2084 The End of Days (5 page)

“It’s me, it’s Khan. I’m still at this latest meeting in Manchester. We’re just taking a short coffee break. I can’t speak for long –“

“It’s bloody late for a meeting, Khan. I thought you were coming back tonight?”

“I can’t, Jill. This property deal is busting my balls up here. But, I think
I’ve just about got it cracked –“

Jill’s fraught nerves made her feel irritable and snappy and she also felt a little nauseous again. In fact, she was beginning to worry that there was something medically amiss with her body lately. But then, she told herself, it all comes back to that niggling bloody text message from Khan.

“What do mean you can’t come home tonight? You promised you’d be back!”

Khan tried hard not to raise his voice. The other guys in the room who had been chatting over coffee were starting to pay attention to the rising irritation in his voice.

“Jill, baby, this is a twenty million pound deal and it has been hanging in the balance for weeks. I’m getting real close to closing this one down –“

Jill lost her temper and snapped down the phone at him.

“I’ll tell you what’s hanging in the balance, Khan! You’re wanderlust cock and our bloody relationship – that’s what! You’re going to be staying with that fuckin’ bitch you’ve got up there, aren’t you?”

Khan gritted his teeth and hissed back.

“God, Jill, I’ve already told you there’s no-one else. It’s only you – only you, love. Look, they’re calling me back to the table. I’ve got to go, my sweet baby. I’ll phone you tomorrow…”

Khan quickly finished the call before Jill could respond. He crossed back over to where the meeting table was across the room and sat down with the others who had now finished their coffees and had been waiting for him. The six men were all of various Middle Eastern origins, like Khan, who was himself a Muslim Kuwaiti-born Arab. His Jordanian friend spoke first.

“She is beginning to be a problem, Khan, my friend –“

“Look, Mahmoud, I can handle it. She doesn’t suspect a thing about what our Group is doing. She only thinks I’m screwing around.”

Mahmoud El Kharroubi, the Al Jazirah journalist, who had known Khan
al Ahmed since their university days in Cairo, wagged his finger at his old comrade.

“Yes, but, in the name of Allah, you
are
screwing around, my friend!”

Khan snapped his arms out with his palms spread open in a revelatory motion to the whole Group. This was the only name that they had agreed to go by when meeting, but secretly they were part of the wider Brotherhood of Jihad. Although, what Khan blurted out was no great revelation. The Group all knew what he was
involved in as it was related to the Group’s mission.

“That is not the same thing as Jill! I am doing that with the other woman for the cause of Islam. Aisha al-Gazari is our portal to the path we seek
to follow in order to help our brothers in the LOIN to destroy the infidel scum.”

One of the others, a bearded thuggish swarthy-looking man, known only to the group as the Palestinian, spat an oath back at Khan.

“That bloody white journalist is the infidel scum!”

Khan jumped out his chair knocking it reeling backwards and clenched a fist at the scowling Palestinian.

“Take that back, you bastard! I have feelings for that girl –“

The Palestinian also made a half-hearted threat to rise from his seat but Mahmoud El Kharroubi stood slowly and upraised pacifying outstretched arms to each of the two men glowering darkly at each other.

“Brothers – brothers - Allah
will
be gratified to see that we are spending the cause fighting each other - rather than directing all our venom at our enemies in the West. Please, sit my brother Khan?”

Khan slowly pulled his chair back in to the table and sat down again throwing an apologetic gesture with his slightly raised palm across to the Palestinian. The Palestinian gave a slight nod in grudged acceptance. El Kharroubi continued.

“Khan – you have got to accept, my brother, that this arousal of Jill Geeson’s suspicions, albeit somewhat misdirected, is dangerous for our Mission here in the UK.”

Khan made to interject but Mahmoud stopped him with a quick raise of his hand.

“Listen, Khan, I am a journalist by trade, so I know what I’m talking about. Jill - she is an investigative journalist. If she really wanted to, how long do you think it would take her to find out things about you, find out things about our Group? I have made discreet enquiries myself. I admit behind your back, my brother, for which I apologize. My journalist friends tell me that she is like a ferret in a rabbit warren. She will dig and dig until she sinks her teeth into the jugular of a story that she is pursuing. She would not necessarily be looking for us, but inadvertently she could stumble across us. And then –“

Khan looked aghast at El Kharroubi and stuttered over his words.

“And – then – wha – at!”

Mahmoud did not get a chance to answer. The Palestinian answered for him in a low and deadly hiss.

“And then she would have to be eliminated!”

Back in her small kitchen the microwave oven pinged too loudly in readiness. Jill had been crying since Khan had hung up on her and by now her head was throbbing mercilessly. She went over and slipped the piping hot TV dinner onto a plate. As she peeled back the pierced film on top of the carton a blast of boiling steam burnt her fingers. Jill cried out in pain. She reacted instantly by picking up the plate and smashing the dinner into the kitchen sink. She burst into tears again, sobbing over the sink. Then she vomited. Oh God, Jill thought, what is up with me? Just then her mobile rang and she grabbed it, still half-sobbing into the mouthpiece.

“Khan, you bastard -”

A startled voice spoke back to her.

“Jill?”

“Sorry, eh, who is this?”

“It’s Ewan Sinclair, Jill.”

“Oh, fuck off, Ewan! Not now -”

Jill hung up on her fellow Scottish ex and switched her mobile off. She could not face any more calls tonight.

*

Across London, in their more upmarket townhouse in Chelsea, practically in über-posh West Kensington, the Venters family had begun to clear up the dishes after a satisfying dinner of homemade kosher ground beef meatloaf in puff pastry, spiced red cabbage and mashed potatoes. Ruthie’s father Rolf had an important paper for an upcoming gynaecological conference in Paris to work through and he needed some peace and quiet time. So Ruthie and her mother Marcie took everything through to the stylishly outfitted
designer kitchen to load up the computerised dishwasher and generally tidy
up.

“Mmm! Momma, that meal was just so delicious.”

Marcie gave Ruthie a warm motherly hug.

“Thank you, bubba. I knew you would like me to make your old Grandma Bloom’s favourite recipe.”

They continued to busy about the kitchen clearing up.

“So, Ruthie, you say things are better at work these last few days?”

Ruthie gushed happily.

“Oh, Momma, it’s been fantastic! Jill has been pushing some great work my way and I’ve been working real hard on some juicy stories. Of course, I can’t tell you about them – sworn to secrecy and all that - until they hit the press. Jill has even promised I’ll get a by-line on a couple of the smaller articles.”

Marcie ruffled her daughter’s long dark glossy black hair and gazed lovingly into Ruthie’s brown liquid excited eyes.

“That is fantastic. You seem to be so much happier about it. I’m sorry again, Ruthie, for rubbing you up the wrong way about your new career. Little bubba’s gotta find her own path in life and you are doing it really well. I’m so proud of you!”

Ruthie hugged her mother back and exhaled a little shriek of excitement.

“Thanks, Momma. You and papa have been so great and I just want to make you proud. Funny thing is, I’m not sure what changed things with Jill. Although, I believe from one of the other girls in the office that Jill probably got a bit of a rollicking from Mr Buckley.”

Marcie hesitated, not wanting to spoil the moment.

“We-ell –“

Ruthie looked quizzically at her mother.

“Well what, Mom?”

“Well, er, maybe I asked your papa to have a quiet little word with your boss, Mr Buckley. They were playing golf last Saturday and I just said, Rolf...”

“Aw, Momma - I want to do this myself!”

“Look, what you gonna do, huh? You gonna push the rock to the top of the mountain all by yourself? Sometimes you need a little hand, baby.”

“Okay, Mom, but you’ve got to let me go my own way from now on.”

Marcie tweaked her daughter’s nose playfully.

“Sure, baby.”

They had finished loading the dishwasher and clearing up the worktops and Ruthie turned to head up to her room to chill out. Marcie called her
back.

“Ruthie, have you seen my red-coloured memory stick lying about anywhere?”

“Nope - sorry, Momma - I’ll look out for it though.”

Damn, thought Marcie, I haven’t seen that darn thing since that God awful presentation.

Chapter 4

Earthdate: 08:36 Wednesday February 5, 2081 GMT

E
wan Sinclair and Gary Mackintosh walked briskly out of Kings Cross Station and along Euston Road, both of them nervously glancing around. They should not have been so nervous. However, their fear was primal and instinctive. Gary had assured Ewan that their hacking incursion into the E2MSN network, as far as he could possibly ascertain, remained completely undetected by NASA HQ. Furthermore, Gary, using his consummate computing skills had set up his hack through more than a dozen computers spread across the globe, totally unknown and unseen by their computer owners, with a level of encryption that would take Alan Turing weeks to crack, never mind the NASA boys. If NASA cottoned on to them they would be more likely to think the hackers were in Lagos or Lima than in London. Ewan just prayed Gary was right.

Only a few minutes ago, they had alighted from the 5.30am red-eye Superliner train from Edinburgh Waverley, which had cruised down the newly upgraded East Coast High Speed Line in just under three hours. Four hundred miles and only five minutes late. They walked on past St Pancras Station and the British Library and continued towards Euston Station. The two friends did not speak as they nervously walked along clutching their satchels, which they had slung over their shoulders. Instead they surveyed the peak hour traffic building up in central London as they strode purposefully along. Traffic was mainly electric powered buses, trucks, vans and black taxis at street level and, above the tall buildings, streams of air-cars zooming purposefully towards their place of work. Now and then they were curious to see the odd old petrol-driven or hybrid car running along Euston Road. Most of them were actually collector’s classics, almost too expensive to run these days. By about 2040 the price of oil had become so prohibitive that by then almost all new vehicles were fitted with super-efficient electric engines. This also had the effect of strangling the Middle East’s most powerful, and in particular the LOIN’s, most powerful economic weapon – crude oil. The dramatic fall in the demand for crude had also paradoxically helped to contribute to the long uneasy peace between the LOIN and the West. Basically, this had led to the stranglehold of the OPEC cartel totally collapsing and vastly diminishing the economic muscle of Iran and Iraq. This brought about the demise of the internal combustion engine and the end of the suffocating rise in surface-level traffic. The traffic jams had almost brought the great Western cities to a state of virtual gridlock. It also led to the invention of the air-car in 2052 and the subsequent development of the sky-level traffic flows.

Ewan turned his thoughts to their impending meeting as he tried to keep up with Gary’s quickening pace. Gary was excited, even in his nervousness, because he was planning the upcoming financial negotiation in his head. If truth be told he was actually planning how he was going to spend the cash. On the other hand, Ewan was apprehensive. He was trying to formulate the right words to put to Jill. Especially after the way she cut him off on the phone a few nights ago. Fortunately for Ewan, Jill had returned his call the following day and apologised for her outburst. She told Ewan that she thought it had been her boyfriend Khan calling her back. Ewan did not question Jill further, but he had thought that maybe she and Khan were going through a bad patch. Ewan wondered if there was still a half chance of him and Jill getting back together. They had enjoyed a short fling together when Jill was still working at the Glasgow Herald, although she had finished their relationship just before she got the job at the Times in London. Ewan had only met Khan al Ahmed once, at a party when Jill had invited him down from Edinburgh to her flat-warming at Kew. From the initial invite Ewan had misconstrued that he and Jill might have a chance of getting back together. When he arrived at the party, Jill immediately introduced Khan and Ewan took an instant and abiding dislike to the Arab. However, Ewan had to admit that Jill, with her long-blond hair, sparkling blue eyes and classic Nordic features, and Khan, tall, dark and swarthy with a powerfully-framed physique, looked a striking and handsome couple. Ewan thought he could never compete with someone like Khan and he told himself that getting back with Jill was a forlorn hope.

Ewan and Gary arrived just outside Euston Station. Gary pointed to the large three-storey block that had been built on the square in front of the station terminal building called the Euston iCafé.

“Is that the place, Ewan?”

“Yes, she said to meet her on the first floor.”

They entered the huge iCafé which was extremely busy already, even at this early hour, and they scaled the stairs to the first floor. Jill was busy checking her inbox on her laptop, so she did not see the Scottish duo enter the first floor café. Gary spotted her first and he dug his elbow into Ewan’s side and indicated where she was sitting with a knowing nod of his head. Gary whispered an aside to his friend.

“Pssst! There’s Jill over there. By the way, she still looks absolutely fuckin’ gorgeous. How did you manage to let her get away?”

“Och, leave it out, Gary!”

Ewan and Gary sidled through the busy tables, trying hard not to accidentally knock coffee cups over onto the dozens of users’ laptops and iTabs as they squeezed past. Jill, who had by then spotted them, stood up and gave them a hesitant wave. Ewan smiled back and thought that she did indeed still look drop-dead gorgeous, but she also had a tired strained look on her face. They all said their hellos and Jill gave Ewan a kiss on the side of his mouth. He knew it was just a platonic greeting from an old friend but the kiss sent a pang of emotion shooting straight to his heart. How did he manage to let her get away? Gary went up to the counter to order black coffees for him and Ewan and a fresh latte for Jill. Jill and Ewan sat and exchanged pleasantries while they waited.

“It’s good to see you, Ewan. It’s been a while. I’m really sorry I swore at you the other night. As I said – I thought you were Khan. We’d been having a tiff on the phone.”

“No worries, Jill. Just glad you phoned me back.”

“So what’re you doing with yourself, then? Are you the big-shot astronomer now?”

Ewan’s eyes dropped momentarily to his lap.

“No! I’m nothing like that. The jobs market in the UK for a recently graduated Doctor in Astronomy and Astrophysics is totally zip at the moment. I’m doing some part-time paid research work in Space Science on a post-grad basis at Edinburgh Uni. But, I’m afraid to say it’s mainly casual work in the World’s End pub that’s keeping the wolf from the door. Look at you, though - you’re looking great, Jill -”

“I dunno, Ewan – I’ve been feeling like shit recently.”

“You and Khan…?”

Ewan stopped himself and let the question hang. Jill shook her head.

“No, no. Well, not just that. Ach, you know what London’s like. It’s just so much more stressful than Glasgow or Edinburgh. Y’know – the job,
relationships, traffic, even the bloody trains have been doin’ my nut in lately.”

Gary arrived back with the coffees and he set them down on the table.

“Ah’ve no’ interrupted a wee tête-à-tête, have ah?”

Ewan groaned to the heavens.

“Aw, Christ sake, Gaz. Sit down and zip it!”

Jill smiled genuinely amused. She had never fancied Gary Mackintosh, even when they were at Glasgow High School together, but he always knew how to lighten even the most serious of situations. Jill sipped her latte savouring the creamy coffee flavour, then spoke.

“Right, boys, what is the pressing matter that has brought you down to London to see me – one that you couldn’t talk about on the blower?”

Gary held up his palm and stopped the conversation with some of his usual toilet humour.“Gentlemen be seated and let the matter drop. Before we start – first things first…”

Gary put his upraised index finger to his lips to indicate that he required silence. Jill was amused but slightly confused by this cloak and dagger performance. He took out his laptop from his satchel and hooked it up to the café’s power socket and Wi-Fi internet connection. He gave a voice activation command to the computer.

“Run - Prog - Blood - Hound –“

Jill was now completely bamboozled.

“What are you on about Gary?”

Gary suspended his palm in the air momentarily.

“Hold on. Wait a wee sec. Right, that’s it operational. I’ve just activated a piece of software that is scanning the immediate area for any electronic bugging devices that might be listening in. If it detects any then it just fuckin’ blocks out the reception and garbles anything that we might say to each other. Ta, da!”

Jill shot a quizzical glance at Ewan.

“Ewan, what in hell’s name’s goin’ on here?”

Ewan looked nervously around the room but Gary butted in first.

“Eh, before Ewan does his spiel, Jill, ah just want to say that we did not just rattle down to London for a birl on the London Eye and catch up wi’ old friends. What you are about to hear is priceless. In fact, Jill, ah take that back – what you are about to hear has its price, if you know what ah mean?”

“Look, guys, I’m in the press business so don’t try and teach your granny to suck eggs. If you have a genuine story then I am prepared to discuss a price with my boss. The final say lies with him.”

Although, fat chance of a big pay out, Jill thought. Buckley was as tight as a duck’s arse when it came to paying for any story never mind an exclusive. Ewan spoke up at last.

“Gary, let me tell Jill what we have come down for, okay?”

“Okay – but, Jill – you get nothin’ for nothin’!”

Ewan waved his hand agitatedly for Gary to shut up.

“Jill, we’re here to see you because something has come into our hands - information - which has potentially global ramifications. And I’m talking global, Jill –“

“I’m listening…”

“Well, the first thing that came into our possession was an email from a high-ranking Israeli astrophysicist. He is working on a joint US – Israeli deep space astronomy project…“

“Do you mean Nimrod?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Boys, what kind a journalist do you think I am - a buckin’ Mickey Mouse one?”

“Sorry, Jill - yes, it is the Nimrod Star Hunter 2 programme. Well, for some unknown reason this guy in Tel Aviv punched in some erroneous digits and he sent the telescope spinning to view the wrong part of space. Shall we say inner-space rather than deep-space? A very costly budget mistake on his part…”

Jill looked at Ewan contemplatively.

“Do you have the email?”

Gary interrupted again.

“Course we do – but that comes along with the money!”

Ewan was irritated.

“Gary, let me do the talking. We can trust Jill totally on this. As Gary said, we do have the email. I wasn’t so sure if there was enough collateral in the email for you to make a story out of it. However, Gary’s view is that - because the Yanks are so intertwined with the Israelis, not just on this SH2 project,
but economically, politically and defensively – then if a screw-up like this could happen on this guy’s watch, who’s to say the same thing couldn’t happen in some Israeli Nuclear bunker? What with the Israelis sitting nuke to nuke across the fence from the LOIN and the US having played it softly-softly all these years to maintain the peace in the Middle East? You know what I’m saying or is that just a load of old tosh?”

Jill pursed her lips thoughtfully and looked at Gary.

“No, not really, I think Gary’s got a point. There are the bones of a story in there…”

Gary was triumphant.

“See, ah told ye Ewan!”

Jill continued.

“But Ewan, you said that was just the first thing?”

Gary nudged Ewan excitedly. He also quickly glanced at his monitor. The Bloodhound programme still showed all clear.

“Tell her, Ewan. Tell, Jill!”

Ewan bent down and pulled out some papers from his satchel, which was placed on the floor beside his seat. He glanced around furtively. Everyone around seemed engrossed on their laptops. Ewan pushed the papers in front of Jill and she could see that they were what looked like grainy large black photographs. Jill could not make anything much of the pictures and gave another puzzled look towards the boys.

“You’ll need to help me out here, guys. Is this our global story?”

Gary gave Ewan an excited prod to gee things up a bit. Ewan spoke slowly and deliberately.

“Jill, this is a set of still photos taken from the Nimrod SH2 during the two or so minutes when it was misdirected by our pal in Tel Aviv. I have studied the footage about a million times in the last few days and from what I have interpreted I am fairly excited –“

Jill looked down at what just looked like a mass of black on the photos.

“Fairly excited, Ewan, I thought we had a world exclusive on our hands?”

Gary gushed in.

“Jill, Ewan is more than fairly excited. He is abso – fuckin’- lutely over the bloody Moon about this! For Christ sake, tell her, Ewan?”

Ewan continued, still the deliberating scientist, slow and deadpan, but inside his heart was pounding with the adrenalin surges shooting through his body.

“To be honest, the two minutes eleven seconds of footage was rather on the short side to allow me to compute a complete calculation and because the SH2 was supposed to be looking way into deep space the focus wasn’t super-perfect. However, let’s look at this first shot…?”

Ewan directed them to the topmost photograph by pointing his finger.