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Soul Harvest:

The World Takes Sides

Book 4 of the Left Behind Series


CHAPTER ELEVEN

RAYFORD was learning joy in the midst of sorrow. His heart told him Amanda was alive. His mind told him she was dead. As for her betrayal of him, of the Tribulation Force, and ultimately of God himself, neither Rayford's head nor heart accepted that.

Yet with his conflicting emotions and turmoil of spirit, Rayford was as grateful for Mac's conversion as he had been for his own, for Chloe's, and for Buck's. And the timing of God's choosing to put his mark on his own! Rayford would be eager to get Tsion Ben-Judah's input on that.

It was late Wednesday evening in New Babylon. Rayford and Mac had been working side by side all day. Rayford had told him the whole story of the Tribulation Force and each of their accounts of their own conversions. Mac seemed especially intrigued that God had provided them a pastor/teacher/mentor from the beginning in Bruce Barnes. And then, following Bruce's death, God sent a new spiritual leader with even more biblical expertise.

“God has proven personal to us, Mac,” Rayford said. “He doesn't always answer our prayers the way we think he will, but we've learned he knows best. And we have to be careful not to think that everything we feel deeply is necessarily true.” “I don't follow,” Mac said.

“For instance, I can't shake the feeling that Amanda is still alive. But I can't swear that is from God.” Rayford hesitated, suddenly overcome. “I want to be sure that if it turns out I'm wrong, I don't hold it against God.”

Mac nodded. “I can't imagine holding anything against God, but I see what you mean.”

Rayford was thrilled by Mac's hunger to learn. Rayford showed him where to search on the Internet for Tsion's teachings, his sermons, his commentaries on Bruce Barnes's messages, and especially his end-times chart that plotted where he believed the church was in the sequence of the seven-year tribulation.

Mac was fascinated by evidence that pointed to Nicolae Carpathia as the Antichrist. “But this wrath of the Lamb and the moon turning to blood, man, if nothing else convinced me, that sure did.”

Once their route plans were finished, Rayford E-mailed Buck his itinerary. After picking up Peter Mathews in Rome, he and Mac were to fly him and Leon to Dallas to pick up a former Texas senator. He was the newly installed ambassador to the Global Community from the United States of North America. “You have to wonder, Mac, whether this guy ever dreamed when he got into politics that he would one day be one of the ten kings foretold of in the Bible.”

A little more than half the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport was still operational, and the rest was quickly being rebuilt. To Rayford, reconstruction around the world already clipped along at a staggering pace. It was as if Carpathia had been a student of prophecy, and though he insisted that events were not as they seemed, he seemed to have been prepared to begin rebuilding immediately.

Rayford knew Carpathia was mortal. Still, he wondered if the man ever slept. He saw Nicolae around the compound at all hours, always in suit and tie, shoes polished, face shaved, hair trimmed. He was amazing. Despite the hours he kept, he was short-tempered only when it served his purpose. Normally he was gregarious, smiling, confident. When appropriate, he feigned grief and empathy. Handsome and charming, it was easy to see how he could deceive so many.

Earlier that evening, Carpathia had broadcast a live global television and radio address. He told the masses: “Brothers and sisters in the Global Community, I address you from New Babylon. Like you, I lost many loved ones, dear friends, and loyal associates in the tragedy. Please accept my deepest and most sincere sympathy for your losses on behalf of the administration of the Global Community.

“No one could have predicted this random act of nature, the worst in history to strike the globe. We were in the final stages of our rebuilding effort following the war against a resistant minority. Now, as I trust you are able to witness wherever you are, rebuilding has already begun again.

“New Babylon will, within a very short time, become the most magnificent city the world has ever known. Your new international capitol will be the center of banking and commerce, the headquarters for all Global Community governing agencies, and eventually the new Holy City, where Enigma Babylon One World Faith will relocate.

“It will be my joy to welcome you to this beautiful place. Give us a few months to finish, and then plan your pilgrimage. Every citizen should make it his or her life's goal to experience this new Utopia and see the prototype for every city.”

With a couple of hundred other GC employees, Rayford and Mac had watched on a television high in the corner of the mess hall. Nicolae, in a small studio down the hall, played a virtual reality disk that took the viewer through the new city, gleaming as if already completed. It was dizzying and impressive.

Carpathia pointed out every high-tech, state-of-the-art convenience known to man, each blended into the beautiful new metropolis. Mac whispered, “With those gold spires, it looks like old Sunday school pictures of heaven.”

Rayford nodded. “Both Bruce and Tsion say Antichrist just counterfeits what God does.”

Carpathia finished with a stirring pep talk. “Because you are survivors, I have unwavering confidence in your drive and determination and commitment to work together, to never give up, to stand shoulder to shoulder and rebuild our world.

“I am humbled to serve you and pledge that I will give my all for as long as you allow me the privilege. Now let me just add that I am aware that, due to speculative reporting in one of our own Global Community publications, many have been confused by recent events. While it may appear that the global earthquake coincided with the so-called wrath of the Lamb, let me clarify. Those who believe this disaster was God's doing are also those who believe that the disappearances nearly two years ago were people being swept away to heaven.

“Of course, every citizen of the Global Community is free to believe as he or she wants and to exercise that faith in any way that does not infringe upon the same freedom for others. The point of Enigma Babylon One World Faith is religious freedom and tolerance.

“For that reason, I am loath to criticize the beliefs of others. However, I plead for common sense. I do not begrudge anyone the right to believe in a personal god. However, I do not understand how a god they describe as just and loving would capriciously decide who is or is not worthy of heaven and effect that decision in what they refer to as 'the twinkling of an eye.'

“Has this same loving god come back two years later to rub it in? He expresses his anger to those unfortunates he left behind by laying waste their world and killing off a huge percentage of them?” Carpathia smiled condescendingly. “I humbly ask devout believers in such a Supreme Being to forgive me if I have mischaracterized your god. But any thinking citizen realizes that this picture simply does not add up.

“So, my brothers and sisters, do not blame God for what we are enduring. See it simply as one of life's crucibles, a test of our spirit and will, an opportunity to look within ourselves and draw on that deep wellspring of goodness we were born with. Let us work together to make our world a global phoenix, rising from the ashes of tragedy to become the greatest society ever known. I bid you good-bye and goodwill until next I speak with you.”

When the Global Community employees in the mess hall leaped to their feet, cheering and clapping, Rayford and Mac stood only to keep from appearing conspicuous. Rayford noticed Mac staring off to the left.

“What?” Rayford said.

“Just a minute,” Mac said. Rayford was about to leave when everyone sat back down, still glued to the TV. “I noticed someone else slow to stand,” Mac whispered. “A young guy. Works in communications, I think.”

Everyone had sat back down because a message on the screen read, “Please stand by for Supreme Commander Leonardo Fortunato.”

Fortunato did not cut as impressive a figure as Carpathia, but he had a dynamic television visage. He came across friendly and approachable, humble yet direct, seeming to look the viewer in the eye. He told the story of his death in the earthquake and subsequent resurrection by Nicolae. “My only regret,” he added, “was that there were no witnesses. But I know what I experienced and believe with all my heart that this gift our Supreme Potentate possesses will be used in public in the future. A man bestowed with this power is worthy of a new title. I am suggesting that he hereafter be referred to as His Excellency Nicolae Carpathia. I have already instituted this policy within the Global Community government and urge all citizens who respect and love our leader to follow suit.

“As you may know, His Excellency would never require or even request such a title. Though reluctantly thrust into leadership, he has expressed a willingness to give his life for his fellow citizens. Though he will never insist upon appropriate deference, I urge it on your part.

“I have not consulted His Excellency on what I am about to tell you, and I only hope he accepts it in the spirit in which I offer it and is not embarrassed. Most of you could not know that he is going through intense personal pain.”

“I do not believe where this is going,” Rayford muttered.

“Our leader and his fiancee, the love of his life, joyfully anticipate the birth of their child within the next several months. But the soon-to-be Mrs. Carpathia is currently unaccounted for. She was about to return from the United States of North America after a visit to her family when the earthquake made international travel impossible. If anyone knows the whereabouts of Miss Hattie Durham, please forward that information to your local Global Community representative as soon as possible. Thank you.”

Mac made a beeline to the young man he had been watching. Rayford headed back toward the Condor 216 and was near the steps when Mac caught up with him. “Rayford, that kid had the mark on his forehead. When I said I knew he was a believer, he turned white. I showed him my mark, told him about you and me, and he almost cried. His name is David Hassid. He's a Jew from Eastern Europe who joined GC because he was impressed with Carpathia. He's been surfing the Net for six months, and get this, he considers Tsion Ben-Judah his spiritual mentor.”

“When did he become a believer?”

“Just a few weeks ago, but he's not ready to make it known. He was convinced he was the only one here. He says Tsion put something on the Net called the 'Romans Road' to salvation. I guess all the verses come from Romans. Anyway, he wants to meet you. He can't believe you know Ben-Judah personally.”

“Shoot, I can probably get the kid an autograph.”

 

Getting Ken Ritz's Learjet across the ravaged Waukegan Airport to the mess formerly known as Wadsworth Road was easy. Buck rode next to Ken as he slowly taxied until a pile of rubbish or chunk of concrete or gouge in the earth had to be moved, broken up, or filled in. The tools Buck had found were not intended for what he was doing, but his aching muscles and calloused hands told him he was making progress.

The tricky part was getting across Wadsworth Road to the golf course. First there was the ditch. “It's not the best thing to do to a Lear,” Ken said, “but I think I can roll in there and up and out. It's going to take just the right momentum, and I have to stop within a few feet.”

The pavement had been bowed at least eight feet, so steep that a car would not have the right angle to get over it. “Where do we go from there?” Buck asked.

“Every action has a reaction, right?” Ritz said cryptically. “Where there's a bow, there's gotta be a dip somewhere. How far east do we have to go till we can cross?”

Buck jogged about two hundred yards before seeing a huge split in the pavement. If Ritz could get the plane that far, keeping his left wing from touching the bowed pavement and his right wheel from the ditch, he could turn left across the road. After guiding Ken in and out of the ditch on that side, Buck would have to clear a fence and shrubbery that blocked the golf course.

Ritz negotiated the first ditch easily, but being careful to stop before the upcropping of pavement, he rolled back down. At the nadir of the ditch, he couldn't back out and had a trickier time going forward. He finally made it but jumped out to find he had bent the front landing gear. “Shouldn't affect anything, but I wouldn't want to land on it too many times,” he said.

Buck was not reassured. He walked ahead as Ritz taxied east down the shoulder. Ken kept an eye on the left wing, keeping it inches from the bulge of the road, while Buck watched the right tire and made sure it didn't slip into the ditch.

Once across the road, it was down into and up out of the other ditch, Ken jamming the brakes again to miss the fence. He began helping Buck move stuff out of the way, but when they started yanking shrubbery, he had to sit down. “Save your strength,” Buck said. “I can do this.”

Ritz looked at his watch. “You'd better hurry. What time did you want to be in Minneapolis?”

“Not much after three. My source says GC guys are coming from Glenview late this afternoon.”

 

When Rayford and Mac finished in the Condor, Rayford said, “Let me leave first. You and I shouldn't constantly be seen together. You need credibility with the brass.”

Rayford was tired but eager to get the long trip behind him and get back for his scuba expedition. He prayed his hunch would be right and he would not find Amanda in that submerged plane. Then he would demand to know what Carpathia had done with her. As long as she was alive and he could get to her, he didn't worry about the ridiculous claims of her being a plant.

An officer greeted Rayford as he got to his quarters. “His Excellency would like to see you, sir.”

Rayford thanked him and masked his disgust. He had enjoyed a day without Carpathia. His disappointment was doubled when he discovered Fortunato in Carpathia's office as well. They apparently didn't feel the need for their usual smarmy cordiality. Neither rose to greet him or shake his hand. Carpathia pointed to a chair and referred to a copy of Rayford's itinerary.

“I see you have scheduled a twenty-four-hour layover in North America.”

“We need the downtime for the plane and the pilots.”

“Will you be seeing your daughter and son-in-law?”

“Why?”

“I am not implying your personal time is my business,” Carpathia said. “But I need a favor.”

“I'm listening.”

“It is the same matter we discussed before the earthquake.”

“Hattie.”

“Yes.”

“You know where she is, then?” Rayford said.

“No, but I assume you do.”

“How would I, if you don't?”

Carpathia stood. “Is it time for the gloves to come off, Captain Steele? Do you really think I could run the international government and not have eyes and ears everywhere? I have sources you could not even imagine. You do not think I know that the last time you and Miss Durham flew to North America, you were on the same flight?”

“I have not seen her since, sir.”

“But she interacted with your people. Who knows what they might have filled her head with? She was supposed to have come back much earlier. You had your assignment. Whatever she was doing over there, she missed her original flight, and we know she was then traveling with your wife.”

“That was my understanding too.”

“She did not board that plane, Captain Steele. If she had, as you know, she would no longer be a problem.”

“She's a problem again?” Carpathia did not respond. Rayford continued. “I saw your broadcast. I was under the impression you were despairing over your fiancee.”

“I did not say that.”

“I did,” Fortunato said. “I was on my own there.”

“Oh,” Rayford said. “That's right. His Excellency had no idea you were going to confer divinity upon him and then overstate his turmoil over the missing fiancee.”

“Do not be naive, Captain Steele,” Carpathia said. “All I want to know is that you will have the talk with Miss Durham.”

“The talk in which I tell her she can keep the ring, live in New Babylon, and then, what was it about the baby?”

“I'm going to assume she's already made the right decision there, and you may assure her that I will cover all expenses.”

“For the child throughout its life?”

“That is not the decision I was referring to,” Carpathia said.

“Just so I'm clear, then, you will pay for the murder of the child?”

“Do not be maudlin, Rayford. It is a safe, simple procedure. Just pass along my message. She will understand.”

“Believe it or not, I don't know where she is. But if I do pass along your message, I can't guarantee she'll make the choice you want. What if she chooses to bear the child?”

Carpathia shook his head. “I must end this relationship, but it will not go over well if there is a child.”

“I understand,” Rayford said.

“We agree then.”

“I didn't say that. I said I understood.”

“You will talk to her then?”

“I have no idea of her whereabouts or well-being.”

“Could she have been lost in the earthquake?” Carpathia said, his eyes brightening.

“Wouldn't that be the best solution?” Rayford suggested with disgust.

“Actually, yes,” Carpathia said. “But my contacts believe she is hiding.”

“And you think I know where.”

“She is not the only person in exile with whom you have a connection, Captain Steele. Such leverage is keeping you out of prison.”

Rayford was amused. Carpathia had overestimated him. If Rayford had thought harboring Hattie and Tsion would give him the upper hand, he might have done it on purpose. But Hattie was on her own. And Tsion was Buck's doing.

Nonetheless, he left Carpathia's office that night with a temporary advantage, according to the enemy himself.

 

Buck was sweaty and exhausted when he finally strapped himself in next to Ken Ritz. The plane sat at the south end of the golf course, which itself had been snapped and rolled by the earthquake. Before them lay a long stretch of rolling, grassy turf. “We really ought to walk that and see if it's as solid as it looks,” Ken said. “But we don't have time.”

Against his better judgment, Buck did not protest. Still, Ken sat there staring. “I don't like it,” he said finally. “It looks long enough, and we'll know right away if it's solid. The question is, can I gain enough speed to get airborne?”

“Can you abort if you don't?” “I can try.”

Ken Ritz trying was better than anyone else promising. Buck said, “Let's do it.”

Ritz throttled up and gradually increased the speed. Buck felt his pulse race as they roller-coastered the hills of the fairway, engines screaming. Ken hit the flat stretch and throttled up all the way. The force pressed Buck to his seat, but as he braced for liftoff, Ritz throttled back. Ritz shook his head. “We've got to be at top speed by the flats. I was only at about three-quarters.” He turned around and took the plane back. “Just have to start faster,” he said. “It's like popping the clutch. If you spin, you don't accelerate fast. If you feather it for the right purchase, you've got a chance.”

The rolling start was slow again, but this time Ken throttled up as quickly as possible. They nearly left the ground as they skimmed dips and skipped mounds. They reached the flat area at what seemed twice the speed as before. Ken shouted over the din, “Now we're talkin', baby!”

The Lear jet took off like a shot, and Ken maneuvered it so it felt as if they were going straight up. Buck was plastered against the back of his seat, unable to move. He could barely catch his breath, but when he did he let out a yelp and Ritz laughed. “If I don't die of this headache, I'm gonna get you to the church on time!”

Buck's phone was chirping. He had to will his hand to pull it out, so strong were the g-forces. “This is Buck!” he hollered.

It was Tsion. “You are still on the plane?” he said.

“Just took off. But we're going to make good time.”

Buck told Tsion about Ken's injury and getting him out of the hospital.

“He is amazing,” Tsion said. “Listen, Cameron, I just received an E-mail from Rayford. He and his copilot have discovered that one of the Jewish witnesses works right there at the shelter. A young man. I will be E-mailing him personally. I have just put out onto a central bulletin board the result of several days of study and writing. Check it when you get a chance. I call it 'The Coming Soul Harvest,' and it concerns the 144,000 witnesses, their winning many millions to Christ, the visible seal, and what we can expect in the way of judgments over the next year or so.”

“What can we expect?”

“Read it on the Net when you get back. And please talk to Ken about getting us to Israel.”

“That seems impossible now,” Buck said. “Didn't Rayford tell you Carpathia's people are claiming to have helped you escape so they can be reunited with you?”

“Cameron! God will not let anything happen to me for a while. I feel a huge responsibility to the rest of the witnesses. Get me to Israel and leave my safety in the Lord's hands!”

“You have more faith than I do, Tsion,” Buck said.

“Then start working on yours, my brother!”

“Pray for Chloe!” Buck said.

“Constantly,” Tsion said. “For all of you.”

Less than an hour later, Ritz radioed Minneapolis for landing instructions and asked to be put through to a rental car agency. With the shortage of staff and vehicles, prices had been doubled. However, cars were available, and he was given directions to the Global Community hospital.

Buck had no idea what he might encounter there. He couldn't imagine easy access or the ability to get Chloe out. GC officials weren't expected to take custody of her until late that afternoon, but surely she was already under guard. He wished he had some clue to her health.

Was it wise to move her? Should he kidnap her even if he could?

“Ken, if you're up to it, I might use you and your crazy head wound as a distraction. They might be looking for me, hopefully not this soon, but I don't think anyone's ever put you together with us anyway.”

“I hope you're serious, Buck,” Ken said, “because I love to act. Plus, you're one of the good guys. Somebody's watching out for you and your friends.”

Just outside Minneapolis, Ritz was informed that air traffic was heavier than expected and he would be in a landing pattern for another ten minutes. “Roger that,” he said. “I do have a bit of an emergency here. It's not life or death, but one passenger on this plane has a serious head wound.”

“Roger, Lear. We'll see if we can move you up a couple of slots. Let us know if your situation changes.”

“Pretty crafty,” Buck said.

When Ritz was finally cleared to bring in the Learjet, he banked and swooped over the terminal, apparently the target of major quake damage. Rebuilding had begun, but the entire operation, from ticket counters to rental car agencies, was now housed in mobile units. Buck was stunned at the amount of activity at an airport where only two runways functioned.

The harried ground control manager apologized for having nowhere to hangar the Learjet. He accepted Ken's pledge that he would not leave the plane longer than twenty-four hours. “I hope not,” Buck whispered.

Ritz taxied near one of the old runways where heavy equipment was moving massive amounts of earth. He parked the Lear in line with everything from single engine Piper Cubs to Boeing 727s. They couldn't have stopped farther from the car rental agencies and still been on airport property.

Ken, wincing, gasping, and moving slowly, urged Buck to hurry ahead, but Buck was afraid Ken might collapse. “Don't go into your wounded old coot act yet,” Buck teased. “At least wait until we get to the hospital.”

“If you know me,” Ritz said, “you know this is no act.”

“I don't believe this,” Buck said, when they finally reached the car rental area and found themselves at the end of a long line. “Looks like they're sending people to the other side of the parking lot for cars.”

Ken, several inches taller than Buck, stood on tiptoes and peered into the distance. “You're right,” he said. “And you may have to get the car and come get me. I'm not up to walking any more now.”

As they neared the head of the line, Buck told Ritz to rent the car on his credit card and Buck would reimburse him. “I don't want my name all over the state, in case the GC thinks to check around.”

Ritz slapped his card on the counter. A young woman studied it. “We're down to subcompacts. Will that be acceptable?”

“What if I say no, honey?” he said.

She made a face. “That's all we have.”

“Then what difference does it make whether it's acceptable?”

“You want it then?”

“I don't have any choice. Just how subcompact is this rig?”

She slid a glossy card across the counter and pointed to the smallest car pictured. “My word,” Ritz said, “there's barely room in there for me, let alone my son here.”

Buck fought a smile. The young woman, already clearly weary of Ritz and his banter, began filling out the paperwork.

“That thing even have a back seat?”

“Not really. There's a little space behind the seats, though. You put your luggage there.”

Ritz looked at Buck, and Buck knew what he was thinking. The two of them were going to get to know each other better than they cared to in that car. Adding a grown woman in fragile condition took more imagination than Buck possessed.

“Do you have a color preference?” the girl asked.

“I get to choose?” Ritz said. “You've got only one model left, but it comes in different colors?”

“Usually,” she said. “We're down to just the red ones now.”

“But I get to choose?”

“If you choose red.”

“OK, then. Give me a second. You know what I think I'd like? You got any red ones?”

“Yes.”

“I'll take a red one. Wait a minute. Son, red OK with you?”

Buck just closed his eyes and shook his head. As soon as he had the keys he ran for the car. He tossed his and Ritz's bags behind the seats, pushed both seats back as far as they would go, jammed himself behind the wheel, and raced back to the exit road where Ritz waited. Buck had been gone only a few minutes, but apparently standing there had become too much for Ken. He sat with his knees pulled up, hands clasped in front of him.

Ritz struggled to his feet and appeared woozy, covering his eyes. Buck whipped open his door, but Ken said, “Stay there. I'm all right.”

He squeezed himself in, knees pushing against the dashboard and his head pressing against the roof. He chuckled. “Buddy boy, I have to duck to see out.”

“There's not much to see,” Buck said. “Try to relax.”

Ritz snorted. “You must've never been hit in the back of the head with an airplane.”

“Can't say I have,” Buck said, pulling onto the shoulder and passing several cars.

“Relaxing isn't the point. Surviving is. Why did you let me out of that hospital anyway? I needed another day or two of shut-eye.”

“Don't put that on me. I tried to talk you out of leaving.”

“I know. Just help me find my dope, would ya? Where's my bag?”

The Twin Cities' expressways were in relatively decent shape, compared to the Chicago area. By snaking between lane closures and detours, Buck moved at a steady pace. With his eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel, he reached behind Ken and grabbed his big leather bag. He strained, pulling it over the back of Ken's seat, and in the process dragged it hard across the back of Ken's head, causing him to screech.

“Oh, Ken! I'm so sorry! Are you all right?” Ken sat with the bag in his lap. Tears streamed, and he grimaced so hard his teeth showed. “If I thought you did that on purpose,” he rasped, “I'd kill you.”


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