Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 3 - Nicolae

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NICOLAE:
The Rise of the Antichrist
Book 3 of the Left Behind Series
TIM LAHAYE & JERRY B. JENKINS
CHAPTER ONE
It was the worst of times; it was the worst of times.
Rayford Steele's knees ached as he sat behind the wheel of the rented Lincoln. He
had dropped to the pavement at the crushing realization of his pastor's death. The
physical pain, though it would stay with him for days, would prove minor compared
to the mental anguish of having yet again lost one of the dearest people in his life.
Rayford felt Amanda's eyes on him. She laid one comforting hand on his thigh. In
the backseat his daughter, Chloe, and her husband, Buck, each had a hand on his
shoulder.
What now? Rayford wondered, What do we do without Bruce? Where do we go?
The Emergency Broadcast System station droned on with the news of chaos,
devastation, terror, and destruction throughout the world. Unable to speak over the
lump in his throat, Rayford busied himself maneuvering his way through the
incongruous traffic jams. Why were people out? What did they expect to see?
Weren't they afraid of more bombs, or fallout?
“I need to get to the Chicago bureau office,” Buck said.
“You can use the car after we get to the church,” Rayford managed. “I need to get
the word out about Bruce.”
Global Community peacekeeping forces supervised local police and emergency
relief personnel directing traffic and trying to get people to return to their homes.
Rayford relied on his many years in the Chicago area to use back roads and side
streets to get around the major thoroughfares, which were hopelessly clogged.
Rayford wondered if he should have taken Buck up on his offer to drive. But
Rayford had not wanted to appear weak. He shook his head. There's no limit to the
pilot's ego! He felt as if he could curl into a ball and cry himself to sleep.
Nearly two years since the vanishing of his wife and son, along with millions of
others, Rayford no longer harbored illusions about his life in the twilight of history.
He had been devastated. He lived with deep pain and regret. This was so hard....
Rayford knew his life could be even worse. Suppose he had not become a believer
in Christ and was still lost forever. Suppose he had not found a new love and was
alone. Suppose Chloe had also vanished. Or he had never met Buck. There was
much to be grateful for. Were it not for the physical touch of the other three in that
car, Rayford wondered if he would have had the will to go on.
He could hardly imagine not having come to know and love Bruce Barnes. He had
learned more and been enlightened and inspired more by Bruce than anyone else
he'd ever met. And it wasn't just Bruce's knowledge and teaching that made the
difference. It was his passion. Here was a man who immediately and clearly saw
that he had missed the greatest truth ever communicated to mankind, and he was not
about to repeat the mistake.
“Daddy, those two guards by the overpass seem to be waving at you,” Chloe said.
“I'm trying to ignore them,” Rayford said. “All these nobodies-trying-to-be-
somebodies think they have a better idea about where the traffic should go. If we
listen to them, we'll be here for hours. I just want to get to the church.”
“He's hollering at you with a bullhorn,” Amanda said, and she lowered her window
a few inches.
“You in the white Lincoln!” came the booming voice. Rayford quickly turned off
the radio. “Are you Rayford Steele?”
“How would they know that?” Buck said.
“Is there any limit to the Global Community intelligence network?” Rayford said,
disgusted.
“If you're Rayford Steele,” came the voice again, “please pull your vehicle to the
shoulder!”
Rayford considered ignoring even that but thought better of it. There would be no
outrunning these people if they knew who he was. But how did they know?
He pulled over.
Buck Williams pulled his hand from Rayford's shoulder and craned his neck to see
two uniformed soldiers scampering down the embankment. He had no idea how
Global Community forces had tracked down Rayford, but one thing was certain: it
would not be good for Buck to be discovered with Carpathia's pilot.
“Ray,” he said quickly, “I've got one set of phony IDs in the name of Herb Katz.
Tell 'em I'm a pilot friend of yours or something.”
“OK,” Rayford said, “but my guess is they'll be deferential to me. Obviously,
Nicolae is merely trying to reconnect with me.”
Buck hoped Rayford was right. It made sense that Carpathia would want to make
sure his pilot was all right and could somehow get him back to New Babylon. The
two uniforms now stood behind the Lincoln, one speaking into a walkie-talkie, the
other on a cell phone. Buck decided to go on the offensive and opened his door.
“Please remain in the vehicle,” Walkie-Talkie said.
Buck slumped back into his seat and switched his phony papers with his real ones.
Chloe looked terrified. Buck put his arm around her and drew her close. “Carpathia
must have put out an all points bulletin. He knew your dad had to rent a car, so it
didn't take long to track him down.”
Buck had no idea what the two GC men were doing behind the car. All he knew was
that his entire perspective on the next five years had changed in an instant. When
global war broke out an hour before, he wondered if he and Chloe would survive the
rest of the Tribulation. Now with the news of Bruce's death, Buck wondered if they
wanted to survive. The prospect of heaven and being with Christ sure seemed better
than living in whatever remained of this world, even if Buck had to die to get there.
Walkie-Talkie approached the driver's-side window. Rayford lowered it. “You are
Rayford Steele, are you not?”
“Depends on who's asking,” Rayford said.
“This car, with this license number, was rented at O'Hare by someone claiming to
be Rayford Steele. If that's not you, you're in deep trouble.”
“Wouldn't you agree,” Rayford said, “that regardless who I am, we're all in deep
trouble?”
Buck was amused at Rayford's feistiness, in light of the situation.
“Sir, I need to know if you are Rayford Steele.”
“I am.”
“Can you prove that, sir?”
Rayford appeared as agitated as Buck had ever seen him. “You flag me down and
holler at me through a bullhorn and tell me I'm driving Rayford Steele's rental car,
and now you want me to prove to you that I'm who you think I am?”
“Sir, you must understand the position I'm in. I have Global Community potentate
Carpathia himself patched through to a secure cell phone here. I don't even know
where he's calling from. If I put someone on the phone and tell the potentate it's
Rayford Steele, it had blamed better be Rayford Steele.”
Buck was grateful that Rayford's cat-and-mouse game had taken the spotlight off
the others in the car, but that didn't last. Rayford slipped from his breast pocket his
ID wallet, and as the GC man studied it, he asked idly, “And the others?”
“Family and friends,” Rayford said. “Let's not keep the potentate waiting.”
“I'm going to have to ask you to take this call outside the car, sir. You understand
the security risks.”
Rayford sighed and left the car. Buck wished Walkie-Talkie would disappear too,
but he merely stepped out of Rayford's way and pointed him toward his partner, the
one with the phone. Then he leaned in and spoke to Buck. “Sir, in the event that we
transport Captain Steele to a rendezvous point, would you be able to handle the
disposition of this vehicle?”
Do all uniformed people talk this way? Buck wondered. “Sure.”
Amanda leaned over. “I'm Mrs. Steele,” she said. “Wherever Mr. Steele is going,
I'm going.”
“That will be up to the potentate,” the guard said, “and providing there's room in the
chopper.”
“Yes sir,” Rayford said into the phone, “I'll see you soon then.”
Rayford handed the cell phone to the second guard. “How will we get to wherever
we're supposed to go?”
“A copter should be here momentarily.”
Rayford motioned for Amanda to pop the trunk but to stay in the car. As he
shouldered both their bags, he leaned in her window and whispered. “Amanda and I
have to rendezvous with Carpathia, but he couldn't even tell me where he was or
where we would meet. That phone is only so secure. I get the feeling it's not far
away, unless they're coptering us to an airfield from which we'll fly somewhere else.
Buck, you'd better get this car back to the rental company soon. It'll be too easy to
connect you with me otherwise.”
Five minutes later Rayford and Amanda were airborne. “Any idea where we're
going?” Rayford shouted to one of the Global Community guards.
The guard clapped the chopper pilot on the shoulder and shouted, “Are we at liberty
to say where we're going?”
“Glenview!” the pilot hollered.
“Glenview Naval Air Station has been closed for years,” Rayford said.
The chopper pilot turned to look at him. “The big runway's still open! The man's
there now!”
Amanda leaned close to Rayford. “Carpathia's in Illinois already?”
“He must have been out of Washington before the attack. I thought they might have
taken him to one of the bomb shelters at the Pentagon or the National Security
Administration, but his intelligence people must have figured those would be the
first places the militia would attack.”
“This reminds me of when we were first married,” Buck said as Chloe snuggled
close to him.
“What do you mean `when we were first married'? We're still newlyweds!”
“Shh!” Buck said quickly. “What're they saying about New York City?”
Chloe turned up the radio. “... devastating carnage everywhere here in the heart of
Manhattan. Bombed-out buildings, emergency vehicles picking their way through
debris, Civil Defense workers pleading with people over loudspeakers to stay
underground.”
Buck heard the panic in the reporter's voice as he continued. “I'm seeking shelter
myself now, probably too late to avoid the effects of radiation. No one knows for
certain if the warheads were nuclear, but everyone is being urged to take no risks.
Damage estimates will be in the billions of dollars. Life as we know it here may
never be the same. There's devastation as far as the eye can see.
“All major transportation centers have been closed if not destroyed. Huge traffic
jams have snarled the Lincoln Tunnel, the Triborough Bridge, and every major
artery out of New York City. What has been known as the capital of the world looks
like the set of a disaster movie. Now back to the Cable News/Global Community
News Network in Atlanta.”
“Buck,” Chloe said, “our home. Where will we live?”
Buck didn't answer. He stared at the traffic and wondered at the billowing clouds of
black smoke and intermittent balls of orange flame that seemed to hover directly
over Mt. Prospect. It was like Chloe to worry about her home. Buck was less
concerned about that. He could live anywhere and seemed to have lived
everywhere. As long as he had Chloe and shelter, he was all right. But she had made
their ridiculously expensive Fifth Avenue penthouse flat her own.
Finally, Buck spoke. “They won't let anybody back into New York for days, maybe
longer. Even our vehicles, if they survived, won't be available to us.”
“What are we going to do, Buck?”
Buck wished he knew what to say. He usually had an answer. Resourcefulness had
been the trademark of his career. Regardless of the obstacle, he had somehow made
do in every imaginable situation or venue in the world at one time or another. Now,
with his new, young wife beside him, not knowing where she would live or how
they would manage, he was at a loss. All he wanted to do was to make sure his
father-in-law and Amanda were safe, in spite of the danger of Rayford's work, and
to somehow get to Mt. Prospect to assess what was happening to the people of New
Hope Village Church and to inform them of the tragedy that had befallen their
beloved pastor.
Buck had never had patience for traffic jams, but this was ridiculous. His jaw
tightened and his neck stiffened as his palms squeezed the wheel. The late-model
car was a smooth ride, but inching along in near gridlock made the huge automotive
power plant feel like a stallion that wanted to run free.
Suddenly an explosion rocked their car and nearly lifted it off its tires. Buck
wouldn't have been surprised had the windows blown in around them. Chloe
摘要：

NICOLAE:TheRiseoftheAntichristBook3oftheLeftBehindSeriesTIMLAHAYE&JERRYB.JENKINSCHAPTERONEItwastheworstoftimes;itwastheworstoftimes.RayfordSteele'skneesachedashesatbehindthewheeloftherentedLi\ncoln.Hehaddroppedtothepavementatthecrushingrealizationofhispastor's\death.Thephysicalpain,thoughitwouldstay...

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