by Greg Krojac
The interior of the room was a complete contrast to the building which housed it. It looked sophisticated, yes, but the décor was most definitely modern chic, having a functional feel about it whilst not losing the air of elegance that high quality materials and design exude.
Entering the room, Anita indicated the features of the room, as if she were a flight attendant,
“Here, on the left of the bed, is the main control panel. It gives you access to the TV and audio system, as well as access to room service – which is available twenty-four hours a day. The TV system is totally global, you can watch live TV from any country in the world. To the left of the bed is the receiving bay. Anything that you request from room service will appear here.”
Andrea tilted her head and smiled.
“As if by magic.”
The bed looked sumptuous. It was too big for one person and was decked with expensive Egyptian cotton sheets. Anita noticed Maurice’s admiration of the bed.
“The bed is fully adjustable for hardness, softness, height, width, and length. The controls are on the main control panel. We’ll leave you now to settle in.”
Maurice had a question.
“Before you go, what time is dinner? And where is it served?”
“Your dinner is whenever you want, Mr Boone. And it consists of whatever you want. Simply tell room service what you require and it will appear in the receiving bay within five minutes.”
“Can I go for a walk in the grounds?”
“Sadly, not today, Mr Boone. Tonight you will be confined to your room. The businessman will see you tomorrow, at 9 am sharp.”
The girls left the room and Maurice was left to sit on his bed and collect his thoughts. He wondered where he was. East? West? He had no idea. He didn’t much care for what Anita had said either. ‘Confined to your room’. It made him feel like a prisoner. But what a beautiful prison cell. He also realised that it was all part of the security protocol and was obviously necessary for the Businessman’s safety, so there was no point in complaining about it.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten for hours. Until that moment he had been fine but, now that his mind had been alerted to the fact, his stomach started grumbling. He leaned over to the main control panel and placed his finger upon the icon marked ‘room-service’. The face of a redhead, Alexis, who could have been the triplet of the Anita and Andrea, appeared on a screen on the wall in front of him.
“Hello, Mr Boone. How may I help you?”
“I’d like some dinner please.”
“Certainly, Mr Boone. What would you like to eat?”
Maurice hadn’t thought that far ahead. He just knew that he was hungry. He racked his brains for a few seconds and then decided on what to eat. He severely doubted that they could provide what he suddenly felt a desire for, but he’d ask anyway.
“I’d like bangers and mash, please?”
“Sorry, Mr Boone. I don’t know what bangers and mash, is. Could you elucidate please?”
“Sausages, mashed potatoes and baked beans. That’s with Wall’s sausages and Heinz baked beans.”
The redhead acknowledged his order.
“Your meal will be with you within five minutes, Mr Boone.”
Maurice felt rather smug, imagining that the island’s kitchens could never fulfil such a specific order, especially the branded sausages and baked beans.
Exactly four minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, a panel in the receiving area opened and there, sitting on a silver tray, was a delicious looking plate of sausages, mashed potatoes and baked beans. Maurice picked up the plate, poured a glass of chilled fruit juice from the multi-tap in the corner of the room, and placed the tray on the marble surfaced breakfast bar, hoisting himself onto a leather-covered bar stool. He cut a piece off one of the four plump pork sausages, dipped it into the sauce of the baked beans and popped it into his mouth. It tasted really good – both the sausage and the sauce were pretty much perfect. Then he scooped up a decent portion of the mashed potato and garnished it with baked beans. Again, it tasted wonderful. He didn’t for one minute believe that he was really eating Wall’s sausages and Heinz baked beans, but these substitutes really were excellent. If he could have spoken to the chef he would most certainly have complemented him or her. He hadn’t tasted such good bangers and mash in a long time. Not since the recession had begun.
After his meal, Maurice returned the empty plate to the tray and pressed the retrieve icon to the left of the receiving area. The tray disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared.
***
After a good night’s sleep, he awoke on Monday morning feeling incredibly refreshed. Perhaps it had something to do with the fresh, clean air of the island. He made his way through the lush vegetation to the Businessman’s private quarters, once again accompanied by Anita and Andrea on either side of him, holding his hands. As they approached the entrance to the Businessman’s private retreat, Maurice could feel butterflies flitting around in his stomach. Very few people had met the Businessman face-to-face and Maurice knew that he was about to join an extremely small and elite group of people. After walking through marble corridors for what seemed like an eternity, Maurice found himself facing a very thick and very sturdy door. It appeared to be oak, and Maurice assumed that it was made from imported wood; oak certainly didn’t seem to be a wood that would be indigenous to this island.
The door opened and Maurice looked into the office. The opulence jumped out at him; expensive floor tiles, high quality imported furniture and furnishings, and original artwork on the walls. In one corner was a large statue of the emblem of the Illuminati, the single eye in a triangle, but this statue was different as it was distorted by a human fist that had pounded and flattened the triangle’s apex. The décor of the room was a demonstration of the Businessman’s own wealth but the statue represented his desire to bring down the oppressive power that was crippling the world, the Illuminati. Maurice stopped looking around the room and his gaze fell onto the occupant of a luxurious leather chair.
So this was the Businessman.
He certainly didn’t look anything like Maurice had imagined him. The silhouettes that he had seen on the communications screens had given the impression that the Businessman was quite a portly man, perhaps balding, but the figure he now saw before him was nothing of the sort. For a start, he had a full head of whitish-grey hair, which fell just short of his shoulders, and a well-groomed beard and moustache combination. He also had what appeared to be a permanent smile on his face. Indeed, he had a kindly face, a welcoming face, a face that must have disarmed many an adversary at the negotiating table. He wore a pristine white short-sleeved shirt, the first two buttons of which were unfastened, and a pair of snug, but not too tight, denim jeans. He looked like the kind of man who would be everybody’s favourite uncle, the kind of man who would entertain his nephews and nieces for hours with children’s stories and their parents with tales of heroic adventures. But Maurice knew that there had to be an element of ruthlessness to the man too. Nobody got to where he was in life without cultivating a ruthless streak.
The Businessman got up from his chair, walked around the substantial desk, beamed his trademark charming smile, and extended his right hand to Maurice.
“Hi, Maurice. Nice to meet you, I’m Douglas.”
Maurice shook his hand, wondering if he would ever feel comfortable being on first name terms with one of the most powerful and wealthiest men on the planet.
“Hello, Douglas. Nice to meet you too.”
Douglas seemed to be such an ordinary and harmless name for such a man. He looked like he should have a stronger name like Thor or Ragnar. His smile seemed to be permanently etched onto his face.
“Can I offer you a coffee, Maurice?? A fruit juice? A glass of scotch?”
“Fruit juice would be nice. Thank you.”
Douglas repeated the drinks order out loud to nobody in particular.
“Right, Maurice. Let’s get down to busines
s then, shall we?”
“Of course.”
“You’re probably wondering why I had you brought you here.”
“Yes. I must admit, I am. I mean, I know we’ve spoken via video-call but I’ve only ever seen your silhouette and – if you don’t mind me saying so – it looks nothing like you.”
“It’s a silhouette of Sir Alfred Hitchcock.”
“Who’s Sir Alfred Hitchcock?”
“He was a famous film director of the twentieth century. But forget about that. Maurice, I have something to ask you. I need you to do something for me, and it’s the kind of thing that I wouldn’t have felt comfortable asking you to do, over the comms system. Hell, you’re here in front of me and I still don’t feel comfortable.”
Douglas gestured to the corner of the room where two luxurious sofas were located.
“Take a seat, Maurice. I think you should probably be sitting down to hear what I’m about to tell you.”
Douglas and Maurice sat down on separate white leather sofas, facing each other. A dark-skinned, rather matronly woman carried a tray upon which were a couple of tall glasses and a jug full of chilled graviola juice and placed it on the coffee table between the two sofas. She poured two glasses of the juice and passed one of the glasses to Maurice, who took a sip of the whitish green liquid. It was remarkably refreshing and had a kind of sour but sweet taste that Maurice had never tasted before. Douglas took a sip from his glass.
“Maurice. You have two daughters, yes?”
“Yes, Sir. Michelle is the eldest and Caitlin is the younger of the two.”
“And Caitlin has become romantically involved with a man called Marcus, correct?”
“Yes. I believe that’s his name.”
“Well, Maurice. What I am about to tell you may seem unbelievable but I swear that it’s the truth. I’ve had my suspicions verified by a very reliable source.”
Maurice hoped that what he was about to hear wasn’t bad news about Caitlin. She wasn’t the focused and determined girl that her sister Michelle was, but she never caused anyone any major problems either.
“Caitlin’s not in any trouble is she?”
“No, of course not. Not with us, anyway.”
Maurice wasn’t sure how to take that response.
“No, Maurice. The problem is her boyfriend.”
“Why? Who is he? What’s he done?”
“Have you met him yet?”
Maurice shook his head.
“No. Not yet.”
“But you’re planning to meet him, yes?”
“Yes. Karen and I are supposed to be going out to dinner with the two of them tomorrow evening.”
“Good. Now – even after what you are about to hear – I want you to keep that dinner-date.”
Maurice wondered what kind of information Douglas had about Marcus. He’d flown him all the way to his private island so that he could speak to him in person. It must be serious. Douglas continued.
“I’m sorry, but Marcus isn’t all that he seems. He’s actually a Recarn but, even then, that’s not the main problem. Many Recarns, the majority of Recarns actually, are decent people. But Marcus is the reincarnation of the man who took control of the Illuminati after the death of the previous Pindar, Nathan Smith. And he’s a lot more dangerous than Nathan Smith.”
“What’s a Pindar?”
“That’s the name that the Illuminati give to their leader.”
“So you’re telling me that my daughter is dating the leader of the Illuminati?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Maurice didn’t like the sound of that.
“You can’t be serious. Are you sure?”
“Unfortunately, I’m 100% sure.”
“I have to stop this relationship, now.”
“Please don’t do that, Maurice. It’s important that she continues with the relationship.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“She’s in a unique position to gain information that we can use to plot the Illuminati’s downfall. Have you never heard of pillow talk?”
“Of course I have, but you can’t seriously be suggesting that Caitlin is sleeping with this man?”
“She’s a beautiful young woman and he’s a good-looking and very rich young man. It’s 2069. Do you seriously think she’s not sleeping with him?”
Maurice changed the subject quickly. He didn’t like the idea that his little girl was sleeping with a man, least of all, the leader of the Illuminati. He knew that she was a young woman now, but she would still always be his little girl.”
“But I have to tell her. She’s my daughter. She could be in danger.”
“Possibly. But all indications are that Marcus is unaware of her connection to One Life.”
“I still have to tell her, though.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, Maurice. Not yet, anyway. I don’t like to bring it up, but may I remember that you owe me a rather large favour?”
And there it was, coming back to haunt him. How could Maurice forget that he owed the Businessman a favour? If it weren’t for Douglas, Caitlin wouldn’t be around to have a relationship with anybody. She would have died at the age of six. It was because of Douglas that Caitlin was able to undergo lifesaving surgery. Added to that was the fact that without Douglas’s intervention Maurice himself would also have been dead – just another naked corpse taken from the Self-Termination Centre in Paignton and thrown into one of the many government incinerators.
Maurice said nothing for nearly a minute, thoughts buzzing around inside his head. He didn’t like what he was about to say but he had no real choice. Both he and his daughter owed this man their lives.
“OK. I won’t tell her for the moment. But I will tell her as soon as I can. I’m not happy about this. In fact, I’m furious. But, I know that it’s for the cause and – provided that you’re sure that this Marcus guy won’t hurt her – I’ll hold off telling her for a while. But not for long.”
“There’s something else you should know, Maurice.”
“You may as well tell me. What can be worse than my daughter being in a relationship with the leader of the Illuminati?”
“Marcus is a clone.”
“A clone?”
“Yes. A clone.”
“Wait a minute. So she’s not only going out with the leader of the Illuminati, but he’s also a clone?”
“Yes.”
Maurice wished that he had something a lot stronger than graviola in his glass.
“Bloody hell. Any more little gems you want to spring on me?”
“No. That’s it. Now you can see why I wanted to speak to you face-to-face.”
“Yes. Well. Thanks for that courtesy anyway.”
“If there were any other way.”
“I know. But I suppose there isn’t. And the cause is bigger than both you and I.”
“Exactly Maurice. We’ll have lunch and then we’ll get you back to the UK.”
Knowing what he now knew, Maurice wanted to get back to England as soon as possible.
CHAPTER THREE
20:05 Tuesday 24 September 2069
Maurice and Karen arrived at the restaurant early. Both were anxious to meet Marcus but for different reasons. Karen was looking forward to meeting the kind and considerate man who appeared to be sweeping her youngest daughter off her feet, whilst Maurice wanted to see what kind of monster was taking advantage of his little girl.
After a brief five minute wait, Caitlin and Marcus arrived. Maurice stood up, discreetly gritting his teeth, disguising his true feelings with a forced but welcoming smile, and shook Marcus’s hand. He was surprised how normal the hand felt, considering that Caitlin’s boyfriend was a clone. He wasn’t really sure what he had been expecting; Marcus had been manufactured, for all intents and purposes, but he had been developed from a human cell so there was no real earthly reason why he shouldn’t have felt human, no reason why he should have an alien texture to his skin. Introduc
tions done, the four of them sat down. Marcus ordered a bottle of wine, the most expensive in the restaurant, whilst Maurice hoped that he wouldn’t be expected to pay for the extravagant choice. After a few seconds Marcus broke the silence.
“So Mr Boone. Caitlin tells me that you’re an accountant. Perhaps I might call upon your services someday if my current accountants let me down. And Mrs Boone. What do you do?”
“Oh, this and that, you know, the kind of things that mothers do.”
She didn’t let on that One Life had acknowledged the fact that all mothers need to master many skills in their home lives that can be relevant in the workplace, and had given her the responsibility of training its members in time management, prioritizing tasks, and delegation. When Maurice had told her about his trip to the mysterious tropical island, he had left out the critical information about Marcus, so she was completely in the dark about his real identity. It had been a difficult decision not to tell his wife what he had learnt and it was gnawing at his insides that he had to keep this secret from her. He couldn’t make good on his promise not to say anything to Caitlin; he was sorry, but Caitlin was his daughter and her well-being must come before anything else. He would tell her, but he would wait until after the meal. He would gather his family around him, Caitlin and Michelle included, and let everybody know just who they were dealing with. He had no idea how Caitlin would react but he was sure that she would need her family around her.
***
The evening went much as any first meeting between parents and their youngest daughter’s boyfriend could be expected to go, an evening of not particularly confrontational questions and answers. Maurice hoped that he was giving an Oscar worthy performance and that he wasn’t showing any trace of the disgust that he felt for this man. Although he wanted to grab Marcus’s head with both hands and pound it against the wall until his brain seeped out of his ears, he fought to resist the temptation to be anything other than a doting father meeting his daughter’s boyfriend for the first time.
The waiter approached their table with the dessert trolley, and Maurice was eying up a particularly delicious looking tangerine cheesecake, when he felt a strange sensation in his chest, a sensation that he had never experienced before. He suddenly became aware that it was becoming difficult to breathe but what really frightened him was the pain that he was in. If forced to describe it, he would have to say that it was as if an elephant was sitting on his chest. Or perhaps it was more like somebody was reaching inside his chest and trying to rip his heart out. Whichever it felt like, Maurice knew that it wasn’t good. Not good? That was the understatement of the century. He felt very dizzy. Was he dying? Is this what dying was like? It would stop the pain, for sure, but he wasn’t ready to die yet. He had to tell Caitlin what was going on, who Marcus really was. He tried to speak but no words came out. He fell to the floor, pouting like a goldfish out of water.