"Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 3 - Nicolae" - читать интересную книгу автора (LaHaye Tim)

Nicolae Carpathia. The dashing young man, now in his mid-thirties, had seemingly
been thrust to world leadership against his own will overnight. He had gone from
being nearly an unknown in the lower house of Romanian government to president
of that country, then almost immediately had displaced the secretary-general of the
United Nations. After nearly two years of peace and a largely successful campaign
to charm the masses following the terror-filled chaos of the global vanishings,
Carpathia now faced significant opposition for the first time.
Rayford had not known what to expect from his boss. Would Carpathia be hurt,
offended, enraged? He seemed none of the above. Ushered by Leon Fortunato, a
sycophant from the New Babylon office, into the long-unused administrative office
at the former Glenview Naval Air Station, Carpathia seemed excited, high.
“Captain Steele!” Carpathia exalted. “Al—, uh, An—, uh, Mrs. Steele, how good to
see you both and to know that you are well!”
“It's Amanda,” Amanda said.
“Forgive me, Amanda,” Carpathia said, reaching for her hand with both of his.
Rayford noticed how slow she was to respond. “In all the excitement, you
understand ...”
The excitement, Rayford thought. Somehow World War III seems more than
excitement.
Carpathia's eyes were ablaze, and he rubbed his hands together, as if thrilled with
what was going on. “Well, people,” he said, “we need to get headed home.”
Rayford knew Carpathia meant home to New Babylon, home to Hattie Durham,
home to Suite 216, the potentate's entire floor of luxuriously appointed offices in the
extravagant and sparkling Global Community headquarters. Despite Rayford and
Amanda's sprawling, two-story condo within the same four-block complex, neither
had ever remotely considered New Babylon home.
Still rubbing his hands as if he could barely contain himself, Carpathia turned to the
guard with the walkie-talkie. “What is the latest?”
The uniformed GC officer had a wire plugged in his ear and appeared startled that
he had been addressed directly by Carpathia himself. He yanked out the earplug and
stammered, “What? I mean, pardon me, Mr. Potentate, sir.”
Carpathia leveled his eyes at the man. “What is the news? What is happening?”
“Uh, nothing much different, sir. Lots of activity and destruction in many major
cities.”
It seemed to Rayford that Carpathia was having trouble manufacturing a look of
pain. “Is this activity largely centered in the Midwest and East Coast?” the potentate
asked.
The guard nodded. “And some in the South,” he added.
“Virtually nothing on the West Coast then,” Carpathia said, more a statement than a
question. The guard nodded. Rayford wondered if anyone other than those who
believed Carpathia was Antichrist himself would have interpreted Carpathia's look
as one of satisfaction, almost glee. “How about Dallas/Ft. Worth?” Carpathia asked.
“DFW suffered a hit,” the guard said. “Only one major runway is still open.
Nothing's coming in, but lots of planes are heading out of there.”
Carpathia glanced at Rayford. “And the military strip nearby, where my pilot was
certified on the 757?”
“I believe that's still operational, sir,” the guard said.
“All right then, very good,” Carpathia said. He turned to Fortunato. “I am certain no
one knows our whereabouts, but just in case, what do you have for me?”
The man opened a canvas bag that seemed incongruous to Rayford. Apparently he