The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (295 page)

“That’s why I don’t, Hannah. I’m not sayin’ this is easy. But did you see David fold up and hibernate when he lost his fiancée? No, ma’am. I know you and David were close, but what do you think he’d want? Do I hafta remind you that Rayford lost two wives and a son? That Tsion lost his whole family? I’m not discountin’ it, and I’m not sayin’ you don’t have a reason for wanting to stay away from Petra. But David was my boss and my friend, and this is no picnic for me either.”

“I know.”

“We’re all going to need some grieving time, and we won’t likely get it until we head back to the States. Meanwhile, we need you, Hannah. We don’t have the luxury of grieving the way we used to. Too many people countin’ on us. Now there may be nothin’ for you and Leah to do inside Petra, but you know well as I do that none of us helpers are guaranteed safety. Who knows what kinda walkin’ wounded we might have showin’ up to drop people off?”

She nodded. “Mac, um, you’d better pull over.”

“Ma’am?”

She pointed past him, out his window. A guard hung out the passenger side of a GC vehicle with a submachine gun pointed at Mac.

“Well,” George said, “that was just about the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Do we keep testing our luck or do we get on to Petra?”

“If you think that was luck,” Rayford said, “maybe—”

“Just an expression, Cap. I know good and well what that was.”

“Let’s stay here and watch,” Abdullah said, craning his neck to see the chopper that had fired on them.

“No need to be in the middle of everything,” Rayford said. “Get someplace where we can observe without unduly drawing more fire.”

Chang phoned Tsion early in the afternoon Chicago time and walked him through how to broadcast live over international television from right where he was. “Is your monitor somewhere that you can stand behind it and survey the room?”

“Yes.”

“Have someone sit where you’re going to sit, and see what you can see past them. Anything that would be a clue to your whereabouts, get rid of it.”

Tsion asked Ming to sit in his chair at the keyboard, and he squeezed between the back of the monitor and the wall. On the opposite wall a clock would give away what time zone they were in. “Chang,” Tsion said, “let me get rid of the clock, and then the background will be a blank wall.”

“Good. And then, can you tell me how long your message—wait, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why not just change that clock to Carpathian Time and let people wonder where you are?”

“Interesting.”

Ming broke in. “Won’t they see it as an obvious trick, Chang?”

“They might if we made it prominent,” he said. “Put it in the corner of the shot, and I’ll make sure it’s out of focus. People will think they have discovered something unintended.”

“My message will be short, Chang,” Tsion said. “Just enough to encourage the believers before you transmit Chaim’s salvation message audio.”

“Excuse me, Dr. Ben-Judah, but I’m getting something on my Phoenix 216 bug. Stand by.”

“You go and get back to me later.”

Mac held up a finger to the GC as if requesting a moment before he pulled over. He had speed-dialed Rayford. “Permission to fire upon the GC before they shoot out our tires.”

“Denied, Mac. Just elude. Let God work.”

“He can work through your nine millimeter, can’t he?”

“You still have that?”

“Sorry.”

“Just don’t stop,” Rayford said.

“Even with a flat?”

“Call back if they flatten your tire.”

Mac stopped in the middle of the road with the GC next to him, but he refused to roll down his window. The GC pulled in front of Mac. When the passenger got out, Mac backed up and pulled around the vehicle, and the pursuit began again. When the GC got close, Mac slammed on the brakes. “Sorry, friends!” he yelled. “Shoulda told y’all to buckle up!”

The GC stopped within inches of Mac’s bumper and they both jumped out, shouting and waving weapons. Mac took off again, and as soon as they jumped back in and accelerated, he swung left, popped a U-turn, and swung in behind them.

Apparently Carpathia still suspected the Knesset Building and thought his own plane was most secure. Chang followed an indication on the audiometer from the patch to the bugs there, and sure enough, it sounded as if workers were setting up for yet another meeting in the first-class cabin.

A couple of stewards were speaking in an Indian dialect, so Chang quickly fed it through a filter David had recommended and an immediate interpretation came up as captions.

“They will not destroy the rebel airstrip, then?”

“It appears the GC will use it for its own purposes. They will take out the buildings and clear it of the enemy, of course, but then they will fly in their own troops, who will be trucked to Petra to head off the fleeing insurgents. They will try to—shh, they are coming.”

“Mr. Akbar, sir.”

“Pakistani?”

“No, apologies, Director.”

“Speak English?”

“Yes, English.”

“This will be a small gathering, just the potentate, Reverend Fortunato, Mr. Moon, Ms. Ivins, and myself.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. We had already made room for too many, had we not?”

“No problem. You know what everybody likes. Have it out and available. And don’t forget Ms. Ivins’s fondness for ice.”

“A thousand thank-yous for reminding me, sir. ‘More ice, please,’ she says constantly. Water for you and Mr. Moon, juice for Mr. Fortunato, and—”

“
Reverend
Fortunato.”

“Oh yes, humble apologies.”

“I do not care. But you do not want to make that mistake in front of His Excellency.”

“Or the Most High Reverend Father, ha!”

Chang heard Suhail Akbar chuckle. “Make yourselves scarce once everything is in place.”

Chang formatted the program to record and then switched back to Chicago. “Ready?” he said.

“I am,” Tsion said. “How do I look?”

“Scared.”

“I do not wish to look scared.”

“Can’t help you there, Doctor. We’re pirating the only show in town all over the world. If anyone is watching TV, listening to radio, or surfing the Net, you’re what they’re going to get.”

“
That
sets my mind at ease!”

“Just trying to explain your nerves, sir.”

“Say when.”

“Now.”

“I am on?” Tsion said. “Seriously?”

But Chang didn’t dare answer for fear of his voice being traced. He held his breath, grateful Tsion had not used his name.

“Greetings,” Tsion said. “It is a privilege for me to address the world through the miracle of technology. But as I am an unwelcome guest here, forgive me for being brief, and please lend me your attention . . .”

Chang checked in on the Phoenix. It sounded as if everyone was there and settling in. “Commander Moon, get someone to turn off that television. Wait! Who is that?”

“You know who that is, Excellency,” Leon said. “That’s the heretic, Tsion Ben-Judah.”

“More than a heretic,” Carpathia said. “He is behind this Micah, thus the plague of sores. So now he consolidates the Orthodox Jews with him. How did he get a television network?”

“That is GCNN, Potentate.”

“Well, get him off there!” Carpathia raged. “Walter!”

The TV in the Phoenix went silent, and Carpathia exploded. “I mean get him off the air, you imbecile. Call whom you have to call, do what you have to do! We have overcome the plague and now we will look like buffoons, allowing the enemy on our own network!”

Moon was on the phone, his voice shaky, sounding to Chang as if he feared Carpathia would put him to death if Tsion was aired a minute longer. Moon swore and demanded to be put through to the head of broadcasting. “No excuses!” he cried. “Pull the plug! Now!”

“Give me that phone!” Carpathia said. “Cut the feed! Cut the signal!” It sounded as if the phone was flung across the cabin. “Turn it on! Let me see!”

Moon: “I’m sure they’ve at least gone to black, Excellen—”

“Turn it on! Ach! Still there! What is it with you people? Suhail, come here. Right here!”

“Excellency.”

“No restrictions on curfew enforcement.” Carpathia spoke so quickly that his words ran together and Chang had to strain to understand. “Shoot to kill at the Mount of Olives, at Masada, on—”

“Those locations have been cleared, Highn—”

“Do
not
interrupt, Suhail! Every civilian plane destroyed and—”

“We have suffered casualties on the ground from crashing planes, sir—”

“Do you
hear
me? Do you understand what I am saying? Do I need to have you executed the way I will execute Walter if this Ben-Judah
is not off the air when again I look at the screen!?”

Moon wailed, “What more can I do, Excellency?”

“You can die!”

“No!”

“Suhail, a weapon.”

“Please, sir!”

“Now, Suhail!”

Scuffling.
BLAM!
A scream.

“Hold out your other hand, Walter!”

“Please!”

BLAM!
More screaming. More shots, fresh cries with each. The banging of shoes against seats and tables as Moon, Chang assumed, frantically tried to crawl to safety. More rapid shots in succession, wailing like a terrified baby, finally a last shot, and silence.

“You’re doing the right thing, Nicolae,” Viv Ivins said. “You should kill them all and start over.”

“Thank you, Viv.”

Fortunato: “I worship you, risen master.”

“Shut up, Leon. Suhail, put a fresh clip in this.”

Sounds of the snapping in of more ammunition.

Fortunato: “I bow in respectful silence to your glory. Oh, for the privilege of kissing your ring.”

“Now give it to me, Suhail.”

“As you wish, Excellency, but I will execute anyone you wish. I have always carried out your directives.”

“Then do what I say!”

“Anything, Potentate.”

“I want dead insurrectionists! Run them down. Crash their vehicles. Blow their heads off. As for Petra, wait until we know for certain Micah is there, then level it. Do we have what we need to do that?”

“We do, sir.”

“In the meantime, someone, anyone, get—Ben-Judah—off—the—air!”

“I will pray him off, Your Worship,” Fortunato said.