Prologue

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Algorithm has been published as a novel of two Books: The Medallion and The Makers. The first book, The Medallion, is presented herein for your reading pleasure. 

Enjoy!

Abu Abdullah Muhammad ibn Musa Al-Khwarizmi (750-850 CE) was a Persian scholar in the House of Wisdom, Baghdad. He was an extraordinary scientist, astronomer and mathematician, who introduced the concept of decimals and is considered the Father of Algebra. The European Latin translation of his name evolved into the term, "algorithm," which in modern day parlance is equivalent to a computer program—a set of instructions carried out by a machine for a definite purpose.

Prologue

Independence Park, Newark, NJ  August, 1979

"I'm ready when you are."

Adam's grip tightened about the partially unraveled friction tape wound about the handle of his Louisville slugger. Tossing back a shock of dirty blond hair, he sucked in his breath and eased his thirteen-year old body back in eager expectation.

"Here it comes ya lil' squirt," bellowed the pitcher as he wound up.

The ball flew down the middle, and when Adam struck it, he heard the crack echo off the dense wall of chestnut trees surrounding the field. The ball scaled the foliage, and for a moment looked like it would continue on into legend. However, the laws of physics, in particular those describing the unyielding effects of gravity, took over.

Elation shifted to terror as cars trundled through the landing zone. To Adam's relief, a distant 'thunk' announced the ball's contact with the street, however the respite was short-lived, for the next sound was that of glass breaking. All on the field scattered in every direction but toward the ball's unfortunate crash site.

The pitcher ran to Adam, yanked the bat out of his hands, and slowed long enough to ask, "Wattaya standin' there for?" before taking off toward the nearest park entrance.

Adam jogged to a side entrance where he slowed to a walk.

I just bought that ball.

He kept to the sidewalk skirting the ballpark, all the while casting surreptitious glances at each three-story apartment building across the street. When he reached the house next to his own, he crossed over. To the left of the wooden stairs leading to the first floor entrance something grabbed his attention. It was the basement window, or where the window should have been. A few daggers of glass remained in the opening, framing the darkness within like the gaping mouth of a sharp-toothed ogre. Adam moved past the gruesome specter, trying to remain casual.  Maybe the break went unnoticed.

Like his own house, access to the basement took the form of an inside entry next to the backdoor. He reached it in seconds, pulled at the handle. It creaked open to reveal a wooden staircase. He inched his way down, careful to step to the side of each tread to avoid the squeal of loose boards.

When he reached the bottom, he peered down the length of the basement toward the front of the house. The darkness felt grim and the cold air licked at the back of his neck. The light from the stairs faded as Adam crept forward, groping for a switch or a dangling chain. Bumping into musty carton boxes and storage crates, he crept farther into the gloom. He paused when he heard footsteps above, muffled conversation, or the sound of water gurgling through pipes. When his outstretched hands touched a metal post, he craned his head to the side and focused on the dim outline of the broken window.  Hazy light streamed in from above and outlined a darkly smeared coal bin. As he neared the coal bin and he needed to look no further. The ball sat atop a mound of dusty anthracite.

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