SUMMATION

by Daniel Syverson

  * * *

  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.

  Chapter 37

  Final Setup

  All was in place. The attendees were all seated. Not happily, to be sure, but with all the cameras on, and visibly filming, everyone was putting on their best game face. No one wanted to look bad. Everyone was cooperating, or at least trying to appear that way.

  The Prime Minister was in a soundproofed, secure room off to the side of the stage with two of his security men. Two others waited outside the door, and a dozen or more were spread through the immediate area.

  Gifts, letters, and cultural icons had been laid out. The note sent with the chest had apparently been received by Zarin's people. Although both Richter and Zarin would have given anything to examine it ahead of time, it was too late. It would have to wait. The stage was set. What they could do, and did, was send a staffer down to arrange the gifts, and insure that the chest was in the center. How exactly the additional material would manifest itself was unknown, but would undoubtedly be a final touch. The rising tables were perfect - as he finalized his announcements, the fragments in the lockbox would be brought to him, hopefully adding even more to his powers, perhaps adding a dramatic finale. At worst case, if nothing happened, he was free to ignore the chest. He had nothing to lose.

  It would be close. Timing would be crucial. If there had been any leaks, any defections, they were done. The Prime Minister would have them dead to rights on international television. They'd be arrested, gathered up, and, most likely, summarily shot. He wouldn't be playing around with something of this level. On the other hand, this was their destiny. Already foretold. It had to be right.

  The people were here to hear the Prime Minister offer to provide open inspections of their non-existent nuclear program. This would put the West at ease. The real interest, though, the real curiosity, was why the Miracle Man, Jesus 2.0, or any of the dozens of names being generated, was on stage. This was why the world was tuned in. Not to see another politician.

  It had been so easy to set up.

  The idea had been presented to the Prime Minister that this man would be a huge draw for the world, a world that would take his presence as a sign that, in some indirect way, God himself was supporting the Prime Minister. A great publicity stunt. Of course, they told him, the boy would serve no more purpose than as another prop, part of the stage setting. Window dressing for the world. Flashy dressing to draw the world's fickle press corps to Tehran.

  Politicians were the same the world over.

  Gerhard glanced down at his watch. It was time.

  In the secure room, the two security guards prepared to bring the Prime Minister out. The Prime Minister looked at himself in the mirror one more time. The second guard, Hafez, looked at the first and rolled his eyes. The Prime Minister spent considerable time in front of the mirror.

  "So, how do I look? Sufficient to be presented to the world?"

  The first guard, Farid, gave Hafez a quick look to keep quiet. He worried that Hafez too often pushed the boundaries. One day, he would be seen rolling his eyes and his sister's marriage to the Prime Minister's son would mean nothing. Family or not, it would mean a shallow, unmarked grave far into the desert.

  Farid responded, "Of course, sir, as always. No one could represent the people of Iran in a more dignified manner. The people are proud to have you speak for us to the world."

  "Farid, I can always count on you. Clearly I have chosen well. Your father named you well. Your name defines you well. 'Unique', I believe, and certainly I have no others like you."

  Farid bowed deeply at the waist. "It is my honor."

  Turning to Hafez, "and Hafez, 'Protector'. Was it not destiny for you as well? Was your position here not destiny? Truly, my destiny and yours, my family and yours, all of ours, written in the stars."

  "As you said, sir," responded Hafez. "I tell you surely, it was written in the stars."

  Both men checked their weapons. Lining up as rehearsed, Farid, the senior, prepared to open the door and lead the way. The Prime Minister was a step behind. One more step behind was Hafez. Farid reached for the door.

  Raising his weapon, Hafez quickly slipped a silencer from his pocket onto the front of his weapon. In one, quick, fluid motion, he put two silenced rounds into the center of the Prime Minister's back, propelling him forward into the Farid, shoving him up against the door, throwing him off balance. Stepping forward one more step, the still-smoking Tokarev pistol was brought up once again, and two shots entered the back of Farid's head before he even had a chance to turn it. Both men slumped to the floor. Hafez quickly dragged both to the side, behind the door. He pulled the blood soaked rug with them.

  Hafez looked down at the Prime Minister, whose now sightless eyes still gazed upon him. "Yes, as you said, it was written in the stars. This was your destiny."

  Hearing the thump against the door, the guards outside opened the door to let the Prime Minister pass. As the two stood in the open doorway, Zarin's man in the hall shoved both into the room, where Hafez quickly dispatched both, emptying his pistol. His accomplice closed the door behind them, shoving one of the guards unceremoniously with his foot to clear the door. No one in the hall had seen anything. The rumbling in the main room had covered the two quick pops that had leaked out of through the open door.

  The second assassin opened a satchel and quickly donned a jacket and cap identical to the ones worn by the guards outside, while Hafez reloaded his weapon. Opening the door slowly and seeing nothing amiss in the hall, both men took up positions outside, as if continuing to guard the Prime Minister. Looking over toward Zarin, Hafez nodded.

  It was time. Zarin raised his hand slightly, signaling the program director to proceed. The lights began to dim. The deputy Prime Minister was prepared to walk onto the stage to welcome the world and introduce the Prime Minister. Where was he? The lights are already down. He headed across the side of the stage to the secure room.

  "Is the Prime Minister ready? What's the delay? We are waiting on him."

  "Yes sir, the Prime Minister said he'd be ready in a moment, and wanted a word with you." The guard opened the door, letting him walk in, following closely behind.

  The deputy Prime Minister stepped through the doorway, glanced left, and saw the bodies of the Prime Minister and his bodyguards. Realization hit immediately, but it was too late. It was hard to tell if his eyes had widened from the shock of seeing the dead men, or from the shock of two more silenced rounds entering his lower back, just below the bulletproof vest he was wearing. Knowing that he was already dead, he almost had time to close his eyes when the final bullet entered the back of his head, shredding his brain.

  From the shadows in the hall, Zarin's communications officer walked out onto the stage. Puzzled looks were exchanged among those who knew the staff. Where was the Deputy Prime Minister? What was Zarin's man doing on stage?

  A few people, very few at first, were getting their first inkling of a problem. More would soon follow.

  "Good Morning
to each of you. Many, yes, most of you have traveled a long ways on extremely short notice, and on behalf of Assad Zarin and the Iranian people, we wish to welcome you."

  Initial applause was polite, but weak, and quickly disappeared as the significance of his greeting began to register. Viewers around the world were clueless, as were most news anchors sitting to the side of their blue screens. For those who knew, though, those in government, those that were from the area, for most, if not all of those present, the simple announcement held much more.

  The world had just witnessed a coup. No visible blood, no visible violence, no rioting in the streets, no armed troops at the gate, but a coup none the less.

  Chapter 38

  Introductions

  Assad Zarin had just seized power.

  The speaker continued. "These are perilous times. It is important that in these times that there are leaders in place who understand the need to be firm when there is chaos around them. A leader that, while striving for peace, understands that force may be needed in dealing with rogue organizations, even rogue countries. We have seen the need for that in our own Middle East. We must band together to stop the terrorist elements that threaten not only the West, but indirectly, our own welfare."

  He was beginning to pique the interest of his listeners. This wasn't what they were expecting. Throwing bones to the West? Attacking radicals?

  "A leader, the leader, must be a man who has the vision to see the world as one world, one world with many colors, many flavors, and much variety. A world where local extremists, radical groups, and intolerant religious groups cannot be allowed to stifle the desires of the individual."

  Applause began, spontaneously. Tolerance? From Religious extremism? Perhaps this really was a new day in Iran. Who would have expected it?

  "World leaders, and world citizens, it gives me great pleasure to be the first to introduce your, our new leader, Assad Zarin."

  The speaker turned with a grand wave of his hand, directing everyone's attention to Zarin, who, rising to his feet raised both hands. Planted members in the audience all rose and began clapping loudly. Others, not wanting to appear at odds with the positive tone, rose as well, though only politely clapping. The world, whose view was on a carefully scripted television, saw the new leader being wildly applauded. Finally, he sat down. The applause continued, then slowed, and finally stopped, allowing the speaker to continue.

  Though only a few had immediately caught the drift, more were now able to tell what was happening, and these began looking around the room for others of the same mind set. Members of the U.S. delegation caught each other's eyes, then those of both the Canadian and the British contingent. Each returned a puzzled look, some with an almost imperceptible shrug the shoulders. Something was going on.

  At this point, introductions were made of key personnel. Some were recognized, most not. The introductions continued, and each of the key personnel took a seat in the curved line of chairs behind the podium. Giant screens, turned vertically, were aligned above each chair. One camera was on each named person, and the huge screens created, in effect, an arc of giants curved around the speaker's dais. The center screen, larger still, was, of course, reserved for Zarin.

  There was an undercurrent of murmuring through the audience as the names continued being announced. This was a complete break with the past, an entirely new government being put in place. This was an activity that normally took weeks at best behind closed doors, with negotiations being performed both behind and in front of the proverbial closed doors. No, either this was a leader that had just named who he wanted, or this was a government that had been secretly established for a very long time stepping in.

  The names continued, ending with Gerhard Richter, and his son, Hans. It was at their introduction that the murmuring became noticeably louder. The introduction of Gerhard Richter was significant enough, though understandable. As the head of a huge communications conglomerate, the advantages to the new regime were obvious, but his son was another matter.

  How was this 'miracle man' tied in? That this man, just a college kid after all, was being selected to serve on the inner council of this new regime after having been found dead a few days ago - was it all publicity? Or was there more?

  Finally, each was seated, Hans Richter last, seating himself after a long ovation. Everyone could see the twelve chosen ones on the huge screens above their chairs, the cameras zoomed into huge faces. For some reason, there was some kind of technical glitch with the camera on Hans. The picture kept breaking up, clearing for a moment, then being filled with static. The crew had tried two other cameras, and were still desperately trying to clear it up, but it seemed to no avail. The picture was there, and usable, but it would be clear one moment, breaking up the next. Embarrassing to Zarin's staff.

  The meeting was about to begin.

  The lights in the room dimmed further, the backlighting on the red velvet curtains turned up slightly for a more dramatic look, as two men walked on stage, highlighted by separate spotlights, one from each side, meeting in the middle, and shaking hands. As they both turned to the crowd and waved, a standing ovation spontaneously erupted. Around the world, viewers were treated to representatives of every nation giving praise to these men, still unknown.

  The applause continued, with the assistance of key plants. 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. Finally, all was quiet. The lights dimmed yet further, and a spotlight began to slowly intensify on two men. The more the lights dimmed, the brighter the spotlights were. Planted staffers began applauding, and the sound began to rise, slowly building with the lights. It was a well-orchestrated show.

  The brightness of the spotlights became blinding, with only two faces still appearing on the large screens above. The two men rose, and walked to the stage, to the shock of all present. The two men who stood side by side at the front of the stage were Assad Zarin, and-

  -Hans Richter, the Miracle Man.

  The audience stretched far and wide in front of the stage. There were, of course, the rows and rows of chairs, hundreds of them, for the attendees. The point had been made with those who would control the seating that it would strictly be first come, first serve. No effort to meet diplomatic rules. In fact, it was meant to break all diplomatic rules.

  Again, the effect would be to create a room full of equals, all facing the podium, the one leader. There would certainly be some ruffled feathers. These procedures were not announced in advance- people were unexpectedly seated as they arrived, much to the chagrin and embarrassment of many.

  Of course, they were always free to leave.

  A long table for gifts had been set along the front, at the level of the chairs. Although customary for diplomats to exchange gifts, this would be a one-way exchange. In effect, paying homage. As the announcement took place, the tables would rise above the floor level to the level of the stage, surrounding Zarin and Richter with the gifts. Very dramatic. All intended for their psychological effect, not just on the attendees, but more importantly, of viewers. There would be some very, very unhappy diplomats.

  It would be a show seen around the world. And the entire world would be watching.

  Chapter 39

  Event

  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.<
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  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.