2084 The End of Days (11 page)

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Money In £20,000,250.00

Balance £20,155,375.76

A horrible wave of guilt swept over Jill and the nauseous feeling returned. Oh shit, Khan, I’m so sorry, she thought, you were telling the truth about that 20 million pound deal after all. She asked herself what she should do. The shock of seeing the figure on the statement brought back the day’s weariness and it made Jill lie down on the sofa. She quickly fell into a fitful sleep full of guilt-laden dreams. It was much later when she awoke. The clock on the wall told Jill it was now almost nine forty at night. She felt a bit peckish as it had now been many hours since the long-digested McDonalds. She thought that she would treat her stomach to something sugary to sooth her pangs of guilt and hunger. Jill spoke aloud to herself.

“Strong sweet coffee - hot chocolate fudge cake and whipped cream. That should do the trick.”

While awaiting the frozen chocolate cake to defrost in the microwave and also for the kettle to boil for her coffee, she wandered aimlessly over to look out at the darkness from her seventh floor Art Deco curving picture window. Jill looked out over towards the upmarket townhouses of Richmond and down towards even posher Windsor and Eton. She could just see part of the tastefully floodlit Windsor Castle, the magnificent stately seat of Great Britain’s ruling monarch, Queen Elizabeth III. Although the Head of State role was only that of a figure-head in Britain, Elizabeth had been on the throne now for almost 15 years and she was extremely well-respected by her people. Jill thought back to the time she and Khan had been introduced to Queen Elizabeth and her husband Prince Regent David at a Windsor garden party. As Jill continued to admire the view of the night down to the castle, suddenly her microwave switched off with a loud
Ping!
The ringing sound startled Jill. Then, what seemed a split second later, Jill’s head started backwards in fright as she equally suddenly saw a blinding flash high in the sky. Jill watched in horror as a huge ball of flame streaked Earthwards not that far from Windsor Castle. It was quickly followed by a large violent explosion on the ground in Windsor town centre and a huge plume of fire and smoke mushroomed into the air. Jill could not believe her eyes and blurted out in alarm.

“What in hell’s name was that?”

As she watched the flames licking up menacingly into the night sky over Windsor, Jill scrabbled around in her mind to think of an explanation for what had just occurred. She rewound back to the recent interview with Ewan. A meteorite, she thought! Surely not – she seemed to remember that Ewan had said
Earth’s gravity is likely to attract some pretty hefty meteor showers probably starting around mid-February 2084.
Jill did not know what the explosion was, but she knew that she had to find out. Thoughts of chocolate cake and long lies in bed on Sunday were quickly forgotten and she was instantly into professional journalist mode. She quickly donned her heavy winter jacket, grabbed her mobile and her mini-video camera and stuffed them in her deep jacket pockets. Jill started scrimmaging about in the messy cabinet drawer below her wall-mounted 3DTV, while keeping one eye out of her picture window. The fire was still burning although a little less fiercely as she spoke aloud in frustration.

“Khan, please don’t have taken them?”

Then she found them – the keys to Khan’s Honda air-bike. In the distance she began to hear the muffled sounds of police, fire and ambulance sirens wailing, muted by the triple-glazed windows. Jill could see the floodlights of a police helijet reaching out as it zoomed over the roof of her apartment building heading towards Windsor.

“Shit, ah better get a move on before the place is crawling with TV and journalists! This is tomorrow’s big story –“

*

Earthdate: 23:30 February 8, 2081 CST

A groggy-looking Lex Kosloff was politely escorted into the Houston PD interview room and he was asked to take a seat. To Lex’s present thinking
his life had been transformed into a complete blur for the second time in the same week since he answered the ringing doorbell. That had been when he pulled back the door to be confronted by Houston PD’s finest, two burly plain-clothes detectives flashing their silver badges at him. The senior cop addressed him gruffly.

“Alexander Kosloff?”

“Yes -?”

“May we come in? We would like to question you about an incident which took place a couple of days ago in Dallas?”

If the policemen had said anything else on his doorstep that Friday evening then Lex had not heard it. He just thought – Dallas? Marna? Oh, God, no – something’s happened to Marna. Lex’s already weak legs from the constant days of drinking and vomiting completely buckled under him and he passed out in front of the two cops. He had spent Friday night mostly in and out of consciousness and all of Saturday recovering in some non-descript hospital in Houston stuck on an IV drip, wired up to the hilt with various monitors beeping and whirring incessantly at his bedside. Only three hours ago the doctors had told the police that Lex was sufficiently recovered from shock and a mild case of alcohol poisoning. His stomach had been pumped. Again they asked Lex politely if he minded answering a few questions down at the 3
rd
Precinct. Lex agreed and asked if his wife was okay, but he was told that all questions would be handled at the station. Now here he was just after a half hour to midnight on Saturday night sitting facing the two detectives who had arrived at his home the previous evening. Lex looked behind them at the blackened mirror-glass and reckoned he would be being further scrutinised by the cops’ superiors. The larger broad-shouldered white detective poured Lex a glass of water and then broke the ice.

“Can you confirm that you are Alexander Kosloff of 1938 Robindale Drive, Houston, Texas?”

“Ye-es, but can ah just -?”

“I realise you have many questions, Mr Kosloff, but for now can you just answer our questions, okay?”

Lex nodded numbly and the broad cop who sounded like a politely-spoken Northerner, maybe New England, continued with his questioning.

“Mr Kosloff, I take it you do not have any objections to being recorded for the purpose of this interview?”

Lex shook his head dumbly. Neither cop made any move to start any recording equipment so he assumed that the recording had already begun. He could feel his body shake with small uncontrollable tremors and a thin sheen of cold sweat came in waves across his chest and back.

“Now, Mr Kosloff – can you tell us where you were on Thursday afternoon, February 6?”

Lex looked blankly at the two cops and his tongue felt swollen in his mouth and his throat constricted. He sat there struck dumb. The slimmer black cop named Detective Madsen then spoke.

“Are yah exercising yah right to remain silent, Mr Kosloff?”

Madsen was a Texan like Lex.

“No-o-o…”

“Well, can yah answer Detective Magruder’s question? Where were yah Thursday afternoon -?”

“Ah g-guess ah was at home in R-Robindale…”

Magruder allowed his voice to rise just a little with a hint of sarcasm.

“You guess that you were at home on Thursday? Why is that, Mr Kosloff?”

“You see – ah – ah got real bad drunk Wednesday an’ ah must a slept it off all day Thursday - an’ a just came to at home on Friday. Look, d-detectives, what is this all about? Have ah done somethin’ wrong?”

Magruder continued the questioning. Madsen remained silent with his arms tightly crossed. Magruder, his eyes tightening, leaned across the table a little menacingly towards Lex.

“Is there any chance that you could have been up in Dallas on Thursday? You could easily have flown there and back in a few hours?”

Lex racked his brain, but Thursday remained a blank.

“Ah sure don’t think ah was in Dallas? Is this about Marna – is Marna okay?”

The detectives ignored the question for now making Kosloff feel sick with worry. Madsen uncrossed his arms and continued with the questions.

“Marna, now she is yah wife, right?”

“Yeah…”

“What’s she doin’ up in Dallas for anyways?”

“We were, uh, havin’ some difficulties. She went to stay with her folks for a bit.”

Magruder stepped back in.

“From what we have heard Marna’s been in Dallas with her parents since New Year. Quite some difficulties is it not, Mr Kosloff?”

“Marna thought ah, um, ah was drinkin’ too much. She needed some time away but ah have pleaded with her to come back –“

Magruder jumped on Lex’s last statement with some more menace.

“So you pleaded with Marna to return and she refused! That must have made you mad, Mr Kosloff?”

“N-n-no - ah’ve been real down ‘bout it – suppose ah’ve had one or two too many to try an’ drown ma sorrows. B-b-but ah could n-never get mad with Marna. Ah love ma wife!”

Madsen changed the subject.

“Mr Kosloff, do you own a gun?”

Lex’s stomach turned a cartwheel, the cold sweats and shakes returned and his mind went into overdrive. Marna – Dallas – gun – what in hell is going on here?

“A g-gun?”

“Yeah, Lex, do yah own a gun. Y’know – a little pointy thing – fires bullets!”

“Of course ah do – everyone in H-Houston owns a gun.”

“Do yah know the make?”

Lex did not know too much about handguns – he hated the things - and he toiled to think where all this questioning was leading to, but it gave him a terrible feeling in the pit of his churning gut.

“Ah - ah believe it’s an ole Walther, but ah couldn’t tell ya anything else about it. Ah ain’t seen it in years –“

Magruder took over – the constant changing of detectives was starting to make Lex’s head spin.

“Where do you keep your gun?”

“At home – last time ah seen it was in the drawer of ma bedside locker. It should still be there as far as ah know.”

“Would you be happy to take us to your home and show us the gun - and while we are there do you have any objection to us looking around?”

Lex looked at the two cops in complete bewilderment. He had never before in all his life been in trouble with the police. He screamed at himself to remember what happened on Thursday. Remember! It’s important, Lex! Remember!

“Y-yeah – ah mean n-no. Ah mean ah can show you if ya like…”

Madsen stood up swiftly, slapped his thigh loudly and barked at Lex with mock gusto.

“Well, Lex, no sense in losin’ time over it. We all might as well do it now!”

Magruder signalled to the mirror-glass behind him that the interview was ended.

Chapter 8

Earthdate: 06:54 Sunday February 9, 2081 GMT

I
t was still dark outside her big picture window. Jill yawned painfully wide and gave an aching stretch of her weary arms, which caused various bones and joints to crack and pop as she leaned back from her laptop. She had been up working all night down at the crash site at Windsor. She had been interviewing, videoing, and generally gathering as much information for her piece as was possible in the timescales. Jill had also excitedly phoned Buckley, who was still up and watching the breaking news unfold on the BBC 24/7 news channel, in order to get him to hold her the Bloid home page. Buckley could not believe his luck that one of his own journalists was the first reporter on site, even beating the TV crews in their helijets. Jill had arrived back at her flat in a heavy shower of sleety rain on Khan’s air-bike about 3.30am. After reheating the chocolate cake, which she was not sure would be safe to eat, and grabbing a cup of hot sweet black coffee to keep her awake, Jill got straight down to writing up her article, which was now almost finished and ready to transmit straight to Buckley for final edit. She glanced up at the clock for the umpteenth time that morning knowing the pressure was on her to get the article into the Times. Nearly seven o’clock. Buckley needed it for seven fifteen to give him forty five minutes to add his editorial and then it would be published at eight on the London Times online
‘Bloid’
in the home page
‘Sunday Times Breaking News’
section. On the seven minute air-bike flight from Kew to Windsor Jill had thought that if this was one of Ewan’s meteorite strikes then it would be a huge public interest story and a real precursor to the Times printing the exclusive on the new ‘Schenkler Comet’. When she arrived at Windsor she found the fireball’s impact had exploded on the main street right in front of Windsor Castle and even part of the castle was on fire, although it did not look too serious. A secondary fire there was being dealt with by one of the four fire crews already on site. One of the other three crews tended a clothes shop which was burning fiercely and the other two crews were fighting the main cause of the fire on the street. The police had more or less cordoned off the whole area and Jill was kept well back in an area which was beginning to be quickly populated by arriving journalists and TV media crews. A huge crowd had also gathered around the blue and white taped cordon. Mainly Saturday night revellers and local residents. It had quickly become apparent to Jill that this was no meteorite strike. She could clearly discern from the burning wreckage being doused with two powerful jets of water that this was actually a large air-vehicle on fire. Her subsequent enquiries, interviews and the police and fire chief press releases soon revealed that the story was even bigger than a meteor crashing down to Earth. Jill began to read over her column on her laptop for the last time before final transmission to Buckley.

PRINCE OF WALES DEAD:

HEIR TO THRONE DIES IN AIR-CAR TERROR

By Jill Geeson, Senior Investigative Reporter, London Times, Feb 9

Today the country is in mourning following the tragic death of His Royal Highness, Edward, the Prince of Wales, who was killed in a horrific crash in front of Windsor Castle last night. Fire crews and other emergency services fought in vain in an attempt to save the heir to the throne and his aides from the burning wreckage of the Royal air-limousine at around 9.50pm. Six people died and 23 people were badly injured in the carnage that is still smouldering this morning. Not for the first time in its long and eventful history Windsor Castle is burning today amid the wreckage.

Along with Prince Edward, 24, it is believed that the driver of the air-limo, the Prince’s Royal Protection Officer and his Press Aide-de-camp, along with two pedestrian passers-by were among the dead. Police and national security have launched an investigation into the cause of the incident and senior officers have refused to confirm reports of the sound of an explosion going off before the crash.

It is believed the Prince was returning to Windsor following a private dinner at the Ritz Hotel in Paris. The police have not formally released the names of the other occupants of the limo, but two of the victims have been named locally as Harry Poll, 47, the Prince’s chauffeur, and Aisha al-Gazari, 25, his Press Aide. Their Royal Highnesses Queen Elizabeth and David, Prince Regent are reportedly ‘deeply shocked and distressed’ at the sad loss of their oldest son and heir. A Buckingham Palace spokesman told the Times that Her Majesty has expresse
d her condolences to the families of all the victims of this tragedy.

Queen Elizabeth III is expected to make a further statement on the events later today. An eye-witness to last night’s disaster described the scene prior to the limo exploding front of Windsor Castle, describing it “like a huge fireball appearing in the night sky followed by a burning streak of fire like some terrible meteorite crashing to Earth!” One of the first to arrive at the scene of the crash, resident Ernest Postlethwaite, a 43 year old part-time St John’s Ambulance paramedic, described scenes of terror and carnage.

Mr Postlethwaite stated, “The vehicle exploded onto the street about 150 yards from where I was walking home with my wife. I immediately ran towards the air-limo and tried to rescue any occupants, however, the fierce heat from the flames kept beating me back. There was nothing anyone could do to save them. I suspected the car may have carried members of the Royal Household, but I am totally shocked and saddened to learn that I had failed to save the Prince of Wales. I am heart-broken for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth.”

The cause of the crash is unknown and the Metropolitan Police, the Berkshire Fire Division and the Royal Protection Squad have crash investigation teams on site working on site throughout the night. The area has been cordoned off in a four-block radius and the limo is now covered by a protective tent. The police have refused to confirm eye-witness reports which claim the sound of the initial explosion was ‘like a huge bomb going off in the air’.

The senior investigating officers at the scene, Chief Superintendent Mike Hollingsworth, supported by Chief Fire Officer Rob Lang, held a press conference for media representatives from around the globe crammed into the narrow Windsor street at 5am this morning. CS Hollingsworth stated,“At the present time the Metropolitan Police, supported by the Berkshire Fire Division and the RPS, are currently investigating the events leading up to the terrible tragedy, which occurred here in the main street of Windsor at around 21.51 local time on Saturday 8
th
February 2081 - and which has led to the awful and sudden death of His Royal Highness Edward, the Prince of Wales. Along with the regrettable loss of the Prince and heir to the throne, three members of the Royal Household and two members of the public also died”.

“To date, 23 members of the public have been reported with serious injuries and have been taken to the Royal Berkshire Hospital for treatment to their wounds. It has been reported to me by the receiving hospital that seven are critical and nine are seriously wounded but that none of those at the Royal Berkshire is in a life-threatening condition. The investigation into the cause of the tragedy remains at a very early stage at this time and all possible eventualities are being investigated.”

“The crash investigation teams will consider all factors such as an air crash, bird strike or failure of a technical nature to the Royal vehicle. However, it is believed that the vehicle was travelling along recognised air lanes and had not collided with any building or other ground-based structure. Furthermore, media speculation that the crash was as a result of a terrorist attack on the Royal Household is extremely premature.”

Hollingsworth added, “No internet traffic has indicated a rise in the threat
levels leading to a possible terrorist atrocity nor are there any terrorist cells or organisations known to be actively operating on these shores. However, currently the investigation has not established direct causation for the Royal air-limo crash. Therefore, terrorism has not been ruled out amongst all the other various factors under investigation.”

“Due to the ongoing and lasting peace that has existed globally for almost fifty years there has not been a serious terrorist attack on mainland Britain in that time. No known serious terrorist threat to Britain’s shores has been reported to or currently is being investigated by the National Security Services at this time.”

In a tragic twist of fate, the incident is reminiscent of Her Majesty’s own predecessor Queen Elizabeth II’s ‘annus horribilus’ 90 years ago, when she suffered the loss of her daughter-in-law Diana Princess of Wales in a car crash in the Alma Tunnel in Paris and a fire in Windsor Castle that same year. Queen Elizabeth III is expected to make a brief statement on TV later in the afternoon to the British public and the world’s media following an updated press conference by the police. The Queen will express her sympathy and condolences to all who lost their lives in this terrible tragedy and also to give some initial outline details as to the arrangements for Prince Edward’s State funeral, which is fully expected to take place later this week pending a post-mortem.

Jill was now satisfied with her finished article. She attached it to a covering email, which she had ready with the photos she had taken at the scene attached, and sent it to Buck Buckley at 07:14. Jill knew that he would open it immediately. Within five minutes after Buckley had speed-read the article he emailed back.
‘Fantastic work, J. Made couple of small but minor changes. Off to get my editorial finished for 8, BB.’

Jill looked out her window past Richmond in the lightening but heavy grey and cloudy Berkshire sky. Sleet was falling again and she could still make out a pall of black smoke rising ominously over Windsor. Police and TV helijets buzzed around the billowing smoke like angry wasps round their smashed and invaded nest. Jill had had enough for one night. Exhilarated but by now completely exhausted she closed the black-out blinds of her bedroom and climbed into bed. Sunday
was
after all going to be her day of rest.

*

Earthdate: 11:05 Sunday February 9, 2081 GMT

Ewan sat dreaming away during the service in the small whitewashed Round Church. It was prominently situated at the top of the hill on the road south leading out of Bowmore. The road bent around the church and headed off down to the Mull of Oa and Port Ellen, the Isle of Islay’s southern port and now on the major European tourist marina network built by the Swedish multinational ROMANCE (Ranulf Olafsen Marine and Nautical Corporate Enterprises). It was said by the highly superstitious islanders that the Round Church had been built
in the Victorian era to a circular design in order that
‘the Devil cannae hide in the corner’
.
Ewan sat in the long dark wooden pew a couple of rows back from the pulpit beside his parents. His father was the 71 year-old Reverend Dr John Archibald Lewis Sinclair MD, retired minister of the Free Church of Scotland, and his mother was Jessie McAffer Campbell, 10 years younger than her white-haired husband. The Round Church was actually a part of the Established Church of Scotland. Ewan had rejected his father’s stricter sect in his mid-teens, mainly because most of his Boy’s Brigade friends belonged to the Round Church and he wanted to follow them. It had taken his parents many anguished years after his father retired from the
‘Wee Frees’
to come to worship here in Bowmore. Even before his retirement the Reverend John-Archie’s congregation had
all but collapsed and when he finally left at 65 the Free Church Assembly in Stornoway decided that the church in Port Ellen was no longer viable. Ewan knew that even the established Church was struggling on this once strongly religious isle off the Scottish mainland, which faced the Mull of Kintyre to the east and Northern Ireland to the south. Islay was no different to the rest of the world when it came to religion. It was a globally dying art. Christianity, whether Catholicism or Protestantism, Judaism, Hinduism and all the other major religions. They were all being deserted in their droves. Even the strictly controlled Islamic religions headed up by the pseudo-legal, political and religious leaders of the imams and the Mullahs had required a relaxation of many of the stricter Shariah laws of the Qur’an. They had been under pressure over the last fifty years by increasingly restless Muslim populations crying out for greater freedom and prosperity. In the 2080s there was basically only One True God – and the One True God was Money! Money was now the root of all good. The peoples of the world prayed for Money, they worshipped
It
, they slaved their guts out for It, they gambled excessively for It and they bowed before the altar of It
.

Ewan tried to drown out the minister rambling through his sermon. He thought it was something to do with Noah, the Ark, the Great Flood followed by something about the Second Coming and the Day of Judgment. He thought that the minister was trying unsuccessfully to fit this entire Biblical catastrophic panoply loosely around the catastrophic events unfolding on this morning’s news. Ewan just slipped back into his dream-world. Ewan thought to himself that Gary Mackintosh was a case in point. Ewan had asked Gary to come along to the church in Bowmore. They had been sitting at breakfast at his parents’ little cottage in the hamlet of Dunyveg on the sea loch just off the Ardbeg road, past the distillery village of Lagavulin, where Ewan was raised 25 years ago on the family farmstead of Surnaig. Gary laughingly dismissed Ewan’s invite to church on the basis that he had his own gods to worship that morning.

“Fuck off, Ewan. Ah’m not even an agnostic. Ah’m a total aetheist, man! Anyway - ah’ve got money markets opening in the Middle East ah need to work on, while
you’re away buyin’ in to your God. Ah might just make a killin’ while the rest of the world watches the Greek Tragedy at Windsor Castle, he, he!”