Mark Alpert - Final Theory

Synopsis:

Physics lecturer David Swift is summoned to hospital to comfort his dying mentor, a renowned scientist suffering from horrifying wounds. David is shocked when the old man dies after wheezing Einheitlichen Feldtheorie: The Destroyer of Worlds. The Theory of Everything. It was Einstein's lifetime quest to pin down a unified set of equations, combining physics of stars with the laws of atoms. He died without achieving this goal. Or did he? In the two hours after hearing these words, Davids ex-wife and child are threatened; hes attacked by a Russian assassin, arrested by the FBI and nearly killed three times. But hes too busy running for his life to work out what it all means. Teaming up with his ex-girlfriend and an autistic teenager addicted to video games, David must work out what Einsteins theories could possibly be worth to the powers desperate for them and if the world is ready for the consequences.

For Lisa, who has filled my universe with wonders

HANS WALTHER KLEINMAN, ONE OF THE GREAT THEORETICAL physicists of our time, was drowning in his bathtub. A stranger with long, sinewy arms had pinned Hanss shoulders to the porcelain bottom.

Although the water was only thirty centimeters deep, the pinioning arms kept Hans from raising his face to the surface. He clawed at the strangers hands, trying to loosen their grip, but the man was a shtarker, a young vicious brute, and Hans was a seventy-nine-year-old with arthritis and a weak heart. Flailing about, he kicked the sides of the tub, and the lukewarm water sloshed all around him. He couldnt get a good look at his attacker the mans face was a shifting, watery blur. The shtarker must have slipped into the apartment through the open window by the fire escape, then rushed into the bathroom when he realized that Hans was inside.

As Hans struggled, he felt the pressure building in his chest. It started in the center, right under his sternum, and quickly filled his whole rib cage. A negative pressure, pushing inward from all sides, constricting his lungs. Within seconds it rose to his neck, a hot choking tightness, and Hans opened his mouth, gagging. Lukewarm water rushed down his throat, and now Hans devolved into a creature of pure panic, a twisting, squirming primitive animal going into its final convulsions. No, no, no, no, no, no! Then he lay still, and as his vision faded he saw only the wavelets at the surface, rippling just a few centimeters above him. A Fourier series, he thought. And so beautiful.

But it wasnt the end, not yet. When Hans regained consciousness he was lying facedown on the cold tiled floor, coughing up bathwater. His eyes ached and his stomach lurched and each breath was an excruciating gasp. Coming back to life was actually more painful than dying. Then he felt a sharp blow to his back, right between his shoulder blades, and heard someone say in a jaunty voice, Time to wake up!

The stranger grabbed him by the elbows and rolled him over. The back of Hanss head banged against the wet tiles. Still breathing hard, he looked up at his attacker, who was kneeling on the bathroom rug. A huge man, a hundred kilograms at the least. Shoulder muscles bulging under his black T-shirt, camouflage pants tucked into black leather boots. A bald head, disproportionately small compared with his body, with black stubble on his cheeks and a gray scar on his jaw. Most likely a junkie, Hans guessed. After he kills me, hell tear the place apart, hunting for my valuables. Only then will the stupid putz realize I dont have a goddamn cent.

The shtarker stretched his thin lips into a smile. Now well have a little talk, yes? You can call me Simon, if you like.

The mans voice had an unusual accent that Hans couldnt place. His eyes were small and brown, his nose was crooked, and his skin was the color of a weathered brick. His features were ugly but indistinct he could be Spanish, Russian, Turkish, almost anything. Hans tried to say, What do you want? but when he opened his mouth he only retched again.

Simon looked amused. Yes, yes, Im so sorry about that. But I needed to show you that Im serious. And better to do that right away, eh?

Oddly enough, Hans wasnt afraid now. Hed already accepted the fact that this stranger was going to kill him. What disturbed him was the sheer impudence of the man, who kept smiling as Hans lay naked on the floor. It seemed clear what would happen next: Simon was going to order him to reveal the number of his ATM card. The same thing had happened to one of Hanss neighbors, an eighty-two-year-old woman whod been attacked in her apartment and beaten until she gave up the number. No, Hans wasnt afraid he was furious! He coughed the last drops of bathwater out of his throat and propped himself up on his elbows. You made a mistake this time, you ganef. I have no money. I dont even have a bank card.

I dont want your money, Dr. Kleinman. Im interested in physics, not money. Youre familiar with the subject, I assume?

At first Hans simply grew more enraged. Was this putz making fun of him? Who did he think he was? After a moment, though, a more disturbing question occurred to him: How did this man find out my name? And how does he know Im a physicist?

Simon seemed to guess what Hans was thinking. Dont be so surprised, Professor. Im not as ignorant as I look. I may not have any advanced degrees, but Im a fast learner.

Hans had surmised by now that this man was no junkie. Who are you? What are you doing here?

Think of it as a research project. On a very challenging and esoteric topic. His smile broadened. I admit, some of the equations werent easy to understand. But I have some friends, you see, and they explained it very well.

Friends? What do you mean, friends?

Well, perhaps thats the wrong word. Clients would probably be better. I have some very knowledgeable and well-financed clients. And they hired me to get some information from you.

What are you talking about? Are you some kind of spy?

Simon chuckled. No, no, nothing so grandiose. Im an independent contractor. Lets just leave it at that.

Hanss mind was racing now. The shtarker was a spy, or maybe a terrorist. His exact affiliation was unclear Iran? North Korea? Al-Qaeda? but that didnt matter. They were all after the same thing. What Hans didnt understand was why the bastards had targeted him of all people. Like most nuclear physicists of his generation, Hans had done some classified work for the Defense Department in the fifties and sixties, but his specialty had been radioactivity studies. Hed never worked on bomb design or fabrication, and hed spent most of his professional life doing theoretical research that was strictly nonmilitary. I have some bad news for your clients, whoever they are, Hans said. They picked the wrong physicist.

Simon shook his head. No, I dont think so.

What kind of information do you think I can give you? Uranium enrichment? I know nothing about that! And nothing about warhead design either. My field is particle physics, not nuclear engineering. All my research papers are available on the Internet, theres nothing secret about them!

The stranger shrugged, unperturbed. Youve jumped to the wrong conclusion, Im afraid. I dont care about warheads and I dont care about your papers. Im interested in someone elses work, not yours.