The 13th Enumeration Read online

  It was now two o’clock in the morning. Walking into the bathroom, he lifted the toilet seat, dropped the capsule into the bowl, and flushed.

  Chapter 2

  Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  Darius Zarindast sat calmly at the table, his hands resting lightly in his lap, eyes closed, his face a mask. Across the room, an antique wall clock divided the minutes with its soft click, click, click. In a few moments the members of his team would join him around the conference table to begin their weekly meeting. Today, decisions would be made which would change the order of the world.

  Darius Zarindast was a man of many faces, but today he was the president of Aquarius Elemental Solutions, the only company in the world which could economically separate elements from seawater. For twenty years he had single-mindedly worked toward the goal that was now just within his grasp.

  Of Persian descent, Darius left Iran with his mother after his father died in 1976 at the hands of the Savak, Iran’s national intelligence and security organization. Darius’s father had been part of the Savak leadership but was accused of being a subversive agent in support of Ruhollah Musavi Khomenini. His mother, Leila, escaped to Britain with young Darius. Leila was a startling beauty and soon caught the eye of a young Saudi prince. Prince Hasmadan became infatuated with her and wanted to make her one of his wives. Having few better options, she agreed on the condition that her son be allowed to immigrate with her to Saudi Arabia.

  The prince’s infatuation with his third wife, in time, turned into genuine love, and Leila became his favored wife. When Darius came of age, his stepfather gave him a gift of $260,000 dollars. At eighteen years of age, Darius entered MIT and pursued a degree in molecular physics. Having lived in the deserts of the Middle East for the balance of his life, he knew the value of water. He entered college with the desire to find a way to desalinize water economically. After his first year, he saw the direction the computer technology industry was going, and he invested two-hundred-thousand dollars in several start-up tech companies. By his third year of college, his two-hundred-thousand had grown into two million dollars. Over the next several years he again multiplied his fortune several times.

  In his second year of college, Darius headed a research team looking into the properties of rare earth metals. They made several important discoveries pertaining to the usage of these rare elements in batteries. At the same time, Darius began his own research into their properties as catalysts in the hopes of finding a way to create reactions with seawater. He made very little progress until he inadvertently stumbled onto what he believed was a new rare earth combination, which he later called aquarillium: a mix of promethium, terbium, ytterbium, iron, and hydrochloric acid.

  Aquarillium reacted with water in strange ways. Using it as a catalyst, he focused high-frequency radio waves at a seawater solution, and the water began to boil instantly. Equally unusual was the concentration of magnesium residue he found on the inside of the glass seawater container. With further experimentation, he was able to extract small amounts of other minerals as well. But it wasn’t until he added a high-power magnetic field around the catalyst chamber that he began to get truly exciting results. Having done these experiments on his own time, he had not shared them with his classmates or his professor. Realizing the implications of his work, he destroyed all records of his experiments and created new records showing false experiments.

  At the end of his third year of college, Darius left to continue research on his own. The following year he moved to London and established his research there. It was in London where he first learned of the Order’s involvement in his father’s death—and where he got his first hint of their secret. In London the seed of hate was planted, and in London he nurtured it until it consumed him. Soon his technology was no longer a means to help transform the world into a better place, but the means by which he would exact revenge on those people and organizations he believed were responsible for the death of his father and the ongoing status of Persia as a backwater third-world nation.

  Through savvy trading and a good grasp of the economic big picture, he grew and multiplied his investments through the late nineties. After the 911 terrorist attacks in New York, Darius moved from London to Dubai so he could establish a base of operations outside the domain directly controlled by the Order. Almost every waking hour he spent perfecting his revolutionary technology and searching for the Order’s most closely guarded secret. Finally his technology reached a point where he needed additional assistance, and over the next several years he slowly assembled his team.

  They—four men and one woman—would be walking through his office door in the next few minutes. They had tirelessly worked for five years to get his technology to the production stage, and only now were they ready.

  Darius walked over to the wall of windows which commanded one of the most impressive views of Dubai. His office suite was on the one-hundred-and-thirtieth floor of the Burj Khalifa, or as it is commonly called, the Dubai Tower. He looked out over the hazy, barren deserts of Arabia on his left. Far away in the distance, over the blue expanse of water in front of him, he could just see the deserts of his homeland. He had leased this office suite to remind him of his quest: not only to avenge his father’s death, but to once again raise the Persian people to their rightful place in the world. A world not dominated by the Order and its alliance with the political, financial, militaristic, and corporate behemoth of Western democracy.

  If his plans succeeded, in a few short years the barren desert which he now overlooked would be filled with the green of living things. Nations once dependent on others for their food due to a lack of water would now be self-sufficient. He did not often allow himself to show emotion, but he could not help the smile which crept across his face as he spoke the ancient words, “And the desert shall blossom as a rose.” Darius turned back toward his desk and proudly thought to himself, Welcome to the Age of Aquarius.

  Chapter 3

  Negev Desert, Israel. Late Summer.

  His fingers white with chalk, muscles corded with effort, Zane reached into his chalk bag with his right hand, felt for the gritty chalk sack, and squeezed. With fresh chalk on his hand, he reached for the next elusive handhold. His movements calm and confident, he found a small crack into which he forced the fingers of his right hand, and by curling them, found enough purchase to move his left foot to a small protrusion about two feet higher on the rough rock face.

  Once again shoving his left hand deeply into his chalk bag, he covered his fingers and hand with the abrasive white powder. He only had one chance to nail this next move. Taking a deep breath, he leaped, three fingers of the left hand sliding neatly into the two-inch crack. With his entire body weight hanging by three fingers, he reached with his right hand to the ledge above his head for a hidden handhold he hoped was there. Just as his left hand began to give, he found it. Swinging his entire body up, he reached for the protruding ledge with his right foot. He shifted his weight to his right hand and right foot and powered himself over.

  The rest of the climb was straightforward, and he reached the top of the cliff without further challenge. Calling “Off rope!” to his belaying partner, Ariel, he unclipped the rope from his harness and sat down.

  Man! What an amazing feeling—like he was sitting on top of the world. He looked out over the desert with its pastel hues of purple, red, and brown. In the distance the Negev, and further on, Jordan. A slight haze of dust brought a warm glow to the desert. No regrets, he thought.

  In his final year of high school, Zane had broken his parents’ hearts by announcing that he did not want to go to college. He told them he wanted to travel Europe and climb. Unlike his friends, he had not found his place in life. All he knew was that he loved to climb. When they realized he was serious, they granted their blessing and he was off. For a whole year he lived like a gypsy, climbing in every country of the Eurozone. He made many friends and saw many beautiful places, but he was just wandering.

 
; Then, one hot day in June, he found what he was looking for. While in a climbing shop in Jerusalem, he met another climber named Yoseph who told him about a place he and some of his friends had climbed recently in northern Israel. Later that day, they drove to the Manara Cliffs of the Naftali mountain range. As they got close to their destination, they could see majestic Mount Hermon in the distance. They found a secluded section of cliff that looked like it had not been climbed before and hiked around to the back, where Zane found a way to the top which would allow him to top-rope the cliff. Rapelling down the face, he offered to belay Yoseph for the first ascent.

  The ascent was moderately challenging; Yoseph said it felt like a 5.11b. Zane began his ascent about four feet over from where Yoseph began his, starting at a finger-width crack which ran slightly to the right of true vertical. The climb began easily enough, with tight finger jamming in the crack with some toeholds here and there to take some of the stress off his arms.

  About halfway up the cliff, he reached an area of rough scaly rock which seemed loose in places. The crack he had been following petered out, and he searched the rock face for new stable handholds. He had progressed about five feet in this section when he stuck his hand into a section which looked like it offered a good grip. Just as he was testing his weight, the face of the rock came loose and exposed a small alcove.

  He yelled “Rock!” and fell away from the face of the cliff as Yoseph applied tension. He only fell about five feet, and as he was dangling there, he tried to look up into the hole he’d made. Unable to see, he grabbed the rock and climbed back up to the little alcove, quickly realizing that the pieces he’d pulled loose were a man-made plug to seal a natural depression. Since the cliff face was in the shade, he could not make out exactly what was in the back of the crevice. What little he could see, though, appeared to be a clay pot of some sort.

  About an hour later, after he followed Yoseph’s advice to leave it alone and call the authorities, Shimon and John from the Antiquities Authority showed up. Zane let John borrow his harness and lowered him down from the top of the cliff. Carefully John photographed the entire area, including multiple perspectives of the alcove and its contents. Then, with painfully slow care, he removed the clay pot. After Zane had lowered him to the ground and brought him back to the mouth of the opening, he retrieved a second clay pot. With utmost care the officials wrapped the pots and carried them to their vehicle.

  Later the following week, Zane received a phone call from Shimon, who informed him they had removed a portion of the book of Matthew from one of the clay jars and a portion of the book of Isaiah from the other. They had also found several coins in one of the clay vessels dating back to the Second Temple era. He said to check back because the Isaiah portion would someday be on display in the Shrine of the Book, a wing of the Israel National Museum.

  Zane knew from that day that he wanted to be an archeologist. Maybe it was a lack of faith, maybe just natural curiosity, but it was a wonderful feeling to uncover a piece of history which further strengthened the historical context of the Scriptures he had been taught all his life. At long last, he had come to the end of his quest for meaning in his life.

  After one-and-a-half years of aimless wandering, he returned stateside with a purpose, much to his parents’ pleasure, and began attending a Christian college in Texas that fall. Every year for the next three years during the spring and summer breaks, he returned to Israel and volunteered on archeological digs. He loved the hard physical work and getting his hands dirty. It sure beat sitting behind a desk! He had been coming back for three years now and each time became more engrossed with the work. It was an indescribably good feeling finding bits and pieces of the past and trying to bring context to those discoveries.

  Returning to the present, Zane looked down at the light blue rope dangling over the cliff. With a sigh he got up and clipped himself in. His rope doubled in his ATC, he rappelled back down the face of the cliff and joined his climbing partner.

  “Good climb, Zane,” Ariel said as he reached the bottom.

  “That was a fun!” Zane replied with an enthusiastic smile. “The crux sure had me guessing for the handhold.”

  Ariel smiled. “But you nailed it with no trouble.”

  Untying the rope from his harness, Zane asked, “Ready to give it another try?”

  “No, not today—my fingers are fried from the last run.”

  Zane and Ariel were both volunteers on a dig in the Negev. Packing up the rest of their gear, Zane asked, “You have any plans for tomorrow? I sure would like to drive over to the Manara Cliffs and give them a try again.”

  “Thinking you’ll find more artifacts?”

  Zane laughed. “No, not really . . . that was a once-in-a-lifetime deal. But I wouldn’t mind climbing there for old time’s sake.”

  “Sorry, my friend, but I promised the professor I would get some supplies for camp, and then I must return to Jerusalem and visit with my parents. Tomorrow is Shabbat, and they asked me to join them.”

  With a shrug, Zane smiled. “No problem. I’ll check it out anyway—I’ve heard there are some really gnarly climbs on the back side.”

  Chapter 4

  New York City

  Joe Douglas’s eyes blurred in anger as he watched the numbers on the gas pump flash in rapid succession. They had taken everything from him—his wife, his family, his respectability. A convicted felon, he couldn’t even get a decent job. There hadn’t been enough cocaine on him for two people, let alone for “intent to distribute,” as they’d charged him. That hadn’t stopped the prosecutor. Joe was sent to prison for three years and was released a year early for good behavior. When he got out of prison, no one was there to greet him except his anger. His wife had received full custody of the children.

  His knuckles turned white as he gripped the gas dispenser. None of his old friends or work associates from the New York City Water Municipality would have anything to do with him now. Well, he was going to teach those godless heathens a lesson—a lesson the whole world would remember.

  The pump clicked off at 199.34 gallons. Joe pulled the dispenser a little out of the welded auxiliary fuel tank in the bed of his pickup truck and topped it off until the register read two hundred gallons exactly.

  Inside, the man behind the counter looked up with a friendly smile. “Boy, she was thirsty today.”

  Joe nodded. As he pulled his wallet out, he replied, “Man, this is killing me. I wish our crooked politicians would do something about the gas prices.”

  Four dollars a gallon, Joe thought. He remembered when gas was a buck-fifty. He counted out the eight hundred dollars in cash for the salesclerk, took his receipt, and turned to leave. “I’ll see you in a week or so.”

  Joe climbed up into the cab of his truck, the sole possession he had retained from his pre-prison life. His first few days in the penitentiary had been one continuous nightmare of bullying, pain, and fear. That was until Hassan walked up and stood beside him one day. No one ever bothered him again. Hassan was a lifeline to a terrified and lonely man who had nowhere else to turn. Over the next two years, Hassan taught him about Muhammad and the Koran. At first he paid attention out of necessity, and later out of genuine interest. Joe had never been particularly interested in any religion, but prison changed all that. With Hassan’s friendship and brotherhood, he embraced the Muslim religion. He knew now that all his problems were a direct result of a godless and hedonistic Western lifestyle and belief system.

  Allah willing, he was going to help change that. The two hundred gallons of diesel fuel in the back of his truck were a step in that direction.

  Chapter 5

  Dubai, United Arab Emirates

  After a soft knock, the door opened and five familiar faces entered. Darius stood and calmly welcomed the four men and one woman who entered his office. “Good afternoon, lady and gentlemen.” He ushered his team into the conference room.

  When everyone was seated, Darius took his chair at the head of t
he table. He surveyed the faces gathered there. Although they served in several capacities, each had a specialty which made him or her indispensable to the organization and invaluable to his plan.

  Today, they would decide whether or not to set the plan in motion. For Darius, it had taken over twenty years to reach this point. Many of the rest had been working tirelessly—and secretly—for five years. They all knew the success of their plan depended on their silence. Their invention would fundamentally alter the current order of the world. Darius thought it ironic that half the faces looking back at him were Americans born between the years 1961–1981. According to William Strauss and Neil Howe in their book Generations, these men and a woman were part of the thirteenth American generation.

  And none of them had any idea how significant that was.

  On his right sat Alexandra Riley, whose primary function was executive assistant and public relations. The first time he had seen Alexandra was in his second year at MIT, where she was leading an environmental protest. She was an activist in every sense of the word, fearless, passionate, and unrelenting, with classical Irish features and a temper to match her fiery red hair. Her passion, intelligence, and commitment raised her as a leader in the environmental movement until she became the international face of the cause.

  That is, until Darius asked her to join his organization three years ago. They met over lunch at a vegan deli in New York, and he asked her if she wanted to change the world. She looked up at him with her pale green Irish eyes, a bitter laugh, and a mocking smile.

  “Mr. Zarindast,” she said, “everyone dreams of changing the world. Few ever really make a difference. Most people are content to follow others.”