Assassins - Left Behind Series 6 by Tim Lahaye;Jerry B. Jenkins

Author:Tim Lahaye;Jerry B. Jenkins
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780842329200
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 1999-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

“She's somethin', ain't she? Whoo boy!”

“Quite a machine,” Rayford said, dreading what he was going to feel like the next morning.

Dwayne gave him a puzzled look. “I wudd'n talkin' about the Super J, pardner. I was talkin' about the little woman.”

Trudy leaned forward and wrapped both arms around her husband's neck. “Maybe you'll quit calling me that now.”

“Darlin',” he said, “I'll call you anything your little ol' heart desires. Whoo boy!”

“You heading west?” Rayford said suddenly.

“I can head any direction you want, Rafe. Say the word.”

“East.”

“East it is, and I'll stay below the radar level awhile so they can forget about tracking us. Buckle up and hang on.”

He wasn't kidding. Dwayne made the Super J change direction so fast, Rayford's head was pinned to the chair.

“Like a roller coaster, eh? You gotta love this!”

Rayford muttered to himself.

“How's that, Cap?” Dwayne said.

“I said you need to work up a little enthusiasm.”

Dwayne laughed until tears rolled.

Late in the day David received a private E-mail message from Annie, reporting that the head of her department and a couple of the other higher-ups had met briefly in Fortunato's office. David wrote back, “I'd love you with all my heart even if you weren't the most valuable mole in the place.”

While he skipped around his hard drive trying to retrieve the audio of the meeting in question, his status bar told him he had another message. Again it was from Annie.

“I never dreamed of so lofty a compliment from the love of my life. Thank you from the bottom of my moley little heart. Love and kisses, AC.”

When David found the recording, he recognized the voice of his peer, the head of Annie's department. He rambled through the obligatory kissing up, then turned the floor over to his intelligence analysis chief. Jim Hickman was brilliant but self-possessed and clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

“These cultists,” Hickman began, “are what I like to call literalists. They believe ancient writings, particularly the Jewish Torah and the Christian New Testament, and they make no distinction between historical records•many of which have proved accurate•and figurative, symbolic languages of the so-called prophetic passages.

“For instance, anyone•myself included•with even a cursory background in the history of ancient civilizations knows that much of the so-called prophetic books of the Bible are not prophetic at all. Oh, after the fact of some strange natural phenomenon one could make some of the imaginative and descriptive language fit the event. For instance, the current rash of death by fire, smoke, and sulfur•which is clearly poison-vapor warfare, probably by this very group•becomes the fulfillment of what they believe is a prophecy that includes monstrous horses with lions' heads, ridden by 200 million men.”

“Are we going somewhere with this, Jim?” Fortunato said. “His Excellency is looking for specifics.”

“Oh, yes, Commander. All that to say this: as these people take these writings literally, they attribute to these two crazy preachers•”

“The potentate calls them the Jerusalem Twosome!” Fortunato said.

“Yes!” Hickman cried. “I love that! Anyway, the Ben-Judah-ites believe that these old coots are the so-called witnesses of the eleventh chapter of the book of Revelation.

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