The Indwelling: The Beast Takes Possession by Tim LaHaye; Jerry B. Jenkins

Author:Tim LaHaye; Jerry B. Jenkins
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780842343404
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers
Published: 2002-03-15T07:00:00+00:00

“Twenty-four feet high and made of metal?”

“Trust me, this works. People will love it. But it would spoil everything if they saw us dumping in the stuff for the fire.”

“What are you using for fuel?” David asked.

“A form of shale,” Guy said. “For kindling, onionskin paper.”

“Where'd that come from?”

“Every tribe and nation!” Guy said, and his people laughed. “Seriously, we have an unlimited supply of holy books from all over the world, the last contribution of the late Pontifex Maximus. He shipped from Rome all the holy texts that had been confiscated and donated from the various religions and sects when the one-world faith was established.”

David was repulsed, now certain he didn't want the closer look, but he was stuck.

“Note the handiwork on the way up!” Guy said. What was there to see but polished black iron? “You can touch, but be careful! It's delicately balanced!”

Nearly two and a half stories up, David could hardly hear Guy anymore. Smoke wafted out the eyes, nostrils, and mouth of the quadruple-size image of Carpathia. It was uncanny. Though from that close the illusion was lost that the eyes were real, the features, having been made from the actual cast of the body, were perfect replicas.

David was high enough to see past the statue to the horizon, where the sun's pinks were just beginning to wash the sky. Suddenly he flinched and backpedaled, hitting the safety bar just above his waist. The whole scaffold shuddered, and he feared it might topple.

“Hey!” one of Guy's assistants hollered.

“What's going on up there?” Guy yelled. “You all right?”

David waved. He didn't want to admit what he'd heard, what had made him jump.

He steadied himself and listened. A low rumble, echoing as if from the belly of the image. Muffled and sonorous, it was clearly Carpathia's timbre. What was it saying, and how had they gotten it to do that? A chip? A disc player? A tape? He felt the vibration again, heard the hum, cocked his head to listen. “I shall shed the blood of saints and prophets.”

David whipped the control so the scaffold lurched down about five feet and stopped, swaying again. “How did you do that?” he called down.

“Do what?”

“Get a recording in there!”

Silence.

“Well, how did you? Where's the hardware, and what does the phrase mean?”

Guy was still staring up at him, obviously holding out.

“Guy!”

“What?”

“What didn't you hear? Do I have to repeat everything?”

“What didn't I hear? I didn't hear anything but you, David. What the devil are you talking about?”

David began his slow descent. “The thing talks. How did you do it? Tape loop?

Disc? What? And won't the heat or smoke destroy it?”

Guy rolled his eyes at his people. He whispered, “What are you, serious?”

“You know blamed well I'm serious, Guy.”

“So we're back to first names, are we?”

“Can we not get hung up on that right now, MinisterDirector-Poten-take-your-choice Blod? The thing speaks. I heard it twice, and I'm not crazy.”

“If you're not crazy, you're mistaken.”

“Don't tell me I didn't hear what I heard!”

“Then you're hearing things, Director Hassid.

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