"Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 8 - The Mark" - читать интересную книгу автора (LaHaye Tim)

“What did he say? What did he say?” The question raced down the line in both
directions.
“Did not Supreme Commander Fortunato say we should do that?” the man said.
“Where are you from, my friend?” the guard asked, admiration in his voice.
“Mejico!” the man shouted in his native tongue, and many with him exulted.
“You have the heart of the toreador!” the guard said. “Let me check on it!”
The news spread as the guard settled in his seat and talked into his phone. Suddenly
he stood and gave the man a thumbs-up. “You have been cleared to worship the
image of His Excellency, the risen potentate!”
The crowd cheered.
“In fact, your leaders consider it a capital idea!”
The crowd sang and chanted, edging closer and closer to the courtyard.
“Please maintain order!” the guard urged. “It will be more than an hour before you
will be allowed in. But you will get your wish!”
David shook his head as he executed a huge U-turn and headed to the courtyard.
People along the way called out to him. “Is it true? May we at least worship the
statue?”
David ignored most of them, but when clusters moved in front of his speeding cart,
he was forced to brake before slipping around them. Occasionally he nodded, to
their delight. They ran to get in a line that already ' stretched more than a quarter
mile. Would this day ever end?



TWO
Rayford mentally kicked himself. He had vastly underestimated the time and his
ability to pick up Albie, settle on the disposition of both the fighter jet and the Gulf-
stream, and get back to the new safe house before sunrise. The sun was already
toying with the horizon. He patted his pants pocket for his phone. He felt for it in
his flight bag, his jacket, on the floor.
He wanted to swear, but since coming to his senses just days before, Rayford
acknowledged that he needed a return to discipline. He had learned from an old
friend in college something he had then rejected as too esoteric and way too touchy-
feely. His broad-minded friend had called it his “opposite trigger” mode, and while
in it, he forced himself to respond in ways diametrically opposed to how he felt. If
he wanted to shout, he whispered. If he wanted to smack someone, he gently
caressed his or her shoulder.
Rayford hadn't thought about that old friend or his crazy idea until the lonely,
emotional flight from the Middle East to Greece and then to the United North
American States. And now he decided to try it. He wanted to swear at himself for
being shortsighted and for losing his phone. Instead, he surveyed his mind for an
opposite response. One opposite of swearing was blessing, but whom would he
bless? Another was praying.
“Lord,” he began, “once again I need some help. I'm mad at myself and have few
options. I'm exhausted, but I need to know what to do.”
Almost instantly Rayford remembered that Albie had his phone. Albie had a phone
of his own, too, but in the bustle and grabbing of various items, Rayford had
entrusted his to his friend. Sometime soon he would have to get someone to rig a
radio base in the safe house with a secure channel to the chopper so he could
communicate directly. Meanwhile, he couldn't tell the rest of the Tribulation Force