Book One 'The Fenwick Cipher'
This is the first Chapter of the novel. I am trying to get some interest generated so I can get it published.
PROLOGUE
"Tamam Shud"
December 1st 1948 1:20
AM Somerton Beach, Australia
For the man wearing the
coat and tie, the warm night air was uncomfortable. He wished the circumstances
could have been different. He thought about the job he should have never taken. Too late now, though, this was the
only solution, he was sure. The plant venom was the most deadly toxin known to
man, and he had just 6 minutes left to live. He threw his beer can in the
trash, and made his way to the beach. The pasty he had eaten in Glengelg would
slow the poison enough. Diluting it with the beer would mask it in in an autopsy.
His reasons for doing it were many, and the truth would come out eventually. He
had seen to that.
As the man made his way
to the seawall, and the poison did its work, he thought back on his life. He
thought of his mom and dad. He wished things could be different for them, but
the ball was put into motion long ago by forces he didn't control.The traumas
of his childhood came rushing back in a flood tide of emotion. Some sorrow,
some anger, some regret. He thought of this very beach, this small simple town.
It's tragic connection to him all those years ago. How the strangest of
circumstances led him to the love of his life. But mostly he thought about the
beginning...
... the reflections of
the dying man as he walked to his final resting place, took him back to Ulrich.
That was his name before he was "cleaned”, before he had created
identities’ as other men. His face had been erased during WWII, so he could
operate without constraint anywhere in the world...
Chapter 1
He was born in Berlin
in 1905, though he did not remember his first few years, his mom told him
enough stories, he knew. From his homebirth to his first words, his first
steps, and even the small fire he started when he was three.
A small smile splayed
across his face as he recalled: how he started a grass fire in the park at
Tiergarten, with the help of his father’s trench lighter. How simple life had
been for a young boy in 1908 in Berlin.
He remembered the forge
and his lessons with his father. His father had been a master smith and
metallurgist for IG Farben. Ulrich grew up with a blacksmith hammer in one hand
and textbooks in the other. His father was a demanding perfectionist, but he
was also loving and kind. His sentimentality was one of the things Ulrich loved
about his father. The old man had been quiet and precise at the anvil, and
gentle and patient with his family.
His mom was a homemaker
and the disciplinarian. She was meticulous and detailed in her cleaning, and
her cooking was amazing. Ulrich felt her gentle strength and never remembered
the sting of her hand. She was affectionate but not doting, and he knew not to
push too hard. He was obedient and loyal to his parents, rarely questioning
their authority, but always trusting their love for him.
He knew he would never
see his son grow up, as his parents had not seen him grow into manhood. Perhaps
his final regret. It had to be this way. There was no other way. He knew they
were onto him, and he was sure they had seen his face. If he had gone home,
then his wife and son would be killed, that's how they operate. All he could do
now was protect them. There was nowhere left to hide.
He was a very smart
kid, and had a great memory. His attention to detail was an honest effort to
get it right the first time:
He could still smell
the anthracite coal and see its deep rich smoke. He could still hear the
ringing of metal as it took various shapes at his father's command. He could
still hear his father telling him to listen to the steel talk.
"It will tell you
when to use force, and when to be gentle, son. Can you hear it? When it's right
the ring will be harmony, when it's wrong grating. The sweet symphony of
Beethoven," he would say. And Ulrich could still remember the melodic
sound of 'Ein kleinenacht Muzik' playing softly in the background while they
worked.
His father worked very
hard and smart, his attention to detail and his organization afforded him a
managerial job in the largest company in the world.The pride he showed in the
anvil and forge, paled in comparison to the pride he felt for his son. The old
man made sure his son would grow up proud, educated and independent.
As Ulrich grew up, his
father gave him more and more responsibilities. He was home schooling Ulrich,
teaching him not just the blacksmith trade, but also classical training.
History, etiquette, reading, and writing. Balance, self-sufficiency, those are
the keys to happiness and purpose. His father’s words of wisdom still clung to
him like a blanket "In a man's life son, he must make his own decisions.
Do not sway in the breeze, stand tall and accept life. Live and embrace it. The
only certain thing is family. Honor your word and cherish those you
choose."
He could still see his
father's face, calm and compassionate as his sage advice was doled out...
His life was like that
until that fated trip to Belgium, and the city of Leuven. He thought of the
last time he saw his father and mother. The last few days before they died.
He was staring out of
the train window from his passenger’s seat, at the beautiful countryside of the
Rhine-land. It was 1914, July 21st. They were taking a 4 week business
trip/vacation into Belgium while Ulrich's father did some research for IG
Farbe. Transjunction railway confluence degeneration kits were the wave of the
future, and Ulrich's father invented them. BNSF paid a fortune to IG Farben for
the parts, and for engineers to teach the process.
The steady flow of the
river cascading down the slopes of the hills, and the beauty of the mountains
in the summer sun caught the boy's imagination. The plush forests of oak and
pine, the green grass of endless fields, were mesmerizing. As the train chugged
along Ulrich was fully entranced in the beauty. “You can feel the connection
son?" His father's question stirred him from his trance, and he hardly
noticed the longing in his father's words as he absently replied, "yes
father."
It was like that with them sometimes, words
need not always be spoken for ideas to pass between them. The unspoken bond
between father and son was strong with them. He looked upon his father's face,
the square jaw, high cheekbones, short cropped blonde and silver hair, rich
blue eyes that held such compassion and intelligence. Often he wondered what
his father thought of, especially at times such as these.
The dying man knew he
had little time left to live, maybe five minutes. The salty ocean air of the
beach gave him solace as he continued remembering that fateful train ride in
the middle of August 1914. He was a boy of nine then, but the memory was clear
as if it was yesterday.
"Do you think we
will really go to war Karl?" his mother asked her husband. "Well, I
sure hope not, but it looks that way. You heard von Moltke though. You heard
Kaiser too. And the Observer says the Austrians won't capitulate. Ferdinand was
to be king, and they already mobilized troops. If the Serbs turn over Princip,
it might stop a war, but I can't see it happening. And the Ruskies seem to be
itching for a fight, same with France. If the English stay out of it though, it
will be over soon." Ulrich's father, Karl, had a keen sense for politics
and the machinations of war. "Reason we're going to Belgium now darling,
they're neutral. Kaiser will follow schlieffens plan, and attack the Maginot
line in France, war might last a month if we break the French border there. The
build up there for the French Army can't match ours. We'd be in Paris in less
than two weeks. Since those six line French towers are not fortified steel, the
howitzer will peel through em like paper." As Karl spoke, Ulrich and his
mother's attention were focused on him. "Now Esther, you know I don't
condone war, unless we have to fight, but with all the soldiers and weapons our
army has, I don't think it will take more than five or six months to defeat France
and Russia. I still pray for peace though." With that Karl sat back with a
slight smile on his face, and tussled Ulrich's hair. He then gave his wife a
reassuring kiss on the cheek.
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