The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (216 page)

Buck tried to climb the same tree he had the night before, but GC Security shooed him away. He found a spot on a rocky ledge with a clear view over the crowd. He was saddened by the silence of the witnesses, wishing that when Carpathia arrived they would at least go down swinging. But the due time was upon them; this was the 1261st day. The Bible said they would be overcome.

At a minute to ten the sky came alive with helicopter rotors. As at the Gala site, three choppers brought the potentates, Fortunato, no Enigma Babylon rep this time, and finally Carpathia. It marked the first time Buck had seen him without a tie. He wore expensive shoes and slacks, an open-collar shirt, and a cashmere sport coat with what looked like a Bible protruding from one of the pockets.

The potentates and Fortunato stepped behind a barrier that separated them from the crowd. Lights beamed, cameras locked in, and Carpathia swept to the fence. His shirt was equipped with a wireless mike, and he stopped for a dab of powder from a makeup artist. He smiled to the noisy crowd and approached the witnesses, who stood still, only their chests moving with their breathing.

Carpathia, like a magician, whipped off his sport coat and hung it from the top of a pointed bar in the fence. Whatever was in the pocket made the coat sag to that side. When Nicolae rolled up his sleeves as if to fight, the crowd went wild.

“And what do you gentlemen have to say for yourselves this morning?” he said, looking first to the witnesses and then to the crowd. Buck prayed they would be eloquent, challenging, forceful.

In Illinois it was the wee hours of the morning. Tsion sat before the television in his pajamas and robe and slippers. Chloe sat in a chair.

“The baby sleeping?” Tsion said.

Chloe nodded. “I pray he sleeps through this.”

When Carpathia began with the challenging question, Chloe said quietly, “Give it to ’im, Eli. C’mon, Moishe.”

But they did not respond.

“Oh, God,” Tsion prayed. “Oh, God, oh, God. They are oppressed and they are afflicted, yet they open not their mouths; they are led as lambs to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so they open not their mouths.”

For a second Buck wished he had a weapon. He had a clear sight path to Carpathia. What arrogance! What ego! How he would love to pop Nicolae between the eyes, even with a slingshot. He shook his head. He was a journalist, an observer. He didn’t claim to be objective. His heart was with the witnesses. But neither was he a participant.

Rayford could hardly keep still. He bit his tongue to keep from shouting at Carpathia. He slipped his arms inside his robe and held the box in both hands. If Nicolae was going to make fools of the witnesses, maybe he would wind up the fool, lying in his own blood.

Carpathia was in his glory. “Cat got your tongues?” he said, pacing before the silent saints, peeking at the crowd for encouragement. “The water in Jerusalem tastes cold and refreshing today! Run out of poison? Coconspirators run away? Lose access to the water supply?”

The people cheered and mocked. “Throw them out!” someone yelled.

“Arrest them!”

“Jail them!”

“Kill them!”

Rayford wanted to shout, “Shut up!” but would have been drowned out by the bloodthirsty mob anyway. And Carpathia played them.

“Was that rain on my window this morning? What happened to the drought? Say, does anyone see locusts? Horsemen? Smoke? Gentlemen! You are impotent!”

The crowd ate it up. Rayford seethed.

“I proclaimed this area off-limits to you two years ago!” Carpathia said, his back to the crowd but the microphone allowing him to be heard everywhere, including on TV. “Why are you still here? You must leave or be arrested! In fact, did I not say that if you were seen in public
anywhere
after the meeting of the cultists that you would be executed?”

Carpathia turned to the crowd. “I did say that, did I not?”

“Yes! Yes! Execute them!”

“I have been remiss! I have not carried out my duties! How can I stand before the citizens who have charged me with upholding the dictates of my office when I have allowed this crime to go unpunished? I do not want to be shamed before my people! I do not want to be embarrassed at their party today!

“Come! Come out from behind that fence and face me! Challenge me! Answer me! Climb over, fly over, transport yourselves if you are able! Do not make me open the gate!”

Carpathia turned to the crowd again. “Should I fear their very breath? Will these dragons incinerate and slay even me?”

The crowd was not as loud now, laughing nervously. The witnesses did not move.

“I am at the end of patience!” Nicolae said. The head of the GC Peacekeeping Force produced a key from his pocket and handed it to Nicolae. He unlocked the gate, and the crowd edged back. Some gasped. Then they fell silent.

Carpathia opened the gate with a flourish and rushed the witnesses. “Outside!” he shouted, but the two ignored him still. He moved right of Eli and shoved him into Moishe, making them both stumble toward the gate. He herded them through, pushing, bumping, jostling.

The crowd fell back more. Carpathia grabbed Eli and Moishe by their robes and slammed them back against the fence, then turned his back on them and smiled at the crowd. “Here are your tormentors!” he said. “Your judges! Your
prophet
s
!” He spat that last. “And what do they have to say for themselves now? Nothing! They have been tried and convicted and sentenced. All that is left is the rendering of justice, and as
I
have decreed it,
I shall carry it out
!
”

He turned to the two, tugging their robes again until they stood six feet in front of the bars.

“Any last words?”

Eli and Moishe looked at each other and lifted their heads to heaven.

Carpathia strode to his jacket and removed the black object from the pocket. Rayford was stunned to recognize it. Nicolae hid the box from the crowd, his back to them, as he separated a Saber handgun from its adjoining piece. He backed about ten feet away from the witnesses and pointed the weapon at Eli, on his right. The sudden explosion made everyone recoil and cover their ears. The bullet entered Eli at the neck, and the force knocked him off his feet, his head slamming into the fence before his body crumpled to the ground, blood gushing. The huge exit wound splattered gore on the fence and the stone building behind.

Moishe knelt and covered his eyes as if in prayer. Carpathia shot him through the top of the head, making him flop into the fence and land on his chin, limbs splayed.

Rayford’s mouth was dry, his breath short, his pulse reverberating to fingers and toes. All around him people held their ears and gawked at the remains. Carpathia fitted the gun back together, slipped it into the jacket pocket, put the jacket back on, and with a closed-mouth smile executed a deep bow to the crowd.

Rayford was overcome with such a passion to shoot Carpathia that he lowered his shoulder and rammed into the man in front of him, who let out a horrific grunt just as the crowd responded to Carpathia. They jumped and spun and cheered and laughed and shouted and danced. Rayford bulled forward, trying to get to Carpathia, all the while trying to detach his own Saber.

The crowd swayed together, falling, wrestling, enjoying themselves. Rayford tumbled in the middle of it, his arms inside his coat, unable to get up. He forced one hand out of a sleeve so he could push off the ground to stand, but he was knocked over halfway up. He swung his elbows to clear space, but in the process the Saber box rattled to the ground. He felt for it as he sat there, battered back and forth by waves of revelers. He forced both arms out just as someone knocked him back and his head slammed the concrete. He rolled and jumped up, a bump rising on the back of his head. Where was the Saber? Had it stayed together? It was fully loaded, and there was no safety.

Buck stood on the rocky ledge, drained. He watched the dancing, the carousing, the helicopters collecting Carpathia and the other VIPs and whisking them to the party site. Buck hated the sight of the grisly bodies of his beloved preachers. How he had come to cherish their dark, leathery skin, their thick, dirty feet, their smoky sackcloth robes! They had been so regal, majestic, patriarchal. Their bony hands and shoulders, wrinkled necks and faces, long gray hair and beards only added to their wonderful, supernatural mystery.

Their bodies had been destroyed. Formerly invincible, they had been blasted against the iron fence, leaving them next to each other in grotesque heaps. Buck was embarrassed for them, exposed in death. Their robes rode high on their legs, their hands curled beneath them, eyes open, mouths agape. Their blood ran the blackest red under bodies torn apart by a weapon so technologically advanced that calling it a handgun was the ultimate understatement.

Buck knew what came next. He did not need to witness the celebrating that had been scheduled for noon to midnight but which would last more than three days. He looked with deep sadness on sin come to fruition, on evil personified in people who had had every chance, been given every warning.

Tsion lowered his head, “I could not have imagined how ghastly . . .”