by AJ Frazer
In seven days from now Biblical will show the world what it is truly capable of. It was an ominous statement. Perhaps Biblical would target any and all digitally controlled systems? Perhaps it would infiltrate the military and launch nuclear missiles? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
Going to bed, Dominic resolved to call Hale first thing in the morning and talk to her about everything he saw on the Canberra. He would also write it down for Ray to hold on to. If he found himself being bundled up by the CIA and taken to a black site, he would at least want the world to know what was happening.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The 1961 Ferrari 250 Spyder is an incredibly rare car. Dominic owned one of just fifty in the world. Of all his possessions, the Ferrari had always been his most prized.
“How is it?” he asked Alex, admiring the beautiful bodywork from front to rear.
“All good, chief. Just checking her vitals, as you requested.”
Crossing his arms, Dominic looked at the slim, raked lines, the lustrous black paint, and the gleaming chrome. Normally, the mere sight of this car made him feel like a teenager again. Not today. Today it was just another object, a high-maintenance one at that. What did strike him though, and why he’d asked Alex to take a look at it first thing in the morning, was the machine’s absolute analog nature. Pistons, carburetor, steel, and wood. Nothing digital whatsoever. The 250 Spyder was inimitable and drove beautifully but, compared to the electrical wizardry in a modern sports car, it was cumbersome and slow. The anti-establishment anarchist in him liked the fact that the digital world could go down in a steaming pile of bits and bytes, but the Ferrari would keep going, oblivious of the digital shitstorm around it.
“Off for a jaunt then?” asked Jacqueline from behind.
Dominic turned. “Hardly, I’m going to see Hale.”
“I really don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said Jacqueline.
“It’s an awful idea, but I have to speak to her.”
“Well I’m coming with you.”
“No. Stay here and keep an eye on things.”
“I’ve been holed up here for days, I’m coming with.”
Dominic mulled this for a moment. “All right, fine.” He knew when to roll over.
Starting a 1960s Ferrari is not as simple as thumbing a start button. Dominic pulled out the choke while depressing the accelerator a few times before turning the ignition. There was a loud whine from the starter motor, before the ear-splitting cylinders fired in mechanical perfection. The resonating sound sent vibrations through the entire car. The smell of exhaust and unburned gasoline filled the garage before Dominic put it in first and eased out the clutch. The engine abruptly stopped.
Jacqueline looked sideways at Dominic, before coughing from the lingering exhaust smoke.
“Just a bit cold,” said Dominic, reaching for the ignition again.
The engine sparked back into life and he revved it a few times before setting off. Heading out of the garage and up the driveway, Dominic opened it up slowly. The acceleration was nothing startling, but the engine was sonorous and the gearbox smooth as he worked his way through the gears. Jacqueline squealed in delight as the mighty Ferrari got up to speed and the wind rushed past. Was it wrong to enjoy oneself at such a time?, thought Dominic. After being held on the Canberra, the freedom of the English countryside never felt so good.
The roads were empty heading into London. But on the other side of the road, the M3 motorway was jammed heading west and, as it turned into the A316 closer to London, it became totally gridlocked.
“Might need to find a different way out,” said Jacqueline.
“Yeah, we’ll have to take the back roads.”
The closer to London’s center they drove, the more surreal it seemed. It was mostly quiet, very few cars on the city roads, no riots, no marauding gangs, nothing. It was as if the city was deserted.
“Do you think everyone’s got out?” asked Jacqueline, commenting on the roads.
“Perhaps. Or maybe they’re just smart enough to stay indoors.”
“If that’s the case, how long will it last? Brits are a stoic bunch, but when the credit cards don’t work and the food dries up, it’ll be bedlam.”
“We’re time proven in a crisis,” said Dominic, distracted by what he saw up ahead.
Then Jacqueline noticed it too. “What the hell?”
Along Nine Elms Lane, just before the New Covent Garden Market, a military roadblock had been established. With buildings on their right and the Thames on their left, there was nowhere for traffic to go but straight into the checkpoint.
“What do you think it’s all about?” said Jacqueline.
“Soon find out.” Dominic pulled up behind four other cars in a queue.
A young soldier carrying a standard issue L85 assault rifle held high across his chest, walked up to Dominic’s lowered window.
“Morning, sir. The road from ‘ere is closed, I’m afraid. You’ll need to turn around.”
The soldier’s badge and his caubeen identified him as Irish Guard. Dominic considered playing the ex-military comrade, but he didn’t have time for the inevitable banter with a Fighting Mick.
Who were you with?
Forty. In reference to 40 Commando, Royal Marines.
A sunshine boy, eh. Which was a poke at 40 Commando often getting posted to places like the Mediterranean and the USA.
And so on. Besides, his reason was legitimate and Hale would grant them access. “We need to get to MI6 Headquarters.”
“Unless you work ‘ere and ‘ave identification, I can’t permit youse through. And drivin’ this thing, I don’t think youse work ‘ere.”
“I understand. However, we have important information for Susan Hale who is an agent of MI6. Can you please contact her and tell her that Dominic Elliston and Jacqueline Hoult are here with information regarding Biblical?”
The young soldier looked uncertain. He looked back at the barricade. Two Foxhound troop carriers were parked across the road. The huge, intimidating vehicles were designed for desert warfare, but they appeared better suited to this purpose.
“Let me check. Stay here, please.” The soldier strode off the way he’d come.
“Polite young man,” said Jacqueline, watching him walk back.
“Yes. Let’s hope his manners can get him through to Hale.”
Nearly five minutes passed and Dominic was waved forward and stopped at the front of the barricade. They waited patiently.
“If this doesn’t work, then what?” posed Jacqueline.
“No Plan B at this stage. Perhaps we try another checkpoint on the other side?”
The young soldier walked toward them with a sergeant who wore a dark-blue beret and carried a holstered sidearm. He came to the window, and the soldier stood timidly behind him.
“Good morning, sah!” said the sergeant.
“Morning, Sergeant,” replied Dominic brusquely.
“I’ve spoken to Ms. Hale and she has approved your passing through!” The sergeant was loud. Had probably been assigned to a Heavy Machine Gun, or an artillery division, thought Dominic.
“Very good,” replied Dominic.
“Now, you will be escorted to the entrance. Do not deviate. Do not stop. When you arrive, the driver of the escort vehicle will come and open your door. You may then disembark and enter the building. The escort will wait for you to leave the building and drive with you back to this checkpoint. Clear, sah?”
“Perfectly. Thank you,” said Dominic officiously.
The officer stepped back one pace and waved him on. Dominic revved the engine as the narrow boom gate opened up and they drove through. In front of them a green army Land Rover pulled out and drove slowly. They crossed over Vauxhall Bridge Road and on to Albert Embankment before pulling to a stop outside MI6 HQ’s main entrance, which was teeming with military personnel. Once they had parked, Dominic did exactly as directed and waited for the driver of the Land Rover to come and op
en their doors.
Hale was just inside the main entrance waiting for them. “Sorry about all the security,” she offered, walking up to greet them.
“Understandable given the circumstances,” said Dominic.
“Yes, quite. Now, if you will come with me, we can find somewhere to talk.” She led them to the empty staff canteen where they pulled up plastic chairs around a wooden table.
“So, our special friends across the Atlantic weren’t happy with the way you left their party,” began Hale as soon as they were seated.
“Those animals tortured Victor Sagen, probably to death. It was the most inhumane and disgusting thing I have ever seen.”
“Ever seen?” Hale’s eyes widened. “I would strongly suggest that you did not see anything, Mr. Elliston. Otherwise, we might be forced to meet with their request to interrogate you at an American embassy.”
Dominic looked hard at Hale. “I’ll never freely step foot on US soil if there is a chance those brutes want to question me. Sadistic bloody animals.”
“Yes. But the US are not alone in having sadistic animals. I can’t stress this enough—if you make any public mention of what you think you saw, we may not be able to protect you.”
The gravity of Hale’s warning made him realize how vulnerable he was. If the CIA wanted to interrogate him, his own government may not be able to stop them—they may not want to stop them. “I understand,” said Dominic, nodding solemnly. “But this is not what I came here to discuss.”
“Fine. What then? As you can imagine, we have a lot going on at the moment.”
“I hate to say it, but you may soon have more on your hands.”
“What do you mean?” snapped Hale.
“In my last conversation with Sagen, he told me that after seven days, Biblical would, and I quote, ‘show the world what it is truly capable of.’”
Hale slouched back in her seat as the color drained from her face.
“Now, I don’t know how else to interpret that other than, it’s going to get worse—probably a lot worse.”
Hale was staring at the table—a thousand-yard stare at an inanimate object just eighteen inches away. “Biblical … Seven days …” she muttered.
Dominic’s mind bloomed with realization. How had he not clocked the reference before? “God created the Earth in seven days––”
“And Victor Sagen will destroy it in another seven,” finished Jacqueline. “The name couldn’t be more apt, could it?”
Hale leaned forward now, acutely present and professional. “Could it be any more ironic that Sagen involved you in all of this? I mean, you of all people—the head of one of the largest media empires in the world, and now the only one functioning?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question since he first contacted me.”
“Regardless, you cannot breathe a word of this to anyone. If I have to, I will shut you down myself to protect people from hearing what you just told me.”
“We’re beyond ratings and scoops now, don’t you think? I won’t be publishing anything like that. The public is on the brink of panic. Hearing any of this will create utter mayhem.”
Hale nodded.
“What now, then?” asked Jacqueline.
“Do you have a lead on Erik Clement or any of the programmers involved?” asked Dominic.
“Nothing. They’ve done a complete Houdini.”
“Has Sagen said anything?” asked Dominic, not really wanting to raise the subject of Victor again, but it was realistically their best chance of gaining intel.
“He’s dead,” said Hale flatly.
Dominic did his best to burn holes into her retinas with his stare. “That’s murder. Of the most despicable kind, and you know it.”
“Sagen’s death was unfortunate. But the reality is he would not have helped us. In fact our engineers have ascertained that no one has control over Biblical, that it is operating completely autonomously now and is evolving itself every fraction of a millisecond. They don’t think there is an off switch and, even if there was, Biblical has probably figured out a way to remove it.”
“Good God. Is there any way to stop this thing?”
Hale’s face softened, her usual abrasive nature evaporated. “As of today? None.”
Dominic looked pensively at Jacqueline. “I think it’s time we were leaving.”
Hale said nothing. She was distant again, a million miles from the staff canteen.
“Before we go, any word on Zhen Daiyu?” asked Dominic as casually as he could. Truth was, he’d been thinking of her since the flight back from Australia. He’d not had a chance to ask Sagen when they were together and he wanted to know where she was and if she was OK.
Hale looked at him with softer eyes. “No, nothing. I’m sorry I can’t help you, Dominic.”
“Come on, Jacs.” Dominic got to his feet.
“Take care, both of you,” said Hale.
“You too,” replied Dominic, making for the exit.
Dominic and Jacqueline didn’t speak again until they were beyond the checkpoint and heading back out of the city.
“Get the sense that we’re not getting out of this one, Jacs?”
“I think Hale just saw the future back there. And judging by the look on her face, it isn’t pretty.”
“It’s not every day you realize the end of the world is nigh and it happened on your watch.”
“What do you mean?”
“Something the CIA goons said. That MI6 had stuffed it up, that they could have stopped this years ago. I’ve a feeling Hale is neck-deep in the biggest failure of the service ever.”
“If that’s true, it’s possibly the biggest failure of humanity.”
“I failed too, remember.” Dominic felt the weight of so many layers of guilt pulling tightly across his chest.
“You did your best. You went far beyond the call of duty. You cannot blame yourself for Sagen’s madness and their cock-up!”
“Perhaps. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.” The truth was Dominic couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t to blame. Could he have done more? Perhaps Sagen had brainwashed him and converted him into an unknowing disciple. Everything had moved so quickly. He struggled to reconcile his memories of the last few weeks. What had he done? What hadn’t he done? Perhaps he was complicit? Perhaps he did belong in a CIA black site.
“Before we go home, I want to stop by Jagged Edge,” said Dominic. If the world was burning, he might as well have a decent view.
The streets around Pimlico and Belgravia were quiet and subdued. Normally, this area was bursting with traffic and bustling with people heading to and from Victoria train station. No trains, thanks to Biblical—which meant no commuters.
At the Jagged Edge offices, Jacs and Dominic walked the floor. The buzz of the newsroom was at fever pitch. Dominic was surprised to see so many people still going about the business of identifying, capturing, and distributing the news. The truth.
He spent an hour talking with staff then headed to Ray’s office. He knew Ray would be there at the coalface. He was a news junkie of the highest order; information was his heroin, the internet his needle, and the audience his bruised, track-marked vein. He was an addict who could never let go of the promise of the next news hit.
“Ray, how are you?” said Dominic, entering Ray’s large office.
“Fuck me, if it ain’t the last action hero! What the hell happened to you?” Ray rose from his leather chair.
“Australia. A lot of things can kill you down there.”
“So they say.”
“I hear we’re the only news agency still publishing?”
“That’s right. Looks like old Desmond earned his goddamn bonus this year.”
“I think it has more to do with the fact that Sagen programmed Biblical to allow Jagged Edge to continue. Not that many people are likely able to access it given power is out in most of the world.”
Ray’s brows elevated. “Nice of the asshole to gift Ja
gged Edge the worldwide news rights to his digital Armageddon.”
“Yes, it was. I think he was being very calculated about it. He struck me as a man who didn’t do things out of the goodness of his heart.”
“Struck you? Past tense?”
Dominic realized his tiny faux pas, something that a man like Ray would always pick up on. “Yes. He’s dead. Killed by special forces trying to capture him,” he lied. “But no mention of it publicly until the government release a statement.”
“Understood. A man like that wasn’t going to go quietly, I suppose.”
“No. It really was a mess. Much like what we’re all facing right now.”
“Yes, well, you’ll be pleased to know all the sites have been operating without a hitch. We’ve pulled back to a skeleton staff and, unsurprisingly, all the content is centered on Biblical. All advertising has been suspended indefinitely. Here in London we’re hot-wired into the home secretary’s office with a dedicated landline that’s going through an old, non-digital exchange. We’re recording and dictating public announcements over the phone and then posting them online. I’ve had a few personal conversations with the prime minister to assure her that we’re passing them on.”
“These are unprecedented times.”
“So much so that I’ve had offers from News Limited, The Guardian Group, BBC, BSB, and all the other media outlets calling to offer their journos and support, given that they can’t publish.”
“Well, that’ll be a first—the media offering to work together.”
“As you said, unprecedented times.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The next day Dominic sat at his desk in the study at Glenraden. Three days left. Seventy-two hours until Biblical was supposed to show the world what it was truly capable of. Dominic was deep in the past, writing down the finer details of his experience with Sagen. He wanted it captured on paper as a record of the historical events that had led to Biblical. There were only a few days to go until Biblical unleashed its full payload on the world. Whatever that meant.
