2084 The End of Days (15 page)

“Hey! Dream boy – are we doin’ this thing tonight or what?”

The three men all jumped into the Land Rover and Duncan turned the smooth silent-running 4x4 and drove it purposefully down through Lagavulin, past the distillery at Laphraoig and on south to Port Ellen. They went past the modern European ROMANCE marina with the huge white yachts swaying and clinking in the swell and on down past the well-lit buildings of the Maltings, which ran a 24/7 operation to produce the malted barley for the unending whisky production and to fill the inexhaustible coffers of the Great God Money. At the end of Kilnaughton Bay the road passed the cemeteries and Ewan could see a low eerie mist roll in off the sea and over the darkened gravestones, but he thought that would not be any problem up on the Mull of Oa. Duncan lowered the gears as the Land Rover began the climb up onto the great large promontory that was the Oa peninsula. The snow was heavier here but the climb up through the Cragabus farmlands presented no problems for his powerful car. They had all been pretty silent since leaving Dunyveg but Duncan broke the impasse.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Ewan – and I trust that you are ready for what’s up there?”

“I hope so, Uncle Duncan.”

Ewan looked back from the front passenger seat to the gear on the back seat beside Gary and it made Ewan swallow hard as some acid rose into his throat. On top of Gary’s satchel containing his laptop and computing equipment there lay a pile of clear elasticated face-masks and two sterilised blue plastic hooded coveralls, the type used by police forensic scientists. When Ewan had phoned his Uncle Duncan about the possibility of getting into CORSAIR for a couple of hours on the Sunday night, he did not really have a firm plan as to how he could possibly pull it off. The Royal Observatory on the Oa was manned almost every night in the year and the astronomy staff knew Ewan well. However, he did not know how he could possibly convince them, without the proper authority that he needed to use the telescope for two hours for his own research. Duncan McNeilage provided the stroke of luck, in conjunction with tonight’s clear dark sky that gave Ewan the perfect opportunity.

After their marriage Duncan and Mary had lived in Blackpool for many years and Duncan worked as a big copper in the Lancashire Constabulary. When Duncan inherited his parents’ cottage in Portnahaven, he took early retirement from the police force and moved back to Islay. As luck would have it the Security Officer’s position at CORSAIR had become vacant and Duncan was easily the best candidate and he got the job, which was a real ‘cushy number’. Although there had been a great deal of local objection at the start of the controversial Observatory’s life on Oa, it actually blended into the environment extremely well and also enhanced the tourist attraction of the Oa itself. Duncan had an easy life keeping CORSAIR safe and secure. After passing Risabus farmstead they reached the new single track road sign posted
‘
HM Royal Observatory, Mull of Oa
’.
Ewan was pleased to see that the 5 centimetres of snow ahead covering the road was pure white and unblemished. Not another car or person had been up here tonight and, of course, Ewan knew why. CORSAIR was his to use as he pleased and Duncan had agreed to let him in on condition that he did not tell him what he was up to.

“Well, Ewan, just so long as it’s not illegal – I am an ex-cop you know.”

Ewan told his uncle a little white lie, maybe not as pure as the driven snow ahead.

“No, no, Uncle Duncan, it’s all above board!”

In two minutes Duncan had crunched the Land Rover up to his private car park spot next to the great white-domed building sitting only 20 yards or so from the sheer cliff edges of the Mull. It was like some Arabian mosque which had been mystically transported to Islay on a huge white Aladdin’s magic carpet. The three men got out of the Land Rover and all stared misty-eyed out to the glassy sea over four hundred feet below them. City boy Gary marvelled at the sight of the dark brooding cliffs which looked as if they had been sheared off in ancient times by some great all-powerful giant. He put his arm around Ewan’s shoulder and Gary felt a pulse of electricity race to his heart.

“My God, Ewan, what a magnificent view!”

“It is truly magical, Gary, I love it up here.”

Duncan McNeilage interrupted the star-crossed lovers’ sight-seeing.

“I can assure you that where you two are going, you’ll certainly not love it! Right, the pair of you get stripped and into those plastic suits and masks and I’ll open up.”

Duncan’s boots crunched over the frozen snow as he took out his key pass to open up the Observatory for Ewan and Gary. The two boys stripped down shivering in the freezing night air to their underpants and donned the coveralls and masks. Gary lifted all his computer equipment and the two of them followed Duncan over to the atrium of the Observatory. Duncan had already used the security key to open the door.

“In you go and don’t ask me to follow you. You know where everything is Ewan better than your old uncle. I’ll sit in the car and have a doss till you’ve finished.”

Gary was first to catch the smell before they had even entered the front door.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell, Duncan - that would give ya the boke!”

“Ah did tell you it was going to be bad. The sewage pipe outlet down the hill there to the septic tank is totally frozen – apparently, the bloody contractors put in the wrong type of piping. The staff toilets are totally blocked up to the gunnels and the place will need to be fumigated before they can open it up again for business…”

Ewan and Gary peered gingerly inside trying desperately to hold their breaths. Duncan gave them a gentle nudge in the back.

“Now don’t be scared boys! In ye go – and mind, Ewan, not a minute more than two hours. My head’s on the chopping block here and I was getting pelters from your Auntie Mary for allowing this.”

Ewan and Gary entered CORSAIR looking like two aliens from outer space entering new and uncharted territory. The smell of rotten excrement was absolutely horrendous and the two boys almost immediately started gagging and retching and baulking up bile. Ewan was beginning to think that he had not been so lucky tonight after all. He choked towards Gary who was in two minds whether to turn back.

“I’ll get the canopy doors open. The fresh air might help a bit, Gary.”

Gary looked up at the huge and magnificent looking reflector telescope with bated breath for more than one good reason.

“How long is it gonna take to position the telescope and get ma computer hooked into the download, Ewan?”

“About twenty minutes…”

“Well, thank fuck for that, ‘cos we’re outta here in twenty minutes!”

“No, Gary, - oh, Christ, that smell – no, we need the full two hours for me to be able to do my computations.”

“Yeah, well ah have a plan –“

Gary reached into his satchel with a grin on his face half-hidden by the clear mask. He pulled out a huge home-rigged piece of USB cable which must have been at least 50 metres long.

“Once you’ve set everything up, Ewan, we’re outta here and we’ll do the download sittin’ in the fuckin’ Land Rover.”

“Gary, Einstein would have been proud of you!”

Chapter 10

Earthdate: 01:24 Monday February 10, 2081 CST

T
he incessant clanking of steel cell doors kept Lex Kosloff awake. His head was spinning and his hands were trembling badly. Lex had not
touched alcohol since last Wednesday, or was it Thursday, and his body was beginning to rebel. His mind was also reeling at the speed of descent with which his life had so spectacularly crashed in the last few days. Detective Magruder’s words just kept thumping away in his brain over and over again.

“Alexander Kosloff. I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder in the first degree of your wife Marna Nilstrom Kosloff at or around 14.30 on Thursday February 6, 2081 in Fair Park, Dallas. You are not obliged to say anything, Mr Kosloff. You have the right to remain silent…”

Over and over again - Magruder kept on accusing him of – of murdering his beautiful wife Marna. Lex’s brain was exploding and he screamed out from his cell in the 3
rd
Precinct in Houston.

“N-O-O-O-O!!”

Another prisoner trying to sleep shouted down the corridor.

“Will ya shut the fuck up?”

For the last few hours Lex had been lying on the hard bunk and he had been trying to go over events again and again. He tried to make some sense out of it all. Did he kill Marna? Could he kill her? It just did not make any sense to him at all. He loved Marna and he had wanted her back. So what could have possessed him to kill his wife? He had to admit all the circumstantial evidence that Magruder and Madsen had presented, both to Lex and his lawyer looked damning. His lawyer Leo Cagliari felt that until Lex could think clearer and had some straight answers, then Lex should keep his mouth shut.

“At this time Detectives Magruder and Madsen, my client is pleading the Fifth –“

Lex almost drifted off in his cell and then there was another steely clank. The other prisoner down the corridor lost his rag again.

“Oh, for Christ sake – what’s a guy gotta do ta get some sleep in this shit-hole?”

Lex forced his thoughts back over the events and the evidence against him. He had agreed to let Magruder and Madsen have a look over his Robindale home. Lex felt that he had nothing to hide. He arrived home in a black and white driven by two uniformed Houston PD officers and the two detectives followed in an unmarked police car. Lex reminded himself again that he had nothing to hide. But when he opened his front door he was sorely embarrassed at the state of his living room. It had been trashed a hell of a lot worse than he remembered. Madsen was first to comment.

“Jeez, Kosloff, that’s some mess there. Ya must have a real bad temper, Lex?”

Lex stuttered back.

“Ah-ah c-can’t remember wh- what ha-happened here. It’s j-just not like me –“

The Houston PD detectives made him sit on his black recliner while they had a look around his trashed home. It was not too long before the black detective Madsen pulled up the small sheet of paper from under the sofa. He read it quickly, showed it to Magruder, and then he questioned Lex.

“What’s this, Lex?”

Kosloff looked at it slightly bewildered.

“It’s a note Marna wrote me when she left to go to Dallas –“

Madsen read it again and then he glared at Lex.

“It’s pretty damning stuff here, Kosloff?
Lex….you’re killing me!
Does that mean what ah think it means?”

Lex was indignant at the detective’s accusation as he watched Madsen bag the letter.

“That letter doesn’t mean nothin’, officer - Marna was angry at me and it’s all just talk –“

Magruder interrupted Lex.

“Okay, Lex, you said you kept a gun – an old Walther handgun. Can you show us it?”

Lex took Magruder through to the bedroom, which was in an equally trashed-up state and he went over to his bedside locker. He rummaged about in the untidy drawer and became increasingly agitated.

“S-sorry officer – ah-ah can’t seem to find it?”

Magruder called Madsen into the bedroom and Lex looked around to see the black detective holding up a second clear evidence bag. Magruder pointed to the bag.

“Mr Kosloff, does this Walther handgun look familiar? Ah may add that we have already checked the registration details.”

Lex agreed that it was almost certainly his missing Walther. Magruder spoke slowly and clearly.

“Mr Kosloff, ah have to inform you that this gun was found in bushes in Fair Park, Dallas, no more than twenty yards away from the body of your brutally murdered wife. Tests show that she was shot three times with this handgun. Do you have anything to say about that?”

Lex was struck dumb. He slumped down on the bed. After the officers had concluded their initial search they advised Lex that they were taking him back to the station for further questioning and advised him to call his lawyer, Leo Cagliari. Cagliari had spoken with his client prior to facing Magruder and Madsen again.

“Look, Lex, at the present time, it sure doesn’t look too good for you. The letter and the gun are pretty damning evidence. Apparently they’re gonna show that your prints are on the gun too, but considerin’ it’s your gun we can argue that ain’t no surprise. They’re also gonna argue you don’t have an alibi for the day and time of the murder and that you could easily have flown, or less likely, driven up to Dallas and then shot Marna.”

“Yeah, Leo, but what about the black pro’ that ah was with in Avondale on the Wednesday. We gotta find her, maybe she can vouch for me on the Thursday –“

“Well, do ya have a name?”

Lex looked blankly at Cagliari.

“Ah – ah can’t remember, but ah must a paid her…”

Cagliari looked back at Lex pensively.

“Yeah, well that’s the thing, Lex. The cops have examined your bank accounts and on the Wednesday you withdrew two hundred bucks cash from an ATM in Avondale…”

“That’s great, Leo, that would be money for drinks and to pay for the black chick!”

Leo did not seem to be as optimistic as Lex.

“You see, Lex. On the Thursday morning the cops state that you further withdrew one thousand dollars cash from your account at an ATM in George Bush Airport. Enough to pay for a cheap return flight. They are still checking through flight records and CCTV at all Houston and Dallas – Fort Worth Airports to see if you show up. All in all Lex, it looks pretty bad for you and when we go in to that interview room, ah’m havin’ you plead the Fifth meantime. That means ya keep your mouth shut!”

*

Earthdate: 08.50 Monday February 10, 2081 GMT

Mahmoud El Kharroubi walked into the buzzing Al Jazirah press office and hurried straight to his work station and powered up his desktop laptop. A head popped up over the top of the sound-proof baffle from the next work station. Mahmoud looked quizzically at fellow journalist Reema Ben Achara who was smiling down broadly at him.

“By the beard of Allah, Mahmoud - you certainly picked a fine weekend to go mountain-climbing in Skye. All hell has been let loose down here while you’ve been up in Scotland –“

Irritated by Reema’s interruption Mahmoud replied sarcastically.

“Yes, Reema, they do have television in Scotland you know. I saw it all on TV. I would have come back to cover the terrible event but we were snowed in at the Ardvasar Hotel. It was so bad we could not even go out climbing. So, all in all, it was a wasted weekend and it looks like I may even have missed the biggest story of the decade!”

“You know, of course, Mahmoud that you are going to get blamed for it!”

Mahmoud stabbed a dark look at Reema – did she know something? He slapped his palm on his chest and stuttered.

“Me–e–e!”

“Well, not you personally, Mahmoud – I mean you, me, all the Muslims. You wait and see, we’ll all get blamed for the bombing –“

“I know what you mean, Reema. A bomb goes off in Europe or in the USA and all of a sudden they are running around looking for Islamic extremists everywhere. No-one thinks of the IRA or ETA any more – just us Muslims. Look, I’ve a pile of emails that I haven’t caught up on because I was away. Do you mind, Reema?”

The Group had only just arrived back in Manchester at around 6.45am that morning. Although Khan had reluctantly joined them at dinner the previous evening he was still dark and brooding with a seething anger kept just below the surface. Mahmoud could not placate his Kuwaiti friend and Khan just sat eating and watching them all with his black hawkish eyes. After dinner and while Threlfall and Oliç were tied up through in the much busier bar, Khan turned to Mahmoud and spoke with a low determined voice.

“I need to get out of this stinking hole, Mahmoud. I want to go back to Manchester. Now!”

It was still only nine o’clock on Sunday evening and they were booked in until Monday morning. Mahmoud needed to be diplomatic but he needed to keep the Group tightly knit and Khan kept on a short leash. Mahmoud tried to reach out to him.

“Khan, my brother, none of us is particularly enjoying it here. Are we – my brothers?”

Hassan and the Mohammads shook their heads to indicate they were all in agreement. Khan started to tug at the leash.

“Well, Mahmoud, let us get to hell out of here?”

“Khan, you know that the plan is for us to stay here until Monday and make ourselves conspicuous and unforgettable. If we leave tonight we make ourselves look suspicious and arouse the interest of the infidel security services. We leave in the morning as we planned, as you planned?”

Undeterred in his anger, Khan snarled back.

“Well, Mahmoud - I don’t remember planning to get Aisha killed –“

Mahmoud saw the hooded cobra rising again in Khan and he knew that he needed to find some palatable compromise.

“Khan, this is not the time for us to fight about Aisha. Look, what if you settle the rooms and pay the bill with Threlfall tonight and you tell him that we need to start out before breakfast? We’ll leave at three thirty and be back in Manchester in three hours. How does that sound?”

Khan hesitated for a moment and thought to himself. The time to fight about Aisha may come again one day soon, my friend Mahmoud. Khan grunted in grudging accord.

“If that is your best offer, Mahmoud, then for the Group’s sake - I’ll take it.”

Khan settled the bill with Threlfall including the breakfasts that they would be doing without and then the five men all stayed in the bedrooms until they had to leave. Hassan agreed to swap with Khan for the double room 101 that he had enjoyed on his own and Hassan joined Mahmoud until half past three. They all travelled back in the dark in the Mercedes, taking the fastest air lanes straight down to Manchester. The plan was for the Group to split up six separate ways, including the Palestinian who had triggered the bomb, for two to three weeks and for them all to lie low until then. Mahmoud was glad that Khan would get a cooling off period and he hoped that he would come to recognise that Aisha’s sacrifice was for the best. After they all split, Mahmoud picked up his own air-car in Manchester and flew the relatively short distance to Bradford, to the northern office of Al Jazirah, where he now sat looking through his emails. Plenty of email traffic to look at from the Middle East offices on the bombing, ahem, the mission, Mahmoud thought. He saw one email address he did not recognise and opened it out of interest, actually more out of lazy disinterest. Probably junk mail, he thought.

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Cc: St Barts Internal List

Date: 15.55 Feb 7, 2081

Subject: Recent presentation on super-storage of Human DNA

Dear attendee,

Many thanks for your recent attendance at the presentation given by Dr Marcie Venters on the techniques and applications for the super-storage of Human DNA at St Bart’s Hospital on Wed. January 22, 2081. As St Bart’s is always looking for ways to improve its communication techniques to its customers in the field of medicine and within the media, we would ask if you could reply to this email address with any relevant comments that you may wish to make regarding this presentation. Your opinions will help us to improve the presentation skills of our staff in the future. In addition, a memory stick containing Dr Venters’ presentation went missing around the time of her presentation. If you come across it would you be so kind as to return it to my office. My tel. no. is 0207 999 5555 extn. 335.

Yours Sincerely,

Julia O’Rourke

Personal Assistant (Angela K Mortimer)

Mahmoud thought that it might be nice to vent his spleen at the woman he called the
‘Todesengel’
but he thought that he better not cause any friction in the current security climate. The Group needed to keep their heads down below the parapet. He still had loads of other emails to get through and he did not need this one. He was just about to press
‘
Delete’
when it struck him. Memory stick! By Allah, I had forgotten all about that. He reached down into the bottom of his case and fumbled around. No, maybe it has gone? No wait – here it is. He pulled it out and glanced surreptitiously around the office. Everyone was either too busy to bother with him or away at their various editorial meetings. Mahmoud had fifteen minutes before his first morning meeting so he thought he would just have another quick browse at the Jew doctor’s sickening presentation.

*

A couple of hours later that same morning Jill and Ruthie stood facing each other in the ladies’ restroom on the 8
th
floor of the Times office. Buckley had been mightily pleased with Jill and the other Times staff who had worked hard to get a great story out about the tragic, historic and horrendous events at Windsor. But, Buckley demanded that the whole team needed to knuckle down because the Times was going to have to be filled with each day’s developing events on this momentous story.