by Alex Scarrow
Charm huffed and rolled her eyes at her husband’s stubbornness.
‘Was Waldstein here when the levee walls broke?’ asked Maddy.
‘Not on that particular day. He came and went all the time; business trips and the like. I believe, though, that this was his favourite place to stay. He loved the view from the top of his tower.’
‘So when was the last time he was here? When was the last time you actually saw him?’
Walt settled back in his chair, and his eyes glinted the amber light of the candles set out on the grand table between them. ‘Over nine years ago. Not long after the big Manhattan flood. There were only a few of us left working here then. A skeleton crew, as they say. All the rest of the W.G.S. people had been made redundant by Mr Waldstein. Sent home. It was like he was winding things down here in New York. Almost like he knew Manhattan was running out of time.’
‘There was just a half a dozen of you left, wasn’t there?’ said Charm.
Walt nodded. ‘His pilot, three security guards, his cook and me holding the fort here back then. He sat us down and told us he was relocating us. Closing down this tower for good.’
‘Did he say where he was relocating you to?’ asked Maddy.
‘No. Just that he was moving his business affairs westwards, away from the advancing sea. He offered to take us all with him. Move us and our families too. But I said I wanted to stay on in New York.’ Walt shook his head and laughed at himself. ‘Born and raised in this city. Damned if I was gonna just leave this place for a ghost town.’ He looked at his wife. ‘My wife thinks I’m a stubborn ol’ fool. Anyway, he took the others with him. Want me to tell you folks the last thing he said to me just as they all climbed into his personal gyrocopter …?’
Maddy nodded.
Walt hesitated, with a grin slowly spreading across his lips. His wife nodded resignedly too, clearly having heard this particular anecdote far too many times already.
‘The man said to me he didn’t need this place any more. He said since I was prepared to stay on here as the caretaker … the whole tower was mine, if I wanted it.’
Charm laughed softly. ‘Walt acts like he’s king of the castle now.’
‘Well … damn, it is my castle. And, when the flooding’s all done and the sea starts heading back out one day, then I’ll be the proud owner of some prime real estate. New York will be revived, you can count on that.’
‘You’re just a dreaming fool,’ she sighed. ‘Those ice-caps may be all gone and the sea may have finished stealing chunks of land. But sure as hell the sea isn’t going to start backing up the way it came. Not any time soon. Not in our lifetime at any rate.’
He shrugged that comment off. ‘You ain’t got any faith, Mrs Roberts. Good Lord gave us another flooding for a reason. I reckon His work’s done on that score now.’
Charm rolled her eyes again at her husband. ‘And you ain’t no Noah.’
‘Anyway,’ Walt continued, ‘I reckon we got it better than most, sitting up here. Most other folks were heading west, last time I heard a digi-broadcast, it ain’t so good inland. Millions on the road, shortages of food and water. And in Colorado the FSA government’s struggling to look after them millions of migrants flocking in, and –’
Maddy interrupted him. ‘So, Waldstein just … gave you this whole tower?’
Walt nodded his head, then furrowed his brow thoughtfully. ‘Reckon I got to know him better than almost anyone. You folks know he didn’t have no family, right?’
Maddy nodded.
‘He once had a wife and a son, if I recall correctly,’ said Rashim.
Walt nodded. ‘Oh yeah … you’re right, but that was a long time ago. When I started working for him, he was a very, very private man. Very lonely man too. Sometimes he didn’t see any other folks but me for days and days. So, I reckon I’d say we got almost close enough to be called friends.’ Walt looked out of the window at the darkening sky. ‘When he finally left? It was strange, the way he was with me.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Like … well, that particular morning he was preparing to leave and he just gave me this tower? He was like … it was like he was someone getting set to face his own end, you know? Giving away all of his earthly possessions so he could finally go to God empty-handed. Naked as a newborn.’
‘You haven’t heard from him since?’
‘Nuh-uh. He just said to me, “It’s all yours, Walt. Look after it for me.” Then he got in the gyro’ with the others. Flew away. Never seen him again since.’
‘Can you tell us any more about what he was like?’ asked Rashim.
‘What he was like?’ Walt shrugged. ‘I was just his valet. What’s any multi-multi-billionaire like to wash and clean up after?’ He gestured at the large room. ‘He was human, if you know what I mean. Left his fair share of things around for me to clean or tidy. But I guess he wasn’t the clutter type. Liked things neat ’n’ spare. He kept this place mostly empty. There was a desk, a bed, a couch. This table and these chairs. He didn’t have many clothes or shoes or normal stuff. He wasn’t one for gadgets and possessions.’
‘You said he seemed like someone facing “an end”? Do you mean …?’
‘Suicidal?’ Walt shook his head. ‘No … just sort of settled, resolved. At peace even.’
‘Did he seem, I don’t know, agitated? Did he ever do anything or say anything strange?’
Walt laughed. ‘Only all the goddamn time. Strangest man I ever met!’
‘Was there anything going on here in this building?’ asked Maddy. ‘Any research areas? Any floors with restricted access?’
‘Hell, no. This whole tower was just corporate. The boring stuff, you know? Finance, patents, human resources, administration. The interesting stuff, the research projects … all those things happened over in the Rocky Mountains.’
‘You mean the Denver campus?’
Walt nodded. ‘W.G. Systems’ research centre.’ He looked puzzled. ‘You said you were W.G.S. people? I’d expect you’d know about that place.’
‘Sure we do,’ replied Maddy quickly. ‘Yeah, we know of it. But we’ve been abroad most of the last decade.’
‘Which division you say you folks were from? Genetics? Energy? Licensing? Research and development?’
‘Foreign-aid projects,’ replied Rashim. ‘We were abroad mostly.’
‘Where?’ asked Charm.
Maddy, Rashim and Becks looked at each other.
‘Africa,’ said Maddy finally. ‘We’ve been over in Africa most of the time.’
‘Uh, yes … East Africa. Studying drought-resistant, high-protein-yield gene-crops.’ Rashim flipped his hand casually. ‘That kind of thing.’
Charm sat forward. ‘Guess it must be pretty bad over there too? All those inter-ethnic, inter-tribal wars in the east?’
‘Yeah.’ Maddy slowly nodded her head. ‘But then where isn’t it bad these days, huh?’
‘True, that,’ uttered Walt.
The conversation lulled for a few moments and they listened to the soft moaning of the gentle wind around the glass top of the tower and faintly, far below, the sound of a lively, choppy tide slapping against the base of the building.
‘Unlike Walt here,’ said Charm presently, ‘I never been one for believing in a God Almighty. Or believing in what some folks say is happening.’
‘Happening?’ Maddy looked back from the windows. ‘What do you mean?’
She shrugged. ‘End times. Like in the Bible. But … I don’t know –’ she pressed her lips together and shook her head – ‘I do sometimes wonder if things really will get better than they have been. All my life, far as I can remember, this world has felt like it’s been limping towards some sad ending.’
Walt laughed. ‘Don’t listen to my wife. No mistake that things are tough right now, but I guess I’m the optimist out of the pair of us. It’ll all get better one day, I’m telling you.’
‘So …’ Maddy looked at Rashim. She wanted to stee
r the conversation back to what they needed to find out. ‘You think Mr Waldstein’s now holed up in this Denver campus place?’
‘Sure. Good a place as any. Remote, hard to get to. Hard to find.’
‘Could you give us the address?’
‘Address?’ Walt laughed. ‘An address for the W.G.S. Research Campus? You think there’s stationery just lying around with a hey-drop-round-anytime address printed at the top?!’
‘Now, Walt … no need to be making rude to our guests,’ said Charm.
‘True,’ he conceded, a smirk still on his face. ‘I’m sorry. Look, I got an address for the contracts and the legal office just outside Denver City. The actual research campus is located somewhere up in the Rocky Mountains nearby. Mr Waldstein made a big deal of keeping its exact location a need-to-know only. For obvious reasons. All kind of cutting-edge technology work going on there … or at least there used to be. You folks want to find him, then you probably need to go to Denver City, present yourself to whatever staff he’s got left working in Legal and I guess they’ll make contact with Mr Waldstein.’
Walt looked at Maddy somewhat suspiciously, she suspected. ‘If he wants to see you, you’ll know soon enough. Good luck with that.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You folks got some barter on you?’ asked Charm.
‘Um …’
She smiled. ‘I guess not. Barter … that’s what passes for money these days. You’ll need some luxuries to trade. Things like chocolate bars, nice smelly soaps. I’ll get you some things that you can –’
‘Hold on, Charm!’
‘Now, Walt … don’t get all mean on our guests. We ain’t sending these nice people out there, heading across the wilderness, with nothin’ to barter.’
CHAPTER 11
First century, Jerusalem
Liam and Bob allowed themselves to be carried along with the push of people squeezing through the north-east gate into the city. The tide carried them up broad stone steps, through another archway and into the large square courtyard Liam had spotted from the hillside. The temple platform.
He looked up at the huge stone walls and the tall Grecian columns running along them. Shadows danced across the stonework, cast up by dozens of flickering braziers. On top of the walls, Roman soldiers paced along walkways, watching the marketplace below. The vast courtyard was alive with noise: the cry of traders’ voices bouncing off the high stone walls round them, the bray of mules and oxen, the warbling coo of hundreds of sacrificial doves crammed into small wicker cages, the anxious bleat of goats.
‘Jay-zus, it’s busy in here!’ uttered Liam. In his ear, the babel-bud translated his words into approximated Aramaic and calmly whispered the words to him. Around him snatches of conversation began to be picked up by the bud and translated:
‘… fifteen shekels for those doves …’
‘… Gentiles, of course … only faithful pilgrims are permitted …’
‘… How much?! You can’t be serious! …’
‘… Over there! Slaughter those over there … at the temple. Not here, you foolish …’
The air was thick with incense burning from every trader’s stall. Across the courtyard, Liam could see that many of the male pilgrims were wearing pale shawls over their heads and odd-looking small square boxes strapped to their foreheads.
‘Bob? What are those box things?’
Bob consulted his database. ‘They are called phylacteries.’
‘Great, so now I know what they’re called. But what are they?’
‘The boxes contain religious texts and prayers, folded up inside.’
‘Uhh … really?’ He nodded, bemused. ‘Right. So, I guess it leaves their hands free.’
In the centre of the courtyard stood the temple, towering over the bustling marketplace, as high as the guarded portico walls that surrounded the entirety of the temple grounds. ‘So, we should make our way towards that building in the middle?’
‘Affirmative.’
They began to weave their way through the milling crowd, jostled and pushed by others eager to take their freshly purchased sacrificial animals towards the temple. Closer to it, they could see a long queue of people snaking out of the temple through a large bronze doorway, down shallow steps to a low knee-high wall that ran all the way round the outside of the building. Every last person in the queue, it seemed, was carrying something to present for a sacrifice: the women mostly had wicker baskets containing fluttering birds, the men leading rolling-eyed goats by tethers.
As they made their way along the side of the queue towards the low wall, Liam’s bud began to pick up fragments of male and female voices again:
‘… look at them! Look … they can’t –’
‘… blasphemy! Someone should stop …’
‘… they should be killed …’
Liam turned to look at the queue and saw eyes locked on them, round and incandescent with rage. He tried a disarming smile and a friendly wave. ‘Just having a look. We’re not pushing in, I promise!’ The babel-bud translated that into Aramaic and he did his best to voice out loud what his bud had whispered into his ear.
Whatever it was they heard him reply, it seemed to only make them more enraged. He reached out and grabbed Bob’s arm. ‘Uh, Bob? Are you translating what these people are saying?’
‘Yes. They appear to be very displeased.’
‘You’re not kidding. I think they think we’re pushing in front of them or something.’ They approached the low stone wall and Liam shook his head and tutted. ‘What is it with some people?’ He craned his neck to look up at the temple building, tall and imposing, the pale sandstone walls warmed by pools of dancing light from flickering oil lamps. He casually hopped up on to the low wall …
… and heard a collective intake of breath rippling all the way down the queue beside them. He could see hundreds of eyes glaring at him, mouths below dropped open, forming ‘O’s of horror and disgust.
Jay-zus, what the hell is wrong with these people?
Bob reached out for Liam’s hand, grasped it and pulled him roughly back down off the wall.
‘Whuh! Why the –?’
Bob pointed to a paving stone on the floor beside the wall. Characters were inscribed in it.
‘What? Let me guess, it says “No climbing around on the wall”, right?’
‘It says: No Gentile is to proceed beyond this balustrade. Whosoever is caught will have himself to blame for his death. Which will follow directly.’
Liam found himself instinctively backing away from the wall. He turned to the queue of people and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry! I didn’t realize!’
A pair of guards emerged from the bronze doorway leading into the temple and began to approach them. Several of the men standing in the queue stepped out of it and also began to slowly pace towards them. They were shouting, bellowing angrily at him, fists balled and waving in front of their faces. The babel-bud in his ear kept starting and stopping, catching and attempting to translate snippets of Aramaic, then aborting to begin again.
‘You know what?’ whispered Liam. ‘I think we’d probably better turn and go.’
Bob nodded. ‘We are attracting a lot of attention.’
They turned their backs on the low wall and began to walk quickly away from the temple and diagonally away from the snaking queue of pilgrims.
Just brass it out, Liam. Brass it out and keep walking.
They picked up the pace and put some distance between them and the raised voices calling after them. Liam gave it a minute and then turned to snatch a quick glance over his shoulder. There were still a few men following them, men waving their fists and snarling. He saw one of them stoop down and pick something off the ground. He pulled back his arm and launched it at them; a moment later, a sharp stone bounced off the side of Liam’s head.
He yelped in pain. Put his hand up to his temple and felt a trickle of blood.
Bob stopped in his tracks, turned round and started to
move threateningly towards the man who’d thrown it.
‘Hold it, Bob. I’m all right. It just smarts a bit.’
‘The action is threatening.’
‘Not particularly welcoming, admittedly, but let’s not kick off a bloodbath here.’
Bob growled.
‘Heel, boy … Let’s just make a quick exit before we start something.’
CHAPTER 12
2070, New York
88 days to Kosong-ni
The motor launch took them west, at first weaving slowly through the labyrinth of skyscrapers, then out across the open channel of what was once the Hudson River, towards what remained of New Jersey. They chugged between the extended rusting arms of freight-loading cranes, emerging from the water’s surface at an angle, like the rotting boughs of vast dead redwoods.
New Jersey rooftops passed silently either side of them: warehouses, factories, shipping offices, then further westwards … apartment blocks, shopping centres, business centres. They passed the upper walls and roof of some sort of stadium. Above the main entrance was a large billboard featuring the fading and flecked red-paint logo of something that looked like a reclining horned imp.
‘New Jersey Devils,’ grunted the cabbie. ‘Greatest ice-hockey team … ever. Period.’ He looked at Maddy. ‘I saw them play once as a kid. That was way back in ’43. Must have been one of the very last games they ever played.’
She nodded politely, then looked back again at the waterlogged landscape sliding past them. Not a world wholly submerged. That might have been more bearable if it had all been lost far beneath the surface and lay out of sight and mind. But like this? A world struggling to keep its chin above a dirty, debris-encrusted tide? Looking at something floundering to stay alive, she figured, was far worse than looking at something long dead. Here and there she spotted signs of rooftop life: potted plants on terraces and verandas, rooftop gardens covered with bean stalks and tomato plants weaving their way round cane frames, buckets and awnings erected to gather and channel rainwater. She looked up at the brown-tinged, chemically tainted clouds above them and wondered just how drinkable that water was.
