SUMMATION (20 page)

           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.

           S
haking 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.

           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?"