Channel Blue (31 page)

‘They’re still tracking us. Marty’s not stupid.’ Amanda glanced up at the sky. ‘All right, he’s more than that, he’s really smart, the most talented producer I’ve ever worked with.’ She winked at Perry. ‘He knows we’re going to try something. He’d be foolish not to watch. Whether they’ll put us on the air is a gamble. It depends on how successful we are. But I don’t think they’ll be able to resist. Series star Perry Bunt and the most powerful Earthle joining forces to redeem the planet? Our viewers will eat it up.’

‘They only like it when I fail,’ Perry said.

‘They do enjoy your failures,’ Amanda admitted. ‘But I think I know our audience. They’re ready to see us succeed.’

By the way she said ‘us’, Perry could tell that she wasn’t just talking about the two of them.

He stared at the invitation as if trying to find, between its engraved words, another flaw with Amanda’s plan. ‘If we’re doing this, we have to move,’ she said. ‘The last flight for Washington leaves in an hour.’

Perry handed the invitation back to her. ‘There’s only one way I’ll go. You have to promise me that if it doesn’t work, you’ll get out of here.’

After a moment, Amanda nodded.

‘I mean it. If we can’t slow down the end of the world within twenty-four hours, you will find yourself an elevator and go straight to the moon.’

Amanda sighed. ‘I already agreed. Now let’s go.’

‘Wait,’ Perry said. ‘I need you to ask Jeff one more favour.’

* * *

Noah Overton was eating brown rice and mung beans alone in his studio apartment, fretting about a feud between two volunteer teachers in the reading programme he was organising, while also feeling guilty about obsessing over his petty problems when so much else was wrong with the world. The Middle East was going up in flames and here he was, worrying about his reading programme. In such states of guilty agitation Noah spent most of his waking hours.

‘Noah,’ a lilting voice said. Noah bolted out of his chair and turned. Gandhi was standing in his living room –
freaking Mahatma Gandhi
– right there next to his futon, wrapped in a white robe, beaming beatifically.

‘Not again,’ Noah said, his eyes widening in terror.

‘Yes, and this time, you must pay attention to your vision!’ Gandhi said, gently chiding Noah in his sing-song elocution.

Noah staggered backwards until he bumped into the couch. ‘What is it? What do you want?’

‘You are a very lucky young man,’ Gandhi said. ‘You have one more chance to save the world.’

CHANNEL 28

MEETING WITH THE PRESIDENT

Perry saw the pillars of the White House through the limousine’s tinted window and felt a shiver run down his spine. He had never paid much attention to politics. Like most Americans, he took it as a given that most politicians were venal, power-hungry con artists, while paradoxically respecting the offices they filled. Ever since he was a young boy, he had held a special awe for the presidency. Maybe it was the special phone they carried that could start a nuclear war, or their pictures on the money, or the fact that they had their own theme song, ‘Hail to the Chief’. The thought of meeting the President still gave him goose bumps.

‘There it is,’ Perry said, his voice tinged with wonder.

Amanda, who felt no such awe, nodded noncommittally. In her white evening dress, she was reading the document that Perry had, at five in the morning in a sleepless delirium, titled ‘How to Save the World’. During his flight from Los Angeles to Washington, Noah Overton had come up with 315 immediate steps the President of the United States could take to improve life on Earth, and they filled over fifty pages. While Amanda slept through the night in the bedroom of their suite at the Willard-Intercontinental Hotel, Noah and Perry stayed up in the next room, whittling and honing the document until, at ten pages, it seemed almost reasonable.

The limousine turned right onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Numerous groups demonstrated in front of the wrought-iron fence that separated them from the White House lawn. Perry pushed the button that lowered the glass partition between the back seat and the driver. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

The driver glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘There’s always folks out here. Everyone’s got something to say, I guess.’

The limousine, caught in heavy morning traffic, crept by the protestors. Perry could now read their signs, and he saw that their complaints did indeed cover a wide spectrum. There were protestors for peace, against abortion, for Jesus, against government, for Israel, against Israel, and a strange group of demonstrators who wore blue tracksuits and waved signs reading: ‘Hurry Before the Aliens Come’ and ‘No One Gets the Cupcake’. The limousine slowed to a stop behind a stalled car, and one blue-clad young man pushed a placard against Perry’s window that depicted a handsome prophet with a flowing beard and the words ‘The Buddy Is Love’. It took several moments for Perry to recognise himself – or rather, an artist’s version of a Photoshopped cell phone picture of himself. The limousine pulled away. Perry shook his head in disbelief. ‘Did you see that?’

Amanda was still reading ‘How to Save the World’. ‘What?’

Perry turned and looked out the rear window. The blue tracksuits were now just little dots among the other protestors. ‘Never mind.’

The limousine passed through a security gate, then joined a parade of other limousines sliding up under the west portico of the White House in perfect choreography, each pausing to disgorge its well-dressed passengers before moving on.

As Perry and Amanda emerged from their limo and walked to the entrance, Amanda tucked ‘How to Save the World’ back into its manila envelope and handed it to Perry. ‘Nicely done,’ she said.

‘Not too crazy?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Amanda said. ‘But then, I’m not from around here.’

Perry gazed up at the formidable mansion. His grandparents had brought him here when he was eleven. At that time, he’d felt butterflies in his stomach walking through the east portico with the other tourists. Today he felt those same butterflies, only more of them. Today he wasn’t just sightseeing on the ground floor, he was going upstairs to meet the man of the house. And more than that, he was going to ask for his help in saving the country, the world and his unborn son.

No pressure
, he thought.

Yet as he made his way through the security checkpoint and showed a poker-faced Secret Service agent his invitation and drivers licence, he felt a strange elation. In one hand he held ‘How to Save the World’; in the other, he held Amanda’s. Just having her next to him instilled in him an irrational confidence. Then, as if to prove him right, a fly buzzed by his head and down the long hallway filled with grandiose oil paintings of bewigged presidents. He didn’t have a chance to see if the fly was blue, but it had to be a good omen. ‘Watch this, you alien couch potatoes!’ he wanted to yell after it. ‘You want to see a desperate plan to save Earth? I’ve got it right here!’

Perry, Amanda and the rest of the well-dressed visitors gathered at the bottom of a staircase, where they were met by an officious man in a dark suit.

‘I want to welcome you all to the White House,’ he said. ‘We will first proceed upstairs to the Oval Office. There you will all have an opportunity to meet the President. Photography is permitted, but since the President’s time is limited, he cannot pose with each of you. If you would like a photo with the President, we ask that you have someone else take it while the President is shaking your hand—’ He went on in this manner and Perry found himself impatiently grinding his teeth. Finally, the protocol was dispensed with and the officious man led the visitors up the stairs.

When Perry followed the group into a homely room and was told that it was the Oval Office, he was sure there’d been some mistake. But on closer inspection he saw that it was in fact the room he’d seen for years in photographs and movies, only smaller and older-looking. The officious man set about arranging Perry, Amanda and the rest of the visitors into a single-file line. They stood like birds on a wire for what seemed like several minutes until a door Perry hadn’t noticed opened and two Secret Service agents strode in. They circulated around the room, scrutinised the visitors, then drifted back to the walls and became as still as statues. More minutes passed. Then, through yet another door, a tall, handsome white-haired man charged in, while talking to two younger men who trailed him. The tall man was unmistakably President Brendan Grebner.

‘First make the call,’ he said, looking at a paper on his desk. ‘We need more information.’ One of the younger men nodded and headed out the way he’d come in. The President glanced at papers on his desk, seemingly oblivious to the dozen strangers standing in a straight line in front of him. Finally, he looked up and smiled.

‘Welcome, folks,’ he said. ‘I need to apologise. The situation in the Middle East has made things a little chaotic this morning. But I’m glad you all could come by—’ He proceeded to shake hands with each visitor, starting at one end of the line and working his way down at a brisk pace, exchanging pleasantries along the way. ‘Hi there, where’re you from?’ ‘Welcome to the White House, what’s your name?’

Perry and Amanda stood towards the end of this line, but at his present pace, the President would soon be upon them. Perry nervously fondled the manila envelope and tried to generate more saliva; his throat suddenly felt like a desert cave. Amanda squeezed his hand and smiled.

‘Remember,’ she whispered, ‘it’s just another show.’ Perry couldn’t help smiling back.

President Grebner was now shaking hands with the man standing next to him. Perry started to extend his hand but the man was blathering on about some biofuels plant. Finally, President Grebner pulled himself away and stepped over to Perry, who took a deep breath and offered his hand.

‘Good morning, Mr President. I’m Perry Bunt.’

For a fleeting second, Perry thought he saw a trace of recognition in the President’s eyes. But then, to his surprise, the President released his hand and moved on, quickly saying hello to Amanda and one other visitor before vanishing through yet another door.

Perry watched the door close behind the President, panic building in his gut. He leaned in close to Amanda. ‘What just happened?’

Amanda shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you sure he was awake when you gave him the vision?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. He wept. He wet his pyjamas. Oh no. Perry.’ Amanda was looking down. It was then that Perry realised he was still holding ‘How to Save the World’. ‘You didn’t give it to him.’

‘He didn’t give me an opening!’

‘Well, we have to get it to him. Something has to happen here or no one’s going to watch the show. You know as well as I do that it’s not even considered a scene if nothing happens to move the story along.’

‘I know the rules of scene structure,’ Perry replied tersely.

The visitors, led by the officious man, were filing out of the Oval Office. Perry and Amanda looked around desperately.

‘Put it on his desk,’ Amanda hissed. Perry, sweat beads forming on his forehead, took two steps towards the President’s desk when the officious man arrived at his side.

‘Right this way, sir,’ he said, gently placing his arm on Perry’s elbow and guiding him to the door. ‘We have White House cufflinks for the gentlemen and White House compacts for the ladies—’

Just before walking through the door, Perry noticed one of the Secret Service agents standing against the bookcase. He thrust the manila envelope towards him. ‘Please give this to the President,’ Perry said. After an interminable second, the agent deliberately reached out and took the envelope, just as the officious man pushed Perry through the door.

Perry caught up with Amanda at the bottom of the stairs and told her what he’d done. ‘It’s something,’ Amanda said. ‘Let’s hope it gets to him.’

At the end of the hallway, a woman handed out official White House cufflinks and compacts. Once they were given theirs, Perry and Amanda were directed back out through the Secret Service checkpoint to the driveway. As they were passing through, one of the agents approached Perry. ‘Mr Bunt?’

‘Yes?’

‘Can I ask you to step back into the White House? The President would like to ask you some questions about the document you left for him.’

Perry and Amanda looked at each other with great relief. ‘Of course,’ Perry said.

Amanda gave him a hug. ‘Now go talk his ear off,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll see you back at the hotel.’ They kissed quickly and Perry followed the agent back into the White House.

The agent led Perry down the same hallway, but when they came to the staircase that had taken him up to the Oval Office, the agent opened a door and directed Perry into a hidden stairwell. They walked down into the basement of the White House, which evinced none of the historic charm found above ground; the hallways could have been part of any office building. They took several turns and entered a small room where two other Secret Service agents waited, one of whom Perry recognised from the Oval Office. This agent held the manila envelope that contained ‘How to Save the World’.

‘Did you write this?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Perry said. The agent nodded and a hood was slipped down over Perry’s eyes, blocking out all light. Perry instinctively ran but almost immediately collided with a wall. One of his arms was yanked back and the sleeve of his jacket pulled up over his forearm.

‘I have to talk to the President!’ Perry shouted into heavy black cloth. ‘Listen to me. The world is going to end if I don’t talk to him.’ He felt the prick of a needle and felt like he was falling. He wondered where the floor was, but never got there.

* * *

Although he couldn’t hear Perry yelling, President Brendan Grebner was actually only ten yards away, strolling briskly down the hallway to a meeting that appeared on no schedules and was accorded the secrecy of a covert military operation. The President turned a corner and entered an elevator that only he was permitted to use, which whisked him down to a sub-basement. Once he’d stepped out of the car, an infra-red scanner shining into his right eye confirmed his identity before unlocking a door into a small office. Inside this office, a middle-aged man with a beard and glasses sat in an armchair facing a larger chair. President Grebner entered, closed the door and sat down in this chair.