One Trillion Dollars

by Andreas Eschbach

  “We’re already on it.”

  To Marvin, all this was no reason to let the good stuff still at the buffet go to waste. After all, there were no lines there, and he could fill his plate in peace. And boy, was there food! There was salmon, caviar, pickled eggplants, dried salami, black olives, steaming filets in brown crusts, and a bunch of other stuff he had never even seen before. Great!

  He noticed her just as he took the first bite. She glanced in his direction, only briefly, and then looked away again. Marvin stopped chewing and just stared. Man, oh man! Legs a million miles long! Super curves, and that dress! Tight as skin and black like her hair. What a smoking chick!

  He checked the situation out for a moment. If she was with that dude, then he’d have to strangle him in the bathroom or something like that. But it didn’t look like they were together. It probably didn’t look so cool either the way Marvin walked straight over to her. Oh well, there was no time for fine details at the moment. He stood beside her now and followed her eyes to a couple of bodyguards who were yapping into their radios. Totally boring! He looked at her and said, “Hi. My name is Marvin.”

  Her look was cold as ice as she examined him slowly from head to toe, as if trying to assess the chemical composition and value of his clothes in lira. “Hello.”

  “I’m John’s best friend,” Marvin told her. Just talk, he told himself, “from the old days. You understand? He had me flown here from New York just for his party. And now he’s not here. Weird, or what?”

  Now there was an interesting look in her eyes. She pulled her hair behind an ear with such a smooth move that he almost dropped his plate, and smiled at him. “Aren’t you worried about him?”

  “What? No way. He’s done far worse before.”

  She still smiled as she said, “I’m Constantina, by the way.”

  Pinning down John’s position with the GPS was harder than they had thought. An hour later, after most of the guests had gone home and the disappointed catering team cleared away the food, some of which hadn't even been touched, Eduardo couldn’t stand the tension anymore and went back upstairs to John’s room to have another look. Marco was against him doing so, because he was already thinking about the police having to examine the room for traces of a crime. Eduardo went anyway.

  Lying on a chair next to the window with the rear of the backrest to the door so that one couldn’t see the seat when you came in the room, was the light linen suit John had been wearing; jacket, trousers, and shirt. The shoes were on the floor.

  “We’ve located the Ferrari,” Marco said, but stayed outside the room. “It’s parked on the outskirts of Capannori. The helicopter is on its way.”

  Eduardo lifted the jacket to show Marco. “He changed clothes before he left.” He pulled the closet door open and looked at the long rows of suits. “We could ask the butler if a suit is missing.”

  “I’ll get him up here,” Marco said and spoke into the walkie-talkie.

  But instead of the butler, it was the odd New Yorker who appeared in the hallway first and, to Eduardo’s irritation, was accompanied by Constantina who seemed to have hit it off with Marvin. Without a care, they both traipsed into the room, and Marvin looked around with curiosity.

  “Not bad,” he commented as if there wasn’t anything to worry about. He looked at the cartons, most of which were open. “But all this junk here doesn’t quite fit in, does it?”

  Jeremy the butler entered the room with brisk stiff steps. He examined the cabinet and determined that nothing was missing.

  “But he will hardly have gone dressed only in his underwear!” Eduardo said.

  The butler agreed. “I would very much doubt that too.”

  Eduardo grudgingly watched Marvin step to one of the cartons and pull out a washed-out green tee-shirt with the text Smile if you like sex.

  “Maybe he’s wearing some of his old stuff,” the scruffy looking American suggested.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He could have wanted to get away and mix in with us common folk.”

  “He had a party here with over a hundred invited guests; hardly a proper time to go do something like that.”

  The person with the greasy hair and a tee-shirt was fit only for checking engine oil made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, come on now! If I were to kidnap someone like John I’d sure as hell wouldn’t do it durin’ a party, with a thousand people runnin’ around here an’ a million things that could go wrong.” He turned to Marco. “If I were you I’d look for him in a Burger King or somethin’ like that.”

  Indeed, they did find John later in a McDonald's! Located in the center of Capannori. He was wearing jeans, worn sneakers, and a red-and-black-checkered shirt patched up more than once, sitting at a less than immaculate table and shoving the last of his fries into his mouth as they walked in: Marco, Eduardo, and two bodyguards wearing bulgy jackets.

  “What are you guys doing here?” he asked as he slurped his Coke. “Shouldn’t you be at the party?”

  “The party is over, John,” Eduardo explained. “We thought you were kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped? Hell no. I just wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I wanted to find out if I still like the taste of a Big Mac.” He smiled satisfied. “And look here, it still does!”

  Eduardo stared at him, and everyone could tell that he was trying hard not to say what he’d like to say to John. Several were already staring at the group of men wearing fine suits and standing around a young totally innocent-looking man. It probably looked to all of them like a mafia thing, and the manager of the restaurant was tempted to call the police.

  “I was damned worried about you,” Eduardo told him. “You should’ve told me.”

  John didn’t smile anymore. “I also wanted to know if I could go somewhere without telling anyone.” He crumpled the napkin and threw it on the tablet. “Now I know. Let’s go.”

  $14,000,000,000,000

  THE BEACH BELONGED to people who didn’t have time to use it, so it was usually empty and quiet. This morning even the sun remained hidden behind a thin layer of clouds. The sea lapped at the gray and sandy slope. The houses standing beyond the dry embankment stood indifferent, lifeless.

  Anyone who had been interested might have noticed a man walking up and down the beach for the past few days, hours at a time, several times a day. A second man would follow at some distance, as if the two didn’t belong together even though the second man seemed to mimic what the first one did. They would wander along the beach, but slowly, because of the sand. They would go north for a distance, up to a point where the beach got narrower and became rocky. There they would turn around and head back. Further south the beach ended by a large concrete water outlet from the sewage system, and that’s where they would turn back around and head north.

  On this morning a third man was suddenly there hurrying after the first two. He had little chance of catching them, because he was carrying too much weight, and he often had to stop to catch his breath and pant. He tried to shout and wave and eventually managed to draw the other men’s attention. They both turned around and hurried back.

  “Thanks for coming,” John said to Alberto Vacchi when he approached. They shook hands. “If I’d known how fast you would be here, I’d have waited in the house for you.”

  “It sounded very urgent on the phone,” the lawyer said and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “No, I only said … Hmm, did it really sound so urgent?” John looked contemplatively. “Well, maybe it’s more urgent than I realize. Come on, let’s go back to the house.”

  A neutral observer would’ve noticed the bodyguard letting out a sigh of relief. Lately, the guards had been casting lots to see who would have to accompany John Fontanelli on the beach. The loser would have to go.

  “And?” Alberto Vacchi wanted to know as they went back. “How do you like your new house?”

  “I like it, thanks. I still have to get used to the fact that there’s constantly someone around to c
lean up after me, but there are worse things in life.”

  “I’m surprised that Eduardo isn’t here with you. You two have been together constantly the past few weeks.”

  John smiled briefly. “I think he’s still a bit upset over my little adventure to Capannori.”

  Alberto nodded understandingly. “That’s what I thought too, but he’ll get over it.” He turned his head and briefly glanced to John. “But that’s not the reason why called me, is it?”

  “No.” John stopped walking. He looked out over the gray sea, chewing on his lip, and then he turned his head to Alberto. His gaze was intense and it seemed as if he had to force himself to speak. “What sort of person was Lorenzo?”

  “What?” the lawyer said. He was very astonished by this question.

  “You knew him. Tell me a little about him.”

  “Lorenzo …” Alberto lowered his head, looking at the tip of his shoes and the sand on them. “Lorenzo was a delicate child. He matured early, was intelligent, musically talented and well-read. He developed diverse allergies; hazelnuts, apples, nickel, and so forth. He got rashes and sometimes he had to lie down because his circulatory system would collapse. But the biggest problem was his allergy to bee stings. He once had to be taken to a hospital immediately after being stung. Well, and you know about the five stings he got later; four where inside his mouth. The doctor suspected that he had bitten into a fruit that had bees inside it. Perhaps a pear, because he liked them, and it was one of the few types of fruits he could eat.”

  “Didn’t he take care to avoid bees?”

  “Sure, he did. You can’t even imagine. He was terrified of insects. Well, maybe that’s a little overstated; he was very careful about avoiding them. He hardly ever wore shorts and always had long-sleeved shirts on when he went outside, and he never, ever, went barefoot.” Alberto sighed. “And then such a freak thing happened. It’s tragic … really tragic. I liked him, you know.”

  John nodded slowly, trying to imagine what sort of boy he was. Lorenzo Fontanelli. “You said he was gifted musically?”

  “What? Yes, that’s right — very musical. He played the piano and the flute. He took some lessons and played in the school orchestra for a while. Overall, he was a good student. There were never any problems, and he was practically a wonder at math. When he was twelve, he found a book about calculus in his grandfather’s things. He took it home and learned it all by himself. Maybe that’s why he fascinated me so much. Anyway, not long after that he took part in a math contest and won first prize. He even had his picture in the newspaper about it. I kept the article; you can see it some time if you wish.”

  “Yes, please.”

  Alberto looked at John who was gazing out into the distance lost in thought. “I think that perhaps it would’ve been better not to tell you all this.”

  John just stood there; his thoughts were heavy. “He was the better candidate, wasn’t he?”

  “John, you should stop beating yourself up about it.”

  “But you were convinced, weren’t you?”

  “What difference does it …” Alberto paused. His shoulders drooped. “Yes, we believed it, we all did. There were times when we simply could not believe that the heir to the Fontanelli fortune seemed to be so very suitable and seemingly capable of doing good things with the money we had taken care of for so long.”

  John smiled thinly, almost painfully. “And then you suddenly had me. It must’ve been a disappointment.”

  “That’s not what we think, John,” Alberto Vacchi said. His voice was suddenly warm and concerned. “You know my father. He believes in you, he has as much faith in you as he has in the sun rising and setting each day. And we believe in him.”

  “Yes, I know.” John faced him, touched his arm and looked deeply into Alberto’s eyes. “I want to thank you for telling me the truth, Alberto. It may seem odd, but now I feel better.” He gestured with his head. “Come on, let’s go into the house and have a cappuccino.”

  Serbian forces stormed the television complex in Sarajevo. For the first time in thirty-five years, local government elections were being held in South Korea, which ended in a triumph for the opposition party. The American space shuttle Atlantis docked with the Russian space craft Mir for the first time. In Berlin the Reichstag was still under wraps.

  It was more out of boredom than real interest in current events that had John reading the papers. Ever since Jeremy was around to take care of him, even reading the newspaper seemed more enjoyable. He found out why when he asked him; the butler ironed the newspaper every morning before John it was brought to John! It made it easier to handle, and the ink didn’t smear as much, he told an astonished John, who was happy to keep receiving ironed papers and eventually grew quite accustomed to it.

  “I do beg your pardon, sir.” Jeremy stood stiff as a stick by the living room threshold. “A certain Marvin Copeland is here and wishes to speak with you.” His manner suggested he doubted that John knew the guy. “I remember him from the moving-in party, sir.”

  “Marvin?” John put away the ironed newspaper. “He’s here?”

  “In the foyer, sir.”

  And there he was, standing crooked and pale with his bag over a shoulder. “Hey, John. I hope I’m not interrupting any business or anything.”

  They embraced as friends do, like the good old days. “Hi, Marv. Where were you?”

  “Well …” he began, dropping the sack on the floor, “I met this girl at your party, Constantina; that’s where I was.”

  John nodded; Eduardo had already filled him in.

  “Thanks for bringing me the watch.”

  “No big deal … anytime.”

  “Come on, let’s go into the salon. Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?”

  Marvin followed, dragging his feet. “Somethin’ to eat would be great. I’ve been neglecting food a bit lately.”

  “No problem; I’ll tell the kitchen staff.” John took the nearest phone off the cradle and dialed the kitchen. “What do you want?”

  “Don’t matter; just good and plenty.” He touched a sideboard made of cherry wood. “You got a really nice place. I didn’t really notice it that much at the party. Nice and roomy. Do you think I could stay for a couple of days?”

  “Dude, I have enough guest rooms for a football team. You can stay as long as you want. Gustave?” John said when the cook answered the call. “I have a guest who is half starved. Could you throw something together, something good and plenty? Thanks.”

  As he turned to face Marvin, his friend stood there making an odd expression. “You’re quite the boss,” he told John. “This commanding voice, I mean. How you boss your servants around.”

  “You think so?” John paused for a moment and tried to remember exactly what he told Gustave and the tone he used. To him it seemed all very normal, and he wasn’t sure what he could have said instead.

  “Forget it,” Marvin said waving it off.

  Just as they went into the salon the venetian blinds were automatically going up, letting them see the breathtaking view of the sea and the sun, which was fire-red and touching the horizon. Marvin stopped where he was and gazed out looking like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  “What do you want to drink?” John asked him casually.

  Marvin snapped out of it. “What do you mean with want?” he asked and seemed a bit dazed. “I need a drink. I can’t stand it otherwise.”

  “What?”

  “Whisky, if you have any. Oh, you probably do; you have everything now.”

  John had meant something else, but he let it go.

  While John poured the drinks he looked at his friend in the reflection of the bar’s mirror. Marvin seemed to have changed. Constantina probably threw him out. Why else did he show up with his backpack? And that is probably what was bothering him, perhaps more than he wanted to admit. John decided not to push the subject.

  “On Monday morning I’m flying to London and then later that
afternoon to New York,” John told Marvin after they sat down. “My parents are celebrating their wedding anniversary. You know, there’s always a party and a family get-together. You can stay here if you want, it’s no problem.” John had to go to London to try on his suits.

  Marvin nodded, lost in thought. He looked at John with the same ominous expression as earlier. He downed his drink in one gulp, set the glass on the table, leaned back, and said: “Watch out, John. Watch out that the money doesn’t change you.”

  He wore his old watch for the trip to his parents. He did it for his dad, but he would feel like a hypocrite if he pretended he was still living the life he had before, that was why he chose the rest of his wardrobe as he saw fit.

  As he gathered his papers for the journey he found the letter from the organization for wildlife preservation again. They seemed adamant in pursuing a donation. He decided to take it with and to read it during the flight; after that he could decide to throw it away or cut them a check. Since he decided to start thinking seriously about what to do with the money and the prophecy, this might be as good a starting point as any.

  It was a normal scheduled flight to New York. There were comfortable seats in the first class section in the upper deck of the 747, making it look like an overfilled living room. His bodyguards had insisted that he rent an armored limousine from a reputable New York security agency for the drive to New Jersey.

  He read the letter.

  It was from the WWF — the World Wildlife Fund — and it asked for financial support for a campaign they called The Living Planet. Their goal was to preserve 200 of the most important habitats in the world. The regions were described as areas with especially significant natural features such as endangered plants and animals. Most were thus far untouched by man making them rare, valuable, and vulnerable. Preserving these areas, the letter went on, would save eighty percent of the planet’s biodiversity.

  Biodiversity, John learned from another pamphlet in the letter, was basically the number and variety of living organisms found within a particular geographic area. He also learned that the rate species had been dying out over the past few decades was matched only by the meteorite impact that wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million years ago. Currently, and John had to read it twice because he found it difficult to believe, one species went extinct every twenty minutes. That meant that each year twenty-six thousand plant and animal species were disappearing forever from the face of the Earth. About one fourth of all vertebrates were considered endangered, and one out of eight plant species. This drive to extinction was not only happening in distant rain forests and affecting bizarre looking grasshoppers or rare orchids, but even certain domesticated animals. There were, for instance, around 500 different types of cattle, but only about 20 were being used for breeding, leaving the rest to disappear one by one. Only about 10 percent of corn varieties were being used for cultivation, with the ones giving the highest yields being preferred, even though they were more susceptible to disease. The gene pool was being dramatically reduced.