The Murderer: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

by Paul Smith

  "Great," said Gregore, "Us go in, now."

  Gregore stayed behind for a moment to post some hand drawn posters for any delegates who may show up late.

  Inside the room, a microphone was set up and there were chairs for about three dozen. Minutes later, James was surprised to see nearly all of them filled.

  In the front row sat Philibert, Gregore, Zola and the three from Sonora. One other delegate looked familiar—Sir Anthony Massey of Great Britain.

  Gregore pointed to the microphone and nodded to James.

  James discarded any reticence and planted his feet firmly behind the microphone. "Hello, and thank you for coming. We're going to be short on formalities, because we don't have a lot of time in this room.

  "I'm James Findlay, delegate from Scottish Caledonia. I'm here to talk about climate change, what we can expect and what we should be doing about it. After I tell you a few things, I will open up for questions."

  "What can we learn here," asked Sir Anthony, "that we haven't already learned at the main conference?"

  "As I said," James looked right at Sir Anthony and smiled a brief, thin smile, "I will open up for questions afterward."

  "You're not a denier, are you?" asked Sir Anthony, raising his face with a smug, almost sinister smile.

  "Sir, I will not repeat myself. One more disruptive outburst without being called upon will result in your immediate ejection. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Perfectly," said Sir Anthony.

  Next to the British delegate sat another person James did not recognize. Sir Anthony leaned over and whispered something to his companion.

  "I did not want to make this personal, but I will make an exception, just to show the seriousness of my mission, here. Yesterday, I was drugged at the conference. A vendor took over a minute to produce the bottle of juice I had ordered. The seal had been broken, but I thought nothing of it until later when my perspective became severely challenged. Later, the two-thirds full bottle went missing from my desk. Someone cleaning up the evidence? I don't know. Some poor delegate stealing my juice and suffering the drug themselves? I don't know that, eitehr. But last evening, my fiancée was murdered. That's how serious these people are to stop me. So, Sir Anthony, you will know how deadly serious I am to throw you out if you act in an uncivil manner again.

  "Firstly, the United Nations and the world's media, for the most part, seem to be making a great deception on a number of levels. Firstly, the term 'climate change' to describe a limited, modern, so-called problem is deceptive, because climate change has happened for billions of years, almost all of it without humans around. Secondly, Global Warming is not the problem they make it out to be, because we reside in an ongoing Ice Age. The fact that we have persistent polar glaciation is the dead giveaway, there. The current Ice Age is divided into glacial periods of approximately 90,000 years each and interglacials—like our current Holocene—which last an average 11,000 years each. Right now, the Holocene is at least 11,600 years old, depending on your definition for the boundary between glacial and interglacial periods. Some estimates say 17,000 years old. So, we are at least 600 years overdue for the Holocene to end.

  "With all this talk of Global Warming being bad, I have to disabuse you of following that line of thought. Warmth promotes life; cold kills. We reside in an Ice Age and the United Nations, globalists and the media they own all want to cool down the planet. That's like giving sand to a hungry man."

  "Looks like he is a denier," said Sir Anthony to his companion. His voice was sufficiently loud to attract everyone's attention. Then he laughed loudly for several long seconds.

  James looked down at Gregore, then to Philibert. Each nodded in turn and stood. James paused while they stood before Sir Anthony. The British delegate merely sat there, looking up at them. Philibert grabbed his arm and Sir Anthony jerked it away.

  "Sir Anthony," said James. "You were told politely and now you will leave, because you did not behave as requested. If you do not want to be manhandled, you will leave now on your own volition."

  Sir Anthony stood. "I can't believe that so many of my fellow delegates are crackpots to be listening to this tripe." Slowly, he walked toward the exit.

  Before he was gone, James continued. "The funny thing about the pejorative term 'denier' is that it is also deceitful. Deny what? That climate change happens? Yes, it does. That CO2 is a greenhouse gas? No denial there, either. That man produces huge quantities of additional CO2? No, no denial there. That temperatures have gone up since 1950? No denial. See the deceit? What is being denied? Yet, it seems that Sir Anthony a many others deny that we are in an Ice Age. They want to cool down the planet."

  Sir Anthony had already left, but he burst into the room stopping Gregore and Philibert in their tracks, halfway back to their seats.

  "How dare you speak for me and others," said Sir Anthony, loudly.

  "Okay," said James, "I'll allow you a moment of indulgence before calling hotel security, because this is an important point. Do you admit that we are in an Ice Age?"

  "I admit nothing."

  "Then you, sir, are doubly excused. Leave and do not come back."

  Sir Anthony looked to the other delegates in the room. "Don't mess up your chances to save the world from crackpots like this—this Mr. Findlay, here. Do not listen to him."

  Gregore turned toward Sir Anthony and strode in quick, broad steps. The British delegate disappeared behind the closing door.

  "I apologize for that," said James. "Some people are truly desperate to save their cash cow. They stand to make trillions of euros over this scam and money does strange things to the truly psychopathic. They know the difference between right and wrong, but do not care. They will lie, cheat—even murder—to get their way. May my dear Moira rest in peace."

  Several delegates spoke to each other. James waited for their murmurs to subside.

  "What happens when the next glacial period starts? Well, I've been studying the scientific literature. At one extreme, the Holocene could take hundreds of years to end, gradually getting colder and colder. At the other extreme, the Holocene could end in about fifty years. We could have full-blown glaciation covering all of Canada, half of the United States and all of Northern Europe. We would have permanent winter across these regions within in two to three decades. Before that happens, most years would suffer from poor crops or complete crop failures from either the cold or the lack of rain. Cold climate means cooler oceans and far less evaporation. Without evaporation, there is very little precipitation.

  "You might be thinking that seven billion people might starve to death. You may be right, if we don't plan for the right kind of catastrophe.

  "There are several very good studies which show that CO2 is not the driver of climate. It should not be a big surprise that the main driver is the sun. Small changes there create major changes on Earth."

  "You talking about the Svensmark study?" asked another delegate, four rows back. "That study was discredited."

  James left the front of the room and walked right up to the delegate who had asked the question. He pointed toward the exit. The woman stood, glared at James from mere inches, then turned and left.

  At the front, James spoke into the microphone, "I apologize for the additional interruption. I know that the remainder of you are smart enough to understand my earlier request. I will make myself available for questions as long as is possible.

  "About the delegate's question, I was indeed talking about the Svensmark study. And every criticism of his team's work, that I've read, was based on unsupported assumptions or political motivation. I challenge you to read his work and the comments of his critics. Certainly, more work needs to be done to corroborate his discoveries, but it shows far more promise and correlation than do CO2 levels.

  "Back to the Ice Age glacial period, what else can we expect? For one, falling ocean levels. That means more real estate in some areas, but existing ports will become useless. New ports will have to be built. Because of new
glaciation, most northern cities will become buried in ice and snow. They will die, because of the permanent state of winter. People will be displaced—those who survive.

  "Because of the lack of rain, many areas which support a wide variety of flora and fauna will become desert, killing vast quantities of life.

  "Recommendations? Prepare for the worst and plan for the best. Prepare for glaciation within fifty years. How can we grow food for seven or even eight billion people? Where will we get the fresh water for our crops? Can we shuttle ice further south? Can we develop more efficient desalination and use ocean water? Can we turn the Sahara into irrigated farmland? Australia, too?

  "And plan for the best. Can we end the Ice Age? Can we pitch in as a whole—all seven billion of us—and melt the polar glaciers and make it stay that way without causing other major problems? Rising oceans may be inevitable. I know my own country will largely disappear. Perhaps other countries, nearby, can accommodate us by allowing our lost nations to be transplanted.

  "But we have to ask ourselves: Which would we prefer—a world of ice and seven billion humans dead? Or a world of warmth and life, thriving with a little hard work to acclimate to the changes?

  "Questions?"

  For the next half hour, several delegates asked questions about the data James had presented. He had a prepared list of resources and he read them off for them to copy down. And then, they were out of time.

  In the hotel lobby, James remained ready for any other questions the delegates may have had. By 9:30, the last of the delegates had left. He stood there in the lobby, waving to the last two delegates as they turned to hail a taxi.

  "A very successful meeting," said Philibert. "Very well done, my friend. I suspect you are now very hungry."

  James took in a long breath and let it out slowly. "I'm afraid I'm too exhausted to be hungry. Emotionally? I feel trashed. I felt like killing Sir Anthony, earlier. If no one else had been around, I might have. I feel as though I'm going crazy. Just keeping enough sanity to remain coherent is taking a lot out of me. But I should eat something. Otherwise—"

  "Yes, my treat. Follow me."

  Over dinner, James and Philibert discussed the coming day. Though his media contacts had apparently abandoned him, he still had his press credentials. He had not used them since he had been let go, but he intended to make the most of them while this most important conference was in his town.

  At Philibert's apartment, the two went over a list of delegates that had not yet been told what they needed to hear. James arranged them by likelihood of listening.

  "We need to hit these, first," said James. "Perhaps you can interview these during the breaks, asking if they know the critical information—like, do they know we're in an Ice Age. What happens if the Holocene were to end? And what are the chances of the Holocene ending later today? Things like that."

  By midnight, they had a strategy for the coming day that could prove to have the greatest impact.

  Wednesday morning, James returned to the conference and acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He nodded to many of the delegates to whom he had spoken the previous evening. The connections he had made must surely be making an impact on the ultimate outcome of this conference.

  Philibert Viardot presented himself with his press credentials at the information booth and was given a temporary pass to the conference. Even before the morning session had begun, Philibert had interviewed three of the delegates on his list.

  During the lunch break, Philibert arranged to have lunch with a group of eight delegates, six of whom were on his list. One had attended last night's talk at the Hotel Le Monde. James likewise had lunch with another batch of delegates, most of whom he had not yet talked to.

  When James returned from lunch, Sir Anthony Massey, four security guards and Philibert met him just outside the main conference hall. They were joined moments later by two officials of the conference.

  "I am very sorry about this," said one of the officials, "but you two have been accused of being disruptive."

  "On what grounds?" asked James. "Talking to other delegates. That's not disruptive. Are you censoring our communication."

  "You are upsetting other delegates by your contrary ideas," said Sir Anthony. "You are a denier and we do not want you here. This is serious work for those with a truly global conscience."

  "Deny what?" asked James. "Answer me that. What have I denied?"

  "Climate change," said Sir Anthony.

  "Never," said James. "Climate always changes. It has changed for billions of years and will continue to change until the Earth loses its atmosphere. So, you see," he turned to the conference officials, "he is wrong in his accusation. As for a global conscience, I care very much about the world. We reside in an Ice Age and we are all in danger of freezing to death when the Holocene ends."

  "See?" said Sir Anthony. "He denies global warming."

  "Wrong, again," said James. "I agree that the globe has warmed hundreds of times in the past."

  "Until we get this straightened out, we require your conference identification," said one of the officials.

  "On what grounds?" asked James. "Sir Anthony, here, has been disruptive. We had a meeting with a few dozen delegates last night and Sir Anthony repeatedly interrupted the speaker and had to be ejected for his rudeness. If anyone has been disruptive, it has been Sir Anthony."

  The official looked to Sir Anthony. The British delegate merely glared at the official, eyes narrowing with a tinge of anger.

  "That is a different matter," said the official, "something which occurred off-site. That is not a concern of these proceedings."

  "No, I refuse. I have already shown you how Mr. Massey has been wrong on two of his accusations. Yet you persist? I insist that this move of yours be brought to the main body."

  The official shook his head. "I'm afraid that we cannot add this to the agenda."

  "What is your definition of disruption?" asked James.

  Now, the official squirmed. He looked down at the floor, glanced at Sir Anthony, then shook head twice before setting his stance more firmly. "You have been disruptive and there is no recourse. You will have to leave."

  "Like hell!" said James. "I am the official delegate of the sovereign Republic of Caledonia and demand an official hearing of this matter. You have offered zero evidence of wrongdoing, yet I have given you two very clear rejections of Mr. Massey's spurious claims. You are being corrupt and I will have you brought before the world for your crimes."

  Philibert winced at James's last words. He could sense an escalation that might not end well.

  "Sir," said the official, "if you do not hand over your identification and leave peaceably, you will be taken out by force."

  "Again, on what grounds?"

  The official turned to the security guards and nodded.

  As the four guards started to move toward James, he pictured the bottle of drugged juice, and the look in Moira's dead eyes. He looked at the smirk on Sir Anthony's face and hated the man with every fiber of his being. Before he could think, he found his fist hurtling toward Sir Anthony's nose. He felt an immediate crunch and a horrible pain in his fist.

  Like a wild man, James darted one way than jagged in a different direction, completing an end run around the guards. His moves would've won him accolades in American football for quickness and lack of physical contact. Moments later, he was in the main conference hall. The afternoon session was moments from starting.

  He ran down the aisle toward the front and yelled at the top of his voice. "Fellow delegates. I apologize. But I am about to be escorted out of here for being disruptive. I am already accused of this, so I hope you don't mind me giving them good reason after their false accusations. The officials of this conference are censoring me for asking questions and for talking to you—my fellow delegates. I believe we are all in danger of climate change, but not from warmth. We live in an ongoing Ice Age, and—"

  The guards caught up with him. />
  "—and we are in danger of the Holocene ending. Think!" James took a deep breath as the guards dragged him away. "Think what will happen when the Holocene ends. How many people will survive a new glacial period of the current Ice Age? And the Holocene is already 600 years overdue to end. Think, my friends. They are censoring me, but I care enough to speak to you, heart to heart. They tried to poison me on the first day, to shut me up, then they murdered my fiancée. Global warming is good."

  As the guards dragged him out of the main hall, James continued to repeat, "Global warming is good. Global warming is good...."

  "Damn you!" James glared at the officials. "You! You monsters are responsible for the deaths of billions, if this plan goes through to cool down the planet. You monsters are hypocrites. Here, I am one of the few who really cares and knows what he's talking about, and you have to silence me. For shame. Shame on you, murderers!"

  "Arrest that man," said Sir Anthony. "He broke my nose."

  "Go ahead," said James. "Arrest me, you criminal. I'll break more than your nose, if you give me a chance."

  "Come on," said Philibert. "I think we've overstayed our welcome."

  "And you give up just like that?"

  "No, my friend. They have us outnumbered. We will have to regroup. Think of something else."

  James stood there for a few seconds, took a deep breath, removed his conference identification and shoved it against the chest of the official nearest him. "Keep this, you hypocrite. May the deaths of billions weigh on your nightmares. You all disgust me. I'm ashamed to think you're even human."

  Philibert tugged on James's arm, and both started to leave.

  A rather burly, ordinary man bumped into Philibert, knocking him backwards half a step. The man did not stop or look back. Philibert glared at him and shook his head. "Inconsiderate lout."

  The next moment, Philibert was on the floor, unconscious. The way his face sagged, and body folded upon itself like a stack of broken toothpicks, told James that his friend was dead.

  "What did you do?" asked James, loudly. "Stop that man. He just killed Philibert Viardot. Stop him." The guards looked to the conference officials who merely shook their heads. "Murderers!"