Jacob's Trouble 666

by Terry James

  If the stakes were high enough, if the security of the nation was on the line, Conrad Wilson could know about the killing of Hugo Marchek--or anyone else—and look the other way. Maybe even have an active part in an assassination which he considered vital to the interest of the United States.

  No! Conrad Wilson could not be a party to killing—not to killing someone he loved— not to killing Karen or Jacob Zen. The people in the tow-truck had tried to murder them. Their accomplices murdered Hugo Marchek. But were the killers of Marchek and the would-be killers agents of different political sources?

  The one-time whites and blacks of viewpoint had long since turned to indistinguishable grays in national and international interrelationships. What was right depended now on the lesser of evils: on who was making the decisions, on whose interests must be served. Those who were assigned to serve at Stone Oaks could, in an instant, be called on to act as instruments of execution and kill the people they had moments before been protecting. He had urged Karen to stay put in the old mansion. By doing so, had he put her directly in the path of the very source the two of them had escaped from on the highway that night? The ones who had killed Hugo Marchek?

  "Mr. Ambassador, we are approaching our destination," the helicopter's pilot said over the intercom. "Our ETA is eighteen twenty-three."

  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? Using email was out. Even with government safeguards, it would be too big a risk to use the laptop.

  "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 30 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 24 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—with its history, with 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 Jacob’s 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 whisked 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 moments 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 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 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 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 unpleasant distance 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."

  "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, it’s 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 10 years old. Said he caused the snake to kill her husband, said 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 that 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.

  "All 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 could 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 nowadays," Wilson said. "Maybe we should all move in, eh, Jake?"

  "In 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 Bab
ylon."

  "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 enlightenment 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."