But for the unaffected, reciting an oath of allegiance to a satanic representative was very serious. For a time, many of them refused the oath and the mark. As the months wore on, the cries of their starving children, the lack of work, the impending loss of home and possessions, took their toll. One by one, many slipped quietly into the local offices of the ministry of finance of the Union for Peace, swore the oath, and received the laser tattoo.

No bells sounded. No lightning bolts struck. There was no angel standing with drawn sword. It was all so natural. It just took a minute or two to get back to real life . . . a warm dinner, a secure future, happy children.

But something precious had left their lives. They had turned their backs on God and become slaves of Satan. It was like Adam when he ate the forbidden fruit. One bite seemed so harmless, so ridiculously simple. Yet, Adam had listened to his wife and his belly, and he lost Paradise.

ALL OVER THE WORLD, there were those among the unaffected who chose to lose everything material rather than deny their faith. First, their food supplies ran out. Without money they were forced to compete with rodents and wild dogs and cats for scraps of rotting garbage.

When their utilities were disconnected, they were forced to endure burning heat or freezing cold. In time, real estate and personal property taxes came due, and the rule was that failure to make payment meant immediate forfeiture of all personal assets. There was no grace period. There was no second chance. Without money to make the payments, they lost everything and were evicted.

They wandered the city streets and the countryside. Their clothes were ragged, their appearance unkempt. Occasionally, there would be an outdoor fountain or, perhaps, a stream where they could wash themselves.

Their eyes grew hollow and sunken. Their shoes were soon worn out. Their clothes became soiled and ragged. But somehow they survived. Through it all, they were determined to fight and to win. In their hearts they knew that someday, somehow, the worldwide kingdom of the Antichrist would have to fall.

AL AUGUSTUS HAD WAITED to call Mark Beaulieu until he and Barbara were settled safely in New Mexico. Then, when he called, he had learned that Mark Beaulieu was in Israel. Finally one afternoon, when seated at Archie Gladstone’s desk at their secure headquarters in New Mexico, Al Augustus grabbed the telephone and once again dialed the private line of the president of the world. The Antichrist himself answered the phone.

“Mr. President,” Al said, “this is Al Augustus. I’m in the United States at my compound in Albuquerque.”

“Al, my friend, it’s good to hear from you,” Mark Beaulieu answered. “I haven’t talked to you since the dedication. I want you to know how much I appreciate your being there with me.”