Jacob's Trouble 666

by Terry James

  "My mission then, Jacob, is to spare as many people as possible from enduring the coming years of holocaust, by calling them to salvation... now. To accomplish this, we must try to buy time through fighting the developing Antichrist system--politically, and every other way possible."

  Jacob contemplated the old man's words for a moment, then spoke. "You paint a rosy picture," Jacob said. "Being Jewish, it's doubly rosy."

  "There is still time for you, Jacob."

  "Yes. Well, as you said, it's a scenario. I prefer to concoct my own."

  "It is a scenario in the semantic sense, only. All but the very last of the prophecies in God's Holy Word have come to pass. Studies made even by secular historians reluctantly concede this. We, as human beings, are slavish adherents to scientific empiricism; we pride ourselves on our logic. Is it not logical to conclude that since so many of these prophecies have come to pass, and in such minute detail, the remaining prophecies will also be fulfilled?"

  "I haven't seen or heard of the studies you're talking about. I still believe man has to work out his own salvation. I'm afraid I'm a hopeless existentialist."

  Marchek's smile betrayed his disappointment. "I am sorry for that, Jacob. But God made us creatures of free will. I must respect your right to believe as you wish."

  "You believe, then, that the reason for these threats is that your knowledge of the prophecies threatens this would-be dictatorship? That it's supernatural rather than simply political?"

  "You make me sound like a sort of mystic, but I assure you these facts can be learned by anyone who cares to carefully read this book."

  Marchek picked up the worn, black, leather-bound volume from one corner of his desk. "It’s all here--the answers, from beginning to end."

  "I must admit I've never studied the Christian Bible. For that matter, I've seldom looked through the Hebrew texts."

  “Your analysis is essentially correct. It is my belief that these people want me eliminated because the knowledge I possess is from the one Being who is more powerful than the master they serve. I am, perhaps, the most vocal, the most directly confrontational opposition to their goals of world totalitarianism. Every moment we can postpone them reaching their objective buys time in which souls are saved from Satan's grasp. He will not tolerate this. His consuming desire is to put as many of God's supreme creations into Hell as quickly as possible, and to put his own throne above the throne of God. Slowing his quest for absolute world domination infuriates him. I believe that at this moment I am the human being who is perhaps the greatest hindrance to him."

  "Surely you can't believe that, Dr. Marchek. You seem like a rational man."

  Marchek chuckled. "I thank you for your compliment. Most who are kind enough to hear me out are not so kind once I am finished."

  "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to imply that you are irrational now that I've heard what you believe."

  Marchek smiled broadly and waved in a gesture meant to belay Jacob's embarrassment "Do not concern yourself, young man. There is no offense. I know much of what I have said must sound crazy to one who receives it for the first time." He became more serious. "I do not believe that I am chosen of God for passing judgment on this generation, in the same sense of, say, Moses or Noah. I do not hear the literal voice of God telling me to say this or to say that, or to do this or to do that. No... no. I simply believe that I am fortunate to be in a position to warn of what is coming, according to this."

  He held up the Bible. "The words, the truths which God has given to mankind. Anyone who reads can learn the truths. Since I have read and prayed and sought the Holy Spirit's guidance in these matters, I believe I have been given a certain amount of understanding of apocalyptic events, which I am therefore obligated to share with my fellow human beings.

  "And because I know these things, I must do what I can to postpone Satan's establishing his kingdom on earth. It is all supernatural, yes; but the supernaturalism is between God and the devil, or, if you will, between good and evil—not between myself and those acting as Satan's agents in threatening me.

  "If you think it's Satan who's threatening you, why are you not afraid? Why, if there is a devil, and if he's so powerful, why doesn't he just wave his pitchfork or whatever and destroy you?" There was no sarcasm in the question, rather, genuine puzzlement.

  "Because, as I said, my Master is greater than their master. My life, yours, Karen's, anyone's, cannot be taken until the God who created it allows that to happen. 'Christ,' as the Bible says, 'holds the keys to death and hell.'"

  "And the others in PAL, do they share these beliefs?"

  "You, of course, know Karen does not share my faith in Christ, so naturally she cannot believe as do in the things prophesied in the Bible. At least not the supernatural aspects of what is prophesied. The others, unfortunately, are as skeptical as Karen in these matters. They do, however, see the inevitability of the coming totalitarian state, and we agree that there are a select few who will control it. The natural conclusion, forgetting biblical forecasts, is that one person shall emerge as supreme in that coming world order."

  "Why does it have to be a dictatorship? Haven't we come far enough to know how to avoid letting the gangster elements have their way at the top levels of government? If good is more powerful than evil, can't those with honorable intentions control such a world government?"

  "What would be the first prerequisite for the establishment of a western bloc, one government union? I mean, a global society which is totally unified, such as, for example, the Unified European States?" Marchek queried.

  "The primary prerequisite would probably be for all national entities to agree to relinquish governmental control in favor of a central government comprised of representatives of former national governments."

  "And what would this mean in terms of its effects on individual citizens of these many nations? Would they not be forced to relinquish at least some of their former ways of interacting socially, politically, economically, and religiously?"

  "I don't know about religiously," Jacob said with a frown of concentration. He walked the distance from Marchek's desk to the big window, then turned, rubbing his chin in further consideration of the question. "Of course they would have to give up some aspects of their former ways of life. But what's the point? The people of this country had to change, too, when they decided to form it. That doesn't amount to dictatorship. It's worked out pretty well, I think."

  "Ah, but has the final word, historically speaking, been written on the United States? Do you believe there are lessons to be learned, for benefit of the future, by studying the past? Obviously you do, because a moment ago you made reference to our having learned from past mistakes when you asked if we have not come far enough to keep--how did you say it--gangster elements from having their way in the top echelons of any such world government."

  "Yes. I agree that we must learn from past mistakes," Jacob said.

  "Then, since the final word is not in on the United States--that is, what will be its fate for good or for evil--would we not be wiser to look in the past to other experiences in analyzing what the actual prospects might be for a future governmental entity of such magnitude as our hypothetical western bloc?"

  "Yes. I will concede that."

  "Of all the great empires that we could look back to, shall we pick Rome? Ancient Rome?"

  "Okay, ancient Rome it is."

  "My point is, Jacob, Rome, although beginning as an honorable system administered by and represented by honorable men, degenerated through a series of dictatorships. The people lost more with each succeeding step in Rome's decline. One man, or at very best a small group of men, almost without exception self-servingly evil, lay at the heart of these successive governments. The same thing can be said for every major empire before and since, with the exception of the British Empire. But, like this country, the final historical word has not been written in the British Empire, which, of course, is no longer a true empire.”

  “Consider
ing past experience, can we logically conclude that another major empire, undertaken with no matter what honorable intentions, will prove different? Have we ever really learned from the past and applied the knowledge for the benefit of the people? I think not. Lord Acton said it correctly: 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely,' and, I must admit, empirically speaking, Darwin was right; the strongest survive.”

  "And, equally unfortunately, the strongest is always the most carnivorous, the most evil, because since mankind first fell prey to Satan's great lie--that now man can be his own god--man has tried to become exactly that. He has left God out of his affairs. Therein lies the reason man-made government will never, can never, be ruled over by truly benevolent leaders. That is why God must bring the Messiah into the world at the Second Advent. Then there will be a world government that will, for the first and only time, work for the welfare and peace of all people. It will be the theocracy presided over by Jesus Christ."

  "If all that is true, how do you expect anything I say or do to help get these evil forces off your back? I can help fight corruption--but the devil, himself? Even I would have trouble with that one," Jacob said lightly, trying to relieve the somberness Marchek's words engendered.

  "Postponement. That is what I seek, my young friend. As Jesus said, 'With God all things are possible!' In the process of your investigation, you will come to your own conclusions about this evil force, as you call it. If your efforts do nothing else, they may benefit you personally, convince you that the only hope is the Messiah. If so, that alone will make it worthwhile to me. But, also, the expression, 'God helps those who help themselves,' applies here. God uses human agents to carry out His work, sometimes willingly on their part, sometimes without them knowing it."

  "Working for God, huh? Can't climb much higher than that on the ladder of success."

  "Indeed," said Marchek, smiling. "And since you might very well be carrying out a mission for the Supreme, I suggest you study His written orders—the instructions He has left for the world to read and follow."

  The eschatologist stood from behind the desk and reached to offer Jacob the Bible. "I would like for you to have this, Jacob. It is a friend who has been with me for many years."

  Jacob took the book and thumbed quickly through it. "I don't want to take this. I know it means a great deal to you. I can get one."

  "It does mean a great deal to me, but it means a great deal more to me that you make a sincere study of it--that you understand its truths. Consider the prophecies while you try to learn what is happening all around you."'

  Jacob handed the Bible back to the old man. "Thanks. I'll pick up a copy, I promise."

  "Remember, my young friend, 'trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.'"

  Chapter 4

  Jacob sat up, startled, trying to get his bearings. The staccato pounding between his unfocusing eyes, combined with the ultra-shrill screaming inside his skull, forced him to grab his head in an attempt to quell the pain.

  He was on the floor near the window of the small room. He had fallen from the chair! The Trachetrol! Had he overdosed?!

  The vivid thoughts, or dreams, or whatever they were, of Karen and Hugo Marchek, were driven from his brain by the squeal produced by the biosensor grafted next to the bone at his forehead. He must have been away from the console past the allowed time! Controller Central would increase the intensity of the vibration until the proper response was made or until the skull shattered! Already, the level of pain almost incapacitated him, and his body quivered and spasmed while he struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the console chair. He collapsed to his knees before reaching it, the sharp contact with the rock-hard tile making him feel his kneecaps were crushed. Still, the pain in his head increased with each second that passed, overriding the pain in his knees, and he managed, through an inner strength he somehow found, to pull himself up by gripping the right arm of the INRU console chair.

  He fumbled to find the right response key, his index finger barely steady enough to locate, then push it.

  The INRU screen came to life; the agonizing throbbing in his forehead stopped instantly.

  "John I. Garver, six, six, six, IN, three, one, eight, eight, eight, two, seven, one.

  Prepare for Ident. Watcher eight, three, seven, seven."

  When the computer voice completed the command, the official symbol of INterface, the sparkling transparent pyramid, with its golden Roman numerals DCLXVT superimposed over a photographically realistic blue and white planet Earth, disappeared and was replaced on the screen by the live image of a dark-clad controller.

  The man was a hulking figure whose broad, puffy face looked unnaturally swollen, the billowy jowls made more so by the stiff collar that pinched the fat which spilled over it to form a huge double chin. His heavy brows, above slitted eyelids that barely permitted the tiny black eyes to be seen, slanted downward to the point between his eyes where they co-mingled angrily, creating a constant frown of hatred. He glared into the camera in front of him and leaned forward to within inches of the lens to punch keys, giving Jacob, at the other end of the transmission, a fisheye distortion of the Watcher's face against a backdrop of hectic activity at INterface Watcher Facility 500.

  "You are tardy, Sector Coordinator five, five, zero. I hope you enjoyed our little reminder that you must be attentive," the fat man said with pseudo-pleasantness, his sickening smile magnifying greatly when he again reached forward, his fare coming to within inches of the camera lens.

  "Sir... it was the Trachetrol... it affected me badly this time," Jacob said timidly.

  "Perhaps we should put you on rations. Maybe that would help you learn self-discipline. Or should we eliminate Trachetrol altogether and give the position to one who can appreciate its opportunities and its responsibilities? Perhaps I should call out a Decap Unit and let you join these Jews! Yes... maybe dying is the best way you can serve!"

  Any response would only damage his case. Would the Watcher send a controller team for him? Few ever returned from a Controller Facility once they were taken there. What were the chances of avoiding the dragnets should he be able to flee the INRU room without detection? He would have no chance to escape the Allegiant pressed against his forehead, at least not until out of its range. But secretly located monitoring stations were scattered about. It was impossible to know where they were — impossible to escape the Allegiant device. Still, there was the other way, the contingency plan...

  "Prepare for Print Ident. Seize Print Plate." said the voice of INterface.

  Jacob complied, and the video displayed the results through yellow characters generated a line at a time:

  AFFIRM — JOHN I GARVER

  SECTOR 550 COORDINATOR — EEE-IIM-3- 1 88827 1

  The voice announced,"INterface accepts. IN are you."

  With the identification process finished, the video changed again to the Watcher, whose huge face continued to present a surrealistic, convex image because he constantly moved in close to the camera lens to manipulate his control board.

  "INterface computer says you are IN five, five, zero. But the final decision on that is up to me," said the man while he continued to tinker with the control board. "How long you will be IN is..." Something on the control panel in front of him interrupted the Watcher's words, and he handled the problem before returning his smug gaze to the camera.

  "You will be at Inculcation Room seven, seven, three, Facility Five-Hundred, at twenty-two hundred hours, Sector Controller five, five, zero. Do you think it is within your capability to follow that simple instruction?"

  "Yes, Watcher eight, three, seven, seven. May I ask the nature of the matter?"

  "You may not!" the INterface Watcher responded angrily. "It will not become your business to know until you are here!"

  Jacob watched the bloated face fill the INRU screen, the man's fat arm stretching forward to hit a switch. The screen went
black.

  Jacob stood from the console chair, his thoughts replaying the abbreviated conversation with the INterface officer. Rarely did a Sector Coordinator, or anyone else, get called to a Watcher Facility. AH business was transacted through INterface Response Unity, except in the instances when Watcher Control wanted to deal in personal matters. Such occasions almost always meant that the one called in would vanish--that all records of his having ever existed would be erased from the perfect memory of INterface Response Unity.

  Was this the time to try? To try--despite the Allegiant, the dragnets, the impossible odds--to escape? To go underground if possible and continue the research, linking up with others who still believed something could be done? The fat man told him to come to Facility 500, apparently without escort. Could he use the opportunity to make his try for freedom? But, there was no freedom. They would watch him from the moment he stepped from the INRU room and follow him every step of the way to his rendezvous with...

  The Scanner was following his movement around the room! Did the Watchers intend to monitor his every movement until the time he had to leave for Facility 500? Did they want him to sweat it out? Worry about the reasons for his being called in? Was it punishment for his earlier lapse in obedience?

  The question of whether to bolt was now moot. He would not get farther than the street if he did try to run.

  He wanted, needed, another Trachetrol II fix, but he dared not take one. The danger of the drug's possible effect on his level of consciousness outweighed the raking urge to give in.

  Looking toward the cabinet near the window, he gritted his teeth and turned his back on the drug's beckoning. There was still a chance, he fought to convince himself. Still time to run, to get lost in the underground sewer caverns or the hundreds of dilapidating buildings. There were too many hiding places for the controllers to cover without an extensive dragnet, and John I. Garver was not that much of a threat to INterface. Too, the possibility existed that he could talk his way through it. Although his rhetorical abilities suffered from years of nonuse, the basic talent remained. He could, like an athlete, shake off the years of mechanical response in front of a video data terminal, away from contact with other human beings, and recoup enough to verbally dazzle them.