“No, sir.” The foreman answered, “We plan to slowly let water inundate the entire area beginning at 6:00 A.M. tomorrow morning.”
Ari knew the final preparations were being made for the completion of his bunker but did not know the exact details. Though in construction for over six months and costing the UAA trillions that they did not have, this massive endeavor hadn’t attracted any of his attention recently as it neared completion.
A large crowd of the laborers had congregated near him. All looked the same way: cachectic, dirty, and drenched in sweat. Working under these harsh conditions had obviously taken its toll. It was the type of labor that no matter how much water or fluid a person drank, it just wasn’t enough.
Despite the dehydration, they all looked energized to see the Malik. Wide-eyed and smiling, the workers pushed up next to one another just to catch a glimpse of their leader. Being so close together made them even hotter. However, all their misery seemed to dissipate in Ari’s presence.
“At what rate would you prefer the water to enter?” the foreman asked. “The Minister of Construction, Razmi, said you would make the final decision after this inspection.”
Ari had no clue how to answer the man. Though sanctioning this project and overseeing its leadership, he knew none of the specific details. He was above these trivialities and, in fact, felt offended by such questioning.
“What rate would be expected to produce the quickest results?” Ari asked, not wanting to commit to any decision.
The foreman went on to give a lengthy answer to his question. Speaking of the water release mechanisms, pounds per square inch, and the Bernoulli’s Principle among other things, he provided a comprehensive response.
Ari became lost within the first few words. His mind was on greater things at the moment as he imagined how this massive bunker would provide his ultimate salvation from the ravages of The Disease.
Ari had come a long way since his childhood. Abandoned by his alcoholic father at a young age, he had always felt alone and dejected. Like most kids, he wondered if it was his fault his dad left and at other times believed that maybe his father was too ashamed of him to stay.
Whatever the cause for the man’s departure, it had left Ari with low self-esteem. His mother did nothing to bolster his blossoming confidence. Working abroad most of her life, she lad left Ari to be raised by her parents. Though loving grandparents, they were not the same as his true mother and father.
Depressed and lost in a self-proclaimed meaningless world, Ari found no solace in either religion or friendship. Turning to narcotics and alcohol, he attempted to drown away his sorrow in a drug-induced stupor.
Things changed for him upon entering college.
Ari was fortunate to be accepted into a prestigious school. With poor grades and below-average aptitude test scores, he had managed to gain entrance not by merit, but through his grandfather’s influence.
While in college, he was exposed to a world much larger than he had ever known. The constant barrage of fascist ideals from both classmates and professors alike inundated him.
He was taught about the West’s hypocrisy and their ardent belief in capitalism. It was like a love story between the hedonistic Western society and their economic system. He finally understood that utopia could only be orchestrated from the government. People were too mentally unfit and materialistic to be left to their own devices. Their greed and pursuit of material goods not only created an unjust social hierarchy based upon wealth, but it also created a sense of individualism instead of nationalism.
While in college, he also inundated himself with existentialist readings. It was the ultimate epiphany. No longer seeking the meaning of life, he realized that it was his duty alone to create it. His future wife, Masika, also shared this existentialist view.
They met in college and made an instant connection. Both shared the same anti-Western sentiment and prayed not to a God but to a reality, which they created for themselves.
The foreman brought Ari out of his trance when he asked, “So what type of adjustments should be made when we apply Bernoulli’s Principle?”
He looked at the man and gave an answer that only a politician could provide.
“When you apply the principle to this situation, there is only one conclusion that can be made. And that conclusion is the precise method by which to proceed. Do not deviate from this course or second-guess these results.”
The foreman ultimately had been left with making all the decisions himself. Asking further questions would only prove to irritate the Malik. Instead, he responded as if Ari had given him an abundance of information.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, bowing and making the symbol of an O above his head.
Ari smiled with confidence knowing that, as the population above dwindled into extinction, he would be safe from The Disease in his bunker. He was bound to win no matter the circumstances. If he found the cure for this scourge, he would be the most powerful man in the planet. If not, he would rise from the ashes of humanity like a phoenix and take control of a shattered world, creating an international fascist utopia.
Chapter 11
Mostly abandoned, the coastal city of Sitia lay dormant. Its beautiful beaches were devoid of its usual outpouring of sunbathers while only a few ships dared traverse its port.
Sitia, along with most of Crete, had been evacuated early since The Disease’s outbreak. It was not mandatory to leave the island but most had in fear of contracting the fatal illness. A few, however, stayed on the island, neglecting any risk to their health.
Guri Bergmann was one of them. A hermit by nature, he enjoyed the solitude and relative lack of human contact.
Alex looked down at the calculator-shaped device in his hand and inspected the intricate display upon its faceplate.
“This DNA tracker shows with a 99.8 percent probability that Guri should be in that brick-colored apartment building up the road.”
Marissa leaned against Alex’s shoulder. She had never seen a DNA tracker before and was interested in its capabilities. She considered its potential applications and thought it may prove useful during her field work.
Alex could not help but appreciate Marissa’s soft touch and the coconut scent in her long brown hair. Her distraction was not unwelcome.
Though truly interested in the DNA tracker, Marissa, too, found herself attracted to Alex. She stayed close to him and examined the device in his hands with a little added interest.
Alex wanted to stay focused. He knew this endeavor could be dangerous and felt responsible for their safety. Now was not the time for petty self-indulgences.
Turning back to the group, he said, “O.K. everybody. Let’s not forget the potential dangers. I have the whole city currently being evaluated by our Neurono-Tek satellite. Everything seems quiet now, but things could change rapidly.”
“What do you mean change rapidly?” blurted a voice next to Alex. “I hope you’re talking about the weather!”
Since leaving Neurono-Tek, they had acquired one more guest. Alex’s entourage was no longer limited to Marissa and Jonathan as he invited an old college friend to join them.
Dressed as if he had just climbed out of bed, he wore a wrinkled white polo shirt, and instead of pants, he donned equally wrinkled blue shorts. An unflattering pair of brown sandals capped the entire ensemble. Because of the man’s size, albeit not entirely from muscle, no one dared comment on his clothing selection.
The baseball cap on his head had the semblance of once being red. Now brown with dirt and most probably some other mysterious substances, it appeared as if it might sprout legs and walk off of its own volition. Well worn, only the letters G and R were decipherable above its brim. Although awkwardly dressed, he was a handsome man in his forties with fair skin, blue eyes, and a Hollywood smile.
The guest’s name was William Fowler, and he boasted a long and accomplished career as a virologist. Once working for the American Academy of Medicine, he had taken his talents
into the private sector once the public one began to crumble.
“I’m just saying,” Alex responded, “because of the UAA’s terrorist attack on Neurono-Tek, we must be careful.”
“Terrorist attack,” he repeated in a trembling voice. “I thought that was a gas leak!”
Sweat began to soak his face and saturate his armpits. Though appearing big and tough, his exterior demeanor was nothing more than a façade.
“Gas leak, bomb, what’s the difference?” Alex said nonchalantly. “They can both cause an explosion.”
“I swear to God,” William sputtered, “if you get me killed, I’m going to beat your ass.”
Alex laughed to himself. He had known William ever since they roomed together in college. Though a nervous man and prone to fits of panic, he was a person of strong character and integrity who Alex could depend on no matter what the situation.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alex said. “But for now let’s walk up the road here to find Guri.”
Empty cars littered the street and not a single voice, laugh, or even shout could be heard along its path. Sitia had become a modern ghost town.
Quaint multilevel buildings painted white, tan, blue, and red bordered them on each side of the road. Because of their differing architectural designs, it gave the city a unique appearance not seen in the conformity of modern architecture.
Jonathan kept quiet, soaking in the city’s beauty. Though silent, Alex knew the man had much more to say but kept it to himself. He just wished he could tease some more out of him.
“Jonathan,” Alex said, trying not to act too inquisitive, “back at Neurono-Tek you mentioned something about being a Millerite.”
“You are an astute one,” Jonathan replied. “That is indeed what I said.”
Jonathan was not oblivious to the fact that Alex presented him with an open-ended question. He also knew there was much more that he needed to tell them if they were successfully going to find a cure for The Disease.
“You see,” Jonathan explained, “the term Millerism originates from a 19th century gentleman by the name of William Miller. It was his belief that the Bible held the clues to the second coming of Jesus Christ and the ensuing rapture.”
Marissa leaned closer to hear what he had to say. His unpretentious manner, captivating way of speaking, and gentle smile gave him a grandfatherly-like demeanor that she certainly appreciated in such a stressful outing.
“So when did he predict the second coming?” Alex asked.
“Between the years of 1843 to 1844.”
“I’d say he was a little off that one,” Alex responded.
“That was called The Great Disappointment,” Jonathan explained. “He, like many of his day, believed that there were clues hidden within the Bible, and if one knew how to interpret them, they could predict the future.”
Jonathan pulled out his Bible and quickly opened it to the book of Daniel.
He read, “Unto two thousand and three hundred days; then shall the sanctuary be cleansed.”
Jonathan closed the book and held it tightly to his side.
“Though this passage appears somewhat vague,” he said, “it provided the cornerstone of William Miller’s beliefs.”
Music began to play.
Dreamer, you know you are a dreamer. Well, can you put your hands on your head. Oh, no I said…
Jonathan stopped talking and turned to see where the music had started. Marissa also began to look for its source.
Alex, however, knew all too well where it came from. “William?” he asked inquisitively, without even looking at him.
“It’s Supertramp,” he answered. “You know I need to play it when I get nervous. It calms me down.”
William then began to close his eyes and sing along in a soft, yet totally out of tune pitch, “Dreamer. You know you are a dreamer…”
“Did this William Miller predict out-of-date 1970s music?” Alex joked.
“Nothing of the sort,” Jonathan responded, smiling.
“Unto two thousand and three hundred days,” Marissa repeated, somewhat annoyed at William’s interruption.
“Yes,” Jonathan said. “There was a popular belief in the 19th century called the day-year principle. It was not uncommon to interpret each Biblical day to represent a year in actual time.”
“How did they manage to come up with that math?” Alex asked.
“It was actually used by some 4th century Christians but popularized by more contemporary Protestant reformers.”
Jonathan looked at Alex and Marissa and quickly added, “With a start date 457 B.C. when Jerusalem was ordered to be rebuilt, William Miller calculated judgment day to be around the years 1843 to 1844.”
He waved his hand in the air and said nonchalantly, “Yes, the years passed without repercussion and many of his followers were rightly disillusioned. However, many continued to believe there was a secret code to the Bible and continued searching.”
Alex interrupted, “And I guess they’re called Millerites.”
“You are a smart man, Dr. Alex Pella,” Jonathan stated. “But as enthusiasm in religion has greatly diminished since the time of William Miller, there are but a few of us left.”
“And is that what led you to Astipalea originally?” Marissa asked.
Jonathan pointed to the brick-red building they were standing next to and responded, “And that is what has led us now to Guri Bergmann.”
Alex knew there was much more to Jonathan’s story, but now would not be the time for any fireside chat. Looking through his right videre contact lens, he could see a three-dimensional infrared satellite view of Sitia.
The city appeared relatively free of any human inhabitants. A few stray dogs and cats roamed the streets, but otherwise he could count its inhabitants on two hands.
Alex looked down at his DNA tracker and compared the results to the satellite image.
“He’s on the third floor. Other than him this place appears empty.”
Alex had come appropriately dressed for this excursion. Instead of the designer suit and dress shoes, he now wore his running sneakers along with blue jeans and a thin, white-collared shirt. He wouldn’t be caught off-guard again if he needed to run.
Alex opened up the building’s glass door and pointed down the hallway. “We’ll have to take the stairwell. We don’t want to find out somebody didn’t pay the electrical bill the hard way.”
The music stopped playing to everyone’s delight.
“What do you mean third floor?” William blurted. “Is this some sort of triathlon you’re dragging me on?” Once an all-state football athlete, he had long since left the daily rigor of a two hour workout in the gym at 5:00 A.M. for sleeping in late and a few cups of strong coffee in the morning to get him going. Still an extremely hard-working man, he would rather be up to his eyes in his work than pumping heavy weights these days.
Though moaning and groaning the whole time, William managed to follow the group up the stairs. With a little help from the railing, he ascended the last step.
“Marissa,” Alex asked whimsically, “you wouldn’t have anything in your bag to help out my friend back there?”
“I have just the thing,” she said, opening up the black pack hanging from her shoulder.
Sweating and out of breath, William expected a power vitamin, a quick shot of adrena-boost, or at least a cool drink.
Marissa handed William a small green piece of plastic in the shape of a spool of thread.
Enthusiastically taking it, he looked down to read what he had been given.
Deodorant.
“Make sure you apply it at least three times a day,” Marissa joked.
Though annoyed, William quick-wittedly responded, “Thanks, I won’t need to shower for another week.”
Alex stood in front of a finely-polished oak door with the number 57 glued to its exterior. He then took out what appeared to be a glass monocle from his shirt pocket.
He placed his fingers up to
his lips, telling them all he needed silence and handed Jonathan a black playing card.
With the monocle up to his eye, he looked through the door. He could see the inside perfectly. It was a stuffy room with no decorations. Two brown couches and an ugly orange throw rug were all it had to offer.
“There he is,” appeared on the card as the other three read Alex’s mental transmission.
“Sitting on the couch trimming his toenails. He doesn’t suspect a thing.”
Marissa made a gagging face.
Alex pulled out a pocketknife-type instrument and flipped open what looked like a rectangular circuit panel. He placed it against the steel lock next to the doorknob.
“When I say GO the door will immediately open. I’ll bum-rush the room and tackle Guri before he attempts to escape. William, you take my back.”
William was ready. After wiping the perspiration from his face with the bottom of his shirt, he stood behind Alex, set for action.
“GO!”
Alex rushed the room as the door flung open. Guri was so frightened he could muster only a meager yelp. Before he could shout another sound, Alex tackled him to the floor and placed his hand tightly against his mouth.
“Are you Guri Bergmann?” Alex asked forcefully.
The man did not answer. In shock, he kept his eyes wide open and didn’t move a muscle.
“Are you Guri Bergmann?” William reiterated.
Guri’s eyes moved over to William’s direction. The sight of the large figure instantly frightened him to rigorously nod his head yes.
Marissa and Jonathan entered the room. Inside there was not much to see. Guri did indeed live like a hermit. With gray walls and absolutely no décor, it appeared just as boring and bland as Guri himself.
“Now I’m going to take my hand off your mouth,” Alex said distinctly and softly, “and I want you to slowly get up and sit on the couch without saying anything.”
Guri again nodded his head, albeit slightly slower.
Alex did just as he said, and Guri moved cautiously to the couch, looking at everyone in the room as he did.
The New Reality Page 7
