Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 8

THE MARK:

The Beast Rules the World

Book 8 of the Left Behind Series

TIM LAHAYE & JERRY B. JENKINS

Introdution

FORTY-TWO MONTHS INTO THE TRIBULATION;

THREE DAYS INTO THE GREAT TRIBULATION

The Believers:

Rayford Steele, mid-forties; former 747 captain for Pan-Continental; lost wife and

son in the Rapture; former pilot for Global Community Potentate Nicolae Carpathia;

original member of the Tribulation Force; an international fugitive in exile; suspect

in the assassination of Nicolae Carpathia; residing at new safe house, Strong

Building, Chicago

Cameron (“Buck”) Williams, early thirties; former senior writer for Global Weekly;

former publisher of Global Community Weekly for Carpathia; original member of

the Trib Force; editor of cybermagazine The Truth; fugitive in exile, Strong

Building, Chicago

Chloe Steele Williams, early twenties; former student, Stanford University; lost

mother and brother in the Rapture; daughter of Rayford; wife of Buck; mother of

fourteen-month-old Kenny Bruce; CEO of the International Commodity Co-op, an

underground network of believers; original Trib Force member; fugitive in exile,

Strong Building, Chicago

Tsion Ben-Judah, late forties; former rabbinical scholar and Israeli statesman;

revealed belief in Jesus as the Messiah on international TV—wife and two teenagers

subsequently murdered; escaped to U.S.; spiritual leader and teacher of Trib Force;

cyberaudience of more than a billion daily; fugitive in exile, Strong Building,

Chicago

Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig, late sixties; Israeli botanist and statesman; discoverer of

formula that made Israeli deserts bloom; former Global Weekly Man of the Year;

confessed murderer of Carpathia; Strong Building, Chicago

Mac McCullum, late fifties; pilot for Carpathia; New Babylon, United Carpathian

States

David Hassid, mid-twenties; high-level director for the GC; New Babylon

Annie Christopher, early twenties; Global Community corporal; Phoenix 216 cargo

chief; in love with David Hassid; unaccounted for, New Babylon

Leah Rose, late thirties; former head nurse, Arthur Young Memorial Hospital,

Palatine, Illinois; Strong Building, Chicago

Mr. and Mrs. Lukas (“Laslos”) Miklos, mid-fifties; lignite mining magnates;

Greece, United Carpathian States

Abdullah Smith, early thirties; former Jordanian fighter pilot; first officer, Phoenix

216; New Babylon

Ming Toy, twenty-two; widow; guard at the Belgium Facility for Female

Rehabilitation (Buffer); on assignment at Carpathia funeral, New Babylon

Chang Wong, seventeen; Ming Toy's brother; resides in China in the United Asian

States; in New Babylon for Carpathia funeral with parents, who are unaware of his

faith

Professed Believer:

Al B. (aka “Albie”), late forties; given name unknown; native of Al Basrah, north of

Kuwait; former manager, Al Basrah Airstrip Tower; international black marketer;

told Buck Williams he had become a believer from out of the Muslim faith by

studying the teachings of Tsion Ben-Judah on the Internet; mark of the believer

visible on his forehead; assisting Trib Force in northern Illinois, United North

American States

The Enemies:

Nicolae Jetty Carpathia, thirty-six; former president of Romania; former secretary-

general, United Nations; self-appointed Global Community potentate; assassinated

in Jerusalem; resurrected at GC palace complex, New Babylon

Leon Fortunato, early fifties; Carpathia's right hand; GC Supreme Commander;

New Babylon

The Undecided:

Hattie Durham, early thirties; former Pan-Continental flight attendant; former

personal assistant to Carpathia; last seen, United North American States

Prologue From The Indwelling:

The Announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the Global Community, your

Supreme Potentate, His Excellency Nicolae Carpathia.”

Nicolae took one step closer to the camera, forcing it to refocus. He looked directly

into the lens.

“My dear subjects,” he began. “We have, together, endured quite a week, have we

not? I was deeply touched by the millions who made the effort to come to New

Babylon for what turned out to be, gratefully, not my funeral. The outpouring of

emotion was no less encouraging to me.

“As you know and as I have said, there remain small pockets of resistance to our

cause of peace and harmony. There are even those who have made a career of

saying the most hurtful, blasphemous, and false statements about me, using terms

for me that no person would ever want to be called.

“I believe you will agree that I proved today who I am and who I am not. You will

do well to follow your heads and your hearts and continue to follow me. You know

what you saw, and your eyes do not lie. I am also eager to welcome into the one-

world fold any former devotees of the radical fringe who have become convinced

that I am not the enemy. On the contrary, I may be the very object of the devotion of

their own religion, and I pray they will not close their minds to that possibility.

“In closing let me speak directly to the opposition. I have always, without rancor or

acrimony, allowed divergent views. There are those among you, however, who have

referred overtly to me personally as the Antichrist and this period of history as the

Tribulation. You may take the following as my personal pledge:

“If you insist on continuing with your subversive attacks on my character and on the

world harmony I have worked so hard to engender, the word tribulation will not

begin to describe what is in store for you. If the last three and a half years are your

idea of tribulation, wait until you endure the Great Tribulation.”

ONE

“Woe to the inhabitants of the earth and the sea! For the devil has come down to

you, having great wrath, because he knows that he has a short time.” Revelation

12:12

It was midafternoon in New Babylon, and David Hassid was frantic. Annie was

nowhere in sight and he had heard nothing from her, yet he could barely turn his

eyes from the gigantic screens in the palace courtyard. The image of the

indefatigable Nicolae Carpathia, freshly risen from three days dead, filled the screen

and crackled with energy. David believed if he was within reach of the man he

could be electrocuted by some demonic charge.

With the disappearance of his love fighting for his attention, David found himself

drawn past the jumbo monitors and the guards and the crowds to the edge of the bier

that had just hours before displayed the quite dead body of the king of the world.

Should David be able to see evidence that the man was now indwelt by Satan

himself? The body, the hair, the complexion, the look were the same. But an

intensity, an air of restlessness and alertness, flowed from the eyes. Though he

smiled and talked softly, it was as if Nicolae could barely contain the monster

within. Controlled fury, violence delayed, revenge in abeyance played at the

muscles in his neck and shoulders. David half expected him to burst from his suit

and then from his very skin, exposed to the world as the repulsive serpent he was.

David's attention was diverted briefly by someone next to Carpathia, and when he

glanced back at the still ruggedly handsome face, he was not prepared to have

caught the eye of the enemy of his soul. Nicolae knew him, of course, but the look,

though it contained recognition, did not carry the usual acceptance and

encouragement David was used to. That very welcoming gaze had always unnerved

him, yet he preferred it over this. For this was a transparent gaze that seemed to pass

through David, which nearly moved him to step forward and confess his treachery

and that of every comrade in the Tribulation Force.

David reminded himself that not even Satan himself was omniscient, yet he found it

difficult to accept that these eyes were not those of one who knew his every secret.

He wanted to run but he dared not, and he was grateful when Nicolae turned back to

the task at hand: his role as the object of the world's worship.

David hurried back to his post, but someone had appropriated his golf cart, and he

found himself peeved to where he wanted to pull rank. He flipped open his phone,

had trouble finding his voice, but finally barked at the motor-pool supervisor, “I had

better have a vehicle delivered within 120 seconds or someone is going to find

his—”

“An electric cart, sir?” the man said, his accent making David guess he was an

Aussie. “Of course!”

“They're scarce here, Director, but—”

“They must be, because someone absconded with mine!”

“But I was going to say that I would be happy to lend you mine, under the

circumstances.”

“The circumstances?”

“The resurrection, of course! Tell you the truth, Director Hassid, I'd love to get in

line myself.”

“Just bring—”

“You think I could do that, sir? I mean if I were in uniform? I know they've turned

away civilians not inside the courtyard, and they're none too happy, but as an

employee—”

“I don't know! I need a cart and I need it now!”

“Would you drive me to the venue before you go wherever it is you have to g—”

“Yes! Now hurry!”

“Are you thrilled or what, Director?”

“What?”

The man spoke slowly, condescendingly. “A-bout-the-res-ur-rec-tion!”

“Are you in your vehicle?” David demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

“That's what I'm thrilled about.”

The man was still talking when David hung up on him and called crowd control.

“I'm looking for Annie Christopher,” he said.

“Sector?”

“Five-three.”

“Sector 53 has been cleared, Director. She may have been reassigned or relieved.”

“If she were reassigned, you'd have it, no?”

“Checking.”

The motor-pool chief appeared in his cart, beaming. David boarded, phone still to

his ear. “Gonna see god,” the man said.

“Yeah,” David said. “Just a minute.”

“Can you believe it? He's got to be god. Who else can he be? Saw it with my own

two eyes, well, on TV anyway. Raised from the dead. I saw him dead, I know that.

If I see him in person, there'll be no doubt now, will there? Eh?”

David nodded, sticking a finger in his free ear. “I say no doubt, eh?”

“No doubt!” David shouted. “Now give me a minute!”

“Where we goin', sport?”

David craned his neck to look at the man, incredulous that he was still speaking.

“I say, where we going? Am I dropping you or you dropping me?”

“I'm dropping you! Go where you want and get out!”

“Sorry!”

This wasn't how David normally treated people, even ignorant ones. But he had to

hear whether Annie had been reassigned, and where. “Nothing,” the crowd-control

dispatcher on the phone told him.

“Relieved then?” he said, relieved himself.

“Likely. Nothing in our system on her.”

David thought of calling Medical Services but scolded himself for overreacting.

Motor-pool man deftly picked his way through the massive, dispersing crowd. At

least most were dispersing. They looked shocked. Some were angry. They had

waited hours to see the body, and now that Carpathia had arisen, they were not

going to be able to see him, all because of where they happened to be in the throng.

“This is as close as I hope to get in this thing then,” the man said, skidding to a stop

so abruptly that David had to catch himself. “You'll bring it back round then, eh,

sir?”

“Of course,” David said, trying to gather himself to at least thank the man. As he

slid into the driver's seat he said, “Been back to Australia since the reorganizing?”

The man furrowed his brow and pointed at David, as if to reprimand him. “Man of

your station ought to be able to tell the difference between an Aussie and a New

Zealander.”

“My mistake,” David said. “Thanks for the wheels.”

As he pulled away the man shouted, “'Course we're all proud citizens of the United

Pacific States now anyway!”

David tried to avoid eye contact with the many disgruntled mourners turned

celebrants who tried to flag him, not for rides but for information. At times he was

forced to brake to keep from running someone down, and the request was always

the same. In one distinct accent or another, everyone wanted the same thing. “Any

way we can still get in to see His Excellency?”

“Can't help you,” David said. “Move along, please. Official business.”

“Not fair! Wait all night and half the day in the blistering sun, and for what?”

But others danced in the streets, making up songs and chants about Carpathia, their

new god. David glanced again at the monstrous monitors where Carpathia was

shown briefly touching hands as the last several thousand were herded through. To

David's left, guards fought to block hopefuls from sneaking into the courtyard.

“Line's closed!” they shouted over and over.

On the screen, pilgrims swooned as they neared the bier, graced by Nicolae in his

glory. Many crumbled from merely getting near him, waxing catatonic. Guards held

them up to keep them moving, but when His Excellency himself spoke quietly to

them and touched them, some passed out, deadweights in the guards' arms.

Over Nicolae's cooing—“Good to see you. Thank you for coming. Bless you. Bless

you.”—David heard Leon Fortunato. “Worship your king,” he said soothingly.

“Bow before his majesty. Worship the Lord Nicolae, your god.”

Dissonance came from the guards stuck with the responsibility of moving the mass

of quivering, jellied humanity, catching them as they collapsed in ecstasy.

“Ridiculous!” they grumbled to each other, live mikes sending the cacophony of

Fortunato, Carpathia, and the complainers to the ends of the PA system. “Keep

moving. Come on now! There you go! Stand up! Move it along!” David finally

reached sector 53, which was, as he had been told, deserted. The crowd-control

gates had toppled, and the giant number placard had been trampled. David sat there,

forearms resting on the cart's steering wheel. He shoved his uniform cap back on his

head and felt the sting of the sun's UV rays. His hands looked like lobsters, and he

knew he'd pay for his hours in the sun. But he could not find shade again until he

found Annie.

As crowds shuffled through and then around what had been her sector, David

squinted at the ground, the asphalt shimmering. Besides the ice-cream and candy

wrappers and drink cups that lay motionless in the windless heat was what appeared

to be residue of medical supplies. He was about to step from the cart for a closer

look when an elderly couple climbed aboard and asked to be driven to the airport

shuttle area.

“This is not a people mover,” he said absently, having enough presence to remove

the keys before leaving the vehicle.

“How rude!” the woman said.

“Come on,” the man said.

David marched to sector 53 and knelt, the heat sapping his energy. In the shadows

of hundreds walking by, he examined the plastic empties of bandages, gauze,

ointment, even tubing. Someone had been ministered to here. It didn't have to have

been Annie. It could have been anyone. Still, he had to know. He made his way

back to the cart, every seat but his now full.

“Unless you need to go to Medical Services,” he said, punching the number into his

phone, “you're in the wrong cart.”

In Chicago Rayford Steele found the Strong Building's ninth floor enough of a

bonanza that he was able to push from his mind misgivings about Albie. The truth

about his dark, little Middle Eastern friend would be tested soon enough. Albie was

to ferry a fighter jet from Palwaukee to Kankakee, where Rayford would later pick

him up in a Global Community helicopter.

Besides discovering a room full of the latest desktop and minicomputers—still in

their original packaging, Rayford found a small private sleeping room adjacent to a

massive executive office. It was outfitted like a luxurious hotel room, and he rushed

from floor to floor to find the same next to at least four offices on every level.

“We have more amenities than we ever dreamed,” he told the exhausted Tribulation

Force. “Until we can blacken the windows, we'll have to get some of the beds into

the corridors near the elevators where they can't be seen from the outside.”

“I thought no one ever came near here,” Chloe said, Kenny sleeping in her lap and

Buck dozing with his head on her shoulder.

“Never know what satellite imaging shows,” Rayford said. “We could be sleeping

soundly while GC Security and Intelligence forces snap our pictures from the

stratosphere.”

“Let me get these two to bed somewhere,” she said, “before I collapse.”

“I've moved furniture in my day,” Leah said, slowly rising. “Where are these beds

and where do we put them?”

“I wish I could help,” Chaim said through clenched teeth, his jaw still wired shut.

Rayford stopped him with a gesture. “If you're staying with us, sir, you answer to

me. We need you and Buck as healthy as you can be.”

“And I need you alert for study,” Tsion said. “You made me cram for enough

exams. Now you're in for the crash course of your life.”

Rayford, Chloe, Leah, and Tsion spent half an hour moving beds up the elevator to

makeshift quarters in an inner corridor on the twenty-fifth floor. By the time

Rayford gingerly boarded the chopper balanced precariously on what served as the

new roof of the tower, everyone was asleep save Tsion. The rabbi seemed to gain a

second wind, and Rayford wasn't sure why.

Rayford left the instrument panel lights off and, of course, the outside lights. He

fired up the rotors but waited to lift off until his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

The copter had but ten feet of clearance on each side. Little was trickier—especially

to a fixed-wing expert like Rayford—than the shifting currents inside what

amounted to a cavernous smokestack. Rayford had seen choppers crash in wide-

open spaces after merely hovering too long in one place. Mac McCullum had tried

to explain the physics of it, but Rayford had not listened closely enough to grasp it.

Something about the rotors sucking up air from beneath the craft, leaving it no

buoyancy. By the time the pilot realized he was dropping through dead air of his

own making, he had destroyed the equipment and often killed all on board.

Rayford needed sleep as much as any of his charges, but he had to go get Albie.

There was more to that too, of course. He could have called his friend and told him

to lie low till the following evening. But Albie was new to the country and would

have to fend for himself outside or bluff his way into a hotel. With Carpathia

resurrected and the GC naturally on heightened alert, who knew how long he could

pull off impersonating a GC officer?

Anyway, Rayford had to know whether Albie was “with him or agin him,” as his

father used to say. He had been thrilled to see the mark of the believer on Albie's

forehead, but much of what the man had done in the predawn hours confused

Rayford and made him wonder. A wily, streetwise man like Albie—one who had

provided so much at high risk to himself—would be the worst kind of opponent.

Rayford worried that he had unwittingly led the Tribulation Force into the lair of the

enemy.

As the chopper rumbled through the shaft at the top of the tower, Rayford held his

breath. He had carefully set the craft as close to the middle of the space as he could,

allowing him to use one corner for his guide as he rose. If he kept the whirring

blades equidistant from the walls in the one corner, he should be centered until free

of the building.

How vulnerable and conspicuous could a man feel? He imagined David Hassid

having miscalculated, trusting old information, not realizing that the GC itself knew

Chicago was safe—not off-limits due to radiation. Rayford himself had overheard

Carpathia say he had not used radiation on the city, at least initially. He wondered if

the GC had planted such information just to lure in the insurgents and have them

where they wanted them—in one place for easy dispatch.

With his helicopter free of the tower, Rayford still dared not engage the lights. He

would stay low, hopefully beneath radar. He wanted to be invisible to satellite

surveillance photography as well, but heat sensing had been so refined that the dark

whirlybird would glow orange on a monitor.

A chill ran up his back as he let his imagination run. Was he being followed by a

half dozen craft just like his own? He wouldn't hear or see them. They could have

waited nearby, even on the ground. How would he know?

Since when did he manufacture trouble? There was enough real danger without

concocting more.

Rayford set the instrument panel lights at their lowest level and quickly saw he was

off course. It was an easy fix, but so much for trusting his brain, even in a ship like

this. Mac had once told him that piloting a helicopter was to flying a 747 as riding a

bike was to driving a sport utility vehicle. From that Rayford assumed that he would

do more work by the seat of his pants than by marrying himself to the instrument

panel. But neither had he planned on flying blind over a deserted megalopolis in

wee-hour blackness. He had to get to Kankakee, pick up Albie, and get back to the

tower before sunup. He had not a minute to spare. The last thing he wanted was to

be seen over a restricted area in broad daylight. Detected in the dead of night was

one thing. He would take his chances, trust his instincts. But there would be no

hiding under the sun, and he would die before he would lead anyone to the new safe

house.

In New Babylon frustrated supplicants had formed a new line, several thousand

long, outside the Global Community Palace. GC guards traversed the length of it,

telling people that the resurrected potentate would have to leave the courtyard when

he had finished greeting those who happened to be in the right place at the right

time.

David detoured from his route to Medical Services to hear the response of the

crowd. They did not move, did not disperse. The guards, their bullhorned messages

ignored, finally stopped to listen. David, looking puzzled, pulled up behind one of

the jeeps, and a guard shrugged as if as dumbfounded as Director Hassid. The guard

with the loudspeaker said, “Suit yourselves, but this is an exercise in futility.”

“We have another idea!” shouted a man with a Hispanic accent.

“I'm listening,” the guard said, as the crowd near him quieted.

“We will worship the statue!” he said, and hundreds in line cheered.

“What did he say? What did he say?” The question raced down the line in both

directions.

“Did not Supreme Commander Fortunato say we should do that?” the man said.

“Where are you from, my friend?” the guard asked, admiration in his voice.

“Mejico!” the man shouted in his native tongue, and many with him exulted.

“You have the heart of the toreador!” the guard said. “Let me check on it!”

The news spread as the guard settled in his seat and talked into his phone. Suddenly

he stood and gave the man a thumbs-up. “You have been cleared to worship the

image of His Excellency, the risen potentate!”

The crowd cheered.

“In fact, your leaders consider it a capital idea!”

The crowd sang and chanted, edging closer and closer to the courtyard.

“Please maintain order!” the guard urged. “It will be more than an hour before you

will be allowed in. But you will get your wish!”

David shook his head as he executed a huge U-turn and headed to the courtyard.

People along the way called out to him. “Is it true? May we at least worship the

statue?”

David ignored most of them, but when clusters moved in front of his speeding cart,

he was forced to brake before slipping around them. Occasionally he nodded, to

their delight. They ran to get in a line that already ' stretched more than a quarter

mile. Would this day ever end?

TWO

Rayford mentally kicked himself. He had vastly underestimated the time and his

ability to pick up Albie, settle on the disposition of both the fighter jet and the Gulf-

stream, and get back to the new safe house before sunrise. The sun was already

toying with the horizon. He patted his pants pocket for his phone. He felt for it in

his flight bag, his jacket, on the floor.

He wanted to swear, but since coming to his senses just days before, Rayford

Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 8 - The Mark

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: