by Jacob Whaler
Ryzaard glances over at her and laughs. “Don’t worry about her. All my people are completely trustworthy. Isn’t that so, Alexa?”
Her eyes go first to Ryzaard and then to Van Pelt. “Do I look like a thief?”
“No, but—”
“You ran the meeting well.” Ryzaard puts the Zeus statue on the desk. “And you’ll be generously rewarded, so long as you continue to cooperate and stay out of my way. After MX Scientific and MX Financial are merged into one entity, we’ll call it MX SciFin. The worldwide resources of the merged entities will be under my sole control, and I’ll need unlimited budgetary discretion. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes. Perfectly.” There’s a nervous twitch in Van Pelt’s nose. “I assume you will keep your agreement.”
“Agreement?” Ryzaard peers up at the chairman, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “What agreement?”
Van Pelt steps back, his voice cracking as he speaks. “The agreement about my recent trading activity in MX Global stock.” His hand goes into a pocket and pulls out a white handkerchief. “You promised your people wouldn’t turn the information over to ISEC.” Dark sweat stains flare out from under the arms of his suit. “You do remember, don’t you?”
Ryzaard strokes his mustache with a finger. “Ah, yes. ISEC abhors insider trading. Prison time, penalties, fines, confiscation of profits and all that.” He leans back in his chair and puts his arms behind his head in a relaxed position. “As long as you cooperate, feel free to do whatever you like with the rest of the corporation. With what’s left of it, that is. But leave SciFin to me. Now get out of my office before I change my mind.”
After an awkward silence, Van Pelt nods, turns and leaves the room.
“Tell me, Alexa, aren’t you the least bit surprised the directors bought all that gibberish about predictive analytics and real-time variables I fed them?” Ryzaard gets up from the chair, strips off his shirt and moves to the meditation platform. He takes a lotus position on the cushion and closes his eyes with the Stone in his fingers.
“I’m more surprised by the fact that you claim to be seventy years old.” Alexa walks behind him and kneels down to knead the muscular back of what looks like a much younger man.
“Seventy years old? That, of course, is a lie.” Ryzaard laughs.
Alexa suspects as much. Then she sees the small green numbers tattooed on his right forearm. Her fingers stop and dig in. There is shock in her eyes.
Ryzaard seems to sense her surprise. “I usually keep it hidden. That is why you have never seen it before. I should have removed it decades ago. It raises too many questions.”
“Did you forget I’m a history major?” Alexa bends closer to his arm and runs her fingers across the skin where the numbers are engraved.
“No, I have not forgotten. A sense of history is essential to our work.” Ryzaard begins to breathe deeply, methodically. “It’s one of the things that brought you to my attention.”
“So you were in Auschwitz? In the middle of the last century? Your bio on the Corporation Mesh-point doesn’t mention anything about that. It says you were born at the latter end of the last century in London.”
Ryzaard arches his back and flexes the muscles. “Information is easily manipulated. People believe what they find most convenient to believe.”
She begins to massage again. “Right now I don’t know what to believe. A man with the body of a forty-year-old claims to be seventy, but is actually several decades over a hundred?”
“There’s much I haven’t told you, or anyone.” Ryzaard turns his head to look into her eyes. “But it’s important that you understand now. We must trust each other.” He turns back to face out the window.
“Go on.” Alexa works on his neck and the back of his head, applying the art of shiatsu she learned from a Japanese boyfriend in college.
“It’s not a complicated story. You probably know much of it already, in the abstract.”
“Try me.”
“I grew up in Krakow, Poland. My father was a diamond merchant in the Jewish quarter of the city. We lived what you might call an idyllic life. A large house, servants, frequent travel all over Europe, boarding school in England. I had my bar mitzvah a month before the German blitzkrieg changed everything.”
Alexa’s fingers immediately stop so she can do the math.
“You were born in 1926.” she says. “That would make you—”
“The oldest person alive?” Ryzaard chuckles. “Yes, quite possibly.”
“Quite possibly? I’d say it’s more like absolutely, without a doubt.” Alexa runs her fingers slowly down Ryzaard’s spine and presses on the spaces between the vertebrae. “What’s your secret? Trips to Mexico for lipoic acid treatments?”
Ryzaard shakes his head. “Actually, I go out of my way to live an unhealthy lifestyle.” He glances over at a black pack of cigarettes and a wine bottle on the desk. “But there are certain benefits to bonding with a Stone, not the least of which is its effect on the aging process.” He looks down at his open palm with the Stone glowing light blue. He can feel Alexa’s eyes on it as well.
“I’m listening.” She picks up the wine bottle and fills two glasses halfway. One of them goes on the floor not far from Ryzaard’s hand.
Arching his back, he brings his hands together high over his head, presses the palms into each other and bends forward. Fingertips touch the floor.
“It was a clear fall morning in late September, a few weeks after the German invasion. I still remember the bright red leaves on the pear trees lining the streets.” He straightens his back, reaches for the wineglass and swirls the purple liquid. “That was the day they came. Three SS men walked into the shop and asked to see my father.” He takes a sip.
Despite Alexa’s best efforts to relax, Ryzaard’s back muscles tighten as he speaks.
“They said they had questions about my father’s business and needed clarification. They invited him to come with them and promised my mother he’d be home for supper.” He stops and lets his eyes drift out the window to the Brooklyn Bridge. “Before my father walked out the door, he took off his wedding ring and put it in my hand. He told me…” Ryzaard’s voice breaks off. A tremor runs through his body. “He kissed us, one by one, and told me to take care of my mother and older sister.”
Alexa is quiet and works on kneading out the knots in the muscles.
“My father didn’t come home that night. Or the next. Three days later, there was a large white paper pasted to our shop window. It said the entire business was now the property of the Nazi regime, confiscated to pay restitution for unspecified crimes against the German people.” Ryzaard shifts his gaze from the window to the floor in front of him.
“What happened to your father?” Alexa positions the heels of her hands above Ryzaard’s spine and presses.
“We never saw him again.” Ryzaard takes another sip of wine. “We were later informed that he died during the interrogation.”
Alexa brings a wineglass up to her lips. “How did you end up in Auschwitz?”
“By December, we were all wearing white arm-bands with a blue Star of David. Thanks to my father, we had enough hard cash and diamonds hidden at home to get us through the next several months.” Ryzaard drops his feet to the floor and stands as he drains the glass. Then he walks past the window to the sofa, examining the ancient Chinese scroll that hangs on the wall above it.
Alexa follows.
Ryzaard still holds the Stone in his hand, his fingers wrapped in a tight fist around it. “My father did his best for us. But he underestimated the ruthlessness of the Nazis until it was too late.”
Alexa reaches up to rub his back, silently encouraging him to talk.
“We made it through the winter and spring. By late summer of the following year, the Nazis forced us out of our home into the ghetto in Podgorze, south of Krakow. They removed the three thousand people that lived there and herded twenty thousand Jews like animals into the same area, an
d then walled it up. That was my home for the next two and a half years.”
He turns to Alexa, looking over her head and out the window. His body trembles as he speaks.
“It was difficult, but we had enough to survive for the first few months. I did my best to take care of my mother and sister, but I was just a boy. Then the food suddenly ran out. Rations were cut to less than 300 calories per day. My mother stopped eating and gave everything to me. Before she died, she made me promise to live to change the world so this could never happen again.”
Ryzaard walks to his desk and sits in the chair. Laying down the Stone, he picks up the Zeus statute and examines it as he leans back, speaking through clenched teeth.
“The SS decided to liquidate what was left of the ghetto. Several trainloads of survivors were taken away, most to the Belzec death camp. My sister and I hid and managed to survive until early 1943. Then we were finally caught and put on a train to Auschwitz. That’s where I got this. 159604.” He raises his right arm, the hand wrapped in a fist around Zeus.
Alexa walks close to the desk, gazing upon Ryzaard, saying nothing.
“My sister and I were separated at the camp. I never saw her again.” He picks the khaki shirt off the desk, stands and puts it on. His fingers slowly follow the path of the buttons up the front.
“How long were you there?” Alexa whispers.
“Two years at Auschwitz. I won’t bore you with the details of life in the camp, the arbitrary killing, the helplessness. I’m sure you’ve read about it. When I walked out the front gate at the end of the war, I had the same name, but I was no longer the same person. In the fire of that crucible, you might say that I was born again. Everything I thought I knew about life and truth was swept away. I learned that only one thing matters. It requires no explanation or justification. It became my new religion.”
“What’s that?” Alexa says.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Alexa cocks her head to one side. “I don’t understand.”
Ryzaard smiles. “Power. The only thing in the world that matters is power.”
CHAPTER 16
Matt wakes up to the sound of his jax playing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. If not for the fragrance of his dad’s fresh pancakes wafting down into his room, he would still be asleep. It’s 9:15 in the morning, and the flight for Japan leaves at noon. The airport is two hours away, and then there is the security portal. The realization dawns on him that he should already be there waiting for his flight. If he leaves right now, he might make it, but there is no guarantee.
Throwing on a navy blue T-shirt and black cargo pants, he rushes up the stairs with a bulging backpack hanging off one shoulder.
“Is that all you’re taking for a three-month trip to Japan?” Kent sits calmly at the table, peering into the thin blue screen of his slate, and looks at his son out of the corner of his eye.
“Dad, remember the month I spent in the mountains after high school graduation? All I had was a ten-pound bag of gear and food. I always pack light.”
“The pack you took on that trip to the mountains also had a tracking device with a camera. I was watching you the whole time.”
Matt shakes his head. “I suspected that.” He makes his way past a stack of fresh pancakes on the table straight to the refrigerator, throws it open, grabs some milk and takes a long drink straight from the carton. “Anyway, most of what I need is right here.” He waves his jax.
“Sorry I didn’t wake you up. I figured the pancakes would do it for me.”
“They did, but too late,” Matt says. “I should have left for the airport two hours ago.”
“You needed the sleep,” Kent says. “I could hear you tossing and turning down there all night. Sounded like you were in a fight.”
“Come on, Dad, you were hoping I would miss my flight, right?”
Kent smiles and looks down. “Look, I made your favorite breakfast. Whole-wheat pancakes with peanut butter and maple syrup.” His eyebrows jump above his eyes.
Wiping off his milk mustache with the back of his hand, Matt grabs the whole stack of pancakes and runs past his dad to the garage. “Let’s go,” he yells back into the house. “I’m not missing my flight.” With a heave, his pack goes into the back of the Chikara. He climbs into the driver’s seat.
Kent follows him out of the house and gets in the passenger side.
Matt’s fingers come off the steering wheel. There’s an unsettled feeling in his gut, like he’s left something in the house, but he can’t put his finger on it.
“What have I forgotten?” Matt mutters to himself.
“Your passport?” His dad asks him.
“Maybe that’s it. Which one should I take?” Matt says. “I’ve got a whole stack.”
Kent rolls his eyes up to the roof of the truck. “Use James Johnson. It’s the newest and should be the safest for now. But bring the others as well. You never know what might happen.”
“Got it.” Matt jumps out of the truck and runs back into the house, flying down the stairs to his room. He pulls open the drawer on the nightstand next to his futon and rummages around until he finds a stack of passport cards bound together with mag-tape. He grabs the whole set.
Turning to leave, he steps on the rock lying next to his futon. It stops him cold. He bends down to pick it up and stares into its dark blue depths. It reminds him of the dreams that kept him stirred up most of the night. Shaking his head, he tosses the rock into the air. His fingertips move across its rough surface as it slips away and lands on the futon. There’s an instant of regret, and he feels the urge to go back and pick it up. Then he remembers he’s late for his flight. It jars him back to reality.
I don’t have time for this.
Turning, he bounds upstairs and out the back door.
He drops into the driver’s seat, but notices his dad is gone.
A couple of seconds later, his dad comes into the garage with a bag hanging from his fingers and climbs into the cab. “Forgot my water bottle and some junk food. I’ll put some in your backpack when we get to the airport.”
As soon as his dad shuts the cab door, Matt’s foot hits the accelerator, and he backs out of the garage like a laser beam on a mission.
Once they get to the freeway, traffic is light.
Kent flips on the cop scanner and nods.
Matt gets the message and pushes the accelerator to the floor. With every passing mile, the prospect of getting to the airport on time improves. After a half hour of driving, Matt eases back into the seat and lets his right hand drop off the steering wheel to rest on his thigh.
Kent is staring out the window at the Mosquito Range running arrow-straight, parallel to the freeway, north to south. The sound of breaching whales getting a close shave floats in the background.
Matt pulls in a deep breath and lets it out. “Hey Dad, what projects are you working on?”
Kent is silent, eyelids drooping half-shut.
There aren’t any cops in the rear-view mirror. The only other car is a mile in front. Matt touches the car-com and switches off the motor-tone. A bubble of silence engulfs him and his dad as they shoot down the road.
Matt tries again.
“Dad.”
The sound of Matt’s voice is clear and distinct. It seems to have the desired effect of pulling Kent back from his daydreaming.
“What?” Kent’s head slowly swivels so that he’s looking forward down the freeway.
“Working on anything interesting right now?”
“Just the usual stuff.” Kent’s voice is listless and empty.
“Come on, Dad. We’re not going to a funeral. I’ll be back in three months.”
A smile flits across Kent’s face. “Why the sudden interest in my work?” He turns to his son.
“Just trying to make conversation. We have time to talk before I go, if you want.”
“Let’s see.” Kent licks his lips. “I found a deep-encrypted package in one of my Meshboxes a month ago. No identifi
able source. Couldn’t get it open even after trying my whole bag of tricks.”
“You get anonymous stuff all the time, Dad. How did you finally get it open?” Matt smiles to himself. He knows how to get his dad talking.
“Turns out I got the key in the same Meshbox a few days later.” Kent’s shoulders drop down, a sign that he’s starting to loosen up. “Some hot encryption-ware just developed at Zertek Corporation. Priority-One government stuff.”
“What did you find when you opened the secret package up?”
“A complete dossier on Jaguar Corp’s recent discovery of massive lithium deposits in the Congo. And their plans to open a new mining operation there.”
Matt nods. “Which, of course, is illegal, since lithium mining has been outlawed for the last twenty years.”
“Yep. I’ve got board of director minutes, internal discussion memos, confidential messages from management, even hi-def video of the CEO talking to the Congolese prime minister about the whole operation.” Kent becomes more animated the longer he talks. Anyone could tell he loves his work. “Now I just have to piece it all together, figure out a bullet-proof prosecution strategy and send it to the FBI on a silver plate. Fun stuff.”
“Dad, it’s always been a mystery to me how all this top-secret-planet-trashing-corporate-intel finds its way to you. I know you don’t advertise.”
“Not directly,” Kent says. “But I have my contacts and sympathizers out there. They don’t know who I am or where I live. But they know what I do and that I’m not afraid to take on the power structure. I suppose they also know I have nothing—” He looks at Matt and hesitates for a second. “—almost nothing, to lose. Anonymity is a powerful shield.”
“What about MX Global, the corporation you told me about last night. Do you still keep track of them?”
“Absolutely,” Kent’s eyes narrow as he speaks. “They’re a prime target for obvious reasons. I know more about what goes on there than most insiders.”
Matt can tell he’s touching a sensitive area.
“So you’ve got a contact on the inside?” Matt raises an eyebrow.
“Several,” Kent mutters.