The Jagged Edge

by AJ Frazer

  “I don’t know. Somewhere with no extradition to the US or UK for starters. Probably not in a city, given that he knew what would be coming. I’d say South America or Asia but, realistically, he could be anywhere.”

  “If any of our tech was working, we might have the ability to track him down,” reflected Hale, “but we’re flying blind at the moment.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could give you more.”

  “You’ll need to work with an artist and come up with a visual for this Saint George,” said Hale.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Hale stood. “I’ll have some food and water brought in.”

  “Zhen, did Sagen mention anything about what Biblical would do on day seven?”

  Zhen considered this for a moment before shaking her head. “No, like I said, he kept me out of it, I wasn’t part of the inner team on this.”

  Dominic nodded, he wasn’t surprised. He got to his feet, and looking down at Zhen he said, “Hang in there. This will be over soon.” Then he followed Hale out through the door.

  In the corridor, Dominic caught up to Hale. “So your friends have some explaining to do,” he said bitterly.

  “Yes they do,” she said, without breaking stride. “Look, we have no hard proof, but I’m going to take it up the chain. This is way above my pay grade.”

  “All right. So do your boffins have any lead on what happens when we hit the seventh day?”

  “Nothing. Cyber intel says it could be anything.”

  “So, it’s down to how far Sagen was willing to go when he programmed it,” said Dominic.

  “You have any ideas?”

  “Nothing as imaginative as what Sagen would have conjured up.”

  Hale stopped to face Dominic. “Not a word of this. I know you wouldn’t, but if any of this gets out, there’ll be an outcry and it may force our hand against our closest ally.”

  Dominic nodded. “Though it pains me greatly, my lips are sealed.”

  Driving home that evening, the streets were pitch-black—not a single streetlight was working. Houses were either dark or had dim, flickering candles. Every so often there were portable lighting towers running off diesel generators. They were manned by police and seemed to act as a rally point for anyone in need of help.

  He thought about what Zhen had said. He thought about the obvious arse-covering the CIA had undertaken by murdering Sagen and he thought about the man they called Saint George. Could he really stop Biblical? Could they find him in time? The chances of tracking him down were slim and growing slimmer by the minute. Most endeavors don’t fail because of lack of leadership, ideas, or effort; they simply run out of time. Time was running relentlessly while they were standing still. Only one day remained before Biblical would unleash its full payload on the world. Dominic still had no idea what that would look like. He knew Sagen was an extremist, willing to kill and injure to achieve his goals. But an all-out nuclear holocaust? It seemed too much. The utter destruction of all digitized infrastructure? A good possibility—particularly given that Biblical was more than halfway there already.

  He rolled slowly down the driveway to Glenraden, the headlights catching the glowing eyes of rabbits frozen by the beams before bouncing off across the lawns. Pulling into the garage at the side of the house, he couldn’t help but reflect on the genius of Sagen’s plan. As a way to inflict maximum damage on the human species, while causing absolutely no harm to any other species or the bio-system, it was disturbingly perfect—which was another reason why he didn’t believe that Sagen would have programmed Biblical to launch nuclear weapons. Despite his obvious hatred of the fire that killed his family, Sagen was pro-environment; he could never condone such an abomination against the Earth. Surely.

  That night, Dax, Jacqueline, Alex, and Dominic ate dinner together. It felt good to be surrounded by these people, so different to his normal social circle and yet so much more real and genuine. They were the closest thing to family he had and were precisely who he wanted to have around him at such a catastrophic time.

  “Here we are then, peering into the abyss.” He swilled a glass of red wine. “Funny to think how quickly things change. How reliant on a single technology we’ve become.”

  “Mate, I don’t see what the problem is,” said Dax. “In fact, I reckon it’s fantastic what’s happening. It’s gonna toughen people up and sort out the mice from the men.”

  “Well, it’s fine for you and Bear Grylls,” said Jacqueline. “But what about all those people out there who have no idea how to survive in a world without money, without security, without readily available food?”

  “Necessity is the mother of invention,” said Alex.

  “Exactly,” said Dax. “They’ll figure something out soon enough.”

  Jacqueline shook her head in dismay. “Or not.”

  “It’ll be good for business, right, Dax?” said Dominic. “People will need blokes like you around to show them how to dig a hole for a loo.”

  “Ha! Maybe you should let me advertise on Jagged Edge, selling my bog-digging manual.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Let me have the ad sales team call you tomorrow. That lot talk enough shit—you’ll need to dig a hole just to have a conversation.”

  They laughed, and God it felt good. The first good feeling Dominic had had for a while.

  “Seriously though, all the carnage aside, you have to admit the genius of what this guy’s done,” said Dax. “He’s built a time machine, hasn’t he?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Jacqueline.

  “Well, this Biblical thing is basically putting us back a few centuries, isn’t it? Sagen perfected time travel for billions of people. Sent us all hurtling back to simpler times. Less about what you buy and own. Less about the energy you need to maintain your lifestyle. More about the here and now, living in the moment and all that.”

  “I didn’t tell any of you this before,” said Dominic, “but that’s exactly how Earth Ghost refers to Biblical: a time-machine event.”

  Dax nodded gloatingly. “See, I’m just saying it’s not all doom and gloom when you get over the sting of ripping the digital plaster off,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

  “I agree with you in many ways,” said Dominic. “However, the answer to human evolution can never be devolution. The key is to adapt technology to work for us. I think it’s fair to say we’ve been working for technology, but it’s just a moment in time. In another century—had Biblical not been unleashed—I’m confident we could have reimposed a rein on technology and been using it to genuinely save the Earth.”

  “The way we were going, we probably didn’t have a century,” shot back Dax. “You talk about being on the precipice—we’ve already leaped off it in terms of climate change, be it man-made or not.”

  “Perhaps. But trying to send us back in time isn’t the solution. It’s a temporary fix and one that thwarts any hope we have of using technology to help our cause!” countered Dominic, a little too aggressively.

  The table fell silent. They went back to their wine glasses and fidgeting with cutlery.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mention this earlier, but today I was involved in a shooting near MI6 Headquarters. A young man was shot in the back right in front of me. It was a mess—people being shot at by our own military.”

  “God, that’s awful!” exclaimed Jacqueline.

  “What was terrifying was seeing how quickly and easily this tinderbox is going to ignite if we don’t find some solutions.”

  Dax nodded gingerly. “Philosophy’s great, until lead meets flesh.”

  “You’d know.” Dominic smiled, nodding toward his leg.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The next day, Dominic stayed at the estate with the others. There was no last-ditch, down-to-the-wire cliffhanger to save the world from Biblical. He was certain that every government agency in the world was working frantically to solve the problem and find this Saint George person, but they could all be d
amned. He’d enjoy what could be the last day of social structure with people he loved, in a place he loved, doing what he loved.

  After lunch, he excused himself, went to his study, and sat at his desk. Without a conscious thought, he opened a drawer and pulled out a wad of paper that he used for letter writing, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d used it to write an actual letter. He wrote fast and messily; he needed to get what was on his mind down on paper. He wrote for the entire afternoon. He didn’t eat or drink. He barely noticed himself breathing. Perhaps it was from the last few days of being back at Jagged Edge, perhaps it was the inevitability of Biblical and the shocking destruction of their digitized world but, whatever it was, Dominic was flowing.

  That was until a gentle knock at the door caught his attention. “Come,” he called.

  Jacqueline opened the door gingerly. “You all right? We’ve got dinner ready.”

  He stopped abruptly, dropped the pen, and rubbed his hand, wincing at the cramp that he’d just noticed. “Great, thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  Jacqueline gestured to the paper across his desk. “A bit of apocalyptic inspiration?”

  He slumped back in his chair, realizing how exhausted he was, how his temples ached, how his hand and forearm cramped. “I don’t know, I just started writing, and it didn’t stop.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about Sagen. Meeting him and everything that’s happened since. How we connected and why we connected.”

  “Well, when the moment takes you … I suppose you’ll want me to type it up for you now.” She looked displeased.

  “Jacs, you are many great things, but a typist you are not. I certainly didn’t hire you because of your words per minute.”

  Jacqueline smiled. “For an executive assistant, I’m pretty rubbish at the keyboard, aren’t I?”

  “Who knows? After tomorrow, I may need to print it on an old wooden press. Actually, there’s a thought—Jagged Edge might need to find a printing press! There’s something you can do—find all the printing presses left in the UK.”

  Jacqueline smiled. “Can you imagine? We’ll need to hire paperboys and girls to do the rounds.”

  “It’ll be the paper renaissance,” he said, standing slowly as his joints fought the movement.

  “Oh, the irony,” said Jacqueline.

  “Come on, let’s eat,” said Dominic.

  “There have been huge protests today all around the world,” said Jacqueline, after they’d eaten and were finishing off their third bottle of red wine.

  “Peaceful?” asked Dominic.

  “Not particularly. In New York, City Hall was overrun and vandalized, the UN Headquarters were ransacked, and there have been massive rolling riots throughout Manhattan. London was a little less violent, but they estimate nearly two million people rallied down The Mall and headed toward Number Ten. The police had a hell of a time controlling the crowds, but thankfully the violence was minimal.”

  “Bloody miracle there’s not been more carnage,” Dominic said.

  “Plenty of time still for that,” Dax chimed in.

  “Well,” said Jacqueline, “every city in the world has experienced two things: a mass exodus and mass rallies. The people who don’t flee are angry and scared and are demanding their governments provide answers and solutions.”

  “But there are none to give,” Dominic said.

  “Other than to get on with it,” said Dax.

  “That’s not an answer the public are willing to accept,” said Dominic. “Not yet.”

  “I’m just glad to be here and not in the city,” said Jacqueline.

  “Sanctuary,” said Dominic, “is a wonderful thing and something that will be coveted. We have to be vigilant from now on. As things get progressively worse, so too will the behavior of some. We must protect ourselves and this little nook we have carved out here.” He wanted to ensure everyone was prepared for things to go south but, at the same time, not alarm them—or himself for that matter.

  “Good God, I just realized—I’m going to be trapped here with you three reprobates!” Jacqueline took a large gulp of wine.

  “Lucky you,” said Dax.

  “Who else would you rather be with when the world goes to pot?” said Alex.

  “Some younger, more attractive blokes for a start.” She grinned.

  “Younger?” exclaimed Dax.

  “More attractive than us?” added Dominic, gesturing to the two other men.

  “I know, hard to believe that there could be more attractive men than you three, right?”

  They continued to sling banter around the table. Eventually, Alex took himself off to bed and Jacqueline excused herself shortly after. Dominic and Dax sat in the drawing room, surrounded by oak paneling, antiques, old-world art, and Dominic’s small but impressive collection of guns. He had a beautifully crafted Purdey & Sons shotgun, an ancient Nuremberg wheellock musket from the seventeenth century and, his absolute pride and joy, a Fabbri over-under shotgun. Everything about the Fabbri was perfection. The way it was made, the time and attention taken to ensure absolute precision in the weapon.

  “Do your guns work?” asked Dax, looking up from the sofa at the wall where they hung.

  “Of course they work. Well, except perhaps the musket. Personally, I wouldn’t take my chances with it. Liable to blow your head off.”

  “We might be needing them soon,” said Dax solemnly.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Things won’t turn to complete anarchy. Once people accept whatever this new reality is, they’ll find a way to carry on. We always do. Look at all the global pandemics we’ve faced over the years.”

  “Sure, but even in self-isolation and with social distancing, people were connected by the internet and found ways to do their work and live. This is like nothing we’ve experienced. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Dominic nodded sagely. “Wait and hope: all of human wisdom in those two words.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Dumas, Alexandre Dumas. He said all human wisdom could be summed-up in those two words—wait and hope.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Comfortable in each other’s company. Comfortable on the sofas. Comfortable in the glow of liquor atop of a full belly.

  “I’m going into Jagged Edge early tomorrow,” said Dominic.

  Dax nodded, his crystal whisky tumbler resting on his stomach.

  “I’ll leave before breakfast. Can you please ensure Jacqueline stays here with you? I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.”

  “Sure thing. Not a chore keeping her company.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dominic stood drowsily. “Right, I’m done. See you in the morning.”

  “I’m hitting the sack, too,” said Dax, leaning slowly forward out of the sofa.

  “Oh, the ammunition for the shotguns is in the top drawer over there.” Dominic pointed to the cabinet. “And I meant it about the musket, don’t go near the bloody thing.”

  “Thought you said society would keep its shit together.”

  “Society may not be amenable to waiting and hoping.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Outside, in the pre-dawn darkness, the air was crisp and cool. The sound of the gravel crunching beneath Dominic’s feet as he walked to the garage was the perfect soundtrack. It was odd, but there was a part of him that was looking forward to seeing what would happen today. Perhaps the countryside afforded him an illusion of safety and sanctuary, but he was genuinely intrigued to see what Biblical would do. It was all highly speculative, but he had a powerful sense that something significant would happen that day, the seventh day—for good or ill.

  The drive into London was quiet, the roads empty. It seemed most people were not bothering to go to their places of work. How long could that last? People had to work. They had to earn money to feed families and maintain shelter. At what point would people accept a new reality and crack on with it? Again, the social experimenter in Domin
ic marveled at the incredible scale and amplitude of the Biblical effect.

  It was only just light as he pulled into the garage at Jagged Edge Media HQ. On the main news floor there were a few people staring at computer screens or walking around. He liked the office at this time—quiet, peaceful, somber. The complete opposite of what it was like most of the working day.

  He went up to his office to look at the Jagged Edge sites around the world and see what was happening. Even though they were live, the reality was the vast majority of people couldn’t access the internet. At least the news could persevere and if one person could access the site, that person could tell a hundred others.

  He scrolled through and scanned the coverage, which focused broadly on three things: the technical issues being experienced; the human suffering; and, lastly, the solutions to cure the world of Biblical, of which there appeared to be many and none—many opinions, none that would be remotely viable. The vast majority of coverage was, understandably, bleak. It painted a picture of utter uncertainty and a complete lack of strong positive leadership. Experts postured, corporations floundered, governments placated. No one had any real solutions to offer. For every expert that said they had the answer, a dozen others would ridicule them. The human suffering was the worst of it, though: the riots, looting, murders, extreme military responses for “keeping the peace.” But there was one other category of news that had begun to filter through: human triumph, the overcoming of adversity and extreme care for others. He could see the way the coverage would evolve over the next few weeks. People had a capacity for only so much despair and negativity; they needed stories of hope. It was what would carry them through whatever payload Biblical was about to unleash.

  Dominic headed for the newsroom floor. It was still early, and he wanted to be present for those who were committed to being there outside of normal work hours and under such extreme conditions. Walking past Desmond Ore’s office he poked his head around the glass wall. “Morning, Desmond. In nice and early.”

  “It’s difficult to not be here at the moment—it’s just fascinating what is happening to our network.”