by J M Leitch
After a further hour of bitter arguments, Greg called the meeting to order and read out the first motion on which the members were to vote: whether or not the heads of state should admit to their people that they had no idea who or what Zul was.
Before Greg could finish, Bob Anderson was shouting, ‘This is a joke! Between the three of us,’ Bob bawled into his microphone, motioning towards the Indian President, the Chinese Premier and himself, ‘we represent three billion people on this planet. Three billion people!’ he repeated. ‘That’s nearly half its population and yet we only have one vote each out of one hundred and ninety-two?’ He had to raise his voice over the clamour to make himself heard. ‘It’s abominable… an absolute outrage.’
‘An absolute outrage,’ repeated the Chinese Premier, leaping to his feet and thumping the table with both fists. On the other side of the hall, the Indian President screamed her alliance with the two gentlemen, while representatives of smaller nations howled in disagreement.
‘The vote is not representative of our populations,’ the Indian President insisted, adjusting her sari over her shoulder, but her raised voice could scarcely be heard in the midst of the furore that threatened to bring down the very walls of the huge hall.
‘I propose a motion,’ Bob went on, waving his right arm in the air and pointing his finger. ‘I propose a motion,’ he repeated louder, ‘that as this contact is a threat to the planet’s security, the issue should be reassigned to the Security Council and debated in an emergency Session,’ he shouted louder trying to make himself heard, ‘in an emergency Session to be called by the Council within twenty-four hours.’
All those who were not members of the Security Council became incensed and shrieked their displeasure by taking up a chant of, ‘No, no, vote now, vote now.’
‘I agree with the American President,’ roared the Chinese Premier. ‘There are fifteen votes in the Security Council and Mr Anderson and I have two of them. I second the motion,’ he bellowed.
A tempestuous commotion greeted their words and members left their seats to storm the floor as utter pandemonium erupted. It took Greg a long time to regain control.
***
‘That fuck! That fuck!’
Before leaving New York, Bob had called Anita, demanding she meet him in the Oval Office the moment he got back to Washington. She was sitting on the couch waiting for him, filled with dread, when he stormed through the door, ripped off his jacket and began pacing up and down yanking at his hair. She had never seen him out of control. She could hardly bear look at him, let alone dare speak to him.
His usually handsome face was contorted and the tendons stood out on either side of his neck like ropes straining to anchor a bucking ship in the midst of a tempest.
‘What’s going on, Anita?’ he roared, spinning round to glare at her, accusing her, his icy eyes piercing through her head, his index finger jabbing at her face with a vehemence that made her mouth go dry. ‘What’s that fuck up to?’
His hair was standing on end where he’d pulled at it and his eyes were unnaturally wide.
‘Sir,’ she said, trying to swallow, drawing on all her resources to appear calm in the presence of such terrifying rage, ‘it’s as much a mystery to me as it is to anyone…’ but the sincere tone she tried so hard to strike came out sounding sickly-sweet and weak.
It angered Bob even more.
He exploded, shattering her sentence like a bullet splinters glass. ‘Where the hell have you been? Didn’t you watch the broadcast? Don’t you get what’s happening here? Some goddam asshole’s got it in for me and it’s going to ruin my career!’
He threw himself onto the couch opposite her, his head in his shaking hands.
‘Get out,’ he mumbled into his palms. ‘Just get out of here.’
Anita stared at him. ‘Sir…’ she hesitated, screwing up the courage to go on, ‘try and get some rest, sir. It’s been a terrible day. We’ll work all night, if that’s what it takes. We’ll have a statement ready for you first thing tomorrow morning.’
She stood up.
‘Is there anything I can get you? Before I go?’
He didn’t look up. ‘Just get out of here and leave me the fuck alone.’
CHAPTER 12
‘And I wanna make it quite clear to all Americans and to the rest of the world that I do not believe there is any possibility or probability that the interloper you saw on your screens yesterday is anything other than a human being like the rest of us.
‘I also wanna stress that I voted against and continue to stand steadfastly against the motion passed at the United Nations General Assembly yesterday afternoon. This motion was carried through because the majority of the members voted for it. However, let me remind you that it does not represent the view held by leaders of those countries whose populations make up the majority of the people on this planet.
‘Therefore, I wanna state in the most emphatic terms possible that I will never sanction or in any way condone a resolution that can be interpreted as accepting even the possibility of the existence of extraterrestrial beings, as did the one endorsed yesterday.’
Bob stared stony-faced and unblinking into the camera as his statement was transmitted live from the Oval Office. In the adjoining office Amanda, Bob’s secretary, sat by her desk with Anita and Barbara standing behind her as they all watched Bob’s broadcast on Amanda’s flat screen TV.
‘And you stayed up all night writing that?’ Barbara asked, raising her eyebrows. She looked like an exotic bird staring down at Anita, the dowdy sparrow.
Anita gave her head a little shake. ‘After he read what I prepared, he tore it up and threw it in the bin. ‘This,’ she gestured to the TV screen, ‘is all his own work.’
‘I read the headlines and watched the news,’ Barbara said. ‘I’m sure you both did too, so you know as well as I do the commotion “Zul’s” appearance has caused.’
‘Most people are welcoming him with open arms,’ Amanda added.
Barbara shrugged. ‘Well, our President certainly isn’t.’
‘The media’s cashing in on their recent run of positive reporting,’ Anita said. ‘They’re piggybacking the story onto the success of the UN initiative and heralding “Zul” as the guarantee for a happy future for everyone, saying we’re going to ascend to heaven. People are drinking it up.’
‘And there’s Bob,’ Amanda nodded at the TV, ‘taking the diametrically opposite position to the majority. He’s isolating himself… leaving himself standing out in the cold.’
Anita nodded. ‘It’ll be his political downfall.’
‘Why’s he being so damned pig-headed about “Zul”?’ Barbara asked.
Although Anita’s expression was impassive, the muscles in her face tightened and Barbara could sense the strain she’d been under. ‘When he first proposed those NASA cuts back in March, we all warned him it was a mistake. We pleaded with him to test public opinion before making the announcement, but he wouldn’t listen.
‘When he saw the public reaction and realised instead of being hailed as a hero Americans everywhere were denouncing him for trying to bring down one of their favourite institutions, it infuriated him. It dented his ego big time.’
‘He’s been like a bear with a sore head ever since,’ Amanda said.
‘So you’re telling me all this posturing is an ego thing?’ Barbara asked.
‘Of course he was furious at the public backlash,’ Anita replied, ‘but that wasn’t the only thing. Not only did he look like a fool for not knowing where the loyalty of the voters lay, he looked an even bigger fool for ignoring his advisors.’
Barbara had never heard Anita utter one critical word about Bob before. Ever.
‘Trouble was,’ Anita continued, ‘he knew he’d gone too far to back off without it looking like he was backing down…’
‘… then the Secretary-General and Maiz came along with their story about “Zul”…’ Barbara added, ‘… and that was that.’
&nbs
p; ‘Exactly. You know better than anyone how the President took against Dr Maiz. But what you probably don’t know is he also saw it as a chance to neutralise him and his passion for keeping outer space for peaceful purposes. The only reason he backed off destroying him was because he quit from OOSA.’
‘Ah ha!’ Barbara said, ‘now I’m starting to understand. You see, once my Agency was off the case, I lost touch.’
‘We’ve spent the past few weeks stalling him, trying to persuade him to soften his stance about the cuts, but he wouldn’t budge,’ Anita explained, glancing at Amanda who was nodding in support. ‘He refused point blank to back down. The best we could do was try and slip the legislation through this week – you know – when we knew everyone would be focusing on the General Assembly and the launch of the campaign. We drafted press releases justifying his intention to reallocate NASA’s funds to DARPA – to try and contain the backlash before it happened – though God knows how the liberals would have reacted to DARPA getting the money.’ Anita shrugged her narrow shoulders and shook her head. ‘Then, look what happens?’ She glanced up into Barbara’s face with a despairing look on her own.
‘Oh my!’ Barbara said sighing, ‘what a mess.’
‘”Zul” showing up on TV in front of the whole world – that was the final straw,’ and as Barbara looked down at Anita, she saw her eyes were misting with tears.
‘Come on, now,’ Barbara said, putting a hand on her shoulder. ‘Bob’s tough. And resourceful. He’ll get through this somehow.’
‘I don’t think so. Not this time. I’m afraid he’s painted himself into a corner he won’t be able to get out of,’ she whispered.
The connecting door opened and the television crew filed out of the Oval Office. Then the phone rang. It was Bob.
‘He wants to see you. Now,’ Amanda said to Barbara.
‘I don’t often bet,’ Barbara said with a crooked smile on her shiny red lips, ‘but I have one hundred bucks here in my pocket says, when I walk back out of there,’ she pointed to the door with a crimson talon, ‘I’ll be looking for a new job.’ She glanced from Anita to Amanda. ‘Either of you game for a bet?’ But neither of the other two women said a word, which was just as well because if they had they would have ended up one hundred dollars poorer.
***
The following morning, Amanda opened the door to the Oval Office. ‘Mr President, sir?’ she called, peering inside. Contrary to his usual preference for the upright chair Bob was draped over a sofa, his right hand grasping his forehead and the morning papers scattered round his feet. ‘Sir, are you alright?’ Amanda asked walking towards him.
He just snorted in reply.
‘Do you have a headache? Can I get you something? Your Press Conference is starting in fifteen minutes.’
‘No Amanda. There’s nothing you can get me.’
She gave him a long hard look. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’
‘I will be,’ he said, and smiled, ‘once all this is over,’ and he made an effort to sit up.
‘I’ll come back and get you in ten minutes… there are a couple of things I need to attend to.’
‘Don’t trouble coming back yourself, Amanda. Send Tony. There’s something I need to check with him.’
As Amanda left the room, Bob picked up one of the newspapers and once again scanned the headlines berating him for the televised statement he’d made the previous day. Every front-page story centred on his broadcast and linked it with an exposé of his plan to sneak resolutions regarding the NASA budget cuts through the House, which because of the furore Zul’s appearance had caused the previous day, had not been voted on as scheduled.
He wondered who had made the connection and released the House of Representatives’ schedule of business to the news hounds. Well, it didn’t matter any longer. The press, which for some time had been commenting on his public disdain for NASA and his criticism of the value of many of its projects, was now having a field day. And the icing on the cake, as far as they were concerned, was his reaction to the appearance of Zul. Never mind that on the contrary to putting a halt to space investigation, he’d tried to make a critical step in readjusting its focus to ensure the safety of Americans everywhere. Never mind he’d been trying to protect his people. It was too late to explain all that now.
He walked to the other end of his office and around the huge Resolute desk, where he took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the leather upholstered chair. He sat down, opened the top right-hand drawer and took out the Smith & Wesson Model 17 K-Frame double action revolver that was lying there. The gun had been a present from his father. He opened the cylinder to check it was as he’d left it with all the chambers full. He then pressed the cylinder back up into the frame of the gun, clicked it into place and put it down on the desk.
He slid out a sheet of his personal embossed notepaper from the maroon leather writing paper holder, picked up his matching Mont Blanc fountain pen, unsnapped the cap and scratched out a few lines in spider leg black ink. He up-turned the sheet, smoothed it on the blotter, folded it, put it in an envelope and wrote his wife’s name on the front. He then gazed at the photo on his desk of her and their two daughters for the last time, picked up the gun, opened his mouth and put the barrel inside, trying not to gag on the cold, hard metal. He angled it up to the roof of his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Five minutes later Tony Wilson, the White House Press Secretary, knocked on the door. When there was no reply he opened it and, to his horror, saw the President slumped over the side of his chair with half his head blown off. The window behind the desk was splattered with blood, fragments of bone, brain and hair. Tony rushed over to feel for a pulse, but there was none. The President was dead.
CHAPTER 13
Carlos took Rebecca’s hand and helped her out of the cab.
‘You look tired,’ she said, staring up at him as she stepped onto the pavement.
‘I am,’ Carlos replied. ‘I’ll be glad when we’re on our way back to Vienna.’
Although Carlos had tipped the driver, he didn’t help get the luggage out of the boot.
‘How come your bag’s two times as big as mine?’ Carlos grumbled.
‘So, what if it is? I never pack more than I can carry myself. If it’s such a big deal, I’ll take it.’
‘No, I’ve got it,’ he replied, banging it down on the pavement and yanking out the extendable handle.
‘Carlos! Carlos! Look at me.’ He looked up. She shook her head and her hair swung across her shoulders. ‘There’s no need to behave like this. It’s just a bag.’
He took a deep breath. ‘You’re right. It’s… well… hey,’ he waved an arm round his head, ‘this just isn’t working out how I wanted.’
The previous week he’d booked a table at Busboys and Poets in DC, thinking it would be fitting to celebrate the end of the launch of the meditation initiative with Greg and Joseph, at the same place they’d celebrated its inception. But what with Zul’s appearance followed by the President’s suicide, the whole world was in chaos and Greg had called at the last minute to say there was no way he could make it.
They stashed their luggage in a lock-up cupboard and a waiter showed them to the table Carlos had requested on the mezzanine floor. He ordered a bottle of Chianti and when Joseph arrived a few minutes later Carlos introduced him to Rebecca.
‘What do you do, Rebecca?’ Joseph asked.
‘Recently I’ve been volunteering for the UN, but normally I work as a freelance science reporter. I’m here because like thousands of others I wanted to be in New York for the launch – you see the initiative’s something very close to my heart.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I was in a very bad place for a long time. Then I started to follow a meditation practice and it helped me immensely – in fact, it changed my life. So I’m probably one of this initiative’s biggest supporters.’ She laughed. ‘Anyhow… since I was “on the spot” so to speak when Zul appeared, I’ve been
inundated with calls to find out what is really going on.’
‘Joseph’s a communications expert,’ Carlos said. ‘He’s the one who worked out how Zul got the e-mails and holovideo calls in.’
Rebecca’s eyes grew wide. ‘Oh really.’
The waiter set down three glasses and opened the wine. Carlos held up his hand to stop him pouring. He preferred to let it breathe.
‘Of course,’ Rebecca continued, ‘I’ve been making my own enquiries about the UN broadcast, how Zul blocked the signal to the satellite and transmitted his own. But I’d love to hear your view.’
Joseph shrugged. ‘There’s no mystery. It’s not hard to do if you have the technology. Obviously you have to pick up the signal before you can block it, but once that’s done you’ve cracked it, because not only do you find out what the channel is but the satellite position as well. After that, it’s a simple matter to transmit your own signal in place of the original.’
‘And what about the blocking?’ she asked.
‘That can be done physically or electronically. We don’t know which method Zul used, because the interruption to the signal was terminated before anyone worked out what was going on. Since all satellite TV channels are beamed and the diameter of the beam always remains small, regardless how far away you are, if the blocking method was physical, whatever he used to do it could have been relatively small and located miles away…’
‘… and by now is long gone.’ Carlos added.
‘And still nobody knows if Zul’s human or not,’ Rebecca said.
Carlos picked up the bottle and poured wine into her glass. ‘The press are obsessed with analysing public opinion.’
