The rapture in the twink.., p.1
The Rapture: In the Twinkling of an Eye / Countdown to the Earth's Last Days,
Part #3 of Before They Were Left Behind series by Tim LaHaye
The Rapture: In the Twinkling of an Eye: Countdown to the Earth's Last Days
Jerry B. Jenkins
Time seems to slow as the clock ticks down....
Pan-Con Airlines captain Rayford Steele prepares for a flight to London with beautiful flight attendant Hattie Durham. Because of his wife's newfound faith,
Rayford looks forward to time--and the possibilities--with Hattie.
Journalist Cameron "Buck" Williams is in
Israel when the Russians attack, and he experiences for himself the miraculous
deliverance of the Holy Land. Buck cannot deny
Chicago bureau chief Lucinda Washington's
insistence that the event was prophesied in
Scripture, though he dares not consider the personal ramifications.
Meanwhile, Nicolae Carpathia eliminates
any obstacles in his path to power. As the newly appointed president of Romania,
Nicolae is invited to speak before the U.N.
Without warning, millions disappear and are welcomed into the unspeakable
presence of God.
On Earth some realize what has happened... what they've lost... what they've missed.
And the darkest days lie ahead for those left behind.
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"Not just any fiction. Jenkins... employed the techniques of suspense and thriller novels to turn the end of the world into an exciting, stay-up-late-into-the-night, page-turning story." --Chicago Tribune
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IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE
COUNTDOWN TO THE EARTH'S LAST DAYS
Tim LaHaye Jerry B. Jenkins
Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. CAROL STREAM, ILLINOIS
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Copyright © 2006 by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B Jenkins All rights reserved
Cover photograph copyright © by Veer All rights reserved
Authors' photograph copyright © 2004 by Brian MacDonald All rights reserved
Left Behind series designed by Catherine Bergstrom
Designed by Jessie McGrath
Scripture quotations are taken or adapted from the New King James Version Copyright © 1979, 1980 1982 by Thomas Neison, Inc Used by permission All rights reserved
Characters in this novel sometimes speak words that are adapted from the New King James Version
Scripture quotations in the Authors Note are taken from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible copyrighted 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America and are used by permission All rights reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
LaHaye Tim F
The rapture in the twinkling of an eye countdown to the earth s last days / Tim LaHaye, Jerry B Jenkins
p cm -- (Left behind series)
Includes bibliographical references and index
ISBN-13 978-1-4143-0580-6 (alk paper)
ISBN-10 1-4143-0580-X(alk paper)
ISBN-13 978-1-4143-0581-3 (pbk alk paper)
ISBN-10 1-4143-0581-8(pbk alk paper)
1 Steele Rayford (Fictitious character)--Fiction 2 Rapture (Christian eschatology)-- Fiction I Jenkins Jerry B II Title PS3562 A315R43 2006 813'54--dc22 2006002547
Printed in the United States of America
10 09 08 07 06 987654321
To Linda and Gerald Murphy, my daughter and son-in-law, who serve me in countless ways
And to Roger Eide, adviser, consultant, but, above all, friend
Thanks to David Allen for expert technical consultation
Abdullah ("Smith'V'Smitty") Ababneh, midtwenties, fighter pilot, Royal Jordanian Air Force, Amman
Nicolae Carpathia, 32, multilingual import/export business tycoon and member of the lower house of Parliament, Bucharest, Romania
Hattie Durham, 26, Pan-Continental Airlines flight attendant, Des Plaines, Illinois
Leon Fortunato, early fifties, Carpathia's personal and political adviser, Bucharest
Dr. Chaim Rosenzweig, late sixties, Nobel Prize-winning Israeli botanist and statesman, Haifa, Israel
Chloe Steele, 19, freshman, Stanford University, Palo Alto, California
Irene Steele, 39, wife and mother, believer in Christ for eight years, Mt. Prospect, Illinois
Rayford Steele, 41, Pan-Continental Airlines captain, Mt. Prospect
Rayford (Raymie) Steele, Jr., 11, believer in Christ for three years, Mt. Prospect
Cameron ("Buck") Williams, 29, senior writer for Global Weekly magazine, New York City
Viv Ivins, sixties, lifelong friend of Carpathia, Bucharest
From The Regime
Nicolae Carpathia had morphed into the consummate politician, diplomat, statesman, and international gadfly. He found reasons to travel, establishing alliances with heads of state who would not have thought to grant an audience to someone from the Romanian lower house, except that he was so persuasive. And he had become known as the most popular man in his home country, admired, respected, lauded by even his opponents.
He was a man of peace. A dove. Into disarmament. That tickled the ears of his colleagues in Europe and most of the world. He had not yet visited the United States, but he was certainly known everywhere else. Carpathia's brilliance, business acumen, and accomplishments seemed somehow known by all, without his having to trumpet himself. And the way he deflected praise made people pour it on all the more. The more he got, the more he needed, and often he nearly passed out from
the thrill of it, only to come crashing down on his way from a public appearance.
Nicolae had learned the art of humility. Or at least of appearing humble.
His goal was to bypass the upper house and run for president of Romania when his second term expired. Pundits already called him the favorite....
He wanted to get on with life. It was time to move, to expand, to take what he believed was rightfully his. He had bowed the knee, worshiped his lord and master in exchange for the kingdoms of the world. Was something more required of him? He was the smartest, most well-read, articulate, multilingual man he was aware of.
It was time for Nicolae Carpathia to emerge.
Within the space of a year or so, Rayford Steele realized that his life and career had reached both their zenith and their nadir at once. There was nowhere else for him to go within Pan-Con Airlines, unless it was management. And that held no appeal.
He was flying the flagships of the fleet, had his choice of routes, and virtually set his own schedule. Rayford had mediated the latest skirmish between Irene and Chloe, which resulted in Chloe's dropping out of church altogether. If anything, Irene had grown chillier than ever since then.
Rayford didn't know what her problem was with Chloe. They could not have asked for a more ideal
daughter. She was a gem, a keeper, his friends would say, recipient of a full-ride academic scholarship from Stanford, and while he couldn't imagine her being that far away when it seemed she had been a toddler just a month ago, he was so proud of her he could hardly stand it.
He had the same high hopes for Raymie, but he worried about the kid. Was he becoming a mama's boy? There was nothing soft or sissified about him, except that he was so much into Irene's religion. That couldn't be good. What other boy that age--and especially older--was still enamored with church?
The only interesting thing on Rayford's horizon remained Hattie Durham. She had finally graduated to international flights and occasionally rode on his trips to England and other points east. Her goal was senior flight attendant and enough seniority that she could choose her routes. She had made it clear she would choose his flights, if that was all right with him.
Rayford had made it clear that this was his wish too.
That was ironic, because for as much of a thrill as it had given him to even say such a thing, it represented way more than had ever gone on between them. In point of fact, Rayford had never touched the woman.
He had been solicitous. He hoped his looks and gestures and tone of voice had made their points. But Hattie was the toucher in this relationship. She would lay a hand gently on his shoulder as she slid past him in the bulkhead. Would rest a hand on his back as she delivered coffee to the cockpit. She touched his hand while talking
with him at the occasional dinner or while thanking him for frequent rides home.
Rayford had never been inside her place, and they rarely saw each other alone. But with his life going the way it was and his midlife crisis kicking up alarmingly, Rayford began allowing himself to think of the possibilities. He told himself that if something broke, if he was tapped to fly Air Force One or Two, or if he was publicly lauded by the CIA or the Defense Department for his clandestine but admittedly limited consulting, that might get him back on track.
He could quit fantasizing about the beautiful young flight attendant and somehow talk himself into robotically walking through his boring married life.
Buck Williams had been with Global Weekly nearly four years. He had already written more than thirty cover stories, including three Newsmaker of the Year pieces. He wanted to bag a fourth, so he went to the next staff meeting with his nomination in mind: Dr. Chaim Rosen-zweig of Israel, the humble chemical engineer who preferred calling himself a botanist, but who had succeeded in concocting a formula that made the desert bloom like a greenhouse. The result was that the tiny nation of Israel had suddenly become one of the richest in the world.
In the end, the writing assignment went to Buck. He had, after all, done the story when Rosenzweig had won
the Nobel Prize. During their interview in Haifa, Dr. Rosenzweig told Buck of the many suitors who had come calling, trying to curry his favor--and access to his discovery.
"Was anyone sincere?" Buck said. "Did anyone impress you?"
"Yes! 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... ?"
"Carpathia, like the--?"
"Yes, like the Carpathian Mountains. A melodic name, you must admit. I found him most charming and humble. Not unlike myself!"
"I've not heard of him."
"You will! You will."
"Impressive--that is all I can say."
Later in the interview Rosenzweig said of Carpathia, "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. This man is about your age, by the way. Blond and blue-eyed, like the original Romanians who came from Rome, before the Mongols affected their race."
"What did you like so much about him?"
"Let me count," Rosenzweig said. "He knew my language as well as his own. And he speaks fluent English. Several others also, they tell me. Well educated but also widely self-taught. And I just like him as a person. Very bright. Very honest. Very open."
"What did he want from you?"
"That is what I liked the best. Because I found him so open and honest, I asked him outright that question. He insisted I call him Nicolae, so I said, "Nicolae, what do you want from me?" Do you know what he said, young man? He said, "Dr. Rosenzweig, I seek only your goodwill." What could I say? I said, "Nicolae, you have it." I am a bit of a pacifist myself, you know. Not unrealistically. I did not tell him this. I merely told him he had my goodwill. Which is something you also have."
"I suspect that is not something you bestow easily."
"That is why I like you and why you have it. One day you must meet Carpathia. You would like each other. His goals and dreams may never be realized even in his own country, but he is a man of high ideals. If he should emerge, you will hear of him. As you are emerging in your own orbit, he will likely hear of you, or from you; am I right?"
"I hope you are."
Buck Williams had enjoyed a leisurely late evening meal with Chaim Rosenzweig a mile from the kibbutz
from the nearby military compound where Buck would stay before his dawn flight back to the States.
Rosenzweig's driver dropped Buck off at the military compound, where he headed through the command center toward his more-than-comfortable quarters. It was already after midnight, and he was fascinated by the alert attention the strategy room personnel gave the glowing computer screens. Earlier in the week he had met the brass and been given full access to the technicians who kept their eyes on the night skies. Many nodded or waved as Buck moved through, and a couple of the command personnel called him by name.
Before undressing for bed he stood by his window and gazed into a starry sky. He felt keyed up, not drowsy. He would have trouble sleeping; he knew it. It was at times like this when he wished he enjoyed wine the way a man like Rosenzweig did. That would have put him out.
Maybe some late reading would do the trick. Just as he was turning from the window to dig a book or magazine from his bag, the raucous blat of sirens shook the place. A fire? Some malfunction? Buck assumed the loudspeakers would advise occupants what to do, where to go. He pulled on his leather jacket and was then drawn back to the window by something new in the skies.
It appeared surface-to-air missiles had been launched. Was Israel under attack? Could it be? Sounds from the air overrode even the ear-rattling sirens. When the skies lit up like noon, Buck knew this was the real thing-- a full-fledged air battle. But with whom? And why?
He bolted from his room and ran down the corridor toward the command center. "Stay in your quarters, civilian!" he heard more than once as he darted among ashen-faced men and women in various stages of dress. Many had emerged from their chambers pulling on uniforms and jamming on caps.
The situation room was chaotic already, and this crisis was less than a minute old. Command officers huddled around screens, chirping rapid-fire commands at techies. One man wearing impossibly large earphones shouted, "One of our fighters has identified Russian MiG fighter-bombers."
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