where is he? Last I heard he was on a bullhorn outside Herod’s Gate. Moved there from his bunker near the Sea of Galilee. Unless they were just broadcasting his voice.”

“No, it was him all right. He’s moved his entire command post inside the Old City.”

“Impossible. I’m lookin’ down on it right now, and the place is crawling with—”

“I thought so too until I heard where. Underground.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Solomon’s Stables.”

“How do I get in there?”

“Follow somebody. Carpathia’s got an entire regiment there, and I got your new name on the list.”

“That might not have been prudent, Chang.”

“Why?”

“What if I choose not to go, am discovered missing, and someone sees me elsewhere?”

“Well, there is that possibility, yes. Tell them you’re on your way.”

“What if I’m not? I mean, I’d love to be your eyes and ears here, Chang, but my priority is Buck. And nothin’ we know about Carpathia now is going to amount to a hill of beans anyway. What’s gonna happen is gonna happen. Can you get me off that list?”

“Not without looking suspicious. Sorry, Mr. McCullum. I thought I was doing the right—”

“Don’t worry about it. None of it will matter tomorrow, will it?”

Mac saw GC activity and other choppers putting down at the Tombs of the Prophets, south of the Mount of Olives, east of the Old City. Caravans of jeeps quickly loaded the disgorged personnel and raced them toward the conflict. As soon as Mac stepped out of his copter at 2:45 P.M., an officer directing traffic pointed him to an armored personnel carrier. Mac saluted and jogged that way. He joined a dozen other like-uniformed soldiers, who merely nodded at each other, tight-lipped, and rode in stony silence.

The cavalcade headed north on Jericho Road and turned west in front of the Rockefeller Museum onto Suleiman Street.

“We headed to Herod’s Gate?” someone said.

“Is it open?” someone else said.

“Damascus Gate,” the driver announced.

As they passed Herod’s Gate, Mac joined the others in pressing against the windows on the south side of the vehicle. Somehow the resistance continued to hold the gate.

“If you’re assigned to the potentate,” the driver said, “follow me to the entrance to the stables. Everybody else head for the staging area at the Church of the Flagellation. When we have enough personnel, we’ll attack the insurgents from behind and blow ‘em out Herod’s Gate.”

Mac felt himself swelling with pride over what Tsion and Buck had apparently accomplished before the rabbi was killed. If they had been at Herod’s Gate, they were responsible for helping hold that position against overwhelming odds. And neither of them battle trained.

Mac assumed Buck would agree that Tsion would not want his body removed from the Old City. He only hoped Buck had found an appropriate spot for the rabbi. Bodies fallen in an active battle had a way of getting trampled beyond recognition. That wouldn’t matter tomorrow either, but Mac knew he and Buck would be on the same page.

Mac found himself fighting anguish. No way Buck would let them worry and wonder for this long. Surely he could have found a way to check in if he was alive.

When the vehicle stopped and the driver gave the order, Mac and the soldiers got out and moved as directed. Mac dropped several paces behind his group and phoned Chang, speaking quietly. “Anything?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not going to succeed, am I?”

“What do you want to hear, sir?”

“You know.”

“I’m past pretending, Mr. McCullum.”

“I appreciate that. Maybe I should just proceed to my assignment.”

“To the compound?”

“Yeah. I know I should have my head examined, but I’d love to be with ol’ Nick when Jesus gets here.”

Chang felt Naomi’s strong fingers on either side of his neck.

“You’re tense,” she said.

“Aren’t you?” he said.

“Relax, love. Messiah is coming.”

Chang couldn’t turn from the screens. “I’d like to lose no one else before that. No matter how much I tell myself they’ll be dead only a short while, it all seems so pointless now. I don’t want anyone hurt, let alone suffering, then dying. Mr. McCullum’s going was my idea.”

“But he sure jumped on it, didn’t he?”

“I knew he would. I wish I could have gone.”

“You know this place can’t function without your—”

“Don’t start, Naomi.”

“You know it’s true.”

“Regardless, I sent him for my own vicarious thrill. No way he’s going to find Buck, and if he does, Buck will be dead. Then what’s Mac supposed to do? If he gets found out, he’s history. And for what? He could be here watching for the return with everyone else.”

Naomi pulled a chair next to Chang and sat. “What do you hear from Mr. Smith?”

Chang sighed. “That’s turned out to be a waste of time and manpower too. So far he hasn’t found a thing. Either Captain Steele was obliterated by a missile or he was buried in the sand.”

“Could he have crawled to safety?”

“There’s no safety in that sun, Naomi.”

“That’s what I mean. Maybe he found shelter or built himself some shield against the heat.”

Chang shrugged. “Best-case scenario, I guess. But wouldn’t he think to leave some sign for us?”

“Maybe he was hurt too badly or simply had no resources.”

“He could arrange sticks or rocks, even a piece of clothing.”

“If he was able,” Naomi said.

Chang’s phone chirping made them both jump. “Yes, Mr. Smith?”

“I’m on his trail. He was on the move for a while, at least.”

“What did you find?”

“Blood, I’m afraid.”

MAC
HAD
NEVER
seen the ancient walls of Jerusalem in such a state. While Herod’s Gate (some still called it the Flower Gate) was somehow still held by the resistance, places on either side of the walls had been blasted from their normal forty-foot height to half that. It would be only a matter of time before the Unity Army pushed through.

But for now the invading force seemed to be concentrating elsewhere. Mac would make sure he was last in line when the unit he was with jogged through the Damascus Gate. That way he could peel off at any time. He could find the entrance to the underground stables somehow, but not until he had at least tried to locate Buck.

Past sixty now, Mac remained fit with a daily run. But while the borrowed uniform looked as if it were made for him, the boots were going to leave blisters. As he hurried along, invisible in a sea of similarly attired plunderers, he recognized the irony that he could easily take a bullet from snipers who didn’t realize he was on their side of the conflict.

Mac had seen enough carnage in seven years to last an eternity, but nothing could have steeled him against the images that came into view as his little unit mince-stepped into the Old City. The narrow cobblestone streets that snaked through the markets and crowded houses were so full of broken and dead bodies that he had to keep his focus to keep from tripping over them. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for Buck, praying he was not already on the ground.

Mac’s nostrils were assaulted by smoke, sweat, gunpowder, burning flesh, manure, and the sickly sweet stench of overturned fruit and vegetable carts. He recoiled at two quick gunshots until he saw it was a Unity Army commander putting a horse and a mule out of their misery.

A bullhorn announced that Unity forces had occupied the Armenian Quarter to the south, the Christian Quarter to the west, and much of the Jewish Quarter outside the Temple Mount. The insurgents still held the Temple Mount to the southeast and the Muslim Quarter to the northeast, from Herod’s Gate to just east of the Church of the Flagellation. Mac wondered how Carpathia and his staff had access to Solomon’s Stables beneath the Temple Mount.

He prayed that Buck was somewhere in the Muslim Quarter or the Temple Mount, knowing that if he found him anywhere else, Buck was likely dead. If only Mac could “capture” Buck and convincingly drag him out of the Old City …

Unity Army foot soldiers were filling the west side of the Church of the Flagellation, avoiding the other side, which was taking fire from the rebels. A GC commander shouted that the assembled were to be ready to storm the Pools of Bethesda after the next artillery volley.

“The rebels have apparently constructed a makeshift shrine to a dead rabbi there. They’ll be easy to spot. The body is hidden, but they have surrounded it with personnel and cardboard signs pleading that no one defile his resting place. We’re less than five minutes from a mortar launch that will obliterate that whole site. We will shell the enclave in such a way that there will be no escape through the Lion’s Gate to the east. Survivors will be pushed north toward Herod’s Gate, and we’ll be right behind them. The gate they have so ferociously held since yesterday they will now open themselves.”

The commander assigned various troops and platoons, some to follow the shelling of the pools and others to attack the fleeing rebels as they headed toward Herod’s Gate.

Mac racked his brain. There was no escaping now. He was deep inside this. While he would not, of course, fire upon the Unity Army’s enemies, neither could he risk being seen shooting GC forces. Surely it was Tsion’s remains the rebels were foolishly trying to protect, and he couldn’t imagine Buck having a part in that. Buck would have tried to entomb the body, but he would know the futility and meaninglessness of staying to guard it.

Was there a prayer that in the midst of the chaos Mac could raise his visor and be identified as a believer by even one of the rebels? Not all were believers themselves, of course. He could be seen by one and shot by another. What was he doing here? His odds were infinitely smaller than he dreamed, and getting worse every second.