by Terry James
"I believe when the restraining influence of God Almighty is withdrawn, these things will bring on immediate and total collapse of civilization. What specific sign will issue in this withdrawing of God's hand? I am certain it will be the rapture of all who have accepted Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior."
Jacob stopped the tape and paced while lighting a cigarette, many thoughts playing within his brain. Past time, seeming an eon ago, became liquid, flooding back into his memory; he was again in Marchek's study hearing the old man's words.
The words became more real than they were that night Marchek framed his beliefs, and Jacob suddenly made sense of them, whereas, in the actuality of that past time, the words had been weird, unacceptable, theological, mumbo-jumbo.
Then, he could not understand, much less accept, Marchek's preachments, but condescended to listen to Karen's friend. Now, he was desperate to have the words, the thoughts. He wanted to understand the beliefs, in order to make sense of his own maddening present.
Common, human reasoning less and less made sense; Marchek's explanation of his unwavering belief in the prophetic writings more and more testified truth. Jacob's world had deceived and betrayed him, was intent on killing him. The prophetical world spoken of by Hugo Marchek became increasingly lucid, became history unfolding.
Their discussion had covered much that night, Marchek presenting many things to Jacob's uninitiated ears. How could he hope to recall it now? Yet the memory was etched, for the gist, if not for the precise, order and sequence of language, and replayed as clearly in his mind as had the videotape moments earlier.
Ironically, Marchek had expressed the foundational reason for his own murder that night when he answered the question put to him by his guest: "You believe that it's you, personally, they're after? Not the ideology you represent? Not the resistance you throw in their way?" (Jacob spoke of the PAL organization.)
Marchek had answered: "It is me they want eliminated, because I am one among a very few who have insight into their master plan for bringing their kingdom into being."
"You're talking about some conspiracy to establish dictatorship?" Jacob remembered asking.
"...It will be supernaturally accomplished. It will be a one-world hell on earth, presided over by the devil himself in the form of a superhuman dictator," continued Marchek.
But, if Herrlich Krimhler was the Antichrist, and certainly the German had fit the characteristics described by Marchek, why was Krimhler dead? His skull was ripped apart by the assassin's bullet! Herrlich Krimhler was dead.
Hugo Marchek said something that night. If only he could remember. Something about the eschatologist's purpose in fighting the establishment of the hellish order. Jacob stared out the window into the blue-blackness of the early morning, straining to recall Marchek's words about postponing the coming order's rise to power.
"To answer your question, how will it be done?" the old man had said. "How shall we accomplish the postponement of Satan establishing his Antichrist government? I am not at all certain it can be done. Notice I said postponement of, not stop, its establishment. I only know I must try to do my part to hold it off as long as possible."
Was this all part of postponing the coming to power of an Antichrist? An Antichrist other than Herrlich Krimhler? Did Hugo Marchek's people assassinate the German and, he, Jacob Zen, just happened to be the convenient target for Krimhler's security people to blame?
But Marchek's followers must have been taken in the rapture, or dissolution, or whatever, if, like the old man said, only true believers in Jesus Christ would disappear when it happened. Some of Marchek's people, however, like Karen, were believers in Marchek, not believers in Jesus Christ. And therefore, might have been determined to get Krimhler, whom they considered the head of the organization that murdered the gentle old man.
The wristwatch; the fanatical attempts on his own life; the Allegiant tracking device they planted against his skull. No. The Naxos group had Jacob Zen picked as the mark to focus the hatred of the world upon from the time Fredria VanHorne seduced and drugged him. No doubt the blueprint for the framing was drawn well before that. All of it tied in some way to Conrad Wilson, to Karen Mossberg, and to Hugo Marchek, whose voice he heard again now, seeing with his imagination the thin, wrinkled face superimposed over the dark Atlantic sky.
And, in Jacob's mind's eye, Marchek held the old Bible in his hand while he spoke. "I assure you these facts can be learned by anyone who cares to carefully read this book... It is all here. The answers from beginning to end."
Jacob heard again Marchek's words, whose meaning now seemed clear. "God uses human agents to carry out his work, sometimes willingly on their part, sometimes without them knowing it. And, since you might very well be carrying out a mission for the Supreme, I suggest you study His written orders..."
The eschatologist held up the Bible in Jacob's memory. "I pray that you read this book... When the great disappearance of humanity occurs, Jacob, depend on this old book to guide you. Follow your burning need to get to the bottom of the great dictatorship."
He sat in a chair near the window and clicked on the table lamp at its side. All other avenues took him to dead ends. Time now to follow Marchek's advice, given that night. Time to see if the worn old volume really was the road map.
And, if it could answer his most pressing questions: Why, if Herrlich Krimhler was the Antichrist Marchek spoke of, was Krimhler now dead, unable to fulfill his prophetical role as the world's last, most despotic tyrant? Would that role now fall to another of the devil's chosen? Had the end-time dictatorship been postponed through the actions of the Almighty's human agents, if they had assassinated Krimhler? And, a larger, more personally affecting question: If the Naxos people did set up Jacob Zen from some earlier point, and pinning the blame on him for Krimhler's murder, why would they then continue to try to kill him on the highway, at Marchek's home, before the assassination took place? Probably, he pondered, because the men trying to kill him did not know of the greater design to assassinate Krimhler. Or, they planned to capture him and hold him until after the assassination, then bring him out before the public as the killer. Or, hold his dead body until after Krimhler's murder, and tell the world Jacob Zen had been killed upon discovery that he was the assassin. And, they wanted the materials he carried in the attaché case.
Where to look in the book? Where to begin? So much of it, maybe all of it, symbolic. How could he, who had rarely glimpsed into the Christian Bible, or for that matter, into any other religion's holy writings, possibly hope to learn much from his study? Nowhere else to turn. All other roads to understanding, blocked. So many books of prophecy to choose from. Which to read first?
Logically, all important end-time predictions should be wrapped up in the last part of the book. Such was the way with works authored by mortal writers. Why not with the one volume touted by Christians to be written through direct inspiration of the one, true Deity?
Turning to the back of Marchek's Bible, Jacob searched quickly through the heavily underlined, notation-filled pages for any references he might find about a final world ruler.
The Revelation. The last book
Author: John the Apostle
Theme: Consummation, Verse 9:
"I, John, who also am your brother, and companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the isle that is called Patmos..."
Patmos! Separated from Naxos by only a few miles of pored Aegean waters! He poured quickly over succeeding verses.
"I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet, Saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last; and, What thou seest, write in a book...
"Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter."
John, a disciple of the Christian Messiah, received his vision of the end-time within miles of Naxos, where he, Jacob, it more and more appeared, fell heir to fate's commission to follow
this nightmare to its conclusion, or to his own end. The fact now seemed more than eerie coincidence, his own juxtaposition to Marchek, to the prophetical text. There must be much written about the coming dictator, at least some reference to the Naxos complex. Of course, Marchek had quoted verses about the Antichrist during the taping of the show. Were they from The Revelation?
He smiled inwardly. How could he actually believe all the things bounding through his mind, the things printed on these ancient pages? For sure, things happening to his world were real; his shredded nerves gave witness with every pump of his heart that his existence was something more than delusion. This Bible should be no harder to accept than the things he had seen and felt since leaving that Clyclade pit. His eyes moved more swiftly through chapters 9,10, 11, and 12, stopping as if by programmed impulse when they met the small, italicized heading just above the bold number 13: "And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea..."
John saw it from Patmos! The old prophet had seen across the stretch of water separating the two tiny islands, across the centuries, the whole Naxos mystery! Those mysteries written of 2,000 years before, churned now in Jacob's mind, crystallizing, focusing the vision's message. John, the Apostle of Christ, the prophet, saw the last great dictator appear to rise from the sea, from the bowels of the island of Naxos! The revelation, fantastic though it was, diminished in the light of yet another, when he reached verse 3. "...And I saw one of his heads as though it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed, and all the world wondered after the beast"
It had to be! The prophecy of the assassination! A deadly wound -- but one that would be healed! Krimhler, if he were the beast of Revelation, would somehow come back to life according to this passage! He read on ravenously digesting the words.
"...And it was given unto him to make war with the saints, and to overcome them; and power was given him over all kindreds, and tongues, and nations. And all that dwell upon the earth shall worship him, whose names are not written in the book of life of the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world... "...And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spoke like a dragon. And he exerciseth all the power of the first beast before him, and causeth the earth and them who dwell on it to worship the first beast, whose deadly wound was healed."
If the words were more than mere symbolism, or the rantings of a nearly starved old man banished to die on his tiny, desolate island-prison, John was describing the ruthless subjugation of a future world. The first true world dictatorship. The horror-existence predicted by Hugo Marchek, not the Utopian paradise promised by the INterface propagandists. Either system of spirit enslavement would be unacceptable to freedom-loving men and women; the systems would differ only in degree of physical atrocity. Either evil--the one detailed in the biblical prophecies that predicted quick bloom into a state of abominable horrors, or that phased-in growth apparently intended by the Naxos criminals, now in its first stages — either evil would, finally, metamorphose into soul-rending monstrosity.
Should he change his plan in the face of things he learned from his readings? Revenge remained a factor in his will to carry through; the remote hope, too, that Karen might be alive. And, somewhere in the back of his brain a new ember of incentive burned. To, as best he could, help carry out Hugo Marchek's obsession in life — to hinder, to postpone, the inevitable dominion by the Naxos power grabbers, whether they were or were not of the Antichrist order like his friend had believed. He would not turn his back now that his objectives were more clearly focused in his thinking. His commitment, if it were altered, was altered toward greater determination to get to the heart of the beast and tear at it for whatever time was left to him on the planet.
He walked into the dark room where Kerry Vinchey slept and snapped on the lamp beside the bed, causing the pilot to stir. He shook Vinchey, who turned from the light and settled again for sleep. "It's time to get started, Kerry."
Watching the helicopter strain to break free from the high grass between the thickly forested surroundings brought back the nauseating sensation of total aloneness he felt in those dark hours following the moment the Treasury agent's face disappeared from the rearview mirror. The chopper's final jerk skyward, before beginning its smooth ascent eastward, seemed the action that broke his tie with all that was civilized. Now began the trek through both a literal and symbolic jungle, toward an enemy that both terrified and drew him with irresistible fascination. Forcing himself to gather his wits, to consolidate his thoughts of what had been, with those of what was to come, dispelled the loneliness while he moved as quietly through the heavy underbrush as the dry forest floor would allow.
Hours of videotapes that he had watched, pages of documents given him by Conrad Wilson's operative during their clandestine meeting before he departed Naxos that he had digested while at Melissa's apartment, then again at Vinchey's island house, along with chapters of biblical prophecies he had read, formed an amalgam, swirling nucleus in his mind, from which a clear path of action emerged.
Assaulting this remote INterface substation, if his analysis of the video profile on the Sector Coordinator was reliable, should not be too hard to do. Not the physical part of the assault, at any rate. The highly secretive nature of INterface's controlling structure meant that the tape he viewed was intended for the eyes of but a few. There was no need for elaborate security around these secluded computer centers; no one, other than each person chosen to be Sector Coordinator, knew where his own little concrete block building was located. One person could manage the machinery, so the INterface masters apparently reasoned.
Still, the things he saw and studied on the tapes and documents, detailed though they were, were only theoretical, basic envisionings of the INterface planners about how the Sector Coordinator should interact with the total system. Had the documents being stolen forced them to change their blueprint? If he ran into more than one person in the blockhouse, he would have his answer, because their plan called for one Sector Coordinator to act as caretaker of the ultra-sophisticated computer machinery, which was designed to operate itself. The Sector Coordinator was meant to perform only accountability functions, and to troubleshoot when things broke down. Each Coordinator was known personally by only one man in INterface government, according to the videotape and the papers he had studied. The arrangement was no doubt designed to isolate the individual from other Coordinators, thereby lessening the chances for collusion which might manipulate INterface machinery contrary to the Naxos group's intentions.
He gained confidence from the thoughts. The INterface blueprint was too intricate, too brilliant for them to take back to the drawing board. Ultimately, if the thief was not caught, the immensity, the complexity of it all would absorb him, neutralizing the thief’s ability to put his knowledge to use. They would not change the blueprint because of such minor annoyances.
But his confidence had a double edge. His task was immense; he remembered the hours spent studying the Sector Coordinator's responsibilities to INterface, and the many and varied controls placed upon the Coordinator. Parts of his own plan worried him deeply. The identification process, when the Sector Coordinator was required to respond to Central Computer Command — Would his be the right solution? The Allegiant he carried in the backpack, could he make them swallow the deception? Could he make it all work together — his plan to penetrate INterface? Would there be enough time?
Much of his hope rested in how well Kerry Vinchey carried out his part. Having to depend on someone else went against his best judgment, weakened his effort. But, to put his own plan into action, itself an elaborate one, meant having to trust the pilot to use his skills as a flyer.
The air became harder to breathe because of the increased humidity, the closer he came to his objective. A light mist thickened to become fog in the distance, beyond the immediate density of bush and high grass in which he knelt, using binoculars to pierce the boiling haze. The stench wa
s like that of the cities he left behind; not the normal smells of a forest shrouded with fog, or even of odors given off by the decaying dampness of marshland. The scents reeked of gasoline engine fumes. Smog, even here, 100 kilometers from the nearest town of more than 500 in population.
The blockhouse! Less than 75 meters in the distance, materializing, then seeming to disappear again within the maze that curled between it and him. A large satellite disc atop the flat roof pointed northeastward, aimed in the general direction of the orbits of the several satellites which followed each other's traverse above the continent. No windows. No apparent electronic security devices to alert the Sector Coordinator to approaching visitors. Such devices would be distracting to the man or woman, whose job it was to assure that the controlling machinery was cared for. Windows would tempt one to break the monotony by looking out them; security devices would be constantly tripped by wildlife, distracting to the man or woman. What if the Coordinator were a woman? What then? But, they would not put a woman in so remote a post as this one... surely.
Jacob crouched in the last of the high grass 15 feet from the foliage through which he had just passed and 40 yards from the blockhouse, which sat half-hidden within a copse across the small clearing. He pulled the backpack from his shoulders and checked through it, finding a liquid-filled bottle, chloroform, and a thick roll of gauze.
If he were wrong; if there were security contrivances... No time to be concerned now. He crouched lower and struggled with the backpack, slipping it over his arms and into place over his shoulders and back.
He crawled infiltration-course style, staying as flat as possible and moving across the wet, decomposing vegetation. Its stench took his breath. The humidity caused his face flesh to drip sweat, which trickled into and burned his eyes when he raised his head to see how far he had come and how far he had to go. Another 20 meters or so. Most of it, up a slight incline from the depression where he now must slither through several meters of mud.