Authors: Daniel Syverson
"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.
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
organization, 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 w
eb 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.
"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 had 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.
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.
* * *