by Ben Elton
Rosalie could see that no sense would be got out of Jurgen for a few hours yet, and that she would have to wait. She retreated to the kitchen, which was mercifully empty of naked bodies, and made herself a cup of coffee. Jurgen’s condition had shocked her deeply. True, she had long since jettisoned the adolescent hero-worship that she had felt for him as a girl, and, of course, recently his image had been further tarnished in her eyes by the revelations of who paid for his house and all the luxuries that he enjoyed so much. But he was still Jurgen Thor, the most important and inspirational green activist there was. The Green God, the last sane man on Earth. To see him like this, a debauched and giggling wretch, was a hard sight indeed for Rosalie, particularly coming as it did on top of all the other shocking truths that she had had to accept of late.
She did not feel angry with Jurgen Thor, she felt sorry for him. Clearly the colossal burdens that he had carried for so long had finally got the better of him. The mighty and inspirational ideologue who had become an embittered pragmatist had finally taken refuge in the hollow pleasures of the dilettante. Jurgen Thor had given up, and who could blame him? Rosalie had given up herself only a few days earlier. In fact, thinking about it, drinking her coffee in that silent house, Rosalie realised that Jurgen’s orgies were no more desperate or irresponsible than her own decision to hide away with Max in his Claustrosphere. She too had been planning to fiddle while Rome burned. Planning to luxuriate in the pleasures of the senses whilst the doomed world died. It had only been the knowledge of Plastic Tolstoy’s marketing strategy that had galvanised her to return to the real world and take up arms again. Rosalie believed that the same thing would happen with Jurgen. He too would see that all was not lost, that once Tolstoy’s taped confession was placed before the public, a new age of protest would dawn, and that Jurgen Thor would lead it.
All that would have to wait, though. For the time being, Rosalie would have to leave Jurgen to sleep it off amongst his concubines. But how strange he had looked. The mighty Thor turned into an insensitive, groping drunk. He had certainly surprised her. He was going to surprise her a great deal more before the night was over.
Another penny drops.
Before setting out to enlist Jurgen Thor, Rosalie had left Judy, Roger and Max in the care of her grandparents at their little cottage in Western Ireland. On that first evening after Rosalie had left and with Max lying in bed under sedation, Judy explained to Ruth and Sean (and indeed Roger, who was still very much catching up with things) the sequence of events that had brought them all to the current position.
‘You’re trying to tell us, young man, that environmental protest is basically an arm of Claustrosphere’s marketing policy,’ said Ruth as she produced a delicious- looking batter pudding, which she served up with a thick vegetable casserole.
‘That’s right,’ said Judy. ‘Neat, isn’t it?’
‘And they actually create disasters to fit in with their adverts?’
‘It’s unbelievable,’ said Roger. ‘Just so crisp and light.’
‘What?’ said Judy.
‘This batter pudding, it’s the best I’ve ever seen.’
‘Roger,’ Judy said, ‘we’re talking about Claustrosphere.’
‘Well, I don’t know why you’re so surprised. The world’s run on dirty tricks, isn’t it? Nothing shocks me. I think the rot set in for America when the FBI killed Kennedy.’
‘The FBI did not kill Kennedy!’ Judy said firmly.
‘Oh, you are so naive, Judy,’ said Roger. ‘But please, let’s not discuss it, I could not bear another Kennedy discussion.’
One of the more surprising facts about social intercourse as the twenty-first century plodded its weary course was the fact that the number of people discussing how JFK had died was actually increasing. Elvis had peaked long before, but the Kennedys went from strength to strength.
‘I’ll tell you what is unbelievable,’ said Roger, sticking to his preferred subject. ‘This ratatouille, Ruth, is quite simply gastronomically orgasmic, and let me tell you, I know. Oral orgasm is my speciality.’
There was a slightly uncomfortable pause.
‘Roger’s a chef,’ said Judy, feeling some sort of explanation was necessary.
‘Well, I thought he must be,’ said Ruth disingenuously.
‘You know what surprises me?’ Sean said, looking up from his pipe. ‘That you’re still alive, Judy, after accusing Rosalie of spreading that toxic waste all over Brussels. I’m surprised she didn’t kill you there and then.’
‘I think she wanted to, but we had to run away from all the poison. I still can’t figure out how I got that so wrong. I was so sure, you see. It all fitted.’
‘Well, we can’t be a genius the whole time, can we?’ said Roger. ‘This is called a Yorkshire pudding, isn’t it, Ruth? We use batter in the States, but it’s usually much heavier. How in heaven do you get it so fluffy?’
‘The most important element is the fat, dear. The fat has got to be absolutely smoking hot. Also, the mix has to stand for at least an hour.’
‘Well, it’s yummy,’ Roger assured Ruth. ‘Would you like me to do this for you sometimes, Judy? … Judy, please don’t daydream at the table, we’re guests here.’
But Judy was not daydreaming. He was thinking very hard. Yet again rehearsing in his mind the circumstances which had led him to the conclusion that Mother Earth were provoking their own disasters.
‘Natura were always there, you see. It was as if they knew where and when the disasters would occur. That’s why I thought Mother Earth were causing them and tipping Natura off.’
‘Yes, you’ve said that, dear! But they weren’t, were they?’ Roger reiterated wearily. ‘You were wrong. Plastic Tolstoy was doing it, which is why we’ve had to flee America like criminals.’
‘But that doesn’t change the fact that Natura are always there! Somehow they get sent into areas where the disasters occur. If Mother Earth isn’t pointing them in the right direction, then it must be Tolstoy. He’s causing the disasters and he’s the one who profits most from Natura protest. He’s giving the orders.’
‘But Tolstoy isn’t the leader of Natura,’ said Sean.
‘No,’ Judy replied, and he was suddenly very afraid. ‘Jurgen Thor is.’
There was a pause. Sean wondered if Judy could truly be hinting at what he seemed to be hinting at.
‘What about Brussels?’ Sean said hurriedly. ‘We know why Natura were there on that occasion, to cover the Mother Earth protest, not because they were expecting a disaster.’
‘That’s right,’ said Judy. ‘But the disaster occurred anyway. Tolstoy had sabotaged the tankers, which means .
‘That he knew the action was going to take place,’ said Ruth.
‘So Natura get told to go where Tolstoy’s sinking boats, and Tolstoy gets told where Mother Earth are creating opportunities for high profile sabotage. It seems to me that there is a rather unhealthy level of co-operation here,’ Roger observed.
‘Who authorises Mother Earth actions?’ said Judy.
‘The Number One Equal Person, of course,’ Ruth replied.
‘And the Number One Equal Person is —?‘ asked Judy, but of course he already knew the answer.
‘Jurgen Thor,’ said Sean.
‘They’re partners,’ Judy said quietly, as if trying to diminish the enormity of his suspicion. ‘Tolstoy and Thor are partners.’ He leapt to his feet. ‘Rosalie is in terrible danger. She’s only been gone a couple of hours, it may not be too late. Is there anyone you can call who has access to a helicopter? One of Rosalie’s colleagues, for instance? One we can trust.’
Ruth crossed to the dresser and, opening the bread bin, she took out a tiny two-way radio.
‘Rosalie’s old unit are back in the Partry Mountains. They have a new commander. Sean and I have known him for years. He’s a good fighter, and loyal to Rosalie, although she never liked him. The poor fellow was terribly injured and it’s made him rather moody.’
Judy feared the worst.
‘This guy’s name… it wouldn’t by any chance be Saunders, would it?’
Rude awakening.
Rosalie must have fallen asleep because she woke up with a start to find Jurgen Thor standing beside her, gently running his fingers through her hair. He was still stark naked and it was quite clear that he was pleased to see her. Rosalie had slumped forward in her chair and had been resting her head on her arms on the table. Hence Jurgen’s erection was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes.
‘Congratulations, Jurgen. If I had a medallion I’d hang one on it, now put it away. I have something quite incredible to talk to you about.’
‘I don’t want to talk, babe, OK?’ Jurgen replied, his words still slightly slurred with sleep, booze and pills, ‘I want to make love.’
‘Jurgen, this idiocy has gone far enough,’ Rosalie said firmly, ‘I have to talk to you about Plastic Tolstoy.’
Jurgen Thor looked at Rosalie for a moment, and even in that moment his eyes became a little clearer. He took up a robe which had been dropped upon the kitchen floor and covered himself. He did not reply until he had made himself a cup of coffee and cleared his head a little.
‘What about Plastic Tolstoy?’ he said finally. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of bringing up that stuff about the funding again, OK? If you don’t like what you hear then you shouldn’t ask questions. We discussed it, right? It’s a secret we can never tell, and the subject is closed.’
‘No, it’s not about the funding, Jurgen. Something much, much nastier than that. Believe me, Plastic Tolstoy’s pragmatism goes a deal further than funding a few greenies. That man will do anything, and I mean quite literally anything, to sell a Claustrosphere.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’ Jurgen asked.
‘I mean that Plastic Tolstoy has been wreaking his own private environmental holocaust, Jurgen, and I have proof.’
Jurgen stared at Rosalie. She was so young and pretty. Just as Scout had been. It seemed that now there would be two beautiful innocents to deny him rest and haunt his dreams.
‘This sounds most fascinating, baby,’ Jurgen said. ‘We should not discuss it here, anyone might come in. They are fools, but even fools can tell tales. Come down to my study.’
‘The dead menagerie?’ said Rosalie, recalling all the animal heads.
‘Yes, that’s right. The dead menagerie.’
And, taking Rosalie gently by the arm, Jurgen Thor led her out of the kitchen and down the stairs into the bottom floor of the house, to his study, with its stuffed animals, antler chairs and its trap-door.
Unlikely comrades.
Even above the sound of the helicopter blades beating at the air, Judy could hear the sound of grinding teeth emanating from inside the bag which Saunders was, of course, wearing over his head.
‘I don’t mind telling you,’ said Saunders, finally giving his teeth a rest. ‘When I walked in and found out that it was you that I was supposed to help, I nearly shot you there and then. In fact, it was only out of deference to Rosalie’s gran that I didn’t.’
Saunders, it must be remembered, was a scouser and there are certain codes on Merseyside, one of which is to try and avoid upsetting people’s grannies.
‘That was very nice of you,’ Judy said, attempting to sound ingratiating. Even though Saunders appeared to have accepted Judy’s story, he still made Judy nervous.
‘It’s a pretty incredible theory, Schwartz,’ Saunders said. ‘If it’s the truth then everything’s shit, you know that, don’t you? The whole world’s pointless and we might as well give up because it’s all a fucking joke.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s true,’ Judy admitted.
‘Well, I just hope you’re right, that’s all, because this is the unit helicopter and let me tell you I’m breaking a lot of rules just taking it like this.’
Judy found Saunders’s attitude strange, but he did not say so. He found most things about Saunders strange and if he had started mentioning them all he would have been at it all night. Besides, Judy was too anxious to want to make conversation. It had taken two hours for Ruth to get hold of Saunders and another one and a half for Saunders to get to the cottage. What with the start Rosalie had on them in the first place, that put her about six hours ahead. Judy could only hope that somehow she had got delayed, or had put off confiding in Jurgen for some reason. If she had not, then she was probably already dead and the vital Ansaf one tape, which was their only proof against Plastic Tolstoy, lost forever. There was no copy, the recording was contained within a micro-chip inside the machine, not the easiest thing to reproduce. Judy had been hoping to make a copy of sorts at Ruth and Sean’s by playing back the message and videoing the playback, but to his amazement Ruth and Sean had no video. Rosalie had said that she would make a copy of the tape at Jurgen Thor’s place.
The message is murder.
‘I think we should make a copy of this right now,’ said Rosalie to Jurgen. ‘Do you have a video camera?’
‘What? Oh, yes… Of course I have.’
Jurgen was distracted. He was more than distracted, he was stunned. Taped evidence of Plastic Tolstoy confessing to poisoning seas. Taped evidence of Tolstoy attempting to organise a film star’s murder. This was dynamite indeed. Jurgen had expected nothing so spectacularly damning when Rosalie set up Max’s little answering machine. Indeed, for a moment, he thought that the whole thing must be a joke.
‘This is the most important bit of recording you will ever see in your life,’ Rosalie said with deadly earnestness. ‘It’s the ultimate smoking gun.’
She pressed playback and immediately a very beautiful women in a tiny, skin-tight mini-dress had appeared on the screen.
‘Max. Haven’t seen you in a while. Call me,’ the stunning beauty said, adding, ‘I had the hammock repaired, by the way.’
Jurgen looked at Rosalie and grinned. She, of course, coloured bright red.
‘Hang on a minute,’ she said, ‘this isn’t it.’
A second and third girl appeared on the little screen, wearing similarly minimal clothing and leaving similarly seductive messages. Then Geraldine, Max’s agent, popped up.
‘Max? Are you back yet? You will not believe the shit I’ve been fielding for you while you’ve been away, but you don’t need to hear about that. Leave it with me, OK?’
There were more girls, one even wearing a bikini, despite clearly being indoors. Jurgen grunted appreciatively, Rosalie chewed her lower lip. The bikini girl pouted that she had heard about Max’s divorce from Krystal and guessed he must be lonely.
‘How about dinner?’ she breathed over her cleavage. ‘I haven’t had a really good nibble for ages.’ She then began to move her video phone all around her body, offering close-ups of her artificially tanned flesh. Just as she was about to drop the phone down into the briefs of her swimming costume, Rosalie got up and hit fast-forward.
‘It’s obviously further down the tape than I’d realised,’
Rosalie said crossly. Of course Max could hardly help who phoned him up, but those girls seemed awfully familiar, and what’s more, he must at some point have given them his number. It is never any fun for a husband or wife to bump into evidence of their partner’s past. Rosalie felt particularly hot under the collar, since her own past consisted of exactly two affairs (not counting Jurgen). If Max ever came across an old Ansafone tape of hers, he could play it at the next Sunday School fête, a fact which Rosalie found herself resenting.
‘I was enjoying that,’ Jurgen Thor complained as the tape whizzed on.
‘Never mind that, Jurgen,’ Rosalie assured him. ‘This will really grab your interest.’
And of course it did. Although not in the manner that Rosalie had presumed.
Having watched the tape, Rosalie suggested that they video record it, as that was the only means they had at present of producing a copy. Jurgen pondered a moment and then agreed.
‘Certainly we must video record it, ba
by,’ he said. ‘I have a camera here in my desk. Would you be so kind as to carry the machine over to that far wall, the light is better there and there are no distractions in the background. Just put it on the floor.’
Somehow Jurgen felt easier about it this time. Yes this girl was young and she was innocent, but not like Scout had been. Nor was she so naïve. This girl was a tough fighter, just like he was. She knew the stakes and had voluntarily chosen to bring the battle to him.
Jurgen Thor did not think that he would cry this time.
Rosalie picked up her husband’s Ansafone and began to cross the floor with it. Walking the same condemned walk that Scout had walked before her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The End
The trap-door opens.
Judy and Saunders did not have quite so long to wait up on the roof as Rosalie. Most of the party-goers in Jurgen’s bedroom had roused themselves by the time the two men arrived, and a single knock had solicited a response. It was morning and the girl that opened the door for them had donned a sarong.
‘Hi. You’re just in time for breakfast,’ she said. ‘Hot croissant and drugs, want some?’ The girl did not say so, but she felt that Jurgen had rather let the side down with these two. It was just presumed that anybody coming to one of these functions would be beautiful, and the two men on the roof were most definitely not. At least the nerd wasn’t and the other one had a bag over his head which did not bode well at all. The beautiful girl in the sarong made a mental note not to get stuck anywhere near either of them if things began to get going again, which they just might, once the breakfast drugs had kicked in.
‘Where’s Jurgen Thor?’ asked Judy, as he and Saunders pushed their way past the girl and into the house.