The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (339 page)

“All right then, you’ve worked in all your tiresome Bible verses. I shall be content to merely thank you and—”

“For as long as you have me on international television, Mr. Fortunato, I feel obligated to preach the gospel of Christ and to speak forth the words of Scripture. The Bible says the Word shall not return void, and so I would like to quote—”

But he was cut off the air, and much of the multitude at Petra cheered and applauded his presentation. A remaining rebellious faction, however, even after hearing all that Dr. Ben-Judah said, began its exit. “We shall return,” many of them shouted when confronted by the majority, who chanted and pleaded with them not to go.

Tsion cried out, “‘Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.’”

“There is amnesty for us!” one said. “No one pays for missing the mark of loyalty deadline, now so long past!”

Abdullah could not make it compute. Surely these had to be among those who waited too long to consider the claims of Christ. Their hearts had to have been hardened, because there was no logic in their behavior.

He hurried back to his quarters and took binoculars that had been delivered with the last shipment from the Co-op. He climbed again to a high place to watch for their emergence from the Siq and their two-mile walk to where the Global Community had already erected a platform.

Mac had learned to ignore the warnings of the GC when he flew into restricted airspace over the Negev. They came on the radio, they sent reconnaissance planes, they even tried to crowd him out of the sky. Often the threatening GC planes flew close enough to reveal the pilots’ faces. The first few times, Mac recalled, they looked determined. Later, when their mounted rifles missed their targets without explanation, they looked scared. When their heat-seeking missiles found their targets but seemed to pass through, the GC had backed off so as not to become targets themselves.

Today they went through all their typical machinations: the radio warning, the fly alongside, the shooting, the missiles. When Mac could see the pilots, they looked bored or at best resigned. They seemed as puzzled as the Co-op pilots why the GC continued to waste such expensive equipment, munitions, and warheads.

Mac looked at Albie and they shook their heads. “Another day, another deliverance,” Albie said.

“I’ll never take it for granted,” Mac said. “I’m glad it doesn’t hinge on clean living.”

“You live clean enough,” Albie said.

“Not by any virtue of my own, friend.”

As they went screaming over the desert to the Petra landing strip, Mac looked for the oversize plane Chang had appropriated from New Babylon. It sat at the end of the runway, big and plain as day. “How do you figure that?” Mac said. “God must be blinding these guys. You can see it from a mile away, maybe more.”

“Look there,” Albie said.

Almost directly below them was a serpentine line of several hundred exiting the mile-long Siq that led into and out of Petra. They were headed for the concertlike setup in the middle of the desert. As Mac focused on the airstrip and began his descent, he saw the chopper hopping from inside Petra to the end of the runway from where Abdullah would ferry them in.

“You think Smitty would want to get a closer look at this deal?” Albie said.

“Why? Would you?”

“Sure.”

“I’m game. We protected that far out?”

“In the air we are. Might be takin’ a chance on foot.”

“Let’s go in the copter.”

“This is an answer to prayer,” Abdullah said a few minutes later. “I so want to see what is going on out there.”

“It’s a risk though, Smitty,” Mac said. “You’ve got a pretty good cover, lookin’ like you belong out here. Albie and I have had our covers blown, and we got no disguises, no aliases, no fake marks, no nothin’. You’d better decide if we’re worth being seen with.”

Abdullah could not hide a smile.

“You rascal,” Mac said, grinning. “I set myself up for a shot there, didn’t I? And you almost took it.”

“I was not about to shoot you, Mac.”

“Verbally you were. You sure were.”

“I guess I have decided I would rather not be seen with you when we get back to Petra.”

“Cute. But seriously now . . .”

“I believe God will protect us. We should stick together, look official, but not make it plain that we do not have marks.”

“Your turban covers you, and we’ve got caps. You think that’s enough? Should we be armed?”

“I have no idea how many GC will be there,” Albie said, “but I’m guessing once we get there we’re going to be vulnerable. Guns won’t help is what I guess I’m saying.”

Abdullah rubbed his forehead. “We should stay in the chopper. If we can see and hear from there.”

“And if we’re approached?”

“You speak Texan at them and they will be puzzled long enough for me to lift off.”

“Oh, you’re hot today, Smitty.”

“Who would want to come close to a helicopter when the blades are turning?”

Abdullah studied his friends. It was clear they were as curious as he was.

“Should we check in with someone?” Mac said.

“Who?” Abdullah said. “Your mommy?”

Mac nodded, conceding that Abdullah was developing a sense of humor, but not rewarding him with more than that. “Rayford’s in the air somewhere. It’s on us. What’re we gonna do?”

“I’m in,” Albie said.

Abdullah nodded.

Mac climbed in the back of the chopper. Abdullah slid in behind the controls. Albie sat next to him.

When they were in the air, Abdullah shouted over the din, “We could check with Chang. Have him put something in the computer.”

Neither responded, so Abdullah abandoned the idea. He wondered if they were being foolish. Down deep he knew they were. But he could not stop himself from going.

It was clear to Mac that this show was set up exclusively for the rebels from Petra. He tried to get out of Abdullah why anybody would want to leave the safety of that city, but it was an unanswerable rhetorical question.

Abdullah was clearly taking his time, but the chopper quickly overtook the walking masses and set down about a hundred feet from the stage, whipping up a cloud of dust that a light breeze carried directly to the people on the platform. They stared at the chopper.

Mac saw several armed GC looking and talking among themselves. One approached, a young, thick-chested man who would have been stocky even without the bulletproof vest that became apparent as he drew near. Abdullah had shut down and the blade had just stopped.

“Just sit here and look at him,” Mac said. “Make him make the first move.”

Vest Chest stood with his weapon dangling, totally nonthreatening, but he looked expectantly at Albie, who sat in the second seat by the door. “You going to open up?” the young man said.

“Not if we don’t have to,” Albie said. “The AC still has this thing cooled.”

“You have to,” the Peacekeeper said.

Albie looked back at Mac. Mac nodded. Albie opened the door.

Mac leaned forward and spoke in a gruff voice, “You don’t want to be too close to this machine, son! Engine’s still hot, and she’s been known to spit some oil. And we might want to fire her up again, just for a little air.”

“What’s your business here?”

“Same as yours. Security. Monitoring. Now I’m going to have to ask you to back away from the craft.”

It was gutsy, but after what Mac had been through the last year, to him it was like a walk in the park. If the guy wanted to get into a contest of wills, Mac would stall him long enough for Smitty to get the engine roaring again, and they would be out of there. Of course, even small-weapons fire could bring down a chopper from close range, but maybe planting in his mind about the spitting of hot oil would give the GC pause.

Mac’s ruse worked. The man just nodded and backed off.

“Start ’er up, Smitty,” Mac said. “Got to give him a reason to concede.”

The dust blew again. Abdullah shut down quickly. The GC returned. Mac took the offensive. He leaned past Albie and opened the door himself. “Don’t worry,” he said, “that’s the last time we do that till we leave. We don’t want to get people dusty or keep ’em from hearin’ or anything, okay?”

“Just what I was going to say, sir.”

Mac gave him an index-finger salute, and the people began showing up, already looking exhausted.

It took only a few minutes for the crowd to gather, and it appeared that an otherwise normal-looking guy, whom Mac thought looked like a younger version of Leon Fortunato, grabbed the microphone. He wore white shoes, white slacks, a white shirt, and sounded like a motivational speaker, all peppy and crisp. He said he was the whole show—announcer, performer, everything.

“But I’m not typical. No, folks. People have called me a type of Christ. Well, you be the judge. All I can tell you is that I am not from here. That was not a joke. I am not even from this world. There’s no music today, no dancing girls, just me, a wonder-worker. I come under the authority of the risen lord, Nicolae Carpathia, and I have been imbued with power from him.

“If you are skeptical, let me ask you to look at the sky. I know the sun is still high and hot and bright, but would you agree with me that there are no clouds? None. Not one. Anyone see one anywhere? On the distant horizon? Forming somewhere in the great beyond? Shade your eyes, that’s all right. But do me the favor of removing your sunglasses, those of you who have them. You’re squinting, and that’s all right. Some of you are frowning, but you won’t be in a moment.

“Would you like a nice cloud? Something to block the sun for just an instant? I can provide one. You’re skeptical, I can tell. Don’t look at me; you’ll miss it. You’ll think it was a trick. But what do you call that?”

A shadow fell over the crowd. Even the GC gawked at the sky. Abdullah leaned over. Albie bent forward. Mac turned his body between them and looked up. A thick, white cloud blotted out the sun. The people oohed and aahed.

“How does he do that?” Abdullah said.

“He already told you,” Mac said. “Power from Nicolae.”

“Too quick?” the miracle worker said. “Did the sudden change in temperature chill you, even out here in the desert? Maybe that’s enough shade for the moment, hmm?”

The cloud disappeared. It didn’t move, fade, or dissipate. It was there, and then it was gone.

“How about half shade, but still enough of the sun coming through to keep you warm?” It was instantaneous.

A woman near the stage dropped to her knees and began worshiping the man.

“Oh, ma’am, thank you ever so kindly. But what is the cliché? You have seen nothing yet. How about this microphone stand? A solid steel base, long two-piece shaft, separate microphone and cord, attached at the top. Anyone want to come up and prove it is what I say it is?”

An older man limped up the steps to the platform. He felt the mike and stand and then rapped on the upper shaft, causing thudding noises through the sound system. “Oops, look at that!” Miracle Man said. And the mike stand and mike had been replaced by a snake that led from his hand all the way to the transformer box.

The people recoiled and some cried out, but as quickly as it had appeared, the snake disappeared and the mike and stand were as before.

“Magic tricks? You know better. Had trouble getting enough water lately? Or shall we believe the stories coming from inside Petra? Think a spring in there was an act of God? Then what does that make me?”

He pointed into the middle of the crowd, and a spring gushed from the ground, splashing over their heads. “Cool, crisp, and refreshing, no?” he said. “Enjoy! Go ahead!” And they did.

“Hungry? Tired of the fare in your new home? How about a basket of real bread, warm and chewy and more than enough for all?”

He reached behind him and brought out a wicker basket with a linen napkin in it. Five popover-sized chunks of bread, warm and golden brown, were piled in it. “Start that around. Here you go. Sure, take one. No, a whole one! Take two if you’d like. There’s more where that came from.”

The basket passed from hand to hand and everyone took at least one piece, several two, and yet the basket was never depleted.

“Who am I? Who do you say that I am? I am a disciple of the living lord, Potentate Carpathia. Have I persuaded you that he is all-powerful? His patience has run out with you people, however. He would like me to administer the mark of loyalty to you, which I can do without technology. You don’t doubt me anymore, do you?”

People shook their heads. “Who will be first? I will do four simultaneously. You, you, you, and you. Ask your friends what they see.”

Even Mac could see that they had Carpathia’s mark on their foreheads.

“More? Yes, raise your hands. Now those of you who have your hands raised right now, hear me. No, no new ones. Hands down if you did not have them up when I said that. Why have you waited so long? What was the holdup? The one I serve wants me to slay you, and so, you’re dead.”

More than a hundred dropped to the desert floor, causing the rest to shriek and cry out.

“Silence! You do not think I could slay the lot of you? If I can slay them, can I not also raise them? These six, right up here, arise!”

The six stood as if they had just awakened. They looked embarrassed, as if they didn’t know why they had been on the ground.

“Think they were merely sleeping? in a trance? All right, they’re dead again.” They dropped again. “Now if you know them, check their vital signs.”

He waited. “No breath, no pulse, correct? Let that be a lesson to those who remain. You see that, in the distance? Yes, there. The little cloud of dust, what appears to be tumbleweed rolling this way? Those are vipers of the deadliest sort. They are coming for you.”