Chapter Five

With a virtual army of 5,000 men under his management every January, Klaus Richter knew how to establish security at the Davos conference, but his military training was feeling rusty. Richter was better versed at cybersecurity risks and body scanning machines than he was at paramilitary operations, so he outsourced that kind of action to the experts in the Swiss army while he and Dylan Jenkins were safely ensconced in his office, monitoring the operation.

It was unprecedented that Richter needed the assistance of the country’s defense personnel, but this was an exceptional situation. A small team had been swiftly assembled for what was assumed to be a search and rescue operation, possibly with armed resistance. The soldiers were considered on call each year for the conference, but this was the first time that their services had ever actually been sought.

The EC635 military chopper had been dispatched from the Alpnach Air Base, and it was destined for the terminus of Peterson’s cell phone track. The accuracy of the location was within ten meters of resolution, and the signal was still alive, so the mission was simple: locate Peterson, determine if he was with friendly or hostile companions, extract him by force if necessary, and deliver him safely to Davos. 

Whether they were going to find him dead, in handcuffs, or simply enjoying a third beer with an old friend, no one knew, because there had been no successful way to reach him. One thing they did know was that he would make for an exceptionally valuable asset for a terrorist group as a hostage. If he was with unfriendlies, they weren’t going to let him go without a fight.

Richter spoke into the headset: “Lieutenant, what’s your E.T.A.?”

The raspy response came back instantly, “We’re just a few minutes from our landing site, Mr. Richter. We’re going to set down in a field about a hundred meters from the target and get there on foot. Stand by.”

There was a crew of five in the helicopter: the pilot and the four soldiers in the cabin. At the conference center, Richter and Jenkins were getting a live video feed from the helmet cameras of all four men, each feed split into one of the quadrants on the large monitor in Richter’s office.

It was already late in the evening, and because the sun set so early during Switzerland’s winter, the night vision was necessary as the men hustled their way through the field toward the house from which the signal was emanating. Each man was equipped with an automatic rifle, although it was unclear if they would actually need to use weapons at all. 

Their commander silently signaled two of the men to take their positions at the opposite corners of the house, and once they were in place, he banged on the front door while his partner stood behind him.

“This is Lieutenant Hartman of the Command Alpnach! Open up!”

He only waited a couple of moments before he banged loudly on the door once again. 

“Open the door or we will enter by force!”

A few seconds later, Richter and Dylan watched as the feed from Hartman’s helmet showed the door burst open, as the men used a battering ram against it. The interior of the building was already well-lit, which switched off the night vision and provided a normal video of the surroundings. 

The muzzle of the rifle could be seen in the foreground of the two soldiers as they rushed inside the house, moving from room to room, but there was no one else there. No gunfire. No resistance. No activity.

Jenkins and Richter kept their eyes fixed on the monitor, bracing themselves for a surprise, but all four helmet cameras were revealing the same thing: a well-appointed country house with no one inside and nothing out of the ordinary to see.

There was, however, a single object resting on the edge of a table.

Hartmann spoke into his mic, and the image of the cellular device appeared on the video feed: “We found the phone, sir.”

Richter yanked off his headset and threw it on his desk. “Son of a bitch!”

As the elevator descended from the 27th floor of the downtown office tower to the lowest parking level, its sole occupant was U.S. Senator Dinah Cranston. It occurred to her that the only benefit to working late was the elevator was guaranteed to be a solo, nonstop flight. It had been an exceptionally long day, and her re-election campaign was about to kick into high gear. She already dreaded the thought of getting up at six in the morning, which was just hours away.

When the elevator chimed and the doors opened, the Senator walked into the foyer of the parking garage and realized that, once again, she had no idea where she parked the car. She was sure it was on that level, but with the wide assortment of vehicles parked there by the residents of the adjacent apartment tower, she was going to have to use the app on her phone to try to find the damned thing.

As she wandered throughout the garage staring at the tiny screen, trying to get a strong enough signal for the app to function, she reminisced about her prior car. It had an old-fashioned remote whose button she could press to invoke a loud chirping sound, which made situations like this a cinch. Once again, she mused, more powerful technology actually made her life more difficult, and Cranston was getting exasperated that her phone wasn’t going to be of any help in this subterranean maze.

“Hey, Dinah,” came a man’s voice three rows away from where she was walking, prompting Cranston to flinch and plunge her free hand into her purse to pull out the pepper spray. “Who’s there?” she tensely called out in the direction of the voice, pointing the nozzle toward the distant figure.

“Hey, relax, it’s just me,” said the tall, middle-aged man with a great mass of unruly blonde hair, and he awkwardly weaved between the cars to get closer to her.

“Oh, Jesus, Bob, what the hell?” said the Senator. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

Robert Kully emerged from the closest row of cars and walked toward her, utterly unsure if he should extend his hand, give her a hug, or just stop walking altogether to stand at an unthreatening distance. He decided to stay put, since his old boss seemed on edge.

He lowered his voice to try to make it sound calming, although the effect was more creepy than soothing: “What’s wrong, Dinah? I just wanted to say hello.”

With her hand still gripping the pepper spray in her purse, Cranston said, “That’s fine, Bob, but you scared the hell out of me. How long have you been creeping around down here?”

Kully looked slightly hurt at the question and said, “I haven’t been ‘creeping around,’ Dinah. I could use some help. Not that you would know, considering you haven’t even bothered checking in on me.”

Cranston released the spray back into her purse and slowly pulled her hand out, so as not to startle Kully, and she let her arms relax awkwardly at her sides.

“Bob, I can’t keep track of every staff member I’ve ever employed. I’ve been busy.”

“You’re always busy, Dinah.”

It occurred to the Senator that her opportunity to get home and into bed was diminishing by the second, so she started walking toward where she thought she might have seen her car and said, “Listen, I’m tired, it’s late, and I want to get some sleep.”

Following closely behind, Kully tried to restart the conversation and said, “I was just wondering if there might be any, you know, opportunities to help out? I know the campaign must be taking up a lot of your time.”

She quickened her pace slightly, eager to get to her vehicle. Not bothering to look behind, she replied, “Bob, we appreciated your help in D.C., but after what happened, I’m sure you can understand I can’t hire you back.”

He reached out to grab her right elbow, but when she felt his grip, she angrily snapped her arm away from him, turned around and said, “Don’t touch me, Bob!”

Backing away and suddenly embarrassed, Kully looked at the concrete floor of the garage like a freshly scolded puppy and said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just wanted to talk to you. I just want to help out, and I need the work.”

“This isn’t the way to do it! You don’t just linger around a garage and accost people to get an interview! Are you nuts?”

His fists tightened, Kully glared at her angrily and said, “Just because I’m in counseling doesn’t make me crazy! I’ve been trying to get help, you know! You’re the one who put me there!”

Senator Cranston was officially out of patience, and she had nothing left to say. Relieved to finally see her car, she swiftly walked toward it as her former staff member trundled behind her in an effort to try to salvage something out of the hours he had spent waiting. Kully blurted out, “OK, that wasn’t fair, you didn’t put me there, but you know what I mean. I’ve been having a terrible time, right?”

“You really need to grow up, Bob,” Cranston said as the door handles from her car presented themselves. She pulled the driver’s door open and said, “Get your family life worked out, and then you should focus on your career. Have you and Belinda worked things out?”

“It’s Linda, not Belinda,” said Kully, averting his eyes.

“Right, sorry. Linda. Are you two together again?”

“I’m still in the doghouse, and at this point my marriage is nothing but scar tissue. Dinah, please, just give me another chance. I’ll do anything for you. Just name it. I’ve always been a big believer in what you’re doing, and besides that, I think you and I have something special between us. Don’t you feel it, too?”

Slipping into her car seat, the Senator replied, “Bob, honestly, I feel bad for you and what you’re going through, but Los Angeles is a big city. There’s plenty of places that would consider someone with your credentials. I’m just not ready to take you back after what happened last year.”

“How about a trial period? You wouldn’t even have to pay me at first!”

“Get some sleep, Bob. Things will look better in the morning, I promise,” Cranston said as she closed the car door. Her eyes focused on the dashboard, since she knew Kully would just be staring at her through the side window anyway, and she was upset enough about the entire interaction. As she backed the car out of its space, she made a pact with herself never to enter the parking garage alone again.

As the Senator’s car drove off and up the ramp, Bob Kully watched her, feeling exhausted and crestfallen, yet still hopeful that if he just kept trying, he could find a way back into Dinah Cranston’s life, and maybe even her heart.

Now that their captive’s trip to the bathroom was done, the goons led Peterson down the hall and through the same door, with Flynt nowhere to be seen. Two empty chairs were still there, and the light was on. The larger of the two goons closed the door, and Peterson was by himself once more, although at least it wasn’t dark this time. He walked over to the chair and, having nothing better to do, sat down.

“Tom, you’re back,” Toffler’s voice came through the speaker. Peterson’s heart started to race, not only from the jolt of surprise at the sudden sound, but also in bewilderment at what his old partner could possibly have to do with these lunatics.

Thomas Peterson stood up and looked around the room. “Kevin?”

“Yes, it’s really me.”

Peterson found some meager comfort in hearing the voice of his old friend, but his heart kept pounding. “Kevin, I’m having trouble believing this is you. Where are you?”

As before, Toffler’s voice seemed to be coming from the ceiling. “What do you want, a hologram? It’s me. You and I need to talk about what’s going on.”

“This is one hell of a way for you to connect with me, Kevin! What are you doing with these people? You’ve got them kidnapping me? Have you lost your mind?”

“Listen to me, Tom. You’re as much a part of this as I am.”

Peterson was getting more agitated: “Like hell I am! I’m not….”

“Yes, you are, and you need to…...”

“And what is this group you’re a part of, what did he call it, Athena or Aegis or something? Are you and this maniac Flynt going to save the world? Do you guys have your own superhero outfits, too? Capes, maybe?”

“This is no joke, Tom. You don’t realize it, but you are a part of this now.”

Peterson was beginning to feel ridiculous talking into the open air, but he couldn’t keep himself from continuing. “I’m not part of whatever you think this group of yours is, Kevin. Listen, man, you could go to federal prison for this! Tell them to let me go, and I promise I won’t pursue it. Just have them release me, and I mean right now!”

The voice came back, “Always the negotiator, aren’t you? You need to listen to me. Listen and this is all going to work out. The men that picked you up, they’re not going to hurt you.”

“Picked me up?” shouted Peterson angrily. “They kidnapped me and used your name for bait. What the hell have I done to make you do this to me, you asshole?”

“Good God, Tom, shut up, and let me talk. It isn’t always about you. Just let me explain the situation and it will all be clear. Okay?”

Peterson wasn’t going to dignify the question with a response, so he sat back down on the chair and folded his arms in quiet disgust.

After a few moments of silence, Toffler spoke again: “All right, good. This will help you understand, so just listen. For once in your life, just shut up and listen.” 

Toffler paused for a moment, expecting yet another protest, but Peterson stayed silent, so Toffler took a breath and continued. “I want you to think about what it was like a hundred years ago. Back in 1932. Just think about it. No virtual reality. No social media. No cell phones, computers, or even television. Just think about it.”

“Christ, Kevin, I just had to listen to a speech from your friend about zoos and tigers.”

His old partner Toffler said nothing. If there was one thing Peterson had learned from this ordeal so far, it was that he should play along, even though he was already weary of this charade.

Resigned, Peterson succumbed to the narrative and volleyed back a tepid response. “Fine, OK, the year is 1932. It’s a hundred years ago. Keep going.”

The voice from the ceiling picked up the story. “Now consider what people were like back then. Everyone who could get a job had a job. And why? Because they had to. They had to work to live. So, it was a struggle. Everything was a struggle. Nothing was easy. And people thought how good life would be if only things were easier. Right?”

Considering the horrendous unemployment level of 1932, Peterson perceived a fairly substantial flaw in the analogy, but play along, he thought to himself, play along. “Yes, right. People in those days had to work.”

Toffler continued, “And then things did get better. They always did. More and more machines came along to do the work. Farming wasn’t as hard. Learning wasn’t as hard. Making money wasn’t as hard, and by the 2030s, if you couldn’t find a job, or maybe you didn’t even want a job, you got paid anyway. The more time went by, the easier things got for people. Paradise, right?”

Thomas Peterson tilted his head back toward the ceiling, as if his old partner were hiding behind the light fixtures. “What are you getting at, Kevin?”

“I told you already you’ve got to let me finish. Now I want you to think about taking someone who lived in 1932, and just drop them in the middle of a forest near where they usually live. Just out of the blue, there they are, bang, alone in the woods. They don’t know how they got there, or why, but they’re there, out in the center of a forest.

“Pretty soon they’re going to get thirsty and hungry and cold. We’re animals, after all. So as confused as that person dropped in the woods might be, they know a few things. They know North from South. They know the basics of navigating their way from place to place. They know where to find water, and what food is safe to eat. If they need to, they can even build a shelter for themselves. They’re going to survive, because they still have instincts, and they’ve still got rudimentary knowledge. Even out of their element, they know what they have to do to survive.”

He took another deep breath, then Toffler continued the story. “But what about today? If a kid from these days was dropped in the middle of a forest, how long do you think they’d make it? Three days, maybe? A week? At least until they die from exposure, or thirst, or starve to death? Or maybe even die of fright, since they have no clue what to do? You see what I’m getting at?”

Peterson’s face was starting to feel hot. “Kevin, what’s happened to you? Have you become some kind of survivalist? This is insane. For God’s sake, let me out of here!”

Toffler’s voice became more tense, and he said, “Listen, Tom, this isn’t about me or you, this is about what’s happened. We helped create this mess, and we’re going to help undo it, whether you like it or not. I’ve lived my whole life wrong. Now I finally understand that I lived it wrong, and I’m going to make up for it now. I’ve got to pay for what I’ve done, and so do you.”

It dawned on Peterson that the agonizing memory of Toffler's fiancée and her sudden death might be the cause of this insanity. Kevin Toffler had absolutely nothing to do with the accident, so there was no reason for guilt, but the trauma had apparently broken the man emotionally. Since nothing he said so far had helped, Peterson tried a different tack and said, “Kevin, you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened to Alexandra. It wasn’t your fault. You’ve got to let….....”

“Alexandra has nothing to do with this!” Toffler shot back, much louder than before. “Leave her out of it! You don’t even know what happened, but I do! Machines killed her, and they’re going to kill you too, so zip it!”

Both men were silent for a few moments. Toffler continued, resuming his more measured tone once he calmed down.

“People aren’t people anymore, Tom. I’m not. You’re not. Everyone’s just been turned into a node in the network. It’s reached the point where brawn and brain have all been replaced by machines, and there’s nothing left for most people to do anymore but piss all their time away and feed the beast.”

“What beast?” Peterson asked.

“Everything! Everything, man! The phones, the computers, the social media, the robotaxis, the biotech, the AI, the security systems. It’s all there, feeding the system, and the only thing most people create anymore is data. Data about what they eat, when they sleep, where they go, who they meet, and what they buy. We’ve all lost our humanity. Life isn’t even worth living anymore. Why even be born into this world?”

There was a long pause, and Peterson finally said, “I still think it’s a world worth being born into, Kevin.”

“Of course you do! You’re rich. You’ve got projects, goals, ideas. But what about everyone else? How would you like to live your life as just another node in the network, without anything meaningful to do, without anything to accomplish? Just eat, shit, and shop. You’d lose your mind, or maybe just kill yourself!”

Peterson stopped him. “Kevin. I understand what you’re saying. I think it’s noble you care so much about all of this. But we’ve all got our own lives to lead. I think you’ve taken this all way too far. Maybe you should write a book instead.”

“A book? Are you kidding me?”

“Well, Jesus Christ, Kevin, if you’ve got all these big ideas, tell the world about it! You’ve got the means to do so!”

The room was dead quiet once more. Thomas had known his old partner for over twenty years, and he also knew him well enough to know that Kevin Toffler wasn’t prone to losing his temper. He was always a stable, although some might say eccentric, character, yet his sanity was uncertain at this point. Peterson felt a chill as he realized he might be at the mercy of a madman. Maybe the suggestion to write something was working. Perhaps he was at least thinking about it.

Suddenly, Kevin Toffler’s voice filled the room again. “Thomas, it’s way too late in the game for a book, or a speech, or an editorial. There’s almost nothing left to do at this point. Extreme measures have got to be taken. The only way to get real civilization back is to let some chaos back in.”

Peterson’s stomach tightened, wondering what Toffler was talking about.

“Extreme measures? Like what?”

“A way to turn back the clock,” Toffler replied. “Going back to a better way of living, for everyone’s sake.” 

Thomas Peterson shook his head numbly and said, louder than he intended, “Oh, have you created a time machine now, Kevin?” 

The speaker crackled briefly, then Toffler replied, “A time machine. I never thought of it that way. Yeah.”

Peterson stood up and shouted, “You’re out of your goddamned mind, you know that?”

“I’m not so sure if I’m the one who’s gone crazy, Thomas. You’re the one screaming at a ceiling. I’m done for now. Flynt will tell you exactly what you need to do. There’s a long road ahead, and we’ve all got a lot of work to make this happen.”

And, just as quickly as it had arrived, the voice was gone, and the room went dark.