utopia unraveling (The Virtagwala Series Book 1)

by Kyle Malinowski

  Zhang’s attempted to calm himself down, but all he could do was growl out, “Charles-” he was cut off by Teasdale who growled, “Senator Teasdale”. Zhang rolled his eyes, “Let me assure you, I have been told time and time again by the top economic minds on this island that this was an isolated instance and we took care of it. There is nothing wrong with our economy. What is wrong is the mismanagement of the Republic Power Company! The national economy will be just fine.”

  Teasdale stood up again, leaning on his cane and wagging his free finger at Zhang sternly, “Artimus Zhang you better get all your chickens in a row here. We aren’t fucking around. If you want a fair shot at becoming a state, you cannot continue to cover things like this up. A couple hiccups in a robust economy like Virtagwalla’s is not a big deal. But when it looks like fundamental pillars of your economy may be crumbling, and you are ignoring or brushing it off as no big deal, that is when you begin to seriously lose control,” he looked at Rove and back to Zhang, “Get your house in order. You are playing in the big leagues now. Shore up your finances, and if you have to, prepare for the worse. I don’t care. Just make the problem go away.”

  Zhang growled, his eyes narrowing, “Mr. Senator do not speak to me, and tell me how to lead this nation. We fix problems when they arise, and we slaughter the chickens that get out of line. The RPC is not an issue that we should be worrying about! It has been resolved.”

  Rove crossed his arms, and looked at Zhang, “Mr. Prime Minister, are you supposing that Teasdale and I are both wrong in thinking that this is a serious issue?”

  Zhang ears seemed to steam as he standing up, “This is not a serious issue,” he began shouting, “The Republic Power Company was poorly managed, and just because they stumbled into some gross financial illiteracy, does not mean I am going to begin a witch-hunt for the other financially feeble industries. We helped them because they were our sole power source. We, the people of this island, are unfortunate slaves to them. It was a political tool to later use for leveraging. If you had one ounce of political knowledge you would know that. If we had another power source, we would have let them fail. Put the CEO out of the street - broke and unemployed. Let me assure you, we have nothing, NOTHING to worry about. The people of Virtagwalla who thought we didn’t do enough, or for those who think we shouldn’t have done ANYTHING, are the ones that need to be proven why they are wrong and should be explained why.”

  “How can you justify saying the people of this island are wrong?” Xavier antagonized Zhang.

  “Because I am the Prime Minister that’s why! You may think just because you were elected President you know what every citizen on this island is thinking and feeling. Well let me tell you, I sure as hell have a lot more experience in dealing with the Virtagwallan people than you do, ten times over! I know the people of this island and sometimes they have shit for brains. That’s why you have us, the Parliament, to make sure their shit doesn’t make this entire nation dirty. God, Rove, how naïve are you?” Zhang exploded, losing it all over Xavier and Teasdale.

  Rove’s face, which formerly held a stern look, surprisingly slipped into a mischievous smile, as he clapped his hands together, “Well I think you will get that chance to set the record straight, and explain to the general public why you think they have ‘shit for brains’,” he said walking to the door. Teasdale’s face was lost in the confusion, while Zhang attempted to pull it back together.

  He opened the door, and an attractive young woman in her early thirties walked in. Her Asian skin and thick black hair were very well kept, and she looked particularly professional walking into the Prime Minister’s office. Rove began again as he watched Zhang’s face fall apart, “I hope you don’t mind but I invited my friend Chen Boggiano, the Chief Editor for Governmental Affairs over at the Virtagwallan Times, to join us for a portion of this meeting, to get your opinions on statehood, your opinions on people who are dissenting, and then pick your brains on the true impact of the government’s bail out of RPC. I figured you weren’t going to want to have to keep explaining to the people of this nation that share my concerns over and over again. So why don’t we just get it in writing, her and now. Sound good?” He smiled wickedly, “Oh, and she has been standing outside the door, with my permission, this whole time.”

  Chen walked over reaching out to shake their hands. Teasdale eyed the door to exit, while Zhang looked as though if he were impenetrable. Rove chimed up, “Oh and if you don’t answer exactly as you did just moments ago, I will allow her to print my impression of your comments as an anonymous contributor close to the source,” he crossed his arms, “And if you were wondering, this is where I chose to use my one ounce of political wit.”

  Chen Boggiano jumped in, “So Mr. Prime Minister and Senator Charles Teasdale, what would you say to those on this island who think the government is wrong in applying for statehood? Just shut up and file in line, behind those tending to the flock?” She winked at Rove, who stood by and watched as Zhang and Teasdale seethed with fury.

  14

  The Virtagwallan jungle was an unnerving place after dark. From its dangerous creatures to its unrelenting inability to be tamed by modern man, the jungle was a formidable opponent. When the thought was conceived to move the power plants away from the coasts of the island, where they were heavily dependent on the frequent crude oil shipments, to their new home over the natural thermal vents in the jungle, it was met with enormous resistance. The only project to ever be somewhat successful in the Virtagwallan jungle was the construction of the old highway 100 around the turn of the twentieth century. It cost millions of dollars and hundreds of lives. HWY 100 was a path that travelers avoided at all costs, which spoke volumes to the reason Virtagwalla, had such communication issues in the early days between its two cities.

  However when the National Government got wind that the Republic Power Company had begun whispered conversations about the possibilities of one day moving to thermal power production, they took it up and ran with it. The President at the time, President Chipulta - one of the least popular in history - attempted to bring pride to his presidency put forth Executive Order 923, which called for the entire island to be oil and fossil fuel free within fifteen years. Such a measure would require that RPC to produce in ten years the same amount of research and development it formerly took multiple decades to perform. James Kompco, the newly appointed CEO and Chairman of the Republic Power Company had his work cut out for him. Pushing his engineers to work a substantial amount of overtime, and traversing the globe to find the greatest experts in the fields related to thermal energy and its application to power production, he brought them to Virtagwalla to work on the titanic-sized project. After three years of intense work the technology was developed, but at a crippling cost. Pushing the power company to the brink of bankruptcy, the Parliament stepped in offering generous amounts of grants and financial assistance to ease the financial burden of the process.

  The mission to scout out the site for the two proposed power plants was organized and led by the Virtagwallan National Guard. It had been years since the National Government had even entertained the idea of allowing a corporation to touch any portion of the jungle. The Parliament had placed the entire area under a national ban for commercial development in the 1930s, and regulated the traffic on the highway to make sure the wear and tear of the road didn’t adversely affect the environment. The National Guard was sent as a safety precaution. Two people lost their lives in the jungle on the three-week scouting mission. Six months later, the Parliament approved the plans to construct the larger of the two plants. It was to be designed after a medieval cathedral, but carry with it a mystique of a building having been lost in the jungle for centuries. Seeing the level of maintenance and attention the company would need to give to these revolutionary systems, the Parliament also allowed the company to pave a road and make that building their business headquarters. After four years and billions of dollars later, the main power station was brought online, and integra
ted into the electrical grid of the island. The smaller plant became operational a little less than three months later, and it helped ease the burden the larger plant was carrying, especially since the coastal plants had been dismantled. As a safety measure RPC also built a immense underground battery-like backup system in the mounts, which stored enough energy to run the island under normal conditions for up to eight hours.

  James Kompco, now in his early fifties had taken the company he inherited from his late father and grew into the model that all power systems in the world aspired to be. Although revolutionary, it was their world famous system and the haste placed on its development, which was now plaguing the Republic Power Company. The machines, although remarkable in their own right, were falling apart merely after a few years of operation and costing the corporation millions in repairs. The generators were each individually made, and although they looked and acted similarly, they each had unique parts within. This sticky detail required RPC to have on hand 24 hours a day a costly fleet of engineers and welders in order to service the machines, preventing them from causing a devastating power outage for the island nation.

  Looking over the plans, and the maintenance orders from that day, James Kompco knew he had a long night ahead of him. In the recent weeks Kompco found himself more often than not sleeping on the couch in this office rather than his comfortable bed at home. He had seen his wife maybe, three times in the past two weeks, and he had missed every single one of his daughter’s high school soccer games since he, and the board, realized the company was headed for financial doomsday. He had fought with his board to refrain from going to the government for help, but after being turned down by every bank they approached for a loan, including the VWB, they knew there was no other option. He was very surprised how willing the Minister of Finance and especially the poison-tongued Prime Minister were to helping support RPC through its challenging times. Their decision to not only nationalize the pricing power, but to also increase it according to information James Kompco and his CFO provided, he figured, would significantly help the embattled corporation.

  ‘But we aren’t out of the red yet,’ he thought to himself looking at a picture of his wife and daughter on his bookshelf. He took a long swig of scotch. The time was around eleven o’clock at night and he still had hours of work to do. His CFO had left a couple hours prior, and the board vacated well before the sunset.

  He shut his eyes and leaned against the mantle. ‘How could I bring this company to its knees twice during my tenor as CEO,’ he frequently thought to himself.

  Heaving, he walked back to his desk, and sat down. Placing the scotch on the desk, he pulled some sheets of data in front of him. His eyes were getting tired when he shut them again. At that moment there was a knock on his door. His heart skipped a beat. Everyone had left hours before, he thought as he took a moment to catch his cool. His hands slipped below his desk as he lifted his head. The door opened revealing the blackened foyer to his office. His heart skipped another beat. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he thought.

  “Hello,” he yelped attempting to get his bearings.

  From beside the door a man appeared. He was massive, filling the entire doorway, and his face was covered with a black cloth. Kompco panicked, and yelled, “Who, who are you?”

  The man didn’t respond at once. Kompco instantly fumbled for the emergency button below his desk. He slammed it with his hand as the man started walking forward. As he approached the frightened James Kompco, he withdrew a silver revolver from his pocket. Kompco froze, his finger slamming down the button.

  The man finally stopped approaching, and growled, “Do you really think I would be dumb enough not to cut the phone lines?”

  “What, what do you want with me?” Kompco asked sheepishly.

  “Oh Mr. Kompco I thought you would be braver than that? My boss has a message for you. It’s pretty simple. You have messed up for the last time. You have placed yourself, this company, and this island in danger, and we can’t have that. Your mistakes are a mere hiccup in the grand plan. And thank god, hiccups can be cured,” he cocked the gun.

  Kompco whimpered more, “Please, please don’t hurt me. I am a good man.”

  “Everyone’s a good man in their own eyes,” the man fired the gun at Kompco.

  James Kompco thought he had died as he fell to the floor. His life flashed before his eyes. It was the fastest experience of his entire existence. An enormous wave of grief, happiness, shame, and pride wiped over him as his body slammed onto the carpeted floor. After a split second his mind registered what had happened, and he realized the man had missed – the bullet had nicked his arm, causing it to bleed. Kompco could hear the man walking around the desk his gun reloaded. Thinking quickly, Kompco flicked his chair over the desk with his legs. The man fired the gun again as the chair slammed into the assailant causing him to stumble. Not completely clear on how he had the muscle power, or ability to do what he just did, Kompco realized there wasn’t time to care.

  James Kompco’s animalistic survival instinct kicked in. Holding his bleeding arm, he dashed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him. From the office he could hear the rumblings of the massive man throwing the chair off of him and following his prey. Sliding into the staircase, he initiated the fire alarm, which helped to illuminate the stairwell and the halls with the flashing lights.

  ‘Get to the car, get to the car,’ he kept screaming to himself. Without even realizing it, his mind had taken control and placed his body on autopilot. His body was numb to the pain of his arm. The only things he could think about were getting to his car, the voice of the man, and the smiling face of his daughter. ‘Please let me get to see her just one more time,’ he prayed in his mind.

  James Kompco, above his thumping heart, could hear the man crashing about the staircase over him. He shoved his way out the door into the parking lot. A threatening layer of clouds blocked the night sky, making the parking lot darker than usual. The day’s rain had tapered off and was merely a drizzle as James Kompco tore across the open asphalt lot. He looked back for the first time and saw his assailant stumble out the door and into the parking lot. He stopped, realizing Kompco had nowhere to run, and withdrew his gun again. Kompco couldn’t hear or understand anything the man was yelling. He didn’t care what he had to say. Never before had Kompco been as afraid, and confused, in his entire life. He wanted to break down and cry, but he knew his survival depended on his determination to keep running. He reached the car. A bullet sailed into the sedan parked next to his. ‘Why are there so many cars in the parking lot?’ he asked himself, as he panicked, removing his keys from his pocket. Dropping them, he reached down to get them, just missing a bullet that sailed through the rear window of his luxury SUV.

  “What’s wrong Mr. Kompco, not ready to meet your maker?” The man asked calmly walking, gun outstretched towards James.

  Unlocking the door, James jumped in. The assailant began to run towards the car as he slid the key in the ignition, and gunned the SUV to life. Firing the gun while running, the assailant blew out the front headlamp, darkening the space. Kompco threw the car into reverse, and slammed the accelerator. The assailant jumped on the hood, gun pointed at the driver. Instantly, James threw the wheel of the car, which shifted the gunner, sending a bullet through the windshield and into the passenger seat. Without even stopping the car, he shifted into drive and whipped the steering wheel again, throwing the gunner off the hood and onto the hard pavement. Kompco could hear the sirens of the responding fire department off in the distance. He sighed as he drove through the guardrail and onto the main road to the facility. Slamming the accelerator the SUV bucked gaining speed quickly.

  The gunner got off the ground, and responding instantly, afraid he had lost his prey; he began chasing the car on foot. He jumped over the rail and sprinted down the road. Realizing his prey was nearly to the end of the drive where it intersected with HWY 100, the gunner took a deep breath and took one last shot. At the momen
t the bullet left the gun, and the assailant knew he had his target.

  James Kompco heard the gunfire. It sounded far off, and he thought for a split second he was too far for the gun to affect him. He sighed and took a deep breath. He had survived! At that exact moment, he blinked and his SUV flew off the ground. Spiraling through the air, his mind lost all grasp of reality, and anything that was going on. The last few moments of James Kompco’s life were confusing. The bullet from the man’s gun slammed into his front tire, instantly blowing the car off the road. As he flipped through the air the cabin of his car filled with red and white illuminations. Sirens were blaring. Just as the car had turned about 270 degrees, the rushing fire truck slammed into it. The last thing James Kompco saw was the reflection of his assailant in the rearview mirror, and the swinging picture of his daughter and wife hanging below it.

  15

  There was a sudden and powerful knock on the front door of Xavier Rove’s home. Rachel’s eyes flew open. Irritated, and bit started, she began smacking her husband.

  “Wake up. Wake up! Someone’s at the door!” Rachel growled pushing Xavier out of the bed.

  Xavier’s heart skipped a beat, and got to his feet in a matter of moments. The clock read just a little past five in the morning, ‘Not on my first vacation day in a year,’ he moaned grabbing a robe and baseball bat. Climbing down the large swooping staircase he got to the front door. Through the windows around the door he could see flashing lights, like those on a police car. His first thoughts were of his son, Mikey, but those were quickly scuttled knowing full well his thirteen year old son was in his room fast asleep. Groggily, yet alert, he unlocked the door as another rapping took place on the other side. Cracking it open slowly, someone pushed it forcefully and squeezed their way into his foyer.