SUMMATION (18 page)

* * *

           Half awake, he raised his head off the desk. He
couldn't believe he had dozed off. He had knocked a few papers onto the floor
when he dozed, and he bent to pick them up. This guy had really been obsessed. There
were references to UFO's, the Bermuda triangle, and he though he hadn't seen it
yet, he wouldn't have been surprised to find references to the Loch Ness
Monster in here somewhere, but on the other hand, he did have Hans Richter's
name, and few people outside the circle,
very
few, .knew that name.

           He tried to thumb quickly through the papers,
looking for additional references to him.

           He found a stack of papers, stapled together. Only
a few sheets, but Hans Richter's name was the title of the top page, hand
written in large, bold print. Flipping to the next page, he found several
photos that had been copied and reduced to fit on a single page. It seemed to
be a timed sequence, over several seasons, looking at the trees and snow on the
ground. In the first frame, only an empty field with what might have been heavy
equipment starting to install roads. (He was guessing at this - the equipment
was way too small to identify). In the second shot, an intersecting series of
ditches had been dug, though he couldn't tell why or where. In the third,
houses were being constructed, but the ditches were gone. Finally, it looked
like a normal neighborhood. He stared, over and over, at each photo.

           This was it. This must be the compound where Richter
stayed when in the U.S., and where his local security was set up. Although Hans
was staying in Madison like a typical student, if you consider living in an
expensive condo across from the campus typical, his support, his protection,
the more secret organization behind the elder Richter's organization must be
here. How he had gotten those photos, he would probably never know, but on that
one page, there was certainly enough to raise a lot of questions.

           He flipped the page. Part of a family tree was
being filled out - looked like he started with a stock blank from some web page,
and had just started filling it out. Some spaces were filled, especially the Richter
paternal line, but there were still a lot of blank spots.  Nothing new here; in
fact, he could have filled a number of those blank spaces in for him.

           Another sheet behind was a photocopy or fax,
some kind of copy of some old document. Both sides were shown. One side showed
part of what had been a wax seal, long gone, though part of the imprint could
be seen. No name was on what would have been the front of the folded document.

           The content was odd. Apparently the document
wasn't so old after all. It had numerous icons and symbols of various companies
and technologies. Some dates, possibly an IP address. Nothing else. Pretty odd.
He wondered what it had to do with Hans Richter. No names, no explanation -
just included with the papers.

           He flipped it over. Nothing on the back side. The
last page had a copy - fairly recent, of his driver's license, issued three
years ago. The address was Han's condo up at UW Madison. He flipped back to the
second page, the page with the time-lapse buildings. That wasn't Madison. Looking
around, he saw a copier/fax combination. He could have his staff do some
searches on both of these - they were better on the computer than he was, by
far. He was too old - missed out on that computer generation. Seemed they were
born with the knowledge - he had to fight to learn how to use the word
processor.

           He positioned the papers, and hit the "Fax"
then "Send" keys. Nothing happened. Looking behind the machine, the
power was turned on. But no lights.

           "Duh."

           The power was out. Of course.  He was glad no
one else was there. But, there were other ways. He ran out to his car, opened
the trunk, and pulled out his suitcase. Opening it, he reached to the back by
the hinges and pulled out his camera. At least in this area, he was current
with the modern man. Photography was a pastime he enjoyed, and a nice camera,
with attachments, constituted his one true vice. There could be worse ones, he
justified to himself, and now, well, now he would be able to justify it, (and
maybe even get the cost reimbursed, he thought). He brought the camera into the
house, and took a series of pictures of the pages, from several angles, with
varying exposures. After he was sure he had good shots, and reviewed them on
screen, he decided to photograph as much of everything else he could. He shot
the house, pictures of people on the walls, and documents. Then, more
documents. And there were a lot of documents, more beyond what he had seen. He
couldn't tell if they were relevant, but at least he would have them later to
check.

           The shadows were getting long, and the light
from the windows was fading. He had already had to change the batteries of his
flash, but he had pretty well covered the material. He was checking the desk
for anything else, when he was startled...

           "Mr. Biazzi! Tim? You still in here?" She
walked in, looking very different. "I'd almost forgotten about you. I got
busy, and when I got off duty, headed back to my place. Kind of on autopilot. I
was already home when I thought about it, so I went ahead and changed. I
checked on my grandfather and," she slapped her forehead, "remembered
you were here." She looked at the items on the table.

           "Find anything?"

           "Wow. There is a LOT of stuff here, and, as
you say, he was certainly obsessed. But I have to tell you, there were a few
things that were actually quite interesting, and I would like to check them
out. I took some pictures of them. I hope you don't mind."

           "Of course not. Like I said, I'm sure he'd
be excited that someone was interested.

           "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."