The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (317 page)

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I am not convinced it occurred!”

“I’m telling you it occurred, and that is what you will tell anyone who wants to know.”

“I will not! Either you prove to me we missed our target or I will maintain to everyone I know that this mission went off without a hitch.”

“You will see in due time reconnaissance photos that show no loss of life in Petra.”

“You’ve seen these?”

“Of course I have.”

“And you have no doubt as to their veracity?”

“None, son.”

There was a long pause. The young man’s voice sounded pitiful. “If there is one survivor on that mountain, it’s a miracle. You know what we dropped there. You ordered it yourself! It can’t be explained away, and I won’t take the heat for it.”

“You already have. You and your compatriot will be reassigned, and you know how to respond to—”

“I will not testify to something I don’t believe, sir.”

“Come, come, mister. I see the
2
on your hand and the image of our leader. You’re a loyal citizen. You contribute to the cause, you—”

“Would the potentate want me to say I made a mistake when I didn’t?”

“But you did.”

“I did not.”

“His Excellency is most disappointed in you, son.”

“I’m not doing it, Director Akbar.”

“Excuse me?”

“I won’t play along. I take great pride in my work. I didn’t question the order. I believed these people were dangerous and a threat to the Global Community. I did what I was instructed to do, and I did it right. No one can tell me we missed the primary target or that our 82s didn’t waste that whole area and all those people. If you have evidence that proves concretely that they survived, then I’m going to call it what it is. I’ll accept no demotion and I won’t parrot a party line. If those people are still alive, they’re superior to us. If they are still alive, they win. We can’t compete with that.”

“You realize you leave me no choice.”

“Sir?”

“We cannot have personnel shirk responsibility for their own errors.”

“You will not be able to silence me.”

Akbar laughed and was interrupted by the intercom. “Primary pilot is waiting, sir.”

“Send him in.”

As soon as Chang heard the sound of the door, the Brit started in. “Tell him, Uri. Tell him we didn’t screw up.”

“What?”

And the conversation began anew, Akbar blaming the failure on the pilots, the Brit protesting, Uri silent for the moment. “Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” Suhail said. The door opened and closed.

“Kerry,” Uri said, “listen to me. He’s right. The—”

“He’s
not
right! I saw what I saw and I will never—”

“Shh! Listen! You and I both know we launched perfectly. But I was there after you had gone. You heard my transmission. Those people survived the Blues and the Lance, lived through it all.”

“Impossible!”

“Impossible but true.”

“A miracle.”

“Obviously.”

“Then we must live with it, Uri. We must make the GC and the world face it. They are a more than formidable enemy, and unless we admit that, we’ll never have a chance to defeat them.”

“I agree. You heard me try to say it.”

“They took you off the air! Now they want to make us the scapegoats. Demote us. Make us admit failure.”

“Not me,” Uri said.

“That’s my man,” the Brit said.

They traded encouragement.

“Be strong.”

“Don’t give in.”

“Let’s stick together.”

Chang checked Akbar’s phone.

Suhail had called the medical wing and asked for Dr. Consuela Conchita. Only the day before Chang had read the staff bulletin announcing her promotion to surgeon general of the Global Community. “Connie,” Akbar said, “I need two heavy doses of sedative, the quick stuff. My conference room, ASAP. I’ll have security here, in case the patients resist. And bring gurneys from the morgue.”

“The morgue?”

“I want them cremated.”

“You’re asking for
lethal
doses?”

“No, no. I just want them out before they leave here, under sheets. The cremation will do the rest, will it not?”

“Kill them? Of course it will. You’re asking that we execute two people?”

“This is from the top floor, Consuela.”

A pause. “I understand.”

Chang grimaced as he listened to the recording of Akbar trying to convince the fliers that he had asked for injections to help calm them. Both began scuffling and shouting, and Chang could tell they were held down and given the shots. And now they were gone. Anyone who had seen either of them land in New Babylon and make their way from the hangar to the palace and to Akbar’s office would never admit it or mention it. They had been shot down by the enemy, and that was that.

Chang checked on the planes again. Already their serial numbers had been changed. And the original numbers were marked as lost in action. Somehow the total number of operative GC fighter-bombers in New Babylon did not change.

The story that had scrolled across Chang’s screen would broadcast around the world that night. No doubt Carpathia himself would express abject personal sorrow over the losses.

Chang checked the records in Greece and found that Nelson Stefanich had forwarded location coordinates to “Howie Johnson’s” team. It was a couple of hours yet till nightfall, when Mac planned to pay the visit. Chang had time to confirm Mac’s instructions to the crew at the Ptolemaïs airport to refuel the Rooster Tail and entered into the computer that Senior Commander Johnson had been cleared at the highest levels to fly it to New Babylon.

That done, Chang found Stefanich’s cell phone number and called it in to Mac. “Got everything else you need?” Chang said.

“Well, I’d still like to know the disposition of the Stavros kid.”

“Nothing on that here, sir. Do you hold out any hope?”

“Always, Chang. But that’s just me.”

“Ask Stefanich.”

“Oh, I will. Hey, Chang?”

“Sir?”

“Who’s better than you?”

“Thank you, sir.”

Finally, Chang was able to check his other recordings from throughout the day. He located the one emanating from Carpathia’s office and backed up to several minutes before Nicolae, his secretary Krystall, Leon Fortunato, Suhail Akbar, and Viv Ivins sat watching the feed from the cockpit of the initial fighter-bomber. Suhail had just told the potentate he had arranged for him to watch live, and Carpathia had expressed excited anticipation. Chang sped through several minutes of setup and of Nicolae welcoming the various ones into the room.

Then, pay dirt. Akbar informed Carpathia that the fighter-bombers were set for takeoff from Amman, and that he could bring that up on the monitor, “if you wish.”

“If I wish? Please!”

“Palace to Amman Command,” Suhail said.

“Amman. Go ahead, Palace.”

“Initiate visual coverage of takeoff.”

“Roger that.”

Several seconds of silence. Then Carpathia. “Suhail, these are fighter-bombers? Is it an optical illusion? They look
huge
.”

“Oh, they are, Eminence. They have been in service only a few weeks. Notice how high they sit off the ground. The gear is the tallest of any fighter ever. It has to be to allow room for the payload.”

“That is the bomb, underneath?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Talk about huge. It looks massive!”

“Way too big to be carried internally, sir. It’s four and a half feet in diameter and eleven feet long. The thing weighs fifteen thousand pounds.”

“You do not say!”

“Oh, yes, sir. It’s carried on what we call an underbelly centerline station.”

“And what is it, Suhail? What are we serving the enemy today?”

“The Americans used to call these Big Blue 82s. They are concussion bombs. Eighty percent of their weight is made up of a gel consisting of polystyrene, ammonium nitrate, and powdered aluminum.”

“Is it as powerful as it is large?”

“Excellency,” Suhail said, “nothing but a nuclear weapon would be more so. These are designed to detonate just a few feet off the ground and generate a thousand pounds of pressure per square inch. It should kill everything—even the little creatures below the ground—in an area as large as two thousand acres. The mushroom cloud alone will rise more than a mile. And we’re dropping two.”

“Plus a missile.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fire?”

“Oh, Your Highness, that’s the best part. Each concussion bomb creates a fireball six thousand feet in diameter.”

Chang recoiled at a loud hiss, and he imagined a nearly overcome Carpathia inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling through clenched teeth.

Later, when the pilots let loose their payloads, Nicolae said, “Suhail! How quickly can we get this on television?”

“I’m sure it’s just a matter of a few switches, Excel—”

“Do it! Do it now!”

Someone left the room.

The recording was interrupted only with occasional outbursts from Carpathia. “Ahh! Look! Ooh! Perfect! On target! Both of them. The best revenge is success.”

“Absolutely.”

“And victory.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Total and complete,” Nicolae said.

Several grunted.

A loud sigh ended in a hum. It reminded Chang of a lion he had seen at the zoo in Beijing. It had just gorged itself on several pounds of raw beef, roared, yawned and stretched, settled its wide chin on its paws, and sighed like that, followed by a low rumbling from deep inside.

For several minutes they watched, and occasionally someone congratulated Nicolae. “Finally, Your Lordship.” That was Viv Ivins. Carpathia did not respond, making Chang wonder if she was still in his doghouse.

To all the other compliments he merely said, “Thank you. Thank you.”

The suggestion from the primary pilot to abort the missile launch was immediately rejected by Suhail. “Yes,” Nicolae said in the background. “Very good, Director Akbar. The final dart.”

When the pilot sounded insubordinate, Suhail immediately countered. Then silence, finally broken by Carpathia. “Was I hearing things, or did he dare cross you?”

“He came right to the edge, Excellency.”

“Reprimand him!” Leon squawked.

“I do not believe he meant for me to hear it. He is watching in person what we are seeing on a screen. Of course it sounds like overkill to him.”

“But still . . . ,” Leon said.

Someone shushed him.

When the missile hit and the pilot began his halting, disbelieving commentary, Chang heard a chair roll back as if someone had stood suddenly.

“What?!” That was Nicolae.

“Impossible!” Fortunato.

“Cut the feed!” Carpathia said, and Akbar repeated it, loud.

Footsteps away from the table and, Chang assumed, toward the monitor. The door opening. The sounds of people leaving, evidently everyone but Nicolae and Suhail.

“Two of our largest incendiary bombs?” Carpathia whispered. “You said one was more than enough.”

“It should have been.”

“We saw the flames, watched them burn, for how long?”

“Long enough.”

Several minutes of relative silence, during which Chang believed he heard Carpathia panting. And when the potentate finally spoke, he sounded desperate and short of breath. “Listen to me, Suhail.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you listening?”

“I am, sir.”

“Deal with those pilots. They missed. They failed. Their eyes deceived them. Do not allow this victory to go to the Judah-ites. Do not.”

“I hear you, sir.”

“Then contact the other nine regional potentates, personally, on my behalf. Tell them the Judah-ites have raised arms against us and have dealt a severe blow. We shall retaliate. I told them this only recently.”

“You did, sir.”

“But the time is now; the budget is limitless. I will sanction, condone, support, and reward the death of any Jew anywhere in the world. I want this done as a top priority, by any means. Imprison them. Torture them. Humiliate them. Shame them. Blaspheme their god. Plunder everything they own. Nothing is more important to the potentate. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Go quickly. Do it now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Suhail?”

“Sir?”

“Send Reverend Fortunato in.”

In seconds, Leon came bustling. “Oh, Highness, I don’t know what to say. I can’t understand it. What went—”

“My dear Most High Reverend Fortunato. Kiss my hand.”

“How may I serve you, Potentate? I kneel before you.”

“Be still and hear me. Are you still my most trusted devotee—?”

“Oh, yes, Supre—”

“Shh—my Reverend Father of Carpathianism?”

“I am, sincerely.”

“Leon, do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Do you cherish me?”

“With all my—”

“Do you worship me?”

“Oh, my beloved—”

“Stand up, Leon, and hear me. My enemies mock me. They perform miracles. They poison my people, call sores down on them from heaven, turn the seas into blood. And now! And now they survive bombs and fire! But I too have power. You know this. It is available to you, Leon. I have seen you use it. I have seen you call down lightning that slays those who would oppose me.

“Leon, I want to fight fire with fire. I want Jesuses. Do you hear me?”

“Sir?”

“I want messiahs.”

“Messiahs?”

“I want saviors in my name.”

“Tell me more, Excellency.”

“Find them—thousands of them. Train them, raise them up, imbue them with the power with which I have blessed you. I want them healing the sick, turning water to blood and blood to water. I want them performing miracles in my name, drawing the undecided, yea, even the enemy away from his god and to me.”

“I will do it, Excellency.”

“Will you?”

“I will if you will empower me.”

“Kneel before me again, Leon.”

“Lay your hands on me, risen one.”

“I confer upon you all the power vested in me from above and below the earth! I give you power to do great and mighty and wonderful and terrifying things, acts so splendiferous and phantasmagorical that no man can see them and not be persuaded that I am his god.”