Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 11 - Armageddon

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ARMAGEDDON

Tim LaHaye

Jerry B. Jenkins

SIX YEARS INTO THE TRIBULATION;

TWO AND ONE-HALF YEARS INTO THE GREAT TRIBULATION

The Believer's

Rayford Steele, late 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; international fugitive in

exile, Petra

Cameron ("Buck") Williams, mid-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,

San Diego

Chloe Steele Williams, mid-twenties; former student, Stanford

University; lost mother and brother in the Rapture; daughter of Rayford; wife of

Buck; mother of three-and-a-half-year-old Kenny Bruce; CEO of International

Commodity Co-op, an underground network of believers; original Trib Force

member; fugitive in exile, San Diego

George Sebastian, late twenties; former San Diego-based U.S. Air Force

combat helicopter pilot; underground with Trib Force and Co-op, San Diego

Ming Toy, mid-twenties; widow; former guard at the Belgium Facility for

Female Rehabilitation (Buffer); AWOL from the GC; underground in San Diego

Ree Woo, mid-twenties; pilot for Co-op; underground in San Diego

Tsion Ben-Judah, early fifties; 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.; former spiritual leader

and teacher of the Trib Force, now teaching the Jewish remnant at Petra;

cyberaudience of more than a billion daily

Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig, early seventies; Nobel Prize-winning Israeli

botanist and statesman; former

Global Weekly

Newsmaker of the Year; murderer

of Carpathia; leading the Jewish remnant at Petra

Abdullah Smith, mid-thirties; former Jordanian fighter pilot; former first

officer, Phoenix 216; presumed dead in plane crash; on assignment at Petra

Al B. (aka "Albie"), early fifties; native of Al Basrah, north of Kuwait;

pilot; former international black marketer; now member of Trib Force;

underground in Al Basrah

Mac McCullum, early sixties; former pilot for Carpathia; presumed dead in

plane crash; underground in Al Basrah

Hannah Palemoon, early thirties; former GC nurse; presumed dead in

plane crash; underground in Long Grove, Illinois

Leah Rose, early forties; former head nurse, Arthur Young Memorial

Hospital, Palatine, Illinois; under-ground in Long Grove, Illinois

Lionel Whalum, late forties; former businessman; Co-op pilot;

underground in Long Grove, Illinois

Chang Wong, twenty; Ming Toy's brother; Trib Force's mole at Global

Community Headquarters, New Babylon

Gustaf Zuckermandel Jr. (aka "Zeke" or "Z"), mid-twenties;

document and appearance forger; lost father to guillotine; underground in Avery,

Wisconsin

The E n e m i e s

Nicolae Jetty Carpathia, late thirties; 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, mid-fifties; former supreme commander and Carpathia's

right hand; now Most High Reverend Father of Carpathianism, proclaiming the

potentate as the risen god; GC Palace, New Babylon

Viv Ivins, late sixties; lifelong friend of Carpathia; GC operative; GC

Palace, New Babylon

Suhail Akbar, mid-forties; Carpathia's chief of Security and Intelligence;

GC Palace, New Babylon

PROLOGUE

From

The Remnant

"FOR THE FIRST time in a long time," Nicolae Carpathia said, "we play on

an even field. The waterways are heal-ing themselves, and we have rebuilding to

do in the infra-structure. Let us work at getting all our loyal citizens back onto

the same page with us. Director Akbar and I have some special surprises in store

for dissidents on various levels. We are back in business, people. It is time to

recoup our losses and start delivering a few."

The new mood lasted three days. Then the lights went out. Literally.

Everything went dark. Not just the sun, but the moon also, the stars, street

lamps, electric lights, car lights. Anything anywhere that ever emitted light was

now dark. No keypads on telephones, no flashlights, nothing iridescent, nothing

glow-in-the-dark. Emergency lights, exit signs, fire signs, alarm signs-everything.

Pitch-black.

The cliche of not being able to see one's hand in front of one's face? Now

true. It mattered not what time of day it was; people could see nothing. Not

their clocks, watches, not even fire, matches, gas grills, electric grills. It was as if

the light had done worse than go out; any vestige of it had been sucked from

the universe.

People screamed in terror, finding this the worst nightmare of their lives-

and they had many to choose from. They were blind-completely, utterly, totally,

wholly unable to see anything but blackness twenty-four hours a day.

They felt their way around the palace; they pushed their way outdoors.

They tried every light and every switch they could remember. They called out to

each other to see if it was just them, or if everyone had the same problem. Find

a candle! Rub two sticks together! Shuffle on the carpet and create static

electricity. Do anything. Anything! Something to allow some vestige of a shadow,

a hint, a sliver.

All to no avail.

Chang wanted to laugh. He wanted to howl from his gut. He wished he

could tell everyone everywhere that once again God had meted out a curse, a

judgment upon the earth that affected only those who bore the mark of the

beast. Chang could see. It was different. He didn't see lights either. He simply

saw everything in sepia tone, as if someone had turned down the wattage on a

chandelier.

He saw whatever he needed to, including his computer and screen and

watch and quarters. His food, his sink, his stove-everything. Best of all, he could

tiptoe around the palace in his rubber-soled shoes, weaving between his

coworkers as they felt their way along.

Within hours, though, something even stranger hap-pened. People were

not starving or dying of thirst. They were able to feel their way to food and

drink. But they could not work. There was nothing to discuss, nothing to talk

about but the cursed darkness. And for some rea-son, they also began to feel

pain.

They itched and so they scratched. They ached and so they rubbed. They

cried out and scratched and rubbed some more. For many the pain grew so

intense that all they could do was bend down and feel the ground to make sure

there was no hole or stairwell to fall into and then collapse in a heap, writhing,

scratching, seeking relief.

The longer it went, the worse it got, and now people swore and cursed God

and chewed their tongues. They crawled about the corridors, looking for

weapons, plead-ing with friends or even strangers to kill them. Many killed

themselves. The entire complex became an asylum of screams and moans and

guttural wails, as these people became convinced that this, finally, was it-the end

of the world.

But no such luck. Unless they had the wherewithal, the guts, to do

themselves in, they merely suffered. Worse by the hour. Increasingly bad by the

day. This went on and on and on. And in the middle of it, Chang came up with

the most brilliant idea of his life.

If ever there was a perfect time for him to escape, it was now. He would

contact Rayford or Mac, anyone willing and able and available to come and get

him. It had to be that the rest of the Tribulation Force-in fact, all of the sealed

and marked believers in the world-had the same benefit he did.

Someone would be able to fly a jet and land it right there in New Babylon,

and GC personnel would have to run for cover, having no idea who could do

such a thing in the utter darkness. As long as no one spoke, they could not be

identified. The Force could commandeer planes and weapons, whatever they

wanted.

If anyone accosted them or challenged them, what better advantage could

the Trib Force have than that they could see? They would have the drop on

everyone and everybody. With but a year to go until the Glorious Appearing,

Chang thought, the good guys finally had even a better deal than they had when

the daylight hours belonged solely to them.

Now, for as long as God tarried, for as long as he saw fit to keep the

shades pulled down and the lights off, everything was in the believers' favor.

"God," Chang said, "just give me a couple more days of this."

ONE

FOR THE FIRST TIME since takeoff, Rayford Steele had second thoughts

about his and Abdullah Smith's passenger. "We shouldn't have brought her,

Smitty," he said. He stole a glance at Abdullah behind the controls.

The Jordanian shook his head. "That's on you, Cap-tain, I am sorry to say.

I tried to tell you how important she was to Petra."

The darkness enveloping only New Babylon, but visible from more than a

hundred miles, was unlike anything Rayford had ever seen. By the time Abdullah

initiated the descent of the Gulfstream IX toward Iraq, the clock read 1200

hours, Palace Time.

Normally the magnificent structures of the new world capital gleamed

stunningly in the noonday sun. Now a stark and isolated column of blackness

rose from New Babylon's expansive borders into the cloudless heavens as high

as the eye could see.

Chang Wong was Rayford's mole inside the palace. Trusting the young

man's assurances that they would be able to see where others could not,

Rayford traded glances with Abdullah as he guided the craft into the dark from

the whiteness reflecting off the desert sand. Abdullah flipped on his landing

lights.

Rayford squinted. "Do we need an ILS approach?"

"Instrument landing system?" Abdullah said. "Don't think so, Captain. I can

see enough to fly."

Rayford compared the freakish darkness to the beau-tiful day they had left

in Petra. He peeked over his shoulder at the young woman, whom he expected

to look afraid. She didn't. "We can still turn back," he said. "Your father looked

reluctant when we boarded."

"That was probably for your benefit," Naomi Tiberias said. "He knows I'll be

fine."

The teenage computer whiz's humor and self-confidence were legendary.

She seemed shy and self-conscious around adults until she got to know them;

then she interacted like a peer. Rayford knew she had brought Abdullah up to

speed in computer savvy, and she had been in nearly constant touch with Chang

since the lights went out in New Babylon.

"Why is it dark only here?" Naomi said. "It's so strange."

"I don't know," Rayford said. "The prophecy says it affects `the throne of

the beast, and his kingdom became full of darkness.' That's all we know."

Rayford's every visit to Petra had found Naomi grow-ing in influence and

responsibility among the Remnant. She had emerged early as a technological

prodigy, and as she taught others, Naomi had become the de facto head of the

vast computer center. Quickly rising from go-to person to the one in charge,

she'd finally become the teacher who taught teachers.

The center that had been designed by Chang's pre-decessor, the late David

Hassid, was now the hub that kept Petra in touch with more than a billion souls

every day. Thousands of computers allowed that many men-tors to keep up with

Tsion Ben-Judah's universal cyber-audience. Naomi personally coordinated the

contact between Chang in New Babylon and the Tribulation Force around the

world.

Having her join the flight to rescue him from New Babylon had been

Chang's idea. Rayford had initially rejected it. He had enough trouble assigning

himself the task of traveling more than seventy-five hundred miles from San

Diego to Petra, then having Abdullah fly him the last five hundred miles to New

Babylon. Combat-trained George Sebastian was better suited, but Rayford

thought the big man had been through enough for a while. There was plenty for

him to do in San Diego, and anyway, Rayford wanted to save George for what

Dr. Ben-Judah called the "battle of that great day of God Almighty," now less

than a year off.

Mac McCullum and Albie, stationed in Al Basrah-little more than two

hundred miles south of New Bab-ylon-stood ready. But Rayford had other things

in mind for them.

Rayford's son-in-law and daughter, Buck and Chloe Williams, both wanted

in on the extraction of Chang from the enemy lair-no surprise-but Rayford was

convinced Buck would soon be more valuable in Israel. As for Chloe, the

International Commodity Co-op always suffered when she was away. And

somebody had to be there for little Kenny.

"Store and grab all the equipment you need while I'm en route, Chang,"

Rayford had said, the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he packed.

"Smitty and I will come get you in a couple of days."

Chang had explained that the job was too big and that he and Naomi

working together could get him out of there that much faster. "I don't want to

miss a thing. She can help. I want to be able to monitor this place from

anywhere."

"Don't worry," Rayford said. "You'll get to see her face-to-face soon

enough."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Her father is one of the Petra elders, you know."

"So?"

"Only the two of them are left in the family. He's very protective."

"We both have too much work to do."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm not kidding, Captain Steele. Please bring her along. It's not like I

haven't seen her on-screen already."

"So, what do you think?"

"I told you. We have a lot of work to do."

Rayford felt a tug on the back of his copilot's chair as Naomi pulled herself

forward. "Can Mr. Smith see to land?"

"Not sure yet," Rayford said. "It's as if someone painted our windows

brown. See if you can raise our boy."

Chang was to be sure the New Babylon runways were clear, but he couldn't

talk by phone from there for fear someone would overhear. Naomi pulled a

small, thin computer from an aluminum box and attacked the keys.

"Avoid runways 3 left and 3 right," she said. "And he wants to know which

you choose so he can be there to meet us."

Rayford glanced at Abdullah. "He's serious, Naomi)"

She nodded.

"Tell him the tower is closed, and it's not like we were going to announce

our arrival anyway. We can't see which runway is which from up here, so he's

going to have to give us coordinates and-"

"Hold on," Naomi said, keyboarding again. "He's attached everything you

need." She passed the machine to Rayford and pointed at the attachment. "It is

voice activated. Just tell it what you want."

"It'll recognize my voice?" Rayford said, studying the screen.

"Yes," the computer intoned.

Naomi chuckled.

"Attachment, please," Rayford said.

A detailed grid appeared with an aerial view of the New Babylon airfield.

"I'll set the coordinates for you, Smitty," Rayford said, reaching to program

the flight management system.

"This thing will do everything but cook a meal for you, Captain Steele,"

Naomi said. "You have an infrared port?"

"I assume. Do we, Smitty?"

Abdullah pointed to a spot on the control panel.

"Here," Naomi said. "Let me." She leaned over Rayford's shoulder and

pointed the back of the computer at the port. "Ready to land, Captain?" she said.

"Roger."

"Initiate landing sequence," she said and hit a button.

"Runway choice?" the computer asked.

Naomi looked at Rayford, who looked to Abdullah. "Does that thing

recognize even my accent?" the Jorda-nian said.

"Yes," the computer said. "Congestion on runways 3 left and 3 right. Please

select from runways 11 or 16."

"Eleven," Abdullah said.

"Left or right?" the computer said.

"Left," Abdullah said. "Why not?"

Abdullah engaged the left autopilot and lifted his hands from the controls.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," the computer said.

Six minutes later the Gulfstream touched down.

At just after one o'clock in the morning in San Diego, Buck bolted upright in

bed.

Chloe stirred. "Go back to sleep, hon," she said. "You stood watch three

straight nights. Not tonight."

He held up a hand.

"You need your sleep, Buck."

"Thought I heard something."

The tiny walkie-talkie on the nightstand chirped. Sebas-tian's telltale code.

Buck grabbed it. "Yeah, George."

"Motion detector," Sebastian whispered.

Now Chloe sat up too.

"I'll check the periscope," Buck said.

"Carefully," Sebastian said. "Don't raise or rotate it."

"Roger. Anybody else aware?"

"Negative."

"On it."

Chloe was already out of bed and had pulled on a sweatshirt. She unlocked

a cabinet, removed two Uzis, and tossed one to Buck as he headed for the

periscope next to Kenny's tiny chamber. He set the weapon on the floor,

dropped the walkie-talkie into his pajama pocket, and bent to peer into the

viewer. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he was aware of Chloe opening and

closing Kenny's door. Going on four years old, Kenny slept longer but less

soundly than he used to.

"He out?" Buck said, eyes still glued to the scope.

"Dead to the world," Chloe said, draping a sweater around Buck's

shoulders. "As you should be."

"Wish I was," Buck said.

"I should think so." She rested her palms on his shoul-ders. "What do you

see?"

"Nothing. George doesn't think I ought to rotate the scope. It's facing west

at ground level. I'd love to elevate it about six inches and let it give me a three-

sixty."

"He's right, babe," she said. "You know it's got that whine when it moves.

Anybody out there could hear it."

"I don't think anybody is out there," Buck said, pull-ing away and rubbing

his eyes.

She sighed. "Want a chair?"

He nodded and returned to the periscope. "Could have been an animal.

Maybe the wind."

Chloe pressed a chair behind his knees and guided him into it. "That's why

you should just let me-"

"Oh no," he said.

"What?"

He put a finger to his lips and pulled out the walkie--talkie. "George," he

whispered. "Six, seven, eight, nine. Nine uniformed, armed GC directly above to

the west."

"Doing?"

"Not much. Kicking at the vents. They look bored. Maybe something caught

their eye on the way by."

"Vehicles?"

"I'd have to raise or rotate."

"Negative. Any more?"

"Can't tell from this angle. No more coming past. Only three left in sight

now."

"Listen for engines."

Buck sat silent a moment. Then, "Yeah, there's one. And another."

"I hear 'em," George said. "Must be leaving. Can I come over?"

"Tell him no," Chloe whispered.

What palace personnel Rayford could make out in the eerie sepia-toned

landscape through the cockpit window appeared to be in agony. Chang had told

him that the people writhed and moaned, but a jet screaming onto the runway

also clearly terrified them. They had to think it was about to crash, as some had

on runways 3 left and 3 right.

It was as if the people had given up trying to see. Any-one near the

Gulfstream IX had stumbled in the darkness to get away from it, and now they

huddled here and there.

"That has to be Chang," Rayford said, pointing to a slight Asian hurrying

toward them and gesturing wildly to open the door.

"Let me get that, Miss Naomi," Abdullah said, unstrapping himself and

climbing past her. As he pushed the door open and lowered the steps, Rayford

saw Chang turn to a small group of men and women in dark jumpsuits feeling

their way along behind him.

"Keep your distance!" he shouted. "Danger! Hot engines! Leaking fuel!"

They turned and hurried away in all directions. "How did it land?" someone

shouted.

"It's a miracle," another said.

"Did you all remember rubber-soled shoes?" Chang said, reaching to help

them off the plane.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Wong," Abdullah said.

Chang shushed him. "They're blind," he whispered. "Not deaf."

"Chang," Rayford began, but the boy was shyly greet-ing Naomi. "All right,

you two, get acquainted back at the ranch. Let's do what we have to and get out

of here."

"Should I change?" Buck said when he saw Sebastian in fatigues.

"Nah. I always wear these on watch. Let me have a look." He peered

through the periscope. "Nothing. Want to raise and rotate it, Buck?"

"Be my guest."

"Clear. False alarm."

Chloe snorted. "Don't be saying that to put me at ease. At least nine GC

were out there, and for all we know there were more, and they'll be back."

"Hey," Sebastian said, "why not assume the best and not the worst?"

"Maybe I am," she said. "Priscilla and Beth Ann sleep through this?"

He nodded. "I might not even tell Priss, so I'd appreci-ate it-"

"If I didn't either? Makes sense, George. Let the little woman carry on,

oblivious to the fact that it's time to move," said Chloe.

"Move?" Buck said. "I can't even imagine it."

"Then we sit here and wait till they find us, which they may already have?"

"Chloe, listen," Buck said. "I should have let you take a look at those guys.

They weren't even suspicious. They were probably talking about how this used to

be a mili-tary base. They weren't tense, weren't really looking. They just saw the

vents and checked them out, that's all."

Chloe shook her head and slumped in a chair. "I hate living like this."

"Me too," Sebastian said. "But what're our options? GC found an enclave of

people without the mark yester-day in what's left of LA. Executed more'n two

dozen."

Chloe gasped. "Believers?"

"Don't think so. Usually they'll say if it's Judah-ites. I got the impression it

was some militia holdouts, some-thing like that."

"Those are the people we're trying to reach," Chloe said. "And here we all

sit, unable to show our faces, rais-ing babies who hardly ever see the sun. Isn't

there some-where in the middle of nowhere where the GC wouldn't even know

we were around?"

"The next best thing is Petra," Buck said. "They know who's there, but they

can't do a thing about it."

"That's starting to sound more attractive all the time. Anyway, what are we

going to do about what just hap-pened?"

Buck and Sebastian looked at each other.

"Come on, guys," Chloe said. "You think Priscilla doesn't know you're gone

and isn't going to ask where you've been?"

"She knows I was on watch."

"But you don't come over here unless something's up."

"I'm hoping she slept through it."

Chloe stood and moved to Buck's lap. "Look, I'm not trying to be

cantankerous. Buck, tell him."

"Chloe Steele Williams is not trying to be cantanker-ous," he announced.

"Good," Sebastian muttered. "Coulda fooled me."

Chloe shook her head. "George, please. You know I think you're one of the

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ARMAGEDDONTimLaHayeJerryB.JenkinsSIXYEARSINTOTHETRIBULATION;TWOANDONE-HALFYEARSINTOTHEGREATTRIBULATIONTheBeliever'sRayfordSteele,lateforties;former747captainforPan-Continental;lostwifeandsonintheRapture;formerpilotforGlobalCommunityPotentateNicolaeCarpathia;originalmemberoftheTribulationForce;intern...

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Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 11 - Armageddon

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