Soul Harvest: The World Takes Sides by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page A

had been foretold and could not be disputed. But if Mac was phony, if Mac worked for Carpathia, he would have already been brainwashed. He could fake this emotion, this interest. He could even insist he wanted to make a dangerous scuba drive with Rayford, just to stay on his good side.
    But Rayford was already beyond the point of no return. Again he prayed silently that God might give him a sign whether Mac was sincere. If he wasn’t, he was one of the better actors Rayford had seen. It was hard to trust anyone anymore.
    When they finally came in sight of the airfield at Al Basrah, Mac coached Ray to a gentle, if lengthy, touchdown. As Ray shut down the engine, Mac said, “That’s him. Coming down the ladder.”
    They scrambled out of the chopper as a tiny, dark-faced, long-nosed, turbaned man in bare feet gingerly made his way down from a tower that looked more like a guard station at a prison. He had tossed his crutches down, and when he reached the ground, he hopped to them and deftly used them to rush to Mac. They embraced.
    “What happened to you?” Mac asked.
    “I was in the mess hall,” Albie said. “When the rumbles began, I knew immediately what it was. Foolishly, I raced for the tower. No one was there. We were not expecting traffic for a couple of hours. What I would do up there, I had no idea. The tower began falling before I even reached it. I was able to elude it, but a fuel truck was thrown into my path. I saw it at the last instant and tried to leap over the cab, which lay on its side. I almost reached the other side but twisted my ankle on the tire and scraped my shin on the lug nuts.
    But that is not the worst of it. I have broken bones in my foot. But there are no supplies to set it, and I am low on the priority list. It will grow strong.
    Allah will bless me.”
    Mac introduced Rayford. “I want to hear your stories,” Albie said. “Where were you when it hit? Everything. I want to know everything. But first, if you have time, we could use help.” .
    Heavy machinery was already grading a huge area, preparing it for asphalt. “Your boss, the potentate himself, has expressed pleasure at our cooperation. We are trying to get underway as soon as possible to help the global peacekeeping effort. What a tragedy to have thrown in our way after all he has accomplished.”
    Rayford said nothing.
    Mac said, “Albie, we might be able to help later, but we need to eat.”
    “The mess hall is gone,” Albie said. “As for your favorite place in town, I have not heard. Shall we check?”
    “Do you have a vehicle?”
    “That old pickup,” Albie said. They followed as he crutched his way to it.
    “Clutching will be difficult,” he said. “Do you mind?”
    Mac slid behind the wheel. Albie sat in the middle, knees spread to keep from blocking the gearshift. The pickup rattled and lurched over unpaved roads until it arrived at the outskirts of the city. Rayford was sickened by the smell. He still found it hard to accept that this was part of God’s ultimate plan. Did this many people have to suffer to make some eternal point? He took comfort in that this was not God’s desired result. Rayford believed God was true to his word, that he had given people enough chances that he could now justify allowing this to get their attention.
    Wailing men and women carried bodies over their shoulders or pushed them in wheelbarrows through the crowded streets. It seemed every other block had been left in pieces by the earthquake. Mac’s favorite eatery was missing a concrete block wall, but the management had draped something over it and was open for business. One of few eating establishments still open, it was wall to wall with customers who ate while standing. Mac and Rayford shouldered their way in, drawing angry stares until the townspeople saw Albie. Then they made room, as much as they could, still pressed shoulder to shoulder.
    Rayford had little faith in the sanitation of this food, but still he was grateful