Jacob's Trouble 666

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 7

When the ladder unfolded to the rocky ground, Jacob strained to see through the whirling cloud of dust kicked up by the helicopter's huge blades, and was able to make out, finally, a number of human forms approaching. He still did not know where they were. Conrad Wilson didn't volunteer their destination; Jacob didn't ask. His only concerns had been, and were now, whether he would be able to call Karen, and when. Seeing the desolate terrain surrounding them, his concern grew. Was the island's communication system capable of connecting private hook-ups to the United States, to McLean? Were private calls permitted?
"Mister Ambassador!" One of the men dressed in an orange jumpsuit with black trim, like those worn by the others in the greeting party, offered his right hand to Wilson.
"Hello, Harry! Nice to see you!" Wilson smiled.
"And you must be Mr. Zen." The man thrust his hand out to take Jacob's. "Yes... Jacob Zen."
"Jake, this was one of my classmates at Princeton, and probably the only man I've been able to beat at golf in thirty years. Dr. Herdrick Franke, the Unified European States' top computer genius."
"Well, I am not so sure about that," the short, balding man said with a German accent. "Let us just say I know a good deal more about computer science than I do about the game of golf."
"He beats me pretty regularly, too, if that's any consolation," Jacob said.
"It is not, my friend. He always wins our wagers. Fortunately, I am intelligent enough to carry only the old currency with me. The amounts we bet are so small as to make it too much trouble for Conrad to bother exchanging, therefore he forgives the debt," the German said happily.
"Ah! But that will soon change, eh, Harry? A universal currency will eliminate such inconvenience!" Wilson said.
"But how does one carry electronic currency units in one's trousers?"
"Perhaps, Doctor, we've uncovered a new product and its future market. A portable golf-bag computer for just such occasions as wagering and making electronic funds transfers right out there on the course! What do you think, Jake?" Wilson said, turning to his foster son.
"If there's time for such things as golf." "It takes the serious mind of youth to bring us back to reality, Dr. Franke. From here on out, it's work, work, work... if we're to bring in our utopia!" "Then let us begin by seeing the start we have made here in Naxos!" The pudgy scientist seized each man by an elbow and guided them toward a boulder-strewn area 50 yards from the helicopter. "Naxos? Is that where we are?" The German smiled when Jacob asked the question. "I am sorry for the need of all this mystery about where we are located."
"Naxos is the largest of the twenty-four islands in the Cyclade chain, Jake," Wilson explained while the three men, followed by the others who met them when they landed, walked toward a cliff-like appendage. "As you can see, it's pretty well fixed so far as privacy's concerned. Just a few scattered towns in the mountains and an old Frankish fort that's falling down now. It used to be a Catholic convent, but the U.E.S. has moved those people and most others on Naxos to other islands in the area."
"They are considerably better for the move," said Franke. "Here, the electricity and transportation were very limited. We have provided much better facilities for the people on the other islands. They can still grow their traditional crops of oranges, tomatoes, olives, and potatoes, as well as, still export their Citron wine. They are better off, all things considered."
Jacob failed to hear Franke's last words, his mind at work analyzing the deeper meanings of Conrad Wilson's words. His foster father was thoroughly familiar with Naxos. Its history, its displaced population, and with the facility apparently still under construction. This man he knew so well, or thought he knew so well, had kept the secrets easily. Was he capable of more nefarious deception, in the name of national and allied security? Jake's paranoia was growing. He must stop it! Conrad Wilson was his father!
"You think our young man, here, could find a means of reaching a certain young lady back home, by any chance?" Wilson said, turning to the scientist.
"Of course. If we are not capable of such a simple thing here, then our cause is lost," Franke said with amusement in his voice. "You are welcome to use whatever means you choose, Jacob -- cable, telephone, Satelvid, or electronic mail."
"Satelvid?"
"It is a temporary system until we can get more permanent manned space arrangements set up to provide one-hundred percent global coverage. With the equipment at Stone Oaks, you'll be able to see her, as well as talk to her. It will be just as if she were in the room with you," concluded the German scientist. "Holography," said Wilson. The thought that he would be able to see and talk to Karen lightened his mood, but in the next instant even that happy prospect dimmed in light of the fantastic sight before them. While they stood at the foot of the massive boulder, its sheer gray face split apart, four men in orange jumpsuits and black helmets, armed with automatic weapons, emerged and stood at order arms. The German urged the two Americans to precede him into the opening.
No one talked while the floor on which they stood descended quickly and silently. Jacob glanced up to see the light at the top of the shaft growing smaller, then looked to Conrad Wilson, who, he noticed, seemed unimpressed.
They reached the end of their downward journey, the platform slowing then coming to a smooth stop. The wall they faced appeared to be solid rock, like the cliff face above. Then, like the cliff-face, it split and gaped open, revealing a brightly lit horizontal shaft which narrowed to a vanishing point in the distance. A transparent, box-like covering slid over the men, locking with the floor to form walls and a ceiling, to which, Jacob noticed, were attached cameras — one on each of its corners. Metal handrails emerged from the platform and stopped at elbow-level. Jacob grasped the rail, following the examples of Wilson and Franke.
The just-constructed room jerked slightly, then began moving, accelerating through the shaft. The lights whisking past them faster and faster, creating a stomach-churning Gestalt illusion that the lights, rather than they, were moving.
"Most suffer motion sickness the first time in the tube, "Herdrick Franke said, seeing the pallor of Jacob's face.
Jacob stared at the floor for the next two minutes, and the nausea eased. The conveyance slowed with a high-pitched grinding wheeze, stopping finally in front of yet another wall of rock, which split, then parted in the same manner the other had.
"A Fascinating trip, eh Jake?" Wilson looked to see his foster son's reaction.
Before Jacob could answer, four armed men, dressed in the now-familiar orange and black jumpsuits, stepped between the three men on the platform and the entranceway to what looked to be a brightly lit room -- its white walls broken at various points by dark television monitors and computer keyboards. The computer display screens, below the television monitors were filled with images, but there appeared to be no one operating the equipment. One of the armed men spoke to Franke in a curt military manner.
"An Identity Scan has been prepared for the subjects. They will be escorted to C-41, where they will be established for integration."
"Yes, yes, Major," Franke said, a disgruntled look crossing his round face.
"The military, as always, must feel they have control of matter," the German said momemts later while they walked in the big room, following two guards and being followed by others. "We must humor them; they have the guns!"
The truth in the scientist's facetious remark was mot lost on Jacob. Studies he was privileged to see as a member of Conrad Wilson's Project Eagle team, produced the conclusion that cyclical swings in governmental control — alternating between civilian authority and military authority — were historically intrinsic to cultures who managed to win for themselves a degree of liberty. True of the ancient Greeks, the Roman Empire — and all who studied such data were in agreement; the pendulum was presently swinging in favor of those who had the guns.
"Step through here, remove your clothing and move into the Degermination Chambers," the major ordered, pointing stiffly to a small opening into a darkened room. "Leave your gear here." Jacob looked at Wilson for clarification.
"He means our briefcases," Wilson said with a chuckle.
"These men are not your troops, Major..." The scientist squinted to read the nameplate above the officer's breast pocket. "Major... Brandel This man is a personal emissary of the President of the United States, and one of the greatest statesmen of our time.
He is to be treated with respect — not as you treat your corporals!"
The officer assumed the position of parade rest with his back to the wall near the entranceway. He stared straight ahead, showing no sign he heard the scientist's scolding.
"It's okay, Harry. We have our jobs; he has his," Wilson said happily, then followed Jacob into the room, which lit up fluorescently when they stepped through the doorway. Jacob surmised his body had broken an electronic beam, activating the room's illumination system.
"Remove your apparel, please, and place it in the receptacle to your right. It will be returned to you upon your departure."
The voice was computerized. Jacob looked around the enclosure to determine where it was coming from, while complying with the command.
"The machine is more polite than the soldier," Wilson joked, removing his shirt and tie and dropping them into the chute affixed to the wall.
"Why didn't you tell me you've been here before, Uncle Conrad?"
The bluntness of Jacob's tone startled Wilson, who stopped unlacing his shoes momentarily. "Need-to-know, Jacob. Besides, it's been a while since I've been here, and most of this wasn't completed when I was here last. For all practical purposes, this will be my first orientation to the complex."
Wilson's words were matter-of-fact, not apologetic; Jacob was sorry he had questioned, because it served only to create an uncharacteristic moment of hard feelings between them.
The computer-voice instructions continued, temporarily interrupting their conversation. "Move to the Degermination Cubicles to your left and press the red button located on the panel to the right of its door. Enter the cubicle and stand with feet on spots indicated on the floor. Please remain motionless until you are informed the decontamination process is completed."
"You know, Jake, this entire complex is primarily the brainchild of one man," Conrad Wilson said from the cubicle next to his. "Herrlich Krimhler."
He was glad his foster father considered the uncomfortable words between them a closed matter.
"At his age, his accomplishments are phenomenal - with his contribution to the Arab-Israeli Treaty, and now this fantastic complex."
"Most suffer motion sickness the first time in the tube," Herdrick Franke said, seeing the pallor of Jacob's face. "It helps if you look only at the floor."
Jacob stared at the floor for the next two minutes, and the nausea eased. The conveyance slowed with a high-pitched grinding wheeze, stopping finally in front of yet another wall of rock, which split, then parted in the same manner the others had.
"A fascinating trip, eh, Jake?" Wilson looked to see his foster son's reaction.
Before Jacob could answer, four armed men, dressed in the now-familiar orange and black jumpsuits, stepped between the three men on the platform and the entranceway to what looked to be a brightly lit room — its white walls broken at various points by dark television monitors and computer keyboards. The computer display screens, below the television monitors, were filled with images, but there appeared to be no one operating the equipment. One of the armed men spoke to Franke in a curt, military manner.
"An Identity Scan has been prepared for the subjects. They will be escorted to C-41, where they will be established for integration."
"Yes, yes, Major," Franke said, a disgruntled look crossing his round face.
"The military, as always, must feel they have control of matters," the German said moments later while they walked in the big room, following two guards and being followed by the others. "We must humor them; they have the guns!"
The truth in the scientist's facetious remark was not lost on Jacob. Studies he was privileged to see, as a member of Conrad Wilson's Project Eagle team, produced the conclusion that cyclical swings in "How old is he?"
"Twenty-eight."
"I didn't know he is Wilhelm Krimhler's adopted son" Jacob said, trying not to move while an apparatus passed over his body spraying its cleansing foam, "until I heard someone mention it at State the other day."
"Tragic story, really. Wilhelm Krimhler had two sons by his first wife. Their mother died in a plane crash somewhere in the Tyrolean Alps. He married again three years later, to a woman of Middle Eastern extraction. He adopted her little boy. His own two sons, both in their late teens, disappeared while skiing in Austria. Speculation was that they got caught in an avalanche. Of course, Wilhelm's own death was unusual itself, as you know." "Killed by a snake bite, wasn't he?" "A sea snake of some sort, while he was diving near Corsica. They were too far out to get the antitoxin in time. And the tragedy didn't end there." "His wife — Herrlich's mother, died, didn't she? I remember something about it."
"Yes, a real horror story. When the elder Krimhler died, Herrlich's mother just went crazy. It's not common knowledge, but according to people who knew the family, she went into a deep depression. To make matters worse, she blamed the boy, who was by then ten years old. Said he caused the snake to kill her husband — that the boy was evil — the son of the devil or some such thing. She tried to kill him with a butcher knife. I understand she's still in an asylum somewhere near Bonn."
The similarities and differences between himself and the young billionaire ran quickly through Jacob's thoughts. They were both victims of family tragedies. On the surface, the younger Krimhler had it all — riches, notoriety, genius — a future which, according to all the hyperbole the media could muster, was limited only by Krimhler and what he, himself, chose to do with his life. Jacob had Conrad Wilson, a man who considered him his own son. He had Karen, who loved him. He would never exchange places with Herrlich Krimhler, he decided.

Twenty-three minutes later, Wilson, Jacob and Herdrick Franke, riding aboard a sleek silver and transparent monorail train, glided noiselessly to a stop and were escorted by several uniformed men from the monorail's tube-shaft, then down seemingly endless white-marbled corridors.
"We are approximately one kilometer beneath the surface at this point," Franke said, gesturing with a sweep of his right hand. "It was not noticeable to you, I'm sure, but while being conveyed on the tube-train, we were actually descending. The depth, of course, gives this complex a relatively good survival prognosis, should the unthinkable occur."
They approached large, heavy metal doors which slid electronically apart, allowing entrance to a cavernous room that pulsed with life, both human and artificial. Men and women, mostly dressed in either the orange jumpsuits or totally in white, went about their respective jobs, apparently oblivious to the new arrivals.
"AH of this equipment, the state-of-the-art in computer technology, is protected against any sort of earth shock, be it manmade or natural in origin. The computer itself formulated the blueprint for the shock-absorption system. Herr Krimhler estimates we Id successfully absorb an earthquake measuring well above eight on the Richter Scale, or say an almost direct hit of the largest nuclear detonation. Our biggest threat would be the Aegean's attempt to flood us. However, we have unique machinery to prevent such an occurrence. A pumping system based on internal pressure, which would handle all but the most severe breaches of the almost solid rock in which we sit."
"Sounds like the place to be now days," Wilson said. "Maybe we should all move in, eh, Jake?"
"Li effect," said the German, "that's what the leadership of the U.E.S. has done. Not because of the nuclear threat, of course, but because Unified Europe can be run much more efficiently these days by computer communications and so forth. Very little time will be spent in the headquarters at Brussels, once this facility is fully activated. Upon its completion, governing will be distributed between the Naxos complex, Europa Rome, and New Babylon." "What about the leadership in the other various capitals, and the royalty, such as the British royalty?" Jacob asked while they walked. "Everybody can't be brought here."
"You have hit upon the very heart of the concept," said the scientist. "Ah! But I am not a politician. Or I should say, I'm a politician only to the extent that I must do what is necessary to assure that my team has all the funds essential to accomplishing our mission — that of technological unification. I leave it up to you and Conrad, and to Herr Krimhler, to provide leadership in bringing us all together ideologically and governmentally."
"These are some of the difficult issues we face. To take centuries of cultural, political, socioeconomic and religious ties and somehow convince the people that things must change if we are to..."
"If we are to move into the age of enlight-ninent and truly equal freedom for all peoples."
The men turned to see the man whose words interrupted those of Conrad Wilson.
"The people will be convinced. Circumstances will make them see the wisdom of such change." The tall young man, whose dark, compelling eyes scanned the three men, took Wilson's hand, then those of Jacob and Herdrick Franke. Jacob recognized him as Herrlich Krimhler. Instantly, he sensed what others had told him — that though Krimhler was present in body when you talked with him face to face, he seemed somehow absent in spirit. The distant look from the eyes gave the feeling, nonetheless, that one was being sized up for some monumental purpose.
"Nice to see you again, Ambassador," Krimhler said before turning to Jacob. "And I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Zen."
Jacob nodded, feeling the cool flesh of the man's large, firm hand. "You are right, Ambassador, our task is difficult. But the circumstance of our time will be made to serve us. The people shall be made to understand that national sovereignty and autonomy cannot be selfishly exercised at the expense of universal liberty. Freedom for all can be assured only through strength of unity in the days ahead."
"Our President Lincoln said it well. 'A house divided cannot stand,'" Wilson put in.
"Those words, first spoken by Jesus of Nazareth, have never been more appropriate than now, Mr. Ambassador," Krimhler agreed, walking between Wilson and Jacob. "If we cannot find common ground, and come to the point of intelligent compromise, we cannot stand as civilized people. That is our purpose here — to provide the technology and the political forum where the meeting of the mind and spirit of collective Man can begin to take place."
Krimhler's English was tinged with a nondescript accent, neither German nor Middle-Eastern. His words were spoken with economy of effort; the baritone voice, unabrasive to the listener's ear, at the same time had an urgent, almost disquieting quality that mesmerized. Recalling the articles and news stories he had read, heard and seen about Herrlich Krimhler, Jacob thought the man's reputation as a persuader well-deserved.
"I hope your President and Congress are of similar mind, Ambassador," Krimhler said.
"We are for unification, Herr Krimhler, of course. It remains to be seen whether we are in complete agreement regarding every detail of the Unified European States' concept of how our coming together should proceed."
"As I said, that is why we are here, Mr. Ambassador. To come to a meaningful compromise, a meeting of the minds, so that we can become one in spirit."
"We would certainly agree to that, providing there is equal input by all parties involved."
"Then let us begin as soon as you have been made comfortable. There is to be a time of getting acquainted at six this evening." Krimhler turned to Jacob. "You will find our Communications Center suitable to your needs, I believe, Mr. Zen."
He motioned to a woman wearing a white smock, who stood from behind a control console table, and walked to them.
"Show Mr. Zen to Satelvid Three, Ms. VanHorne, and instruct him in its use." The young German looked again at Jacob. "Enjoy your visit with Miss Mossberg."
Krimhler's knowing about his wish to talk with Karen startled Jacob. The young woman hooked her arm between his right arm and body and tugged gently for him to accompany her away from the other men.
"Come. You will find this most interesting, Mr. Zen."
"Oh, I already do, Miss VanHorne," he said lightly.
"I believe you will find Satelvid Three even more interesting," the pretty woman said with a knowing smile.
At last! A warm, good-humored person with whom to share time in this otherwise impersonal place so far from home... from Karen. "I'm Jacob," he said while they walked.
"Fredria."
"Fredria VanHorne... Dutch?"
"Yes." She continued to hold his arm captive between the crook of her escorting arm. "I was born in Amsterdam, but spent much of my life in England. My father was assigned there in various diplomatic capacities until I was eighteen. When he died, I went back to Holland to study for a while, then later returned to London to complete post-graduate work."
The name VanHorne — a diplomat in London. The correlation jogged his memory. "You're not Ambassador Robert VanHorne's daughter?"
"Yes. His younger."
He remembered the circumstances of the Dutch diplomat's death five years earlier. A victim of a terrorist bomb taped to his Mercedes. Three men and one woman killed in the blast. The woman had been this girl's mother.
"We've probably come close to meeting at some of those boring diplomatic social functions at one time or the other... maybe in London or D.C."
"Your parents were in the American diplomatic service?"
"Not my real parents. They both died when I was quite young. Conrad Wilson has been more than a parent to me."
"I remember seeing Ambassador Wilson when I was a teenager. It was at a tea or something in Paris, and my father introduced me to him. I think I fell in love with him instantly. And I notice he is still as handsome as then. However, at the time, I certainly was not aware of his handsome stepson." "Foster son." "Oh, of course, the last name." "He never was allowed to adopt me because of my aunt's objection. You don't remember me, probably because there were so many other young men trying to impress you. We probably just missed each other somehow. I certainly would've remembered you." The girl smiled, letting the subject drop.
With the escalator ride at an end, they walked at a fast pace along the 8-foot wide rubber mat that sat atop the cement walkway. A monorail track, similar to the one that had conveyed Wilson and him earlier, ran parallel to the walkway along the ceiling of the long tube-train shaft that narrowed in the distance into a pinpoint of light, giving him the feeling that he was looking down the inside of a gigantic rifle barrel.
"I have just about every kind of clearance known to the Western world, and I've never heard anything about this." He gestured with a sweep of his free hand. "It's incredible!"
The tube train overtook them, then came to a stop 50 feet ahead. People in uniforms, some in white coats like that worn by Fredria, some in the orange jumpsuits like he wore, either boarded the train or stepped from it.
"How long have you been working on this project?"
"Six months or so ago, Herrlich Krimhler asked that I join the project's communications section. I was not long out of graduate school and had just begun work within his laser robotics facility outside Bonn, when he asked me to work here."
"Then you aren't involved in any of the political aspects?"
"Heaven forbid! Politics is the furtherest matter from my interest. I know little or nothing of the ultimate purpose or grand design for this complex; only my job, which is overseeing the development and implementation of its communications capabilities. And that is what I am about to show you now."
"You know Herrlich Krimhler. I'm puzzled about something that happened just before he introduced us. Maybe you can help me." "I will try, of course."
"He seemed to know that the one thing on my mind was to call someone back home. He mentioned her specifically, by name. To my knowledge, no one had time to say anything to him about my wanting to contact her. He knew who she was and how important it is to me that I get in touch with her."
"I can only tell you that Herr Krimhler makes a point to know everything about everyone with whom he has dealings. How he has this ability is a mystery many of us have questioned from time to time. Many things about him stimulate one's imagination. I have been associated with him for more than a year, working closely at his side for long periods of time, and still I am amazed at the extent of his knowledge. So it doesn't really surprise me, what you have told me."
"The classic enigma."
"A perfect description of Herrlich Krimhler," she said, reaching into a pocket of the smock and bringing out an identification card. She inserted it into a slot on the wall and a door slid open. They entered the room, Jacob's eyes taking in a fantastic array of futuristic machinery.
"Our miracle technology, Jacob," Fredria said with pride. "This is what I have spent the last six months of my life working on. Satelvid Three!"
She smiled, seeing the look of intimidated amazement on his face. "Don't worry. I will have you m contact with your young woman before you know it. She is young, isn't she? And beautiful?" Fredria cocked an eyebrow and grinned.
"No lovelier than my present company," he continued the banter.
"My... you Americans have all the right words to turn a girl's head," she said lightly, leading him toward a maroon-colored chair that faced a darkened booth-hke chamber.
"I promised you an interesting experience. Here «i where it begins." She placed her hand on the chair. Sit down, and we will start." When he complied, she went to the console board to his right and manipulated a number of controls, causing the chamber in front of him to come alive with colored lights that danced in brilliant flashes. "Push the large button on the right side of the chair's arm when I tell you."
"That seems easy enough, even for me."
She ignored his joke, her attention fully on activating the machine. When she had done so, she swiveled in her chair to explain.
"So far as I am aware, this is the first such operating system in the world. It involves holography. Are you familiar with the term?"
"Only slightly. Has something to do with three-dimensional images, doesn't it?"
"To put it in its most simple terms, yes. It is a process by which a three dimensional image is produced using lasers and photography. There have been, of course, many successful uses of holographic techniques over the past ten years. And, holographic television will be put into the commercial markets of the world soon. But there has never to this point been a workable holophone. That is, holography that is applied to picture phone technology, whereby one can see the three-dimensional image of the person with whom they are conversing."
"And that's what this light show is about?"
"Yes. It is still somewhat primitive as compared to what we hope it will become very shortly, but, as you will see, it is a wonderfully radical departure from conventional picture-phone technology."
She turned to the control panel and punched several buttons; the interior of the chamber took on a foggy appearance, and an undulating electronic whine began at a low pitch, and accelerated until it became a steady hum. "The system is ready now, Jacob. Do you know the number you wish to reach?" He nodded affirmatively. "Press the button on the outside of the chair arm and speak the number. If she is not near a picture phone, the holographic portion of the transmission will automatically be activated when she does plug in the picture phone."
He pushed the button. "Now follow the instructions on the marquee above the Holochamber," Fredria said. The readout displayed the input needed to make the connection to McLean, and Jacob gave it in the order requested. When he finished, the bright mist within the Holochamber formed into a solid white mass. Fredria VanHorne spoke quickly.
"They answered on a conventional phone. We will get the hologram when they switch to picture phone. Just talk as you would by telephone."
"Hello? Jacob Zen here," he said, interrupting the man on the other end of the line, who had already spoken into his receiver.
"Yes? This is Stone Oaks, residence of Ambassador Conrad J. Wilson. May I help you?" Jacob recognized the dignified voice as belonging to Andrew Cogdon, head of Wilson's domestic servant staff.
"Cog... This is Jacob. I need to speak to Karen. I'm on picture phone."
"Yes, Jacob."
They seemed to be temporarily cut off, but Jacob could hear muffled voices in the background.
Moments later, Cogdon was back on the line.
"Jacob. We shall have to get her out of her bath. Can you hold for a moment?" There were more muffled shuffling noises in the background. "She is on her way to the basement, now," Cogdon said. "How is everything with you and the Ambassador?"
"Fine... just fine," Jacob replied impatiently.
"Hello?"
It was Karen!
"Hello, Sweetie! You okay?"
"Where are you?" she asked; he saw her put her hand over her eyes, apparently trying to see his image on the picture phone's screen.
"I'm in the Aegean. Sorry, can't give you my exact whereabouts. You know... Top Secret... and all that," he said lightly.
She made no response, and he looked to Fredria. "There's something wrong with the image in the chamber."
"One of our problems, I'm afraid. It takes a few minutes to reach maximum clarity."
"Jacob, I'm told this picture phone unit has lost audio reception, and they can't fix it. They say all our phones here are having problems right now, and I can't see you clearly at all. In order to talk with you, I'll have to leave Stone Oaks, and I don't think you would want me to do that. I'm fine. Can you call me later? They tell me they'll have the problem fixed as soon as possible."
Karen's image was clear in the Holographic Chamber now — as if he could walk into it and put his arms around her and hold her. His frustration with not being able to do so was almost overwhelming.
"Karen! I've got to talk with you... It's okay to go find another phone! I'll give you a number where I can be reached."
Desperate, he looked at Fredria VanHorne, who shook her head negatively. "Sorry. We can't give our communications contact information until it is okayed by Herr Krimhler, and that will be when the center is fully operational. We can only call out... she can no longer hear you."
He slammed his fist against the chair arm. "You mean there's no way I can contact her? With all this technological garbage around here?!" "Perhaps the communications can be reestablished shortly." "Jacob, I don't know whether you're still on the line, because the picture is a blur now, but I want you to know... I love you..." Karen's image seemed to break apart... "I love you." He looked to Fredria, who had left her seat to check something on another console panel several yards away. He started to call for her to restore the video, but changed his mind when it reassembled on its own. "...I want you to know... I love you..." Her words were repeated with the same inflection as before. The hologram broke apart once more then reassembled, seeming to slip backward several seconds in time, then repeat itself. "I want you to know... I love you,.." Karen's image said again before disintegrating completely.
At 5:58, the room with the long tables, arranged in a squared banquet configuration, was animate, with perhaps, Jacob silently estimated, 150 people. He knew none of them as far as he could tell.
Like himself, they were dressed in formal evening wear, his tuxedo given him by one of Herdrick Franke's colleagues.
He considered, while sipping his drink, how this could be any one of the many dinners he had attended with Conrad Wilson over the past fifteen years. And the Ambassador was treating it no differently than he had on those occasions, making his way along the table toward Jacob, nodding, smiling, shaking hands, bending to kiss the cheek of one woman, then another.
His face was reddened, causing his white hair, mustache and eyebrows to glow effulgently above the black tux. Wilson looked to be what the old man liked to term: 'in full sail' — inebriated to the point of having the best possible time, yet in control enough to protect the image he treasured — that of Consummate Senior Statesman of the United States. Jacob worried that the red glow meant the old man's already-high blood pressure was probably elevated to a dangerous level.
The noise level in the big room increased, shrill laughter coming from the table across the open space from where Jacob sat. A cacophonous mixture of old men's guffaws and young women's giggling, of tinkling cocktail crystal and boisterous toasts that vied to outdo those offered before, of promises that would not be remembered the next day, much less kept. He wanted, more than anything he had ever wanted before, to be with Karen.
Something about the aborted conversation bothered him. Should the stopping, restarting and slipping of transmission be a part of holographic communications? He had not seen it happen since the earliest days of the more familiar two-way telecommunications known now as picturephone. Maybe the holograph was now going through a similar ironing-out-the-bugs process. But the slipping and repeating of Karen's image, her repeated words, were not the most troubling aspect of the one sided conversation. It was the distance that seemed to separate them during his attempt to reach her. A spiritual distance, never before experienced, no matter the number of miles keeping them from each other.
Things could not have changed that much in that short space of time. She was practically frantic when he talked with her from Brussels. Now she seemed content to the point of being sedate. The whole thing was eerie, unnatural, even allowing for his first-time experience with the holographic set-up. Was he truly paranoid?
Stone Oaks, one of the best maintained residences in the world — right up there with the White House ~ its telephone systems, totally out of commission?! And, even Conrad Wilson seemed to find the situation not unusual, even though he had boasted on many occasions that Stone Oaks would have communications, even if most others should be disrupted.
The old mansion had priority second only to the White House, the Vice-Presidential mansion, the Secretary-of-State's residence and a few key congressional leaders' apartments and homes. Something was significantly amiss at McLean, and no one but him seemed to care! Was it the Russian threat? Did that crisis so totally dominate all else at the moment? Certainly not to look at the faces, everyone equal in glow to that of Conrad Wilson's.
"All alone in this crowd? One's own thoughts can sometimes be better company on such occasions, though, can't they?"
The tap on his shoulder and the soft voice startled him. "Good evening, Fredria."
She was dazzling, in a midnight blue evening dress, her honey-blonde hair drawn in a tight, piled-swirl above one of the most lovely faces he had seen. Pear-shaped diamonds, at least a carat each, dangled and danced brilliantly from either ear, reflecting light from the chandelier above them.
"I'm not going to say how great you look, because whatever I said would fail to do you justice. I hope you don't find that too corny of me," he smiled, taking her hand.
"'Corny'? I'm not familiar with the expression."
"It means trite... backwards... socially silly. I guess that's the definition."
"Ah! But do you mean what you said?"
"You'd better believe I mean it," he said, holding her hand more tightly. "Then I have not, how do you Americans say it? 'Been handed a line?"' She laughed. "No... No... don't tell me. If I have just 'been handed a line,' my ego could not tolerate a fall from such heights as your compliment has placed it."
"The line might be a bit worn, but in your case, it's totally true," he said.
"You are kind, sir." She tried to look teased. "Now let us see if you think me... corny. I haven't time to be subtle, because I do not know if we will be together again before this is over."
Fredria cocked her head, her voice becoming less business-like, her pretty blue green eyes sparkling. "Would you stop by my flat this evening? Around eleven? It has been a long while since I've enjoyed the company of someone I really wish to be with. Do you think it terrible of me to say so?"
"Of course not. Why should I think badly of you? I'll look forward to it."
He answered before thinking about her question, and he hated himself for sounding so formal. Too, he thought himself crazy that there was something he would rather do than be with this fabulously desirable woman. He had to try to get back to Karen.
"Marvelous! At eleven, then," she said, reaching into her evening bag and pulling out a card. After handing it to him, she slipped her slender fingers beneath the sleeve cuff of his shirt and ran them seductively through the hair on his arm.
"I see you young folks are enjoying this little get together." Conrad Wilson, having made his way along the table, gripped the girl's arm while waving and smiling to someone calling for his attention from across the room.
"You wouldn't know the world is at the brink of crisis by the looks of this group, would you?" He kissed Fredria lightly on her cheek. "One of the privileges of age. Nobody minds, because we're considered harmless." He winked at Jacob.
"Nonsense, Ambassador. It is the privilege of us girls to be granted the benefits of your experienced attentions." She stretched to return the kiss.
"You're in the wrong business, my dear. You should be in the U.E.S. Diplomatic Corps," Wilson said, smiling broadly,
"The way things have been going with our work lately, that would be a welcome occupational change. That's why you see everyone here enjoying themselves so merrily. They've earned their break from work." She looked at Jacob. "We've all earned our time of recreation."
Reading her meaning, Conrad Wilson smiled, then became serious. "There's been trouble with your work?"
"Only the rush. We've been working twelve-hour shifts. I'm not complaining; I enjoy the work. But I and a few others who have been supervising the installation of the H.C.S. have been working fifteen and sixteen hours at a stretch in some instances. Being cooped in the complex day and night, we are verging on becoming claustrophobic!"
"H.C.S.?"
Wilson broke in to answer Jacob's question. "Hemispheric Computer System. Wildest concept you could imagine! Makes UNIVTJS and UNIVER and all other communications capabilities between continents as obsolete as the telegraph made the Pony Express!"
"A very good analogy, Ambassador Wilson, but thank God it is no longer only a concept. Now it is fact, and will be operational by the end of the month. I don't know if any of us would care to go through this sort of schedule again."
"How does it differ from the international computer hookups we have now? We have instant and total Interact capabilities already, don't we?" Jacob said.
"I think only Herrlich Krimhler can answer that question satisfactorily. And I see things are about to begin, so you'll have at least some of your answers within a few minutes, perhaps. All I will say is that you can sum up the concept — as the Ambassador calls it — in a single term... 'Commitment.'' I must be seated. See you at eleven?"
"At eleven." Jacob held his glass in salute to Fredria, who said with her eyes, her intentions.
"I don't know what's going on, Son," Wilson whispered out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes straight ahead. He smiled and waved to a group of Japanese at the table directly across from them. "They've gotten wind of Project Eagle. I don't know how much they know, but I've been warned. We've got to be on our toes, my boy."
Wilson was not overly affected by the drinks. Only one other stimulus would turn his face so red and put his personality into overdrive — that provided by a crisis of first order. If the Europeans had learned the gist of Project Eagle, such a crisis was upon them now!
"Who let you know?"
"Doesn't matter now." Wilson quieted him with a motion of his hands, his own voice becoming an almost inaudible whisper. "You're going to have to get back to D.C. under one pretext or another and talk to the President. We can't securely communicate with him from here, and I've got to stay and pretend we have no idea that they suspect our intentions. If I leave, they'll know something is up, no matter what the excuse. After all, what back home could be more vital than dealing with the current Soviet situation and with unification?"
"If Project Eagle has been compromised, what can be done?"
"There's a small group of us who know the details of the project. The President has to be informed as soon as possible about this so that if it's being leaked by one of our group, he can cut off the leak. No one except the President and I know all the factors involved in the project, but each member knows some aspect, and their collective knowledge pretty well covers Project Eagle. We can't afford to have the mole, whoever he is, weaseling information out of somebody else, and we can't take the risk of his stealing additional information. Whoever is responsible for the leak has security clearance to do great damage. The sooner we find the culprit, the quicker we can avert that possibility."
"What can we do if we find who's responsible?"
"I'm in favor of lopping off his head. But we'll turn him over to the right folks, who can squeeze some counterintelligence out of his hide."
"That would include opening Project Eagle to more interactives."
"Yeah, well, if we're looking for real problems... what if the spy in our midst is Director Quinton?"
He was right. If the Director of the CIA was the guilty party, that meant a number of agents were in it with him. However, the possibility of Edward Quinton being a part of such a scheme was remote; he had been adamantly against an ultra-close alliance with the Europeans since being named director seven years ago. The CIA was forced to give up much to Constitutional safeguards. Quinton was not about to voluntarily subject the Company to an even greater set of restrictions. Almost certainly, he was as strongly a supporter of Project Eagle as the President himself.
"We both know Quinton is one of the least likely suspects. We'll find a way to extract the information from the traitor without involving too many others in our plans."
Wilson stood from his seat behind the white linen covered banquet table to shake hands with a representative from Sweden who had walked over, and exchanged a few words with the heavy-set man.
"Watch that girl, Son," Wilson said in a whisper after being seated again, lifting his glass in silent toast to another group of dignitaries. "Remember Delilah, Salome, Mata Hari and all the rest."
He would be cautious with Fredria VanHorne. But he couldn't help pondering whether he should not be equally cautious of this old man. He had never had reason to mistrust his foster father, but his instinct told him that Wilson knew more than he was saying. All the research Jacob had done, all the facts he knew about the project, were scattered bits and pieces of information in his head. It was clear to him, though, that the aim of the project was to put the United States at the top of the unification heap, but some undercurrent ran beneath the flow toward dominance... Something beyond the leadership imperative smouldered beneath the surface facts he had been charged with researching.
"I'll tell you something, Son. We've got to get a handle on this thing, now! We're being outmaneuvered, and there's the fellow who's doing it to us!"
The noise increased when Herrlich Krimhler and several other tuxedoed men entered through a doorway at the opposite end of the room, toward which Wilson pointed. There was a rush of people, all trying to get nearer the German, who seemed from Jacob's vantage to be enjoying the attention.
"Looks like if we don't want to be conspicuous, we'd better go pay our homage to Herr Krimhler." Conrad Wilson stood, touching Jacob's shoulder. "Think I'll wait until the clamor dies down a bit."
"Well, one of us had better let him know how much America loves and appreciates him." Wilson grinned then downed the remaining liquor in his glass.
"You're just the man to represent us." Jacob lifted his own glass in salute to the old diplomat.
"Look at them! You'd think he'd solved all the problems of the world!"
Jacob watched Wilson move toward the crowd around Krimhler and sipped the drink he had been nursing for the past several minutes. Maybe Krimhler didn't have all the problems of the world solved, but there was something about the man that made people think those answers lay somewhere behind the darkly handsome face. There was no denying the charismatic magnetism, and even Conrad Wilson, who moments before facetiously praised Krimhler, was drawn to him like the others. Star-struck women, their eyes fixed on him, obsequious men, smiling, patting the young German's shoulder, vying, for his attention — each trying to out-congratulate the other.
Was he, like his foster father said, conspicuous by sitting there by himself, observing the worship? If so, he didn't care. The first flush of the alcohol's effect drenched his sensibility. If his disgust over the attention being given Herrlich Krimhler was jealousy — he also did not care.
Who was the man, who until recently no one had heard of, but who now commanded the accolades of the Western world's most important men and women? An orphan like himself. A meteoric star who, has been to survive as the human race. You sit today at the heart of the technology which will, with the cooperation of all of us here, with the cooperation of all peoples everywhere, not only save mankind from that genocidal finality, but will help in ushering in a period unparalleled in human history. An age only dreamed of to this point by the great Utopian dreamers.
"We of the Commission of Ten have taken it upon ourselves, in fairness to all peoples of the world, to invite the press so the word can be spread that a New Age is upon us. Not in word only, but, if we will all do our parts, in deed, as well! My fellow citizens of the world community, I give to you the chief architect of this Earth-saving center of man's progress... Herrlich Krimhler!"
Flash units exploded in light; the men and women of the world press moved in, crowding toward the platform where Krimhler stood smiling subduedly while nodding and giving quick, chopping waves of his right hand. All were out of their seats, applauding, their eyes on the man they came to honor.
"Got to give the Devil his due." Conrad Wilson's smile was broad and approving. "Whatever it takes to be a winner, he's got it!" The old man's smile dissolved, his lips becoming a thin, solemn line when he turned to speak his confidential thoughts into Jacob's ear. "He's got to go... or we will have to go."
Had he heard correctly? If Wilson meant what Jacob thought he heard, it was out of character for the man he knew so well. It was said as if Jacob was supposed to know something Wilson knew. As if the two of them had discussed the matter before. Was he talking about assassination? Did Wilson think they had talked about it before? A senile slip, thinking of someone else who did know what Wilson thought Jacob knew?
Was Conrad Wilson, in fact, capable of condoning killing someone merely for political purposes? If so, was Wilson... was the United States government right in considering it acceptable to murder for the sake of assuring success in achieving political goals? How did such thinking differ from that of the Sino and Russian beasts? More personally to the point, was Hugo Marchek the victim of such rationale? Had he and Karen almost become victims of such philosophy on the highway that terror-filled night? Was Karen in danger now... sequestered within a nest of assassins who believed such killings were for the ultimate good?
"Just look at 'em!" Wilson said, looking around the room. "He's got them all under his thumb!"
Jacob said nothing, but agreed cerebrally that the applauding, adoring throng said with their glazed eyes that to which Wilson testified. Herrlich Krimhler, on this night at least, held captive this agglomeration of some of the free world's most influential people.
They quieted finally, and Krimhler stepped to behind the lectern; his expression changed from appreciative acceptance to concern. He waited until all noise subsided. Reporters were the last to settle, decreasing in activity until only an occasional camera shutter click could be heard.
Herrlich Krimhler's facial features were stark contrasts of darks and lights beneath the harsh, precisely directed spotlights beaming down from the high ceiling. His black hair, thick and flawlessly groomed, glistened above the black eyebrows. His eyes appeared pupiless. The color surrounding the pupils being nearly as dark as the pupils themselves. The eyes' mirror-like depth reflecting an intelligence inexplicably discomforting to those coming under their gaze.
Even from this distance, Jacob could sense the power. He had heard of it and read the conjecture about Krimhler's well-publicized paranormality. If the mesmerizing influence on this audience could be counted as example of what was written and spoken about the man, he agreed; whether paranormal or not, the effect was real enough.
Herrlich Krimhler seemed to him at this moment not a modern man at all, but a fictionalized antediluvian prince who generated a type of excitement found only in tales of sorcery and wizards and enchanted swords.
To the others, this technological messiah standing before them was as a fresh, senses-stimulating wind, promising to cleanse their decaying world with his computer-age miracles. And, there was no turning back. The masses demanded the future. The future stood at the lectern in the person of Herrlich Krimhler, telling them what they ravenously hungered to hear.
"To those who say the free world is on the edge of societal collapse... That mankind has, through thoughtless industrialization, painted himself into a corner of ecological extinction... To those who preach that we have militarized ourselves to the brink of nuclear apocalypse... To these I say, at this time and at this place... What man has done, man has within himself the power to undo! Resolve with me, right now, that we shall begin that glorious task. That we shall take the necessary steps on the pathway to peace!"
The words were not new. Jacob had heard them, or some form of them, hundreds of times. But the electricity sparking from this unique personality, he had not felt during all his years in government. When Krimhler said it, you believed it could be done.
Jacob looked over the room, seeing the expressions of euphoria. It wasn't just him, he concluded. The ambience pulsed with a life of its own, invading, permeating the emotions of each man and woman. He, himself, was struck by diametrically opposite desires — wanting to at the same time join and resist the magnetic tug his gut-feeling told him was concentrically wrong. Wrong with the man... With the thoughts he spoke. He couldn't determine exactly why. Maybe fear of Krimhler's motive. After all, he had lived in an atmosphere of clandestine threat for some time. Maybe it was only a self-generating cynicism, paranoia... that everyone was out to destroy the few remaining things good with the world.
"The path to peace is one that will not long remain in place. We must take it soon or we will perish! I propose to you, here and now... I challenge the world at this most crucial moment in history... I propose, through EARTHSPHERE-10, Six Ways to Law... Six Ways to Order... Six Ways to Peace!"
Despite his best effort to dispel the feeling, it grew. It had something to do with the faces around him. The blazing eyes, the expressions of slavish approval. Suddenly he knew where he had seen them. They were like the expressions on the faces of the millions of Germans he had seen while watching documentary films about the Third Reich.