Read Online The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins - Free Book Online Page A

fatalism, as if he knew he was not leaving a message for his wife and son, but only pretending to.
    He dreaded going upstairs. He moseyed through the family room to the garage exit. If only one of the cars was missing. And one was! Maybe she had gone somewhere! But as soon as he thought of it, Rayford slumped onto the step just inside the garage. It was his own BMW that was gone. The one he had driven to O’Hare the day before. It would be waiting for him when the traffic cleared.
    The other two cars were there, Irene’s and the one Chloe used when she was home. And all those memories of Raymie were there, too. His four-wheeler, his snowmobile, his bike. Rayford hated himself for his broken promises to spend more time with Raymie. He’d have plenty of time to regret that.
    Rayford stood and heard the rattle of the envelope in his pocket. It was time to go upstairs.

    It was nearly Buck Williams’s turn at the head of the line at the Pan-Con Club counter when he found the material he had been looking for on disk. At some point during their several days of taping, Buck had raised the issue of every other country trying to curry favor with Dr. Rosenzweig and hoping to gain access to his formula for its own gain.
    “This has been an interesting aspect,” Rosenzweig had allowed, his eyes twinkling. “I was most amused by a visit from the vice president of the United States himself. He wanted to honor me, to bring me to the president, to have a parade, to confer a degree, all that. He diplomatically said nothing about my owing him anything in return, but I would owe him everything, would I not? Much was said about what a friend of Israel the United States has been over the decades. And this has been true, no? How could I argue?
    “But I pretended to see the awards and kindnesses as all for my own benefit, and I humbly turned them down. Because you see, young man, I am most humble, am I not?” The old man had laughed uproariously at himself and relayed several other stories of visiting dignitaries who worked at charming him.
    “Was anyone sincere?” Buck had asked. “Did anyone impress you?”
    “Yes!” Rosenzweig had said without hesitation. “From the most perplexing and surprising corner of the world—Romania. I do not know if he was sent or came on his own, but I suspect the latter because I believe he is the lowest-ranking official I entertained following the award. That is one of the reasons I wanted to see him. He asked for the audience himself. He did not go through typical political and protocol channels.”
    “And he was . . . ?”
    “Nicolae Carpathia.”
    “Carpathia like the—?”
    “Yes, like the Carpathian Mountains. A melodic name, you must admit. I found him most charming and humble. Not unlike myself!” Again he had laughed.
    “I’ve not heard of him.”
    “You will! You will.”
    Buck had tried to lead the old man. “Because he’s . . .”
    “Impressive, that’s all I can say.”
    “And he’s some sort of a low-level diplomat at this point?”
    “He is a member of the lower house of Romanian government.”
    “In the senate?”
    “No, the senate is the upper house.”
    “Of course.”
    “Don’t feel bad that you don’t know, even though you are an international journalist. This is something only Romanians and amateur political scientists like me know. That is something I like to study.”
    “In your spare time.”
    “Precisely. But even I had not known of this man. I mean, I knew someone in the House of Deputies—that’s what they call the lower house in Romania—was a peacemaker and leading a movement toward disarmament. But I did not know his name. I believe his goal is global disarmament, which we Israelis have come to distrust. But of course he must first bring about disarmament in his own country, which not even you will see in your lifetime. This man is about your age, by the way. Blond and blue-eyed, like the original Romanians, who came from Rome, before the