The Alexandria Connection

by Adrian D'hagé

‘With 300 million people, we represent five per cent of the world’s population,’ said Becker, ‘but we’re also the most developed and we use 25 per cent of the world’s energy, albeit that is changing. By 2028, India will have surpassed China as the most populous nation on the planet, and by 2050, Nigeria will have a larger population than the US. By that time there will be nearly ten billion people on planet earth, and unless we change our habits and our sources of energy, fossil fuels are predicted to supply 80 per cent of the world’s energy.’

  ‘And you were saying before we came on that this threatens, of all things, our fisheries?’ said Stewart.

  Becker nodded. ‘That’s the elephant in the room. EVRAN is mining high sulfur coal from states like Illinois. When that’s burned in power stations, it gives off sulfur dioxide, which then combines with water vapour in the air, producing sulfuric acid. That returns as acid rain, destroying forests and the marine environment. Already, brook trout and other species in some of our rivers have been completely wiped out.’

  ‘Yes . . .’ said Stewart, pointing to an elderly man two rows back.

  ‘Surely with the advent of fracking, we’re now getting cleaner energy, not to mention the creation of thousands of jobs?’

  ‘Which is horizontal drilling, for those at home,’ said Stewart, turning to Becker.

  ‘Yes. A lot of people don’t understand what’s involved with fracking, but hydraulic fracturing, or “fracking”, is a process of drilling, at first vertically, often through a precious water table, and then horizontally into seams of shale or coal to release oil and natural gas. Millions of gallons of water are trucked in and mixed with chemicals and sand, which is injected under very high pressures into the ground to fracture the shale or coal and release the gas. These chemicals include dangerous levels of lead, mercury, uranium and hydrochloric acid, much of which is left in the ground adjacent to the water tables. If —’

  Rachel flicked off the video and waited for the explosion. She wasn’t disappointed.

  Crowley glared around the room. ‘So we have an EVRAN bottom line worth billions that’s being threatened by Sarah Shagnasty from the University of Bumblefuck-nowheresville, and she’s getting airtime,’ Crowley growled, his mood darkening. ‘It’s time to ratchet up the heat on these dickheads.’

  ‘I agree,’ said ‘Big Tom’ Allard. ‘The new fracking technologies are paying off handsomely, particularly in Colorado, Wyoming and Utah, and we’re doing equally well with the large deposits in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick in Canada, where we’ve got a large number of teams in the field, getting the folks to sign up. But we still need to deal with the loonie Left, who have hit us with a barn full of lawsuits.’

  ‘Fuck ’em,’ Crowley growled. ‘What’s the prognosis?’ he asked, turning to EVRAN’s general counsel. Albin Martin Jr. had previously served as the attorney general of Texas, where he’d been caught up in insider trading and forced to resign. Crowley had been quick to bring him on board.

  ‘They’re wasting their time and money,’ Martin replied in his gruff Texan drawl. ‘They’re trotting out the usual bullshit, claiming fossil fuels should be left in the ground, but they’re pissing into the wind and the courts will throw that out. To back it up, they’re claiming God knows how many endangered species are threatened – anything from the double-breasted split-tailed mattress thrasher to the horny-toed frog, and they get every fucking wilderness do-gooder to protest outside the courts, but that won’t hold things up for very long.’

  Crowley turned to Rachel. ‘Remind me to have a word with Louis Walden about that. We’ll see these motherfuckers off the field, whatever it takes. Perhaps now’s a good time for a summary of our new PR approach.’

  ‘You’ve all met Professor Ahlstrom,’ said Rachel, nodding toward the Nobel Laureate who was still looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  ‘The professor will be making a number of media appearances to promote your companies. Our research is showing there’s an enormous amount of confusion in the public’s mind about climate change, and we intend to capitalise on that. As you can see from this graph,’ Rachel said, flicking up a PowerPoint, ‘a recent poll in the UK showed that only 31 per cent thought that climate change was definitely happening, and that’s down from the 44 per cent who were worried about it previously.’

  ‘We’ll need to keep the PR pressure right up their ass,’ said Crowley. ‘Australia’s consigned climate change to the trashcan, and their prime minister was here only the other day, talking up the benefits of coal. The European Union’s backing right off on rules for emissions, so if they can do it in Europe and Australia, which is a coal bucket, we can do it here.’

  ‘Our PR campaigns here are having a similar effect,’ Rachel said, backing her boss and flicking up a second slide. ‘Over a quarter of Americans think global temperatures aren’t rising, and given the recent record low temperatures and snowfalls, we’ll ram that home. Our PR policy will not only build on the confusion in the public’s mind, but we can push the idea that volcanoes produce far more CO2 than human activity. Recent scientific data also shows the Antarctic ice is growing, rather than shrinking, and we have a leaked draft of a report from the UN’s International Panel on Climate Change, which shows the planet’s temperature is flat-lining. All media requests are to be sent to me,’ Rachel said, a touch of steel in her voice, ‘and unless otherwise approved, Professor Ahlstrom will be our spokesperson on climate change. And you will note we refer to this as climate change, not global warming. Global warming runs the risk of giving a subliminal message contrary to the one we want out there.’

  At the end of the board meeting, Crowley leaned over and whispered in Rachel’s ear. ‘Ask that dopey Truman Stockton to step into my office, and get me that latest report on that little shit, Costa . . . I’ll see him as soon as I’ve dealt with Stockton.’

  ‘Have a seat, Truman,’ Crowley said to Professor Stockton, nodding to Rachel to activate the recording system. As CEO of EVRAN Nuclear Laboratories in California, the nuclear physicist was out of his depth, but that was precisely why Crowley had appointed him. He’d wanted someone who would comply with the movement of controlled stores without questioning their destination too closely. The more classified research was done up in EVRAN Idaho, where Idaho’s chief nuclear physicist reported directly to Crowley.

  ‘How’s the new reactor coming along?’

  ‘Going very well, Mr Crowley.’ The professor adjusted his thick black glasses, which had a habit of riding onto the end of his nose. ‘We should be ready to start our experiments by the end of the year, which will be well in front of the international effort.’ Those experiments, Crowley knew, would revolve around a doughnut-shaped reactor known as a Tokamak. The reactor was encased in superconducting magnets designed to squeeze and heat a plasma of hydrogen isotopes to a temperature of 150 million degrees, generating 500 megawatts of electricity in the process. The output of energy was ten times the input, something that had never been achieved before.

  ‘That’s good news, Truman, and you will have noted that Professor Ahlstrom has agreed to join our team at EVRAN.’

  ‘That was a surprise, Mr Crowley,’ said Stockton.

  Crowley let the nuclear physicist squirm. It hadn’t been a deliberate ‘divide and conquer’ manoeuvre, but it was obvious Stockton saw Ahlstrom as a threat to his own standing, which pleased Crowley immensely.

  ‘Given Professor Ahlstrom’s standing in the academic world, he will be reporting directly to me,’ Crowley said, increasing the nuclear physicist’s discomfort. ‘In the meantime, I’ve approved a new research project that will require three kilograms of Cobalt 60 to be released from storage in California and transported to our laboratories in Idaho. Mr Ruger has also joined our team, and he’ll be in charge of the transfer, and the approvals from the Department of Energy will be handled here.’

  ‘I’d like to visit those laboratories at some stage, Mr Crowley.’

  ‘There are some areas of EVRAN which, for secur
ity reasons, are compartmentalised, and they’re off-limits, even to nuclear physicists like you, Truman.’

  Stockton nodded.

  ‘Hasn’t got a fucking clue,’ Crowley muttered to Rachel after the scientist had left. ‘But he’s a useful idiot. Have you got the report on Costa?’

  ‘There’s an executive summary on the inside cover,’ said Rachel, handing over the confidential file. ‘I’ve also included the Area 15 report on Costa’s internet activity, emails and phone contacts.’ The CEO of EVRAN Timber had long been under surveillance. Crowley trusted none of his executives, and least of all the wily Brazilian.

  ‘Anything of interest?’ he asked, scanning the executive summary.

  ‘The usual stuff. He’s still taking time out with prostitutes and strippers in Manaus.’ The capital of Amazonas, Brazil’s largest state, had all the usual attractions of a major river port.

  Crowley shrugged. ‘I don’t care what he does with his dick, as long as he keeps the government and the greenies under control.’

  ‘That’s more problematic,’ said Rachel. ‘You can see from the summary that the environmentalists are becoming more active, particularly over logging the Amazon, to the point where the government has to be seen to be taking action.’

  ‘I’ve seen the photos of the protestors,’ Crowley grunted. ‘And I’ve got screaming headlines for our man, Costa. That’s going to stop. Let’s see what his plan is. Show him in.

  ‘Good to see you again, Marcelo,’ Crowley intoned urbanely. ‘Have a seat,’ he said, guiding Costa toward a suite of blue suede lounges on the far side of the office. Crowley had modelled the area on the Oval Office, and in place of the presidential seal, the carpet between the lounges bore EVRAN’s erupting-volcano logo.

  ‘So, you heard the boardroom discussion on the greenies this morning; what’s the score in Brazil?’ Crowley asked, cutting straight to the chase.

  Stocky, with a deep tan and a scar across his cheek from his earlier days as a drug runner, Marcelo Costa sported a neatly trimmed black goatee beard and moustache. Costa flashed his ivory teeth, but his smile was humourless. ‘We have them under control, Sheldon.’

  ‘And how is that being done, Marcelo?’ Crowley’s demeanour was suddenly icy. ‘How is it that these clowns are able to issue a fucking press release on EVRAN’s front doorstep?’ Crowley extracted a photograph of protestors taken next to the ‘EVRAN Timbers’ sign at EVRAN’s Manaus mill on the banks of the Amazon. Their banner read ‘Logging in the Amazon has destroyed an area twice the size of Spain! EVRAN Criminals!’

  ‘That won’t happen again,’ Costa replied evenly. ‘I’ve doubled the number of guards, and I now have two of my own men in IBAMA.’ The Instituto Brasileiro do Meio Ambiente e dos Recursos Naturais Renováveis was the Brazilian environment agency charged with overseeing the vast expanses of the Amazon jungle. The Amazon was not only the world’s largest rainforest in both size and diversity, it also absorbed and stored massive amounts of the world’s carbon. IBAMA’s resources were stretched and despite the government’s best efforts, IBAMA was not immune from corruption.

  ‘We not only have warning of any inspections, but we’re able to steer them away from our operations in the north-west down to the Mato Grosso on the border with Bolivia. You will have read the news reports of arrests?’

  Crowley nodded. A Greenpeace survey had showed 72 per cent of logging in the Amazon was illegal, and that deforestation was occurring at a staggering 26 000 square kilometres a year, or the equivalent of six football fields a minute. Brazilian federal police had launched a crackdown on illegal logging and arrested the members of the gangs responsible for removing more than 80 million cubic feet of timber, which would fill over a thousand Olympic swimming pools.

  ‘I’ve put the word out. Any protestors who think they can approach our mills should be very careful. If they tangle with my guards, they’re likely to come off badly. There’s a huge demand for decking hardwood. Ipé will continue to flow to our markets, and the greenies better get used to it.’

  ‘Speaking of which, these are the latest private orders for cedar and mahogany,’ Crowley said, passing over a list of clients to whom he’d promised favours. ‘Once the orders are filled, make sure the list is destroyed.’

  Costa smiled. In 2001, the Brazilian government had banned the export of mahogany but he and Crowley were well aware that over a quarter of the world’s timber trade was illegal and EVRAN’s export of Brazilian big-leaf mahogany, disguised as other tropical species, hadn’t missed a beat.

  ‘The mahogany’s not a problem, but the big cedar trees are getting harder to find. It may take a while.’

  ‘As long as it gets here. More importantly, is the next shipment for Karachi secure?’ Thirty-two of the gleaming missiles had arrived the week before and Costa had ensured that the appropriate palms had been greased to avoid any scrutiny.

  ‘The cargo is in one of our warehouses at the timber mill, and it’s heavily guarded. It will be loaded on to the EVRAN I, disguised in batches of ipé, as soon as she docks in Manaus.’

  ‘To assist you with your PR problems,’ Crowley said, getting to his feet, ‘Rachel is arranging for Ahlstrom to address the top business leaders and government ministers in Brasília.’

  As soon as I’ve organised some media training, Rachel thought.

  ‘Always a pleasure to visit,’ Costa said, taking his cue and heading for the door.

  Crowley watched Costa leave, and then turned to Rachel. ‘Make sure Area 15 has twenty-four-hour tabs on that little turd. He’s slicker than a rat with a gold tooth.’

  ‘And twice as dangerous,’ Rachel agreed.

  27 Alexandria

  After Aleta had picked O’Connor up, she took the desert road from the Burg al-Arab airport back to Alexandria and the Hotel Cecil.

  ‘So . . . who did you have to sleep with to get a leave pass back here?’ Aleta’s feathers were still more than a little ruffled over O’Connor’s abrupt departure for Washington.

  ‘Still angry?’ O’Connor had long ago concluded it would not be good for his health to be on the wrong side of this lady. Perhaps that was part of the attraction.

  ‘A little,’ she said, ‘but provided you take me out to dinner, buy me flowers and jewellery, and tell me how nice I look, in six months time I may forgive you.’

  ‘That soon?’ he said, placing his hand on Aleta’s taut, brown thigh.

  ‘And that’s not going to do it,’ she said, making no attempt to remove his hand.

  ‘You’re very attractive, particularly when you’re mad,’ said O’Connor, ‘and don’t get any madder than you are already, but Washington has sent me here for a reason, although Tom McNamara sends his best.’

  ‘Screw Tom McNamara.’

  They drove on in silence before Aleta finally spoke.

  ‘And that reason is?’

  ‘Let’s talk about that when we get back to Alexandria.’

  O’Connor chose an outside table at the Athineos Café in Saad Zaghlol Square, a short distance from the hotel.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to what you do. Encrypted emails, iPhones, laptops. I assume there’s a reason we couldn’t talk in the car or the hotel room?’ said Aleta.

  ‘There are quite a few things not adding up around here . . . or back in the States,’ replied O’Connor. ‘I haven’t had time to check the hire car or the room in the hotel; for now, I’m assuming both are bugged, but it’s much harder to pick up conversations out here in the open air.’

  ‘So what’s not adding up?’

  ‘The less you know the better, just in case anyone is ever, God forbid, trying to get information from you.’

  Aleta shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. After all we’ve been through together, Curtis Seamus O’Connor, that’s not going to wash, so out with it.’

  O’Connor smiled. Aleta wasn’t cleared into any of the CIA compartments, and he was breaking longstanding rules, but she was right. Having been illegally place
d on the CIA’s assassination list, and then pursued halfway around the world, she had a right to know.

  ‘We’re not sure why, but a couple of weeks ago, there was a meeting here at the Kashta Palace, involving a sacked Pakistani general, and several others, the identities of whom we’re not sure. Missiles manufactured in the United States by EVRAN, owned by Sheldon Crowley, the richest industrialist in the world, have been turning up in Afghanistan. These missiles are so advanced, they’re not even provided to our closest allies. Coupled with that, the owner of Galleria d’Arte Rubinstein in Venice, Zachary Rubinstein, seems to be operating as a highly paid fence for Egyptian artifacts, and depending on his clients, that might put you in danger. It might be a good idea to put the search for this papyrus on ice for a while.’

  Aleta shook her head. ‘You’re telling an archaeologist to shelve a search for an ancient document that might turn Egyptology on its head? This is right up there with the search for the tomb of Tutankhamun.’

  O’Connor raised his eyebrows in resignation. ‘Well, it was worth a try . . . but don’t underestimate these assholes, they’re playing for keeps.’

  Aleta frowned. ‘This Sheldon Crowley . . . I’ve never met him, but his name crops up from time to time. He’s an amateur Egyptologist, quite a good one, apparently, and an avid collector.’

  ‘Would he be interested in something like the Euclid Papyrus?’

  ‘Possibly. Collectors can go to extraordinary lengths to obtain something in which the rest of the world could have an interest.’

  ‘Granted, but we’re dealing with the world’s wealthiest man. He has the means to buy some of the world’s most sought after icons. Why would he have an interest in a papyrus written by an ancient mathematician – one that’s rumoured to reveal the purpose of the pyramids?’

  ‘Scientists and archaeologists have puzzled over the pyramids for centuries, and we still haven’t worked out how they were built, let alone what they were used for . . .’

  ‘Tombs for the pharaohs works for me,’ said O’Connor with a grin.