'Where is the postman?'
The General threw back the bed covers, grabbed his dressing gown from the back of a chair, and made for the bedroom door. Mrs Golovko scurried behind him as he swept from the room. Taking the stairs two at a time, he ran straight at the postman who flinched at his approach.
'Give me your manifest!'
Unsure as to what the General referred to, the postman simply offered him the only thing he was carrying, the list of recorded mail from the day before. The General snatched it and ran his finger down the list of addressees. He found the entry addressed to his house. It was as he feared, addressed to Solomon, from a firm of Swiss lawyers. This, he thought, can only mean one thing, that witch I married has conspired against me and now Solomon knows. She must be stopped no matter the cost. He threw his signature across the page and dismissed the postman. Mrs Golovko took her queue and excused herself; she would inform the cook to prepare the General's breakfast at once.
The General went into his study and withdrew his personal address book from his desk drawer. He dialled the number and barked into the phone when it was answered.
'Pushkin, is that you?'
'Yes General, it is.’ Captain Pushkin of the St. Petersburg police force stiffened in his chair and focused his entire attention on the phone call; he knew General Bondarenko’s reputation.
'I have evidence in connection with the murder of the Professor.'
Pushkin didn't interrupt nor did he bother to ask how the General knew of the death of Professor Doran, let alone that it was now a murder investigation. That information had not yet been released. He listened as the General continued.
'The evidence cannot be released to you, at least not yet as there is a question of State Security involved, however one of those involved in the murder was Solomon Bondarenko.'
'But,' stammered Pushkin 'but, that is your daughter.'
'I know it is my daughter! But she is now an enemy of the motherland and must be stopped, dead or alive.' General Bondarenko slammed down his phone.
13:07 28 October [13:07 28 October GMT]
Chester Square, Belgravia, London, England.
Jack hung up the phone. Sitting in his study, he was not making progress with his research. The perspective, he felt, that he had gained on his Thesis from speaking with his brother George was inspirational. However, it didn't leave Jack readily equipped to plunge into his research. He didn't have much of a clue where to look or where to start. He had just made an appointment to view a working gold mine in Wales. Its exact location or existence not advertised, it was on the other side of a small mountain from an abandoned mine that was on the map and he was told that someone would meet him there. Jack only managed to get an appointment because he knew one of the owners. So other than a walk around a working mine, I have nowhere to start. Jack decided to start backwards, rather than finding ancient gold and its owners, he would start by investigating who currently owns significant gold deposits and work back through time, seeing where and who exchanged gold and for what. Now he had to decide upon a suitable way of capturing and cataloguing the information as he found it.
He picked up a pencil and started drawing on a pad. Next to three stacked gold bars he had drawn, he wrote, “Total produced in the world to date.” That's a start, he thought to himself. Under the three gold bars he drew another, appreciably larger than the others and next to this he wrote, “Object with properties.” Now his mind was thinking clearly. He didn't know what he would be finding out, but he knew that he needed to gather as much information as possible and hold it in a flexible way, so that later he could do different types of manipulation on it.
So, he thought, a computer program and database schema it is. Having decided to go back in time and see where all the gold that had been mined each year went, he continued to add to his list of properties for his object. “Mined – Location and date; Mine – Owner; Purchase History, Purchaser (Name, Type (Business, Government, Person)), When Purchased, Purchase Cost (Units?), Use (Investment, Jewellery, Industry, Other). Jack stopped there, he knew instinctively that there would be more, but he wanted a “rough cut” to play with on his computer to check what else he would possibly need. The question mark he had written next to the “Units” for the property of “Purchase Cost” worried him, it was difficult to think of a globally consistent unit that held constant through time. He threw that to the back of his mind, it will resolve itself, he reasoned.
Jack yawned again as he reached for his coffee. Finding it cold, he looked out of his study window. Seeing nothing, it took him a second to realise that it was night-time. Damn, he thought, when did that happen? Hungry, he had been working at his program now for over seven hours without food or a break. Time for both. He felt the program was coming along and was confident he was on the right track. The one major change he had made to the properties of the object was to add a “Mineral Type” property, this would mean he could collect information on other mined ores to contrast his research into gold with; diamonds, silver, iron and tin most probably, he thought.
One thing was becoming clear to Jack, there was going to be a lot of research involved and he didn't feel like doing it all himself. I don’t want to spend time searching for the right person then bringing them up to speed with the way I work. Given all that, he thought to himself, there really is only one choice.
Jack dialled the number for his last intern, she would have finished her degree by now, and I bet this would be right up her street.
20:42 28 October [20:42 28 October GMT]
Moore Terraces, Flat 4d, Brixton Road, Brixton, London, England.
Sally Brewer was at home, a two bedroom flat in the heart of Brixton that she shared with Anita. They had met in the first year of university sharing the same halls of residence. In their second year, they rented a flat together and hadn't looked back since. They both had small frames, Anita with dark skin, long black hair that stretched to her waist and deep hazel eyes whilst Sally contrasted with fair skin, platinum blonde shoulder length hair and bright blue eyes. Sally lent forward and wrestled another slice of pizza out of the box, folded it into a shallow “v” and started nibbling at it. Spicy but with no meat, Sally had come to enjoy living with a vegetarian. Not a vegetarian herself she had become much more choosy about what meat she would eat and how much. The sheer amount and variety of vegetables amazed Sally, who was used to them being on her plate “with something”, rather than “being something”. Lentils, she thought to herself, where were lentils when I was growing up?
The pizza slice consumed, she reached for her wine, a glass of inexpensive but very good Chilean red. This is going down a treat. Curled up on the sofa together, Sally and Anita where engrossed watching their latest choice from the “World Cinema” collection. This one was telling the story of a young girl growing up pretending to be a boy so that she could get an education. Sally hit the pause button as Anita reached for the phone.
'Hello?' said Anita, 'Oh sure, she's right here.'
'Hello?’ Sally said, clueless as to who might be phoning her. 'Oh hi.'
Anita listened as Sally made lots of “uh huh” sounds, becoming increasingly frustrated that she was not party to the conversation.
'I see,' Sally finally said something that Anita could understand, 'it sounds like a lot of work. No, no I'm not saying that I can't do it or that I'm not interested, I was just thinking that there sounds like enough work for two researchers.'
Another “uh huh.”
‘Well I have actually, let me have a word and I'll get back to you if that's OK?'
Sally hung-up the phone, rolled over and looked into Anita's face. 'How do you fancy earning some real good money?'
'What have you in mind?' asked Anita, smiling.
'No, nothing like that.' said Sally, hitting Anita with a cushion.
‘That was my old boss. He needs some research work and we have first refusal.’
Anita cradled her wine glass as she looked down at the fl
oor and spoke. 'But it would be temporary wouldn’t? What if we miss out on proper jobs?'
'Yes, it would be.’ Sally replied, ‘But Jack is seriously connected and a reference from him would open doors for us both.'
'OK, I'm in, phone him back.'
Jack was in the kitchen when the phone rang.
'Jack Hamilton…Oh hi Sally, thanks for getting back to me so quickly…That's great, I'll see you both here in the morning…The address? 80 Chester Square. Take a taxi if you like, and keep receipts, I'll reimburse you both for all expenses.’
The doorbell rang punctually at half past eight the following morning. Neither Sally nor Anita had ever seen such a house. Anita looked at the outside again, the white Georgian masonry, contrasted with the black detailing would be impressive enough, but this was a considerable sized building and in the heart of Belgravia, this Jack bloke must be worth a mint, she thought.
The door was opened by a tall, very fit man, who, they both had to agree later was also very good looking. Dark hair and eyes, his olive skin was from a combination of birth and sun, his dark eyebrows arched over his eyes which together with his quite sharp nose gave one the impression of a bird of prey. Jack was a physically imposing man.
'Good morning.' He said cheerily to them both 'please come in.' Jack gave them a guided tour of the place, which with its five bedrooms, four reception rooms and seven bathrooms took considerably longer than he planned. At the end of the tour, he actually felt slightly embarrassed at having such a home for a single man.
'You're welcome to use the guest bedrooms if you want to. There is always food in and fresh towels in the airing cupboard. I have a woman who comes in and “does” for me.'
Jack didn't care for how they made him feel, as if he was special or something. He felt even worse when he had to correct himself a second later.
'Well two women actually, although they come on different days.'
After fixing coffee for them all, he showed them into his study and by use of his white-board explained the task at hand.
‘You will have to maintain rigorous academic standards, so all research will have to be properly referenced. Also I have gone off the idea of reimbursing expenses.’
Here it comes, thought Anita, first the benefits go, then the pay.
'Instead here is one of my cards and its PIN number; I'll trust you to use it wisely. In general terms, any direct expenses are of course OK, plus any meals, drinks, travel but I draw the line at clothes, shoes and handbags.'
Sally and Anita both laughed, slightly unsure as to how serious Jack was. The card in Sally's hand seemed real enough.
4 Inauguration
10:00 27 October [15:00 27 October GMT]
Floor of the United Nations Building, New York.
Jayanti Kapoor paused briefly before entering. Jayanti, at fifty-five years of age was not frightened, nervous or even remotely concerned; the thought of addressing ambassadors from all of the world’s nations did not worry her in the slightest. Neither did the thought of it being broadcast live around the world. The thought that had given her pause was how a low cast Indian orphan came to be here, about to be inaugurated as the new Secretary-General of the United Nations.
Jayanti was born in a Delhi slum. The first and only child of a young couple who worked for a wealthy landowner, her father died before she was born and her mother during labour. Jay grew up always knowing how lucky she was just to be alive. Fortune however smiled on her again as she was taken in by the son of the landowner and was thus spared a life of institutionalisation, begging or worse.
When Jay was old enough, she was sent to boarding school in England. Jay enjoyed boarding, as it gave her more freedom than being at home. As the ward of a rich man, she was almost imprisoned within the palatial compound in which they lived. It was not safe for Jay to go outside, and she was never alone outside until she arrived in England. Jay was an earnest pupil who thrived on learning and excelled in her exams. She joined the majority of her friends by studying at Oxford where she chose to read Politics, Philosophy, and Economics determined as any young person to make a difference in the world. Financially independent, thanks to the continued support of her adoptive father, Jay returned to India to pursue a career in Politics. Fate intervened again, this time in the shape of the British Ambassador to India. As a business associate of her father, Jay had met the ambassador at one her father’s lavish parties. The ambassador explained that, in his opinion, politicians make headlines and civil servants make a difference. Civil servants, he had explained, especially diplomats and ambassadors work on an entirely different time scale to politicians. At the moment, he was working on a trade and knowledge exchange programme between their two nations that would last for fifty years. Politicians don't think in those terms, but those are the terms that make a real difference to a country and its citizens. His final words had stayed with her pushing her to join the Indian diplomatic corps. That, she reflected, was more than thirty years ago now.
Jayanti walked onto the floor of the United Nations and took her place at the podium. She looked down at her speech, checked it against the teleprompter and noting they were the same she began.
'I stand here before you the orphan daughter of a poor couple from the wrong part of Delhi. I am certain I would have faced a short life of misery and exploitation if I hadn’t rescued by my adoptive father. This inspired me to pursue a career serving my country and through that, its people. My transition to serving the people of the world, through the auspices of the United Nations has brought me closer to my personal goal of being of benefit to all mankind. Now, thanks to your confidence and support, I am to serve as your Secretary-General, I promise to do all that I am able to best serve, you, this organisation and every man, woman and child. Thank you.'
Jay took the applause and the almost inevitable standing ovation in her stride, she knew that the real work would begin now; her predecessor had been ill for so long that a lot of crucial work had gone undone. Even though as Under-Secretary General of the United Nations she had done her very best to keep the wheels moving, the most important and high profile of issues needed the Sec-Gen, Under-Secretary would not do. Then of course, there was the budget to sort out, that needed the Sec-Gen's approval. Jay was starting to realise just how busy she was going to be.
15:08 27 October [20:08 27 October GMT]
Office of the Secretary-General, United Nations Building, New York.
We have been at this for over two hours now, Jayanti thought to herself, and we are barely a quarter of the way through the agenda. They were not actually discussing any of the items, they were just “agreeing” with her how relatively important each of the items was. They came to the Middle East.
'We are sponsoring secret talks between the main Israeli and Palestinian players.' One of her senior advisors informed her.
'Oh' replied Jayanti 'what does that mean in reality?'
'It means' the advisor continued 'that we are in a “no lose” situation and might be able to announce something dramatic fairly soon.'
'What does “no lose” mean and when is fairly soon?'
'Well,' the advisor began 'if I can answer the second question first, fairly soon means probably within five years as it is going quite well. “No lose” in this context, means that there are no official or unofficial talks going on between the two parties.'
'If there are no official or unofficial talks, what exactly is happening?'
Jay had dealt extensively with this kind of bureaucrat; unfortunately, she had never learned how to get them to the point. The advisor continued.
'Well, a senior Palestinian is meeting with a senior Israeli, the Americans are facilitating, although for their own legal reasons this has to happen outside of American territory. They have met several times and each reports directly back to their leaders, this does not get on anyone's radar. They are therefore free to discuss any issue, nothing is off limits, and this means that they are making genuine progress. It's slow
, but it is positive.'
'Who are the people involved?’ Jay asked.
'Well,' the advisor began 'it is of course up to you, but you may prefer not to know, that way you will not give anything away, were you to meet them.'
'I think I would prefer to know.'
'Very well. The Israeli is Benjamin Yogev and the Palestinian is Saeb Tibi.'
'Thank you,' Jay responded 'what's next?'
19:40 27 October [00:40 28 October GMT]
Residence of the Secretary-General, East 57th Street, New York.
Jay laid back in the bath, allowing the heat and bubbles to get to work on her body. She took another sip of the wine she was drinking, an interesting if cheeky Chilean red with subtle flavours of strawberry and plum. Jay had spent ten minutes like this and she was just beginning to unwind, her mind starting to reflect on her life. Jay disliked the speech she had made to the United Nations that day, although astute enough to know that her “story” gave hope to millions around the world, she also knew it to be something of a lie.
The glib way in which she had referred to her “rescue” by her adoptive father hid the truth that had she not been adopted by someone of such wealth and influence there would have been no chance of her attaining any acceptable status in life, certainly not the elevated status she now held. If either of her parents had survived she would be living in Delhi, there would have be no real education for her, she would have worked hard as a domestic servant every day, no holiday, no personal time. She tried not to think of all the domestic servants who had waited on her, once she was elevated to her adoptive father's stature. Young girls, just like her but with no education would have risen early and finished late performing all the duties; from washing her clothes, to cooking and cleaning. Then there was the maintenance of the house and gardens, the cars, the pool and all the rest.
Dark Matter Page 5
