Jacob's Trouble 666

by Terry James

  He forced his thoughts from their heights, recognizing them as euphoric after-effect of the Trachetrol high from which he was descending. Next would come depression and total lack of confidence in himself--in everything. Then a return again to euphoria. There was no time for giving in to the manic-depressive swings of the drug's lingering influence. He must ignore them and go on with whatever had to be done. If he must face death at the hands of the controllers, it would not be a slow death, not the kind of death they enjoyed inflicting.

  It was 18:26 hours, still time left in the allotted rest period. Good! Still time to prepare for the worst eventuality he might confront at Facility 500.

  He glanced again at the digital clock above the Scanner to assure himself his burning eyes had not misled him, then moved to the gray plastic sofa. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Scanner's lens follow his movement.

  Long ago he had planned for such a contingency. He was, if nothing else, a man who compulsively planned for contingencies, he fleetingly thought, while kneeling to pull a heavy blanket from beneath the sofa. The remaining time left of the rest period, from which the Watcher had called him, would provide opportunity to put his plan into effect. Carefully spreading the blanket across the sofa, he put his body between the Scanner's eye and his work. Yes. There it was. The thick belt he placed there seven months ago, along with the four round, hard objects and wires. He slid between the blanket and the sofa, at the same time pulling the plastic belt from its taped position against the blanket. The squirming to get comfortable--so far as the Watchers monitoring his activity should be concerned--allowed him to secretly slip the belt around his waist and attach it securely by squeezing together its plastic mesh clasp. He felt for the battery-pack and the wires that ran through the plastic belt covering and into the explosive material, to ensure they were still in place. He then ran his index finger along the pouch containing the batteries until he found the snap. Unsnapping the flap, he probed for the metal clasp that covered the tiny button which would, when depressed, force the wires in the explosive to make contact with the battery terminals. The resulting explosion should take out anything and anyone within 15 feet.

  He clamped the button's cover shut. They would not only be deprived of the pleasure of watching him dance the death-dance to their tune, they would be dispatched into the deepest reaches of eternal hell, as well. He pulled the uniform jacket-shirt over his waist, concealing the explosive belt. The bulkiness of the jacket would hide the belt during a quick frisking by the controllers, but a more ambitious search would betray the secret. By that time, though, the button would be pushed.

  In less than three-and-a-half hours, his lifetime of wondering about death, eternity, God, might be answered. Hugo Marchek's beliefs about afterlife proved—or—disproved. Or, nothingness… Anything had to be better than this, and the thought, strangely, provided relief. A single tear rolled slowly down his cheek while he lay with his back to the INRU and the still-activated Scanner. He didn't know why. Anger? Anticipation of what he faced? Separation from Karen? ...sweet, lovely Karen. That night, Karen's look of disgust had amused him while they turned from Hugo Marchek's sharply dipping driveway, the front bumper brace of his car crunching against the concrete curb. She had been mad, and his favorite thing to do when Karen was mad was to keep at her until her anger turned to laughter. He had tried for the first two miles, but she had maintained her solemn expression.

  "Sending me out of the room like a stupid schoolgirl!" she said, finally breaking her silence. "And you! You went along with it!"

  "Come on, Kay. He didn't want to worry you. You knew I'd tell you all about it later."

  Her mood mellowed while she studied her fingernails. "Worry me? What does he think? That I'll fold like some over-protected plantation owner's daughter out of the antebellum South? I think I can handle anything you can handle."

  "That's what I told him, but he's from a different time, Karen." He touched her chin and turned her face toward him. "The women were to be protected from the Yankees. Did it hurt so much to humor the old guy?"

  She pulled from his grip and again studied her nails for a moment before looking at him. "It's one of the few things about him I don't like."

  "You're a granddaughter to him... to be protected. He loves you very much, or he wouldn't go to the trouble."

  "I know."

  "That makes him one of my favorite people," Jacob said.

  "I knew you'd like him," she said, sounding happier. "I'm glad you do, Jacob. You both mean a lot to me." She leaned across the console to kiss him on the cheek.

  "Friends again?" He held out his hand, offering to shake hers.

  "That won't do." She slapped his hand aside and moved as close to him as the console would allow, then kissed his neck. "Can't wait to make up," she whispered in his ear.

  She turned serious again. "I know about Dr. Marchek's visit from those hoodlums."

  "How?"

  "His transcriber. He left his dictation from that night on the machine. He sounded like he was still woozy from what those animals did. The first thing I do when I get to his study in the morning is check his transcriber, because he leaves random notes recorded. Most of them, he forgets about. I was going to tell you about those men when we were in his study, but he came in and you two ran me out."

  "I should've known nothing gets past you."

  "He was right; it did worry me. He doesn't lie, you know. He told me he fell down and bumped his head, which I'm sure was true. He fell after they hit him."

  "You can't blame him for wanting to keep you out of it."

  "But I am in it, and he has to have somebody."

  "He does have somebody," Jacob said. "He has us."

  She kissed him and there were tears in her eyes.

  "He asked me to look into who might be harassing you. Who those two goons might be — what agency they might come from."

  "We must be getting close to something, but I can't figure what can be so important that they'd do these kinds of things. There are all kinds of lobbyist groups with more clout than PAL."

  "I agree. So does he."

  "Then who?"

  "He attributes it to Satan," Jacob said, smiling.

  "He would! Yes. Satan, to him, is behind all of it," she said, shaking her head incredulously. "He really believes that, too."

  "He wanted to give me his Bible to study... said all of the answers are in it," Jacob chuckled.

  "What if he's right?" Her question was offered only half-joking.

  "I hope he is, because the good will win out in the end, if that's the case."

  "On the other hand," she continued the banter, "a lot of people could be in pretty serious trouble, considering that book's judgments on premarital and extramarital sex, homosexuality, occultism, and all the other things it condemns that this world loves so much."

  "But look at it this way, if both heaven and hell have voting privileges in some eternal election process, hell will hold a majority, I'll wager."

  "Gambling's a sin."

  "Yeah? Guess my party affiliation is a foregone conclusion, then."

  "He has a point," she said, her tone serious again. "He believes that the devil's human agents, that is, the agents the devil has used to his best advantage, are the money powers. 'The love of money is the root of all evil,' he always tells me and anyone else who'll listen." She tried to imitate Marchek's accented speech.

  "Greedy money interests have been at the bottom of a lot of conflicts. I'll concede that."

  "He's absolutely convinced that Satan has controlled the minds of the huge banking houses and conglomerates right up to the present giants of finance. He believes that is where the nucleus of the movement toward a diabolical world order can be found. They, with their knowledge and control of developing computer and communications technologies, are behind it all."

  "For as long as I can remember, as a student and since I've worked in government, I have heard of conspiracy by a select group of financiers. Th
e Trilateral Commission, the World Bank, the Council on Foreign Relations, all the others. It's just like the Second Coming. Everyone talked about it, but where is it? Big money interests have always been part of the overall problem, but we can look to politicians, to the military, to the media, to each one of us, individually. We've all helped create the problem of money controlling the affairs of men."

  "That strengthens his contention that these people who know the ins and outs of high finance have the greatest potential for controlling, should a world government be formed."

  "Yes. They've always controlled, and always will as long as people put so much importance on material things," he agreed, glancing into the rear-view mirror at the bright headlight beams closing fast on them. "But I don't believe the top people in finance have deliberately set out to control the world in any destructive way, any more than I believe that they are satanically controlled, or that there's a superman who's going to rule any such government." The lights moved closer and were blinding him, and he reached to adjust the angle of the mirror.

  "What's wrong with those people...?" Karen's words were interrupted by a crunching jolt.

  The Volvo leaped violently forward, causing Jacob to nearly lose his grip on the steering wheel. The car swerved across the white stripes separating the southbound lanes of State 355 before he managed to regain control. His lower back spasmed with pain; he felt as if his entire body had been compressed. He looked at Karen. She was struggling to rise from the floorboard. He looked into the mirror to see the vehicle closing again. A huge, broad vehicle, its glaring lights too high to be those of a car. The raging machine struck again, more violently than before, throwing the girl against the dashboard, but having less effect on him than did the first impact.

  Jacob planted his feet firmly and gripped the wheel tightly to prepare for the next jolt.

  "Karen!" He looked quickly to see her body's involuntary lurching movements caused by the car's careening. The interior of the Volvo brightened with the beams--then contact. Karen's unconscious body jumped against the dash, then thudded onto the floorboard.

  Jacob swerved hard to the right, and the right front of the pursuing vehicle missed the Volvo's left rear fender by inches. He jammed the brakes, and the truck shot past in a blur of light and roaring engine noise.

  Karen was hurt! He couldn't stop to help her now; the maniac would crush them! He hit the brakes again, coming to a complete stop, then he stomped the accelerator to the floor and at the same time whirled the steering wheel sharply to the left. The car shot forward, leaving the truck where it had come to a stop in front of its intended victim.

  Jacob had a good lead, but was headed north now--the wrong way in the southbound lane--with no way to get off, because both sides of the highway were bordered at that point by high concrete retainer walls. No chance to get off for at least four miles! The thought ricocheted through his mind while he glanced into the mirror to see the headlights far behind.

  "Karen!" He tried to help her onto the seat, but she would not respond. He could see a bloodied abrasion high on her forehead and thought he saw her eyes open, then shut again. Her seat belt! Why had she not buckled up?

  No time now to attend to her. The Volvo could easily outrun the heavier machine. He would cross the median where the retainer walls ended. The maniac could not keep up then; the Volvo, with its superior cornering and handling, would have the advantage.

  The maniac! Until now, Jacob's panicked brain had only considered the dilemma in terms of random circumstance--someone gone berserk on drugs, or drunk at the early morning hour of two o'clock on a deserted highway. The distance he had put between himself and the would-be killer permitted him to consider the more logical probability. Was this act somehow connected to things discussed just before the attack? The Marchek contentions? Was this the time Karen had been warned of, when she and those she loved would pay the price for interference? Jacob felt a vibration. The car's engine was running erratically, causing it to slow down, then speed up once more as the motor faltered, rallied, then performed smoothly again. "No!"

  The headlights were closer! He looked at the gas gauge. More than half full. The collision had jarred something loose--maybe the fuel injection system. Still two-and-a-half miles or more before the walls ended, and the headlights were brighter--the hunter closing in on its prey!

  The Volvo's motor chugged erratically and sputtered down, sounding as if it were missing on two cylinders, then caught again and raced to full power. The engine was running more roughly by the second! The car lurching now, sputtering back to life... running more smoothly now... almost dying!

  Brilliant light again made it difficult for him to distinguish anything in the rear-view mirror. The big vehicle was three-quarters of a mile back, but still its lights blinded him! What were the alternatives? Only two. Limp straight ahead and try to reach the end of the retainer walls before the on-storming machine caught up. But even if he could make it, his car's loss of power would allow the heavier vehicle to catch up. The Volvo might die, probably would die, if he didn't keep the accelerator fully depressed. The other alternative...stop, quickly get Karen from the car and over the wall, and hide from the attacker. But the truck was much closer now. Karen's limp body would be almost impossible to handle in the time required. Nothing but open space in the neatly mowed ditches outside the concrete walls. No place to hide!

  Headlights topped an incline in the distance, sitting high off the ground...possibly the lights of a large truck. Maybe a bus, its lights blinking off and on rapidly, warning Jacob he was traveling the wrong way. The approaching vehicle was within 100 yards, the truck pursuing had closed to within 90. A third alternative! The indecision effect! It was selfish — if it worked. If the oncoming vehicle was a bus, and if it did work, many might die.

  Put it into effect at the last possible second! Use the strange human mental quirk to advantage. Like times when people meet face-to-face on a sidewalk and fall into the indecision effect, not knowing whether to move right or left--finally breaking into a slow, foolish dance until one steps to the side and allows the other to pass. Would it work similarly with vehicles coming toward each other? Would it work now?

  Time only for the one move that might save them, save Karen. The attacker was within 50 yards, the oncoming vehicle much closer... Time to execute!... Only one chance!... Now!

  Jacob swerved the Volvo to the left, putting it directly in front of the onrushing machine. He saw in that terrifying instant that it was a gigantic tractor trailer rig. Seventy yards... sixty! The Volvo rushed forward, sputtering and lurching toward the deadly lights. The beams of the pursuing machine were offset to the Volvo's right rear, still in the right lane. The oncoming truck swerved to its left, into the lane with Jacob's nemesis, trying to avoid colliding with the car. The attacker cut sharply into the left lane behind Jacob, and closed to within 30 yards of the Volvo's rear.

  The huge oncoming truck was weaving, its driver trying to recapture stability. At the precise moment his instinct told him to act, Jacob whipped the car across the dividing line and directly in front of the massive tractor. There were no more than 70 feet between them. The diesel's driver, equally out of instinct, jerked the wheels of the rig hard to his right and the truck crossed the white line into the lane with Jacob's pursuer.

  Looking into the side mirror, Jacob watched the tractor-trailer miss him by less than a yard. His attacker had neither the time nor the reflexes to swerve to the right. The darkness framing the hulks of metal gave him clear view in the mirror when they came together in a night-rending flash. The maneuver had worked! He saw the exploding vehicles scatter and carom off the concrete walls and into the deep ditches beyond.

  He brought the car to a stop and pulled Karen into the seat. She was regaining consciousness and he smoothed the hair from her forehead to better see the wound. The abrasion was superficial, but the discoloration around it indicated a deep bruise.

  "Karen! Are you okay?" He whispered the words
and dabbed the wound gently with his handkerchief, wanting her to regain her senses calmly.

  "Yes... I think so."

  "It's okay, Sweetie. Just sit still."

  She sat upright with his help and touched his fingers, which held the handkerchief over the wound. "Is it bad?"

  "No. I don't think so," he lied, thinking there could be a concussion. "But we're going to have it looked at just to be safe."

  The brightness in the car made her curious about the source of light and she looked around to see the burning wreckage. "What happened?"

  "Whoever was trying to run us down got what was coming to him. He hit a semi-rig head on. I'd better go see what I can do for them. Stay here, and keep still. Do you think it's okay to leave you for a few minutes?"

  "I'll be okay," she said, smiling weakly.

  He trotted from the car, looking back to see several sets of oncoming headlights. He wanted there to be, by some miracle, something he could do for the driver of the diesel, but the heat of the wreckage quickly proved too intense, and he backed away. Both drivers were either killed instantly by the impact or burned alive while their mangled, mashed cabs held them prisoner. He hoped--at least for the sake of the driver of the big rig--that the end came quickly.

  Blue and red lights whirled now near where he left Karen. State troopers ran toward him, along with curious travelers who had stopped.

  "You see this happen?" one of the officers asked. "Is that your Volvo back there?"

  "Yes to both questions."