The two lovers had lay and chatted endlessly about how they had got to this point, from the small beginnings of their first encounter when Jack introduced them. Both had confessed to an initial attraction which grew with each passing day, the sort of conversation new lovers always seem to indulge in. The initial contact, the first meaningful glance and locking of eyes, the sudden rush of adrenalin and feelings of flushed excitement.
During a brief lull, Grace snuggling tightly into him, Matt’s thoughts turned back towards earlier events. He couldn’t believe that at the same time his new life had finally come together his past had caught up with him and why, after all these weeks, his enemies decided to resume their murderous pursuit. He’d been living here undetected for so long it led Matt to foolishly believe he was in the clear. Now he was going to have to revisit The Milieu files and open up a past life he had tried hard to suppress all these weeks. He had to get to the bottom of this thing. Matt realised he’d been stupid to ever believe it would go away, miraculously dissolve into the atmosphere.
Fortunately, Grace felt obligated to rise from their bed and help Tim prepare for the days’ customers. Matt suggested he start packing and she agreed. Instead, he decided to use the time to delve back into the files and try and get some answers.
“Now then, Mr Scurrelli,” Matt murmured as he clicked on the icon labelled affirmation. “It’s time for your deep dark secret to finally be uncovered, and tell me exactly why you’re so determined to screw up my life.”
This first section of the file summarised the considerations Matt had read up on before, when he had first arrived in Vancouver.
Three proposed options had been dismissed by each G8 Government due to political sensitivities and, though well aware of the impending crisis global overpopulation would bring, they were simply unwilling to address the issue. They weren’t prepared to make any of the difficult choices.
“Gentlemen, our political masters are refusing to act,” said Scurrelli. “So it is left to us, the paid officials charged with the security of each sovereign nation, to take the necessary action. It falls on us to do what must be done.”
Scurrelli outlined progress on each of the individual elements of the plan to date.
Firstly, efforts in the area of resource conservation were well advanced. The gradual storage of vital basic commodities in secret locations around the globe had gone undetected, helped by the sharp economic downturn which had reduced global demand. Despite Government interventions to kick-start individual economies, the group had managed to exert sufficient influence on the international banking sector to limit the flow of capital, thereby restraining economic activity and reducing demand for raw materials and natural resources.
Progress on the second phase, the collection and analysis of personal data, had gone extraordinarily smoothly. Already substantial numbers of ‘desirable’ future global residents had been identified. Particular progress could be reported on vast numbers of individuals determined to be of genetically and morally weak disposition.
The details on individuals held by public records such as medical, financial, criminal, communication and civil action files had proved to be effective sources. Whilst there remained considerable work still to be undertaken on this element, it was expected the programme would be completed well within schedule.
Scurrelli then circulated amongst the group the first draft of a new global legal constitution, prepared by a specialist in the particular field. Members were requested to study the initial proposals in detail over the next three months and provide their individual feedback directly to the American.
Matt spotted a link to another document and concluded this was the said constitutional framework. He clicked on the mouse and a massively impressive piece of literature sprung into view, too big for Matt to cover right now. He quickly flicked through what he believed to be the key headings until he reached the end. He skimmed over the author’s name without taking much notice, though he was struck by the bold and expressive signature writ across the document’s introductory page.
The next subject was finance. The American reported that accumulated, and accumulating, costs had grown too large to conceal within individual nation State budgetary mechanisms. However, he could report that agreement had been reached with carefully established financing arms to underwrite the current and anticipated expenditure burden.
“With the project now established on a secure financial footing,” reported the American, “I can confirm we are now able to implement the final phase,” he said.
Scurrelli recounted a number of previous global health scares. Spanish Flu, SARS, Bird Flu and, even more recently, the Swine Flu epidemic. Though all had been subsequently contained, the incidents had allowed the concept of viral catastrophe to ferment in the wider public consciousness.
“And it has been widely reported civilisation should expect one such deadly mutation to consolidate without warning, spread rapidly around the globe, and inflict devastating consequences. The world expects it to happen,” said Scurrelli. “We shall not disappoint the masses.”
The files had taken a very ominous turn.
“We have identified a strain,” reported the American, “a by-product of extensive research into an environmental virus. Our scientists predict this strain will target only humans, penetrating the immune systems of over ninety eight percent of the global population. This offshoot has been allocated the code name The Milieu Derivative.”
“What?” said Matt, and his eyes began to blink furiously in disbelief.
Scurrelli went on to describe how this airborne virus, once released into the atmosphere, would circulate the globe within twelve months. Affected individuals could expect to live for no more than three days once contaminated.
“Relatively quick and painless,” was how Scurrelli explained it.
By starting the virus in a lowly populated area it would take root on a small scale initially. This provided sufficient time for the outbreak to be widely reported through media outlets and for Governments to be seen to react, much as happened in response to aforementioned epidemics.
“National strategies will be invoked by Governments to inoculate populations against the viral spread. Our people will be at the heart of this process, ensuring only those who have cleared the selection criteria will receive authentic vaccination and be shepherded to designated safety. All others will be treated with ineffective placebos and nature will be allowed to run its course.”
“Jesus Christ!” yelled Matt as he pushed the computer away and recoiled from the desk, knocking the chair to the floor. He gawped at the screen, incredulous.
They were planning for their own survival, preparing to abandon their own peoples. Hundreds of millions no, billions, would die!
“No, no, no. It can’t be true,” he gasped.
A realisation hit him. He had left the public sector at the point Civil Service mandarins had dictated the process of formal sharing of citizen information, between Departments, was to commence. They were readying, preparing for this, even then! No wonder they would kill to keep this secret. Matt understood now he would always be a fugitive, forever on the run, unable to return to any form of normal life or to share it with anyone else. He was a loose end they needed to tidy away. He was a dead man, and so was anyone else who came into contact with him. Matt didn’t want to but knew he had to force his attention back to the screen.
Scurrelli was describing the expected chain of events once the virus had been released.
Social breakdown was expected to be dramatic and quick, as the mounting number of deaths created nationwide panic in every country of the globe. Once nominated people had been removed to safe locations, all that would remain would be dying masses fighting over ever-diminishing resources.
At worst this holocaustic process would take two years, at a maximum, to complete. All that survived of the unwanted would be the two percent blessed with a natural immunity to the virus. These remaining peoples would represent only pockets of
resistance and be mopped up by the armed forces of the new order, on the basis they must be the carriers of the epidemic and therefore designated as unsafe. The new world constitution will then be introduced, and selected high calibre individuals will be nominated into positions of power. After a period of turbulence, estimated to take a maximum of five years, the planet will be left with a smaller, intellectually gifted, morally and genetically strong population.
The outstanding agenda item was formal commitment to the agreement, hereby to be titled as The Milieu Principle. The document was duly signed by all.
“Are there any questions?’ Scurrelli asked.
“Elliott Anderson,” said the Russian. “People are starting to listen to what he has to say.”
“We’re on it,” interjected the Canadian delegate, a man called Bill Francis. “A protocol is in place to discredit and destroy, as and when required.”
The files were two years old. These people had planned Anderson’s murder well in advance, he concluded. The remaining questions and answers seemed to bear little further significance. What was missing from the file was a start date for the release of the virus.
It had turned nearly five thirty in the afternoon when Matt finally emerged, looking pale and drawn. The Keg was about three quarters full of customers and all of the staff busily attended to the tables of customers.
On seeing Matt, Grace quickly walked over and grasped his hand to escort him to the front entrance of the building. He said nothing during the short journey.
“Matt, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, perhaps this is one shift too many,” he replied lamely.
Grace frowned with curiosity at his subdued demeanour. He removed her concern by easing forward and kissing her tenderly on the lips, adding he should be back within an hour or so. She hugged him tightly, reluctant to allow him to leave. Turning back into The Keg after he’d departed she heard Tim’s voice shout out.
“Now!” and, collectively, the entire room burst out into spontaneous applause. It signalled the warmth of the local community towards Grace and caused her to blush brightly, the deep red colour on her cheeks all the more prominent against her white porcelain-coloured skin. Practically skipping her way back to the bar with a coy smile on her face, Grace talked engagingly to almost all of the guests as she fluttered through the room. Tim emerged from the rear hallway.
“You’ve got a phone call Grace,” he said. “It’s the guy with the bloody loud voice, again.”
Arriving at the jetty, newspaper in hand, Matt could see his old friend had yet to return. He asked Donna if there was any word from Jack and she confirmed he was on his way back from Vancouver. She asked if it was possible to finish early now he’d turned up, to which he readily agreed.
The next lonely twenty minutes were spent trying to come to terms with what he’d discovered, and then studiously searching the paper for news of any kind of viral outbreak around the world. Although there were none, it failed to ease his inner alarm or prevent his mind from slipping into despair.
In a few short hours Matt’s existence had gone from happy contentment to despair, from exhilaration to utter desolation. Doing nothing was no longer an option. The Milieu virus would eventually catch up with him and everyone else who hadn’t been selected. He couldn’t allow all these people to be murdered. Matt had to think of something, come up with some sort of strategy and plan, despite the overwhelming odds ranged against him. But what could he do?
All he knew for certain, for the immediate future at least, was he had to put as much distance between himself and Victoria as possible. Nobody was safe around him.
Glancing up he caught sight of Jack’s plane emerging from the sky in the far distance. It took another ten minutes before the plane ferried up to the jetty. From what Matt could see Jack would be lucky if there were more than three passengers on board.
Catching the rope, he hauled the machine in and began to secure it firmly to the shore. He could hear the passengers’ feet stamping onto the wooden structure as they clambered out of the plane. He sensed a figure standing behind him.
“Matt, is that you?” asked a voice. “What on earth have you done to your hair?”
Turning to face the enquirer, the sun temporarily blinded his sight, preventing him from recognising the owner of the question. The figure stepped to the side to block the rays of light and his eyes began to re-adjust.
At first he saw the little feet, wrapped within the light brown open toed sandals. Then the wide bottomed light blue linen trousers came into view hanging underneath the white blouse, barely clinging to the edges of the woman’s shoulders. A shock of long blonde hair, perfectly groomed, surrounded the wide blue eyes gazing down upon him.
“Rosa?”
Chapter Eighteen
High Anxiety
The Milieu Principle Page 17