CHAPTER 16

Rayford made the approach for yet another landing in the Challenger 3. “They’re getting tired of me hogging this runway. If I can’t get it right, you may have to fly me to Illinois.”

“Dallas Tower to Charlie Tango, over.”

Rayford raised an eyebrow. “See what I mean?”

“I’ll get it,” Mac said. “This is Charlie Tango, over.”

“Tango X-ray message for Condor 216 captain, over.”

“Go ahead with TX message, tower, over.”

“Subject is to call Supreme Commander at the following number. . . .”

Mac wrote it down.

“What now?” Rayford wondered aloud. He put the screaming jet down for his smoothest landing of the morning.

“Why don’t you take her back up,” Mac said, “then I’ll take over while you call Captain Kangaroo.”

“That’s Supreme Commander Kangaroo to you, pal,” Rayford said. He lined up the Challenger and hurtled down the runway at three hundred miles an hour. Once he was in the air and leveled off, Mac took the controls.

Rayford reached Fortunato at the ambassador’s residence. “I expected an immediate call,” Leon said.

“I’m in the middle of a training maneuver.”

“I have an assignment for you.”

“I have plans today, sir. Do I have a choice?”

“This is straight from the top.”

“My question remains.”

“No, you have no choice. If this delays our return, we will inform the respective ambassadors. His Excellency requests that you fly to Denver today.”

Denver?

“I’m not ready to fly this thing solo yet,” Rayford said. “Is this something my first officer can handle?”

“Intelligence sources have located the subject we asked you to communicate with. Follow?”

“I follow.”

“His Excellency would appreciate his message being delivered as soon as possible, in person.”

“What’s the rush?”

“The subject is at a Global Community facility that can assist in determining the consequences of the response.”

“She’s at an abortion clinic?”

“Captain Steele! This is an unsecured transmission!”

“I may have to fly commercial.”

“Just get there today. GC personnel are stalling the subject.”

“Before you go, Cameron,” Tsion said, “we must thank the Lord for our new brother.”

Buck, Chloe, Tsion, and Ken huddled in the kitchen. Tsion put a hand on Ken’s back and looked up. “Lord God Almighty, your Word tells us the angels rejoice with us over Ken Ritz. We believe the prophecy of a great soul harvest, and we thank you that Ken is merely one of the first of many millions who will be swept into your kingdom over the next few years. We know many will suffer and die at the hands of Antichrist, but their eternal fate is sealed. We pray especially that our new brother develops a hunger for your Word, that he possesses the boldness of Christ in the face of persecution, and that he be used to bring others into the family. And now may the God of peace himself sanctify us completely, and may our spirits, souls, and bodies be preserved blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. We believe that he who called us is faithful, who will also do it. We pray in the matchless name of Jesus, the Messiah and our Redeemer.”

Ken brushed tears from his cheeks, put his hat on, and pulled it down over his eyes. “Hoo boy! That’s what I call some prayin’!”

Tsion trotted upstairs and returned with a dog-eared paperback book called How to Begin the Christian Life.

He handed it to Ken, who looked thrilled. “Will you sign it?”

“Oh, no,” Tsion said. “I did not write it. It was smuggled to me from Pastor Bruce Barnes’s library at the church. I know he would want you to have it. I must clarify that the Scriptures do not refer to us who become believers after the Rapture as Christians. We are referred to as tribulation saints. But the truths of this book still apply.”

Ken held it in both hands as if it were a treasure.

Tsion, nearly a foot shorter than Ken, put an arm around his waist. “As the new elder of this little band, allow me to welcome you to the Tribulation Force. We now number six, and one-third of us are pilots.”

Ritz went out to start the Suburban. Tsion wished Buck God’s speed and headed back upstairs. Buck drew Chloe to him and enveloped her like a fragile china doll. “Did you ever get hold of Hattie? Do we know her alias?”

“No. I’ll keep trying.”

“Keep following Dr. Tsion’s orders too, you hear?”

She nodded. “I know you’re coming right back, Buck, but I don’t like saying good-bye. Last time you left me I woke up in Minnesota.”

“Next week we’ll sneak Dr. Charles over here and get your stitches out.”

“I’m waiting for the day I have no more stitches, cast, cane, or limp. I don’t know how you can stand to look at me.”

Buck cupped her face in his hands. Her right eye was still black and purple, her forehead crimson. Her right cheek was sunken where teeth were missing, and her cheekbone was broken.

“Chloe,” he whispered, “when I look at you I see the love of my life.” She started to protest and he shushed her. “When I thought I had lost you, I would have given anything to have you back for just one minute. I could look at you until Jesus comes and still want to share eternity with you.”

He helped her to a chair. Buck bent and kissed her between her eyes. Then their mouths met. “I wish you were going with me,” he whispered.

“When I get healthy, you’re going to wish I’d stay home once in a while.”

Rayford stalled as long as possible to get more comfortable with the Challenger 3 and also to make sure Buck and Ken Ritz got to Hattie before he did. He wanted to be able to tell Fortunato she was gone when he got there. Soon he would call Buck to warn him that the GC would try to keep her from bolting.

Rayford didn’t like his instructions. Fortunato would not commit to a specific destination. He said local GC forces would give Rayford that information. Rayford didn’t care where they wanted him to take Hattie. If this worked the way he hoped, she would be jetting back to the Chicago area with Buck and Ken, and his orders would be moot.

Buck would have to fly over a thousand miles to Denver, Rayford fewer than eight hundred. He throttled back, reaching nowhere near the potential of the powerful jet. An hour later, Rayford was on the phone with Buck. While they talked, a couple of calls came over his radio, but not hearing his call letters or name, he ignored them.

“Our ETA is noon at Stapleton,” Buck said. “Ken tells me I was too ambitious, promising we’d see her that early. She still has to tell us how to get there, and we haven’t been able to reach her. I don’t even know her alias.”

Rayford told him his own predicament.

“I don’t like it,” Buck said. “I don’t trust any of them with her.”

“The whole thing’s squirrelly.”

“Albie to Scuba, over,” the radio crackled. Rayford ignored it.

“I’m way behind you, Buck. I’ll make sure I don’t get there until around two.”

“Albie to Scuba, over,” the radio repeated.

“That’ll make it logical for Leon,” Rayford continued. “He can’t expect me to get there faster than that.”

“Albie to Scuba, do you read me, over?”

It finally sank in. “Hold on a minute, Buck.”

Rayford felt gooseflesh on his arms as he grabbed the mike. “This is Scuba. Go ahead, Albie.”

“Need your ten-twenty, Scuba, over.”

“Stand by.”

“Buck, I’m gonna have to call you back. Something’s up with Mac.”

Rayford checked his instruments. “Wichita Falls, Albie, over.”

“Put down at Liberal. Over and out.”

“Albie, wait. I—”

“Stay put and I’ll find you. Albie over and out.”

Why had Mac had to use code names? He set a course for Liberal, Kansas, and radioed the tower there for landing coordinates. Surely Mac wasn’t flying to Liberal on the Condor. But the chopper would take hours.

He got back on the radio. “Scuba to Albie, over.”

“Standing by, Scuba.”

“Just wondering if I could head back and meet you on your way, over.”

“Negative, Scuba. Over and out.”

Rayford phoned Buck and updated him.

“Strange,” Buck said. “Keep me posted.”

“Roger.”

“Want some good news?”

“Gladly.”

“Ken Ritz is the newest member of the Tribulation Force.”

Just before noon, Mountain Time, Ritz landed the Learjet at Stapleton Airport, Denver. Buck had still not heard from Chloe. He called her.

“Nothing, Buck. Sorry. I’ll keep trying. I called several reproductive centers there, but the ones I reached said they did only same-day surgery, no residents. I asked if they also delivered babies. They said no. I don’t know where to go from here, Buck.”

“You and me both. Keep trying her number.”

Rayford pacified suspicious tower personnel at the tiny Liberal airport by topping off his fuel tank. The base operator was surprised how little he needed.

He set his laptop near the cockpit window and sat on the tarmac surfing the Internet. He found Tsion’s bulletin board, which had become the talk of the globe. Hundreds of thousands of responses were added every day. Tsion continued to direct the attention of his growing flock to God himself. He added to his personal daily message a fairly deep Bible study aimed at the 144,000 witnesses. It warmed Rayford’s heart to read it, and he was impressed that a scholar was so sensitive to his audience. Besides the witnesses, his readers were the curious, the scared, the seekers, and the new believers. Tsion had something for everyone, but most impressive was his ability, as Bruce Barnes used to say, to “put the cookies on the lower shelf.”

Tsion’s writing read the way he sounded to Rayford in person when the Tribulation Force sat with him and discussed what Tsion called “the unsearchable riches of Christ Jesus.”

Tsion’s ability with the Scriptures, Rayford knew, had to do with more than just his facility with the languages and texts. He was anointed of God, gifted to teach and evangelize. That morning he had put the following call-to-arms on the Internet:

Good day to you, my dear brother or sister in the Lord. I come to you with a heart both heavy with sorrow and yet full of joy. I sorrow personally over the loss of my precious wife and teenagers. I mourn for so many who have died since the coming of Christ to rapture his church. I mourn for mothers all over the globe who lost their children. And I weep for a world that has lost an entire generation.

How strange to not see the smiling faces or hear the laughter of children. As much as we enjoyed them, we could not have known how much they taught us and how much they added to our lives until they were gone.

I am also melancholy this morning because of the results of the wrath of the Lamb. It should be clear to any thinking person, even the nonbeliever, that prophecy was fulfilled. The great earthquake appears to have snuffed out 25 percent of the remaining population. For generations people have called natural disasters “acts of God.” This has been a misnomer. Eons ago, God the Father conceded control of Earth’s weather to Satan himself, the prince and power of the air. God allowed destruction and death by natural phenomena, yes, because of the fall of man. And no doubt God at times intervened against such actions by the evil one because of the fervent prayers of his people.

But this recent earthquake was indeed an act of God. It was sadly necessary, and I choose to discuss this today because of one thing that happened where I am hiding in exile. A most bizarre and impressive occurrence that can be credited to the incredible organizational, motivational, and industrial abilities of the Global Community. I have never hidden that I believe the very idea of a one-world government, or currency, or especially faith (or I should say nonfaith) is from the pit of hell. That is not to say that everything resulting from these unholy alliances will be obviously evil.

Today, in my secret part of the world, I learned via radio that the astounding Cellular-Solar network had made it possible already for television to be returned to certain areas. A friend and I, curious, turned on the television set. We were astounded. I expected an all-news network or perhaps also a local emergency station. But as I am sure you know by now, where television has returned, it is back full force.

Our television accesses hundreds of channels from all over the world, beamed to it by satellite. Every picture on every channel representing every station and network available is transmitted into our home in images so crisp and clear you feel you could reach inside the screen and touch them. What a marvel of technology!

But this does not thrill me. I admit I was never an avid TV watcher. I bored others with my insistence on watching educational or news programs and otherwise criticizing what was offered. I expressed fresh shock every month or so at how much worse television had become.

I shall no longer apologize for my horror at what has become of this entertainment medium. Today, as my friend and I sampled the hundreds of stations, I was unable to even pause at most offerings, they were so overtly evil. Stopping even to criticize them would have subjected my brain to poison. I concede that approximately 5 percent was something as inoffensive as the news. (Of course, even the news is owned and controlled by the Global Community and carries its unique spin. But at least I was not subjected to vile language or lascivious images.) On virtually every other channel, however, I saw—in that split second before the signal changed—final proof that society has reached rock bottom.

I am neither naive nor prudish. But I saw things today I never thought I would see. All restraint, all boundaries, all limits have been eradicated. It was a microcosm of the reason for the wrath of the Lamb. Sexuality and sensuality and nudity have been part of the industry for many years. But even those who used to justify these on the basis of freedom of expression or a stand against censorship at the very least made them available only to people who knew what they were choosing.

Perhaps it is the very loss of the children that has caused us not to forget God but to acknowledge him in the worst possible way, by sticking out our tongues, raising our fists, and spitting in his face. To see not just simulated perversion but actual portrayals of every deadly sin listed in the Scriptures left us feeling unclean.

My friend left the room. I wept. It is no surprise to me that many have turned against God. But to be exposed to the depths of the result of this abandonment of the Creator is a depressing and sorrowful thing. Real violence, actual tortures and murders, are proudly advertised as available twenty-four hours a day on some channels. Sorcery, black magic, clairvoyance, fortune-telling, witchcraft, séances, and spell casting are offered as simple alternatives to anything normal, let alone positive.

Is this balanced? Is there one station that carries stories, comedies, variety shows, musical entertainment, education, anything religious other than Enigma Babylon One World Faith? For all the trumpeting by the Global Community that freedom of expression has arrived, the same has been denied those of us who know and believe the truth of God.

Ask yourself if the message I write today would be allowed on even one of the hundreds of stations broadcast to every TV around the world? Of course not. I fear the day that technology will allow the Global Community to silence even this form of expression, which no doubt soon will be considered a crime against the state. Our message flies in the face of a one-world faith that denies belief in the one true God, a God of justice and judgment.

And so I am a dissenter, as are you if you count yourself part of this kingdom family. Belief in Jesus Christ as the only begotten Son of God the Father, Maker of heaven and earth, trust in the one who offered his life as a sacrifice for the sin of the world, is ultimately antithetical to everything taught by Enigma Babylon. Those who pride themselves on tolerance and call us exclusivists, judgmental, unloving, and shrill are illogical to the point of absurdity. Enigma Babylon welcomes every organized religion into its ranks, with the proviso that all are acceptable and none are discriminated against. And yet the very tenets of many of those same religions make this impossible. When everything is tolerated, nothing is limited.

There are those who ask, why not cooperate? Why not be loving and accepting? Loving we are. Accepting we cannot be. It is as if Enigma Babylon is an organization of “one-and-only true” religions. It may be that many of these belief systems eagerly gave up their claims of exclusivity because they never made sense.

Belief in Christ, however, is unique and, yes, exclusive on the face of it. Those who pride themselves on “accepting” Jesus Christ as a great man, perhaps a god, a great teacher, or one of the prophets, expose themselves as fools. I have been gratified to read many kind comments about my teaching. I thank God for the privilege and pray I will always seek his guidance and expound his truth with care. But imagine if I announced to you that not only am I a believer, but that I am also God himself. Would that not negate every positive thing I have ever taught? It may be true that we should love everyone and live in peace. Be kind to our neighbors. Do unto others as we would have them do unto us. The principles are sound, but is the teacher still admirable and acceptable if he also claims to be God?

Jesus was a man who was also God. Well, you say, that is where we differ. You consider him simply a man. If that is all he was, he was an egomaniac or he was deranged or he was a liar. Can you say aloud without hearing the vapidness of it that Jesus was a great teacher except for that business about claiming to be the Son of God, the only way to the Father?

One argument against a deep, sincere commitment to faith used to be that various religious beliefs were so similar that it did not seem to make much difference which somebody chose. Living a moral, spiritual life was assumed to entail doing the best you could, treating other people nicely, and hoping your good deeds outweighed your bad.

Indeed, those tenets are common to many of the religions that came together to form the One World Faith. As cooperating members they have cast aside all other distinctions and enjoy the harmony of tolerance.

Frankly, this clarifies the matter. I no longer must compare faith in Christ to every other belief system. They are all one now, and the difference between Enigma Babylon and the Way, the Truth, and the Life, is so clear that the choosing, if not the choice, has become easy.

Enigma Babylon, sanctioned by the Global Community itself, does not believe in the one true God. It believes in any god, or no god, or god as a concept. There is no right or wrong; there is only relativism. The self is the center of this man-made religion, and devoting one’s life to the glory of God stands in stark relief.

My challenge to you today is to choose up sides. Join a team. If one side is right, the other is wrong. We cannot both be right. Go to the page that walks you through those Scriptures that clarify man’s condition. Discover that you are a sinner, separated from God, but that you can be reconciled to him by accepting the gift of salvation he offers. As I have pointed out before, the Bible foretells of an army of horsemen that numbers 200 million, but a crowd of tribulation saints—those who become believers during this period—that cannot be numbered.

Though that clearly indicates there will be hundreds of millions of us, I call you not to a life of ease. During the next five years before the glorious return of Christ to set up his kingdom on earth, three-fourths of the population that was left after the Rapture will die. In the meantime, we should invest our lives in the cause. A great missionary martyr of the twentieth century named Jim Elliot is credited with one of the most poignant summaries of commitment to Christ ever penned: “He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep [this temporal life] to gain what he cannot lose [eternal life with Christ].”

And now a word to my fellow converted Jews from each of the twelve tribes: Plan on rallying in Jerusalem a month from today for fellowship and teaching and unction to evangelize with the fervor of the apostle Paul and reap the great soul harvest that is ours to gather.

And now unto him who is able to keep you from falling, to Christ, that great shepherd of the sheep, be power and dominion and glory now and forevermore, world without end, Amen. Your servant, Tsion Ben-Judah.

Rayford and Amanda had loved reading such missives from Bruce Barnes and then Tsion. Was it possible she was in hiding somewhere, able to access this very thing? Could it be they were reading it at the same time? Would a message from Amanda someday appear on Rayford’s screen? Each day with no news made it harder for him to believe she was still alive, and yet he could not accept that she was gone. He would not stop looking. He couldn’t wait to get back to the equipment that would allow him to dive and prove Amanda was not on that plane.

“Albie to Scuba, over.”

“This is Scuba, go,” Rayford said.

“ETA three minutes. Sit tight. Over and out.”

Buck and Chloe agreed that he would keep trying Hattie’s number while she continued to call medical facilities in Denver. Buck got a taste of Chloe’s frustration when he began hitting the redial button for Hattie’s phone every minute or so. Even a busy signal would have been encouraging. “I can’t stand just sitting here,” Buck said. “I feel like heading off on foot and searching for her.”

“Got your laptop with you?” Ritz said.

“Always,” Buck said. Ken had been riveted to his for some time.

“Tsion’s online, rallying the troops. He’s gotta be gettin’ under Carpathia’s skin. I know there’s a lot more people who still love Carpathia than there are like us who finally saw the light, but look at this.”

Ritz turned his computer so Buck could watch the numbers whiz by, indicating how many responses hit the bulletin board every minute. With a fresh message out there, the total was multiplying again.

Ritz was right, of course, Buck thought. Carpathia had to be enraged by the response to Tsion. No wonder he wanted credit for Tsion’s escape and also for eventually bringing him back to the public. But how long would that satisfy Carpathia? How long before his jealousy got the best of him?

“If it’s true, Buck, that the Global Community would like to sponsor Tsion’s return to Israel, they ought to look at what he’s saying about Enigma Babylon.”

“Carpathia’s got Mathews in charge of Enigma Babylon right now,” Buck said, “and he regrets it. Mathews sees himself and the faith as bigger and more important than even the GC. Tsion says the Bible teaches that Mathews will only last so long.”

The phone rang. It was Chloe.

“Buck, where are you?”

“Still sitting here on the runway.”

“You and Ken head for a rental car. I’ll talk as you walk.”

“What’s up?” Buck said, climbing out and signaling Ken to follow.

“I got through to a small, private hospital. A woman told me they were being shut down in three weeks because they’re better off to sell to the Global Community than pay the ridiculous taxes.”

Buck jogged toward the terminal but soon slowed when he realized Ken was lagging. “Is that where Hattie is?” he asked Chloe.

“No, but this woman told me there’s a big GC testing laboratory in Littleton. It’s housed in a huge church Enigma Babylon took over and then sold to Carpathia when attendance dwindled. A reproductive clinic in the old educational wing of that church takes in longer-term patients. She wasn’t fond of it. The clinic and the lab work hand in hand, and apparently there’s a lot of cloning and fetal tissue research going on.”

“So you reached Hattie there?”

“I think I did. I described Hattie, and the receptionist got suspicious when I didn’t know what name she might be using. She told me that if someone was using a phony name, that meant they didn’t want to be contacted. I told her it was important, but she didn’t buy it. I asked if she would just tell every patient that one of them had a message to call CW, but I’m sure she ignored it. I called a little later and disguised my voice. I said my uncle was the janitor and could somebody get him to come to the phone. Pretty soon this guy came on and I told him I had a friend in there who forgot to give me her alias. I told him my husband was on the way there with a gift, but he would have to know whom to ask for to be able to get in. He wasn’t sure he ought to help until I told him my husband would give him a hundred dollars. He was so excited he gave me his name before he gave me the names of the four women staying there right now.”

Buck reached the rental car desk and Ken, knowing the drill, slapped his driver’s license and credit card on the counter. “You’re gonna owe me a ton,” he said. “Let’s hope they’ve got a decent-sized car.”

“Give me the names, hon,” Buck said, pulling out a pen.

“I’ll give you all four just in case,” Chloe said, “but you’re gonna know right away which is hers.”

“Don’t tell me she called herself something like Derby Bull.”

“Nothing so creative. It’s just that with the makeup of the women represented, we got lucky. Conchita Fernandez, Suzie Ng, Mary Johnson, and Li Yamamoto.”

“Give me the address, and have Uncle Janitor tell Mary we’re on our way.”

Mac set the chopper down close to the Challenger and jumped aboard with Rayford.

“I don’t know what all’s going down, Ray, but I wouldn’t stall you like that without a reason. It gives me chills to think I almost missed this, but after you dropped me off, I taxied the Condor into that south hangar, like you said. I’m coming out of there and heading to the cab line when Fortunato pages me from the ambassador’s house. He asks me will I let him back on the Condor because he’s got a classified call he’s gotta make and the only secure phone is on board. I tell him sure, but that I’m gonna have to unlock it for him and get some power on for his call and then lock up after him. He tells me that’s OK as long as I stay in the pilot’s quarters or in the cockpit and give him privacy. I told him I had stuff to do in the cockpit. Check this out, Ray.”

Mac pulled a dictation machine from his pocket. “Do I think ahead, or what? I slipped in there, jammed on those headphones, and flipped the switch. I tucked the machine inside one of the phones and turned it on. Listen.”

Rayford heard dialing, then Fortunato saying, “OK, Your Excellency, I’m on the Condor, so this is secure. . . . Yes, I’m alone. . . . Officer McCullum let me in. . . . In the cockpit. No problem. . . . On his way to Denver. . . . They’re gonna do it right there? . . . It’s as good a place as any. It’s going to change our trip back, though. . . . One pilot simply can’t physically do this whole trip. I wouldn’t feel safe. . . . Yes, start telling the ambassadors we’ll need more time to get back. Did you want me to try to hire a pilot from here in Dallas? . . . I see. I’ll check in with you later.”

“What do you make of that, Mac?”

“It’s pretty clear, Ray. They want to take you both out at once. What got to me is when he rushed to the cockpit and knocked quickly. He looked flushed and shaken. He asked if I would come back and join him and to please sit down. He looks nervous, wiping his mouth and looking away, totally unlike him, you know. He says, ‘I just heard from Captain Steele, and there’s a chance he’ll be delayed. I would like you to plot our return and work in enough rest time for yourself in case you have to do all the flying.’

“I say, ‘All the flying? The whole way back and all the stops en route?’

“He says I should make the schedule easy on myself and that with enough rest, they have full confidence I can do it. He adds, ‘You will find His Excellency much in your debt.’”

Rayford was not amused. “So he recruited you to be the new captain.”

“Just about.”

“And I’m going to be delayed. Well, isn’t that a nice way to say I’m going to be toast.”