Jacob's Trouble 666

by Terry James

  He wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to give the human compassion he, himself, wanted — needed. Such an action would be misunderstood. Best simply to commiserate from the safe distance separating them across the carpet. "We've all lost someone close to us." The words were not acknowledged; she wiped away the tears with her fingertips.

  "I've been trying to get back home since then," she said, able finally to choke back her emotions. "Everyone's gone crazy. The whole world is insane."

  "I know. I've been out in the middle of it. But everything will get back to normal. Things will be better soon."

  Without realizing it, he had moved across the carpet and put a hand on her shoulder, and she had made no move to get away from him, her fear apparently lessened. He was glad. He, too, needed the contact, and they silently spent the moment locked in each other's arms.

  "You know my name. What's yours?" he said in his most gentle tone, looking into her eyes, brushing her tears with his fingers. "Melissa Jantzen."

  He took her hand and cupped it in his hands. "I'm very happy to meet you, Melissa. We'll work our way out of this thing together. Don't worry." He lifted her chin with a crooked finger and offered a reassuring smile, which was returned shyly. She nodded understanding agreement. When he released her and stood, he bent to pick up the grocery items and the purse. He put her things back into the purse except an open package of cigarettes and her gold cigarette lighter.

  "Do you mind if I have one?" He showed her the package and she nodded. "Are you from Maine?" he asked, then savored a deep inhalation.

  "From Boothbay Harbor."

  "Yeah? Where's that near?"

  "We like to think other places are near Boothbay," she said. "It's not far from Brunswick and Lewiston... just north of Portland."

  "I lived, as a very young boy, in a little bay town in New York. Didn't stay there long, though. My father died and Mother and I moved to the Washington D.C. area when I was six or so. I haven't spent much time in really small towns. McLean isn't all that big, but with the D.C., Virginia, Maryland region being so heavily populated, you don't get the feeling of living in a small town. Like most of the northeast, it's all become megaplex."

  "What took you and your mother to Washington?" Her tone sounded of genuine interest, and he was glad she had relaxed to the point she apparently felt she could trust him.

  "Mother was a looker at 25 and caught the eye and heart of a diplomat, who whisked us off to his home at McLean, Virginia. And, except for Mother's death, I lived happily ever after. Well... until recently, anyway."

  A stupid mistake—bringing her thoughts back to their dilemma. Her eyes filled with tears again. "What has happened? What is this all about?"

  He cradled her head against his chest. "Everything's going to be okay, Melissa. We're in it together and we'll work it out, together." He hated the trite clichés, even while he spoke them, and the words rang hollow in the room while the two of them sat clinging to each other. It ran quickly through his mind that their plight was symbolic of that of humanity. Confused and huddled, awaiting their fate. Together, yet solitary in their second-by-second journey into the uncertain future.

  Chapter 13

  The hot tea chased the chill from Jacob's body while he sat sipping above the long glass-top coffee table. Melissa Jantzen huddled close, looking to see over his right arm.

  The electricity had been off for more than 10 hours this time, after sporadic restorations of no more than 20 minutes at a stretch. The only illumination was that oozing through the balcony's glass doors, sunlight diffused by thick clouds and smog so that it looked to be early evening. Melissa's quartz clock displayed 11:01 in the morning. Gone with the electric lights was the central heat. They endured the cumbersome matching wool sweaters Melissa said were to be presents for friends, but which, Jacob suspected, belonged to her and her male apartment mate. His suspicion arose when, two days after she arrived, he came across a man's clothing and a man's initialed cigarette lighter while searching through a bureau drawer for a flint for his own lighter. She had entered the room at that moment, and, becoming embarrassed, had directed him away from the chest of drawers by quickly getting what he needed. He did not mention it, but knew she was aware he found the clothes. Neither did he question the gray turtleneck she gave him to wear.

  It was easy to understand how one could form a special feeling for this girl, who was at the same time strongly self-protective and vulnerable. Too, it was good to have someone to remind him that human warmth did still grace the earth's cold, troubled surface. They had not and did not share the same bed, but somehow for the past four days, they had shared something inexplicably more intimate. A feeling, a sense of belonging together. Not in the same way lovers belonged together — although sexual desire for her had crossed his mind — but in the sense that people working together in a common heroic cause belonged together.

  From the beginning, when she learned that she could trust him, knew that surviving their mutual ordeal could be best accomplished by helping him, he was consummately charmed by her and made aware of her resourcefulness. She had directed him to two apartments in the building where acquaintances had lived before the disaster. In the first, they found a computer of the old type, compatible with the diskettes, and in the second apartment, a video-cassette recorder.

  Power had been disrupted to the point it was impossible to begin making use of the machinery, but Melissa had been able to brew the tea without electricity using an ancient, oil-burning samovar. With it, she was also able to heat canned beans and potted meats. If not ideal domestic life, it was, he reckoned while downing the last of his tea, as nearly so as anyone during this maddening time was likely to manage.

  She propped an elbow on his shoulder and rested her chin on top of her wrist, watching him move the materials about on the coffee table. Her presence was good, bringing thoughts of Karen and what she might think if she saw this pretty girl so near him. Although he and Karen had pacted not to begrudge each other occasional outside relationships, he suspected she would be angered. Although on Melissa's part, he was fairly certain the feeling of closeness was innocent. Under circumstances like these — the world disintegrating, seeming to have a hostile will of its own toward its inhabitants — he hoped he would not deny Karen such companionship. Of course, he would begrudge her; he knew that as well as he knew he would not be able to keep from stepping over the fragile barrier of fidelity should this desirable girl invite him across. Melissa's sweet, feminine essence was an inhalation of cool, pure oxygen in a world choking with malice.

  "What do you expect to find in all this?" she said after several seconds of watching him arrange, then rearrange, the items.

  "I've already had a look at one of the programs and some of the papers. But without the computer and the VCR to look at this other stuff, I've only been able to confuse myself. I hope these other things will shed light on what I've already found out, or think I've found out."

  "What's that?"

  He looked at her, contemplating whether to burden her with suspicions that might frighten her senseless, or make her think he was a lunatic. But, then, she knew about the disappearance of her mother and millions of others. She knew about the things being reported by the one-minded news establishment. He had explained to her his own dilemma, although the explanation was a lie. Now, he needed her — to share the truth with him, to maybe give him insights from new perspectives. He must tell her everything he knew — all that he suspected.

  "I told you I'm with the State Department. I'm afraid that's about the only thing I've told you that's the truth, Melissa."

  He got to his feet and walked to the sliding glass door to the balcony, then stared blankly into the overcast morning sky.

  "I am a liaison officer with State, like I said... That is, I was with the State Department. I'm not so sure there is a State Department, or any other governmental institution as we're used to thinking of them." He turned to face her. "Can I have some more of tha
t tea?"

  She brought his cup to him, along with the pot, and poured while he held the cup for her. Her expression was one of puzzlement.

  "I know what I'm going to say, what I'm going to tell you, might scare you. But it's the truth as I understand it. I told you we were in this together, all the way. That was the truth too. We have no choice. What's happening is happening to everybody, everywhere — at least to everyone in what we call the West. And, you deserve to know the facts. Maybe, just maybe, somehow, we can get the truth to others, once we ourselves fully understand. If not, God help us all. I don't know how the truth will ever come to light — at least, not until it's too late."

  He again stared out the glass, past the balcony, seeing, yet not paying attention, to the light rain that had begun to fall from the depressing sky. He turned his head when he felt her hand against his shoulder, then turned farther to accept her face against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She said nothing, her warmth and closeness conveying her thoughts, telling her everything would be all right. Her hair felt soft against his cheek and smelled clean and good when he kissed it lightly.

  "They're after me because I have these things." He gestured toward the materials spread on the coffee table. "I've been to an island in the Aegean. A place called Naxos. It's an insignificant little island in the Cyclade chain. I went there with my foster father, who is also my boss, Conrad Wilson."

  She looked surprised; he knew she would. "Yes. The same Conrad Wilson," he said. "I was raised by him after my mother died. We went on behalf of the President, and that little piece of rock sticking up out of the water turned out to be somewhat more than what it appeared. It's an incredibly sophisticated governmental center, full of the latest technologies. It's a series of chambers and tunnels more than a mile beneath the surface, from where they intend to rule the world," he said in a dazed voice, as if he meant to say it to no one in particular. Then, he looked at her. "They might have the ability to do it, too."

  "Rule the world? Who?"

  "I'm not really sure. I don't think all the people involved in the Naxos project themselves know the members of the inner circle — the real power. I know it sounds like a fanatical raving. I sometimes feel like I'm living somebody else's life — that it's all a delusion. Only I keep waking up morning after morning to the same realization. That they've tried to kill me — on three occasions. That they've done something to hurt someone special to me."

  "A girl." Melissa's words were emphatic, knowing. Not a question at all. "I'm sorry, Jacob."

  The compassion he sensed when she embraced him in that moment, cemented the already special feeling between them. She seemed to understand when she felt him quiver involuntarily against her, that his crying did not make him less a man, but more human.

  With his back turned to her, he watched the rain splatter off the iron furniture and the railings of the balcony. "Uncle Conrad sent me back with a package to give the President. I never got to deliver it, because I and the secret service agents who were taking me to the White House were followed by agents of the people of Naxos, who didn't want the materials in the hands of our government. It's a power thing. Them wanting the U.S. to take a back seat. At least it was a power struggle. Now, I just don't know. There's something weird in it. I know you'll think I'm nuts, but there's something almost supernatural about it."

  He turned to face her, in control again. "While they were chasing us... and they fully intended to kill us... to take the materials I had with me. While they were behind us, I was looking into the rearview mirror from where I was sitting in the back seat, and the guy, the secret service agent who was driving — he disappeared from the mirror. He was watching in the mirror, looking at the car following, and his face — it vanished."

  "How can you be afraid I'll think you're crazy? I saw my mother disappear."

  "It's not just people vanishing. Other things, too. These people in Naxos, at least an elite few of them, apparently knew beforehand that this was going to happen. That a catastrophe of this sort would take place and that it would give them an opportunity to institute what they call INterface. It's some kind of computer government to eventually control everyone — everything on the planet."

  "But how could a small group of people possibly hope to do that? How could they ever get the remaining communist countries to go along?"

  "That's the really weird part. They seemed to know the Russians would be out of the way when it came time to put what they called the 'Six Ways to Peace Plan' into effect. The top man in the thing seems to be Herrlich Krimhler."

  "The German? The one who's always in the news?"

  "The same." Jacob paced while he talked. "Krimhler as much as predicted something like this disappearance phenomenon would take place. He called it something else — 'a withdrawal into the inner world's consciousness.' He said the uninitiated would be drawn into this inner world, where they would be made worthy to re-enter the real world. Krimhler called it a 'new birth experience back into the physical body.' Said something about a dissolution so that New Age society could enjoy unprecedented prosperity — that all nationalism would have to be done away with."

  "This 'Six Ways' thing is supposed to do that?"

  "The 'Six Ways to Peace Plan'... Yes. Krimhler said the dissolution would accomplish the excision, meaning, I take it, the cutting out of undesirables, and that the 'Six Ways to Peace Plan' would bring in Utopia."

  "You learned all that when you were in this Naxos place?"

  "No. After that. It's all in this pile of material. In a couple of pages from a speech made to those in the Naxos project. I didn't read it until I reached the United States. The whole package was given to me by a U.S. operative working under the directive of my foster father. I was to bring it to the President in an attaché case. The package of materials in the case was rigged with explosives to detonate in the event I was assaulted."

  "Explosives! Why?"

  "That's how critical these things are to the security of this country — to freedom. That explosive charge turned out to be a friend, believe me."

  During the next hour he told her everything. His suspicions and his fears. His escapes on the road from Andrews and from Stone Oaks after the overheard conversations in the old mansion's basement complex. The explosion that killed the agent who had held the gun on him from the back seat. He went on to tell her about going to Marchek's home in Rockville after the encounter with the fat driver of the van, and about viewing the speech by Krimhler on the VCR in which the German outlined the planned ruling structure of INterface. His recent experiences continued to flow from his mouth as he described in detail the agents finding him again — as they mysteriously were always able to — and about his escape through the attic, the fire, the helicopter trip to Boston. His telling of it all was cathartic and he felt lighter, free for the moment of the weight which had grown heavier since the U.S. agent handed him the package in the pumping room.

  She seemed glad to share the portentous revelations, rather than reacting the way he had feared. Although her words were not trivial, the lightness of her tone made him wonder whether she understood the full implications of what he told her. "It's as if we're both caught in the same horrible dream — one of those you have when you're drifting off to sleep. You're falling and you wake with a start just before you hit bottom. Or you're running away from something or someone, only your legs are so heavy you can barely move and everything is in slow-motion, and you wake up just before whatever's chasing you can grab you."

  "That monster has almost caught me three times now. So if it's a dream, I wish I had boogie men with less bloodhound in them."

  Her expression became more somber and he thought he saw a trace of fear return to her pretty face; but she deserved the truth.

  "I've searched every inch of the stuff I brought with me from the island and haven't found anything they might be able to home in on. The only thing I can think of is that the chemical composition of these tapes or papers might have so
me properties that allow them to get a fix. I've never heard of anything like that, but with what I've seen lately, I wouldn't be surprised at anything. I've got to see what these tapes and things have on them. That's more important right now than worrying about them finding me again."

  Her eyes told him she was grateful for his shared thoughts.

  "Look, Melissa," he said in a tone that tried to appeal to her reason while holding her hand. "Maybe it's best to find you some other place for awhile. I would leave, myself, and let you keep this apartment, set up shop somewhere else. But if they've been able to get a fix on my position again, they'll come here first, no matter where else I move to. It would be safer for you to find another apartment in some other building."

  She shook her head, cutting him short. "Like you said, we're in this together. I don't want to be separated from you, even for a minute."

  The bulbs in the lamps flickered with light, then stayed illuminated, and Jacob walked to the balcony.

  "The traffic lights are working again. They're on again as far as I can see toward downtown. I think this time they might stay on." He put his cup and saucer on an end-table where one of the lighted lamps sat, and went back to the coffee table, where he began readying the videocassettes and computer disks.

  Like before, he had no particular plan in mind about where to begin dissecting the materials. While the Marchek videotape and computer diskettes were important, the tapes from Naxos were critical; he would digest their information first.

  After inserting the cassette, the first scene his gaze met made him think, for a moment, it was the tape he viewed at Marchek's home. A sea of black, globe at the center, then the familiar sparkling crystal pyramid came into focus within the globe. Picking up the other videocassette, he examined it, deciding quickly that he had not made a mistake in his selection.