2084 The End of Days

by Derek Beaugarde

  Ewan groaned once more his head going into his hands.

  “Yeah, Gary, what happens?”

  “Poor old Ari only goes and fires 4 or 5 nukes at Iran and Iraq. He gives the old LOIN the chop. Get it, Ewan, the loin chop, ha, ha, ha!”

  Ewan shook his head as Gary continued to laugh at his own joke.

  “Look, Gary, I don’t think this is enough for Jill to make anything of.”

  “Course it is. She’ll make mincemeat of a story like this. Just think what she can say. If the Yanks can’t trust the Israelis with a fuckin’ telescope, how are they gonna trust the Yids with a whole fuckin’ nuclear arsenal!”

  “I need to think about this, Gaz. There might be something there for Jill and the Leaks sites but I still need time to think it through a bit. I mean there might be more capital in it if I could actually see the two minutes and eleven seconds of bum footage. See what our pal Ari actually did record. But -?”

  “But – but what?”

  “Well we don’t actually have those shots from the Nimrod, do we?”

  “Who doesn’t actually have the shots?”

  “Don’t tell me?”

  Gary gloated triumphantly.

  “Yep, good old helpful Ari tagged a hyperlink of the spoiled footage to his email. Given that the rest of his colleagues are more interested in Mekong 123 or whatever you call it, you might actually be the only person on the planet who actually wants to see it.”

  Ewan was now excited about Gary’s find.

  “Can you download it on to a memory stick for me? And don’t do anything about Jill until I’ve looked at it!”

  “Consider it done, old pal. Still want that pint down at Brodie’s?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. And by the way, Gary, it’s M-KON543 and it’s one of the largest galaxies ever found by man. It would blow us all away just to imagine its size even in comparison to our own galaxy. It could eat the Milky Way for breakfast and still feel hungry.”

  Chapter 3

  Earthdate 10:02 Monday February 3, 2081 IST

  It was unusually warm outside for an early Monday morning in February and Tel Aviv was already hitting 25 Celsius and rising. The air-con unit in the meeting room was frazzled again. Everyone in the room baked and cursed the global warming which had remained unchecked throughout the 21st century. Although, the early-century predictions on global temperature rise, sea levels and natural disasters had proven to be recklessly wild forecasts. The end of the world was not nigh, but it was certainly a scorcher today. Ari wondered about bringing the zip down on his already open-necked top by another few inches. He thought against it as he had been ribbed mercilessly before by the women about his inordinately bushy and hairy chest putting them off their coffee and biscuits. Ari just had to put up with the trickles of sweat running down the inside of his top. Yosep Goldenheim, who also looked hot and bothered, snappily called the 10 o’clock 4-weekly staff meeting to order.

  “Right, guys, everyone got a coffee? Let’s get the meeting brought to order as I want to try and get finished by 10:40. I have a meeting right after with the Director. I can tell you all that budget constraints and efficiency savings are going to be high on the agenda there.”

  Efficiency savings! That meant jobs on the line and everyone straightened up or fiddled purposefully with their ePads, except Yosep, who still liked to take notes with pen and paper. Yosep Goldenheim was out of the old school. Or as his staff joked behind his back – out of the Ark! Yosep waved his pen around the room to draw everyone to his attention.

  “Right you’ve all got your agendas in front of you. First up, we have the planned NASA delegation from the States visiting us on the 10th. That’s next week so I want to know that the presentation is well in hand. Ari? You are leading the presentation team. What is the latest update on that?”

  Ari gave a couple of taps on his ePad to try and project an air of purposefulness to the others, but it was really just to give him a few seconds to compose his thoughts.

  “Um, yeah, Joe, uh, I am leading that team to prepare the presentation to our NASA colleagues on the 2082 Project Plan for the, uh, Nimrod Space-Hunter 2 project. As most of you know my team is composed of, um, myself as team leader and Jerzy Winklowicz, Assistant Senior Astrophysicist SH2 project. Jerzy, who you all know, of course, is with me today.”

  Ari curved his palm towards his left-hand side to introduce his blond curly-headed Nazarene assistant who nodded and smiled coyly to everyone present. Ari continued uninterrupted by Yosep.

  “Also on the team are Assistant Astrophysicists Rebecca Menachim and Noam Rebbetzin. So we have an excellent team on the case. I believe that NASA will be sending their Project Director and four astrophysicists and with you, Yosep, and my team of four, it will be a like-for-like forum?”

  Goldenheim corrected Ari.

  “Nearly right, Schenkler - looks like our Center Director will also be sitting in this time. As I’ve mentioned budgets are going to be way up there and we need to have them nailed down tight for this presentation. The finance boys are telling me that the initial forecast for the Financial Year to the end of March on SH2 is looking to overshoot by 6%. You’ve probably heard that too, Ari?”

  Ari thought to himself whether it was getting warmer in the room or was it just him. Why someone cannot fix the damn air-con is beyond me, he thought.

  “Um, I haven’t seen those figures officially yet, Yosep. But, yes, a little birdie did run that one by me. But Jerzy is on top of the financials for the presentation and we’re just about there on that one. Is that right, Jerzy?”

  Jerzy, also now feeling the increasing heat in the quietly expectant room, ran his finger along the inside of his top, loosening his collar.

  “Ah - definitely so – um – ah - yep, Ari - I reckon that the budget slides are, eh, say 95% nailed down so far –“

  Goldenheim thumped his right fist down, his pen shooting up into the air and rattling across the meeting room table. He waved agitatedly for someone to toss the pen back as he growled at Ari.

  “For God’s sake, Ari, I don’t want to hear that we’re 95% of the way on this thing! We need to be 110% screwed down or these NASA guys’ll toast us. Know what I’m saying?”

  Ari gulped and thought, not again. Goldenheim had gone through the roof with him last week when he had read Ari’s email ‘to all concerned’ regarding the 2 minutes and 11 seconds of wasted footage sent back from the Nimrod. He had threatened to get Ari’s National Service papers sent through from the Israeli Army HQ in Jerusalem if there were any more screw ups. Ari swallowed nervously again.

  “Yes, Yosep.”

  Yosep Goldenheim raved on as one of the girls in the room tossed him back his pen and Ari could feel the suppression of sniggers from the others at the meeting. Goldenheim pressed on with the agenda.

  “We’ve got 9 days till the Yanks get here from Houston and we need to be on the ball with this whole Nimrod presentation. Budgets, project plan, timelines, the whole deal. We’ve got to be right on the money with this one. Are we clear on that?”

  Ari and Jerzy both nodded. Ari spoke on. He was trying to sound as confident as possible, but the sweat trickles on his brow betrayed his confidence.

  “I – we, my team and I - plan to have the draft presentation finalised by the 4th and we’ve scheduled in a run through with you on the, eh, 6th. I guarantee you that it will be 110% specked by then. So, hopefully, we’ll just be discussing tidy ups round the edges for the actual meeting with the NASA boys on the 9th. How does that sound, Yosep?”

  Goldenheim replied as he exaggeratedly looked at his wristwatch and then he made his pitch.

  “Not bad. But here’s the deal. I’m putting money on it that the Director’s going to tell me in about 25 – 30 minutes time that we are going to have to trim the 2082 SH2 budget by another 5 to 6%. You are going to have to build options i
nto the presentation to the Yanks next week for savings to that effect.”

  Strike one. Ari was angry at this bombshell curve ball and he blasted back at his boss.

  “Aw, come on, Yosep! We’ve been at this thing for weeks now. It’s unrealistic to trim the budget by up to 6% and have those figures ready for next week’s meeting with the Yanks. I don’t think we can do it. What do you think Jerzy?”

  Unfortunately for Ari, Jerzy only managed a half-hearted shrug before Goldenheim fired back with his next wildly swinging pitch.

  “Look here, Schenkler! Maybe if you hadn’t screwed up the Nimrod’s positioning the other week – then - just maybe - we wouldn’t be looking at a 5 – 6% cut in the first place!”

  Strike two. All eyes were fixed on Ari and he flushed with anger.

  “That’s not fair, Yosep. You know fine well that error, for which I have already apologized to you in person, did not represent anything like a 6% overshoot on the SH2 budget. There are good reasons for the overspending - “

  “Good reasons, my ass, Ari. There has been a sloppiness that has crept into the SH2 project over the last fiscal year and it needs to be sharpened up. I want those 5 and 6% options built into the draft presentation for next week.”

  Ari stepped up to the plate for his last swing at the bat.

  “You want those 5 and 6% options, Yosep? I thought you said it was the Director who was expected to request the options?”

  Strike three. Goldenheim blew a gasket, but in a controlled wave of anger through gritted teeth.

  “Look, Schenkler, just get the job done as I ask or go and pick up your army papers. It’s up to you?”

  Ari just nodded numbly and sat bowed. He was hardly listening as his boss carried on with the meeting.

  “Right, everyone, that took a bit longer than I had hoped so let’s get back to the agenda. Okay, next up is staffing levels. In the last month our headcount has dropped by three. Joachim Levy has retired early on health grounds and I’m sure we all wish him well. Aaron Halevi and Shifra Ben Haim have both been called up to do their honourable duty for the defence of our beloved State…”

  Ari thought that Yosep Goldenheim was putting just a bit too much emphasis on his phrasing of ‘honourable duty for the defence of our beloved State’ and guessed it was just another dig at him. Ari quickly scanned the rest of the short agenda on his ePad, saw that there was nothing else that he would be strongly involved in and he more or less switched off for the rest of the meeting. Goldenheim went on to argue the case for only filling one of the three posts vacated due to the Center’s budget constraints. Ari could not care less at this moment whether Goldenheim filled any of the vacancies.

  *

  Earthdate: 20:15 Monday February 3, 2081 GMT

  Jill had only been home at her small studio flat in Kew for about five minutes. The working week had started badly again and the underground train home from Victoria had been late again. She was starving and exhausted and she had literally thrown everything down and collapsed onto her sofa in the open plan studio flat. Buckley had been on her case since the disastrous editorial meeting 11 days ago. After the meeting Buckley had her in his own office and told her that he felt that her work lately had become slipshod and sloppy. Jill tried to deny that Buckley’s assertion was actually the case and that she always gave him and the Times 100% commitment.

  “C’mon, Jill, I’ve been in the paper business for thirty odd years now. Who are you trying to kid?”

  Buckley still called it the ‘paper business’ even though the presses had stopped rolling years ago and the public read their daily news on the online ‘Bloids’. God, thought Jill, he’s so bloody old hat, but she admitted, he was pretty damn perceptive.

  “Look, Buck, I’m really sorry. You’re right. I have probably taken my eye off the ball a little bit lately…”

  Buckley listened. Here it comes, he thought to himself, as he let Jill carry on.

  “…You see, I’m, uh, kinda havin’ some personal problems at home at the moment. But I’m on it, boss – totally gonna get it sorted out.”

  “Well, I’m not going to pry, Jill. But it better get sorted and PDQ. As you know, Jill, I’m not one for carrying any liabilities on my team. I’ve a mountain of investigative work and a pile of it is heading your way. Are you up for it?”

  Inside, Jill’s stomach churned. In fact, she felt strangely like vomiting but she suppressed the feeling of rising bile. Until she straightened things out with Khan the last thing she needed was a mountain of stressful investigations and deadlines. Jill had broached the subject of the lovey-dovey text signed to ‘A’ with Khan and he had put it down to a simple typo. He had obviously meant to type a ’J’ but he had done it in a hurry between meetings. He pleaded with her to believe that it was not a misdirected text meant for some other girl. Jill knew deep down it sounded pretty lame. It was just not the type of text he would normally send her in the first place. Half-heartedly she told Khan that she would accept it was a mistake and that night he made love to her gently and passionately. As Khan lay sleeping beside her a little niggling doubt kept Jill from getting to sleep right away. Now Buckley was putting the pressure on her to get down to some hard-knuckled journalism. Subconsciously, she chided herself. For God’s sake Jill, you’re a bloody investigative reporter – that’s what you do for a living.

  “No, uh, I mean, yes, Buck, totally. I’m totally buckin’ up for it!”

  Buckley arched his eyebrow suspiciously. Jill groaned inside. She knew that careless word would slip out one day. God, half his staff used it behind his back.

  “Are you taking the piss, Jill?”

  “No, sorry, boss. It just slipped out.”

  “Well don’t! Oh, yeah. Before you go, Jill - another small favour to ask?”

  “Yes, Buck.”

  “I want you to delegate more reporting work to the new trainee. You know - Ruthie Venters? The girl I assigned to you before Christmas. I would like a bit less of Ruthie running about getting you coffees and photocopies, if you please? I’m a big golfing buddy of her father - Dr Rolf Venters – he’s a top gyno in Harley Street. Told him I would keep an eye on his baby babushka. So I want to see her being stretched a bit more, okay?”

  That had been over a week ago and Buckley was as good as his word. The mountain of work had duly arrived on Jill’s desk and since then she had been madly running around the south east of England on the various investigations into known drug barons, organised gangs and the odd shady MP or three. She had been putting in far too many hours and missing too many lunch breaks. The only good thing that had come out of it, Jill thought, as she sat slumped exhaustedly on her sofa, was that Ruthie had actually turned out to be a real find. The girl was a workaholic and had the instinctive bloodhound’s nose for sleuthing out a top-notch story. Ruthie reminded her of the Jill she used to be not that long ago. The Jill she fully intended to be again. Just then her mobile rang shrilly and she stuck it to her ear, still half-numb with hunger and tiredness. She could not even bring herself to speak and she just listened for the caller to break the silence. He spoke in a whisper.

  “Hi, it’s me. I’ve been meaning to call you…”

  His voice was so low and muffled that she could not tell who it was, although she was sure the voice was familiar.

  “Sorry, can you speak up a bit?”

  He spoke just a fraction louder this time and Jill could hear the other muffled voices in the background.

  “It’s me, it’s Khan. I’m still at this latest meeting in Manchester. We’re just taking a short coffee break. I can’t speak for long –“

  “It’s bloody late for a meeting, Khan. I thought you were coming back tonight?”

  “I can’t, Jill. This property deal is busting my balls up here. But, I think I’ve just about got it cracked –“

  Jill’s fraught nerves made her feel irri
table and snappy and she also felt a little nauseous again. In fact, she was beginning to worry that there was something medically amiss with her body lately. But then, she told herself, it all comes back to that niggling bloody text message from Khan.

  “What do mean you can’t come home tonight? You promised you’d be back!”

  Khan tried hard not to raise his voice. The other guys in the room who had been chatting over coffee were starting to pay attention to the rising irritation in his voice.

  “Jill, baby, this is a twenty million pound deal and it has been hanging in the balance for weeks. I’m getting real close to closing this one down –“

  Jill lost her temper and snapped down the phone at him.

  “I’ll tell you what’s hanging in the balance, Khan! You’re wanderlust cock and our bloody relationship – that’s what! You’re going to be staying with that fuckin’ bitch you’ve got up there, aren’t you?”

  Khan gritted his teeth and hissed back.

  “God, Jill, I’ve already told you there’s no-one else. It’s only you – only you, love. Look, they’re calling me back to the table. I’ve got to go, my sweet baby. I’ll phone you tomorrow…”

  Khan quickly finished the call before Jill could respond. He crossed back over to where the meeting table was across the room and sat down with the others who had now finished their coffees and had been waiting for him. The six men were all of various Middle Eastern origins, like Khan, who was himself a Muslim Kuwaiti-born Arab. His Jordanian friend spoke first.

  “She is beginning to be a problem, Khan, my friend –“

  “Look, Mahmoud, I can handle it. She doesn’t suspect a thing about what our Group is doing. She only thinks I’m screwing around.”

  Mahmoud El Kharroubi, the Al Jazirah journalist, who had known Khan al Ahmed since their university days in Cairo, wagged his finger at his old comrade.

  “Yes, but, in the name of Allah, you are screwing around, my friend!”