The Remnant: On the Brink of Armageddon

  “You westerners brag so much about working out, and yet it has not made you limber.”

  “I think you sit on a magic carpet,” Rayford said.

  Abdullah laughed. “I wish Mac were here. He inspires me to think of earthy . . . of earthy what? Comebacks? Is that what he calls them?”

  “Probably. With Mac, you never know. Did you see him today?”

  “Of course. He and Albie always look me up when they get here, tease me about getting fat on the manna, and want to know when I will join their little band of fliers. The day will come soon, I hope. For now, the elders think it is too dangerous, but my guess is that you too are eager to get going.”

  “More than you know,” Rayford said. “And while I am content to submit to the authority here, still I wonder.”

  “So do I! God is clearly supernaturally protecting those who fly in and out of here, despite all the efforts of the enemy. You would think that would give the GC an idea to stop wasting bullets and missiles. Have they hit anyone or anything?”

  Rayford shook his head. “Not yet. And the stories. Have you heard the stories?”

  Abdullah let his head fall back and gazed at the stars. “I have heard them, Captain. I want to be part of one. I want the Lord to once again protect me from harm and death by sending one of his special visitors. The flight here, when the GC were shooting right through our craft? That was like living in the Bible days. I felt like Daniel in the den of the lions. I could see the missiles coming and I knew we were in the way, yet they passed right through.

  “Captain, what must the GC think when they see this happen in the light of the sun almost every day?”

  CHAPTER 16

  Ming marched through the streets with the other local GC to the northeast corner of Zhengzhou. Few citizens were out and about, but the Muslims were known to have one of their worship and lecture periods at this time of the morning.

  The GC leader, Tung, fanned out the armed group of around thirty Peacekeepers and sent them to four entrances to the old subway that marked the borders of the area the Muslims occupied. Apparently the group had never been bothered after midnight, because it was guarded merely by a lone man at each entrance at the bottom of the stairs. The guards were quickly and quietly overtaken, and none could produce a mark of loyalty to show the GC. They were taken to the surface by a couple of GC who would walk them to the mark application site. The rest of the Peacekeepers silently moved in on the meeting of about four dozen men and women. The Muslims immediately realized their security had been breached and no resistance was possible.

  So they simply stayed where they were, listening to a speaker, one of their own. Tung had foreseen this possibility and had instructed his people to merely wait and listen themselves, gathering evidence of treason and disloyalty to Carpathianism.

  The speaker seemed to quickly assess the situation and began to close his remarks. But often looking directly at his captors, he was devout and defiant to the end. “And so,” he said, “we view god as more than the creator of all things, but also all-knowing, full of justice, loving and forgiving, and all-powerful. We believe he revealed the Koran to our prophet so he could guide us to justice and truth. We are his highest creation, but we are weak and selfish and too easily tempted by Satan to forget our purpose in life.”

  He paused to gaze at the GC once again. “We know that the very word Islam means to submit. And those of us who submit to god, repenting of our sins, gain paradise in the end. Those who do not will suffer in hell.”

  The Muslims then bowed toward Mecca and began to pray—all but three. These sat together at the back of the assemblage, and when Tung stepped forward to call a halt to the proceedings, one of the three stood and pointed at him and held a finger to his lips. “Wait,” he said quietly, but with such strength of character and—Ming couldn’t put her finger on it—conviction, perhaps, that Tung stopped. His people looked at him and back at the standing man.

  The Muslims looked up from their prayers and turned to sit again. The three men carefully stepped through the crowd and made their way to the front where the speaker had been. “This meeting is not over yet,” one of them said.

  Ming was puzzled. The three were not armed. Though they wore garb somewhat similar to the Muslims, it was not the same. They wore sandals and robes, no turbans. Their beards and hair were relatively short. They did not look Asian or Eastern. In fact, Ming realized, she would not have been able to guess their nationalities from their look or the speaker’s accent. He spoke just loudly enough to be heard, but again, with a certain quality everyone found riveting.

  “My name is Christopher. My coworkers are Nahum and Caleb. We visit you on behalf of the one and only true God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Holy One of Israel and the Father of our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Messiah. We come not to discuss religion, but to preach Christ and him crucified, dead, buried, and resurrected after three days, now sitting at the right hand of God the Father.”

  Suddenly Christopher spoke with a voice so loud that many covered their ears, yet Ming believed they could still hear every syllable. “Fear God and give glory to him, for the hour of his judgment has come! Worship him who made heaven and earth, the sea and springs of water!”

  Christopher seemed to let that settle with everyone, then in more muted tones said, “Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures; he was buried, and he rose again the third day according to the Scriptures. Now if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, how say some among you that there is no resurrection of the dead?

  “If there be no resurrection of the dead, then is Christ not risen. And if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and faith in Christ is also vain. We testify of God that he raised up Christ. If Christ be not raised, men and women are yet dead in their sins.”

  Ming searched the faces of the Muslims, whom she expected to rise in protest. Perhaps it was because their captors were at hand, or because they realized that this preaching also defied Carpathianism, but they did not object. They appeared mesmerized, if only at the audacity of an outsider disregarding their beliefs and preaching his own.

  Christopher stepped back and Nahum stepped forward. “Babylon shall fall,” he said. “That great city, because she has made all nations drink the wrath of her fornication, shall surely fall. Hers has been a system of false hope not only religiously, but also economically and governmentally.

  “God is jealous, and the Lord will have his revenge. He will take vengeance on his adversaries, and he reserves his wrath for his enemies.

  “The Lord is slow to anger and great in power. He will have his way in the whirlwind and in the storm. The clouds are the dust of his feet.”

  The GC seemed to tremble, and Ming looked to Tung, whose lips quivered. He gripped his weapon tighter, but he did not move.

  Nahum continued: “God rebukes the sea and makes it blood. He can dry up all the rivers. The mountains quake at him, and the hills melt, and the earth is burned at his presence, yes, the world, and all that dwell in it.

  “Who can stand before his indignation? Who can abide the fierceness of his anger? His fury will be poured out like fire, and the rocks shall be thrown down by him.

  “The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble. He knows them that trust in him. But with an overrunning flood he will make an utter end of the place that opposes him, and darkness shall pursue his enemies.”

  Everyone in the underground sat or stood unmoving, arms close to their sides. It was as if they were folded in upon themselves, made fearful by Nahum’s pronouncement. When he stepped back, Caleb moved up, but rather than address everyone, he turned and stared directly at Tung.

  “If any man worships the beast and his image, and receives his mark on his forehead or on his hand, that one shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out into the cup of his indignation. The one with the mark shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb,
who is Christ the Messiah.

  “The smoke of his torment ascends forever and ever, and he will have no rest day or night, he who worships the beast and his image and receives the mark of his name.”

  At first no one moved. Then one GC and another, then one more, raced from the underground, taking the steps to the street two at a time. Tung shouted after them, called them by name, threatened them. But two and then three more followed.

  The Muslims had not moved. Finally some stood, but the GC who watched Tung did not know what to do. He raised his weapon toward the three outsiders but appeared unable to speak. Finally finding his voice, he said, “To the center!”

  The GC began surrounding the Muslims, who, except for a half-dozen, allowed themselves to be led out and up the stairs. Tung nodded to two of his men and signaled that they should join him to round up the final six. But as they approached, Christopher merely leaned toward the GC and said, “It is not yet their time.”

  Ming stalled and maneuvered in such a way that she was the last one out, trailing the main group. It was clear that Christopher, Nahum, and Caleb were talking with and praying with the six stragglers. Christopher told Tung, “These will come when it is their time.” And to Ming’s astonishment, the GC leader beckoned the last two guards, and they left.

  Ming had been so moved, she realized she had not noticed whether the three strangers had the mark of the believer on their foreheads. They had to, didn’t they? She wanted to know, but she did not expect to see them again.

  As the petrified group of Muslims was led through the streets to the loyalty mark application site, Ming allowed herself to hang back far enough that, despite her small stature, she could see past them for several blocks.

  Huge klieg lights lit up the center, but no one in the area knew of the raid, and few spectators were there—only the GC who had first rousted the four Muslim guards. But unless her eyes deceived her, Ming believed she saw three more strangers in robes with short hair and beards and no turbans. They could have been a matched set with the other trio!

  But as the GC and the Muslims drew closer, they all began to point and talk among themselves. It was the same three! They stood at the head of the line, ignoring the vociferous GC clerical workers who told them to move aside.

  As the Muslims were herded into line, Ming got a closer look at the three. They did not have the mark of the believer on their foreheads! She didn’t know what to make of it. Were they underground rebels, charlatans, what?

  Tung rushed them, brandishing his rifle. “Where are the others? We will hunt them down, and you will be responsible—”

  “They will come when it is their time,” Christopher said again. And somehow that shut Tung up.

  The Muslims were instructed on how to be processed. When Tung asked how many would be taking the mark of loyalty to Carpathia, about half raised their hands. The others groaned and argued with them.

  Tung laughed. “It makes no difference! Don’t you see? You waited too long. You were discovered this very morning, months past the deadline for taking the mark. You will die at dawn with the rest.”

  He turned to the others. “And how many of you are choosing the guillotine, as if there was a choice?”

  The rest of the Muslims raised their hands, and yet Ming noticed that none of them had the mark of the believer either. Christopher addressed them. “Resist the temptation to choose the guillotine without choosing Christ the Messiah. You will die in vain.”

  “We will die for Allah!” one shouted, and the others raised fists of defiance.

  “You will die all the same,” Tung said.

  His attention was diverted to the street, and everyone turned to see the last six Muslims striding purposefully toward the site. Ming could tell Tung had not expected to see them again. When they arrived, they seemed to assess the layout, then headed directly for the area that led to the guillotines.

  “I am glad you are so decisive,” Tung said. “But we are closed until daybreak. Then you will be television stars, and a live audience will enjoy the show as well.”

  Christopher and Nahum and Caleb sat before the undecideds, each talking to a small group, pleading, explaining, urging them to receive Christ before it was too late. Finally Tung had had it. “Enough!” he shrieked. “You are finished here! These people made their choices long ago, and punishment will be meted out in the morning. Now, begone!”

  The three ignored him. But he would not be put off.

  “In five seconds I will open fire on you and instruct my people to do the same.”

  Ming panicked. She would not fire on these men of God! Could she pretend, hide, somehow go unnoticed?

  Tung waited a few beats and raised his weapon. He was six feet from Christopher’s head when he released the safety and squeezed the trigger, calling out, “Peacekeepers, open fire!”

  Ming moved into position and made a show of readying her grenade launcher. Surely Tung did not expect her to deposit an explosive in the middle of everyone, Muslims, GC, and all. But she quickly realized she was the only one moving. Everyone else appeared frozen. Tung’s face was set in the grimace of a man about to blow another’s head off.

  Ming tried to stop moving but was off balance and tripped on the foot of the man next to her, having to catch herself on yet another on her other side. She feared she had been exposed now, the only one not under the spell of the holy men.

  But Christopher addressed her directly. “Do not fear, dear sister.”

  So she had been given away! Now all would know she was not even a man!

  “God is with you,” Christopher said. “None of these can hear us, and none will remember what happened here, except that their offensive against the spokesmen of the Lord was futile. Be encouraged. Be of good cheer. Your Father in heaven looks upon you with pleasure, and you will not see death before his Son returns again.”

  Ming felt a glow as if she were flushed from head to toe. A warmth rode through her that enlivened her, gave her strength and courage. She was curious. If Christopher knew the mind of God, could he tell her more? Ming could not open her mouth, yet she had so many questions.

  Christopher answered even the unasked. “Neither will your mother see death before the glorious appearing of the King of kings. But you will be separated soon. You will return to your friends, not all of whom will remain on this earth to the end.”

  Ming wanted to ask who, but still she could not make herself speak. Her limbs, warm and liquid, felt heavy and immobile. All she could do was stare at Christopher. She felt as if she were smiling, in fact as if her entire body was.

  Christopher stood, and Nahum and Caleb joined him. As she watched, they seemed to grow larger until they towered over the area. Christopher reached out an open hand to her, but she could not move to take it and feared anyway that her body would be enveloped by it.

  “And now,” he said, “may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is well pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever.”

  The three were gone, and suddenly it was morning. The sun was bright and warm. Tung and his people acted as if they knew they were on the air, serious looks plastered on their faces. They strode about through the crowd of onlookers and Muslims.

  All the victims of the raid were in line for the blade, and to Ming’s surprise and great joy, at least twenty-five of them bore not only the mark of the believer, but also a look of assurance and deep peace that said they would have the grace to accept the consequences of their decision.

  It was nearly half a year later before Chang began to feel the pressure had lightened, if only a bit, at the palace compound. He tried a little something new every day, tapping in here and there, checking the memory disk David Hassid had buried deep within the system. It was all there, everything that had gone on in the place since Chang be
gan to lie low. He had not listened in to anything live, but he could check his calendar for specific events and go back to hear what had gone on behind closed doors on those days.

  His sister had finally escaped China, their mother insisting that Ming go back to the United North American States “with your young man. I will be fine here.” Ming told Chang she had not told their mother of Christopher’s promise that neither of them would see death before the Glorious Appearing, but that “Mother seems to get along as if that is her intention anyway—to make it to the end.”

  Ming rhapsodized to Chang about how wonderful it had felt to finally get on board with Ree, to fly all day, to get past easier checkpoints and wind up in San Diego, finally able to get rid of her male GC Peacekeeper’s uniform and let her hair grow out . . . to be a woman again.

  “For Ree?” Chang had asked via secure phone.

  “For me!” she said. “Well, maybe a little for him.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “It’s safe to say we’re an item,” she said, “but it’s awfully hard to concentrate on that with him gone almost all the time. The people here tease me about it, even Captain Steele. But Ree and I are not really romantic yet.”

  “He hasn’t kissed you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “That sounds romantic.”

  “It was a kiss good-bye before his last run and a kiss of greeting when he returned. It was in front of people, so no, romantic it was not.”

  Chang was curious about how Rayford was getting along, relocating once again.

  “It’s been hard for him, Chang. He’s thrilled to be back with his family, of course, and you should see him with that grandson! But he still feels isolated from much of the Tribulation Force, even though Sebastian has had a techie in here giving him—all of us—whatever we need to carry on as before. Living literally beneath the ground can get depressing. And I know he misses many of the advantages he had at Petra.”