The Indwelling: The Beast Takes Possession by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page A
Book: The Indwelling: The Beast Takes Possession by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins
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Authors: Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins
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Atlanta had urged the ruling. Bodies lay decaying in the streets as the living cleared out.
Remote probes were dropped into the region to test radiation levels, but their inconclusive reports were attributed to faulty equipment. Soon no one dared go near the place. Some radical journalists, Buck Williams wanna-bes, averred on the Internet that the abandoning of Chicago was the biggest foul-up in history, that the deadly diseases were not a result of nuclear radiation, and that the place was inhabitable. What if? David wondered.
He followed the cybertrails until he was studying the radiation probe results.
Hundreds had been attempted.
Not one had registered radiation. But once the scare snare was set, the hook had sunk deep. Who would risk being wrong on a matter like that?
I might, David thought. With a little more research.
He had just studied the skyline of Chicago and become intrigued by the skyscraper that had been built by the late Thomas Strong, who had made his fortune in insurance.
The place was a mere five years old, a magnificent eightystory tower that had housed Strong’s entire international headquarters. Pictures of the aftermath of the bombing showed the top twenty-six stories of the structure twisting grotesquely away from the rest of the building. The story-high red letters STRONG had slid on an angle and were still visible during the daytime, making the place look like a stubborn tree trunk that refused to cave in to the storms that leveled most of the rest of the city.
David was about to hack into the blueprints and other records that might show if any of the rest of the structure had been left with any integrity when his laptop beeped, announcing a news bulletin from Global Community headquarters.
His eyes were dancing as it was, so he bookmarked where he had been and determined to go to sleep after checking the bulletin. It read: “A spokesman for Global Community Supreme Commander Leon Fortunato in New Babylon has just announced that satellite communications have been restored. He asks that citizens employ restraint so as not to overload the system and to limit themselves to only emergency calls for the next twelve hours.
“The spokesman also has announced the decision, reportedly made by Fortunato alone, to rename the United Holy Land States. The new name of the region shall be the United Carpathian States, in honor of the slain leader. Fortunato has not announced a successor to his own role as potentate of the region, but such a move is expected under the likelihood that the Supreme Commander be drafted into service as the new Global Community potentate.”
David wondered why he had been asked to interfere with telephone capability and someone else had been asked to reverse it.
SIX
RAYFORD fought to stay awake in the warm backseat of Laslos’s small car. Pastor Demetrius Demeter pointed the way to the rustic cabin in the woods, some twenty kilometers south of Kozani. Laslos avoided any talk of Rayford’s guilt or innocence but took it upon himself to cheerfully bring Rayford up to date on the growth of the underground church in northern Greece.
Rayford apologized when a snore woke him.
“Don’t give it another thought, brother,” Laslos told him. “You need your rest, regardless of what you decide.”
Suddenly the car was off the highway and onto an unpaved road. “You can imagine what a great getaway is this cottage,” Demetrius said. “The day will come when we, or it, will be found out, and it will be lost to us.”
Rayford had gotten only a brief glimpse of the young man when the car door was open. Thin and willowy, it appeared he might be as tall as Rayford. He would have guessed Pastor Demeter at about thirty, with a thick shock of dark hair, deep olive skin, and shining black eyes. He was articulate in English with a heavy Greek accent.
The cottage was so remote that one either came there on purpose or found it while hopelessly lost. Laslos parked in the back where
Remote probes were dropped into the region to test radiation levels, but their inconclusive reports were attributed to faulty equipment. Soon no one dared go near the place. Some radical journalists, Buck Williams wanna-bes, averred on the Internet that the abandoning of Chicago was the biggest foul-up in history, that the deadly diseases were not a result of nuclear radiation, and that the place was inhabitable. What if? David wondered.
He followed the cybertrails until he was studying the radiation probe results.
Hundreds had been attempted.
Not one had registered radiation. But once the scare snare was set, the hook had sunk deep. Who would risk being wrong on a matter like that?
I might, David thought. With a little more research.
He had just studied the skyline of Chicago and become intrigued by the skyscraper that had been built by the late Thomas Strong, who had made his fortune in insurance.
The place was a mere five years old, a magnificent eightystory tower that had housed Strong’s entire international headquarters. Pictures of the aftermath of the bombing showed the top twenty-six stories of the structure twisting grotesquely away from the rest of the building. The story-high red letters STRONG had slid on an angle and were still visible during the daytime, making the place look like a stubborn tree trunk that refused to cave in to the storms that leveled most of the rest of the city.
David was about to hack into the blueprints and other records that might show if any of the rest of the structure had been left with any integrity when his laptop beeped, announcing a news bulletin from Global Community headquarters.
His eyes were dancing as it was, so he bookmarked where he had been and determined to go to sleep after checking the bulletin. It read: “A spokesman for Global Community Supreme Commander Leon Fortunato in New Babylon has just announced that satellite communications have been restored. He asks that citizens employ restraint so as not to overload the system and to limit themselves to only emergency calls for the next twelve hours.
“The spokesman also has announced the decision, reportedly made by Fortunato alone, to rename the United Holy Land States. The new name of the region shall be the United Carpathian States, in honor of the slain leader. Fortunato has not announced a successor to his own role as potentate of the region, but such a move is expected under the likelihood that the Supreme Commander be drafted into service as the new Global Community potentate.”
David wondered why he had been asked to interfere with telephone capability and someone else had been asked to reverse it.
SIX
RAYFORD fought to stay awake in the warm backseat of Laslos’s small car. Pastor Demetrius Demeter pointed the way to the rustic cabin in the woods, some twenty kilometers south of Kozani. Laslos avoided any talk of Rayford’s guilt or innocence but took it upon himself to cheerfully bring Rayford up to date on the growth of the underground church in northern Greece.
Rayford apologized when a snore woke him.
“Don’t give it another thought, brother,” Laslos told him. “You need your rest, regardless of what you decide.”
Suddenly the car was off the highway and onto an unpaved road. “You can imagine what a great getaway is this cottage,” Demetrius said. “The day will come when we, or it, will be found out, and it will be lost to us.”
Rayford had gotten only a brief glimpse of the young man when the car door was open. Thin and willowy, it appeared he might be as tall as Rayford. He would have guessed Pastor Demeter at about thirty, with a thick shock of dark hair, deep olive skin, and shining black eyes. He was articulate in English with a heavy Greek accent.
The cottage was so remote that one either came there on purpose or found it while hopelessly lost. Laslos parked in the back where
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