CHAPTER 12
For the first time since he had been running the point for the Tribulation Force at the palace complex, Chang wondered if he had been found out. His computer screen was suddenly ringed with a red border, meaning an outside source was testing his firewall.
He immediately switched to a screen saver that scrolled the date and time and temperature, cut all the lights in his apartment, disrobed, and jumped into bed—prepared to look as if he had been sleeping, should Figueroa or one of his minions come knocking. There was really no way of knowing what the warning meant, but David Hassid had told him he had built the security in just to alert the operator that someone was nosing around.
Maybe someone was checking to see every computer that was turned on. Who knew whether the search was capable of hacking in and finding out who the mole was?
The latter didn’t seem possible, if David could be believed. He had rigged the system so elaborately that it seemed there wouldn’t be enough years left before the Glorious Appearing before someone could decode it. Chang’s mind began playing games. Perhaps Akbar had instructed Figueroa to sense every computer running, eliminate the mainframe that ran the whole place, isolate the laptops and personal computers, and do a fast door-to-door search to see what people were up to.
Chang’s computer would show no record of what he had been doing during the hours since he got back from his office. For that reason, he hoped someone would show up and check.
As he lay there in the darkness, heart galloping, Chang was frustrated at having to quit monitoring Greece. Ironic, he thought, that with all the technology God had allowed them to adapt for the cause of Christ around the world, he was suddenly left with nothing to do to help, except old-fashioned praying. He wished he could check the bugs in Carpathia’s and Akbar’s offices once more to see if the computer recording showed them giving a directive. It wouldn’t be long before someone at the highest level ran out of patience with all the hacking going on.
Chang eased out of bed and onto the cold floor, kneeling to pray for Mac and Chloe and Hannah and George. “Lord, I don’t see how they can escape now, outside your direct help. I don’t know if it’s their time to join you, and I have never assumed our thoughts were your thoughts. Everything happens in your time for your pleasure, but I pray for them and the people who love them. Whatever you do I know will prove your greatness, and I ask that I be able to know soon what it was. Also, please be with Ming as she searches for our parents, and may they be able to communicate with me somehow.”
Chang felt the urge to let Rayford know what was going on. He looked at his watch. It was well after midnight, but would the people in Petra be sleeping after all that had gone on there that day? Nothing indicated that his phone was not still secure, so he dialed.
“Out! Out!” Mac hollered as the doors flew open. “Let me over there, Chloe. I’ve got to get in the way of that jet.”
“I’ll crank ’er up,” Sebastian told Mac, “but I’m not inclined to leave without you.”
“Listen, George. You do what you have to do. Worrying about me might distract ’em long enough for you to get in the air. If that’s what it takes, I’ll see you at the Eastern Gate.”
“Don’t talk like that!”
“Don’t get emotional on me now. Get yourselves on home!”
Mac waited a beat for George to back away from the car, and when he didn’t, Mac just floored it and wobbled down the runway, in line with the jet that was just about to touch down.
Rayford was not asleep, but he had finally settled and was breathing easier, gazing at the stars through a slit in the tent. His phone indicated Chang was calling.
“Give me good news,” he said.
“I wish I could,” Chang said, “but I think the Lord just wanted me to let you know so you could pray.”
Rayford didn’t feel as glib as he sounded, but when he heard the story, he said, “God protected a million people in a fiery furnace; he can get four out of Greece.”
He slipped on his sandals and hurried to where Tsion and Chaim were to bed down. If they were sleeping, he would not wake them. It didn’t surprise him to find them awake and huddled around a computer with some of the other elders. At the keyboard was the young woman, Naomi, who had summoned him earlier.
“Tsion, a word,” Rayford said.
Dr. Ben-Judah turned, surprised. “I thought you were sleeping, as we all should be. Big day tomorrow.”
Rayford brought him up to date.
“We will pray, of course, right now. But get back to Chang and tell him the computer warning was a false alarm. Naomi has been exulting in the hundreds of pages of instructions David built into the system here, including one that allows us to check the palace computers. That is what she has been doing, and that sent Chang’s computer a warning.”
Tsion hurried back to the elders and asked them all to pray for the safety of the Tribulation Force contingent in Greece. To see a dozen and a half people immediately go to their knees for his people warmed Rayford, and he couldn’t wait to get back to Chang.
When George Sebastian’s foot hit the first step up to the plane, he heard the engines whine and then scream to life. He had not realized either of the women knew how to fly. So much the better. He squatted to pull the door up behind him, but when he turned toward the cockpit, he noticed both Chloe and Hannah strapping themselves into the back two seats. They looked as surprised as he felt.
George set his Uzi and pressed his back up against the bulkhead that separated the cabin from the cockpit. He slowly edged around to where he could peer up front to see who was there. The surprise pilot, in brown and beige Bedouin-type robes, was working from the copilot’s chair. Without turning, the man raised a hand and motioned George toward the pilot’s chair.
George pulled back and faced the women. “Who is that?”
“We thought it was you,” Chloe said.
“We’ve got to get him off here or we won’t have room for Mac. Cover me.”
Chloe unstrapped and knelt behind George with her Uzi ready. Hannah raised her weapon and stood on the arm of her seat so she could peer over George’s head into the cockpit.
Sebastian hopped into view of the copilot’s chair. Empty. “All righty then,” George said, exhaling loudly and climbing over the back of the seat to take the controls. He jammed on the earphones. “Why doesn’t God just let these guys do the flying?”
“I can do that too,” a voice said.
George jumped and saw the reflection of the man in the windshield. But when he looked to his right, the copilot’s chair was still empty. “Quit that!” George said, his pulse racing.
“Sorry.”
“Michael, I suppose.”
“Roger.”
George saw Mac and the rattling GC car struggling down the runway in the face of the oncoming jet. He wanted to ask Michael if he wouldn’t be more help riding next to Mac.
“Illuminate landing lights,” he heard.
“For takeoff?”
“Roger.”
Sebastian wasn’t about to argue. He flipped on the landing lights, which merely shone into Mac’s back window. “Should I start the taxi, angling away from Mac, like he said?”
“Stand by.”
“No?”
“Hold.”
For an instant, Mac thought the GC jet didn’t see him. He slammed on the brakes and stayed in line between the two craft. When the jet finally stopped, about fifty feet in front of him, he realized it could easily go around him. Why wasn’t Sebastian rolling? With the right angle, he could get past Mac and the GC and be in the air in seconds.
Not wanting to give the GC a chance to cut George off, Mac hit the accelerator and pulled to within ten feet of the jet. He realized someone could open the door and have a clear shot at him, but they couldn’t do much to his plane if he sabotaged their aircraft. Not wanting to give them time to think, he raced forward and lodged the front of the car under the nose of the jet, banging into the landing gear. He had raised the plane off the ground a few inches but couldn’t tell if he had done any damage.
Mac rolled down his window and leaned his torso all the way out, firing his Uzi at the tires. He was amazed how resilient they were, and he heard bullets bouncing off and hitting the fuselage and the car. Reaching farther and experimenting with angles, he finally got one of the tires to blow. But where was George? Why weren’t they advancing? Was something wrong with the plane? Sebastian just sat at the end of the runway with those lights on.
Mac expected the GC to come bounding out any second, weapons blazing. Could they not see he was the only person in the car? What were they afraid of? He was a sitting duck, lodged under their jet.
Mac tried to open the door, found it hopelessly stuck, and tried getting out the other side. It too was out of shape and not moving, but he thought he sensed a little more give on that side. He lay on the front seat and pushed with his hands on the driver’s side door while pressing against the passenger door with his feet. It finally broke free and he scrambled out.
He crouched beneath the jet, Uzi trained on the door. He would take them as they came out, if they dared. Maybe they were waiting for him to make a break for his own plane or for Sebastian to come and pick him up. But opening the door for him would slow George too, and all of them would be in danger.
As he waited, locked in a bewildering standoff, Mac didn’t know what to do. Should he try to shoot through the skin of the jet and take them all out? If it was armor plated, which was likely, he would waste ammunition. Why weren’t they coming after him? And why was George still waiting?
The GC jet shut down. Now what? Nothing. No movement inside or out.
Frustrated, Mac grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Chloe or Hannah,” he whispered desperately, “come in, please.”
“Chloe here, Mac.”
“What’s going on?”
“Got me. George is at the controls.”
“What’s he doing?”
“You wanna talk to him? Here.”
“Kinda busy here, Mac. What’s up?”
“You can see what’s up! What’re you doing?”
“Waiting for clearance.”
“You’re clear! Go! Go now! Angle to your right! These guys are hung up and I’ve got one of their tires blown. They’ve shut down their engines.”
“Waiting for you, partner.”
“Don’t be silly. I’d run right into their line of fire. Go to the other end of the runway, and I’ll meet you there. But if they come after me, just keep going.”
“Yeah, I know, and you’ll see me in heaven.”
“Exactly—now quit being stupid and go!”
“I’m not being stupid, Mac. I’m obeying.”
“You’re supposed to obey me, so do as I say.”
“Sorry. You’ve been superseded.”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to put down your weapon and walk this way.”
“You got GC on that plane!?”
“Negative. Come unarmed, and you will be safe.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“God is telling you to come.”
Mac shook his head. “Ah, stand by.”
“Come now.”
Mac sighed, his eyes darting back and forth between the jet door and his own plane. He pushed the transmit button. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come that way.”
“Come.”
The voice had not been George’s.
“Unarmed?”
“Come.”
Mac waited a beat, then unstrapped the Uzi and laid it on the ground. He turned off the walkie-talkie and jammed it into his pocket. He walked past the car and stood directly under the cockpit. He felt exposed, vulnerable, indefensible. If that jet door opened now, he was a dead man.
He heard nothing above him, saw nothing beside him. Mac stepped out from under the plane and headed directly in front of it. He kept imagining he heard movement behind him—the engines roaring to life, footsteps from the cabin to the door, the door opening, weapons firing.
He prayed urgently as he strode along, “Lord, save me!”
Immediately he felt as if God’s hands were upon him, and he barely felt his feet on the ground. “O you of little faith, why do you doubt?”
The voice was clear as crystal, but the walkie-talkie was off and George had his engines roaring. Mac broke into a trot, then a run. Every step sounded like a gunshot. Hannah was lowering the door when he got there, and he leaped in.
“Flyin’ or backseat drivin’?” George said, unstrapping as if ready to take the copilot’s chair.
“Here is fine,” Mac said. “I don’t think I could ride a bike right now.”
Chang was relieved to hear from Rayford and eager to meet Naomi even if only online. He was tempted to scold her for scaring him, and so decided to wait until the next day to try to make contact. Meanwhile, he checked in on Mac and his team, fearing the worst despite all the praying that had been going on.
Mac answered his phone, sounding exhausted.
“I need to meet this Michael someday,” Chang said, after hearing the story. “You guys get all the fun.”
“I could use a little less fun, frankly,” Mac said. “And you might as well know, Sebastian here doesn’t call him Michael anymore. Calls him Roger.”
“Roger?”
“Says he told him he assumed he was Michael, and the guy said, ‘Roger.’”
“So Stefanich and those guys are just sitting on the runway with a wounded plane?”
“Yeah, and they’re gonna need some repair work before they can take off again.”
“Why didn’t they shoot you?”
“I thought you could find out. What was going on in that cockpit when I strolled out from underneath, unarmed?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Within half an hour the rest of the Tribulation Force had heard the good news out of Greece, and Chang had paved the way for George to land south of Rome for the refuel. They were on their own for getting back to the safe house without going through Kankakee, Illinois, and without arousing more suspicion. That should be the easiest part of their ordeal.
When Chang was finally able to hack back into the Ptolemaïs GC system and find transmissions between the plane and the Kozani tower, he could only shake his head. The pilot had reported seeing the plane at the end of the runway, putting down, and seeing a car approaching. But at the same time Chang figured Michael had instructed George to turn on his landing lights, the pilot reported a light so blinding that “we have lost visual contact with the plane and the auto.”
A few minutes later the pilot reported being struck—by what, he did not know. His jet was being jostled and the front end lifted, but no one aboard could take his hands from his eyes because of the intense light. They heard shooting and feared for their lives, heard one of their tires blow, and shut down the engines. In essence they sat in fear, unable to peek out of the cockpit for the next several minutes, until they heard the plane thunder past them and rise.
Chang listened as they finally ventured out, shoulder radios left on, weapons ordered at the ready, only to find their damaged plane, wounded landing gear, flat tire, beat-up squad car, and an Uzi on the runway. Only now they were being rescued by a fleet of GC in cars, who reported that others had picked up the injured officers at the side of the road on the way. They were being treated for severe burns they claimed were caused by a ray gun.
It was still a couple of hours before Ming was to leave San Diego for the Far East. Chang was finally finished with his night’s work. He dropped into bed, spent. How strange, he thought, to feel so pivotal and indispensable and then discover that the entire success of an operation was out of his hands. In fact, he had been out of commission when God worked his miracles.
There were victims to grieve, martyrs to praise, and much work ahead. Chang didn’t know how long he could evade detection. He was willing to hang in and work in the office during the day, doing his real work after hours, for as long as God chose to protect him.
Rayford stirred at dawn’s first light, amazed he had been able to sleep at all. Petra was already humming, families gathering the morning’s manna and filling any container they could find with the pure springwater God provided.
Thousands were working on the caves, thousands of others erecting more tents. On everyone’s lips were stories of the miracle from the day before and the promise of live teaching from Dr. Tsion Ben-Judah himself later in the day.
From the elders and organizers came word that building materials were on their way and that the people should pray for the safety of pilots and truckers who would begin delivering materials. Volunteers were sought with expertise in various crafts. Rayford knew the current spirit could not last forever. The memory of the miracle would fade, inevitably, though he could not imagine it. And people, regardless of their shared faith, would find living elbow to elbow taxing after a while. But for now he would enjoy this.
Rayford would have to get back to the Tribulation Force at some point, but Carpathia’s people would target anyone coming or going from Petra. Perhaps if the supplies were able to get in, that would be a clue it was prudent to try to get out.
Naomi and her team of computer gurus already reported that The Truth cyberzine had been transmitted from Buck Williams, recounting stories from around the world. The whole episode of what had gone on in Greece the day before was played out in detail, as was the truth about what had happened at Petra.
A team of computer experts from Israel said they had the technology to project The Truth onto a giant screen, if one could be fashioned. And among the various supplies already in the camp was enough white canvas to be stretched several stories high. Thousands gathered to read the stories.
Rayford loved the idea that it was not just believers, not just the so-called Judah-ites, who read The Truth. Many undecideds and even some who had taken the mark of Antichrist risked their lives by downloading Buck’s magazine from the Tribulation Force site. All over the world the believers’ underground and Co-op personnel translated it and printed it and distributed it. Carpathia could get away with nothing.
Sadly, Rayford knew, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of uncommitted people right there in Petra. Tsion had already promised to address them too, going so far as to say many of them would still be deceived and eventually spirited away by liars and charlatans. It was hard to understand or believe. How could someone have survived what Rayford had lived through and even question the one true God of the universe? It was beyond him.
Late in the morning, nearly twenty-four hours since the bombing, the people began to gather. Word spread that Dr. Ben-Judah would begin his teaching on the mercy of God. Throughout the crowd, however, stories also spread from around the world that persecution had intensified against believers and particularly against Jews.
Chang had tapped into the feeds to Akbar’s and Fortunato’s and Carpathia’s offices and had set on automatic the utility that sent to Buck Williams’s computer the reports from the sub-potentates around the world. As the sun rose in various countries, news of the bloodshed and mayhem of the night before and the relentless daytime raids was transmitted not just to New Babylon, but also from Chang to Buck and from Buck to the world through The Truth.
As the crowds gathered to hear Dr. Ben-Judah, they were riveted to the giant screen, set on a wall away from the sun for best viewing. Buck had transmitted the visuals Chang had sent him from the United South American States, and the masses booed and hissed as the shy man accepted the mark of loyalty. They cheered, then wept, then sang and praised God for the testimony of the brave martyrs who faced the blade with such peace and courage.
The remnant at Petra seemed outraged en masse at the reports from Greece about a midnight raid that had destroyed what was left of the small contingent of underground believers. Buck had added audio to that video report, reminding his readers and listeners and watchers that it had fallen to Greek believers to be among the first to give their lives rather than accept the mark of the beast.
Now, it seemed, on every continent the Morale Monitors and the Peacekeepers had been revitalized, financed, equipped, and motivated to more than turn up the heat. From every corner of the globe came reports of the end of the patience of the Global Community for dissenters or even the undecided. It was either accept the mark now or face the consequences immediately. Even many who had already taken the mark of Carpathia were punished for not bowing to worship his image three times a day.
Leon Fortunato came on—in full regalia and introduced by every title and pedigree he had ever enjoyed—to warn that “those of Jewish descent who are as stubborn as the Judah-ites and insist on worshiping a god other than our father and risen lord, Nicolae Carpathia, shall find themselves receiving their just reward. Yea, death is too good for them. Oh, they shall surely die, but it is hereby decreed that no Jew should be allowed the mercy of a quick end by the blade. Graphic and reproachful as that is, it is virtually painless. No, these shall suffer day and night in their dens of iniquity, and by the time they expire due to natural causes—brought about by their own rejection of Carpathianism—they will be praying, crying out, for a death so expedient as the loyalty enforcement facilitator.”
Those in Petra appeared to Rayford shocked by the lengths New Babylon would go to, to take revenge on its enemies and humiliate Jews. But their greatest wrath and derision were saved for the report from GCNN about what had happened the day before, right there in the red rock city.
An anchorman intoned that the attack on Petra—two incendiary bombs and a land-based launch missile—had missed their target and that the enemy encamped there had swiftly struck back and downed the two fighter-bombers, killing the pilots. The laughter began with that report and turned to waving fists and hisses and boos as Carpathia came on to mourn the deaths of the martyred airmen.
“While there is no denying that it was pilot error, still the Global Community, I am sure, joins me in extending its deepest sympathy to the surviving families. We decided not to risk any more personnel in trying to destroy this stronghold of the enemy, but we will starve them out by cutting off supply lines. Within days, this will be the largest Jewish concentration camp in history, and their foolish stubbornness will have caught up with them.
“Fellow citizens of the new world order, my compatriots in the Global Community, we have these people and their leaders to thank for the tragedy that besets our seas and oceans. I have been repeatedly urged by my closest advisers to negotiate with these international terrorists, these purveyors of black magic who have used their wicked spells to cause such devastation.
“I am sure you agree with me that there is no future in such diplomacy. I have nothing to offer in exchange for the millions of human lives lost, not to mention the beauty and the richness of the plant and animal life.
“You may rest assured that my top people are at work to devise a remedy to this tragedy, but it will not include deals, concessions, or any acknowledgment that these people had the right to foist on the world such an unspeakable act.”
In the middle of that newscast, from Chang through Buck, came a reproduction of the conversation between Suhail Akbar and the two pilots from the Petra bombing raid. Though the GCNN tried to speak over it and stream words in front of it saying it was false, a hoax, anyone listening heard the pilots defending themselves to Akbar, and his order for their executions.
Rayford could not fathom how Carpathia could have a supporter left in the world, and yet it was clear that Scripture foretold he would. At Petra the crowd grew restless and murmured among themselves about both the lies and the truth they had just been exposed to. But the rumor was that Micah, the one who had led them out of Israel to this safe place, was about to emerge and introduce Dr. Ben-Judah.
Spontaneously, the entire crowd fell silent.