SUMMATION

by Daniel Syverson

  "By the way, it's getting pretty dark, and the power right here is out, as you obviously know. If you're going, you might want to get moving pretty soon. I know you've been here quite a while. If you want to get something to eat before you leave, there's a good place for breakfast all day pretty close, and you can get back on I90 from there pretty quick."

  "Actually, that sounds good. I'm famished. Sure the power's on?"

  "Oh, yeah - I've been working around here all day. Follow me - I haven't eaten either."

  They arrived at Jessica's, a family restaurant right on 251, right in town, and not far from the entrance to I-90. He brought his laptop in with him. The place was packed, naturally, with a lot of people eating out, of course, since many of their own homes lacked electricity.

  The tables were all filled, with a line waiting.

  "Here," offered Jenny. "There's a couple of seats at the bar if that's okay - no waiting."

  "Lead on".

  Glancing under the bar as they walked up, he picked one with an outlet underneath. He pulled a cord out of his pocket, and plugged his laptop in before sitting down. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, I just need to send these back."

  She laughed, "Which of you was more obsessed? By the way, the Swedish pancakes are great here, but she'll bring a full menu in just a minute." As if on cue, the waitress appeared, as did the menus.

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the SD card from his camera, plugging it into the laptop. After firing it up, he loaded his e-mail program, downloaded the pictures, added a quick note, and sent them.

  "I'm impressed, Mr. Biazzi, you're pretty good at that."

  "Tim. Please. Well, you've seen my best. I still have trouble with my TV remote."

  "Tim. Okay. I'm sure. I mean about the remote. So, any good pictures? You sure took a lot."

  "Most aren't any big deal, but one is really interesting." He flipped the one with the symbols. The photo filled the screen. He zoomed in on the front, on the broken seal. "See this? I'm not sure, but I think that's a very, very old seal. I'm going to look it up. But how do you have these-" he flipped the page, "on the same page?"

  She angled the computer so she could see better, accidentally bumping a glass of ice water to the floor. As it dropped, he reflexively tried to grab it, but missed. As it shattered, everyone in the room naturally looked over to see what had happened. He glanced up from the floor around the room, seeing everyone staring at them, everyone in the room staring with sad eyes, and he flashed back to the dreams, mushrooms, mushrooms, everywhere, and here he was, at the restaurant bar, sitting on the old fashioned round stool. He froze, half way turned in his seat, seeing it all again, in his mind's eye. Mushrooms, mushrooms.

  "Tim? Tim? You alright?

  He snapped back. A busboy was already headed over, and the audience had turned back to their own meals. He straightened up, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm fine. It's just, I had had, well, it's kind of silly, but it was just a bad dream, a number of them, actually, and I kind of flashed back to it. Dropping the glass just triggered it. Yeah, something about mushrooms..."

  "Mushrooms? Like the kind you eat, or the kind of clouds after a big bang?"

  "The kind you eat - I was in a restaurant." He looked around. "Actually, a lot like this, except the kitchen was open, and everyone was staring at me. The cook, some really evil guy of course, you know how dreams are - kept talking and singing about mushrooms, and everyone was staring at me like a minute ago, kind of weird. Kind of like this, actually, just like this, so that's why it flashed back." He looked off, trying to remember the dream. "Yeah, kept talking about mushrooms, and then the first two people he served turned to a black powder, and then the next ones did too, and then I woke up."

  "Oooooh," she whispered, conspiratorially, "Maybe it was a nuke - with the people turning to black powder and all. Regular mushrooms might make you sick, but a nuke..." She laughed and turned back to her menu.

  The waitress arrived to take their order.

  * * *

  He started thinking about the dream again, and what she'd said, and went silent.

  Jenna finally interrupted. "Tim? I gotta say, this has been one weird day. And your dream stuff was just icing on the cake. Then you go all quiet. Yeah, pretty weird day. Especially after that stuff today with that dead guy and all."

  "Dead guy? What dead guy?"

  "What guy? You didn't hear? You kidding? You didn't hear anything about it?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about. What guy?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I just couldn't believe you hadn't heard anything. There's been nothing else on the news all day, and it wasn't that far from here. Oh, you were at the house all day. No radio on I'm guessing. Anyway, it was the guy in that accident yesterday. I thought you'd heard."

  "Heard what?"

  "Some guy that got killed in the accident yesterday. They took him to the morgue last night. Late afternoon, to be specific. Said he was dead. Seriously dead. Dead as in crushed with caved in chest, broken legs, the whole works. Then, this morning, his father gets here, goes to see the body, and the kid just gets up and walks out. Just gets up, naked, puts on a lab coat, and walks out, just as pretty as you please. That's it."

  He stared at her.

  "They've been searching for him all day, but have no idea where he went. They think they know the guy's name, supposed to be a student up in Madison, but they can't find him. Guess his dad is loaded. Some big shot from Germany. Richter, they said."

  Tim froze. "What did you say? What was the name?"

  "Richter. The father's some big wig from Germany - owns radio and TV stations and stuff, but no one can find them. Kid's name was Hans, I think. Really strange stuff. Supposedly, it's on film. Wouldn't that be something?"

  "Hans Richter? Father is Gerhard Richter? You sure?"

  "Pretty sure, yeah. I'm not sure about the father's name, but I'm pretty sure the kid was Hans. German national, student visa. I know the father was some hot shot though. They just released it late this morning. Why?"

  "You may not believe this, but that's who I've been reading about all afternoon. That's who your grandfather was tracing. That's what his obsession stuff was all about." He opened up the laptop, returned to the photos, and clicked on the one that had Han's name written on the folder.

  Now it was her turn to be stunned.

  "How? What would he know about him? How could he have anything? This guy was in his twenties, and Gramps had been working on this since before I was born. I don't understand."

  "I don't either, but it's all there. At your grandfather's. We need to get it."

  "You're sure about this? You sure it wasn't anybody else? Maybe same name?"

  "No, no. No coincidence. Gerhard Richter is a media mogul with huge telecommunication holdings. I know, I've been doing some research on the same stuff, and his name keeps popping up."

  He shook his head in wonder.

  "I just can't believe it. You say it was his son? Dead, and then up walking?"

  "So they say. You know this guy?"

  "Of this guy. I don't know him. Just the name, and the stuff I read. I gotta call this in."

  "Hey, if you're sure about this, and you know where he might be, I may need to call it in too."

  The waitress arrived with their food.

  She picked up her fork. "After we eat. Nothing's gonna happen before we get done eating. Then we can both call in."

  He didn't respond - he was already deep in thought again.

  * * *

  The Swedish pancakes were as good as she promised. Unfortunately, he never tasted them. He was still thinking about, well, a lot of things. A lot of things.

  * * *

  And not just mushrooms.

  Chapter 23

  Rise to Power

  He had risen to power in Iran quickly and quietly. In a society such as this, the key to power was to be absolutely focused on that purpose, and to be absolutely ruthless. You needed an organi
zation, official or otherwise, that would be equally as focused, equally as ruthless, supporting you. And you had to be able to determine, quickly, and accurately, who was for you, and who was not. You would only be wrong once.

  His power within the government, or more accurately, within the inner circles of the government, where it really counted, was complete. His people occupied all the key offices, key cabinet positions, multiple generals, including the chief of staff, and many of the internal security and secret police supervisors. He himself was no big name. He had held no major office himself. But, as anywhere, money talks. And his family could speak very loudly.

  His father had died young, putting him in the position of patriarch at a very young age. Two uncles would have taken charge of the family, but both had died. One in a mugging - those responsible had never been caught, and the other in a car accident. He had been stopped at a light, and a tanker had plowed into him from the side, pinning him. He burned alive in the ensuing fire. Unfortunately, being in a more remote area, there were no witnesses. The truck turned out to be stolen, and again, no one was ever caught.

  Similar accidents and incidents happened to others that threatened his position, power, or finances. Enough that no one within the circle of contacts ever dared to challenge him. And so his power grew. He knew he was destined for greatness. Truly, he was a narcissist. He was, however, well disciplined, and maintained a most humble demeanor.

  A most dangerous man.

  He had read and studied all the ancient writings. He had read, studied, and could quote, the Bible and Quran, verse by verse, and could, and often did, use both to further his goals.

  He had convinced his followers that he was the One, the one that would lead them not only to run not just the country, but the entire Middle East. Although publicly a devoutly religious Muslim, he was in fact a strict adherent to another faith. Like Islam and Christianity, it was monotheistic. He worshiped and had faith in one, and only one.

  Himself.

  Whatever else he did and professed, the ultimate goal was always the furtherance of his own being. A very dangerous man.

  He knew that the one thing he could do that would solidify his power, lock him into position, unite the entire Middle East, and put him and them in the position to strangle the West was to once and for all eliminate Israel.

  Of course, this had been talked about for years, with plenty of saber-rattling and threats, and no shortage of demagoguery. For the first time, however, he was in a position to actually accomplish it. He would have to go through no parliament, get approval from no committees, no religious groups. He answered to no Ayatollahs, at least not where it counted. He would need to get approval from no other country. He was in a position to actually do what had been talked about for years, and he would be the one the accomplish it. His people controlled the oil, the refineries, and many tankers. His people controlled the missiles. His people controlled the warheads. His people controlled the nuclear processes. His people could put it all together. His people would put it all together. He would be the Chosen One.

  * * *

  On a more practical level, though, what to do about the European Union? This was his one concern. They were the wild card. It was a calculated gamble. Though not strong supporters of Israel, nor fans of the United States, they might still side with the U.S. in the long run when it came to events that threatened the current world order.

  Then there was access to oil. Both the US and Europe were heavily dependent. That gave his people the obvious leverage that had been used this past half century. One other thought.... if Israel was not threatened, but gone, support by the U.S. and others would be moot. They would have nothing holding them back in their support of his regime. The only thing holding most of them back even now was their irrational support for Israel.

  * * *

  Europe was weak, and undependable. He needed a way to lock them down, a contact that had influence, the ability to help sway the populace. Once he had the popular opinion in Europe, and he had dealt with Israel, the U.S. and others would follow. And he, Assad Zarin, would lead them.

  * * *

  Enough debate. It was time to move. The parts were all present, and he was able to move, now. To wait would be to risk losing some of the pieces. It would be more risky to not take the risk. He turned to his computer. Selecting one of the icons, a large 3 filled the screen, with two boxes, one asking for his code name, and the other, his password. He entered both. The box with the name and password turned red, and asked "Are you sure Y/N?". He looked at it for a moment, pressed "Y", and then ENTER.

  * * *

  That one little button push set a number of things in motion. Without question, it was the most dramatic and powerful set of events ever to have been brought into being by the touch of a single finger. A randomly generated web site was formed, a web site with no history, and no information. Upon activation of this site, messages were automatically sent to each of his key supporters. Some messages gave specific instructions; others just the code word "SUMMATION".

  * * *

  There was no way he could possibly have known that this randomly generated web site, the symbol, and the name of his organization had all been printed on a very, very old piece of papyrus, sealed with wax, and given to a king a few hundred miles away, many hundreds of years ago.

  Chapter 24

  The Search is Over

  "This is it - we've found him! This is it! The time is now! It's time!" Gerhard Richter was excited. His unflappable manner had finally been cracked, and the excitement was contagious. Although they had prepared his whole life, no one ever really thought it would happen to them. Hans' excitement was more than subdued by the realization that it really was happening, and he was on stage - everything, everything now depended on him. Was he ready? Would he be up to the task? The cocky, self-assured attitude was gone. Inside he felt like an eight-year-old at his first piano recital. His stomach was in knots. Everyone else was excited. The staff kept sneaking glances at him. They would be able to say that they were here. They had seen him when it happened.

  Hundreds of years, and they were here at the culmination, the summation of years of effort. The final symbol, 3, had been found, in the proper setting, and it made perfect sense, again, in retrospect. Truly this was the summation of all their efforts.

  One final, obvious problem. How to connect, how to communicate to him just who they were. After a brief discussion, a decision was made. A quick call was made to one of his people on the compound, the man who supervised their computer searches, and dealt with communications. For him, it was a fairly simple request. He would program a way to send a message, a message that would make sense to the sender of the message, but would be nonsense to anyone else, minimizing any risk.

  Now, to compose the message. It had to be clear, short, concise. They would have only one shot before being blocked out by the other's system. If unsuccessful, they would have to start over in making contact, and that could be extremely difficult.

  "The Summation is not complete until the Proclamation," it read, and then, "and the Proclamation must be protected and presented to the entire world."

  This and an e-mail address. Not a secret, or unknown one, but one the sender would be able to identify.

  And verify. The e-mail was sent by G.Richter"richterinternational.com. There was no need to hide any more.

  He clicked "SEND".

  * * *

  Zarin received the message. His people confirmed the identity. If it was true, this was what he had been looking for, waiting for. This man would be the contact he needed for the EU. This man, his corporations, his contacts with business, banking, and government - this was exactly what he had needed. He was respected throughout the EU, indeed, in the US. He had assets, unbelievable assets. And in the world of the media, he was on top of it. It was almost too good....

  ....Perhaps it was. Too good. Too easy. How could he be sure of the intent of this man? He had come out of nowhere. A man he ha
d never met, had only seen in the papers. What was his interest? How had this man found out about him?

  More importantly, how had he known of his internet address mere minutes after being activated, or of his just-released symbol? Only a few of his very closest circle knew of this. So much at stake - and not much time to get the answers he needed. How does one go about confirming something like this? He needed a way to know that the communications, the intentions, the man himself was actually behind him. Was it an elaborate hoax? A way to embarrass or expose him? How to confirm this Richter's intent?

  Then it hit him - Richter's son. While checking him out, he had read that he had a single son, attending school somewhere in the U.S. His wife was dead, so she was no help. If his son came in person, it would certainly confirm the elder Richter's involvement. Certainly Gerhard Richter wouldn't dare be playing games with him while his son was here with him.

  The irony of the Church's God sending his Son, Jesus, wasn't lost on Zarin, and he was amused at the comparison.

  Simple, elegant - just send the son. He sat down to send the message. He needed to be tactful, but firm. It was important that the son be sent.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Gerhard Richter was meeting with his senior staff, voicing similar concerns.

  "However we make contact with this man, it's important that my son be involved. He has to be the one to take part of this. The major player. It is his time."

  The advisors knew this. Everyone knew this. It didn't need to be said, but he repeated it anyway. Just as he didn't need to keep checking the e-mail, but he did it anyway. Just like he didn't need to ask the techs if anything had come in, but he did, anyway.

  "My son must go. How do we convince this Zarin to accept him?" The Richters sat in the makeshift office that had been set up in Hans' living room. Well, Hans sat. His father paced. A pair of computers had been set up, and two of their computer people manned them. The elder Richter had already been on the phone, routing any messages from his office directly here on a line set up for that purpose. Several close advisors sat on folding chairs huddled either around their own laptops or beside the sofas that the elder Richter alternately sat down and jumped out of, and the younger half lay across, with his arm draped over his eyes.