Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 2 - Tribulation Force

TRIBULATION FORCE:

The Continuing Drama of Those Left Behind

Book 2 of the Left Behind Series

TIM LAHAYE & JERRY B. JENKINS

PROLOGUE

What Has Gone Before ...

In one cataclysmic instant, millions of people all over the world disappeared. They

simply vanished, leaving behind everything material: clothes, eyeglasses, contact

lenses, hairpieces, hearing aids, fillings, jewelry, shoes, even pacemakers and

surgical pins.

Millions vanished. But millions more remained—adults, but no children, and only a

few young teens. All babies, including the unborn, disappeared—some during birth.

Worldwide chaos ensued. Planes, trains, buses, and cars crashed, ships sank, homes

burned, grieving survivors committed suicide. A transportation and communications

gridlock, coupled with the disappearances of many service personnel, left most to

fend for themselves until some semblance of order returned.

Some said the world had been invaded by aliens from outer space. Others said the

disappearances resulted from an enemy attack. And yet every country on the globe

was touched by the disappearances.

Airline captain Rayford Steele and his twenty-year-old daughter Chloe were left

behind. Rayford's wife and their twelve-year-old son vanished. Rayford, piloting a

747 over the Atlantic en route to London, told his senior flight attendant, Hattie

Durham, that he didn't know what had happened. The terrifying truth was that he

knew all too well. His wife had warned him of this very event. Christ had come to

take away his own, and the rest, Rayford and Chloe included, had been left behind.

Rayford became consumed with finding the truth and making sure that he and Chloe

would not miss any second chance. He felt responsible for her skepticism, for her

believe-only-what-you-can-see-and-feel attitude.

His search took him to his wife's church, where a handful of people, including even

one on the pastoral staff, had been left behind. Visitation Pastor Bruce Barnes had

lost his wife and children, and he, above all others, knew immediately that his weak,

phony faith had failed him at the most critical instant of his life. In a single moment,

he became the most convinced skeptic on earth—an enthusiastic, unapologetic

evangelist.

Under Bruce's tutelage and the influence of a videotape the senior pastor had left for

just such a time, first Rayford and then Chloe came to believe in Christ. With their

new pastor they formed what they call the Tribulation Force, a core group

determined to challenge the forces of evil during the Tribulation period predicted in

the Bible.

Meanwhile, Cameron—“Buck”—Williams, a senior staff writer for the prestigious

newsmagazine Global Weekly, was on a quest of his own. Buck had been aboard

Rayford Steele's plane when the Rapture occurred, and he was assigned to make

some sense of the worldwide disappearances. His interviewing brought him into

contact with one of the most powerful and charismatic personalities ever, the

mysterious Romanian leader, Nicolae Carpathia. Within two weeks of the

vanishings, Carpathia was swept to international power as head of the United

Nations, promising to unite the devastated globe as one peaceful village.

Buck introduced flight attendant Hattie Durham to Carpathia, who quickly made her

his personal assistant. After coming to faith in Christ under the influence of

Rayford, Chloe, and Bruce, Buck felt responsible for Hattie and became desperate

to get her away from Carpathia.

Demoted for allegedly blowing a major assignment, Buck relocated from New York

to Chicago, where he joined Rayford, Chloe, and Bruce as the fourth member of the

Tribulation Force. Together these four have determined to stand and fight against all

odds, to never give in. Representing millions who missed the opportunity to meet

Christ in the air, they have resolved not to lose hold of their newfound faith, no

matter what the future might bring.

Buck Williams has witnessed the murderous evil power of Nicolae Carpathia, and

Bruce Barnes knows from his study of Scripture that dark days lie ahead. The odds

are, only one of the four members of the Tribulation Force will survive the next

seven years.

But only Bruce has more than a hint of the terror to come. If the others knew, they

might not venture so bravely into the future.

CHAPTER ONE

It was Rayford Steele's turn for a break. He pulled the headphones down onto his

neck and dug into his flight bag for his wife's Bible, marveling at how quickly his

life had changed. How many hours had he wasted during idle moments like this,

poring over newspapers and magazines that had nothing to say? After all that had

happened, only one book could hold his interest.

The Boeing 747 was on auto from Baltimore to a four o'clock Friday afternoon

landing at Chicago O'Hare, but Rayford's new first officer, Nick, sat staring ahead

anyway, as if piloting the plane. Doesn't want to talk to me anymore, Rayford

thought. Knew what was coming and shut me down before I opened my mouth.

“Is it going to offend you if I sit reading this for a while?” Rayford asked.

The younger man turned and pulled the left phone away from his own ear. “Say

again?”

Rayford repeated himself, pointing to the Bible. It had belonged to the wife he

hadn't seen for more than two weeks and probably would not see for another seven

years.

“As long as you don't expect me to listen.”

“I got that loud and clear, Nick. You understand I don't care what you think of me,

don't you?”

“Sir?”

Rayford leaned close and spoke louder. “What you think of me would have been

hugely important a few weeks ago,” he said. “But—”

“Yeah, I know, OK? I got it, Steele, all right? You and lots of other people think the

whole thing was Jesus. Not buying. Delude yourself, but leave me out of it.”

Rayford raised his brows and shrugged. “You wouldn't respect me if I hadn't tried.”

“Don't be too sure.”

But when Rayford turned back to his reading, it was the Chicago Tribune sticking

out of his bag that grabbed his attention.

The Tribune, like every other paper in the world, carried the front-page story:

During a private meeting at the United Nations, just before a Nicolae Carpathia

press conference, a horrifying murder/suicide had occurred. New U.N. Secretary-

General Nicolae Carpathia had just installed the ten new members of the expanded

Security Council, seeming to err by inaugurating two men to the same position of

U.N. ambassador from the Great States of Britain.

According to the witnesses, billionaire Jonathan Stonagal, Carpathia's friend and

financial backer, suddenly overpowered a guard; stole his handgun, and shot

himself in the head, the bullet passing through and killing one of the new

ambassadors from Britain.

The United Nations had been closed for the day, and Carpathia was despondent over

the tragic loss of his two dear friends and trusted advisers.

Bizarre as it might seem, Rayford Steele was one of only four people on the planet

who knew the truth about Nicolae Carpathia—that he was a liar, a hypnotic

brainwasher, the Antichrist himself. Others might suspect Carpathia of being other

than he seemed, but only Rayford, his daughter, his pastor, and his new friend

journalist Buck Williams knew for sure.

Buck had been one of the seventeen in that United Nations meeting room. And he

had witnessed something entirely different—not a murder/suicide, but a double

murder. Carpathia himself, according to Buck, had methodically borrowed the

guard's gun, forced his old friend Jonathan Stonagal to kneel, then killed Stonagal

and the British ambassador with one shot.

Carpathia had choreographed the murders, and then, while the witnesses sat in

horror, Carpathia quietly told them what they had seen—the same story the

newspapers now carried. Every witness in that room but one corroborated it. Most

chilling, they believed it. Even Steve Plank, Buck's former boss, now Carpathia's

press agent. Even Hattie Durham, Rayford's onetime flight attendant, who had

become Carpathia's personal assistant. Everyone except Buck Williams.

Rayford had been dubious when Buck told his version in Bruce Barnes's office two

nights ago. “You're the only person in the room who saw it your way?” he had

challenged the writer.

“Captain Steele,” Buck had said, “we all saw it the same way. But then Carpathia

calmly described what he wanted us to think we had seen, and everybody but me

immediately accepted it as truth. I want to know how he explains that he had the

dead man's successor already there and sworn in when the murder took place. But

now there's no evidence I was even there. It's as if Carpathia washed me from their

memories. People I know now swear I wasn't there, and they aren't joking.”

Chloe and Bruce Barnes had looked at each other and then back at Buck. Buck had

finally become a believer, just before entering the meeting at the U.N. “I'm

absolutely convinced that if I had gone into that room without God,” Buck said, “I

would have been reprogrammed too.”

“But now if you just tell the world the truth—”

“Sir, I've been reassigned to Chicago because my boss believes I missed that

meeting. Steve Plank asked why I had not accepted his invitation. I haven't talked to

Hattie yet, but you know she won't remember I was there.”

“The biggest question,” Bruce Barnes said, “is what Carpathia thinks is in your

head. Does he think he's erased the truth from your mind? If he knows you know,

you're in grave danger.”

Now, as Rayford read the bizarre story in the paper, he noticed Nick switching from

autopilot to manual. “Initial descent,” Nick said. “You want to bring her in?”

“Of course,” Rayford said. Nick could have landed the plane, but Rayford felt

responsible. He was the captain. He would answer for these people. And even

though the plane could land itself, he had not lost the thrill of handling it. Few

things reminded him of life as it had been just weeks before, but landing a 747 was

one of them.

Buck Williams had spent the day buying a car—something he hadn't needed in

Manhattan—and hunting for an apartment. He found a beautiful condo, at a place

that advertised already-installed phones, midway between the Global Weekly

Chicago bureau office and New Hope Village Church in Mount Prospect. He tried

to convince himself it was the church that would keep drawing him west of the city,

not Rayford Steele's daughter, Chloe. She was ten years his junior, and whatever

attraction he might feel for her, he was certain she saw him as some sort of a

wizened mentor.

Buck had put off going to the office. He wasn't expected there until the following

Monday anyway, and he didn't relish facing Verna Zee. When it had been his

assignment to find a replacement for veteran Lucinda Washington, the Chicago

bureau chief who had disappeared, he had told the militant Verna she had jumped

the gun by moving into her former boss's office. Now Buck had been demoted and

Verna elevated. Suddenly, she was his boss.

But he didn't want to spend all weekend dreading the meeting, and neither did he

want to appear too eager to see Chloe Steele again right away, so Buck drove to the

office just before closing. Would Verna make him pay for his years of celebrity as

an award-winning cover-story writer? Or would she make it even worse by killing

him with kindness?

Buck felt the stares and smiles of the underlings as he moved through the outer

office. By now, of course, everyone knew what had happened. They felt sorry for

him, were stunned by his lapse of judgment. How could Buck Williams miss a

meeting that would certainly be one of the most momentous in news history, even if

it hadn't resulted in the double death? But they were also aware of Buck's

credentials. Many, no doubt, would still consider it a privilege to work with him.

No surprise, Verna had already moved back into the big office. Buck winked at

Alice, Verna's spike-haired young secretary, and peered in. It looked as if Verna had

been there for years. She had already rearranged the furniture and hung her own

pictures and plaques. Clearly, she was ensconced and loving every minute of it.

A pile of papers littered Verna's desk, and her computer screen was lit, but she

seemed to be idly gazing out the window. Buck poked his head in and cleared his

throat. He noticed a flash of recognition and then a quick recomposing. “Cameron,”

she said flatly, still seated. “I didn't expect you till Monday.”

“Just checking in,” he said. “You can call me Buck.”

“I'll call you Cameron, if you don't mind, and—”

“I do mind. Please call—”

“Then I'll call you Cameron even if you do mind. Did you let anyone know you

were coming?”

“I'm sorry?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“An appointment?”

“With me. I have a schedule, you know.”

“And there's no room for me on it?”

“You're asking for an appointment then?”

“If it's not inconvenient. I'd like to know where I'm going to land and what kind of

assignments you have in mind for me, that kind of—”

“Those sound like things we can talk about when we meet,” Verna said. “Alice! See

if I have a slot in twenty minutes, please!”

“You do,” Alice called out. “And I would be happy to show Mr. Williams his

cubicle while he's waiting, if you—”

“I prefer to do that myself, Alice. Thank you. And could you shut my door?”

Alice looked apologetic as she rose and moved past Buck to shut the door. He

thought she even rolled her eyes. “You can call me Buck,” he whispered.

“Thanks,” she said shyly, pointing to a chair beside her desk.

“I have to wait here, like seeing the principal?”

She nodded. “Someone called here for you earlier. Didn't leave her name. I told her

you weren't expected till Monday.”

“No message?”

“Sorry.”

“So, where is my cubicle?”

Alice glanced at the closed door, as if fearing Verna could see her. She stood and

pointed over the tops of several partitions toward a windowless corner in the back.

“That's where the coffeepot was last time I was here,” Buck said.

“It still is,” Alice said with a giggle. Her intercom buzzed. “Yes, ma'am?”

“Would you two mind whispering if you must talk while I'm working?”

“Sorry!” This time Alice did roll her eyes.

“I'm gonna go take a peek,” Buck whispered, rising.

“Please don't,” she said. “You'll get me in trouble with you-know-who.”

Buck shook his head and sat back down. He thought of where he had been, whom

he had met, the dangers he had faced in his career. And now he was whispering with

a secretary he had to keep out of trouble from a wanna-be boss who had never been

able to write her way out of a paper bag.

Buck sighed. At least he was in Chicago with the only people he knew who really

cared about him.

Despite his and Chloe's new faith, Rayford Steele found himself subject to deep

mood swings. As he strode through O'Hare, passed brusquely and silently by Nick,

he suddenly felt sad. How he missed Irene and Raymie! He knew beyond doubt

they were in heaven, and that, if anything, they should be feeling sorry for him. But

the world had changed so dramatically since the disappearances that hardly anyone

he knew had recaptured any sense of equilibrium. He was grateful to have Bruce to

teach him and Chloe and now Buck to stand with him in their mission, but

sometimes the prospect of facing the future was overwhelming.

That's why it was such sweet relief to see Chloe's smiling face waiting at the end of

the corridor. In two decades of flying, he had gotten used to passing passengers who

were being greeted at the terminal. Most pilots were accustomed to simply

disembarking and driving home alone.

Chloe and Rayford understood each other better than ever. They were fast becoming

friends and confidants, and while they didn't agree on everything, they were knit in

their grief and loss, tied in their new faith, and teammates on what they called the

Tribulation Force.

Rayford embraced his daughter. “Anything wrong?”

“No, but Bruce has been trying to get you. He's called an emergency meeting of the

core group for early this evening. I don't know what's up, but he'd like us to try to

get hold of Buck.”

“How'd you get here?”

“Cab. I knew your car was here.”

“Where would Buck be?”

“He was going to look for a car and an apartment today. He could be anywhere.”

“Did you call the Weekly office?”

“I talked to Alice, the secretary there, early this afternoon. He wasn't expected until

Monday, but we can try again from the car. I mean, you can. You should call him,

don't you think? Rather than me?”

Rayford suppressed a smile.

Alice sat at her desk leaning forward, her head cocked, gazing at Buck and trying

not to laugh aloud as he regaled her with whispered wisecracks. All the while he

wondered how much of the stuff from his palatial Manhattan office would fit into

the cubicle he was to share with the communal coffeepot. The phone rang, and Buck

could hear both ends of the conversation from the speakerphone. From just down

the hall came the voice of the receptionist. “Alice, is Buck Williams still back

there?”

“Right here.”

“Call for him.”

It was Rayford Steele, calling from his car. “At seven-thirty tonight?” Buck said.

“Sure, I'll be there. What's up? Hm? Well, tell her I said hi, too, and I'll see you both

at the church tonight.”

He was hanging up as Verna came to the door and frowned at him. “A problem?” he

said.

“You'll have your own phone soon enough,” she said. “Come on in.”

As soon as he was seated Verna sweetly informed him that he would no longer be

the world-traveling, cover-story-writing, star headliner of Global Weekly. “We here

in Chicago have an important but limited role in the magazine,” she said. “We

interpret national and international news from a local and regional perspective and

submit our stories to New York.”

Buck sat stiffly. “So I'm going to be assigned to the Chicago livestock markets?”

“You don't amuse me, Cameron. You never have. You will be assigned to whatever

we need covered each week. Your work will pass through a senior editor and

through me, and I will decide whether it is of enough significance and quality to

pass along to New York.”

Buck sighed. “I didn't ask the big boss what I was supposed to do with my works in

progress. I don't suppose you know.”

“Your contact with Stanton Bailey will now funnel through me as well. Is that

understood?”

“Are you asking whether I understand, or whether I agree?”

“Neither,” she said. “I'm asking whether you will comply.”

“It's unlikely,” Buck said, feeling his neck redden and his pulse surge. He didn't

want to get into a shouting match with Verna. But neither was he going to sit for

long under the thumb of someone who didn't belong in journalism, let alone in

Lucinda Washington's old chair and supervising him.

“I will discuss this with Mr. Bailey,” she said. “As you might imagine, I have all

sorts of recourse at my disposal for insubordinate employees.”

“I can imagine. Why don't you get him on the phone right now?”

“For what?”

“To find out what I'm supposed to do. I've accepted my demotion and my

relocation. You know as well as I do that relegating me to regional stuff is a waste

of my contacts and my experience.”

“And your talent, I assume you're implying.”

“Infer what you want. But before you put me on the bowling beat, I have dozens of

hours invested in my cover story on the theory of the disappearances—ah, why am I

talking to you about it?”

“Because I'm your boss, and because it's not likely a Chicago bureau staff writer

will land a cover story.”

“Not even a writer who has already done several? I dare you to call Bailey. The last

time he said anything about my piece, he said he was sure it would be a winner.”

“Yeah? The last time I talked to him, he told me about the last time he talked to

you.”

“It was a misunderstanding.”

“It was a lie. You said you were someplace and everybody who was there says you

weren't. I'd have fired you.”

“If you'd had the power to fire me, I'd have quit.”

“You want to quit?”

“I'll tell you what I want, Verna. I want—”

“I expect all my subordinates to call me Ms. Zee.”

“You have no subordinates in this office,” Buck said. “And aren't you—”

“You're dangerously close to the line, Cameron.”

“Aren't you afraid Ms. Zee sounds too much like Missy?”

She stood. “Follow me.” She bristled past him, stomping out of her office and down

the long hallway in her sensible shoes.

Buck stopped at Alice's desk. “Thanks for everything, Alice,” he said quickly. “I've

got a bunch of stuff that's being shipped here that I might need to have you forward

to my new apartment.”

Alice was nodding but her smile froze when Verna hollered down the hall. “Now,

Cameron!”

Buck slowly turned. “I'll get back to you, Alice.” Buck moved deliberately enough

to drive Verna crazy, and he noticed people in their cubicles pretending not to

notice but fighting smiles.

Verna marched to the corner that served as the coffee room and pointed to a small

desk with a phone and a file cabinet. Buck snorted.

“You'll have a computer in a week or so,” she said.

“Have it delivered to my apartment.”

“I'm afraid that's out of the question.”

“No, Verna, what's out of the question is you trying to vent all your frustration from

who knows where in one breath. You know as well as I do that no one with an

ounce of self-respect would put up with this. If I have to work out of the Chicago

area, I'm going to work at home with a computer and modem and fax machine. And

if you expect to see me in this office again for any reason, you'll get Stanton Bailey

on the phone right now.”

Verna looked prepared to stand her ground right there, so Buck headed back to her

office with her trailing him. He passed Alice, who looked stricken, and waited at

Verna's desk until she caught up. “Are you dialing, or am I?” he demanded.

Rayford and Chloe ate on the way home and arrived to an urgent phone message

from Rayford's chief pilot. “Call me as soon as you get in.”

With his cap under his arm and still wearing his uniform trench coat, Rayford

punched the familiar numbers. “What's up, Earl?”

“Thanks for getting back to me right away, Ray. You and I go back a long way.”

“Long enough that you should get to the point, Earl. What'd I do now?”

“This is not an official call, OK? Not a reprimand or a warning or anything. This is

just friend to friend.”

“So, friend to friend, Earl, should I sit down?”

“No, but let me tell you, buddy, you've got to knock off the proselytizing.”

“The—?”

“Talking about God on the job, man.”

“Earl, I back off when anyone says anything, and you know I don't let it get in the

way of the job. Anyway, what do you think the disappearances were all about?”

“We've been through all that, Ray. I'm just telling you, Nicky Edwards is gonna

write you up, and I want to be able to say you and I have already talked about it and

you've agreed to back off.”

“Write me up? Did I break a rule, violate procedure, commit a crime?”

“I don't know what he's going to call it, but you've been warned, all right?”

“I thought you said this wasn't official yet.”

“It's not, Ray. Do you want it to be? Do I have to call you back tomorrow and drag

you in here for a meeting and a memo for your file and all that, or can I just smooth

everybody's feathers, tell 'em it was a misunderstanding, you're cool now, and it

won't happen again?”

Rayford didn't respond at first.

“C'mon, Ray, this is a no-brainer. I don't like you having to think about this one.”

“Well, I will have to think about it, Earl. I appreciate your tipping me off, but I'm

not ready to concede anything just yet.”

Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 2 - Tribulation Force

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