Jacob's Trouble 666

by Terry James

  "Remember. If this box is shut again, it is automatically rearmed. Our people in D.C. will deactivate the thing." Jacob nodded understanding.

  "Good luck then, Mr. Zen."

  The operative shrunk back into the opening behind him, leaving Jacob suddenly alone in the humming, semi-darkened pumping station, feeling the meeting was unfinished, wondering if he had gotten all the instructions right.

  Two minutes later, he stood near the spot where Fredria had introduced him to the elaborate Naxos Communications Center. This time, however, there were no men and women in white smocks rushing frantically about their respective jobs of interacting with the unfathomable machinery that lined the walls, although the equipment seemed to be fully activated. A row of multi-colored lights blinked in what appeared to be rippling synchronization along one large wall panel above the control board Fredria VanHorne had manipulated to put him in contact with Karen.

  Standing alone in the chamber produced eerie sensations of being the pawn of some Promethean mind. Symbolically, the last man standing in some future courtroom, being judged by his own ultimate, final computer-creation. The silence of the room, except for his own shuffling and heel-clicking sounds, brought home the total efficiency of this exponential intelligence, devoid of warm, familiar... mortal noises. The human was not, after all, needed. He could take his breaks for food, for conversation, for whatever, while his superior electronic progeny carried on with business — even the business of security.

  He had been admitted after inserting his identifier card-badge into the slot device at the door, and now the huge room seemed to follow him with its artificial senses. He smiled, letting his eyes roam the chamber, feeling a fool for crediting the technology with so much thought power. It was machinery erected by mankind, nothing more. — So, to it!

  The Holophone's chamber was dark; the chair he had sat in during his attempt to talk to Karen had to be turned to face the glass and metal enclosure. Fredria's console board to the right of the chair looked at first glance to be a jumble of every conceivable kind of toggle and button and lever. He decided, upon closer examination, that there was a pattern to the tangle. He determined to have a go at activating the Holophone, musing that any catastrophe resulting from his fiddling could be charged to the U.S. State Department. What were a few million more electronic dollars, added to a multi-trillion dollar deficit, that would soon be wiped clean with one or two strokes of the presidential pen? Each control was clearly marked in English, French and German. He pressed a green button with the designation: "Holophone Chamber Initiator." The darkened chamber filled instantly with misty light and began the remembered low humming that increased in volume and became rhythmic after several seconds.

  Although uneasy over unfamiliarity with the technology, his need to reach Karen overcame his worry about angering anyone who might walk in and find him at his unauthorized activity. Too, he welcomed the chance to be alone while he made the attempt. There were questions to be answered — questions his last session at the Holophone brought up that would not go away. Why was all of Stone Oaks' communications out? Why was Karen subdued in her one-sided conversation yesterday, yet during their earlier Brussels' conversation she had been near panic? Why, just before the communication broke off, did the video and audio slip backward in time, then repeat, when it was supposed to be a live rather than recorded transmission?

  Jacob sat in the big chair, hopeful his button manipulations had accomplished the same things Fredria's manipulations accomplished a day earlier. At the same time, the thought struck... he was most likely not alone. Why would they let him wander into this super-sensitive area, with its operators nowhere in sight, and not be watching through their many security cameras?

  No time now for assessing everything that bothered him, such as: Conrad Wilson not letting him in on the whole truth about Project Eagle; his being under surveillance at Naxos; the ominous package he carried in the briefcase; and ultimately whether there would be survival of freedom for the people of the Western world — All must be pushed aside for now. All that mattered at the moment was talking to Karen and getting to her at McLean, once the package was delivered to the President.

  He pushed the button on the right arm of the chair while facing the Holochamber, whose noise had reached a high, steady hum. He glanced up to the marquee above the chamber and read the input information on the display. When he finished the input, like before, the white mist of light in the chamber formed into a solid mass. After a few seconds, like the first time at the Holophone, someone answered on a conventional telephone. Fredria had said that the video portion of the Holophone would work once the picturephone was connected.

  "Hello? This is Jacob Zen," he responded to the voice on the other end.

  "Yes? This is Stone Oaks, residence of Ambassador Conrad J. Wilson. May I help you?"

  It was Cogdon.

  "Cog... Get me Karen on the picture-phone." He relaxed, relieved that he remembered the procedure necessary to complete the connection.

  "Yes, Jacob." Cogdon's words were cut off. Jacob heard muffled voices in the background at Stone Oaks, then Cogdon was on the line. "Jacob, we shall have to get her out of her bath. Can you hold for a moment?"

  The same words as last time! He turned to look around the big room. Was someone playing an elaborate prank?

  Cogdon's voice was on the line again. "She's on her way to the basement, now. How is everything with you and the Ambassador?" The words, the inflection were the same! Exactly the same!

  Jacob remained silent, listening, his heart jumping near his throat.

  Seconds later, Karen's voice came through the line. "Hello?" He started to answer, but didn't. "Where are you?" the voice said. Her image had formed in the chamber, and, like before, she put her right hand over her eyes, trying, apparently, to shield them from excessive brightness. He waited for her to speak, knowing it was futile to talk, himself.

  "Jacob, I'm told the 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."

  There followed a long pause, Karen's image becoming clearly visible within the Holochamber. Finally, her image spoke again. "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..." The image broke up, and she was gone.

  He got up slowly from the chair — seeing or hearing nothing while he walked to the control board and switched off the Holographic machinery. Confusion clouded his thoughts, then slowly gave way to the realization he had come to some time before. He had been deceived at every level: by those here in the pit of Naxos; by Fredria Vanhorne; by his own government; by Conrad Wilson. There was only one person he could trust, and she had been forced to participate in the deception. What did they do to her to get her to cooperate in betraying him? Why did they let him live, if he was such a liability that he couldn't be trusted to be a full partner in their plans? But someone had tried — on the interstate! Why not since, though? Why were they waiting?

  He looked at his wrist for the watch that wasn't there, then to a digital clock inset in Fredria VanHorne's console board. 13:08. He quickly translated into civilian time — 1:08. Less than an hour and a half before he would leave for Brussels on his way to D.C..

  How deeply involved was his foster father? The thought that Conrad Wilson might willingly be a part of deceiving him, of possibly hurting Karen, pained him, as much as, his fear that she had been harmed by whatever force was sucking him ever deeper into itself.

  At LEVEL 2, Jacob emerged from the Degermination Center holding the briefcase in his left hand while straightening his necktie with his right. He then switched the case to his right hand and stretched his left arm, exposing his wrist. He cursed quietly, seeing the
vacant spot where his watch should be.

  "Jacob!"

  He turned to see Fredria VanHorne trotting toward him. "Wait! I'll walk with you to the surface lift."

  He did so, enjoying the movement of her feminine form beneath the snugly fitting white coveralls she wore.

  "Why must you leave just now?" Her question was sincere enough. But any expert operative would have, among other talents, the ability to act. She put her arm through the crook of his and they walked slowly up the wide, red-carpeted concourse.

  "Something's come up in Washington; they want me there by tomorrow night for a meeting. I really don't know myself what it's about."

  "Nothing to do with Miss... what's the name?"

  "Karen."

  "Yes... Miss Mossberg."

  "No. Nothing to do with her. Like I said, I don't know what it's about, exactly. Maybe you can tell me."

  Fredria seemed to recoil. "I? How could I possibly know why you are called to Washington?"

  "Because it may have something to do with the new computer union between continents. Since Krimhler is at the center of it all, I assumed you would know something about it."

  "It could be the Satelvid Interact phase we'll be instituting within the next two weeks," she said absently, apparently thinking out loud. She stopped and looked up at him. "I shouldn't have said that," she said, realizing the breach of security.

  "I'll know about it by tomorrow night anyway. And I do have top clearance in most of these things."

  "Oh, I know I can rely on your discretion. After all, we have shared many... secrets, have we not?"

  Jacob smiled, but wanted to distance himself from Fredria and from the Naxos complex as quickly as possible. "What time do you have?"

  She took her arm from his to see her watch. "Fourteen-twelve." She took his arm again while they continued up the concourse. "I am sorry about your watch, Jacob, but it will turn up somewhere within my apartment. Shall I mail it to you?"

  "I'd appreciate that. It was a gift," he said, stopping in front of a large, electronically activated door marked SURFACE LIFT and turning to face her. He saw a softness in her expression he had not seen before, and she pulled him to her and kissed his lips.

  "I shall not forget you, Jacob Zen. Please do not forget your Fredria." She kissed him again — a warm, lingering kiss that caused, for the moment, thoughts of deception and suspicion and clandestine betrayal to melt beneath her undeniable charm. Maybe she didn't know anything about the phony link-up to Stone Oaks. About the insidious intrigues of those she served... about...

  He tried to force his ties to her from his emotions, recalling Conrad Wilson's warning: "Remember Delilah, Salome, Mata Hari and all the rest..."

  Fredria VanHorne had to be aware of what was going on. Regardless, time no longer afforded the luxury of personal involvement. Whether she was innocent or guilty, he would remove her from his thoughts. For his sake and for Karen's.

  He bent to give her a brief, detached kiss of goodbye. "How could I ever forget you?"

  On the surface, the air hung heavy with humidity, an untimely fog obscuring all but those objects within 40 meters of them. The two men shuffled slowly away from the helicopter that soon would fly him to Brussels.

  Conrad Wilson spoke quietly so not to be overheard by the contingent of Naxos guards and Unified European States officials gathered near the huge black and gold bird.

  "I wish I could do this myself, Jake, but there's just no way. I've got to stick around here and try to keep the toehold we've managed to dig."

  Wilson gripped Jacob's shirt sleeve between thumb and fingertips and nudged him even farther from the group of men, turning his face from their direction and talking out of the corner of his mouth secretively.

  "Jake. Something catastrophic has happened to the Russians. I watched it all this morning with Krimhler and his bunch through one of their special communications set-ups. They swarmed full-force into the Middle East, just like you and I talked about — The Russians, the Turks, and, get this, some renegade divisions of the German Army, which was something we didn't anticipate. Iran and Libya formed a pincer action from the East and South, with Egypt apparently only providing passage through their territory. I guess Israel was their objective. At least, they appeared intent on taking over the entire Palestine region."

  The reason for the completely deserted Holochamber room. Fredria knew about the invasion, but didn't mention it.

  "What happened? Who stopped them?" Jacob's mind went almost blank, feeling his senses darken with the rush of emotion.

  "It was total blitzkrieg, Jake. Nothing could've stopped them short of nuclear weaponry. They came with every conventional thing they could bring. I still can't figure out what happened. According to the limited video we had, and the reports from people along Israel's northern borders, there were unbelievable deluges of rain, followed by falling fire and hailstones — some as big as medicine balls, they said.

  "But the weirdest reports were those telling of greenish vapors escaping from wide cracks in the ground and engulfing the men and weapons. When that happened, according to the reports, the ground troops, those commanding, those driving the tanks and so forth, just went berserk! They began slaughtering each other! They say in some areas there's blood standing in five-foot deep pools. Bodies stacked five and more high for as far as the eye can see!" Conrad Wilson drifted into his own disbelief, staring downward at nothing in particular.

  Jacob questioned through his shock, not realizing what he was asking until he had asked it. "Then Israel wasn't affected?"

  Wilson's glazed eyes cleared when the question brought him back. "What?... No. They never got to the Golan Heights. Every plane was knocked out of the sky by the storm and by the hail. The Jews are saying God did it for them."

  Both men were silent for several seconds, then Wilson straightened, as if he had searched inwardly and found new resolve. "Not only that, reports are that every site in and around Russia, where they had their ICBM bases and their reserve forces of conventional weaponry, were hit by these tremendously large hailstones or meteorites, or whatever they were. The Russian coalition's military capacity is destroyed! Do you know what that means, Jake?"

  "The world has a chance for real peace for the first time in history, I should imagine."

  "It means that now the war is between us and the U.E.S.. Now, more than ever, we've got to see to it that the United States gets control in what will very, very shortly emerge from all this. Whoever moves the quickest will be the future, my boy! That's got to be us, because the Europeans have made a mess of every civilization that they've developed."

  Jacob started to say that Herrlich Krimhler had already put forward a plan, just the night before. That Project Eagle was only in the kindergarten stage of development, whereas Krimhler's, the Naxos group's, was on the verge of graduation, of implementation. As if it were masterfully arranged to coincide with the obliteration of the Russian war machine. But Wilson spoke first.

  "There's definitely a double-cross in the making here, and I'm not sure diplomacy, or political shenanigans, or anything else we can do, can head it off. But we've got to have a go at it!"

  Wilson put his hand on the younger man's back while they continued to distance themselves from the helicopter and the group gathered around it. "I can't overemphasize the critical nature of the materials contained in that briefcase, Son. I'm convinced that if we can't come up with a near-perfect strategy immediately, there's no way the North American continent is going to be able to even hold its own in this thing."

  Both men stopped, Wilson's arm pressuring his foster son to turn toward the helicopter. Only a small portion of the aircraft's golden fuselage could be seen through the coagulant fog while Wilson spoke. "Now, Son, I realize it's not fair to ask you to make this trip, giving you only enough stuff on it to scare the devil right out of you, but it's got to be up to the head man to fill you in as he sees fit. To be blunt, Son... although I trust you implicitly, it wouldn't be
prudent to let you have the whole plate-full right now. The less you know, the less anybody could..." The old man let his thought go unsaid, his gray eyes reflecting worry. "Everything is so critical now because of this development in the Middle East." Wilson squeezed Jacob's arm in a gesture of affection.

  The rotors began turning with an accelerating whine, violently churning the green gray mist, which began to dissipate, improving their view of the aircraft.

  "If there be a God," Wilson said, distantly, "we have surely seen Him at work this day, I think."

  Chapter 9

  The flight across the Atlantic aboard the old converted-for-military-passenger-service KC-135 had been rough. Periodic thoughts of what was attached to his left wrist added to Jacob's discomfort — a burning ache in the pit of his stomach that had been with him ever since the airplane first hit turbulence over the English Channel shortly after lifting off from Brussels International.

  Raising the attaché case to check his watch, he mumbled an obscenity at the fact it wasn't there, then looked around the Base Operations lounge area for a wall clock or for anyone who could give him the time. A WAF Colonel, hurrying through, obliged.

  "Nineteen-sixteen," she said, checking her wristwatch while backing toward an exit.

  "Thanks."

  Sixteen minutes past seven, he translated silently. Thirty minutes since he walked off the military jet, and still his escorts had not shown. If the materials in the case were so important as to require an explosive security device, why were they not important enough to be met promptly by the promised escorts?

  Maybe the tremendous upheaval over and apprehension about the Russians being destroyed had thrown everything off schedule. Certainly, everyone with whom he'd come in contact buzzed in conversation about the Russians going down.