Glorious Appearing: The End Of Days by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Read Free Book Online Page B

followed them to an obscure but lavishly guarded entrance underground. No one even got close without proper credentials, and Mac fought to maintain his composure as two sentinels held his photo ID next to his cheek and studied it. He could only hope none of Zeke’s dye had worn off in the skirmishes.
    He and those with him were directed to a pressed-dirt path at least thirty feet wide and lined on either side with narrow wood steps that led deep under the northern wall and past the Temple Mount. They continued directly beneath the only ground in Jerusalem still held by the resistance, and it was, of course, surrounded by the Unity Army. Were the rebels holding their own, or were they virtually imprisoned?
    Mac worried about Rayford and wished he’d had an opportunity to call Chang or Sebastian or Abdullah. Ree Woo was leading a platoon on the opposite side of Petra’s perimeter. Maybe he’d seen Rayford. But now Mac had to turn off his phone.
    The passageway to Solomon’s Stables was so dimly lit that he and the others were immediately forced to raise their tinted visors. Still the effect was like coming into a dark theater from the bright sun, and the soldiers slowed and felt their way along so as not to fall down the stairs. Mac was grateful the edge of his helmet rode low over his eyebrows, not exposing that he bore no mark of loyalty.
    Being a few steps out of the afternoon sun cooled his face and neck, and he was tempted to remove his gloves. He was nearly overcome by the reek of horse manure and urine, which grew worse as they neared the stables.
    As they reached the southeast corner of the Temple Mount, some forty feet underground, they came within sight of Solomon’s Stables, a series of pillars and arches that had once supported the southeastern platform of the courtyard above. The halls, made up of a dozen avenues of pillars, were a little over thirty yards wide, sixty yards long, and nearly thirty feet high. At least a hundred men, not in uniform, seemed to be tending more than a thousand horses.
    The odor alone took Mac back to his childhood, and he wondered how he had ever grown used to it.
    “Attention!” someone shouted. “Silence for your potentate!”
    Everything and everyone stopped, and Mac wondered where Nicolae could be. Mac and several other uniforms had their backs pressed up against a wall, standing at attention. He recognized Carpathia’s voice coming from inside a pillared room. “Gentlemen and ladies, you will be pleased to know that several months of renovations here were accomplished in the space of fewer than three weeks. The sanitation facilities are second to none, at least for humans, and best of all—per my instructions— they empty into the legendary Cradle of Jesus. ”
    Leave it to Carpathia to sicken Mac with his first words. Mac had never heard of the Cradle of Jesus, at least in the context of the Temple Mount. Many others apparently hadn’t either, for Leon Fortunato was called upon to explain.
    “Thank you, Excellency. The Cradle of Jesus can be accessed down a winding staircase in the southeast corner. This leads to a chamber approximately fifty by seventy feet where in the past there have been both a basilica named for Saint Mary and a mosque. There is also, on the west wall, some ancient Byzantine art.
    Should you care to view the chamber, be forewarned of its current use, which we feel is more appropriate to something bearing its name. You will want to hold your nose. You’ll be glad to get back to the odor of mere horses.”
    Suhail Akbar was next, Carpathia’s chief of Security and Intelligence. “Having just arrived from Mount Megiddo,” he began, “I am pleased to report that everything and everyone is in place for our soon unequivocal victory. Despite reports of discord due to the destruction of New Babyl—”
    Suddenly a shout, more of a scream, but Mac clearly recognized Carpathia’s voice. He cursed and cursed again. “Tell me, Suhail!” he raged.