The Jagged Edge

by AJ Frazer

  “So, I look at him sitting there smiling with these huge perfect white teeth—he’s having a whale of a time at my expense. ‘Was that your idea of dessert?’ I ask him. He starts laughing like it’s the funniest joke he’s ever heard. After he calms down, he looks over at me and in his booming voice says, ‘You English are so damn cool. Even when someone puts a gun in your face.’ And I hold this bastard’s stare and say, ‘If an English general gave your relative that gun, chances are it never bloody worked.’”

  “Ha!” Dax blurted.

  “And Akida, he just stared me down. Hard. Then laughed his arse off again. Even when he was laughing, I was waiting for a bullet.”

  The friends were laughing raucously now.

  “That’s a bloody good yarn, mate. Shame there weren’t a few more people around to hear it,” said Dax, still laughing while looking around the empty restaurant.

  “Well, you know what I learned from that? When you stand up to psychopaths, they’ll either love you or kill you. Either way, you’ll know where you stand soon enough. I suspect it will be the same with Sagen when we see him next.”

  “Yeah, right. So d’you ever hear from this Akida character?”

  Dominic’s gaze fixated on a fork on the table. “I do. Quite often. In fact he gave me the seed capital to launch Jagged Edge Media. To this day, he’s the second biggest private shareholder.”

  “Dancing with the tiger, mate! You went into business with a psycho like that?”

  “I did. You see, to do what I have done, I had to be ruthless. I had to tread the path others are unwilling to take. To dance, as you say, with tigers—hungry, ferocious, unpredictable ones looking to devour whatever steps in their way. The thing is, having wealthy psychopaths in your corner is also a huge advantage in business. Makes your competitors and your prey think twice before trying anything unsavory.”

  In reality, these days Dominic didn’t need a wealthy psychopath backing him to get deals done. Any of his competitors or acquisition targets would agree that he carried himself with a certain aggressiveness, a physical intimidation that could be charming and gracious or, at the flick of a switch, brutal and merciless. He didn’t need a terrifying warlord as a wingman. He brought enough of that himself.

  Dax leaned back, elbows on the arms of his chair, wine glass held halfway between mouth and table. “You had to make some serious sacrifices to build Jagged Edge, didn’t you?”

  “I did. And I continue to in the name of truth and progress. But nothing like Sagen. That man has dedicated himself to revenge and, I suspect, signed multiple deals with numerous devils in the establishing of Earth Ghost and his diabolic plan.”

  “Revenge? What do you mean? He’s just out to rattle cages and get people thinking about the environment, isn’t he?”

  “That’s what I thought too until I met him. You see, he lost everything to nature. His wife and child were killed in a wildfire in California. No one to blame but cruel circumstance and evil luck—except he decided to blame the corporations that have fueled climate change.”

  “That’s a fairly long bow he’s drawing there.”

  “Indeed. And I fear he’s gone next level with this Biblical madness. What he seems to be doing now is punishing all of civilization for their part.”

  “Their part?”

  Dominic nodded. “Sagen sees humanity’s obsession with capitalism, products, energy, and consumerism, as the root cause. So he’s going after the source of the problem. He’s looking to create wholesale change on a planet-wide level.”

  “That’s an insane rationale, but it does make crazy-person sense, too.”

  “Well, you’d know all about crazy—”

  “Dominic!” came a familiar voice from behind.

  Turning, Dominic saw Erik, Sagen’s right-hand man, walking toward them. He looked slimmer and deeply tanned, wearing a white linen shirt and khaki cargo pants with suede desert boots.

  Dominic put his glass down on the table. “Erik, I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

  “I must admit, the desert is not my natural habitat, but I have come to appreciate it.”

  “So you’re here to take us to Sagen?”

  Erik looked at Dax cautiously. “That’s right, I am here to take you.”

  Dominic glanced at Dax. “He will be joining us.”

  “No, that will not be happening. Victor made no mention of anyone else.”

  “Too bad. He goes where I go.”

  Erik smiled nervously. He blinked and studied Dominic for a moment. “Well, I’m sure we can make arrangements for …”

  “Dax,” said Dax. “Dax Beresford.”

  “Right.” Erik nodded. “Well, Mr. Beresford, Dominic, if you would like to come with me, we have a long and rather arduous drive ahead.”

  “What is it with you and long, arse-shattering drives?” asked Dominic.

  Erik smiled. “Goes with the territory of staying off the radar, don’t you think?”

  Dominic wiped his mouth on the cheap paper napkin. “Let’s get a move on then.”

  Leaving the dining room, Dominic and Dax each gathered a single bag from their rooms then met Erik at the car park. He directed them to a white Nissan Patrol. It had several aerials, a spare tire mounted on the bonnet, and a spare fuel can lashed to the rear door. About as desert-ready as a car gets.

  Erik pointed to a spot in front of the Patrol. “Stand there, please, gentlemen.”

  He went to the back of the truck, opened the door, rummaged around for a moment, and came back holding a black stick-like object.

  “Arms up if you will.” Dax looked at Dominic, who just raised his arms as Erik ran the device over them both and their bags. “Hop in,” Erik said when he was finished checking them for tracking devices.

  “We’ve got our own four-wheel drive,” said Dominic. “Shall we follow?”

  Erik stared back at him as if it was the most absurd thing he’d heard.

  “I guess not,” said Dax under his breath.

  “I trust we don’t have to wear hoods,” remarked Dominic.

  “Hoods?” repeated Dax, shocked.

  “That will not be necessary,” said Erik.

  “Well, that’s a bloody relief,” said Dax, again looking at Dominic. “What the hell have you got us into, mate?” he whispered.

  “Relax. They may be mad, but they’re not monsters.” Dominic walked around to get in the front seat of the car.

  “Great.” Dax was not convinced.

  As they drove out of the hotel entrance and onto the rough town roads, Dominic dropped the window and looked up at the stars. They were brighter and more numerous than in any sky he had ever seen, even with the ambient light from the town. He wondered if there was a satellite up there watching them with some thermal-imaging camera. The warm air smelled fragrant, earthy, and was tinged with the scent of excitement and possibility. Or was it danger and menace?

  From what Dominic could make out, they headed east. Once they left the town behind, he completely lost his bearings. The rough road and the nothing blackness added to their sensory concussion. There was no conversation the entire journey. Dax seemed to be asleep in the back while Dominic felt hungover from the jet lag. He knew he should be probing Erik for information, but he also knew it would be for nothing. Erik was too loyal to Sagen—a true believer, a fanatic. Plus, over their brief encounters, Dominic had noticed a quiet menace to Erik that he hadn’t picked up in their first meeting. There seemed to be a distinct aura around him that he was relishing his work, this imminent destruction of humanities most crucial technology.

  Fundamentalists are all the same, Dominic thought. Whether it was ideology, religion, economics or politics; it really doesn’t matter. When it comes down to it, fundamentalists are all fundamentally unhinged and yet, fundamentally purposeful.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Four hours after leaving Halls Creek, Dominic noticed a flickering light in the distance. His eyes were tired and stinging in the
dry heat, and he wasn’t sure if he was seeing things. “Is that it?” he asked Erik.

  “Yes.”

  “What is this place?”

  “You’ll see. Nothing exciting, just an old cattle station, with a few modifications.”

  “Right.”

  A few minutes later bright floodlights were dazzling Dominic’s eyes as they drove slowly into a large compound. There were no fences, but there were several buildings scattered around the main homestead where they pulled up.

  Dominic twisted his head around to the back seat. “Dax, we’re here!”

  Dax stirred and woke groggily.

  The diesel engine ticked as it cooled. Stepping out, Dominic went around the back to get their bags and took a moment to look around. Dust and diesel fumes filled his nostrils. A generator chugged away in the distance. The lights in the homestead were off, but a stark fluorescent glow came from a building that looked like a mobile office or sleeping quarters.

  “Come with me and I’ll show you to your rooms,” said Erik quietly.

  They followed him up the wooden steps to the old homestead and down a long, wide hallway inside. Dominic’s bedroom was beautifully furnished with antiques. The high ceiling gave the room a cavernous feel. It felt like a museum for the frontier days of colonialism. He half-expected to see a wax statue in the corner.

  “See you in the morning,” said Erik quietly.

  As soon as Erik had gone, Dominic lay down on the bed fully clothed. He didn’t want to rest. He was impatient to confront Sagen and get this madness over with. This Biblical threat needed to be dealt with right now.

  Being horizontal in the quiet stillness of the room quickly dispelled any idea of action. A moment later, sleep took control of the situation.

  In the morning, Dominic made his way into the hallway where he heard clattering from the back of the house. Following the sound, he came to a large country-style kitchen. Dax was preparing breakfast, looking around for the right utensils and ingredients.

  “Morning. Fancy some eggs?”

  “No. Come on, let’s find Sagen.” Dominic was ready to have this over and done with as soon as possible. Breakfast could wait.

  “Aye-aye,” said Dax, shutting the drawer he’d been rummaging through.

  Stepping off the veranda, the scorching Australian sun was already gaining altitude and intensity. Eyes squinting, they scanned the complex. It was the very picture of what Dominic expected a large Australian cattle station to look like, with the notable exception that rather than livestock, a number of mobile-office trailers huddled together in the yard.

  Within seconds, aggressive outback flies started to attack their faces, and they both swatted and flailed at them. Seeking moisture, the flies invariably targeted mouths, eyes, and noses.

  “Now I remember why I hate Australia—filthy flies!” exclaimed Dax.

  Dominic swiped madly. “They’re un-bloody-relenting. Let’s keep moving.”

  “After you,” Dax said.

  Making a beeline for the mobile-office buildings, they passed a large shed. It was tall and long and had a sheet-metal exterior. Coming around the side of the shed, they saw a line of dusty four-wheel-drive trucks and, at the very end, an old Hughes 500 helicopter.

  “Look at that,” Dax said, pointing. “Back in New Zealand, when I was a kid, deer farmers would use these things to catch wild deer in nets up high in the mountains and then fly them back down to be farmed. You should have seen the way the pilots would throw those things around. Bloody amazing.”

  “Looks like it was built in the seventies.”

  “Mate, probably was. They’re ancient. But fast and nimble.”

  The sand-colored walls of the mobile buildings looked nondescript and utilitarian. They would have looked at home on a building site or a military base in a hostile desert. Dominic stepped up to the only entrance he could see and knocked once before trying the door.

  Locked.

  He waited a moment and knocked again, this time harder.

  Nothing.

  Shrugging, he stepped back down looking for another door along the side.

  “Come on, let’s check around the other side of the house. He must be holed up somewhere.”

  They wandered back across the yard and steered a course to the side of the old homestead. A bedraggled, dust-covered dog sat on the veranda. It was a wretched-looking thing, its face gray and lifeless. It raised its head a fraction momentarily when they walked past before returning to its lazing.

  “Nothing around here,” noted Dax.

  “They have to be in the mobile offices. That’s the only place that makes sense.”

  “Yep. Let’s go back and take another look.”

  “No need!” called a voice from the house, making the two men jump.

  Looking around, Dominic clocked Erik in the shadow of the veranda. “Felt like the Marie Celeste around here,” said Dominic.

  “Apologies. There was much to do this morning.”

  “Where’s Sagen?” snapped Dominic.

  “Oh, he will be over shortly. Come, let’s wait for him inside. It is already getting hot.”

  “Sure,” grumbled Dominic, as Erik led the way back to the kitchen. Dominic looked to Erik. “So you’ve been busy here?”

  “Oh yes. Our most ambitious plan yet. It’s taken rather a lot of energy and resources. But I think you will be impressed by what we have created.”

  “I doubt it. Now go fetch Sagen like a good little dog. I’m sick of bloody waiting for that man all the time!”

  Erik snarled. He looked ready to start throwing punches. Dominic held his ground and his stare. Erik’s face then morphed into an insipid smile as he turned and walked slowly to the back door.

  “That got his attention,” said Dax facetiously.

  “Not now!” snapped Dominic.

  Dax nodded and turned his head to watch Erik head across the yard toward the mobile offices.

  Five minutes later, Erik came back into the kitchen. “He is on his way.”

  “Good.”

  Another ten minutes of awkward silence followed before Sagen strode across the yard, the wind swirling dust clouds around him. The combination of the searing white sun and dust plumes gave him an otherworldly appearance, like an angel that had just landed, wings furled, on a mission from God. Except this angel thought he was God.

  Sagen stepped into the kitchen.

  Dax looked to Dominic, who remained seated, and Dax followed his lead. Erik stood up like a serf.

  “Why have you not published the article?” launched Sagen, wasting no time with formalities.

  “I’m not publishing a damn thing until you stop this madness.”

  A thin smile formed on Sagen’s lips. “You are in no position to make demands. Now, publish the article and then let’s change civilization forever. When was the last time that happened?”

  “Hiroshima. What gives you the right to play God?” said Dominic, barely able to restrain his anger.

  Sagen looked quizzical. “It’s not a right. It’s a duty. A privilege. A responsibility to—”

  “A murderous delusion is what it is!”

  “Publish the fucking article, Dominic!”

  “You will kill thousands of people, maybe millions, if you launch that thing. Think of the suffering you will cause!”

  “Oh please, Dominic! Listen to yourself. You speak of mankind as if it were a baby, unable to look after itself. Yes there may be some tragic deaths, yes there will be some discomfort, but our species has survived for hundreds of thousands of years. I think we’ll manage without our microwaves and cell phones. Don’t be one of the bed-wetters, Dominic, the species is far more resilient than you give it credit for.”

  “You’re taking this too far! And to what end? You think it will stop progress? Technology? Capitalism? It will be a speed bump in history but will ultimately change nothing.”

  “You have no idea what we’re doing here—”

  “I know al
l about Biblical!” Dominic stood up from his seat. “I know what you’re targeting and I know you’re ready to unleash it. And it’s madness. You have to stop! This is not what your wife would have wanted.”

  Sagen shook his head disdainfully. “Don’t you dare speak of my wife,” he growled. “What she would have wanted? She’d have wanted a life, a family, and a future! What we are heading toward, the blithering human race in its relentless selfishness, is not a future. Now, if you are not going to publish the article willingly, I will have to force you. Though it is not my preference.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, send out your pathetic video of me supposedly helping you to launch a missile. I couldn’t care less.”

  Sagen walked over to Erik who was standing at the other end of the table. Erik smoothly handed him a stocky black pistol. A Walther P22. Sagen looked at the weapon curiously.

  Dominic watched him closely and thought he looked distracted, or confused, as he tested the pistol’s heft in his hand. “What the hell, Sagen? Now you’re going to shoot me over a bloody puff piece?”

  “No.” Sagen looked at Dominic and held his stare as he walked slowly around the table behind Dax, who was still seated. With an alarming turn of speed, in one fluid motion, he flung his left arm around Dax’s neck and pressed the barrel of the weapon against his knee. Dax immediately stiffened, taken completely off-guard and now staring down at what might soon be the shattered remains of his kneecap and the handgun pressed against it.

  Dominic, who was on the other side of the table, tensed automatically and, for a fraction of a second, considered launching at Sagen. With both hands on the table, he was filled with rage and frustration. “For Christ’s sake, man, what are you doing?”

  Dax looked at Dominic with abject fear in his eyes. An instant sweat began forming droplets on his temples and forehead.

  Sagen, wild and insane, looked at Dominic. “Publish it now or your friendly mountain guide here will have to find another occupation,” he said, through clenched teeth.

  “OK, just tell me why it’s so—”

  The concussive sound of the round exploding from its shell casing was so intense it stunned and disoriented everyone. Dominic immediately looked to Dax and saw the wide-eyed shock on his face. His mouth was open, but no sound escaped.