by Terry James
"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 11, 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 12-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 15 and 16 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 UNIVUS 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 11?"
"At 11." 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 smoldered 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 th
e 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 already, at an age younger than his own, had eclipsed most world leaders in recognition? It was probably envy that generated his disdain for this transplanted Middle Easterner—an aberration of pettiness that would most likely transform into respect, then into admiration once he got to know the man. It was time to show himself, if no one else, that he was bigger than pettiness allowed.
He stood, somewhat unsteadily, surprised that the small amount of liquor had affected him to such an extent, then made his way to the last of the congratulators around Krimhler.
Herrlich Krimhler disengaged from those around him and slid between several people in order to take Jacob’s offered hand. Perhaps it was merely his own self-estimation that caused him to think he saw an extra measure of appreciation on the young man’s tanned face.
“I don’t understand it at all, Herr Krimhler, but the complex and the technologies you’ve developed here are absolutely astounding!”
“I believe it will serve us well as we move into the dawning age. Thank you for coming this evening, Mr. Zen. You will not be disappointed.”
With their grips broken by a woman of about 50 who pulled Krimhler toward another group of people, Jacob said, “I am already glad I came, Herr Krimhler.”
Although Krimhler didn’t deny he was personally responsible for the complex, as Jacob credited him with being, and although the young German didn’t verbally share the praise with the hundreds of scientists and others who no doubt made the massive undertaking successful, the self-centeredness by omission was not offensive. There seemed no arrogance in the act, rather acceptance of a fact, much like royalty might accept credit for being royalty. It was at the same time acknowledgment, and of no matter, by virtue of the fact, that it was what Herrlich Krimhler was born to.
When he returned to his seat beside Wilson, who was engaged in polemics with three men gathered in front of their table, the large doors at the opposite end of the room swung open and people carrying various electronic paraphernalia rushed in, snapping pictures and surrounding Krimhler with floodlights and whirring cameras. The frantic activity seemed to be a signal for the German to move to the platform to which the long banquet tables were joined.
“The press?!” Conrad Wilson looked genuinely shocked, as did the men he had been talking with. “All this is supposed to be top secret. What’s the press doing here?”
The conversational buzz made it obvious the flood of reporters had taken most in the room by surprise.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will take your seats, please.” The man behind the podium at the center of the platform was Gular Hendstrom, chairman of the E.E.S. Commission of Ten. The rumble died slowly, quieting to the shuffling and clicking sounds the press made while competing for the best angles from which to record the event.
“As everyone here knows, the world faces catastrophe at every turn.” Hendstrom spoke extemporaneously, in English. “The challenge, on a day-to-day basis, has been not to better the circumstances in which we live, but rather the challenge, since the time nuclear war became possible, 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, subdued, 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 to have no pupils, the color surrounding the pupils being nearly as dark as the pupils themselves. The eyes' mirror-like depth reflected 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 col
lapse... That mankind has, through thoughtless industrialization, painted itself 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.