Tell the Truth and Shame the Devil
After breakfast, I uploaded an outline of my proof to ten different mathematical websites and sent an email to the top ten mathematical institutes in the US, Europe and India, including the Clay Institute that was awarding the one million dollars to anyone who solved the Riemann hypothesis.
Then I called Butler.
“Nick, finally. I knew you would come to your senses.”
“Hi, Mr. Butler. I think it is time for you to release Jeremy.”
“Where’s the proof?”
“On ams.org. Or if you prefer a university site, on mit.edu/math.”
“You have not!”
“Oh, yes, I have.”
Heavy breathing and muttered curses.
“I published the proof for the world to see it,” I continued and enjoyed Butler’s distress. “On these two sites and on eight others. I have also sent emails to all the important mathematical institutes, including the Clay Institute of Mathematics.”
“They won’t give you the million dollars!”
“Maybe not,” I said. “It doesn’t really matter, Mr. Butler, now, does it?”
“Let me get back to you,” he said and hung up on me.
“We’re on,” I said to the others and got into the car. They had checked us out and brought the car from the garage to the hotel.
“It’s a pity that we didn’t go sightseeing in Florence,” Martin said. “I hear the David is inspiring, spectacular.”
“I wanted to see the Uffizi,” Rachel said, “but Jeremy’s life comes first.”
“Maybe we can go with Jeremy once he’s free,” Martin said.
I doubted it. Then again, with all things digital about to shut down, who knew what people were going to do for entertainment?
Pearl drove to the farmhouse. When we turned on the dirt road, three black SUVs with tinted windows almost mowed us down.
“They seem in a hurry to leave,” Martin said with a grin.
“Let’s hope they didn’t take Jeremy with them,” Rachel said with reprimand in her voice.
“We’ll be there in five minutes,” Rachel said.
“Shall we really go in guns blazing or should we park the car in the woods and check the place out first?” Rachel asked.
“Guns blazing,” Martin and I said.
Pearl slowed down when we reached the driveway to the old farmhouse. The men were gone from the entrances. The roof also looked empty. Pearl drove up to the back door where we suspected Jeremy to be held. The green light on the keypad was blinking.
“Jeremy,” Rachel shouted. “Jeremy, are you there?”
“Rachel!” A faint voice came from behind the thick wooden door.
“He’s in there!” Rachel said.
She tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. We walked around to the front. The front door was locked, too. The green light on the keypad was innocently blinking.
“What shall we do, Nick?” Rachel asked.
“We can try to break a window,” I said and walked back to the door where we had heard Jeremy’s voice. There was a small window in the old stone wall. I picked up a stone from the ground, wrapped my jacket around my hand and hit the window. Nothing. Not even a scratch.
“This is a fortress,” I said. “Even without the men and guns.”
“Couldn’t you try to guess the code on the key lock?” Rachel asked.
“Who do you think I am? A psychic? A magician?”
“You’re smart, Nick. I thought you could think of something.”
“We could try the usual,” Martin said.
I entered 0 four times. A beep. A pause in the blinking. Another beep and the blinking resumed. Martin tried 1, 2, 3, 4. The same result. I tried 9, 8, 7, 6. A long beep and the blinking sped up and a red light started blinking on the bottom of the keypad.
“Oh my gosh, I hope we haven’t lit a fuse or something,” Rachel said. “Jeremy!”
“Rachel, Rachel, is this you?” We heard Jeremy from inside.
“Yes. I’m here, Jer. We’ve come to rescue you. Are you OK?”
“Please hurry! They are keeping me in the dark.”
“I don’t think we should try another code,” I said, looking at the rapidly blinking red light and the steadily blinking green light.
“Nick, you cannot give up!” Rachel yelled at me.
“Who said anything about giving up?”
“What’s your plan?”
“I don’t have one,” I admitted.
“Do something!” Rachel said.
“I may have an idea,” I said.
“What is it?” Pearl asked.
“I saw no supply lines when we drove here. This house is not connected to the public power grid, it seems.”
“Are you sure?” Martin asked, pointing at the blinking keypad.
“My guess is that they have a generator somewhere,” I said.
“What if it is in the house?” Rachel asked.
“I doubt it,” I said. “That would be very unusual.”
“I saw jerry cans on the backside of the barn,” Pearl said.
“That could mean they keep the generator in the barn.”
“Was the barn door locked?” I asked Pearl who had looked around the property.
“Yes. With a simple padlock. No keypad.”
“Let’s see if we can break in,” I said.
A faint whirr wafted through the air followed by a metallic click.
“Wait,” Martin said and grabbed my arm. “Look!”
The blinking red light on the keypad died first. Then the green one. Rachel pushed down the handle and the door swung open.
Jeremy stood in the frame blinking at the sudden light.
“I thought you had forgotten me,” he said and stepped into the sunlight.
“Do you think the FPA turned off the power because of your proof?” Martin asked.
“It’s possible,” I said.
Rachel hugged Jeremy.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“Sort of.” He let her go and combed through his hair with his hands. “They fed me tasty Italian food and they didn’t harm me physically, but they kept me in the dark twenty hours a day. That was … difficult.”
“How long did they keep you in there?” Martin asked.
“Oh, when they kidnapped me in Vienna, they drove me straight here. By the way, where are we?”
“In Italy, near Florence,” I said.
“Hence the Italian food,” Jeremy said. “Why did they all leave?”
“I gave them what they wanted, just not the way they wanted it.”
“Let me guess: You published the proof for everyone to see on the internet?”
“Yes. That’s precisely what I did.”
“What’s your plan?” Jeremy asked and looked at all of us. “I know there will be chaos and most modern conveniences will stop more or less abruptly. I assume you have a plan, Nick?”
“Not really.”
The End
Copyright by Ines Strohschein, Berlin 2023