SUMMATION

by Daniel Syverson

  Finally, the impatience paid off. The watched pot could, it seemed, actually boil. As they read the message that just came in, the elder Richter just shook his head. Surely this was all meant to be. There was no way all of this could have happened by chance or coincidence.

  "If previous transmission valid, request emissary with details and authority of action.

  Additionally, require that son Hans be member of group. For security and confidentiality, request that group number no more than three. Due to timing difficulties, need to require delegation to arrive NLT 1800 hours local time, Tehran. Clearance and customs not an issue, you will be met on arrival. If satisfactory, respond by reply."

  Hans was going on a trip.

  There would be three traveling. Hans, his father, and one technician, someone able to set up the computers and provide secure transmissions. The names of the delegation and the tail number of the aircraft were entered on the reply, and sent.

  Although the US had no official ties with Tehran, that was not an issue for the Richters. Being of German nationality, and more importantly, of German passports, they were free to travel there. Fortunately, Richter's Lear Jet was still parked in Rockford. The crew was staying at a Days Inn about two miles from the airport, and would be able to return to the plane on thirty minutes notice. Rockford, a smaller airport, was surprisingly well equipped, a necessity due to its role as a Fed Ex hub. Few people who saw the sleepy little airport paid attention to cargo jet after cargo jet arriving and departing during the night, kept running by the huge warehouse just west of the airport proper. Fewer still realized the number of international flights that had Rockford as their origin or destination. As such, the extended runways, customs office, and fully equipped maintenance facilities made it an ideal destination for international flights that wished to avoid the congestion, scheduling, and expense, not to mention parking, for both aircraft and vehicles, of O'Hare.

  * * *

  The notice to his pilots was given.

  * * *

  Twenty-seven minutes later the three crewmen climbed out of the hotel's shuttle van, each with a small overnight bag, and one flight bag with all the pilot's maps, sectionals, and instrument flight charts. Walking through the small, almost unmarked international entrance to the airport service area, they arranged to pay for the landing, parking, fuel, and maintenance services provided. The pilot's lounge also had several computers that allowed them to check weather and prepare a flight plan.

  None had been to Tehran before, so they again used the services of the computer and printer to obtain flight sectionals of Iran, and specifically Tehran. The also printed airport layouts, lists of radio frequencies used along the route, and a procedure list for entering the country. They had been told that they would receive a clearance to cross into Iran without having to land for customs when they were within an hour of the border, as well as be given an additional frequencies they were to monitor along the route. This frequency would be used by Richter's people in case a message had to get through and the secure communications on their phones and laptops weren't available. All these were printed out in duplicate, so both the pilots and their passengers would have the information, as requested. Another forty five minutes had gone by, and they were ready, headed out to pre-flight the plane. Their passengers would be here in a few minutes. As far as anyone new, only the plane and crew were returning to Germany. Due to the greased wheels within the State Department, the Customs office would fast track the plane's departure, and no even realized that Gerhard and Hans were aboard. With any luck, they would receive their clearance and be airborne within the next fifteen or twenty minutes or so.

  The crew was rested and prepared, as was the jet. The moment Richter's car arrived, they boarded and departed. It would take about eight hours to reach Germany again. He would receive clearances while enroute. The plane would land and refuel, with an expected turnaround time of less than forty-five minutes, and they hoped to be in Tehran some six hours or so later.

  They had no clearances, visas, or permission to enter the country, but had been promised that it would be there before they arrived. The flight manifest did not include either of the Richter's names as passengers. Communications would be strictly limited, and the pilots were trusted. No one would know of this first meeting.

  * * *

  And the secrecy had been maintained. No one from Tehran would have considered going outside with the information. And only a few people, Richter's top echelon, knew of his plan to travel. No one had leaked any of the information.

  Yet it did get out.

  Chapter 25

  Good Fortune

  Shaking his head, Zarin could not believe his good fortune. Someone was certainly looking over him. Perhaps it was not just him - perhaps it really was his destiny. Perhaps even greater than that, a greater purpose? Even greater than his? He tried not to think in those terms.

  In less than a day, he would be meeting not only with the son he requested, but with Gerhard Richter himself. The pieces were coming together, faster and more fully than he could have imagined. With Richter himself behind him, he was ready to step out. That first step had to be bold. It would have to grab the world's attention. And he knew what that had to be. Unfortunately, there was going to be a tradeoff. He knew that there was no way Richter could be directly tied into something like that. Or could he?

  With Germany's history of the camps still very fresh, with some survivors still alive - Germany and Germans were very sensitive to anything that might be looked at as anti-Semitic.

  On the other hand, there was a new generation, tired of walking on eggshells on the subject. Skinheads, neo-Nazis, militant Arabs, anti-Israelis, - these were all people he could tap into, but it was risky. He needed the mainstream Europeans to back him, not the extremists, not just those who hated Israel, but the average European, tired of the Arab-Israeli conflicts, tired of the Zionists; the people who wanted good relations with the very wealthy Arabs, the oil-rich Arabs, the Arabs looking for European skills, European labor, European education, European job site supervisors. In short, he needed all those Europeans that would look the other way on issues with Israel because of their own economic gains. With Richter, he had accomplished all that, plus now had untold wealth, besides his own, backing him, all from a simple e-mail but a few hours ago.

  He had less than a day to prepare before Richter's arrival. His people started gathering all the information they could on Gerhard Richter so they could properly welcome him, and avoid any faux-pas regarding likes and dislikes.

  Most importantly, his feelings on Israel and the Middle East would be closely examined. The son that had seemed to be so necessary for this meeting fell to the back. The son wasn't so important, now that the main-man, the money-bag, the power-broker himself was arriving. They would, of course, be polite and deferential, but the staff would see that he, Zarin, and the father were able to spend the important time together.

  Chapter 26

  Rum and Diet Pepsi

  Dinner was complete, but he was so focused, his mind jumping from one thing to another, that he looked almost possessed.

  "Tim? Tim!"

  He turned. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm just so distracted. I apologize. When we finish I need..."

  "We are finished."

  He looked down. His plate was clean. Turning red, he looked up, not knowing what to say. "I'm so sorry," he repeated. "At least let me pick up the bill."

  She laughed. "You really are out of it. That's okay - I took care of it already. My treat. You kept saying something about getting a hold of someone. Listen, if you need, or want... Well, I've got a computer at my place that you're welcome to use. My printer will make copies of stuff you need, and you're welcome to use my phone. That information you gave me must have been pretty good. The detective in Rockford, the Chief of Detectives, to be specific, was really interested. I'm not sure what's next with the case, but he seemed really into it. Actually, this whole thing has been kind of exciting."


  He started to protest, but she cut him off with her upraised hand. "Nonsense. I've got nothing going tonight that can't wait. Of course, if word gets out that my social life is so slow I'm inviting guys from the Vatican to my house, my reputation will really be shot. So, with that caveat, can I help out?"

  He thought quickly. He could try to get a hotel locally. Not likely- lots of people with damaged homes, rooms are filled. He could head somewhere nearby, like Janesville, Madison. To what advantage? Besides, no question, she was a looker. He could certainly do worse than spending time with her.

  "Are you sure? Besides not being the best company, I don't want to be taking advantage. You've already been more helpful than you can possibly imagine. And I really could use a computer, copier, and phone. Not to mention a place to plug my phone into."

  "Absolutely. One condition. You let me help. Let me know what's going on. It sounds pretty interesting, and my grandfather spent a lot of time on it. Plus, I know there's more to this than what you're letting on. Plus, oh, I guess I already said that, but, plus, you might need to go back to his house, so you kind of need me. Deal?"

  He hesitated only momentarily. How much could he tell her? What difference did it make? If he was wrong, he'd look like a fool, but then he'd leave. If he was right.... God help them all...

  "Deal."

  "Follow me, Tim. I want to stop across the street to get a few munchies and something to drink. Sounds like we'll be up kind of late tonight."

  They picked up some Cheetos and potato chips, and a six pack of Diet Pepsi and another of Classic Coke. "I keep both on hand for friends," she explained, "some get picky." She headed over three more aisles.

  "You like rum?" When he nodded yes, she grabbed a bottle of Bacardi, Silver Label. A box of donuts from the bakery section completed the junk food bonanza. She also picked up a box of frozen sausage-egg-biscuits for later in case it got really late and they got hungry.

  After inquiring the type of printer she had, Tim went to the office/school supply section, and picked up a box of photo paper, along with some extra ink cartridges. He also grabbed a package of yellow notepads. They headed for the checkout, where he insisted on buying. She didn't say no, but did take one of the bags when he tried to grab all three. A few minutes later they were at her place, unloading.

  "This used to be my aunt's place. She never had any kids, so she was like an extra mom. After she died, I just took over payments and kept it. It's not real big, but it's enough for me, and best, it's just about paid for." She unlocked the side door, opened it, stepped inside, and reached around the corner to flip on the porch light. He followed with the two bags he had carried, then returned to his car to get his briefcase and the box of papers he had grabbed from her grandfather's house. He also grabbed the charger for his phone from his overnight bag in the trunk, and headed back inside. She was already mixing drinks, and met him in the dining room with one.

  "Not sure about you, but after today, I'm ready for one of these. Or two. You can set your stuff up here in the kitchen. It's got good light. Let me show you the computer." He set his stuff down and grabbed the drink. He took a quick sip, then a long swallow.

  "Oh, that was a good idea. I was more than ready." He took a second sip, a little larger than the first.

  He followed her through the tiny dining room. The table was stacked with clothes. "Well, they're clean, and they're folded. Just have to put them away. Two out of three ain't bad, as the song says." She turned down a short hall. "Bathroom is here, and this is the computer room. My room is at the end. You don't want to see that one. I wasn't expecting guests..."

  She flipped on the light to the computer room. He saw the cable modem blinking on the desk in the corner. Internet was hooked up and operating. That's good, he thought. The computer looked rather new, and the printer, an HP6100, was perfect for his needs. It had a fax built in, as well as a color copier. He sat down, reached over, and turned it on. As it warmed up and went through its steps, he pulled out his materials and spread them on the extra bed along the wall behind his chair. He unwrapped the notepads he purchased, and set the photo paper next to the printer, for later. He grabbed a notepad and sat on the edge of the bed. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the dreams, jotting down details as he remembered. Unfortunately, details were few and far between.

  In the dining room, she was taking some of the clothes off the table. "Here, Tim. Let me get a few of these things. Be right back." She took an armload back to her room, pointing to one of the chairs. She returned, and went back into the kitchen, returning with the bag of Cheetos.

  "Want some?"

  "On top of pancakes?" Tim patted his stomach. "And lose this girlish figure?"

  He reached out and grabbed a handful.

  She set the bag down on the table and pulled up a chair of her own. This guy was alright. Interesting, not bad looking, and didn't take himself too seriously. Did I mention he looked pretty good? She propped her head on her hands and stared at him.

  He looked up and saw her staring. "What? Something on my chin?" He rubbed at the imaginary crumbs.

  "No, no. Just curious about you. This has been a one strange day, and here you are. I haven't had anyone over to the house in ages, and now, well..."

  "Yes?"

  "Nothing. Just an unusual day. I've really enjoyed spending it with you. Certainly broke the monotony of the ordinary."

  "Well, thanks. Likewise. I'm not sure what to say."

  She just smiled, then sat up.

  "So, deal's a deal. Just what is this all about? There's more to this story, a lot more. So let's hear it."

  He had his mouth open, ready to toss another Cheeto. He paused, then went ahead and flipped it in. He looked at her for a moment, chewed, and swallowed. He took a long drink, finishing it. He paused, sighed, and set his empty glass down. He folded his hands in front of himself on the table, and looked down. After a couple moment's reflection, he looked up at her.

  "You're not going to believe what I'm going to tell you."

  * * *

  It was nearly thirty minutes later that he stopped.

  "I'm parched. Mind if I fix another drink?" he asked. She just sat, looking at him, then nodded dumbly.

  "You're not serious... Come on, really... This can't be..."

  He returned with another glass, this one with enough Bacardi that the Diet Pepsi barely colored it. "I told you." He took a long drink.

  "If this is all true, why are you so calm? Why aren't you going nuts? Why can't you call someone?"

  "Who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters?" He looked at her, giving her a crooked smile. "You know, I've always wanted to be able to say that.

  "Actually, I do have to call in," he added. "And no, not Ghostbusters."

  "So, tell me more about this box thing."

  "What role the remaining pieces of the star, or stone, or whatever it was plays, I surely don't know." Tim stood up, and started pacing in the tiny room. Actually, more like turning in place. More like a cat, not sure of its prey, stepping left, then back right, then back left- never taking its eyes away. "It has been stored these many years, sealed. Or so we assume. Maybe it's been lost for good. Other than a couple of vague references to it, there's no information on where it came from, how it got there, or even what's in it. Apparently, though, it spooked somebody, because it was buried away. They were even afraid to get rid of it, for fear it might be found. It was last thought to have been stored at the Vatican itself, hidden among all the treasures and artifacts. Kind of like an Indiana Jones thing with the buried Ark of the Covenant. Actually, now that I say that, just exactly like that. Except that we have gone through everything. I mean everything. And you have no idea how much everything is actually there.

  It's pretty much computerized now, so records are getting better, but even the odd storage areas have been gone through. It's not like in the past. If something is stored there, we know about it. There's no such box at the Vatican."

  "From your
story, it sounds like it may have been some type of source material that may be needed for replacement or reinforcement purposes. Or, is it a weapon? Contaminant? Biological?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows. We do know that by all references, and there aren't many, that the line of the woman and the line of the cult don't seem to have ever had any further direct contact, as far as we know. The coming together is supposed to have some significance. Maybe it has ceremonial significance, or like you say, strengthening. We don't know enough. Who knows - maybe there's been contact that's not documented. Anyway, there's almost zero information on either side, so we don't know anything for sure.

  "It does concern me though, that this Zarin guy seems to have access to the people in charge of the nuclear program, which of course doesn't exist. That dream really did spook me. It was just too real. Plus, what you said about a mushroom cloud - I sure hope that's really reaching. If not - well, let's hope not."

  "Describe the dream to me again. Close your eyes, and tell me everything, even stuff that doesn't matter. Sometimes those silly or irrelevant details stimulate other memories. We do that all the time with witnesses." She sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching beside her, she patted the bed. "Here, sit down. Besides, you're driving me nuts with that pacing thing you're doing."