SUMMATION (27 page)

           He reached for it, slowly. Across the stage, his
father and host were watching, curiously. They saw the way Hans was walking
toward the emblem, and wondered what was going on.

           Something wasn't right. They could sense it in
the air - an electric feeling, almost a scent of ozone, such as after a close
lightning strike. As he came closer to the symbol, it became more intense, and
they both felt it. They knew something was happening, something unexpected,
something that was going to change everything.

           They watched as his hand reached for the symbol.
When but a few inches away, a spark jumped across. The boy didn't jump, but
continued, closer, closer. The spark jumped again, stronger, becoming
continuous with that buzzing sound one sometimes hears on old neon signs. He touched
the symbol, and there was a flash. Not a flash at the symbol, but of numerous
lights in the room flaring up and burning out. He felt the power surging
through him, then slowing, and stopping.

           He released the symbol and looked around at the
stunned people around him, his father and Zarin among them. He felt more alive
than he could ever remember. He stood taller, more powerfully. He smiled. This
was it. This is what it had all been about.

           Gerhard and Zarin walked over, tentatively
reaching out toward him. "Hans, son, are you okay? What just happened?"

           "This was what we have been waiting for,
father. All these years. It has come to pass."

           Zarin reached out and touched the symbol. Nothing.
Gerhardt likewise. Same. Hans then tried again. He felt the tingling, but there
was nothing else. It had been released.

           "Hans? Did you get shocked? What happened? What
do you mean?"

           Hans felt the power. He didn't know exactly
what, or how, and certainly not why, but it was there. He reached toward a
glass on the table beside the podium, about ten feet away, pointing,
concentrating. It was
there
, he could
feel
it, he just
knew
it, had to
focus
it...

           The glass exploded, sending shards and water
every direction. People in the room all stepped back, looked at each other, and
began cautiously stepping towards the door. Something was happening here.
Something dangerous. Something that made being there suddenly very risky. The
room slowly, quietly, silently, became empty.

           No one spoke.

           The ramifications of what had just happened were
racing through everyone's mind. Had someone been watching from the door, which
none had dared do, they would have seen the three just standing there, staring
at a broken glass, water dripping off the table and down the walls. Not moving,
not speaking, just staring.

           Finally, Hans was the first to speak. "It
is as it has been written, as we have prepared. This is the time, and as it was
said, it is not I that is He, but you. I am here to announce, to protect, and
to make the way clear for
you
." He bowed, deeply, dropping to one
knee.

           Zarin, stunned, didn't know what to say. Could
it really be true? He had made use of the stories, the legends, the myths- and
added to them his own savagery, but could it actually, really all be true?

           "Stand up, please, stand up." Zarin
reached to help him up. Hans stood.

           Gerhardt didn't know what to do. What to say.
What to
think
. All their worlds had just been turned completely upside
down and inside out. Looking outside the doorway, he could see members of the
inner circle. All were prostate. As if part way through their prayers, they
just stopped, on their knees, faces to the ground. Even from there he could see
some were trembling.

           Zarin was in a similar state. He looked around,
also seeing the prostrate generals, the shattered light bulbs, the glass and
water all over the table. He suddenly felt powerless, fearful of this boy, this
man, this- this
creation
. This
being
had bowed to him. Saying the
he
was the master, the one he followed.

           His mind flashed to the Frankenstein in Western
literature. What if the creation turned on its own master? He would be
powerless against this. But the boy also spoke of the writings, and he was
apparently bound by them. Who knew, perhaps something would happen if he
didn't
do what he was supposed to.

           He had to take charge of the situation or lose
it. He shook off the fear, the questions, the unknown. Taking command once
again, he called out for his staff. They came in, slowly, heads down, afraid to
look at him or the boy.

           "We have work to do. It's time. And stop
hanging your heads and bowing - it's your job to make the rest of the world
hang and bow
theirs
."

* * *

           In a matter of a few hours, there were few that
hadn't heard what happened. Of course, that was a security leak, but being wise
in the ways of communication, Zarin looked the other way. He knew the story
would travel, and grow, and reap results far beyond anything he could
personally do.

           In that way, the Proclaimer was doing his job,
in a way no one would ever have thought, and far more effectively than anyone
could have imagined. Far more impressive than a magic show on television, his
mystique was growing, mere hours later. Truly the writings were prophetic.

* * *

           Time was booked, and teaser spots/ announcements
played steadily for a major news announcement breaking in four hours' time. Richter
was earning his pay now - connections were lining up around the world, with
bought, traded, and time on credit arranged. And now, Oprah and Jerry and all
the others were vying to get time with them. Along with the video from the
morgue showing Hans walking out, which had gone viral, and now the leaks about
the strange man that could point and destroy....

* * *

           The whole world would be watching.

           Indeed, the whole world
was
watching. And
some of it was even paying attention. Not to the stories of the Magic Man, no
one was buying that in this office, but clearly action was being taken. Besides,
it didn't matter if
they
believed the stories going around, what was
important is what the
people
believed. And right now, a lot of people
were willing to believe in anything.  The rabid anti-Israeli rhetoric had been
notched up several spots, with many vocal supporters using this as their
opportunity to slam Israel, or the U.S., or western civilization, or any
combination of the above, depending on who one was listening to. It was this
talk that was making the people in this office nervous.

           With each speaker trying to cash in on the
increased limelight, each one had to go a step farther to keep the focus on
himself. The publicity was building on itself. The Proclaimer had not yet
uttered a single word in public, not one word, yet the entire world was now
buzzing. With that many people racing up closer and closer to the edge, the
worry was who was going over first. And once they began falling, it would be
over. It would be out of anyone's hands.

           Word began racing around the world, using an
internet that allowed it to multiply faster and faster, and with each receiver
of an announcement passing it onto ten others within moments. The charlatans
and opportunists that thrived on controversy quickly saw their opportunity and began
to make
their
move. They and their followers headed for the streets. With
word of a Chosen One arriving, and Magic Man there to assist, many felt that
this was their time to shine, and consequences would be out the window. Violence
began exploding throughout, first in the hotbeds of the Middle East, where any
excuse was a good one, followed by neighborhoods throughout the rest of the
world.

           Problems that would have taken weeks to develop into
full blown riots in the past could now, fanned by worldwide access and speed of
the internet, take effect in hours.

           Men and women from around the world were sitting
in their own various conference rooms debating what to do about this new
potential threat. The people in these rooms were charged with protecting their
own specific countries first, and others in the world took second place. The
riots and uprisings had sprung up so quickly, and with so little direct cause,
leaders were at a loss of how to appropriately deal with them. The anarchists
were making use of the opportunity, and the looters, being of no particular
political persuasion, jumped at the opportunity to start breaking into the
stores. Leaders were getting concerned. These were the times that the wrong
people with the right words would jump in and try to take control of the
situations. Any time there was anarchy, there was fear. With fear, there would
be a call for strength. That was when the strongest ones walked in and took
over, not by force, but by general acclaim.

           Suddenly there were fingers, and not necessarily
the best ones, on buttons all over.          

* * *

           When Colonel Rothstein came back on duty, the
entire world was spinning at a much faster rate beneath his plane. One of the
ideas behind his being there in the first place was that at least some of the
fingers on the various buttons would hesitate, knowing he and others were watching
from above in his position of Eye in the Sky. He would be among the first to
spot attacking planes or missiles. This was in addition to serving as a
replacement for Air Traffic Control, able to serve on an international basis. A
relatively neutral, stable, powerful third party could balance and watch for
the effects of one out of control madman. No surprise strikes. With his ability
to contact defensive batteries on
both
sides, he could and did play
referee. And all sides knew it, even if they didn't like it or concede it on
television when playing to audiences.

           Normally, that's the way it worked, when
everyone is playing at least somewhat nicely. But now, calls were being
monitored to and from everyone. Afraid of being caught on the ground, aircraft
were in the air all over. Units, as a precaution, had moved from garrison to
the field. Needless to say, the Colonel was no longer bored. Cell phone towers
were being overwhelmed as people started getting concerned and calling family
members, resulting in frightening breaks in communication.

           No one wanted to be caught with their pants down,
so everyone began calling their people in. Police departments, hospitals, extra
staff at the local stores to meet the increased demand always present when
trouble started. When trouble happens, lines begin forming at gas stations. When
the news showed lines starting at the gas stations, people headed to the
grocery store, and more got in line for gas. Hoarding had begun. It had the
look of hurricane preparation in areas that hadn't seen rain in months.

           Tempers began to flare.

           So people started tuning in to the news,
awaiting an announcement, any announcement. Some with expectation, some in
fear, most out of curiosity. Something was happening, but people didn't know
exactly what. It must be important, though, because they saw people in the streets
and in line. When they saw that, one of two things happened. One group went to
the street, where they joined the lines at the stores and gas stations, or
joined those marching, or protesting, or warning, or getting ready to riot. The
other group just stayed home, sat down in front of the TV, and stayed glued to
the news. For good or bad, the world was beginning to rotate around two people
no one had ever seen, and virtually no one had ever heard of.

* * *

           One man left his home and was standing in line,
not at the grocery store or gas station, but at the airport. He was oblivious,
no not oblivious, rather just uncaring about what was happening around him. The
chaos being initiated could only help the situation. He was here to board an
airplane, to leave the facade he'd been living under all these years to claim
his reward for a job very well done.

           The man was dressed in an expensive Armani suit.
Purchased for over a thousand dollars nearly six months ago, this was his first
opportunity to wear it. He only wore suits like this when he traveled. He would
never have gotten away with it at home. He looked up at the clock as he was
waved through to the first class boarding, and glanced down to confirm the
time, checking a five thousand dollar Rolex. He couldn't have worn that at work
either. He'd left his office at the Vatican where the note would be found,
along with an item he had no more use for, the next, well, perhaps right about
now. It didn't matter anymore. It was a simple note.

           "I serve a God far greater than yours."

           No more vow of poverty for Father Sartini.                                      

* * *

           His package, securely wrapped and stored in the
checked baggage, was to be presented at the meeting. Regrettably, there was no
time to examine it with Richter before. This greatly disappointed him, as he
wanted to present it in person. Given the option, he'd rather have hung onto
it, kept control of it, and made sure to cash in on its presentation. He wanted
to make sure his name was up front on the proceedings. He wanted to be sure he
wouldn't be left out of the proceedings.

* * *

           He'd been faxed special access passes for
himself and his package, and he had just enough time to get there. He was to
bring the package directly to the event staff for presentation, as there was no
time for him to do it himself. He'd been assured that he'd be able to meet
privately with Richter himself after, that the leaders wanted to meet with the
man who had accomplished what none other had all these years. He didn't know
how much of it was just the man stroking him, but he had no choice. He'd have
to trust that he'd be able to see him after the event. He'd protected himself,
though. Like Depardieu, he knew what he was doing. He'd taken dozens of photos
of the box, and the items inside. Pictures with and without him. Pictures with
newspapers to document the date. He was going to make sure they didn't forget
him. Not that he was trying to blackmail or threaten them - not by any means. He
had found and presented the chest because it was the destiny of man, His
destiny. The World's destiny. He was proud to have accomplished it. He was just
playing it smart - keeping some information to be on the safe side, just in
case.

* * *

           This would be a meeting unlike any had ever been
to diplomatically, or ever would again. Few heads of state would attend, but
certainly the top diplomats and representatives all would. There was a
dramatically decorated meeting hall reserved, with hundreds of people
feverishly setting it up. Radio, television, and most importantly, internet
feeds were all being set up. They were also told to set up outside, about a
half mile behind the building, though not told why. Just that an important
announcement would take place, and part of it would be performed back there. The
center where the meeting was held opened widely on the wall facing this
direction, the idea being that during the announcements, people would have a
view to whatever was happening there.

           It was no secret that launchers carrying
missiles, along with their empty, decorative warheads were on their way as
well, and attendees were expecting a show of force, a Soviet May-Day style
parade. If the show of force bothered anyone, it was not spoken of. People were
looking for a strong leader. Someone had to take charge.