Perfect Day

by Kris Lillyman

  Faraday was not a man who left things to chance.

  Indeed, he still had a very valuable insurance policy and as he watched Ekon leaving in a taxi bound for the airport a short time later, the only question remaining was when best to cash it in.

  Chapter Five

  Ekon heard nothing more from Quentin Faraday until two months later, upon his arrival in London on the eve of the World Energy Conference.

  He was contacted at his hotel by Faraday’s secretary. It seemed the C.E.O. of Q-Core was also in London and was eager to meet with the Minister in order to apologise for his despicable behaviour in Martinique.

  At first Ekon had flatly refused but the secretary had been most insistent, promising that Mr. Faraday would not take up too much of his valuable time but was most anxious to make things right between them.

  Finally Ekon gave in, saying he could spare no more than a few minutes before The Conference as the time had been set aside for a reunion with his daughter.

  The secretary thanked him profusely and said that would be ample for what Mr. Faraday intended.

  ***

  The purpose of Ekon’s visit to London was ostensibly to attend the annual World Energy Conference; his particular interest being the world’s nuclear fuel resources, which his country was heavily invested in.

  However, the trip was also an excellent excuse to catch up with his eldest daughter, Claudette, who was currently reading Economics at Cambridge.

  Ekon, in fact, had four beautiful daughters but whilst three of them were all under sixteen and still living at home, his eldest had grown up and moved away. Indeed, he had not seen her for over a year and the thought of meeting up with her whilst he was in London had made the whole trip much more appealing.

  Even though he would be extremely busy with The Conference and various meetings that had been scheduled around it, Claudette would be in London for a whole week so with luck they could find a few hours to spend together.

  Nonetheless, he first had to meet with Faraday and the thought of it did not fill him with joy.

  ***

  Ekon entered Quentin Faraday’s suite at The Dorchester already bristling with irritation; his contempt for the South African undisguised as Faraday rose from his armchair to greet him.

  “So glad you could join me,” said Faraday offering his hand. He was dressed impeccably in navy suit, crisp blue shirt and a gold silk tie; his deep tan complimenting his steel grey hair. “I know you’re a busy man.”

  “Indeed I am,” replied Ekon sharply, ignoring the other man’s outstretched hand. “In actual fact, I had previously set this time aside for my daughter whom I have not seen in many months - so, what is it you so urgently need to talk to me about?”

  “Please, if you would just sit down for a moment,” Faraday said, smoothly withdrawing his hand, completely unconcerned by the slight, “it will not take long, I assure you.”

  “I would rather stand if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. Maybe a drink then?”

  “No. Thank you. Please, if you could be brief.”

  “Very well then,” said Faraday, at last getting down to business. “Firstly, let me apologise once more for my lack of judgement in Martinique - it was not my intention to offend you or to spoil the time we spent together - merely to demonstrate just how much the mining contract means to me personally. But the way in which I went about it was clumsy and I hope you can forgive me.”

  Ekon was not particularly impressed by the apology - or very convinced by the sincerity behind it for that matter, but he could see no sense in carrying a grudge. “Yes, well,” he stammered, “I suppose I can, then.”

  “That is a relief, thank you. Very gracious.”

  “Not at all - now if there’s nothing else?” Ekon asked, anxious to be gone.

  “Oh but there is,” Faraday stated. “There is still the matter of the contract.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” said Ekon perplexed. “That is no longer open to question, I thought you understood that - there is nothing more to be discussed.”

  “My dear Minister,” said Faraday, a knowing smile on his lips. “I’m afraid it is you who doesn’t understand. I want those mining rights - whether you willingly sign them over to me or not. Indeed, I thought I made it abundantly clear how far I would go to secure them and as I said to you once before, I can be a very persuasive man.”

  Ekon was horrified. He had been summoned there on false pretences and Faraday was far from apologetic for his actions. In fact, the man was totally without shame.

  “And I, Mr. Faraday was equally clear at that time,” Ekon answered, “I am not a man who can be bought off. The offer of a nice car and a suitcase full of cash will not force me to abandon my principles and if you think for a moment that they would then I am afraid you are very much mistaken.” He was fuming now, unable to believe the other man’s gall - after all, they had been through this once several months before, why on earth would Faraday think things had changed.

  “Yes, of course. I realise that now,” said Faraday, still smiling, obviously unperturbed by the Minister’s hostility.

  “Then I believe we have nothing more to say to each other,” seethed Ekon turning to leave.

  “But you’re wrong, Minister,” persisted Faraday. “I invited you here to give you one more opportunity.”

  “Opportunity?” Ekon queried, unable to quite believe what he was hearing.

  “Yes,” said the South African, “to assign Q-Core the mining rights in an honest, open and businesslike way. After all, my company has satisfied all the necessary criteria and is more than up to the challenge - the only thing needed to proceed is your signature on the document.”

  “What?” Ekon was utterly gobsmacked, exasperated by Faraday’s unwavering tenacity. “Have you not listened at all? He said wearily. “Your chance has gone, sir. Your case denied. There is nothing more to be done.”

  “And that is your final word?” Asked Quentin.

  “It is,” Ekon was unequivocal.

  “Then I’m afraid you leave me no alternative,” said Faraday with mock resignation.

  “For what?” Asked the Minister.

  “To show you these,” Quentin replied, as he produced a manilla envelope from inside his jacket and handed it to Ekon. “They are stills of course,” he continued, “but I can assure you, the actual footage is extremely compelling. Quite, revealing in fact.”

  Somehow Ekon knew what the envelope contained and a sick feeling began to swirl in the pit of his stomach.

  With trepidation he opened the envelope and tentatively pulled out several glossy 8 x 10s.

  Upon setting eyes on the first graphically lurid photograph, he knew for certain that his life, as it had been until that moment, was over.

  It made no difference that he had no memory of what the photo depicted or that he was almost definitely unconscious when it was taken as it was unmistakably him. Indeed the two naked women he was with were positioned in such a way that it was impossible to tell whether he was conscious or not. What mattered was that they all looked to be having a wonderfully debauched time with both alcohol and drug paraphernalia clearly visible in the forefront of the picture.

  Indeed, the sleazy image had all the necessary ingredients for a career destroying political scandal which, if released, would surely cause a sensation.

  Faraday could see that Ekon was distressed by what he saw. “Believe me my friend, this is one of the less damning images,” he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy.

  Niger’s Minister Of Interior felt his legs falter beneath him and he had to sit down on the couch before they failed him entirely.

  “You’re a monster,” he said at last, his voice little more than a whisper.

  “Come now,” said Faraday, “I would prefer to say ‘pragmatist’. Thes
e photographs - and the film they are taken from - are nothing more than an inducement. Indeed, they can go away just as easily as they appeared - it’s all just a matter of business. And, after all, we are both business men are we not?”

  “All this just to secure some mining rights?” Ekon asked, his face grey with shock.

  “Ah, yes. Well, Minister,” Faraday grinned, “as I’m sure you suspect, my reasons are not entirely honourable. Indeed, you and I both know that there are several countries and many organisations who would gladly pay a great deal for uranium ore but for one reason or another may not be able to acquire it from legitimate sources. However, I intend to relieve them of that problem in return for an absurdly large profit. You see, my friend, as I said before, it is merely business.”

  “But what about mankind?” Ekon gasped, “By selling to these organisations you are knowingly giving them the chance of nuclear capability - and in the wrong hands that could mean disaster on a global scale - don’t you care?”

  “Please, Minister. Do not exaggerate,” replied Faraday, a ruffle of annoyance in his tone,“ You are obviously talking about a nuclear bomb and as you well know there are many ingredients required to make one of those - uranium being just one of them. Besides, it is no concern of mine what my customers intend to do with what I provide - I am simply a facilitator - the rest is up to them.”

  “So your conscience is clear?” Said Ekon, appalled.

  “Quite. Thank you.” Faraday shrugged. “But that’s enough about me. Let us discuss the more pressing matter in hand.”

  “You mean me approving your application?”

  “Exactly, Minister. Grant Q-Core the mining rights and all of this nastiness goes away. Simple.”

  “Just like that?” Ekon asked. “I sign the contract and you give me all the damning evidence, is that how it works?”

  “Almost, but not quite.” Faraday smiled. “You do me this favour and you get to keep your job, your family and your unblemished reputation. However, I think I will hold onto the evidence just in case I need another favour in the future. But for the time being you will be completely free and clear. You can be assured of that.”

  “And if I say no?” Ekon said, unable to tear his eyes away from the disgusting selection of photographs he still held in his trembling hands.

  “Then I’m afraid by the time you return home your face - and those of these rather enchanting ladies - is going to be all over the media - certainly in Niger and quite possible across the world,” replied Faraday with a matter-of-fact shrug of the shoulders. “I mean, you know how these explosive stories have a habit of spreading.”

  Ekon was silent for a long moment as his mind whirled with thoughts and possibilities but he could see no way out. Would his wife stand by him? Possibly not. His children would be shamed and his career would be over.

  Yet in the eyes of God he would be innocent of any wrongdoing.

  But not if signing the mining contract played some part in sparking a nuclear war. Then the lives of a great many people would be on his head. What is more, he would be as guilty as Faraday in his complicitness.

  And that, God would not forgive.

  Slowly, Ekon stood up, the photographs scattering on the ground as they slipped from his fingers. He lifted his head, his chin firm and proud as he stared Quentin Faraday in the eyes.

  “No. I will not do it.” He said.

  “I’m sorry?” Said the South African, a little taken aback.

  “I won’t sign.” Ekon asserted. “I will not grant you the contract.”

  Now it was Faraday’s turn to be shocked. “What?” He blathered, “But your wife - your reputation, do they mean so little to you?”

  “It is not a question of that, but of what is right - and giving authority to someone so morally corrupt as you would be very wrong indeed.” Ekon declared. “So do your worst Mr. Faraday and I will do my best to face up to whatever is levelled against me - but I will not, under any circumstances, succumb to your cheap threats. Now if you will excuse me, my daughter is waiting.”

  As Ekon turned and marched towards the door, Quentin Faraday watched him through narrowed eyes, anger boiling within him. “You would do well to think about your family Minister and those beautiful daughters of yours,” he snarled, “as it would be a tragedy if anything should befall them due to your righteous indignation.”

  The threat was unmistakable and Ekon span around to face Faraday once more. “How dare you!” He yelled. “How dare you threaten my family - you monster?”

  Ekon was livid, utterly appalled by the depths of the other man’s depravity. Had he no shame?

  “Rest assured,” he continued, “I will be speaking to the authorities about your behaviour as well as the Global Mining Commission and I will personally see to it that Q-Core is never granted the rights to dig anywhere ever again. And as for you, Sir, I sincerely hope you are severely penalised for your amoral behaviour - either in this life or the next!”

  With that, he turned and stomped out of the suite, the door slamming behind him with a loud bang.

  ***

  For a moment Faraday just stood there, his rage bubbling up like a volcano, then he let out a tremendous roar of anger, his fists clenched, the veins in his neck straining like ropes as the wrath poured out of him.

  He lashed out furiously, kicking the coffee table beside him so hard that it tumbled onto its side. He then charged over to the cabinet on the far wall and swept it clean of its contents; sending several ornaments and a vase of flowers flying. As they crashed to the ground, he grabbed at the large mirror hanging above the cabinet and tore it off the wall, smashing it to pieces on the corner of the unit, his temper unrestrained.

  The television was next. He thundered over to it and with a strength born from rage picked it up off the stand, lifting it high above his head with its cable drawn tight from the socket. Then with an almighty, animalistic growl, he threw it against the wall, denting the plaster board in a crash of glass and metal before it fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

  Faraday was breathing heavily as the heat of his temper slowly subsided but the anger remained.

  He was not used to losing or hearing the word ‘no’. Indeed, for a man such as him, failure was never an option.

  He had been certain that Ekon would succumb after seeing the photos, sure that the Minister’s instinct to protect his career and reputation would be greater than his high moral code. But he had been wrong.

  It seemed that even threats against his family were not enough to persuade him either.

  Yet perhaps a mere threat was not adequate motivation and only a demonstration would be sufficient. Maybe then the Minister would be convinced that there really was no way to deny him.

  Quentin thought for a moment, recalling a man whose services he had used several times before. Someone very reliable.

  Quickly he found his address book and looked up the number then picked up the telephone.

  The phone was answered on the second ring. “Hello?” Said a well-educated voice.

  “Miles DeVilliers?”

  “Yes?”

  “Quentin Faraday.”

  “Ah, Mr. Faraday. Good to speak to you again. How may I be of service?”

  “I have an urgent job for you,” said Faraday. “Something that needs to have impact.”

  “You need to send a message, is that it?” Asked DeVilliers, understanding instantly.

  “Yes. That’s it exactly.”

  “Good. Then we should meet as soon as possible to discuss your requirements.”

  “Quite so,” Faraday agreed. “How quickly can you be in London?”

  “I’m here at the moment as a matter of fact,” said DeVilliers.

  “Splendid. Then how does this evening sound - say around an hour from now at The Dorchester?

  “Sounds perfect.�
��

  “Good. I will see you then,” replied Faraday before replacing the receiver.

  He then glanced at his watch and smiled. Ekon Sekibo would soon learn that it was unwise to refuse him.

  In fact, it was very foolish indeed.

  ***

  The meeting with Faraday played on Ekon’s mind for whole time he was in London. Indeed, it marred his week with Claudette as he found himself unable to think of little else than the Q-Core boss’ threats even when with her.

  However, he believed them to be nothing more than the desperate tactics of a man who had failed to get his own way, designed purely to intimidate, nothing more.

  Nonetheless, he had not been swayed and in the days that followed, when no story appeared in the newspapers about his misguided liaison in Martinique, he assumed himself to be correct; Faraday’s threats were empty and unworthy of any further consideration.

  But the whole situation had made him extremely irritable.

  So when, on their final day together, Claudette at last plucked up the courage to tell him about Sam and the baby, he had not taken it at all well.

  As a consequence, they had rowed terribly and their plans of dining together that evening had been abandoned because of it.

  Ekon could simply not accept the idea of Claudette having a child out of wedlock as it went against everything he held dear.

  Nor did it please him that the father of this child was white and from the American social elite - the pampered son of a rich media baron no less. Although his background was immaterial as in the eyes of God the child would still be considered illegitimate - no matter its parentage.

  What is more, with their differences unresolved, Ekon knew it was unlikely that he would see his beautiful, strong-willed daughter again before flying back to Niger and this only served to annoy him further.

  In fact, when he left for the airport late that night, it was without saying goodbye Claudette.

  What is more, she would be returning to Cambridge on the morning train with their differences still unresolved.