The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (245 page)

David pulled up to a corral area where lesser dignitaries were already being led to a line that would eventually fill the VIP area. Manning the gate was Ahmal, a man from David’s department.

“We’ll take care of the cart,” Ahmal said. “You and your guests wait under the canopy by section G.”

“Thanks, Ahmal.”

“You no introduce! You rude host!”

“My apologies,” David said. He introduced the family, emphasizing Mr. Wong’s support of the GC.

“An honor, sir,” Ahmal said, raising a brow at David.

“We sit now.”

“No, sir,” Ahmal said. “You’re being asked to wait in line at section—”

“Big supporter of Carpathia, Fortunato, GC no wait in line. No one sitting in seats. We sit there now.”

“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. There’ll be a processional. Very nice. Music. You all file in.”

“No! Sit now!”

“Father,” Ming said, “it will be better, nicer, to come in all at the same time.”

Mrs. Wong reached for her husband’s arm, but he wrenched away. “I go sit! You no want sit now, you stay! Where seat?”

Ahmal looked to David, who shook his head.

“Mr. Ahmal! Check sheet! Where I sit?”

“Well, you’re going to be in D-three, sir, but no one—”

“I sit,” he said, pushing past, daring someone to stop him.

“He’s only going to embarrass himself,” David said. “Let him go.”

Mr. Wong caused a stir in the crowd when he moved up the steps to the permanent amphitheater seating and began looking for his chair. Even people at the viewing platform were distracted and looked to see who was being seated already. Assuming he was someone important, some applauded, causing others to do the same. Soon everyone was aware that an Asian was in the VIP section, and they shaded their eyes to see if they recognized him.

“Must be the Asian States potentate,” someone near David said.

Mr. Wong acknowledged the crowd with a nod and a bow.

“He old fool,” Mrs. Wong said, and her son and daughter erupted into laughter. “We wait with Mr. Director Hassid.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to join you later,” David said. “Will you be all right?”

Mrs. Wong looked lost, but Ming took her hand and assured David they would be fine.

David went behind the stage to check progress on the technical aspects. Everything seemed to be in place, though there was a water shortage. The temperature was already 106 and climbing. GC personnel wore damp rags under their caps. Singers, dancers, and instrumentalists moved into place. Banks of monitors kept TV technicians aware of what was happening.

David went up steps that led to the bier from the back, passing armed guards every few feet. He slipped in behind the canopy that kept the coffin and the guards out of the sun, which was directly overhead now. As he squinted out at the courtyard and beyond, the pavement emitted shimmering waves of heat, and the line moved more and more slowly. David saw many looking at their watches and deduced that they were trying to worm their way into up-front positions for the funeral ceremony.

Once mourners were unwillingly urged past the bier, they would not be hurried away. They slowed, lingered, hoping to be stalled for the start of the festivities like some massive game of musical chairs.

David peered past the armed guards to the glass coffin, wondering how it would hold up in this heat. The vacuum seal looked secure and was checked every hour on the hour by the technician. Would the heat soften the box? Build up steam like a pressure cooker? David looked for signs that the heat affected the makeup, wax, or putty Dr. Eikenberry had used. How embarrassing if the real body was cooling in the morgue when the phony one reached its melting point and turned into a pool before the world.

“Stop the line, please!” came the directive from a bullhorn down and behind David’s right. Two guards hurried that way and stepped in front of a Dutch couple who had observed the occasion by appearing in native costume. They looked as if they regretted it already, red-faced, sweating, and panting. They seemed pleased, however, at being left first in line some one hundred feet before the stairs. As they waited and the crowd behind them slowly came to a standstill of realization as well, the several dozen mourners ahead of them continued.

When they had passed and started down the stairs on the other side, a wave of silence invaded the entire area. Everyone looked to the courtyard with expectancy, the only movement the last of the mourners, trying to clear the exit stairs. They did not want to leave, but the program would not start until they did.

The stragglers finally reached the bottom and many sat directly on the pavement. They found it so hot that they began taking off garments to sit on.

With everyone in place and still, the silence of four million plus was eerie. David slipped back down the steps behind the platform and saw that the staging area was full, everyone in place from Fortunato to his ministers and all ten regional potentates with their entourages. After that, high-ranking GC personnel filled the line all the way out of the courtyard.

From David’s left, someone with a clipboard and headset signaled the director of the orchestra. With men in tuxedos and tails and women in full-length black dresses, the one hundred members of the orchestra mounted the back steps and made their way out onto the platform at stage left. Sweat poured from their faces, and great dark stains spread under their arms and down their backs. Once seated, they brought instruments into position and waited for their cue.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the announcement over the massive public-address system, echoing in the courtyard, resounding for nearly a mile, and followed by instant translation into three other major languages. “Global Community Supreme Commander Leon Fortunato and the administration of the one-world government would like to express sincere thanks and appreciation for your presence at the memorial service for former Supreme Potentate Nicolae J. Carpathia. Please honor the occasion by removing head coverings during the performance by the Global Community International Orchestra of the anthem, “Hail, Carpathia, Loving, Divine, and Strong.”

As the orchestra played the dirge, weeping broke out among the crowd until great sobs filled the courtyard. The Global Community vocal band filed in, singing praises to Nicolae. Eventually a troupe of dancers, who seemed to move in slow motion and show remarkable balance, emoted with the music and the mournful groaning of the audience. As they performed, the VIPs filed in to subdued but sustained applause.

David finally made his way to the seat next to Mr. Wong, who gazed beatifically at the stage, tears streaming, both hands clutching his heart. David shaded his eyes and wondered if he himself was prepared to sit in this kind of heat for two hours. They were stage left with a clear view of the podium and coffin, about thirty feet away.

When the music finally ended, orchestra, singers, and dancers moved out and Fortunato and the ten potentates, grim-faced, moved into position one row up and behind the bier. One more joined the three armed guards who had stood behind it, and they moved two to each end of the casket.

The great screens and monitors showed a montage of Carpathia’s life, beginning with his fifth birthday party in Romania, hugging his aunt at high school graduation while holding some sort of trophy in each hand, being presented an award in college, winning an election in Romania, taking office as president there, speaking at the United Nations three and a half years before, and presiding over various major functions after that. The music that accompanied the visuals was poignant and triumphant, and people began to clap and cheer.

They reached fever pitch when Nicolae was shown announcing the new name of the one-world government, cutting the ribbon on the majestic palace, and welcoming people to the Gala just the week before in Jerusalem. Now fighter jets screamed in from the east and rumbled low over the event as the montage showed Carpathia mocking and challenging the two witnesses at the Wailing Wall. The crowd shouted and screamed with glee as he shot them dead. Of course, the show did not include their resurrections, which had been denounced as a myth.

The crowd fell silent as the jets swept out of earshot and the music again turned melancholy. The screens showed Carpathia back at the Gala, beginning with a long shot that showed much of the devastation from the earthquake. As the camera zoomed in on Nicolae, it changed to slow motion as he responded to the welcome of the crowd, introduced Chaim Rosenzweig, and joked with the potentates. Gasps and moans greeted the super-slow-motion replay of his turning away from a white puff of smoke in the crowd, tumbling over Dr. Rosenzweig, and lying there as the crowds fled.

The montage showed Nicolae being loaded onto a helicopter, GC logo emblazoned on the side, and here artistic license came into play. The screens showed the chopper lifting off from the stage, banking left between scaffolds and past great banks of lights, and almost disappearing into the darkness. The aircraft seemed to fly higher and higher until it pushed past the clouds and into the vastness of space.

Higher and higher it went, to the delight of the largest live crowd ever assembled, until the helicopter itself seemed to fade. Now all they saw on the big screens were space and a large image taking shape. The fighter jets returned, but no one watched. They just listened and watched as the screen morphed into the image of a man wide as the heavens. Standing in midair among the planets in dramatic dark suit, white shirt, and power tie, feet spread, arms folded across his chest, teeth gleaming, eyes flashing and confident, was Nicolae Carpathia, gazing lovingly down on the faithful.

The image froze under Nicolae’s benevolent gaze, and the roar from the crowd was deafening. All stood and wildly cheered and clapped and whistled. David had to stand to avoid being conspicuous, and while he clasped his hands in front of him he glanced at Ming and Chang, who stood stone-faced, Chang with a tear rolling. David realized that no one was watching anyone else anyway, so complete was the devotion to Carpathia.

The symbolism could not be lost on anyone. He may have been murdered. He may be dead. But Nicolae Carpathia is alive in our hearts, and he is divine, and he is in heaven watching over us.

When finally the image disappeared and the music faded, Leon Fortunato stood at the lectern, his emotion-gripped face filling the screen. As Leon spread his notes before him, David noticed he was wearing a resplendent dark suit, white shirt, and power tie. It didn’t work as well for poor Leon, but he apparently assumed his succession to the throne of the world, and he was giving the look all he had.

“I want to know if it was Hattie who gave us away,” Chloe said as the Egyptian jet came into view.

“We can’t know that,” Rayford said, “unless she tells us. We can’t contact her, remember? It’s a one-way street right now.”

Once the jet touched down, the light in the tower went off and a fat, older man came chugging down the stairs and out the door. Here was a guy with a job to do, and he was going to do it. “You’re here to pick up GC personnel, am I right?” he hollered.

“Affirmative,” Rayford said.

“Your number match mine? Zero-nine-two-three-four-nine?”

“Absolutely,” Rayford said.

“Stay put, please. The airport is officially closed, and I must get the jet hangared and these people accommodated with dispatch.”

He hurried off to the edge of the runway and went through a series of gyrations with his clipboard that would have been more effective with a flashlight as he tried to guide Albie toward the hangars.

This amused Rayford, who figured Albie had hangared as many small craft as anyone alive, and he watched as the jet steered a course straight at the tower man. He ran off the runway as the craft whined past and finished his signals with a flourish as if Albie had done precisely what he asked.

As the man ran to be sure the plane got into the hangar, Chloe shot past him. Rayford headed that way too as Leah waited by the car. It didn’t take Rayford long to overtake the man, who clearly hadn’t run around like this in ages.

The door of the plane, which was parked next to the Gulfstream, popped open, and Albie was the first one off. Rayford couldn’t believe it. Albie had a presence, a strut. He looked a foot taller. Carrying his big leather bag, he pointed at the man and said, “You in charge here?”

“Yes, I—”

“Zero-nine-two-three-four-nine, GC, Deputy Commander Marcus Elbaz, requesting service as arranged.”

“Yes, sir, Mr., er, Captain, Commander Deputy Commander, sir.”

Albie said, “These people are with me. Let them help with my passengers. Refuel the plane overnight, check?”

“Oh, yes, check, sir.”

“Now where can I change clothes?”

As the man pointed to a dark office at the end of the hangar, Chloe met Buck coming off the plane. “Careful, babe, careful,” he said, as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Let’s go, Buck,” she said. “We’ve got to get to Kenny.”

“Aliases,” he whispered. “Help with Dr. Rogoff. He’s had surgery.”

Rayford climbed aboard to help with Chaim, who grinned stupidly at everyone and kept pointing to his forehead. “Welcome to the family, Doctor,” Rayford said, and Chaim’s grin turned to a grimace as he put weight on sore limbs and was helped off the plane.