‘But I digress. In what will probably be my last broadcast for the BBC, I want to bring you the alarming truth about a global cover-up perpetrated by the world’s leading nations. A cover-up planned and directed by the GMRC itself. What is this secret that we are not being told? I do not know. What I do know is that there is a cover-up and they will go to any lengths to make sure it stays hidden from view.
‘How can I prove this bold claim? As ever, direct proof is hard to come by. The GMRC has seen to that. What I can prove is the surrounding evidence. A wise man once said you don’t need to see something directly to know that it is there. Anything with substance, physical or otherwise, leaves telltale ripples which reveal its presence. The fact is, for over fifty years governments, powerful companies and organisations have been manipulating these ripples to cover their tracks. How do they do this so effectively? The utilisation of the media is key to their plans.
‘I am reporting to you now for the first time operating under true freedom of the press. What you have been told is a lie. Whatever the GMRC is hiding, they are willing to suppress, silence and murder those seeking the truth to keep it hidden. So what is my proof? I can reveal the ripples surrounding the lie. Within the BBC alone over fifty journalists and researchers have disappeared or died in supposed accidents in the last ten years, over half this number within the last three years alone. Coincidence? No. Many of these people have been linked with, and reprimanded over, anti-government and anti-GMRC reports. What’s more, my contacts have revealed a disturbing trend within the entire media industry, across seemingly every nation. I personally know broadcasters from CNN and Fox News in the USA, and CTV News in Canada, who tell me there is a deep unease and fear within the networks about reporting any overly negative views against their government and even more so with regard to the GMRC itself. As with the BBC, these organisations have experienced similar disappearances and accidents to their workforce.
‘This high labour turnover in the journalistic profession is also replicated across Europe, Australia, India, China, Brazil and anywhere that has a high quality, so-called independent, press. I myself have been told on numerous occasions to avoid anti-GMRC viewpoints and not to report my findings on my missing colleagues. I have witnessed first-hand the seizure and destruction of BBC News computers by government and GMRC officials on no fewer than three occasions. Reporters have also been arrested while others have just disappeared without trace.
‘The question is not whether the media is being suppressed, but why. What is the GMRC hiding from the people of the world that it will go to such lengths to cover it up? I hope this report will go some way towards exposing the truth and to galvanising and fostering public support for an end to unilateral GMRC control. It’s time our politicians said “no more” to GMRC protocols and sanctions and stood up for the rights of the people they were elected to protect.’
‘Jessica.’ Martin’s voice came through her earpiece. ‘They’ve blocked the signal internationally; it’s only a matter of time before the terrestrial feed goes too.’
Jessica gave an imperceptible nod. ‘Even now,’ she continued, ‘the GMRC seeks to halt this broadcast. They don’t want anyone to know the truth. What are they hiding from us? What are they hiding from you, from everyone? What are they planning for our future, for our children’s futures and for the generations to come? Why is it that—’
‘Jessica, we’re off air,’ Martin told her, ‘it’s over.’
‘How did I do?’
‘Brilliantly,’ he replied with real warmth, ‘you did us proud, did us all proud. I—’
Martin’s voice cut off. ‘Martin?’ Jessica said, her concern audible. ‘Martin!?’
There was no reply.
♦
In London, Martin West relaxed in his chair as his phone rang for the umpteenth time. His ten colleagues looked at him with nervous eyes; the banging on the door to the broadcasting suite continued unabated as the people outside shouted their demands for entry.
Casually, Martin picked up the phone. ‘Yes?’
‘Martin, open the door.’ It was his editor’s voice, fraught with emotion. ‘The GMRC are on their way. Don’t make this harder than it already is.’
‘I told you to do something,’ Martin told his boss. ‘My brother went missing and you did nothing. No investigation. No reports to even suggest there might have been foul play by the Government or by the GMRC. What did you expect, for me to forget the whole thing, forget my brother even existed?’
‘I couldn’t do anything; I’d have lost my job!’
Martin snorted in derision and slammed down the phone just as the door to the room burst open with a bang. Wooden splinters flew across the floor as grey garbed GMRC soldiers stormed inside. The other workers screamed and cried out in fear, some putting their hands in the air while others fell submissively to the floor. Pulled from his chair, Martin was thrust against a wall, handcuffed and marched from the room.
♦
Back in New York, James had come round to the front of the camera to give Jessica an uncharacteristic hug. The noise of the crowd increased and Jessica turned to see the barriers had opened up at the front of the building. The NYPD brutally held back the protestors as a team of GMRC operatives swarmed out of the entrance and headed straight towards the BBC news crew.
James swore and turned to run, but he was brought up short by the sight behind them; U.S. troops had cut off their escape.
‘Relax.’ Jessica laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder as the grim-faced men bore down on them. ‘This was inevitable. Just stay strong and we’ll get through this together.’
Before James could reply they were forced to the ground by angry, shouting, armed men. As Jessica’s face was held down hard against the freezing cold tarmac, all she could see were feet shod in heavy, black, military boots with the occasional glimpse of a terrified looking James, a few feet away, trying to maintain eye contact with her. Jessica gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and at the same time wondered if she’d ever see her children and husband again.
Chapter Two
Malcolm Joiner, director of the powerful and feared GMRC Intelligence Division, stepped out of his plush helicopter and onto the roof of the GMRC’s western hemisphere headquarters. No sooner had the director and his entourage disembarked than the twin-rotored aircraft’s wheels lifted back into the air. The helicopter angled up and away, creating a tremendous downdraft. A deafening, reverberating, whump, whump, whump of the massive blades accompanied its departure as they cut through the dark, turbulent skies above. Reaching a set altitude, the dazzling landing lights turned off and when the ponderous bulk of that vehicle had shrunk into the distance, another soon took its place, the relentless procession continuing without pause.
One hundred storeys high, the building punched its way heavenward, but it was by no means the tallest tower in the Manhattan skyline. What it lacked in height, however, it made up for in sheer volume – above and below the surface. The chrome and glass clad, purpose-built, circular structure had an impressive diameter and dominated its block on uptown Ninth Avenue; it had to, as it housed thousands of staff in key hub offices for the various departments of the GMRC.
The whistling ice-cold wind had initially sought to snatch Joiner’s breath away and turn his skin to stone as his ridiculously expensive shoes had touched down onto the helipad’s hard, painted surface. The intelligence director fought back the urge to shiver as he strode across the vast rooftop towards one of the four main entrances to the building. In front of him other arrivals garbed in dense layers of fur-lined clothing made their way past high levels of security, the first of many such interventions before they reached their final destination.
For the sake of appearances, Joiner refused to dress like a cocooned Eskimo and cover his body from head to toe in thick thermal attire, like many of the dignitaries now filtering towards the warm interior. Instead he wore his usual close-fitting suit, which accentuated his considerable
height, although, as ever, he wore a classic pair of soft Italian leather gloves, a thin yet warm knee-length handmade overcoat, and a pair of narrow, rectangular glasses, to which he had attached flip down sunshades. It wasn’t that the sun was ever an issue these days, it was that he liked his appearance to be in keeping with his role and, since he was also head of U.S. Intelligence, it was almost a prerequisite to exude an ominous, untouchable and superior air; nothing could state this more than a pair of dark glasses.
The fact that he was untouchable was beside the point. He wanted to make sure others knew he was untouchable and that to consider otherwise was a very bad idea; not just for their own health but for the health of everyone else they held dear. Joiner had spent many years cultivating his aura of invincibility and power, and he wasn’t prepared to let it falter by wearing the wrong kind of clothing. As every politician and civil servant knew, appearance was everything.
Like those before him, Joiner subjected himself to the preliminary security station. A GMRC guard in arctic weather gear waved him forward.
‘Keep your arms inside the scanner at all times!’ the man told Joiner, raising his voice to be heard above the roaring winds and heavy air traffic above.
Without any acknowledgment he’d heard the guard’s instruction, Joiner stepped onto a shoulder-width, round, rubberised mat; a red circle at its rim and the representation of a person in the centre. The automated scanner hummed into life. White light illuminated Joiner from above, the beam emanating from an integrated fitting sunk into an overhang from the building’s entrance. Joiner and the mat he stood on were situated within an inconspicuous two inch wide square metal border that had been set into the floor and which now rose up to reveal itself. The scanner produced a high-pitched drawn-out whine as the metal structure swished up, down and around Joiner’s body in short, sharp motions, intense, ice-blue lasers sending short arcs of light over his whole frame.
After ten seconds the security device sank back into the floor. Joiner stepped forwards, passing beneath a strong, continuous jet of hot air and into a warm, brightly lit foyer. When the rest of Joiner’s team had been similarly swept they boarded a short escalator which whisked them to a row of gold doors, each embossed with the GMRC logo. At the edges of the room six well-armed soldiers stood to fixed attention, their grey-clad forms virtually invisible to the flow of VIPs passing by them on a regular basis.
A pair of the plush doors opened and Joiner’s group entered the lift’s glass interior. After descending a number of floors, Joiner emerged into a massive, open atrium. Bustling with orderly activity, the large, internal expanse consisted of a grand airport-style check-in system, the one hundred foot oval desk at its centre manned by a veritable army of administrative staff and encircled by row upon row of seating.
Joiner’s primary aide and his assistant collected up the party’s overcoats and deposited them at the counter. Further clerical security checks were actioned and passes handed out, with the appropriate clearance levels assigned to the embedded digital architecture. They were then ushered through a gate built into the desk itself and accompanied by an administrator down another escalator, two more lift shafts, two more security check points and, at last, into the joint largest council chamber in the world, the twin of which was located in the GMRC’s near identical sister HQ building in Shanghai.
The huge, domed room’s functional design consisted of circular rows of polished mahogany desks and comfortable blue and grey upholstered seating. The simplicity of the décor was not to be misconstrued for cost saving, however, as the area bristled with conferencing technology on a mind-boggling scale. Hundreds of active holographic computer displays and a multitude of interface devices adorned each table. Large OLED screens hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, while even bigger displays encircled the central hub of the summit chamber, this focal point acting as the main stage of interaction between council members and their guests.
Proceedings adhered to a strict schedule and a specially produced handbook and guide to the summit was duly handed out to every person of every delegation that attended. Joiner had been to such summits on many occasions over the years, but since the arrival of AG5 in 2040 the world was now a very different place. The buzz in the air from the ever-growing number of people congregating in the chamber was noticeable to Joiner as he made his way through the throng. He shook hands and spoke to world leaders and other influential dignitaries, whilst all the while extracting and storing information for future use. He was always on the job, a master of manipulation and deception; it was what he did, what he excelled at, amongst other considerable talents.
Finally Joiner made his way to a segregated area raised above all other seating except that of the Council’s Chief Chair, who sat at a similar level in the central hub. Joiner enjoyed sitting in his elevated position amongst the elite GMRC Directorate. It was a public display of his global power and influence for the benefit of those that were not previously aware. Joiner settled into his seat, his retinue close behind although at a lower level. He picked up a crystal glass and poured some iced spring water into it from a plain glass jug that had sat off to one side. As he sipped his drink the screens above spooled up information on the schedule of the soon-to-commence summit.
Joiner used the brief lapse before the endless talk began to take in his immediate surroundings and the people populating it. The Global Meteor Response Council consisted of many departments, some vastly more powerful and influential than others, but all operating, to varying degrees, under the following criteria:
PUBLIC: Activities disclosed to society
COVERT: Activities not disclosed to society
CLASSIFIED: Existence not disclosed to society
The departmental powerhouses, the main players that drove the GMRC’s policies and actions the world over, were as follows:
• Subterranean Programme: Covert & Classified
• Space Programme: Public & Covert
• R&D Division: Covert & Classified
• Intelligence Division: Covert
• Population Education: Public & Covert
• Population Control: Covert & Classified
• Economic Control: Public & Covert
• Conservation: Public & Covert
• Resource Control: Public & Covert
• Operations & Military: Public & Covert
• U.N. Integration: Public
• GMRC Oversight: Public & Covert
At the head of each one of these departments was an elected director, each of whom took their rightful place on the most powerful body of them all, the pre-eminent GMRC Directorate. People not in the know wrongly assumed that the highly classified Subterranean Programme wielded the most clout within the GMRC. This had been the case for the last two decades, but since the underground bases around the world were all but completed the balance had shifted slightly, and Joiner had been quick to exert his authority over the power vacuum that had resulted during this transitionary time. Through his dark lenses he looked over at the chair which held the Subterranean Programme’s Acting Director General, Shen Zhǔ Rèn, the now controversial Chinese replacement for Professor Steiner, who had been taken ill while on assignment at USSB Steadfast.
Professor Steiner’s illness was, of course, a fabrication of Joiner’s own making and a deception he had sold to the rest of the GMRC Directorate in a perfectly choreographed display of misinformation, and video and audio manipulation. It was amazing what one could do with video editing software and the political power to push it through. There were mutterings about Steiner’s sudden disappearance in certain circles, but that was inevitable and one imperfection of his plan to get rid of the insufferable professor he could live with. The fact the Subterranean Director General’s stress-induced illness just happened to coincide with USSB Steadfast going into lockdown procedure for the impact of the asteroid AG5 and an inopportune breakdown in the underground base’s communication system was perhaps more difficult to explain away;
and yet as the intelligence director he could manoeuvre and subvert those who complained the loudest regardless of their position in the GMRC or otherwise. Joiner not only had an extensive reach, he had allies around the world whose cunning, power and resolve all but matched his own.
Now that Steiner was out of the picture and the Chinese had caused political and military headaches for the West by attacking Japan and South Korea, Joiner was able to better pursue his more secretive agendas, agendas outside of his GMRC remit and in some cases directly opposed to what the GMRC was trying to achieve. Flicking up his sunshades to reveal the clear lenses beneath, he caught the eye of the R&D director and gave him an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. The R&D director, Dagmar Sørenson, a sallow, grim-faced individual always seemingly on the edge of a life threatening illness, lifted his hand in reply. Dagmar had proved a key ally to Joiner over the years and represented an asset he could ill afford to lose at this point in time. If the evil bastard were to drop dead now, he thought, it could prove a significant annoyance.
As the summit got underway, Joiner took another sip of his water and tuned in to proceedings. When each person spoke they utilised a sophisticated translation algorithm to ensure everyone present received the most accurate information in real-time; each team had back-up translators in order to make sure no errors were made, but it enabled a flowing interaction between all speakers, regardless of their mother tongue; a true technical marvel of the modern age.
2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) Page 4
