CHAPTER 11
Rachel rolled over to find a pair of sturdy leather shoes facing her chest. Pulling herself into a sitting position, she craned her neck. To her amazement, Monica stood over her, beams of Heavenly light pouring over the angel and overflowing throughout the back of the store. Every object stood out in vivid relief. The shelves had all toppled over; merchandise lay cluttered on the floor.
Monica knelt beside the young girl and pulled Rachel into her arms. “God sees the fear in your heart, and He wants you to know He has it all under control,” she said gently. “Remember the day you were kidnapped, during your last visit to Israel?”
Rachel grimaced. She did, indeed. An American Jew who had visited Israel had abducted her to replace his own dead daughter. Monica had stayed with her throughout her mercifully-short ordeal, until her parents had found her. Rachel had been twelve then, and Ryan and Kristen had just recently married; they’d gone to Israel for their honeymoon, accompanied by the Dalys.
“Are—are you here to get me out?” Rachel rubbed her eyes.
Monica shook her head. “No, Rachel. But I am here to stay with you until you’re found. Just as I did on that other occasion.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her face.
Rising to her feet, the angel searched the back of the store as Rachel watched. Grasping a thick rug, she brought it to Rachel and laid it on the floor next to her. “This will protect us from the shards of the broken floor tiles,” she explained. Nodding, Rachel crawled onto the rug. Monica knelt beside her.
Rachel gazed at the wood-and-plaster debris separating them from the front of the store, then crossed her legs. “Is—is Deborah OK?”
Monica smiled. “She’s better than OK, Rachel—she’s in the Father’s hands now. Where she can never suffer again.”
Deep pain shot through Rachel’s gut. “You mean—she’s dead.” Monica nodded. “Did—did Andrew take her to Heaven, Monica?”
The angel nodded. “Yes. He did. Deborah died without fear, Rachel. God was with her—she wasn’t alone.”
Rachel snuggled in Monica’s arms. Please, God, make them find us! she silently prayed. Out loud, she said, “You sure are kind, Monica.” She fingered her rhinestone necklace as she spoke.
Monica laughed and hugged her. “Thank you.” Extending her legs in front of her, the caseworker angel leaned against the wall to wait with Rachel for rescue.
Meanwhile, a cab drove Ryan and David to the Ben-Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. Throughout the long drive, Ryan couldn’t stop worrying or fidgeting. If Puccini found out Ryan was back, he was toast. Furthermore, now that Moses and Elijah had returned to Heaven, Puccini’s own apparent death and resurrection was right around the corner, and with it, the Great Tribulation. Every believer on the planet would be in mortal danger when that day came, and only a small minority would survive to see the Glorious Appearing. All the while, in the back of his mind was Rachel’s disappearance. What would the Dalys—or Ryan and Kristen, for that matter—do if they learned that she’d died in the earthquake?
Ryan pressed his fingers against his jeans, then raised them. Over and over, he lowered and raised them. “God,” he whispered, “please protect me from Puccini. Please don’t let him learn I’m coming back. And please help them find Rachel and Deborah.” He rubbed his hand on his jeans.
David fidgeted and exchanged glances with Ryan. "I need a cigarette," he grumbled.
Ryan patted his knee. "Don't you think it's time to quit, David?"
David bit his lower lip. "I should, but it's so hard, Ryan."
"Yes, it is. I know." Ryan smiled wanly. "I'll tell you what. When all this is over, I'll see if I can find you some patches. I have a friend who couldn't stop smoking until he used them. They'd probably help you." David smiled his thanks.
When they arrived at the airport, as David paid for their cab ride, Ryan silently prayed, God, how can we evade detection? He scanned the massive parking lot, lined with rows of parked cars gleaming in the sunlight, wondering where he and David should go.
“Would you gentlemen follow me?”
A man with a shock of brown hair approached them. He wore the immaculate uniform of a flight manager, Ryan noticed. He smiled as he glanced at Ryan. “You should remember me, Ryan. My name is Adam. Andrew and I brought you and your family to Tel Aviv.” Ryan nodded, smiling back. He did, indeed, remember. “Well, I am flight manager for the plane you’ve been instructed to take. Follow me, and I’ll take you there. There will be no charge.”
Ryan nodded. “Certainly, and thank you. Just lead the way.”
Exchanging puzzled glances, Ryan and David followed Adam, carrying their suitcases. The hot sun beat down on their heads; beads of sweat formed on Ryan’s face. God, he silently prayed, is this part of your promised protection? To send angels to take us wherever we need to go?
As they approached the plane, a man wearing a pilot’s uniform stood outside the hangar, watching them. When Ryan could see his face, joy flooded his soul. “Andrew!” he whispered.
Chuckling, Andrew pushed back his pilot’s cap. He shook Ryan’s hand, then David’s. “Yes, Ryan, I’ll be your pilot for this trip, and Adam will be my flight manager. Just as we were during your trip here. God has promised His protection, and He does not break His word. He has even hand-picked your cab driver for your trip to the hotel where you’ll be staying, when we land in Rome.”
Ryan nodded; David shrugged. Andrew led them aboard, where Ryan and David fastened their seat belts. "Oh, David--God told me to give you this." Andrew handed David a rectangular cardboard box.
"A box of cigarette patches," David marvelled. "Guess God has decided it really is time I quit." Andrew nodded. "Thanks, Andrew. I'll have to wait a little while, though, before I can start using these. Right now, I've got work to do."
"Yes, you do." Andrew straightened his back. "The Lord will give you both strength." He strode up the aisle toward the pilot's cabin.
Minutes later, the plane taxied down the runway, then took off. The cool air-conditioning felt good on their sweaty faces. Ryan sank back against his cushioned seat, smiling.
Throughout the flight, Ryan prayed and meditated in silence. Across the aisle, he could sometimes overhear David’s own whispered prayers. “God, I pray I’ll come to know and understand Your Son better,” David prayed, at one point. “I thank You for removing my spiritual blindness.”
“Amen,” Ryan whispered.
When the plane touched down in Rome, Andrew led the two men, each carrying his suitcase, toward a waiting cab. A man with ebony skin and a brown suit stood by the back door, waiting. “Hello, Andrew,” the man said.
“Sam,” Andrew greeted him. Ryan looked at him questioningly. “Yes, Ryan—as I told you, he’s an angel, too. A Special Forces angel. He was my supervisor a long time ago, and now, he’s Tess’s. I told you about him once, three-and-a-half years ago.”
Sam nodded agreement. “There’s no time to explain now—I must get you gentlemen to safety. Get inside, and I’ll take you to the hotel. There will be no charge for the cab.” He held the door open for Ryan and David, who climbed into the back seat. Ryan reclined against the soft leather back of his seat, whispering a prayer of thanks. A dove sat on the windshield, turning its little head this way and that, until Sam inserted his key into the ignition and turned on the engine. David cradled his box of cigarette patches in his lap.
On the way, Sam gave Ryan and David their instructions. “Ryan, God wants you to keep a low profile while you’re here. That way, Puccini won’t find you. The bulk of the celebration will take place in the Piazza Navona—make sure you stay on the fringes of that area.” Ryan nodded acquiescence. “And David, God has a role for you in the soon deliverance of your people—not here, but back in Israel.”
“Deliverance?” David gaped at the angel. “Are we in danger?”
Sam nodded. “You will be, very soon. After Puccini suffers his lethal head wound and is resurrected. He will be indwelt by Satan, and when he does, he will turn on your people with a vengeance. He will bring the daily sacrifice in the temple to a halt, and he will demand to be worshipped as God. That will be the signal for you and your people to flee.”
“To Petra?” Ryan asked softly.
“Yes.”
Ryan turned to David. “You may not know this yet, but Elijah Dayan is what the Book of Revelation calls the False Prophet. He will order a statue made of Puccini. We don’t know how yet, but that statue will talk and order people to worship Antonio.”
David snorted. “A talking action figure, a la Disneyland?”
Ryan smiled wryly. “Possibly.” He paused. “At the same time, Dayan will force everyone to wear a mark.” He paused. “The Mark of the Beast.”
“That’s right.” Sam’s voice held a tinge of sadness mingled with sternness. “Anyone who refuses to accept that mark will not be able to buy or sell, and most will be put to death. All who do accept it will be condemned to Hell and then the Lake of Fire. They will never have a chance to know God.”
David’s voice shook. “My family was in mortal danger when I was five. We were fleeing Yugoslavia.” He paused. “We barely escaped with our lives.”
Sam nodded. “I know. You will be in danger again, too, in the near future. But God will protect you.” Nodding, Ryan turned his head to watch the landmarks whizzing past his window.
When they arrived at the hotel, the two men checked in, getting separate rooms. David paid for the rooms, since Ryan's bank account was almost depleted. Ryan went to bed and slept till morning.
David tried to do the same, but old memories kept interrupting his sleep. Again and again, he kept fighting off an overpowering urge to light a cigarette. At last, with a groan, he rose to his feet, padded toward the table, and opened the box of patches. "God! Help me!"
After reading the instructions, he opened a patch and stuck it on his chest. He climbed back into bed and turned on his side; gradually, the craving subsided. The memories, however, continued, much to his chagrin. Over the years, David had sometimes dreamed about that distant frightening time…the moment when his mother had scooped him out of bed, telling him that he must be very quiet, as they were about to take a journey the government didn’t allow...the frightening moment when they had approached a high fence...the fear that had lain like a stone in the little boy’s stomach, causing him to whimper till his father had shushed him.
Even though he was thankful that God had permitted their escape to Israel, where they’d lived in freedom since, the memories of those days still haunted him. David tossed and turned till his cotton sheets were rumpled, praying that God would take away these painful memories for the night and let him sleep.
The next day was devoted to preparing the celebration. While David worked with Elijah Dayan, helping him make the preparations, Ryan stayed in his room, praying and reading his leather-covered Bible. All the while, he couldn’t stop thinking about Rachel. He felt so helpless, not knowing where she was, not being able to do anything to find her or help her. If God had not told him to return to Rome, he would still be in Jerusalem, helping the others look for her and Deborah. He kept glancing toward his cell phone, practically willing it to ring.
At last, his cell phone beeped. Grabbing it, he clutched it and held it to his ear. “Hello!?”
“Ryan? It’s me, Kristen.”
Ryan swallowed hard. “Any—any word?” He held his breath, as he pressed his fingertips against the phone’s smooth sides.
“Not yet.” Kristen’s voice turned sad. “We’re still looking, honey.”
Sagging his shoulders, Ryan nodded, glancing at the sunlight pouring through his open French doors that opened onto the balcony. “I’d better let you go, then, so you can help them look.” He paused. “Keep me posted, would you? As soon as you have any news about Rachel or Deborah, please call me—even if it’s in the middle of the night. David’s on pins and needles to know what’s happened to his sister.” His voice faltered. “And I needn’t tell you how I’m feeling.”
“I know.” Kristen’s own voice caught. “Don’t worry, one of us will call you when we know. We all have your cell phone number. Love you.”
“Bye.” The phone clicked; the dial tone returned. Bowing his head, Ryan prayed for the safe return of Rachel and Deborah. With a sigh, he grabbed his handkerchief from his dresser and wiped his face, then picked up his Bible to resume his devotions. He sank into the nearest upholstered armchair, its mattress sagging beneath him, as he opened his Bible to the Epistle of First Thessalonians.
END OF CHAPTER 11