The Last Oracle: A Climate Fiction Thriller (Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers Book 3)

by Christopher Hepworth

  * * *

  A sudden icy blast hit the Arctic wastelands and the air pressure plummeted to the extent a massive anti-clockwise cyclone formed over the nearby Greenland Sea. As ships scuttled to the safety of harbours, the twelve chimneys increased speed like ancient gramophone players. The rotating columns of water straightened and strengthened, and then rose from the deepest depths of the ocean towards the sunlight zone near the surface. For the first time in three years, the largest of the mighty oceanic chimneys broke the surface in a bubbling, frothing, rotating mass, scattering the sharks and scavenging sea creatures that had come to feed on the rotting carcass of the once-mighty blue whale. The downward force of the oceanic chimney gathered the dead whale in its grip and sucked it three kilometres to the ocean floor, where it was buried deep in the nutrient-rich silt.

  As the giant vortex rotated to its maximum speed, the currents of the Gulf Stream grew stronger and transported their life-giving warmth to the green and pleasant lands of Northern Europe. The planet was safe for at least one final season.

  CHAPTER 16

  ‘Sam, Rex Daingerfield called. He asked if you could get back to him straight away.’

  Cantara was seated in the main office of their brand-new factory on the fringes of Luxor. She frowned as she scanned through the latest financial projections for the two companies. The Sirius Motor Company had three months’ cashflow left, but the solar panel company was already critical. They needed to double the capacity of the solar panel line or they would never generate enough sales to make a profit. Daingerfield had been evasive about providing the necessary finance.

  ‘How did he seem?’ Sam asked. His insides turned to liquid and he knew it was nothing to do with the Luxor kebabs.

  ‘Angry, unreasonable and rude. The usual.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll call him from the office.’ He headed towards the door of the director’s office they reserved for important visitors or private phone calls.

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot to mention, Tom called on the satellite phone from the Nefertari well. He seemed pretty excited about something.’

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Sam, intrigued.

  ‘We lost the satellite link before he could tell us. We’re trying to get the line back now, but are not having much luck.’

  ‘Damn! Keep trying. I could do with some good news to pass onto Rex.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath; Tom doesn’t believe there’s oil out there.’

  Sam retreated to the office and sat in the big leather chair behind the hardwood desk. He undid the top two buttons on his white business shirt and composed himself for a moment. He ran through in his mind the project status and the arguments he would use to secure the money Rex had promised the fledgling renewable energy business. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the button that connected him to Daingerfield’s personal mobile.

  ‘This is Daingerfield.’

  ‘Ah, Rex. How’s business at The Woodlands?’

  ‘Look Sam, I don’t have long. I have a briefing with the financial analysts in ten minutes. Has Sienna been in touch yet?’

  ‘No, but I have asked Cantara’s sister, Rania, to look out for her. She believes she may have crossed the border into Sudan a few weeks ago. They are monitoring the border in case she returns by the same route.’

  Sam heard Daingerfield exhale in exasperation. ‘She always was a wild one.’

  ‘Rania is worried about her. She has received intelligence a large body of extremist fighters have returned to Egypt from Syria. They may be looking for soft targets out there in the desert.’

  ‘My God,’ Daingerfield said. Sam could hear the worry in his voice.

  ‘About the budget, Mr Daingerfield. We’re hanging on by a thread here in Luxor. The panels are selling like hot cakes, but we must increase production to generate a profit. If I don’t get the money you promised me, the business will fold.’

  ‘Look, Sam. That was the reason for my call. We’re having serious cash flow issues of our own right now. We’ve spent billions on leases in Greenland and our experimental rig has been down for three months. The analysts are baying for immediate results. I’m going to have to ask you to tighten your belt for a while longer. To cap it all, the fucking Greenland government is hitting us with a massive fine and environmental infringement notice for a minor methane leak. Our share price has taken a beating.’

  ‘I’m not sure you understand. We’re about to go belly up in a few weeks. We have massive overheads and little working capital unless you release the funding you promised. There is no belt to tighten.’ Sam took a deep breath before he uttered his next sentence. ‘And I’ve put a million dollars of my own money into the Sirius Motor Company project, which is bleeding cash.’

  ‘I did warn you that would happen, Sam. Building cars is a mug’s game. In fact, I’m going to call time on the whole renewable energy project. It’s jeopardising the main business.’

  Suddenly the room spun and Sam’s throat dried. He grabbed the water bottle on his desk, unscrewed the lid and downed half the bottle in one go.

  ‘I can’t just walk away, Rex. The renewable resources division is critical to the future direction of Daingerfield Oil. Your shareholders need to see it succeed. You told me yourself.’

  ‘I’m calling it, Sam. I have no choice. The financial analysts are all over my ass about these Greenland leases and I can’t be seen to be throwing capital at a solar panel company while the core business is bleeding cash. I’d be a laughing stock.’

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Rex. In six months’ time, I can run this division at a profit.’

  ‘Sam, I want you back in the office next week doing proper work. We’ve got some serious cost-reduction targets to meet and I’m about to tell Wall Street I’m putting my best negotiator on the case. That’s you, believe it or not.’

  There was silence for a moment, then, ‘Frankly, you’ve turned a minor environmental public relations exercise into a fucking monster that’s chewing up my cash reserves. But I’ll credit you with one thing, Sam, you don’t do things by halves. The size of those invoices you’ve been sending me made my eyes water – and I’m used to cost blowouts.’

  Sam dreaded the thought of telling Cantara that Daingerfield was pulling him out of Egypt. ‘What about Sienna? Rania believes half of Egypt’s extremists are gathering on her doorstep. Can I at least try to find her and bring her home?’

  Sam heard Daingerfield take a deep breath. He waited while the CEO considered his next move.

  ‘You’ve got one month, Sam. Sell off the solar business and pay as many of its debts as you can. If you bring Sienna back with you, I’ll pay off your loan for the Sirius Motor Company. We all want to do our bit for the environment, Sam, but first and foremost we’re an oil company trying to turn a profit for our shareholders.’

  * * *

  Sam slapped at the mosquito that had been tormenting him for the previous half hour. It was two o’clock in the morning and sleep eluded him. He had been unable to tell Cantara about Rex Daingerfield’s phone call, but knew he must do so when he returned to work that morning. The high-pitched buzzing of the mosquito that was driving him to distraction ceased abruptly, but something far more sinister seized his attention. It was pitch black, but there was no mistaking the serpentine sound of scales rasping across the tiles near the foot of his bed. Sam sat bolt upright in his bed and turned on the bedside lamp, hoping the dreadful noise was the remnants of a nightmare and not one of the deadly snakes that infested the Luxor area. He held his breath and didn’t move a muscle. Only his eyes moved from side to side as he scoured the room searching for the source of the dreadful noise. He exhaled slowly as he heard only silence and saw nothing but shadows.

  As he relaxed, he heard a rasping, hissing sound followed by a dreadful, low-pitched growl. It was the most spine-chilling sound Sam had ever heard. He shuddered and backed onto the wooden headboard of his bed. Whatever creature was in his room exuded a manifestation of menace. Out of the c
orner of his eye, he spotted the black head of the creature near the footboard of his bed. The Egyptian cobra had raised its body one metre from the ground and was swaying its head from side to side as it tried to focus its eyes on the life form that was Sam Jardine. Its hood extended as it assumed the classic strike pose.

  The creature raised its body ever higher and then flopped onto the tangle of sheets at his feet. The nine-foot cobra slithered over his feet and undulated towards Sam’s horrified face. Sam froze and tried to suspend his breathing, but his breath gave out and he was forced to suck in more air. The snake flicked its forked tongue to taste Sam’s exhaled breath and transfixed him with its evil stare. Once more, the cobra growled in a tone that sent the hairs on Sam’s neck on end. It raised the anterior portion of its body, exposing its mottled yellow ribs until it loomed over Sam and then flared its hood once again. It swayed back and forth as if judging the distance for a killing strike. Its long, curved fangs moistened and then dripped with venom. Sam knew an Egyptian cobra bite had sufficient venom to kill an ox. His right hand grasped the spare pillow and he swung it at the cobra as quickly as he could. But the reptile reacted with lightning speed and launched its needle-sharp fangs towards Sam’s face. The pillow deflected the snake away from his eyes but Sam felt the needle-sharp fangs graze his cheek as the wooden headboard took the brunt of the cobra’s attack. Sam leapt out of bed still holding the pillow, and raced to the corner of the room where he kept his ancient cricket bat as protection against unwelcome intruders. He watched as the cobra slithered off his bed and glided towards a small hole in the plaster work near his wardrobe. Sam rushed towards the hole and blocked it with a rolled-up shirt, ramming his cricket bat against the bundle for good measure.

  Sam examined the wound on his face in the bathroom mirror. He knew he had been lucky. The snake had only scratched him, but there was no doubt some of the poison from its dripping fangs had entered his bloodstream. He grabbed his mobile phone from the bedside table and dialled Cantara’s number.

  ‘Yeah, Sam... what’s up?’ came the bleary Australian-accented voice.

  ‘Cantara, I’ve been bitten by an Egyptian cobra. Not badly, but I think I may have traces of its venom in my bloodstream.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘In my bathroom in my flat.’

  ‘It attacked you in your bed?’

  ‘It was pissed off about something.’

  ‘Have you phoned the hospital in Luxor?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I’ll do that, Sam. You should go back to bed and lie as still as you can. We keep cobra anti-venom in the fridge at the factory. It’s only ten minutes away and may be quicker than waiting for the medics. I’ll meet you at your flat as soon as I can. Is the door unlocked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hang in there, Sam.’

  ‘Thanks, Cantara.’

  ‘No heroics, Sam. If you lie still and don’t move a muscle, you should survive this.’

  Should? That’s confidence for you. Sam returned to his bed and tried to remain as still as possible. It wasn’t long before his skin tingled and his head ached. His senses went into overload and he smelled the pungent aroma of a damp feline beast in his room. Waves of nausea rippled through his stomach and his bowels felt loose and uncomfortable. He tried to keep calm, knowing help was on the way, but strange images and hallucinations filled his brain. He saw golden-skinned people dressed in white linen kilts washing clothes on the banks of the Nile. Wooden chariots ridden by local dignitaries wound their way along an avenue of sphinxes at Thebes towards a new temple. Then the image shimmered and disappeared and he was back in his bedroom, trying not to be sick. His eyelids drooped as he lost control of his facial muscles. He was struggling for breath and palpitations rippled through his heart.

  He imagined himself deep in the Sahara Desert facing a long, narrow temple cut into the rock cliffs. Dust-covered worshippers streamed into the building to pay their respects to the local deity. The image vanished and a new scenario played in his fevered mind. He was in an ancient worker’s encampment far from civilisation. Dirty black smoke billowed high into the air as crude oil burned in pits in the sand. Death and destruction reigned throughout the encampment. Five workers lay dead on the ground. Some had arrows protruding from their corpses while others had been decapitated and their torsos defiled. He stared into the distance and saw a massive rebel army rejoicing in their savagery.

  ‘He’s unconscious,’ said a female voice from another dimension. ‘Quick. Get the anti-venom into him before it’s too late.’

  He felt the sting of a needle in his arm and a soft hand caress his forehead. The visions vanished and he regained control of his facial muscles. After several minutes, the nausea eased and his pounding headache disappeared. He opened his eyes and the room came back into focus. He saw Cantara’s beautiful face staring at him and Jordan Wingfield, the company’s photovoltaic expert, holding a used syringe as he squinted at the instructions on the side of the anti-venom bottle.

  ‘I assume that’s anti-venom and not your remarkable new photovoltaic paint in that syringe,’ Sam said, winking at Cantara.

  Cantara smiled at Sam as she realised the anti-venom had taken effect, and then sat on the edge of his bed. She leaned over and examined the wound on his cheek.

  ‘It’s only a little scratch,’ she said pretending to be annoyed. ‘The stunts you pull to lure me into your bedroom after dark are beyond belief.’

  Sam sat up in his bed and held Cantara’s hand. He put the tips of her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently.

  ‘Thank you, Cantara,’ he said, holding back the emotion in his voice.

  ‘We thought we had arrived too late. You looked like you were slipping away.’

  ‘I had the most disturbing hallucinations. They seemed so real.’

  ‘The ambulance is coming in five minutes. We need to get you checked out.’

  ‘Did we ever hear back from Tom Bradshaw and his team of geologists yesterday?’ Sam asked.

  ‘No. He’s usually so meticulous about checking in every hour.’

  ‘I think he’s in trouble. We need to find him now. There isn’t a moment to lose.’

  CHAPTER 17

  ‘What you are suggesting is ridiculous,’ the nightshift supervisor exclaimed. ‘I can’t let you take a Land Rover into the desert in the middle of the night with no guide. And besides, you don’t have enough fuel for a round trip. You will have to wait till the morning so we can organise a proper expedition with spare fuel, emergency equipment and an experienced support crew.’

  ‘Are you sure about this, Sam? It’s only three hours till dawn,’ Cantara said.

  Sam looked at the three Land Rovers that were parked in the loading bay area of the Sirius factory. One had its bonnet open and a spaghetti dish of distributor cables spewed from the engine.

  ‘Mis-timing engine.’ The supervisor said, following Sam’s gaze. ‘The second Land Rover has two flat tyres and a broken gearbox and the third needs new CV joints and a suspension overhaul. The Egyptian roads and your frequent desert expeditions have taken their toll.’

  Sam felt a rising sense of urgency brought on by his hallucinations. He speculated that his venom-affected mind had triggered an irrational concern for the safety of his five geologists, who were alone in the desert. But since Rania had mentioned an army of extremists had returned to Egypt from Syria, he had become worried about Tom Bradshaw and the other geologists at the camp. It was not a warning he could ignore.

  ‘What about the Sirius prototype?’

  The supervisor looked at Sam as if he were crazy. ‘For a moment, I thought you were serious,’ he said.

  ‘Sam, I think we need to get you checked out at the hospital.’ Cantara looked at him with an anxious expression.

  Sam marched into the Sirius motor factory where the gleaming prototype awaited the day shift’s battery of tests. He grabbed the keys from the hook on the wall and unplugged the charger from the p
ower source.

  ‘Mr Jardine. I can’t let you do this. The experimental photovoltaic paint was only applied yesterday. Miss Sharif’s Australian suppliers said it will need three days to cure.’

  Sam climbed into the driver’s seat and pressed the ignition. The dashboard lights flared as the car went through a series of self-diagnostic checks. The smell of new leather and fresh engine oil permeated pleasantly through the car. He had driven the Sirius once before, and that was during a trial lap in Sir Roger Harmison’s original racing car at Goodwood motor track in England. He was relieved Colin Jenkins had kept a similar dashboard configuration on the new model. The supervisor rapped on the window and Sam lowered it a few centimetres.

  ‘You still have three hours before daybreak and this particular battery is only good for two hours. We had to make serious compromises to get this prototype road ready. If you drain the battery, it could damage the computer’s motherboard and you won’t be able to restart the motor. Please get out of the car. This is complete madness.’

  ‘I’m heading to the Nefertari well to check Tom Bradshaw’s camp. Tell Colin Jenkins to send a Land Rover to meet me there as soon as he can. Make sure he has plenty of medical supplies and water. I have a two-way radio and will be on channel 71.’

  ‘This is our only prototype, Sam. If you wreck it, we’re finished—’

  Sam closed the window, inched the Sirius past the supervisor and drove towards the roller shutters. He turned on the computer screen in the centre console and scrolled through the list of different simulated engine sounds until he found ‘Aston Martin’. He pushed ‘select’ and then turned the volume to ‘high’ to drown out the supervisor’s protests. But his mood of determination changed as Cantara stepped in front of the Sirius and folded her arms.

  ‘You are not driving off in my car!’ she said.