CHAPTER 8

Buck followed Chaim to the temple, where, within twenty minutes, civilians without the mark of the beast scurried to set up TV cameras and make arrangements, apparently following hastily written and reproduced instructions. From where he and Chaim sat, Buck saw others tidying up the Temple Mount, some carting off the slain heckler, some directing people either to spectator locations for what they called the “temple festivities” or to first-aid lines, and still others replacing in the medical tents GC doctors and nurses who had themselves fallen too ill to help out.

“Pray for me,” Chaim said.

“Why? What? Carpathia is not even here yet.”

Chaim stood and began to speak, again in a huge voice. “Citizens! Hear me! You who have not taken the mark of loyalty! There may still be time to choose to obey the one true and living God! While the evil ruler of this world promises peace, there is no peace! While he promises benevolence and prosperity, look at your world! Everyone who has preceded you in taking the mark and worshiping the image of the man of sin now suffers with grievous sores. That is your lot if you follow him.

“By now you must know that the world has been divided. Nicolae Carpathia is the opponent of God and wishes only your destruction, regardless of his lies. The God who created you loves you. His Son who died for your sins will return to set up his earthly kingdom in less than three and a half years, and if you have not already rejected him one time too many, you may receive him now.

“You were born in sin and separated from God, but the Bible says God is not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance. Ephesians 2:8-9 says that nothing we can do will earn our salvation but that it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. The only payment for our sins was Jesus Christ’s death on the cross. Because besides being fully man, he is fully God, and his one death had the power to cleanse all of us of our sin.

“John 1:12 says that to as many as received him, to them he gave the right to become children of God by believing on his name. How do you receive Christ? Merely tell God that you know you are a sinner and that you need him. Accept the gift of salvation, believe that Christ is risen, and say so. For many, it is already too late. I beg of you to receive Christ right now!”

David Hassid, hiding in the rocks atop Petra, tried to coordinate with Rayford and his cohorts two miles away. They were so well hidden that he couldn’t see them, though he thought he had seen plumes of dust south of the village of Wadi Musa, immediately east of Petra. They conferenced up on their secure phones, and Rayford told him George and Abdullah were trying to get close enough to use the directed energy weapons. David couldn’t spot them from his perch either.

“We can see the GC hardware from three different locations,” Rayford reported. “Anybody manning those weapons?”

“Not that I can see,” David said, whispering because he had no idea how his voice might carry down the mountainside. “They’re likely waiting for word from Jerusalem that the Israelis are on their way.”

“It’s hard to tell the location of personnel,” Rayford said.

“To my right and your extreme left,” David said, “the first six or so vehicles appear unmanned. Only a few of all the soldiers are still ambulatory, and they seem to be tending to the others either directly below me or to my left.”

“Take cover,” Mac said, cutting in. “These things take a while to aim. It’s going to be hit-and-miss at first, and probably more miss than hit.”

“Just don’t overshoot,” David said. “I’ve got a small cave staked out. When we’re done, I’ll be incommunicado for a while.”

“We’ll each fire two rounds from the big guns,” Rayford said. “After you’ve heard six, come out and try to reconnect. We’re trying to drive the personnel to your left so we can safely take out some of the vehicles. If we can get the soldiers on the run, George and Smitty will try to make ’em miserable.”

“They’re already miserable,” David said. “But I hear you. If they think staying put is going to get ’em killed, they’ll start walking back to Israel! Okay, I’m out.”

He ducked into the cave and sat waiting for the first blast.

Rayford tried to remember everything George had told him about the fifty-calibers. He set up two in the truck bed, side by side and loaded. Fifty yards away, Albie had the same setup. And fifty yards farther, Mac was ready. They would fire once in that order, then start over for the second round. Each would watch through high-powered telescopes to try to gauge the adjustment for the second shot. Six rounds were perfect to start, Rayford thought, because at some point the miserable GC would wonder if the barrage would ever stop and whether they had a prayer of surviving. All he wanted was to destroy their weapons and their transportation, send them running, and discourage any hope of ambushing the Israelis.

George had told him it was impossible to judge the wind between weapon and target and so to aim high, accounting for the effect of gravity over two miles, and to not expect accuracy within more than twenty or thirty yards. Rayford worried that an errant shot would kill someone, including David. He lay on his stomach in the bed of the truck, made his final adjustments, and locked in on the left-most vehicle. If he missed left, the bullet would at least spook the soldiers. If he missed right, he had all kinds of vehicles he might hit, yet he should still avoid hitting personnel.

Rayford had his finger on the trigger and the stock pressed hard against his right shoulder. The scope showed him dialed up forty feet above the target. Just before he squeezed, he reminded himself to keep his eyes open—not that it would make any difference in trajectory. Only amateurs shut their eyes.

Thinking about his eyes reminded him of his ears and George’s desperate admonition to plug them somehow. How close had he come to deafening himself? Rayford rolled to his side, ripped a strip from his shirttail, tore it in half, and forced a bunched-up wad of material into each ear. As he was settling in again, hoping he had not affected the aim, his phone chirped.

It was Albie. “You going first or what?”

“Yeah. Almost forgot my earplugs.”

“Oh, man! Thanks for reminding me!”

“Ten seconds.”

“Give me thirty,” Albie said. “We want to fire in close succession, but I’ve got to get something in my ears too. Remind Mac, eh?”

Rayford dialed Mac. “Another half minute while we get earplugs in.”

“Say again?”

“Did you remember earplugs?”

“Just a second. Let me get this out of my ear! Now, what?”

“A few more seconds. Ready?”

“Been ready, boss. Let’s commence.”

Rayford looked at his watch and settled back in. How loud could it be? How much recoil? The stories had become legends. People shot these all the time. Should be interesting, that’s all. He would squeeze off the round and stay put, watching through the scope to see where it hit.

It was as if he had not protected his ears. If his eyes were open when he pulled the trigger, they were driven shut when the stock drove deep into his shoulder, sending him sliding on his belly until his boots slammed into the back of the cab. The explosion was so loud and the heat so intense from a six-inch burst of fire shooting out the side that Rayford found himself dazed, ears ringing, head buzzing, hands vibrating.

The weapon flew forward off the resistance from his shoulder until the legs of the bipod dropped off the edge of the truck. Rayford had meant to count one-thousand-one up to one-thousand-seven while looking through the scope, but all he could do was groan, hearing himself as if in an echo chamber, his ears not really working yet.

His other weapon had rattled off its bipod and lay on its side, and Rayford was glad it had not gone off. Albie was to wait three seconds from the sound of Rayford’s shot, and Mac another three after that. Rayford heard the boom from Albie’s rifle and figured he had four seconds to get the second weapon into place and still see where his first bullet hit.

He yanked it up, but the scope seemed cockeyed, and Mac’s weapon sounded only a little farther away than Albie’s. Rayford should be shooting again within a few seconds, but he was desperately searching with the scope for his first shot while trying to line up the second. He hurt all over, and his body resisted putting itself through that again.

He saw a huge cloud of pink smoke, assumed he had hit the rock face above the vehicles, quickly aimed lower and more to the right, and squeezed, the concussion driving him back yet again. Rayford knew he had closed his eyes with that shot, but a cloud of sand and a black plume told him their first three rounds were high, low, and luckily right on. His second shot sent a shower of sparks and more red dust, Albie’s brought back the sound of twisted metal, and Mac’s seemed to still be in the air.

By now, George and Abdullah should be shooting the directed energy weapons, but as DEWs had no projectiles, they emitted only a clicking sound Rayford was unable to hear. He pulled the cloth out of his ears, then crawled to the second weapon and removed the scope. He sat up and tried to survey the results. Without anything to support the powerful lens, it moved around too much. He went to his knees and lodged it against the side of the truck bed, then scanned slowly until he got his bearings. No GC personnel in sight.

Three vehicles from the left and about twenty feet up, a hole bigger than a truck had been blown deep into the rock wall. The fifth and sixth armored carriers appeared to have been blown away from the wall by a shot that may have gone between them. The next vehicle was aflame. There were two dug-up troughs of sand and another obvious hole in the face of the rock.

David called. “Whoa, ho!” he said. “Do that again and we’re home free!”

“Don’t count on it,” Rayford said. “I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“It sounded like World War IV, man! The GC had to have started moving away with the first explosion, and by the time I looked over the edge, they were mostly at the other end. A lot of them were just pleading for their lives, but a few dozen lit out across the desert. The directed energy thingies must have worked, because it wasn’t long before those guys were rolling around in the sand. Some are coming back to the trucks now, though, so you might want to think about a couple more rounds each.”

Rayford slumped and groaned. And reloaded.

Tsion was still despairing at just before four o’clock in the morning in Chicago, so he was grateful for the report of the attack on the GC. “They knew where we would be, so we knew where they were,” David wrote him. “The area will soon be secure for the fleeing remnant of Israel.”

Tsion knew he should sleep, but he also knew the rest of the second half of the Tribulation would not all be this dense with activity. As he had often reminded an exhausted Rayford, there would be time to rest and breathe between Carpathia’s breaking of the covenant and the Battle of Armageddon. If they could keep up their strength while trying to stay atop everything now, they could endure.

Tsion turned on the television to discover that the plague of sores had swept the world. Even the reporters on TV were in pain, and one entire special channel was devoted to advice for the sufferers. While the potentate’s visit to the temple at noon Carpathian Time was next on the network schedule, Tsion switched to the auxiliary channel to see what they were saying about something that was not of this world anyway. There was little relief for a plague sent by God, but the Global Community tried to put the best face on it.

In New Babylon, Chang worried he would be found out if people realized he was the one among them not afflicted with the sores. His boss had e-mailed him to see how he was, and Chang intimated that he had better stay in his room for several days. His boss granted that permission, provided Chang was sure to put in place what was necessary for the senior medical staff person in the palace to go live on the special channel with treatment advice.

Chang was able to do that without leaving his apartment. He watched a bit of the feed, reminding himself that at 1:00 Palace Time, Nicolae would enter the temple.

Dr. Consuela Conchita, with dark circles under her eyes and seeming to struggle to sit up straight, walked people through their own treatment. “The fact is that we have thus far been unable to specifically diagnose this pandemic affliction,” she said. “It begins as an irritation of the skin, most often in areas normally covered by clothing, though it has been known to spread to the face and hands.

“In its initial stages it progresses to a serious itch, soon becoming a running sore that acts like a furuncle or a boil and sometimes even a carbuncle. But whereas the usual such maladies are caused by acute staph infections, these have not responded to conventional symptomatic treatment. While staphylococcal bacteria are naturally found in these sores, because such are found on our skin surfaces anyway, some as yet undetermined bacteria make this outbreak much more serious and difficult to treat.

“While these do not appear life threatening, they must be carefully managed to keep from becoming deeply infected abscesses. We have ruled out any causal relationship between the sores and the methods used to administer the mark of loyalty. So while the sores seem to affect only those who have the mark, the connection seems entirely coincidental.

“These types of skin problems can lead to permanent scarring, so it is important to keep the affected areas clean and use any anti-itching recipe you find helpful. Antibiotics have not yet proven effective at containing the infection, but are recommended nonetheless.

“Wear loose clothing to allow for good ventilation of the skin. Avoid intravenous drug use, and invest in a good antibacterial soap. Use hot or cold compresses, whichever best alleviates your discomfort. Fever and fatigue are common side effects.”

Chang didn’t know if it was the power of suggestion or just his own irrational fear. But he noticed an itch on his shin, leaped from his chair, and pulled up his pant leg. There was nothing visible, but he couldn’t keep from scratching the spot. That made it redden, but was there something deeper? He told himself it couldn’t be, that even if he had the mark of Carpathia, he had neither chosen it, nor had or would he ever worship the image of Nicolae, let alone Nicolae himself.

Buck could hardly believe it when dozens of unmarked civilians approached Chaim and asked to pray with him. “You realize you could pay with your life,” Chaim told them. “This is no idle commitment.”

People knelt before him, following him in prayer. The mark of the seal of God appeared on their foreheads.

“Those of you who are Jews,” Chaim said, “listen carefully. God has prepared a special place of refuge for you. When Carpathia’s plans to retaliate reach their zenith, listen for my announcement and head south out of the city. Volunteers will drive you to Mizpe Ramon in the Negev. My assistant here will tell you how to recognize them by something we can see that our enemy cannot. If you cannot find transportation, get to the Mount of Olives where, just as from Mizpe Ramon, you will be airlifted by helicopter to Petra, the ancient Arabian city in southwestern Jordan. There God has promised to protect us until the Glorious Appearing of Jesus when he sets up his thousand-year reign on earth.”

As noon approached, the men from the Wailing Wall made their way toward the temple. They were serious-looking, and clearly not happy. Many were in traditional Jewish garb and stood at the edges of the crowd that pressed in on Chaim. They listened, but none approached or spoke. Several glanced over their shoulders at the temple and at the monitors, apparently to be sure they missed nothing.

Chaim finished with the new believers, and as they slowly dispersed, he gestured to those who had come from the Wailing Wall. “You holy men of Israel,” he said, “I know who you are. You remain unpersuaded that Jesus bar Joseph of Nazareth is the foretold Messiah, yet neither do you accept that Nicolae Carpathia is of God. I urge you only to listen as a man enters your Holy of Holies and defiles it in his own name. I shall tell of Scriptures that foretold this very event. Then I will beg your indulgence yet again as I seek refuge for you at Masada, where I will present the evidence for Jesus the Christ as the Messiah of Judaism.”

The holy men scowled and murmured.

“Gentlemen!” Chaim called out with authority. “I ask only for your attention. What you do with this information is entirely up to you. Without God’s protection you run the risk of death opposing the ruler of this world, and yet his desecration of this holy site will enrage you.”

Buck felt his phone vibrate and saw that Chang was calling. “Make it quick,” Buck said.

“Are you aware of my sister’s idea of my cutting in on Carpathia’s broadcast and superseding it with Dr. Ben-Judah’s?”

“Chloe told me. Can you do it for Chaim as well?”

“With your help.”

“What do you need?”

“A camera and a microphone.”

“Where do I get that?”

“You’re there, Mr. Williams. I’m not. Obviously, Carpathia will have cameras in the temple and wants the world to see what he does there. My schedule says he’s going to speak afterward, but I can’t tell if that’s inside or outside. If you can somehow commandeer a camera and mike while he’s inside, I can put Rosenzweig on instead of Carpathia, and he won’t know it until someone gets to him.”

“I like that.”

“I do too,” Chang said, “but if he makes his speech outside, he’ll see what we’re doing.”

“We’ve got to take that chance. And here he comes now. Chaim thinks he will speak outside on a replica of Solomon’s scaffold. He’s got an entourage of civilians around him carrying an extravagant throne, and some are dragging that pig from yesterday. Carpathia just told ’em, ‘You will all be rewarded. Soon the world will know beyond doubt that I am god.’ ”

“No GC brass with him?”

“Yeah, I see Fortunato and Moon and a few others, but they look terrible. They’re not going to be much help to him.”

“There have to be unmanned GCNN cameras around, with all the technicians down with sores.”

“I see a few on tripods, aimed at the temple.”

“Can you grab one?”

“Who’s going to stop me?”

“Go for it. I just need to know the number on the upper left in the back, and be sure a monitor and a mike are attached.”

“Hang on.”

Buck hesitated as Carpathia stopped near them, Fortunato, Moon, Ivins, and others mince-stepping behind, pale and haggard. The holy men turned and glared at them. Nicolae pointed at Chaim. “You I will deal with later,” he said. “This spell of yours is temporary, and what happened to your two crazies at the Wailing Wall will befall you as well. And as for you,” he added, gesturing to the angry men, “you will regret the day Israel turned her back on me. A covenant of peace is only as good as either side’s keeping its word.”

“Boo!” one shouted, and others hissed and -clucked their tongues. “You would dare blaspheme our God?” Still more joined in, raising their fists.

Carpathia turned toward the temple, then spun back. “Your God?” he said. “Where is he? Inside? Shall I go and see? If he is in there and does not welcome me, should I tremble? Might he strike me dead?”

“I pray he does!” a rabbi shouted.

Carpathia leveled his eyes at the men. “You will regret the day you opposed me. It shall not be long before you either submit to my mark or succumb to my blade.”

He strode up the temple steps, but his suffering followers had to help each other ascend. The holy men followed several feet behind. When Carpathia and his people followed a contingent of his loyal civilians past the pillars and into the porch area, the men stood outside, rocking, bowing, crying out to God.

Buck jogged to an unmanned camera and mike, his phone to his ear. A small monitor and headphones dangled beneath the camera, fastened between two of the tripod legs. The monitor carried the network’s global feed and just then showed Carpathia entering the temple. The camera operator must have been newly recruited, because he fumbled for the correct lens opening.

“Got it,” Buck told Chang and read him the information.

“Good! Wireless. Get it as close to Rosenzweig as you can, and set the mike in the cradle beneath the lens.”

Buck tried to wrestle the tripod, but the wheels were locked, and working with just one hand, he barely kept it from toppling. He told Chang he’d call him back and went to work on the wheels.

Meanwhile, Chaim unloaded on Carpathia again. “If you are God,” he railed, “why can you not heal your own Most High Reverend Father or the woman closer to you than a relative? Where are all your military leaders and the other members of your cabinet?”

The attention of the crowds moved from Chaim to the temple entrance again. His ploy had worked. Carpathia had reappeared. Many of the holy men rushed down the steps, effectively blocking Nicolae’s view of the camera now in front of Chaim, but Buck feared it appeared they were scared of the potentate.

“Where are your loyal followers,” Chaim continued, “those who have taken your cursed mark and worshiped you and your image? A body covered with boils is the price one pays to worship you, and you claim to be God?”

To Buck it appeared Nicolae was merely trying to stare down the old man. The Rosenzweig Buck knew would not have been able to withstand that kind of psychological warfare, but Micah—this new Moses—held Carpathia’s gaze so long without even blinking that Nicolae finally turned away.

Buck studied the monitor. It looked like the last exchange had not been broadcast. The picture now showed someone in the studio in New Babylon announcing that GCNN was “returning to Jerusalem, where His Excellency will tour the famous temple. With the illness affecting much of our staff as it has so many around the world, we ask your indulgence, as many of the technicians helping bring you this special event are volunteers.”

David worried when it took several rounds from the big guns and strategic use of the DEWs to finally dislodge from Petra the already boil-crippled GC forces. He was certain he had not been detected, and now he hoped the enemy’s military brass would rule out reinforcements.

Rayford told him that he and Albie and Mac were okay except for sore shoulders and ringing ears, and that George and Abdullah had reported a few more hits with the flesh-heating weapons as the fleeing GC passed within a quarter mile of their blind. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Rayford added, “if you started getting a wave of new residents by late this afternoon.”

That was as close as David had ever been to live combat, but it had almost not seemed fair. He couldn’t imagine trying to stage an attack while most of your personnel were suffering from nasty sores.

Not knowing whether Chaim would lead or follow the escaping Israelis to Petra, David considered that he might be in charge until Dr. Rosenzweig arrived. He could think of no better plan than first come, first served, and he tried to scope out where the first quarter million would begin to settle. By the time he got back to his computer to see what was happening at the temple, a message was waiting from Hannah Palemoon.

David, there is a lull here, and of course we never know how long those last. We’re praying that the small party that answered your call to thwart the GC there comes back healthy and successful.

This is not easy to write, but I feel I must get it off my chest. Besides that you are still grieving the love of your life, neither of us would likely have considered a relationship during this period of history anyway, and we barely know each other. So, please, please don’t think I’m writing this in the context of any feelings I think either of us should have for the other.

We’re friends, aren’t we? That doesn’t obligate us much, if at all. For both of our sakes, let me just say it. I was hurt at how cavalierly you treated me regarding your decision to not return to the United North American States at the end of Operation Eagle. It was a huge, complicated thing, a major crossroads in your life. I need to say too that it probably is the right decision.

But I learned about it along with everyone else. You apparently discussed it at length with Captain Steele, and next thing we know, it’s announced, you’re shaking hands and bidding farewells, and off you go. My friend, my buddy, the one I assumed I would lean on, is gone, just like that.

I’m sorry to lay this on you, but I just don’t feel you have treated me like a friend. I would have felt honored to help you make the decision or at least have been informed of it privately, as if you cared what I thought. I could be making you glad you didn’t see this neurotic nurse as a better friend. If this is crazy and you know without doubt that I will regret having sent it, pretend I didn’t. And thanks, really, for some cherished memories.

Love in Christ,

Hannah