Jacob's Trouble 666 is a novel by Terry, which was published a number of years ago. It tells the story of Jacob Zen, a young, lower echelon U.S. government official, who is forced to take on staggering responsibilities, when millions of people vanish, and his world begins coming apart. Terry wanted to share with you this fictionalized account of the Rapture and of the first part of the Tribulation era in serialized form. Although it is fiction, it is a story that could take on startling reality with your very next breath, because Christ's shout: "Come up hither" (Rev 4:1) could happen at any moment!

Chapter 13

The hot tea chased the chill from Jacob's body while he sat sipping above the long glass-top coffee table. Melisa Jantzen huddled close, looking to see over his right arm.

The electricity had been off for more than ten hours this time, after sporadic restorations of no more than 20 minutes at a stretch. The only illumination was that oozing through the balcony's glass doors, sunlight diffused by thick clouds and smog so that it looked to be early evening. Melisa's quartz clock displayed 11:D1 in the morning. Gone with the electric lights was the central heat. They endured the cumbersome matching wool sweaters Melisa said were to be presents for friends, but which, Jacob suspected, belonged to her and her male apartment mate. His suspicion arose when, two days after she arrived, he came across a man's clothing and a man's initialed cigarette lighter while searching through a bureau drawer for a flint for his own lighter. She had entered the room at that moment, and, becoming embarrassed, had directed him away from the chest of drawers by quickly getting what he needed. He did not mention it, but knew she was aware he found the clothes. Neither did he question the gray turtleneck she gave him to wear.

It was easy to understand how one could form a special feeling for this girl, who was at the same time strongly self-protective and vulnerable. Too, it was good to have someone to remind him that human warmth did still grace the earth's cold, troubled surface. They had not and did not share the same bed, but somehow for the past four days, they had shared something inexplicably more intimate. A feeling, a sense of belonging together. Not in the same way lovers belonged together — although sexual desire for her had crossed his mind — but in the sense that people working together in a common heroic cause belonged together.

From the beginning, when she learned that she could trust him, knew that surviving their mutual ordeal could be best accomplished by helping him, he was consummately charmed by her and made aware of her resourcefulness. She had directed him to two apartments in the building where acquaintances had lived before the disaster. In the first, they found a computer of the old type, compatible with the diskettes, and in the second apartment, a video-cassette recorder.

Power had been disrupted to the point it was impossible to begin making use of the machinery, but Melisa had been able to brew the tea without electricity, using an ancient, oil-burning samovar. With it, she was also able to heat canned beans and potted meats. If not ideal domestic life, it was, he reckoned while downing the last of his tea, as nearly so as anyone during this maddening time was likely to manage.

She propped an elbow on his shoulder and rested her chin on top of her wrist, watching him move the materials about on the coffee table. Her presence was good, bringing thoughts of Karen and what she might think if she saw this pretty girl so near him. Although he and Karen had pacted not to begrudge each other occasional outside relationships, he suspected she would be angered. Although on Melisa's part, he was fairly certain, the feeling of closeness was innocent. Under circumstances like these — the world disintegrating, seeming to have a hostile will of its own toward its inhabitants — he hoped he would not deny Karen such companionship. Of course, he would begrudge her; he knew that, as well as, he knew he would not be able to keep from stepping over the fragile barrier of fidelity, should this desirable girl invite him across. Melisa's sweet, feminine essence was an inhalation of cool, pure oxygen in a world choking with malice.

"What do you expect to find in all this?" she said after several seconds of watching him arrange, then rearrange, the items.

"I've already had a look at one of the programs and some of the papers. But without the computer and the VCR to look at this other stuff, I've only been able to confuse myself. I hope these other things will shed light on what I've already found out, or think I've found out." "What's that?"

He looked at her, contemplating whether to burden her with suspicions that might frighten her senseless, or make her think he was a lunatic. But, then, she knew about the disappearance of her mother, and millions of others. She knew about the things being reported by the one-minded news establishment. He had explained to her his own dilemma, although the explanation was a lie. Now, he needed her — to share the truth with him, to maybe give him insights from new perspectives. He must tell her everything he knew — all that he suspected.

"I told you I'm with the State Department. I'm afraid that's about the only thing I've told you that's the truth, Melisa."

He got to his feet and walked to the sliding glass door to the balcony, then stared blankly into the overcast morning sky.

"I am a liaison officer with State, like I said... That is, I was with the State Department. I'm not so sure there is a State Department, or any other governmental institution as we're used to thinking of them." He turned to face her. "Can I have some more of that tea?"

She brought his cup to him, along with the pot, and poured while he held the cup for her. Her expression was one of puzzlement.

"I know what I'm going to say, what I'm going to tell you might scare you. But it's the truth as I understand it. I told you we were in this together, all the way. That was the truth too. We have no choice. What's happening is happening to everybody, everywhere — at least to everyone in what we call the West. And, you deserve to know the facts. Maybe, just maybe, somehow, we can get the truth to others, once we ourselves fully understand. If not, God help us all. I don't know how the truth will ever come to light — at least, not until it's too late."

He again stared out the glass, past the balcony, seeing, yet not paying attention, to the light rain that had begun to fall from the depressing sky. He turned his head when he felt her hand against his shoulder, then turned farther to accept her face against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She said nothing, her warmth and closeness conveying her thoughts, telling her everything would be all right. Her hair felt soft against his cheek and smelted clean and good when he kissed it lightly.

"They're after me because I have these things." He gestured toward the materials spread on the coffee table. "I've been to an island in the Aegean. A place called Naxos. It's an insignificant little island in the Cyclade chain. I went there with my foster father, who is also my boss, Conrad Wilson."

She looked surprised; he knew she would. "Yes. The same Conrad Wilson," he said. "I was raised by him after my mother died. We went on behalf of the President, and that little piece of rock sticking up out of the water turned out to be somewhat more than what it appeared. It's an incredibly sophisticated governmental center, full of the latest technologies. It's a series of chambers and tunnels more than a mile beneath the surface, from where they intend to rule the world," he said in a dazed voice, as if he meant to say it to no one in particular. Then, he looked at her. "They might have the ability to do it, too." "Rule the world? Who?" "I'm not really sure. I don't think all the people involved in the Naxos project themselves know the members of the inner-circle — the real power. I know it sounds like a fanatical raving. I sometimes feel like I'm living somebody else's life — that it's all a delusion. Only I keep waking up morning after morning to the same realization. That they've tried to kill me — on three occasions. That they've done something to hurt someone special to me."

"A girl." Melisa's words were emphatic, knowing. Not a question at all. "I'm sorry, Jacob."

The compassion he sensed when she embraced him in that moment, cemented the already special feeling between them. She seemed to understand when she felt him quiver involuntarily against her, that his crying did not make him less a man, but more human.

With his back turned to her, he watched the rain splatter off the iron furniture and the railings of the balcony. "Uncle Conrad sent me back with a package to give the President. I never got to deliver it, because I and the secret service agents who were taking me to the White House were followed by agents of the people of Naxos, who didn't want the materials in the hands of our government. It's a power thing. Them wanting the U.S. to take a back seat. At least it was a power struggle. Now, I just don't know. There's something weird in it. I know you'll think I'm nuts, but there's something almost supernatural about it."

He turned to face her, in control again. "While they were chasing us... and they fully intended to kill us... to take the materials I had with me. While they were behind us, I was looking into the rearview mirror from where I was sitting in the back seat, and the guy, the secret service agent who was driving — he disappeared from the mirror. He was watching in the mirror, looking at the car following, and his face — it vanished."

"How can you be afraid I'll think you're crazy? I saw my mother disappear."

"It's not just people vanishing. Other things, too. These people in Naxos, at least an elite few of them, apparently knew beforehand that this was going to happen. That a catastrophe of this sort would take place and that it would give them an opportunity to institute what they call INterface. It's some kind of computer government to eventually control everyone — everything on the planet."

"But how could a small group of people possibly hope to do that? How could they ever get the remaining communist countries to go along?"

"That's the really weird part. They seemed to know the Russians would be out of the way when it came time to put, what they called the 'Six Ways to Peace Plan,' into effect. The top man in the thing seems to be Herrlich Krimhler."

"The German? The one who's always in the news?"

"The same." Jacob paced while he talked. "Krimhler as much as predicted something like this disappearance phenomenon would take place. He called it something else — 'a withdrawal into the inner-world's consciousness.' He said the uninitiated would be drawn into this inner-world, where they would be made worthy to re-enter the real world. Krimhler called it a 'new birth experience back into the physical body.' Said something about a dissolution so that New Age society could enjoy unprecedented prosperity — that all nationalism would have to be done away with."

"This 'Six Ways' thing is supposed to do that?"

"The 'Six Ways to Peace Plan'... Yes. Krimhler said the dissolution would accomplish the excision, meaning, I take it, the cutting out of undesirables, and that the 'Six Ways to Peace Plan' would bring in Utopia."

"You learned all that when you were in this Naxos place?"

"No. After that. It's all in this pile of material. In a couple of pages from a speech made to those in the Naxos project. I didn't read it until I reached the United States. The whole package was given to me by a U.S. operative working under the directive of my foster father. I was to bring it to the President in an attache' case. The package of materials in the case was rigged with explosives to detonate in the event I was assaulted." "Explosives! Why?"

"That's how critical these things are to the security of this country — to freedom. That explosive charge turned out to be a friend, believe me."

During the next hour he told her everything. His suspicions and his fears. About his escapes on the road from Andrews and from Stone Oaks, after the overheard conversations in the old mansion's basement complex. About the explosion that killed the agent who had held the gun on him from the back seat. He went on to tell her about going to Marchek's home in Rockville after the encounter with the fat driver of the van, and about viewing the speech by Krimhler on the VCR in which the German outlined the planned ruling structure of INterface. His recent experiences continued to flow from his mouth as he described in detail the agents finding him again — as they mysteriously were always able to — and about his escape through the attic, the fire, the helicopter trip to Boston. His telling of it all was cathartic and he felt lighter, free for the moment of the weight which had grown heavier since the U.S. agent handed him the package in the pumping room.

She seemed glad to share the portentous revelations, rather than reacting the way he had feared. Although her words were not trivial, the lightness of her tone made him wonder whether she understood the full implications of what he told her. "It's as if we're both caught in the same horrible dream — one of those you have when you're drifting off to sleep. You're falling and you wake with a start just before you hit bottom. Or you're running away from something or someone, only your legs are so heavy you can barely move and everything is in slow-motion, and you wake up just before whatever's chasing you can grab you."

"That monster has almost caught me three times now. So if it's a dream, I wish I had boogie men with less bloodhound in them."

Her expression became more somber and he thought he saw a trace of fear return to her pretty face; but she deserved the truth.

"I've searched every inch of the stuff I brought with me from the island and haven't found anything they might be able to home in on. The only thing I can think of is that the chemical composition of these tapes or papers might have some properties that allow them to get a fix. I've never heard of anything like that, but with what I've seen lately, I wouldn't be surprised at anything. I've got to see what these tapes and things have on them. That's more important right now than worrying about them finding me again."

Her eyes told him she was grateful for his shared thoughts.

"Look, Melisa," he said in a tone that tried to appeal to her reason while holding her hand. "Maybe it's best to find you some other place for awhile. I would leave, myself, and let you keep this apartment, set up shop somewhere else. But if they've been able to get a fix on my position again, they'll come here first, no matter where else I move to. It would be safer for you to find another apartment in some other building."

She shook her head, cutting him short. "Like you said, we're in this together. I don't want to be separated from you, even for a minute."

The bulbs in the lamps flickered with light, then stayed illuminated, and Jacob walked to the balcony.

"The traffic lights are working again. They're on again as far as I can see toward downtown. I think this time they might stay on." He put his cup and saucer on an end-table where one of the lighted lamps sat, and went back to the coffee table, where he began readying the videocassettes and computer disks.

Like before, he had no particular plan in mind about where to begin dissecting the materials. While the Marchek videotape and computer diskettes were important, the tapes from Naxos were critical; he would digest their information first.

After inserting the cassette, the first scene his gaze met made him think, for a moment, it was the tape he viewed at Marchek's home. A sea of black, globe at the center, then the familiar sparkling crystal pyramid came into focus within the globe. Picking up the other videocassette, he examined it, deciding quickly that he had not made a mistake in his selection.

Martial music played, softly at first, then grew in volume and inspiration. The disembodied voice spoke when the music subsided.

"What follows is a detailed operational video manual for the position within INterface government to be known as Sector Coordinator. This presentation details all aspects, minor and major, first of the Sector Coordinator's responsibilities to INterface Council, and second to INterface citizenry. Next, the responsibilities of the citizenry, individual and collective, to the Sector Coordinator, to all other instrumentalities within INterface government, and to each other."

Bright gold characters were generated over film of hundreds of pedestrians walking the sidewalks of a large city during a business day. Film which had to have been shot, Jacob decided, within the last two years. Seeing the people dressed in their business attire, and at the time of the film's shooting, so terribly rushed, he wondered, how many of those men and women now moved about within Herrlich Krimhler's inner-world, ...having disappeared in the "dissolution."

"They're not kidding about this, are they?" Melisa said.

Jacob put his hand up for quiet, squinting in concentration at the activity on the screen, which continued to present changing scenes.

"In addition to the specific duties and responsibilities of Sector Coordinator detailed in this inculcation session, there will be outlined the technologies which will assist you, the Coordinator, in the governing of entities within your Sector."

"We're no longer considered people, I guess," Jacob said, thinking out loud. "Now we're entities. A quick demotion from citizens."

Scenes of sophisticated communications equipment flashed and faded in and out on the screen, along with people operating it. Some of the technology was familiar to him from his time in the Naxos complex, some was not.

All the while, the martial music played on, although more softly than before. The video seemed to flash and change in time with the percussional beat while the voice continued.

"It is no longer practical to transact business using currency in the traditional, historical sense, although INterface Response Unity will utilize currency of a modified electronic type — somewhat like that which has been used since the inception of computer banking. Naturally, as an outgrowth of this evolution in computer currency, it will also no longer be feasible to use names in everyday business activity. Each citizen-entity of INterface society will be assigned an INterface Number to make INterface Response Unity work."

"Naturally," Jacob agreed sarcastically.

"A cashless, checkless system," continued the computer instructor, "designed to eventually eliminate altogether and forever the debilitating scourge of paper and coinage which has slowed economic progress.

"The founders of INterface thus have directed and supervised the development of this identification and verification machinery, which will make interaction within our world-saving monetary system immune from the thievery and graft that have plagued every socioeconomic system in history. This marvelous technology assures that everyone it serves remains unimpeachably honest.

"What follows is a demonstration of what will be referred to, henceforth, as the INterface Response Unit. 'I.N.R.U' will be the acronym for the computer unit which will be used in conducting all business matters, as you will understand when this session is completed."

Bright yellow letters popped on the screen one at a time: I...
N...
R...
U...

"The verbal command which will be used to confirm User Identification and will clear the way for transacting business within the system is the statement: 'IN ARE YOU.'"

The words for the acronym above them, popped one at a time onto the screen, bright yellow letters on a brilliantly blue background.

IN...
ARE...
YOU...

Jacob and Melisa watched for the next ten minutes, the intricate home-to-business, business-to-government, continent-to-continent, individual-to-individual, interconnectedness, displayed through colorful computer graphics spiraling and networking in mesmerizing demonstration of the system in its conceptual totality.

"Now to demonstrate how you, the Sector Coordinator, physically and psychologically fit within the framework of INterface Response Unity," the voice said when the networking display was completed.

The video changed to a man sitting in a chair-computer console — a sleek combined modular unit with sharp, angular features and made of black on gold fiberglass and stainless steel. The chair was thickly padded and covered with red velour material. A video screen, in the center of its own oval-molded shell, sat atop a keyboard unit at the end of the chair's right armrest. The keyboard curving in school-desk fashion in front of the man. The operator was dressed in an orange jumpsuit of the type Jacob remembered wearing in Naxos.

"This is the INterface Response Unit. It will become as much a part of you as your brain and arms and hands are parts of your body. The INRU makes you a vital link in the Universal Mind Order. As healthy, effective neurons and synapses provide linkage within the brain to make a conceptual-level-of-functioning biological unit, so the Sector Coordinator will serve the Universal Mind. Helping link one cluster of cells to other clusters of cells, making INterface Response Unity function as an effective whole, for the good of all."

The man sitting in the console chair began manipulating the keyboard. The camera made a slow sweep, giving perspectives from behind and above the operator. The computerized voice continued instructing how the Sector Coordinator fit within the networking, governing process, and how the INterface Response Unit functioned for the good of all who were part of INterface Response Unity.

After several minutes, the presentation ended with the same graphic demonstration of the total system's interconnectedness shown at the beginning. Jacob sat forward on the sofa, his interest piqued when the voice and the video produced new revelations.

"Of course, the position of Sector Coordinator, as do all positions of authority within INterface, carries with it great responsibilities. And with that authority and responsibility, must be included accountability."

When the man in the chair manipulated the controls, his screen displayed:

FELIX SMITH
lN-3-010101010
SECTOR COORDINATOR DO 1

"This Sector Coordinator," the computer voice said, "at this point hears and responds to the following command."

A different mechanized voice, one less human-like issued the order: "You are instructed to read the following pledge, zero-zero-one."

The man watched his screen and complied by reading the electronic copy it displayed.

"I, three, zero, one, zero, one. zero, one. zero, am one with INterface, as are all within Sector zero, zero, one. We swear this before Almighty God."

The voice emanating from the console speakers continued: "Prepare for Print Ident. Seize Print Plate."

The Coordinator reached forward with his right hand to the end of the right armrest; at the same time, the camera zoomed in, bringing the viewer a close-up shot of the man's right hand and the dark glass plate, upon which he placed his right index finger and thumb.

The video became a still-frame while the voice explained: "Accountability of the Sector Coordinator is achieved through use of the Ident Print Plate, which also assures that the information cannot be subverted. That only this individual has access during INRU accounting and allegiance periods. The Print Plate feeds INterface the Sector Coordinator's thumb and fingerprint simultaneously, plus reads his temperature, which must be close to the normal range of 98.6. Any significant variance from this temperature will automatically set in motion an investigation into the matter. Of course, duplicating the fingerprint and thumbprint would be highly difficult. However, there are safeguards which will be used in conjunction with the Sector Coordinator's fingerprint and thumbprint, to eliminate possibility of forged access, for example, retinal scan."

The video was in motion again, the camera pulling back slightly to include the man's right arm and most of the chair's right armrest. A metallic tubular device swung upward electronically from somewhere beneath the right armrest and covered the man's hand and wrist.

Jacob heard the same words the Sector Coordinator heard, and watched while the man's console screen displayed the words:

AFFIRM: FELIX SMITH
SECTOR 001
CDDRDINATDR IIM-3-O 1 D 1 O 1 D

Interface accepts. IN ARE YOU

"INterface accepts," the voice from the console announced. "IN ARE YOU!"

"You have just witnessed INterface, during which this Sector Coordinator — fully aware of activity within his assigned portion of INterface society — assured Central INterface Terminal Coordinator that order is maintained and the peace is secure within Sector zero, zero, one.

"The INterface Terminal Coordinator, who is responsible for a much larger segment of INterface Unity, known as an Octadrant, affirmed that this Sector Coordinator's Print Ident and IN Scan proved he was IN — that he had legitimate access to the INterface Response Unity computer system, and therefore, the Sector Coordinator's claim that all was well within his sphere of responsibility, was acceptable to INterface Response Unity.

"All Sector Coordinators report to all Octadrant INterface Terminal Coordinators, who then report to the INterface Response Unity Center. Thus, completing the chain of command and assuring that all are One within INterface Response Unity. By INterfaclng -- law is maintained, order achieved, the peace secured."

The graphics on Jacob's screen displayed a line chart illustrating the chain of command outlined by the mechanized voice. Ten seconds elapsed, then the now-familiar crystal pyramid symbol took the place of the graphic. Moments later, the tape was finished.

"Can you believe it?! It's like something out of Orwell or Huxley!"

"I can believe it. I have the bruises to show they're serious about it," Jacob said, beginning again to shuffle the materials in front of them on the coffee table. There was so much to look through to understand. So much...

His first inclination was to put the second Naxos tape, the one he had not yet viewed, into the recorder. Thoughts ran through his head of Krimhler's videotaped speech he watched at Marchek's home before they broke in on him. Herrlich Krimhler — surely the architect of what was intended to become INterface Unity. That earlier videotape had revealed a much more sinister, more concentrated intent. Thoughts of something the tape and the papers he brought with him from Naxos termed "The Plan," The blueprint which would lead mankind into his finest hour: Utopia achieved! Would the cassette he held now in his hand provide answers to what this grand design for heaven on earth might entail?

A face behind wire-rimmed glasses, a balding head — its imprint stamped over Jacob's thoughts of Herrlich Krimhler and Naxos. "Listen to the inner-voice," Hugo Marchek was saying to him from the grave, from somewhere... "When all else fails, listen, heed your innermost urgings; be guided by them."

The actual words the eschatologist had once given him in counsel seemed the derivative paraphrasing of the words he imagined now—the imagined advice, the actual. A cold shiver rippled along his spine and he convulsed in the moment of eerie sensation.

"Anything wrong?" Melisa touched his arm in concern.

"No. What is it they say when you shiver? A mouse running over your grave, or something?"

"I never heard that. It's the Devil sticking you with his pitchfork, I've always believed."

Jacob smiled, but his thoughts were already turning back to Marchek and the materials on the coffee table's top. His gut feeling was that there was, at the moment, more to be learned from the old man than from the propaganda of Naxos. He dropped the Naxos cassette onto the coffee table and picked up the video taken from Marchek's fireplace, then fed it into the recorder.

"What are we watching?" Melisa, who had left the room for a moment, returned and sat beside him on the sofa after placing a bowl of soup on the table near him.

"A tape I got from an old friend." It felt good to say it for the first time.

Hugo Marchek was a good friend, although fate allowed them only a brief time together. And, while it felt good to finally verbalize his feelings for the old man, there came at the same time a sadness he had not sensed before about Marchek's loss. In a strange dichotomy, the bitterness toward those responsible for Marchek's murder relieved his nerve-taut emotions, freeing him to proceed with clearer vision of purpose.

He ate the soup, his eyes cut upward at the screen. Lively music sounded while the screen displayed a huge curtain of sparkling gold color, emblazoned across with bright red script-written letters:

"THE RANCE JORGENSON SHOW"

A voice, rising in volume and flourish, announced, "Make welcome Dr. Hugo Marchek, Professor of Eschatology for the Institute of Christian Studies at Rockville, Maryland — who is also President and Founder of PAL, Preservers of American Liberty."

Light applause greeted the guest, who walked through the part in the curtains. A slightly built man of about 70, who although obviously younger than when Jacob knew him, was instantly recognizable. The new guest walked to the booth where the show's host sat and reached to shake the host's hand. He then moved beside the booth and shook hands with Lauren Winchester, Ranee Jorgenson's previously interviewed guest.

"Glad you could join us, Dr. Marchek. Did I pronounce the name right?"

"Whatever you wish to call me, Mr. Jorgenson. It is your show," Marchek responded in his thick Polish accent. He patted the host's arm lightly, taking the seat next to Jorgenson, the seat just vacated by Lauren Winchester.

"I think I like you already, Doctor. Most of my guests don't give me the respect I deserve," Jorgenson said pseudo-indignantly.

The sounds from the audience, in feigned sympathy for the host's self-described plight, brought a look of disdain from Jorgenson.

"Who let these people in here tonight, anyway?" said the host, looking somewhere in the direction of off-stage. "They're obviously not members of my family, who I got tickets for, for ten percent off regular price," he added.

From off-stage the voice of the program's booth announcer enjoined, "Those tickets were given to you free, Ranee. You mean you sold them to your own family?"

The studio erupted in laughter, causing the host to look sheepishly about the stage for support that could not be found. "See you at contract time, Morton," he said with feigned irritation. "I finally get one who shows some respect, some regard for me, and what do you do?"

Turning serious after the laughter subsided, Jorgenson questioned the guest. "What, exactly, is an eschatologist, Dr. Marchek?"

"One whose work is in the field of eschatology," Marchek said.

Jorgenson was silent for a moment, a blank expression on his face, the expression changing, then, to resignation. "See what I mean," he said while the studio audience laughed. "I finally get one who shows some respect and you win him over to your side."

The old man was finally able to speak above the laughter. "The field of eschatology deals with the study of the ultimate destiny and purpose of man. The branch of theological eschatology, to which I have devoted myself for the past 38 years, is the apocalyptic prophecies. It is the road-map which God has provided through His Word, the Holy Bible. The road-map pointing to events leading to the end of the world system as we now know it."

There were snickers and scattered hoots throughout the studio.

"You mean the end is coming... and you can tell us when?" Jorgenson questioned smugly.

"I can definitely answer 'yes' to your first question with some qualification, Mr. Jorgenson. The end of this present Earth Age is definitely coming, but it is not the end of the world. And in answer to your second question, I must tell you 'No.' I cannot tell you when. But I know who does know the precise time it will happen."

"Who's that?"

"God, of course."

"Oh? Whose god? Yours? The Muslims'? The Hindus'? Mine?" The host's facetious prodding delighted the audience, which broke into applause.

"There is but one God, Mr. Jorgenson. The Lord God Jehovah."

"So, if your God is the only God there is, why won't He tell you when doomsday will come? I mean, I can understand why He won't let me, a devout libertine, in on it. But you obviously don't have those sins pulling you down; you're in good with the big man upstairs. Why won't He tell you? I mean, for gosh sakes, you're the one who's trying so hard to understand. Right?"

"To answer your question," Marchek spoke slowly, deliberately. "I will not use my words alone, but the words of the One who has all the answers. From His Holy Word..." Scattered shouts from the studio audience cut the air sarcastically.

"No!... No!... No sermons, preacher! Preacher go home!"

Jorgenson raised his hands for silence, a smile of patient understanding on his face, his eyelids heavy with tolerance. "Now, children, we invited the good professor to play. So we've got to let him have his say. Am I right, Lauren?" Jorgenson looked past the old man to appeal to the young woman, who smiled, then gesticulated with a whatever-you-say gesture.

"Sorry, Dr. Marchek. They're bad kids, sometimes," the host apologized. "Go ahead and tell us what the man upstairs has to say."

Marchek patiently mustered his thoughts, unfazed by his tormentors, then spoke. "A moment ago, I said only God knows the answer to when the present dispensation, that is, the Church Age, will come to a close, and the Tribulation of the earth will begin in preparation for the coming Millennial Kingdom."

"Forgive me for interrupting, Doctor, but you'll have to fill us in. At least fill me in, on what you mean by the Church Age."

"The Church Age, Mr. Jorgenson, is the period of history from the time following Jesus Christ's resurrection, when the Holy Spirit descended upon believers at Pentecost, as told us in the book of Acts, to the time He returns in the air for all born-again believers. When that happens, the present dispensation, or 'Church Age,' will come to its conclusion."

"And that's the end of the world?" Jorgenson said amidst groans from the audience.

"Oh, no - as I said. We believe the world in its present form, that is, its physical composition, will not be destroyed for at least seven years after this event occurs. And then, not totally destroyed for a thousand years."

"Seven years? Why seven years? What will happen during those seven years?"

"In order to answer your questions, I would prefer to start with events taking place now, even at this moment in history. Can you spare a few minutes? I shall try to be brief."

"I might have to call time-out for a commercial, but go ahead; I'll stop you when we need to break."

"The best way to begin is with the words of the Lord Jesus Christ, himself, spoken to His disciples one day on the Mount of Olives just outside the city of Jerusalem." Marchek held up a black covered book. It was a Bible.

The same Bible Jacob had taken from the study of the old man's Rockville home Jacob picked it up from the coffee table and examined it, while Marchek held it during the videotape run through the recorder.

"You are aware you can't read from Scriptures on the air, aren't you, Dr. Marchek?" Lauren Winchester said from Marchek's right.

"Oh, yes, Ms. Winchester. I am up on the latest Supreme Court rulings concerning public readings of written Scripture belonging to any religion which does not recognize that all religions and faiths are one under God. Did I paraphrase the ruling fairly accurately?" The eschatologist looked to Lauren Winchester, who sat sullenly.

"I will not read from my Bible. I simply like to have it along when I can, like an old friend. The ruling of our wise Justices on the nation's highest court has not been interpreted to prohibit the quotation of Scripture from memory, however. So I will quote from this book."

He offered the Bible to the woman, who refused to take it. "You may follow along, to make certain I am quoting accurately, if you like. Or you, Mr. Jorgenson." He offered the book to the host.

"I'll take your quotations as accurate," Jorgenson said good-naturedly.

"The Lord Jesus Christ is on the Mount of Olives at Jerusalem — I shall quote from Matthew the 24th chapter, beginning with verse 3."

Hugo Marchek quoted swiftly and selectively from portions of the Scriptures, giving Christ's many prophetic predictions for a future time full of human misery, ending with the words,"...Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away."

Interrupting his quotation of Scripture, Hugo Marchek raised his index finger, looked to the host, then into the camera's eye. "And listen very carefully to this.

"But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven, but my Father only. But as the days of Noah were, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be. For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that Noah entered into the ark, And knew not until the flood came, and took them all away; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be."

Marchek pulled the thick-lensed glasses from his nose. The silence lingered in the studio, but was broken, finally, by the host.

"A very impressive piece of memory work, Doctor, I really must say."

"But, Mr. Jorgenson, let us forget my ability to retain Biblical prose. The thing that matters, the only thing that matters, is the truth contained within the text I just quoted. Therein lies the answer to most aspects of the question you posed a few moments ago."

"That's what you say, anyway, Doctor," interrupted Jorgenson, with sincerity in his voice. "Jesus was obviously a great prophet. At least, most all religions of the world will admit that. But I'm not personally sure He had authority from the perspective of a deity, in making His predictions. Besides, all of His teachings, like those of other prophets, were given in such metaphorical illustrations and symbolisms, and such nebulous terms. I mean, why should this one Man, this solitary human being, have the one answer to all of man's future history?" Jorgenson's rhetoric became bolder with the urgings of his audience, which applauded.

Marchek listened, then smiled and spoke in a strong, yet gentle voice. "Yes. You are right. Jesus is considered a great prophet by major religions of the world. And, no doubt, by you, too."

"Well, a great man who influenced millions of people for good, at least. I'm not sure I'm committed to a belief in prophecies and religious, supernatural phenomena," the host said.

"But you do concede that Jesus of Nazareth was a great religious Man with moral principles and philosophies, and that He was a teacher who encouraged the doing of good? A Man who told truths, as He saw them?" "Sure. Of course. I'll concede that." "But how could He be such a person? How could this Jesus be the honest, good teacher of principles you describe? How could He be the great prophet for the great Whomever?" Marchek smiled again, a trace of humor in his tone.

"I'm afraid I don't follow you, Doctor." "Jesus said that He is the Son of God. That He is the One sent to die for the sins of mankind. Therefore, He is who He says He is, that is, the Son of God ~ or He was the greatest liar who ever lived. How could such a liar be a great prophet of good and truth as the religion of Islam says, or the great teacher of moral principles, you say He is?"

The talk-show host was silenced for the moment by the logic in Marchek's words.

"But I believe we're all sons of God," Jorgenson said, finally.

"But Jesus did not say He is a son of God. He claimed to be the only begotten Son of God!"

"Then I guess I must rethink my belief about Jesus was... what He was," said Jorgenson, mild irritation infiltrating his tone.

"And that, Mr. Show-Host, is the great question of all time. What will you do with this Jesus? What is your belief about who He is? On the answer to that question rests the fate of the soul of each and every individual who has lived since the Church Age began, since Jesus Christ died and arose from the grave two millennia ago.

"You see, Mr. Jorgenson, this is the question which you, which I, which every human being, must answer for himself or herself. What shall I do with Jesus? How we answer that question determines where our immortal souls will spend eternity."

There were scattered jeers from the audience; it quieted when Jorgenson spoke.

"In your belief, this is what's called being 'born again' or 'saved,' isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, how can I, for example, be born again?"

"Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved," Marchek said. "This is God's prescription, His only prescription, for redemption."

Jacob lit a cigarette when Jorgenson interrupted Marchek for the commercial break, thinking of the ludicrous contrast between the two priorities — the eternal destiny of the soul, and the all-important commercial, which Marchek had not edited out of the videotape.

The screen blared a message about birth control and how it could now be a pleasure for both partners through the use of STW 66 Serum, and how Unitrexlnternational Industries guaranteed the preventative for a full two years. "Now, enjoy the greatest pleasure of life, without the worries of creating problems, no matter where you are, or what the tune of day or night. Safe, quick, and guaranteed effective for two years!" said the announcer enthusiastically, while the video displayed a woman and man locked together sexually within a thatch of yellow-green grass, with quick cuts from different camera angles showing explicit close-ups of their naked bodies.

"My favorite commercial," Ranee Jorgenson said when the commercial ended, his quip eliciting laughter from his audience. The host reached to place his hand on Marchek's arm. "You'll just have to forgive me for that, Doctor."

"It is not I who forgives such things, Mr. Jorgenson."

"Oh... That's right. Only God can forgive sins.”

"See. You have learned something tonight," Marchek said, smiling.

"You don't approve of such commercials, I'll wager."

"Whether I approve or disapprove makes no difference. What matters is that it is but one more indication of the fulfillment of prophecy for the end-times. We have witnessed great degeneration of morals in this nation. From the 'Flapper' era, which, I believe, the United States partially paid for with the Great Depression of the 1930's - through the post-World War II era of so-called 'national self-fulfillment,' with its increased promiscuity and unparalleled level of entertainment, at the expense of godly principles. I believe we are still paying for it today with unprecedented, untreatable venereal and other diseases which always end in death. We are still paying with worldwide economic chaos, and, by these scientifically unexplainable natural — or should I call them 'supernatural' — catastrophes. We have brought about the fulfillment of those prophecies ourselves. There's no one else we can blame."

The studio crowd voiced its disagreement with the old man's assessment through whistles and jeers.

"Excuse me, Ranee, but I just can't sit back any longer," Lauren Winchester said from her seat on the sofa to Marchek's right. "Dr. Marchek, for someone who says it isn't his place to forgive, or to judge, you're doing a pretty thorough job of playing God, here."

The audience erupted in applause and cheering.

"I, for one, want to go on record as saying that what I have listened to for the last 15 minutes is a crock."

Again those sitting in the studio went wild in agreement with the pretty actress's scathing words. "And, quite frankly, sir, I really don't care whether you or your kind forgive me or not."

The host looked at the woman, at Marchek, then to the studio audience, a feigned look of loss of control on his face. He grinned, then. "Geez, Doctor. You know what they say... I think you've stirred the proverbial wrath of the woman's scorn."

"And I have not yet even addressed the homosexual issue, Mr. Jorgenson," Marchek said with good-humor in his voice.

Jacob Zen, pulling easily on the cigarette, squinted to focus better on the old man's face. There was genuine calm there, an eloquent serenity that exuded confidence. The audience had turned hostile, stirred by Lauren Winchester's searing attack. Marchek was undeterred.

"What about the homosexual issue, Doctor?" The woman pressed boldly. "What words of divine wisdom do you have for us in that area?"

"In the Book of Genesis, the 19th chapter, the Bible tells us of the previous sin of homosexuality, which, among other sins, brought on the destruction of the ancient cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Cities which not too many years ago, as you know, were claimed by archeologists and others to be figments of the Biblical fundamentalists' imagination. But, the remnants of these places have been found in areas near the Dead Sea. And, I might add, according to secular scientists, that area seems to have been subjected to nuclear-type devastation.

"The Bible record shows that the Lord God, true to His promises, caused complete destruction of the area. Genesis 19, verses 24 and 25, tells us, "Then the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the Lord out of heaven; And he overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and that which grew upon the ground,"

"And the same conditions have recurred throughout man's history, my friends," Marchek said, turning first to Jorgenson, then to Lauren Winchester. "It happened in Noah's time; it happened in Lot's time. There was a significant infestation of homosexuality, to the point that, finally, homosexual, rather than, the heterosexual relationships were considered the norm.

"Coming down in history, it happened to Pompeii to the greatest culture perhaps of all time, ancient Greece, and to Rome. And, it has been happening to the United States for many years now. The results of that repeated offense against God Almighty has always been the destruction of the affected, or perhaps I should say, the infected society."

Lauren Winchester stiffened, her face reddened with anger. "That's hate speech! There are laws against that sort of hate-mongering, Doctor."

Hugo Marchek's gray eyes narrowed, his face taking on a grave expression. "But it is this generation, Ms. Winchester, who is speaking hate against the Creator of all things by engaging in such terrible activities. His judgment is inevitable when there is no repentance."

"You religious paranoiacs always relate your doomsday predictions to periods of supposed history for which there are few, if any, records," Lauren Winchester said angrily. "And as for Rome and Greece, they fell under the weight of their own bureaucracies and colonial over-reaches — not as a result of homosexuality. To attribute the fall of those societies to homosexuality is crazy!"

"And yet, Ms. Winchester, what was the most prevalent sexual activity of the times, according to our secular historians?"

"Of course, the Roman orgy is what we hear about most, but that, too, is overblown."

"Is it?" The old man said quizzically. "And the most noted type of sexual activity, again, according to secular historical records, pertaining to those orgies? Was it not homosexuality?"

The woman made no verbal response, but turned her face from Marchek, shaking her head and grimacing.

"But you say homosexuality was not the cause, either directly or indirectly, of the fall of the Greek and Roman Empires?"

"That's right, Doctor. That's exactly what I'm saying. Those civilizations collapsed from many governmental and societal strains, over an extended period of time."

"I agree with you, Ms. Winchester. They did collapse as you have described. But I maintain they were judged and fell, primarily, from the state of decadence that was reached in the latter years of their existence as empires. And the most marked societal and cultural distinction of those times was the tremendous proliferation of hedonistic activity, in general — and of homosexuality, in particular."

"The moral conditions of those times had little or nothing to do with the fall of those civilizations. The collapse was due to an erosion of economic and military stability. And if you are trying to get me to admit that the United States is following in their footsteps, as you super-informed clergy of the radical right always claim, I can tell you I agree completely.

"This nation is in a state of collapse at present. But not because of moral conditions, or sin. It is because of government mismanagement and consumer and governmental deficit spending. And I believe we will be able to do something about those problems long before the final stages of collapse are reached. We are capable of controlling our own destinies. And I believe we will."

Loud applause almost drowned the woman's last predictive words.

"That, Ms. Winchester," the old man said when the applause subsided, "is exactly the same ploy Satan has been using since the creation of man."

His words brought angry jeers from the studio audience.

"The Devil, Lucifer, told the woman, Eve, the same thing. That man could control his own destiny. That God did not want her and Adam to eat from the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, because if they did so they would become as wise as God, himself — and God would not like that.

"The philosophy, the theology, really, of humanism is telling our generation the same thing, my friends. And Satan, the superdeceiver, the author of humanism, is telling us that we do not need God or His wisdom, or His moral influence and restrictiveness. That we are self-sufficient. This is the same thing Satan told the Babylonians and the Greeks, and they fell because they took a bite, figuratively speaking, from the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, when they told God they did not need Him. We are doing the same thing today in America, and throughout the world. The result will be the same for this generation as it was for those of the past.

"There are not many things we can depend upon in this world. But upon this one thing you can depend, my friends. God will remain true to His promise of mercy for those who repent, and true to His promise of judgment for those who do not."

From the sofa in front of the television set, Jacob and Melisa Jantzen sat in silence, as did Ranee Jorgenson and his audience in the studio.

Finally, the host broke the disturbing quiet. "Ooo...kay, Dr. Marchek, I appreciate your being here, I guess." Jorgenson said lightly, looking uneasily into the camera, then to his subdued audience. "I can't say I agree, but I respect your right to say it." "That, too, will soon come to an end," the eschatologist interrupted. "What will come to an end?" "The right for a person, like me, to say the truths I have just expressed to you." "Oh?... How so?"

"There is coming, Mr. Jorgenson... Ms. Winchester, the world's last great dictator. A man who will completely subject the world. He will be the son of the Devil, himself. The time of the great Antichrist is near. A time, as the Lord Jesus said, such as the world has not known since the beginning of time, and shall never know again. The time of the Great Tribulation. Then, all peoples will express, in their actions and words, only what this demon-possessed leader and his devilish one-world system allows. He will be, my friends, the final fuhrer, the beast of Revelation 13, who will make Adolf Hitler seem like a Boy Scout leader by comparison."

"And you think this..." Ranee Jorgenson paused, searching for the right words, "...gentleman, is near at hand?" "I do indeed, sir."

"If this final great leader is near at hand, Ranee, she will be a woman," Lauren Winchester said solemn-faced, bringing laughter and applause. "Most likely, a lesbian, who is also a mother," she added, to the delight of the audience in the studio.

"But I assure you, Ms. Winchester... Mr. Jorgenson, the matter will not be one of merriment for long. The time will come, and I believe in the very near future, when this leader will arise out of the revived Roman Empire — out of the European Economic Community of nations, as prophesied in Daniel, the 12th chapter. He is, I am convinced, even now awaiting his time in man's history. And he will give those, who do not leave this planet, little to laugh about when he comes into his full power."

"Leave the planet?! You mean some of us will leave?" The actress questioned in an incredulous tone. "Yes. The Rapture to which I referred earlier. God will take His people — those who are saved through faith in Jesus Christ — will remove them from this planet, to meet with Jesus in the air. Just as God took Noah to safety on the ark before the flood, just as He took Lot from Sodom before He destroyed that city, they will vanish in the blink of an eye. And I believe when that happens, that is, when God's people — righteous in His eyes because of their acceptance of His Son, Jesus Christ — are Raptured from this earth, God will also remove for a time His restraining influence on mankind, the Holy Spirit." "Oh! Here we go with ghosts and spirits and the like," Lauren Winchester interrupted. "I thought you fundamentalists didn't believe in the occult!"

"The only supernatural ghost I do believe in, Ms. Winchester, is the Holy Ghost. And when God's Spirit, the third member of the Trinity, the Godhead, is removed for a time from this planet, then you shall see the greatest period of hellishness ever in man's history. The Great Tribulation. The last seven years of earth's existence, as we now know it."

"This... Antichrist... Will he be known, or come to power before this Rapture thing? Or after?" the host said.

"I believe he has a certain amount of power already within the European Parliament, or one of its consultative bodies. But he shall receive his full satanic powers to control all the world, after the restraining godly influence of the Holy Spirit is removed. The Antichrist and the unholy satanic spirit will move in to fill the vacuum left."

The audience grumbled its disapproval, and Ranee Jorgenson held both hands up asking for silence.

"Just vanish into thin air, huh?" Jorgenson said whimsically, lowering his forehead into his hands and shaking his head in disbelieving amusement. "Well, Dr. Marchek, we did invite you here tonight, albeit to discuss Preservers of American Liberty — P.A.L. — Boy! How did we get off on this Weird track? Well, I thank you at least for the entertainment value of your visit." Jorgenson rose and extended his right hand to Marchek as he spoke while the studio audience shattered the air with verbal displays of their agreement with the host's facetious remarks.

"I would invite you to stay, Doctor, but I'm afraid you'd find it hard to love Ms. Luv, even though I know your kind loves everybody."

Hugo Marchek smiled, looking into the host's eyes, causing Jorgenson to break his fun-poking grin and look sheepishly away.

"Thank you for allowing me to be with you here tonight, Mr. Jorgenson. I sincerely wish you could be with us in the air, when our Savior comes for us."

When Marchek had broken the handshake with the host and had shaken hands with Lauren Winchester, he smiled and waved to the audience and departed in a slow shuffle, amidst hoots and shouts mixed with whistles of disdain.

"Another cup?"

"What?... Yes, thanks." Jacob held his cup for Melisa to pour the tea. He watched Marchek slowly walk the distance from Ranee Jorgenson and Lauren Winchester to the huge draperies that filled the television screen.

He empathized with the old man. Yet, the same look of self-assuredness, he saw in the eschatologist's eyes when the two of them had talked together, was there as strongly as that night they met. Despite his age, which caused Marchek to move slowly, there was the distinct look of one who knew he had done the job he came to do the night the show was taped.

Jacob did not really hear nor see the naked woman, who led the animal onto the stage to rhythmic strains of music.

He couldn't shake the thought that raked his mind. Everything was happening the way Hugo Marchek said it would. His friend, who left him the message of hope in the computer — 'the time of Jacob's trouble; but he shall be saved out of if - left him his Bible.

Stronger than ever was his need to understand more about what, exactly, all of it meant. Stronger, too, his intention to try and stop his own slide into oblivion.