Pandora Phenomenon

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON by Don Lewis Wireman, Sr.

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON Copyright © 2008 by Don Wireman, Sr. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Produced by www.lulu.com Created in the United States of America

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To Winnie, Sonja, Don Jr. and Rita

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This is a fiction short story. The characters and locations are imaginary and are based on no real persons or locations.

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON

CYRIL MONTGOMERY WAS A tall, thin, elegant man—a sharp dresser. For the day, he'd selected an expensive dark blue suit with a white silk shirt and a classy handmade silk tie, the pattern on which was from a Chagall-like surrealistic painting. His highly polished alligator shoes reflected ever-changing segments of lines and flat planes from the skyscrapers that towered above him as he strolled with a snappy step down the sidewalk in front of a line of large display windows. As he looked into one of the windows, what he saw so astounded him that he stopped abruptly and stood staring through the window of the small, but expensive, art gallery called Casines. He didn't have to rely on his doctorate in art history and preservation from a renowned art school in Paris to recognize the work of the Dutch expressionism painter, Vincent Willem van Gogh. He wondered what a van Gogh painting was doing in such a small gallery. He entered the gallery and made his way directly to the painting, which hung on the back wall in a locked glass case, studied it closely for a few moments before the gallery owner approached him. The gallery owner could see that Montgomery was intensely interested in the painting. "May I be of assistance?" Montgomery didn't look away from the painting. "Is this a van Gogh?" "I certainly hope so—we're asking three million dollars for it." Montgomery absent-mindedly stroked his chin. "Can you open the case and let me take a closer look?"

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON Seeing the elegance of Montgomery's attire and how he handled himself, the owner said, "Yes, of course—I'll get the key." As Montgomery began to study the style and colors of the painting, the owner turned off the security feature, quickly returned with the key, opened the case. Montgomery carefully studied the layers of paint, texture, and circular strokes of brightly colored pigment. He saw that the painting, which was of a farm surrounded by a grain field, contained the exact emotional elements he suspected van Gogh would have felt as he'd painted it. There was no doubt that it was in van Gogh's exact style, yet in all of Montgomery's studies and work as a curator he had somehow not seen a reproduction of this particular painting. He found that to be strange indeed. Montgomery finally focused his attention at the gallery owner, a mousy little man in a cheap tan suit. "I have my doubts that this is an original van Gogh." The gallery owner's eyes became quite large. His face began to redden. "You have the nerve to doubt the authenticity of this painting?" "I have," Montgomery said. He removed a business card from his breast pocket, handed it to the gallery owner. The owner glanced at the card. "You're Dr. Cyril Montgomery— curator of the world famous Aro Museum of Art here in New York. A pleasure to meet you, I'm sure—now about the painting—" Montgomery's crisp voice cut the little man off short. "Where did you get it from?" The owner hesitated then said, "It would violate Casines' client relationship to divulge such information."

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON "I suggest you either disclose the source of the painting—or you'll be obliged to disclose same to the police. Do I make myself clear?" The owner suddenly lost his air of sophistication. "Okay—okay—I bought it from an art dealer in L.A. by the name of Winslow Freeman. But you have to believe me—it's a real van Gogh—I swear it is!" Montgomery ignored him, turned then began browsing through the gallery. The mousy owner quickly followed closely behind. Montgomery came upon a wall-mounted case of large reprints, began flipping through them, came to a reprint of a painting that was in Monet's exact style, but again, Montgomery could not remember ever having seen an image of that one before either. It was of a lily pond and clearly had Monet's magic worked into it. A magic that led the viewer to a quiet, peaceful world of subdued light. "Where did you purchase this one from?" The owner glanced at the title inscription plate in the corner of the reprint. "We purchased it from a publishing house in Chicago—Zender Arts. Don't tell me you think it's not a Monet." Montgomery didn't answer the question. "How much is it?" "It's on sale for $24.95." "I'll take it." The owner quickly located a prepackaged copy, handed it to Montgomery. Montgomery paid for it, left the gallery. Montgomery sat on a tall stool watching his assistant, Greta, examine the Monet reprint he'd bought, which was laid out flat on an art preservation table. "What do you make of it?" he asked. "As you know, Dr. Montgomery, to accurately reproduce an oil painting for print making, one passes a laser over the surface of the painting. The laser signals are then converted to digital signals. The digital 7

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON signals are then sent to an electronically-controlled press where extremely accurate reprints are created," she said, in her Swedish accent. "In this case, that is not what has happened. This reprint has been created completely by computer." "How can you tell?" Greta placed a piece of the reprint under the microscope in front of Montgomery, adjusted the focus, let him examine it. "What am I looking for?" Montgomery asked, fine-tuning the microscope. "If this reprint had been made by a press, you would occasionally see tiny splatters here and there around the dots where the microscopic particles of ink have been deposited. The rollers on a press are not perfectly round and it is possible for one side of the roller to put a little too much pressure on the ink as it comes into contact with the paper, causing it to splatter." "I see what you mean. These dots are completely clean—they should have splatter." "Ja, this print was made by a very good quality colored printer. Quite a large one, I'd guess—from the size of this reprint." "But—how could someone create a reprint of a Monet painting that never existed in the first place—a painting that Monet never actually painted?" "Ja—a very excellent question. I did not learn the answer to that one when I was studying for my Ph.D. at the university in Sweden." Montgomery stretched out on his favorite recliner in the living room of his high-rise luxury condo. He thought the ruby wine tasted excellent as he sipped it from a crystal glass. It was from a bottle of fine port a colleague 8

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON had recently gotten for him in London. He casually flipped through the channels on the large screen TV in front of him until he came to a news channel. The TV camera happened to be panning a crime scene in an artist's studio. The body of a murdered artist had been removed and a white sheet with the outline of a body had replaced it on the floor of the studio. Then, as the camera panned, Montgomery saw paintings hanging on the walls of the studio. Montgomery saw a half-finished one on the artist's easel. Suddenly, Montgomery set his wine glass down on the side table, sat up straight and studied the TV images of the paintings as best he could. The one on the easel was clearly an unfinished Seurat. "Forgeries!" Montgomery cried aloud. It had been raining and the sky was still overcast, creating a dismal gloom inside the police station. Montgomery felt a little damp as he made his way through the noisy room to the desk sergeant. "I'm Dr. Cyril Montgomery. I'm interested in the crime I saw on TV earlier this afternoon." "That would be the one where the artist was murdered, I take it," the desk sergeant said in a deep Irish brogue. "Lots of folks are interested in it. How can I be of help?" "I'm art curator for the Aro Museum of Art. I think I may be able to shed some light on the case. Whose in charge of it?" "That would be Detective Kenneth Martin." "Do I need an appointment to see him?" "Naw—he's in his office—straight down the hall. You'll see his shingle on his door."

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON Montgomery walked down the hallway, opened the door to Detective Martin's office—went in. Detective Martin, a large, serious-looking man, was behind his desk smoking a cigar, talking on the phone. Montgomery sat down in a chair in front of Martin's desk, waited. Martin studied Montgomery's face intently, until, at length, Martin hung up the phone. "What can you do for me?" Martin asked, taking a drink of water from a paper cup. "That's exactly what I came to see you about—what I can do for you! I'm Dr. Cyril Montgomery, curator of the Aro Museum of Art. You've probably heard of it." "Yes—as a matter of fact I have—but to be perfectly honest—I've never set foot in it." Montgomery smiled. "I'll get right to the point. I saw a newscast earlier today showing the studio where an artist was found murdered. I noticed that the paintings on the walls and the one on the artist's easel were apparent forgeries of famous master painters. The unfinished one on the easel was a Seurat if I'm not mistaken." "Really?—well it could be—it never occurred to me that it might be a forgery. I wouldn't know a Seurat if one bit me." "I find the case fascinating—art—a murdered artist. I would like to work with you on it—gratis, of course." Martin thought a moment. "Yes—forgery—there may be a motive there. The exact connection hasn't hit me yet—but there may be one. Yes—I'd appreciate your help. Yes—very much as a matter of fact." The murdered artist's studio was hot and damp. The sun had broken through the clouds and the air conditioner had been turned off.

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON Detective Martin glanced around the studio. "Don't touch anything just yet—we've made a sweep of the place, but you never know what forensic evidence there may be still waiting to be discovered." "I understand," Montgomery said.

"I can learn what I need to

know just from examining the paintings." He took a close look at the unfinished painting on the easel. "Yes—as I suspected—this is in the exact style of Georges Seurat. It's a forgery, of course, but a very excellent one." He went to a wall, began examining a painting of a cross with people kneeling under it. "Rembrandt would have wondered how someone else could have matched his style and his layers of yellows and browns so exactly. What was the name of the artist?" "Brian Cassello. He apparently lived here alone. There's nothing to indicate anyone else lived with him." "He's extremely skilled," Montgomery said as he walked along, near the wall, examining paintings.

"Cézanne—Holbein—Delacroix—

Manet—I'm very impressed. Only, one thing bothers me." "What's that?" "I'm almost positive that none of these paintings were created by the artists whose styles these works so perfectly reproduce," Montgomery said then noticed what appeared to be a stack of reproductions lying on a shelf, took a closer look at the one on top. "These are computer printouts, which have obviously been used as models by the artist to create the forgeries. With your permission, I'd like to take these to my laboratory at the museum and have my assistant examine them." "I have no problem with that—after they've been run by forensics, of course." "Of course," Montgomery said, stroking his chin.

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON In the museum laboratory, Greta and Montgomery began examining the computer printouts a police officer had dropped by earlier that morning. He and Greta compared the printouts from the murdered artist's gallery to the reprint Montgomery had purchased. Greta stopped looking through the microscope in front of her, turned to Montgomery. "There is no doubt that they were all created using the same computer." "The detail is extraordinary." "Ja—to print so many dots per inch—that would take a super computer and an excellent color printer. They were clearly not made by a desktop computer." "A super computer—like the one at the university, perhaps?" "Ja! I think so." Montgomery had called ahead, pretending to have an interest in graphic arts. The head of the university's art department, Dr. Osaka Percelli, had invited Montgomery and Greta to drop by for a tour. As Montgomery followed Dr. Percelli and Greta through the graphic arts section, he was impressed by how spacious it was. Dr. Percelli had selected a period, between classes for their tour, when few students were working on projects. Workstations with computer monitors and keyboards were neatly arranged along the walls. "Students sign up for time on the computer," Dr. Percelli explained. "By the computer—you mean the university's super computer?" Montgomery asked. "Yes—if a student has a project to warrant the use of it—otherwise they use a smaller, less expensive computer. Both computers are acces12

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON sible to all workstations. A special password is required to use the super computer." They worked their way from one workstation to the next, asking students questions about their projects. As they passed by an unused workstation, a printout that had been tossed in a wastepaper receptacle caught Greta's eye. She reached down, picked it up, examined it carefully then passed it to Montgomery. He immediately recognized it as being what they were looking for. "I see you've found something of interest," Dr. Percelli said. "Yes," Montgomery said, "I haven't been completely candid with you Doctor. There's a reason why we're interested in this particular printout. Is there somewhere the three of us can talk privately?" "Yes—of course—let's go to my office." Dr. Percelli's office was cramped. Books and documents lined the walls. He offered Montgomery and Greta chairs. "No—this will only take a few moments," Montgomery said. "It's just that I couldn't discuss it in front of the students." "It sounds mysterious," Dr. Percelli said. "It concerns the murder of an artist. You may have seen something about it on the news," Montgomery said. "Yes, now that you mention it—I did see something—yesterday, I believe." "I've been working with the police on the case. The paintings he was creating in his studio were forgeries—made using computer printouts as models. Computer printouts that were made here." Dr. Percelli's face paled. "Here? Are you sure?"

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON Montgomery laid the printout on Dr. Percelli's desk, Greta had retrieved from the receptacle. "Someone has been selling printouts—as authentic reprints—that were made here at the university." "I still don't see the problem," Dr. Percelli said. "There's a connection between the printouts—like this one," Montgomery said, tapping the printout with his finger, "and the murder of the artist, Brian Cassello. This printout is in the exact style of Edgar Degas— yet—I am very familiar with the works of Degas—and I've never seen the painting or a reprint of the painting this printout represents." "Neither have I," Dr. Percelli agreed, taking a closer look at the printout. This printout was made from the super computer." Greta gave Montgomery a knowing look. "Is there a log of students who use the super computer?" Montgomery asked. Dr. Percelli sat down at his desk and brought up a list of students on the monitor who had accessed the super computer. Pressed a key, and in seconds, a printout of the list on the monitor came out of the printer. "Here's a list of all of the students who've used the super computer in the last year. Unfortunately, for your investigation, it does not show what workstation the student was working at, at the time he or she used the super computer—but it does show the time—if that's of importance." "In that case, would it be agreeable to you if Greta were to work at a workstation next to where she found this printout?" Montgomery asked. "Yes, of course, we're always happy to work with the police." "Well—we're not police, exactly," Greta said.

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON "I know—but you are representing them in this case," Dr. Percelli assured her. Since the graphics section was open to students around the clock, Greta staked it out for three days, selecting various periods of the twenty-four hour cycles to check on the workstation where she'd found the printout. In the wee hours of the morning of the third day a young man, in his early twenties, she surmised, sat down at the computer workstation next to where she was making a good show of creating a graphic design. The young man immediately went to work, loaded a program into the computer from a solid state storage cartridge, accessed the super computer. Soon Greta saw beautiful graphic images appear on the computer monitor in front of him. He selected an image, said hmm a few times while he studied it, jotted down something on a paper in front of him. Greta noticed that the monitor in front of him skipped frames and stopped at an entirely different image, which the young man again studied and so forth. He jotted down something each time he saw an image he apparently liked. She noticed that he narrowed his viewing to a range of similar images—yes, she was sure of it—images that were in the exact style of the French painter Maurice Utrillo—but so many images! Hundreds—perhaps thousands of images in Utrillo's exact style appeared on the large monitor's screen—slowly changing composition—but always keeping one thing in common—their Utrillo style. Greta knew she'd found her man. She made a mental note of the time. Her digital watch showed—3:42 a.m. "That's a neat image," she said. "How did you make that?" The young man, who had a braid running down his back, ignored her. 15

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON She tried again.

"I've been working on this design for three

hours—I can't seem to get it right." He turned to her for a second then back to his monitor. "Mind your own business—I have work to do," he grunted. "I have to make five hundred copies of this." For show, she printed out the design on her monitor, logged off of the computer, left the building. The young man whom Greta had nailed was quickly identified as having accessed the super computer at 3:42 a.m. His name was Randy Karfield. He sat across a table from Montgomery, Greta, Dr. Percelli, and Detective Martin, in an interrogation room at the police station. "Some of your handiwork—in the form of printouts—were found in the studio of the artist—Brian Cassello—who was murdered there a week ago Thursday. Brian Cassello was using the printouts as models to paint forgeries of paintings of famous artists," Detective Martin said. "He could have gotten printouts from anywhere," Karfield replied. "On the contrary—he could have only gotten them from the super computer at the university," Dr. Percelli interjected. "Each printer has a unique signature—it prints slightly different from every other printer." "And besides—your fingerprints are all over the printouts found in the studio," Detective Martin added. "I want a lawyer," Karfield sniveled. "You are entitled to a lawyer," Detective Martin said, "but as is obvious to you—the four of us can testify against you and you'll be convicted of the murder of Brian Cassello. There is no doubt about that whatso-

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON ever. On the other hand, I'm in a position to offer you a reduced sentence if you confess to the murder and tell us how—and why." Karfield's oily tan skin glistened in the intense light coming from the ceiling as he fidgeted in his chair. "Okay—okay! Cassello and I had this sweet setup going—until he blew it! I made printouts for him to use as models so he could create paintings from them. He created the paintings and we sold them all over the world. The money was great—we made millions. Then he got greedy—tried to blackmail me." "How did he do that?" Detective Martin asked. "Our original deal was that we each get fifty percent from the sale of the paintings—that's where the lion's share of our money came from— the sale of the paintings. One day he said I had to give him ninety percent—or he'd go to the police," Karfield said. "But if he went to the police—he'd be arrested, too," Greta pointed out. "Not the way he planned it. He'd put millions into accounts in the Cayman Islands—said if I didn't give him ninety percent of the sale of the paintings he'd destroy all the evidence, leave the police a note—and leave the country," Karfield whined.

"I went to his studio—to try to

change his mind." "A week ago last Thursday?" Detective Martin asked. "Yeah—I guess that's when it was." "Go on," Detective Martin said. "He was sitting at his easel—painting a Seurat," Karfield said. "I asked him to reconsider—to stay with the fifty-fifty split." "What did he say?" Greta asked.

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THE PANDORA PHENOMENON "He told me where to go," Karfield said. "I became enraged at his greed. I grabbed his paint cloth. Before he knew what was going on—I had it wrapped around his scrawny little neck—strangled him." Everyone remained silent for a moment then Montgomery asked, "Your computer program—did you write it yourself?" "Yes—I call it the Pandora program." "Why do you call it that?" Greta asked. "After I created it—I discovered that, like the legendary Pandora's box—it could create both good things—and evil things—and on a very large scale. That's why I called it the Pandora program," Karfield explained. "How did you create all those magnificent printouts of art in the exact styles of many famous artists?" Montgomery asked. "I didn't actually have to create anything. The first time I ran the program—which is just a simple program really—based on the mathematics of combinations. I had no idea what it would create. Anyway, the first time I started running it—I fed it the alphabet—it began creating words— then sentences—then paragraphs—then entire documents. You see—if I had let it run long enough it would have eventually created everything that has ever been written in any language that uses the alphabet—and everything that has never been written yet in those languages, also." "So—somewhere in the document file that the Pandora program created—there might be a copy of the e-mail I wrote to my sister last week?" Greta asked. "If the program is allowed to run long enough—until it creates that particular document—yes—it has no choice—it will eventually create every document. Different documents are just different combinations of words." 18

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON "And printouts of different paintings are just different combinations of colored dots," Montgomery suggested. "Exactly," Karfield said. "I used the same kind of program to create the images of paintings that could have been painted by famous artists—because I knew they'd bring a lot of money on the market." "So—instead of just selling the printouts as though they were reprints—you decided to work a deal with Cassello to actually create paintings from your printouts?" Detective Martin asked. "Yes," Karfield said. "So—this program of yours—this Pandora program—it creates images of everything?" Greta asked. "Yes. Like its counterpart that creates all documents—it creates all images." "Let me understand this completely," Montgomery said. The Pandora image program starts out with one black dot and places it in position one on the monitor—then in the next frame it places one black dot in position two on the monitor—and no more dots anywhere on the screen and so forth." "Yes—then adds another dot and so forth. In that way it eventually uses millions of colored dots to create every image that is possible to be created," Karfield said. "That's amazing," Montgomery said. "If the entire file could be created—it would contain every image in the universe—images that could only be found in the star system Alpha Centauri—or on Mars—or every photograph that could possibly be taken of anything—pornography and all." "And the file can be searched. That's how I found the images in the styles of famous artist's paintings. One night I happened on a Rem19

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON brandt on the file. I got a copy of it from the library just to make sure it was the exact same image. Then on a different location on the file—I found another Rembrandt—then I looked on the file between the two Rembrandts and there were thousands of images in Rembrandt's style. That's when I got the idea to have someone paint from the images." "So—you never reproduced an actual painting that an artist had really created?" Montgomery asked. "No—never." "It's not forgery to do what you did, then," Montgomery said. "No—if someone decides that a painting that looks like a Rembrandt—is a Rembrandt—that's not my fault." "That's quite true," Greta agreed. "And—there's more," Karfield said. The four had been completely astounded by Karfield's revelations, were eager to learn more. All four minds were beginning to form the same thought. "The third part of the program creates all music—in the same way that it creates all writing and all images," Karfield said. "And those three versions of the Pandora program are all on this little cartridge?" Dr. Percelli asked, laying a data storage cartridge on the table that Detective Martin had collected from Karfield's apartment, as evidence. "That's mine!" Karfield cried. "It was yours," Detective Martin corrected. "Now it's evidence." Karfield reached out to pick up the cartridge. Dr. Percelli picked it up before Karfield could touch it. "Sit back down," Detective Martin said to Karfield. Karfield reluctantly sat back in his chair. 20

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON "Here's the deal. Since the five of us in this room are the only ones who know what really happened—and since nobody in the world would ever believe such a preposterous story as the one you just told— the four of us hold all the high cards," Detective Martin said. Karfield was clearly beginning to get nervous.

"What do you

mean?" "He means," Dr. Percelli said, "without this cartridge—a court could never develop a motive to convict you of the murder of Brian Cassello." "So—what you're saying—is that I either give you the cartridge— or go to jail—maybe to death row!" "You have an excellent perception of the situation," Montgomery said. Montgomery, Greta, Dr. Percelli and Detective Martin sat having a Chinese lunch at a table in the magnificent pavilion on a marble deck in front of a high-rise building. "A little more champagne?" Montgomery asked Greta. "I don't mind if I do. I was just thinking—what if Karfield decides to talk?" "Who's going to believe him?" Detective Martin asked. "I do have another concern, however," Dr. Percelli said, nibbling an egg roll. "On a beautiful day like this?" Greta said. "Whatever is it?" "Do we really need to build the seven new high rises we have under construction—in addition to that one in front of us with Pandora Corporation in tall letters on the front of it?" They all laughed. 21

THE PANDORA PHENOMENON Montgomery raised his champagne glass in a toast. "To our Pandora Corporation!" The other three cheered, raised their glasses. "To our Pandora Corporation!" The End

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