“And they announced they would pump more liquidity into the system.”
“Pump more money? You’ve got to be shittin’ me!”
“Aye! Some of the big European banks ‘ave already announced they're near bankruptcy. So the central banks are bailing 'em out.”
“Any word on U.S. banks?”
“Aye. The Fed is helping to bail them out too.”
“But won't pumping more liquidity just create higher inflation?”
Shawn's face was slightly pale as he replied. “They're not worried about inflation. They're worried about a collapse of the banks. They think they need to pump money to offset all the write downs from the banks' derivatives losses.”
“And how much money is that?” Tim asked.
“I’m hearing hundreds of trillions of dollars.” Shawn’s mouth was twisted in a gnash of bitterness. “We're bloody screwed, Mr. Tim. You best get to your desk!”
“Okay. See you when it’s over.”
Tim weaved his way around the people and the chairs to his desk. Lori looked at him as he sat down. “And?” She asked.
“In Shawn's words, 'we're bloody screwed',” he mimicked with a smile.
Lori wrinkled her nose as she grinned. “How bad?”
Tim sighed. “The Dow futures are already down 800; but I'm guessing you knew that.”
Lori replied. “Yeah. I also read the news on the G8 and their pump priming, and I read about the banks and how they’re on the edge of a cliff.”
She turned and looked into Tim's eyes. “We're in deep shit, Tim.”
“Yeah. I know.”
* * *
Tim was strapped into his position by 9:00 am. Ready for the day's trading activity. Through the din of shouting and chaos, he heard the now common phrases that marked the state of the markets.
“... I'm sorry sir, but that’s the best price I can get. Everyone’s selling, sir. Yes sir; I'll keep trying, sir.”
Tim’s face broke out in an ironic smile as he repeated a similar refrain. And then he focused, continuing to process his orders.
He soon glanced up at the ticker, noting the market was down a thousand points. They'll soon hit the circuit breaker; and we'll all get a break, he reflected.
And they did hit it, causing trading to be suspended for an hour.
Tim remembered the Instructor's lecture on the circuit breaker mechanism. “The circuit breaker concept was implemented following the stock market collapse of 1987, when the market dropped about 25% in one day. It's there to protect the system from an over-reaction of the market!”
Despite the suspension, the traders continued to receive and queue up trades. Tim knew that other firms were doing the same, as were the high-frequency computerized trading companies – all of them, waiting. And all of them – poised to unleash a flood of orders onto the markets.
The suspension finally expired, and the markets opened. And the flood was indeed unleashed.
Tim watched as the market index moved, now at a steep rate of descent. The decline was amazing! “Hey Lori, are you watching the index?”
“Yeah,” she blurted out. “It's unreal!”
It dropped quickly; and another market suspension was announced in a matter of minutes. And yet even with the suspension, the pile of orders became still deeper.
Tim checked the queue. All he could see were sell orders, and most were at market price. Oh my God this is so bad!
He checked the commodity indices. Gold – $28,056 per ounce. Silver – $1,902 per ounce. West Texas Crude – $2,137 per barrel. Seeing these numbers, all he could do was let out a soft, low whistle.
Time passed. Until again, the suspension expired. And again, the flood of sell orders were unleashed into the markets.
But within ten minutes, the final circuit breaker was hit. And across the news wire, they learned what they already knew – that the market would be closed for the remainder of the day.
But the circuit breaker was an anticlimactic event; more so than Tim and Lori knew at the time – for the market never reopened.
Chapter 10 – Tuesday
Chairman Ross had a gleam in his eyes as he dragged on his cigar. He inhaled deeply, listening to the conversation going across the conference call.
“... if we just focus our repurchase agreements ...”
“... No. That's not what we need to be doing ...”
“... commerce has stopped. This will get the commercial paper market going again ...”
“... but $625 TRILLION we’ve loaned! It’s no wonder we’re having these problems!”
And the more he listened, the more impatient he became. Until he finally interrupted the conversation.
“Gentlemen. Gentlemen!” He announced. And then he paused, waiting for them to stop talking.
“We're done!”
Silence ensued on the conference bridge.
Secretary Duncan came on the phone. “What do you mean, 'we're done'?”
The Chairman responded forcefully, positively. “The dollar is finished – that's what I mean. It's toast. Put a fork in it!”
James Duncan's voice came back on. “But, but – don't you want to salvage it?”
“Why would you want to do that? –”
“Because commerce has completely locked up; and if we don't salvage the dollar, we're going to see world-wide starvation. So, I think we need to do it to avoid suffering of all those people. Don't you?”
“– especially since we've got a new currency waiting in the wings.”
The conference bridge went silent.
“Hello?” Samual said. “Do we still have a connection?”
James's voice came on with a note of resignation. “I'm here, Samual.” He paused and then asked. “What are our options?”
“Well,” Samual replied, “we need to acknowledge that the dollar is dead and move on.”
Tom's quiet voice intruded. “I know that the plan has been to give them an international currency. But do you think we can do it? Do you think we can get them to accept paper again?”
“That’s a good question, Tom. Reality looks a lot different than a plan conjured in a dark smoke-filled room. And in this case, reality is massive unemployment and poverty – people living in tents and in overpasses. They'll all have a rough go of it, but they'll ask for our help sooner or later. Hell, they'll beg us to give 'em a new currency!”
“So,” Samual continued, “we'll unveil the new world currency, and we'll work on getting people to accept it!”
“Do you really think we can get 'em to accept paper again?” James asked.
“Well, hell – we'll tell 'em it's backed by gold. That should pacify 'em.”
James’ voice came on the line. “Really? After all they've been through? Do you really think they'll trust us?”
“Of course they'll trust us,” Samual's voice was arrogant. “Look at how we've helped the world. We created a system that gave billions of people a real life, not just a miserable existence!” With a gleam in his eye, he nodded and said, “I tell ya, they know which side of the bread has the butter.”
He dragged deeply on his cigar and exhaled. “Soon, they'll be begging for a new currency!”
* * * * *
In the City of London ...
“Hey. I know what we can do. Hang on!” Josh ran for the bedroom. And when he returned, he was holding a radio.
He held up a package and smiled. “Blimey! I've got batteries for it too!”
Josh inserted the batteries and turned it on. He turned the dial, slowly, seeking a local radio station. But the spectrum appeared to be empty – he wondered if local radio was still broadcasting. But he finally rolled across an old but stalwart AM station. They might be running on emergency power, he thought.
They listened.
“... and it's been reported that much of southern England, including London, has lost power. With the loss of power, there are reports of widespread looting and rioting throughout London, so authorities are advising people to re
main indoors.”
“In still other news, the collapse of the dollar has precipitated a collapse of currencies world-wide. And the change in value of the Pound has led to a run on food and fuel, even with the price of petrol at two-hundred and seventy-five pounds per litre. Despite the high price of petrol, shortages are reported to be wide spread, and traffic has all but dried up in an around London. People are thusly lighting out to the supermarkets on foot, even as supermarkets report widespread shortages of food and other stocks.”
“In still other news ...”
Josh switched off the radio and looked intently at Mikaela. “What's this about the dollar collapsing,” he hissed. “What the hell happened?”
Mikaela frowned. “I don't know. It’s a bloody surprise to me!”
“And me too,” Josh replied with a grimace.
Mikaela seemed to recover some of her usual composure. “What do you think we ought to do?”
“I think we need a plan to ride this out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think we need to inventory our food and water. I think we need light for night time. I think we need heat; although thankfully, April isn't too bad. And I think we need to periodically listen to the radio. But we need to be careful and preserve the batteries – these are the only batteries I've got.”
“Okay. Do you want to go ahead and find the food?”
“Sure. And you get containers and stock up on water.”
“Okay.”
* * *
“So,” Josh pronounced, “we've got candles. We now can see at night.”
“Great!”
“And,” Josh continued, “we've got enough food here for about three days.”
“Three days?”
“Yep.”
“Bloody ‘ell. That's not much!”
“I know. How's our water?”
“Well. I found enough containers to save about two gallons.”
Josh frowned. “Blimey. I wonder how much longer the water will flow?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Mikaela replied. “In any case, I think we ought to drink from the tap so long as it continues.”
“I agree.”
They stopped talking and their eyes met as they listened. A mob – there's no way to know if it was the mob – was making raucous sounds on the street below. The two heard people bantering, joking, and cheering – after all, they control the streets! Josh and Mikaela remained standing, in silence, listening. The mob soon moved on.
Josh could see Mikaela's hand shaking. She grabbed a cigarette to calm herself.
He raised his eyebrows and said, “I wonder. Hmmm ... I wonder if we ought to check on the other tenants?”
Mikaela exhaled a stream of smoke and looked at Josh. “That's an idea. After all, strength in numbers – and maybe we can trade?”
“I think most of them stay here during the week and travel to their real homes for the weekend. I know a guy in my office who does it.”
Mikaela smirked and said, “Shit. We pay you people too much!”
Josh didn't seem to notice her joke. He sat in thought, and then he posed a question. “I wonder what we'll find?”
“There’s no telling. We could find a bloody woodsman with a gun ready to blow our brains out.”
“Unlikely,” Josh replied.
“Or,” she sighed, “we could find a needy family with no food.”
Josh looked at his Rolex. “Tell you what. It's coming up on evening. How about we make some dinner, and we canvas the building tomorrow – when it's daylight.”
“Fine with me.”
* * *
Josh and Mikaela were talking by candlelight and sipping their wine as they finished eating.
“Blimey! We don't have a whole lot of these meals in the pantry,” he said. “I think we'll have to venture out and find more food. Either that, or we'll need civilization restored back to normal.”
Mikaela smiled as she sipped on her wine. “Canned ravioli and Cabernet – shitty food but a good combination.” She took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled.
Just then, they heard the sound of a mob – off in the distance. But it sounded as though it were approaching. Josh glanced over at the window – it was dark outside. “Bloody ‘ell!” He turned and quickly blew out the candle, thrusting the room into darkness.
“How much you wanna bet they're searching for food,” he whispered.
“What's our plan?” She whispered.
“I don't have a bloody plan,” he whispered a reply.
By this time, the mob was close – loud and raucous. It sounds as though it has a life of its own, Josh thought.
In a split second, Josh decided. “Let's lock the entrance door, and then hide in the bedroom closet.”
“But what if they get in?”
“Tell you what! Grab a couple of kitchen knives – take the biggest ones. I'll lock the doors!”
Josh felt his way along the walls and the doorways. First, he fished his way to the back door entrance. He turned the lock – click! He checked to make sure it was locked.
Josh thought he heard the mob inside the building, possibly moving in the stairwell.
He then felt his way out through the parlour to the entrance door. Groping in the dark, he turned the lock – click! He again checked the door to make sure it was locked.
Then he made his way back to the kitchen. It sounds like they're banging on one of the apartments downstairs, he thought.
“Did you find some knives?”
“Got 'em,” she replied.
C'mon!” He grabbed Mikaela's hand and guided the two of them into the bedroom. He groped along the wall and the furniture, finally making it to the closet.
I swear they're closer, he thought.
They held each others’ hands as they hid behind a double-tier section of hanging clothes. They listened, hearing the sounds of objects being thrown and furniture crashing on the floor. Josh leaned over and whispered into Mikaela's ear, “I think they're in one of the second floor apartments.”
Josh felt her hand. Blimey. She’s really shaking!
And then suddenly they heard a shout from below. “I found some!” And then they heard the mob’s shouting and swearing – it was louder – but they now seemed happy, less wanton.
Josh felt Mikaela shivering, shaking in his arms. They each held their breath, listening. And as they listened, they heard the sounds – the shouting, the noise, the banging – recede, ever so slowly. Josh knew when the mob was outside, and he could tell when they were further down the street.
Josh and Mikaela emerged from their sanctuary. Both of them shaking, they sat down on the floor.
“We need to find a closed room that we can have light,” Josh whispered.
“Where's the cigarettes?”
“You can't light a match. So long as the light can be seen, you can't light even a match!”
Josh felt her head nod.
“Okay,” she said, her voice quivering. “Can you hold me?”
“Sure.” Josh said as he pulled her close to him.
They slept on the floor.
* * *
Josh heard a woman's voice come out of nowhere. “The water's turned off.”
“So turn it back on,” Josh mumbled. Still asleep.
“Josh. There’s no bloody water. It’s shut off,” the woman's voice said again.
Josh felt a touch on his shoulder. “Huh!” In an instant, he shook himself awake sitting up. “What?” Josh ran his hand through his hair.
“I said, the water's off.”
Josh turned and looked at the source of the statement. “Oh. Hi Mikaela.” He squinted his eyes under the glare of daylight streaming in from the window. “What? What did you say?”
“The water's turned off. There’s no bloody water.”
“Blimey!” Josh shook his head. “That's what I thought you said.”
He sat on the floor, thinking. “I wonder what's on the news?”
>
Mikaela walked over to the table and turned on the radio.
“... even though official word continues from the U.S. State Department.”
“We now go to our correspondent in Washington D.C., Michelle Evans.”
“Thank you, Bryant. Unofficial word comes from many U.S. government workers who say that the government is all but shutdown. And Bryant, I can personally attest to this fact – that there’s hardly anyone here on Capitol Hill. And also, the automobile traffic throughout the city appears to be light.”
“People are saying that it's not just about gasoline prices. But that the skyrocketing cost of living has made many people give up trying to earn a living. And with the increase in violence, many people are just staying home to protect their property and families.”
“And in other U.S. news, there are reports of U.S. troops being stranded in overseas wars, and also that the wars are winding down due to lack of funding. It’s also been reported that U.S. troops are unable to find passage back to the States, mostly due to the nearly zero purchasing power of the dollar.”
“Back to you, Bryant.”
“Thank you, Michelle.”
“Now we go to our emergency declaration.”
With that, a man's 'radio voice' came on the air.
“To all of our listeners. Along with a few other radio stations, this station is operating on emergency power and commercial free. This broadcast will give you the information you need to make good decisions about your conduct during this emergency.” The voice paused, and then continued. “The British government is functioning under this emergency. However, the government recommends you stay inside due to roving gangs and rioting.”
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, here is an update on the news.”
“Authorities have determined that the financial district, also known as the City of London, has been isolated from the rest of London. This is due to the widespread presence of roving gangs, many of which are acting as vigilante groups seeking to exact retribution against those of the banking class. Citizens of the financial district may not – I repeat – may not count on police protection.”
End of the World Page 25