SUMMATION (29 page)

           All was in place.

           The applause continued, building towards a
crescendo, with the assistance of the supporters in the audience, stage
lighting and background sound effects. Even more so, viewers at home were being
treated to a version with added applause soundtracks courtesy of the state
operated television coverage. Eventually, it slowed, and people began to return
to their seats. It was interesting to note those that sat quickly, and those
that waited, continuing their applause, obviously waiting for the cameras to
turn and catch them. Above all else, they were politicians and diplomats. This
was part of their fifteen minutes of fame, or so they hoped.

           Finally, all was quiet. The lights dimmed yet
further, and the spotlight on the two men in front grew brighter. Hans Richter
alone stood, and stepped up to the podium. All the world waited to see what
this Miracle Man would have to say. And he waited for silence.

           In the short time he had been there, the boy
seemed to have grown even more into a man. Literally overnight, he had
developed a self-confidence, a self-assured maturity that made him seem as if
he'd stood before world audiences in the past. It was enough to make his father
wonder. And the change was not just in demeanor. This afternoon Zarin had
arranged for his tailor to create a new suit for Hans for the occasion. It
seemed that what he'd traveled in was just a bit small.

           Curiosity reigned supreme, the shuffling and
murmuring reducing, then stopping altogether.

           Silence enveloped all.

           Hans Richter stepped away from the podium, and
looked out across the room, seeming to make eye contact with each of the
thousands in attendance, and millions watching.

           No notes. No Teleprompter.

           His head turned slowly from right to left, and
back to center. He stepped closer to the front of the stage. Closer to the
audience. Closer to the table with its gifts and honorariums. Closer to the
chest.

           As he did, a subtle change began to come over
him. Some thought it was theatrics, others, stagecraft. Certainly there was no
denying the effect. As if there was a fan beneath him, his hair began to become
slightly tousled. As he looked out on the audience, his eyes glowed with
passion, a fiery redness that, even if staged, was extremely effective. He
seemed to actually grow in size, though this was, of course, impossible. But
the effect - oh, the effect.

           He could feel it himself. The power coursing
through his veins, the clarity of thought, of purpose, the very being of his
existence trying to escape this mortal body. This was the power he was meant
for. This was why he was the Proclaimer. Now was his time. Now people would
listen.

           Behind him, the semicircle of twelve looked on
first curiously, then nervously at each other. From their position and
proximity, they could see the changes were not theatrics.

           Something was happening. Something
unexplainable. They began watching in wonderment at the transformation, even if
the curiosity was beginning to be tinged with some fear of what actually was
happening. Several slowly edged their chairs back, allowing a little more space
for this man, this -

           Hans laughed. Loudly. He unbuttoned his jacket,
which had become very tight. The power emanating was not just psychologic, it
was literal energy. The hair continued blowing as if in wind. The eyes, deeper,
darker, but glowing brightly. It looked as if heat was coming off his suit and
body, almost a lycothantric transformation, minus hair and claws.  

           He found his voice. Sweeping his notes off the
podium, he stepped around it and faced the audience, all sitting, stunned, at
the spectacle. Cameras were glued. The cameras, originally on the twelve, as
well as on the audience, were all now focused on one individual.

           Above the stage, two large screens, both with
his changing visage, and above those two screens, twelve more, all of the same.

           "And this is just the beginning," he
started out. "For it is not I, but Him," turning toward Zarin, "That
we are here for. This is the man who will lead you, lead us, all of us, out of
these terrible times.
He
is the Chosen One."

           Toward the center and rear of the auditorium,
concerned people were slowly rising, with a few making their way to the rear. This
was not what they were wanting to hear.

           "SIT DOWN!" he roared from the front, "and
hear him speak. If you choose to leave after he has spoken, after you have
heard the words of the one who will finally lead this world out of the chaos that
you
, all of
you
have created, feel free. Once you know the truth,
you will either be part of the solution or part of the problem. There will be
no time for anyone else."

           His bluntness shocked the audience. They didn't
know how to respond to direct statements, direct force. They had always dealt
with the wishy-washy communications between people who felt there was no right
or wrong, just variations in opinion. A direct response to his order was
unimaginable to them.

           They sat down.

           Turning to his left, looking to the other man, "Ladies
and Gentlemen, I present to you the man who will lead us out of chaos. The man
who will lead us into prosperity. A leader who will bring peace from all this turmoil.
The man who will create a rebirth of this planet, rising like the Phoenix from
the contaminated, polluted, war-torn mess we have today.

           Our new leader, the Chosen One, Assad Zarin."

           From a number of quarters, an enthusiastic
standing applause. From others, polite clapping. Others, still stunned by what
was happening, silence. As both men looked around the room, those that were
standing and cheering began nudging those nearby. Wakened from their trance,
being diplomats, knowing they were on international television, and not knowing
what else to do, they also stood and clapped. The cheering slowly built to a
roar, until no one wanted to be left out. This went on for several minutes
before Zarin raised both his hands to quiet the crowd.

           "Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you. Thank
you. Please, please be seated. Thank you. Thank you very much. Please, Thank
you. Thank you, enough."

           But it wasn't enough, and it went on. Fueled by
the surrounding crowd, the nervous energy from the previous few minutes, and
the frustrations of a world gone mad, the sound went on.

           Finally, it began to drop off, slowly, then more
quickly, then completely. All sat down, save Hans Richter and Zarin.

           Gerhard Richter couldn't stop staring at his
son. The transformation. What? How? He hardly heard Zarin start.

           "... and gentlemen. Thank you for coming. You
will find it to have been well worth your while. You will be able to tell your
grandchildren that you were here on this day, that you were here at the
beginning, that you were
part
of the beginning."

           Zarin stepped around the podium, standing a
couple of arm's lengths away from Hans. And now he, too, began to feel it. Not
like Hans, but he, too could feel it. Was this the thrill of power, or
something more? He, too, felt the energy.
This is the time. I am the One!

           Thunderous applause. The cameramen looked at
other across the room, shrugged their shoulders, and kept transmitting. Around
the world, as in this room, people were transfixed. Wondering if it was real,
if it was a show, or if indeed, the world was about to change.

           "This has been a difficult time in the
world. Conflict throughout the planet. Nation against nation. Pollution, oil
spills, and garbage. Corruption at every level. Unemployment. Terrorists. Out
of control budgets and cuts leading right back to unrest and rioting in the
streets. And so it goes, in full circle. It is time to change all that."

           People sat back down. He was sounding
reasonable. In fact, you couldn't argue with what he was saying. In bars and
living rooms around the world, heads were nodding in agreement. He opened up
and then removed his jacket as well. The audience assumed it was part of the
common-man look, the roll up our sleeves and go to work look, but it wasn't. Like
Hans' suit, it too had become too small, too tight.

           "There must be accountability. People must
know that those who cause problems will be dealt with. This is true on every
level. It's what makes civilization tick, and keeps it on an even keel."

           More nods of agreement. He was speaking to them.
What he said was coming through.

           "The time has come not for a helpless
United Nations, itself filled with bureaucracies that sap efficiency and
corruption that saps the very soul, but for a single source, a leader, a strong
leader, with a vision. A vision of peace, worldwide peace.

           "Imagine a world where nation is not
fighting nation. The lives that could be saved, the wounded that need not
return home minus limbs, the waste of lives and equipment blown up.

           "Imagine if all that energy, expense, and
passion was turned instead to positive tasks, rebuilding infrastructure,
restoring our schools and colleges, reeducating our work force.

           "Imagine not only the peace, but the
prosperity."

           People were getting excited now. No one had
spoken like this in a long, long time. He was speaking
for
them, not
to
them. He spoke energetically. He, too, had developed a glow, an energy. He had
found his place. He was turning into someone people wanted to get behind.

           The spectacle of Hans, having served its
purpose, was now slipping to the back burner. Perhaps this was how it was meant
to be. It had brought the attention of people to this moment, as he was
supposed to.

           "Of course, to have peace, you must have
the strength, and the will to use it. It serves no purpose to create police and
armies for good if they stand by idly when trouble occurs. And need I speak to
the corruption and ineffective court systems world-wide?

           "Why does a trial for a criminal take
months or even years just to start? The appeals systems? Years more? Is that
justice? Can anyone call that justice?"

           He had locked himself in with everyone world-wide.
Not just nods of agreement now, but verbal agreements - "Yes!", and "That's
right!"  It was getting to be time. He had everyone with him now,
committed.

           The massive doors behind the stage slowly began
to open as he continued.

           "It is time for those who do right to
prosper, time for those who violate the laws of God and Man to pay the price."

           Cheers were starting to be heard from around
this room as well.

           "No longer will rogue countries and leaders
hold the world hostage."

           Up in his AWACS, Colonel Rothstein was also
tuned in, listening in amazement as this man, unheard of mere moments ago had
put the world into the palm of his hand. It had, it seemed, already had a
calming effect. Rather than putting bricks through store windows, people were
tuned in to what was on. Temporary, but better than nothing.

           "There have been those in the past that
despite their evil deeds, have escaped punishment. That time is at an end."

           The doors were open wide now. In the background,
standing tall in launch positions, were the missiles on their launch vehicles;
sentinels, standing guard, reinforcing his statements. A dramatic stage prop
for his speech.

           "We will start at one end of the world, and
work our way through one despotic regime after another, starting with perhaps
the most despicable and treacherous. One that has caused much discord, not only
in its region, but worldwide. It is time to deal with that, once and for all,
for the peace of the entire world."

           Cheers continued. Many now stood on the chairs
they previously sat in to get a better view. They were now one with him. He had
it right. Deal with the rogues, the despots, the terrorist dictators; whoever,
and wherever. Do it now. No courts, no appeals, simple justice.

           It was about time.

           He was speaking their language.

           He turned toward the missiles. "Join me in
the countdown to end tyranny, would you all?"

           He paused, locking in their attention, then
continued. "10 - 9 - 8 –"

           The crowd, thinking it a rhetorical countdown
toward the change, joined in. "- 7 - 6 - 5-"

           And now, everyone joined in, not just there, but
in front of televisions everywhere. " - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - BLASTOFF"

           Huge flames and smoke billowed from below the
missiles, as the sound, delayed by the distance, eventually caught up to them.

           Stunned into silence, everyone, everywhere,
watched the missiles slowly launch. Everyone watched, silently, as they lifted
off. Diplomats and politicians alike looked at one another, ashen faced.
What
had just happened?

           "There, we have begun. The first to go. The
scourge of the Middle East, and drain of the world's resources.  In fifty seven
minutes, they will no longer exist.  The warheads we have launched together
will divide, then burst over Tel Aviv, Haifa, Rishon-Lezion, and Ashdod. We
have just solved the problems of the region. Simply, Permanently.

           "There will now be peace throughout the
region."

           Silence. Everyone froze. Was he serious? Everyone
began looking at each other, then back at the screens up front that were
following the trail as the missiles, still gathering speed were rising above
Tehran.

           Col Rothstein sat up, "Anybody got a screen
on this news?"

           "Here, Colonel, it's on my screen. My God,
he actually
launched!
"