The Zul Enigma

by J M Leitch

  When he went through his things, particular, bordering on obsessive as he was, he knew someone had searched his apartment. Probably looking for the Zul outfit, he thought with a wry shake of his head.

  He sorted his belongings into two piles: to bin and to take and was finished in less than an hour. He’d never been a hoarder. Everything left, including his Stones memorabilia, Corrinne could box up and ship to him in Madrid.

  He could hardly wait to get out of the apartment. All his memories there with Elena had been soured by Drew’s confession. He couldn’t care less if he never saw the place again.

  Next he was taken to, what Carlos assumed was, another safe house located near UNO City, but Barbara made no move to get out of the car. Instead she said, ‘Carlos, I’ll say goodbye to you here. I doubt whether we’ll see each other again,’ and she presented her hand for him to shake.

  He looked at her, surprised. He’d been positive she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until he was safely checked into the hospital in Madrid or wherever else they’d decided to take him. This was the second time he’d read her wrong in a matter of hours and it disturbed him. He didn’t know if he should be relieved or even more worried.

  He shook her hand with marginally more enthusiasm than had she been a leper and said, ‘Hey, it’s Sunday. You better hurry, everything will be closed in a couple of hours.’

  She chuckled. ‘Oh Carlos! I was kidding about the sightseeing. I had to get to Europe at short notice and since you were flying out it made sense to pool resources.’

  Carlos could hardly believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Good luck in Madrid! I hope it doesn’t take too long for them to sort you out. And I do mean that.’

  ***

  ‘Carlos! I’m so happy to see you,’ Corrinne bustled out from behind the desk, her customary puckered lips drawn into a pinched smile as she rushed towards him and gave him a stiff hug.

  ‘I just brewed some coffee,’ Corrinne and her coffee – a panacea for everything. ‘Are you hungry?’

  He shook his head.

  The two UN security staff that had accompanied him up from reception strode into Carlos’s office. Corrinne called after them, ‘Hello… excuse me… Mr Howard’s instructions are that you wait outside in the corridor.’

  ‘Yes ma'am, but we have orders to sweep Dr Maiz and his office first.’

  The familiar aroma of Brazilian coffee greeted Carlos as he walked through the door. Habit had him heading for his desk to log in and check his e-mails, but recalling he was wearing a visitor’s tag he felt foolish and redundant and sat down on the sofa instead, wondering how long it would be before Greg came in to officially relieve him of his position and escort him off the premises.

  He stared out of the window. The sky had turned a thick grey and the snow that had been falling for a couple of hours was covering the city in a white mantle.

  ‘I packed everything you asked for in the boxes over there.’

  Carlos jumped. He looked round at Corrinne as if he’d never seen her in his life before.

  She took a few steps towards him and crouched down to his level, one hand steadying herself on the coffee table. In just a week the confidence, the air of authority with which he’d left Vienna had vanished. Worse still, in spite of losing weight, his face was puffy like a lump of pastry, his skin sallow and his jaw a dark shadow where he hadn’t bothered to shave.

  ‘I packed everything you asked for in the boxes over there,’ she repeated, ‘but you need to go through them before I seal them. Do you want me to do it with you? Make sure we haven’t forgotten anything?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘The Secretary General’s upstairs.’ Carlos’s body tensed. He wished he could skip the meeting with Greg. He wished he could have skipped coming to Vienna altogether. ‘He knows you’re here. He’ll be down in a minute.’ She paused. ‘And Erika’s popping in,’ she said in a forced cheery voice.

  Carlos’s face was blank, his eyes vacant and glassy.

  ‘Erika Stone. Your friend from Maryland. Drew Robert’s old girlfriend.’

  Jesus Christ! Just the mention of his name was enough to make Carlos want to vomit.

  ‘She’s got some magazines for you.’

  The vintage music magazines. Now he remembered. It seemed like a lifetime since they’d spoken.

  ‘She’s been inundated with other offers and I didn’t want you to miss out. I cleared it with the boss. I thought you’d like to take them with you to Madrid.’ Carlos’s eyes drifted back to the window. ‘I thought they might help cheer you up,’ she continued, but her words had no impact on him. He clearly wasn’t listening.

  ***

  ‘Carlos, how are you?’

  It took a while for Carlos to stand up as Greg plodded towards him with an outstretched hand.

  ‘Been better,’ he muttered. He’d certainly looked better. Usually a dapper dresser, Greg had never seen him looking so shabby. His suit was creased and there were stains on his tie. Carlos’s eyes slid off Greg’s face as he cut the handshake short. He turned away and caught sight of the tray on the table. ‘Coffee?’ he offered, mustering some manners.

  ‘You’re alright Carlos,’ Greg replied, ‘sit down, I can get it myself.’ He perched himself on the couch next to Carlos, poured himself a cup and slid a couple of chocolate biscuits onto the saucer.

  ‘Bob called me yesterday. Told me you’re checking yourself into a hospital in Madrid. You made the right decision.’

  ‘Like they gave me much choice,’ Carlos muttered, grabbing a biscuit and taking a bite. He wondered what the food would be like at the hospital – nothing like Mary’s – that was for sure. Her food had been the only good thing about the safe house. If only he’d had more of an appetite.

  ‘He wanted to send you there direct, but I insisted you come here first.’

  Carlos shook his head. ‘Why? All Vienna ever brought me is misery.’

  ‘Yes… well…’ Greg cleared his throat and studied the clasped hands resting in his lap as though he didn’t know to whom they belonged or how they’d got there. ‘I thought it would help give you some closure. And I wanted to see you. There are some things I want to say. In person.’ He picked up his cup and saucer from the table and wriggled back into the seat. He looked at Carlos, nodding, ‘It’s been an honour having you as my OOSA Director. I admire your integrity…’

  Carlos couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Greg sucked in a breath and held up a hand. ‘Forget what’s just happened. In my experience you’ve always acted with the utmost integrity and that quality’s pretty hard to find these days. You did a fine job dragging OOSA into the twenty-first century.’ Greg took a sip of coffee and Carlos noticed a smear of melted chocolate at the base of his cup. Greg clunked it back down on the saucer, nudging the biscuits out of the way. ‘I know it wasn’t easy.’

  The timing of this accolade baffled Carlos, who’d expected Greg to go right ahead and fire him for misconduct. He started to lift his arms in question, but let them fall back down by his sides. He looked like a deflated blow-up doll crumpling in on itself.

  ‘Over the years I feel I’ve got to know you pretty well, Carlos. I took to you the moment we met. I admired your vision. I envied your passion. I respected the way you stood up for your beliefs, no matter what.’

  ‘And look where it got me Greg. Hey?’ Carlos screwed up his face. ‘Just look where it got me.’

  There was no longer any semblance of the passion Carlos had once exuded and it pained Greg. But he refused to be deterred. He was determined to finish what he’d come to say.

  ‘Carlos. I feel we’ve always had something rather more than a professional relationship. When you were struggling through that dreadful time after Elena… well… Tracy and I? We felt for you, like you were family.’

  Carlos turned his face away. Those memories were too painful to think about, more painful than ever now, and he was torn between running out of the ro
om or throwing himself onto those big shoulders of Greg’s to sob like a child.

  Of course he did neither and taking refuge in thoughts that didn’t feature Elena, he formed the one question he wanted an answer to. ‘Something’s bothering me. Burning in my brain. Why did you let the Americans take over? Why did you do that to me?’

  Greg stretched out his small hand palm upwards and shrugged. ‘I had no choice,’ and from his tone Carlos knew he was speaking the truth. ‘They had me over a barrel. But however distasteful it was at the time, I now believe it was for the best. It’s brought a quick resolution. Going to hospital is the best thing for you. You’ve been struggling on your own for far too long. It’s time you got help.’

  ‘And why did you revoke my access to the network? You just told me how much you admire my integrity, but it didn’t stop you cancelling my tag. How do you explain that, hey?’

  ‘That was Hans. He was scared the Americans would commandeer it and log in pretending to be you.’

  Carlos shook his head.

  ‘Carlos,’ Greg reached out and rested his hand on Carlos’s forearm. ‘There’s something I want you to know,’ he leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘You can count on me. As a friend. No matter what.’

  Greg’s choice of words seemed odd to Carlos. Had he said “Call me” Carlos wouldn’t have been surprised – but “count on me”? Was Greg sending him a signal? Carlos had felt an undercurrent of tension in the man who, although outwardly as calm as ever, underneath seemed untypically on edge. Or was it all in Carlos’s imagination? He’d been wrong about Barbara. He’d probably got it wrong about Greg too. These unbidden insights into other people’s emotional states were more likely symptoms of his growing paranoia.

  Greg pushed on. ‘I wanted to say goodbye to you in person. To thank you for all the hard work you’ve put in since you joined us. And to tell you I’m really sorry things turned out this way.’

  Carlos stared at him. Somehow “sorry” didn’t quite seem to get it.

  Greg picked up his cup and took the last sip of coffee.

  ‘Has he contacted you again? Zul?’ Greg dropped the name so casually, like he was asking after a mutual old friend, that it took a moment for Carlos to register.

  His gut reaction was that of a naughty boy being questioned about something he’d done wrong. He felt like shouting out an indignant “No!”. But he didn’t have the energy and in any case everyone already thought he was certifiable. Even he had his doubts. There was no reason to lie.

  ‘He appeared in a hologram yesterday.’

  ‘At the safe house?’ Greg asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Greg picked up the biscuits with one hand and with the other stretched forward to put his empty cup and saucer on the table. He leaned back in his seat. ‘What did he say?’

  Carlos took a deep breath. ‘That there’s a discrepancy in vibration, that the galaxy, our solar system and the planet are all ready to evolve but we humans are not. This conflict in energy levels is causing escalating social and physical unrest on Earth. He said if we don’t raise the aggregate level of human vibration, the Earth and everything on it will be destroyed, which could also affect the whole galaxy. They want me to do something about it.’

  ‘And what does he want you to do? How can you synchronise this conflict in energy vibration?’ Greg asked without a hint of ridicule.

  ‘The key, he said, is love and unity. We must use our free will to increase spiritual awareness and dedicate ourselves to leading good lives. If we can raise our energy by living less selfishly, then there’s a chance our Earth will survive and make a successful evolutionary shift on the 21st December.’

  ‘The end date of the Mayan calendar,’ Greg nodded his big head up and down. ‘I see.’

  ‘When Zul explained, it all made sense. But now? Telling you? It sounds crazy.’

  ‘But what Zul’s asking you to do is beautiful, Carlos. It reinforces the essence of what the UN stands for.’

  Carlos’s face was so pale in contrast with his dark brown eyes sunk deep into their sockets, rimmed with red and ringed with black. His hair, standing up in frizzled clumps, gave him the look of a madman.

  ‘There’s more,’ he whispered.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The Americans must have listened to all my communications – they were spying on me, right? But they didn’t mention Zul. Not one word. They acted like nothing had happened.’

  ‘And you think that’s odd.’

  ‘Greg… I’m beginning to believe it is all in my head,’ he said.

  ‘Carlos – what you went through after Elena was murdered – the anger, the grief, those powerful feelings of guilt and responsibility, the unbearable sadness and loneliness? Perhaps this is your cry for help. Perhaps subconsciously you’re saying, “I don’t want to be surrounded by negativity any more! It’s time I moved on.” Perhaps this is your mind’s way of expunging the guilt, of empowering yourself, of giving yourself permission to be hopeful and happy, maybe even to love again. Perhaps this is a message that you want to share with others who have gone through what you’ve gone through. A message you want to share with the world.’

  Carlos was fixated on the crumbs scattered down the front of Greg’s white shirt, the remains of the biscuits. He couldn’t take his eyes off them. ‘I don’t know,’ he murmured. ‘I just don’t know.’

  ‘Come on Carlos. You need to get checked out. Keep a grip, son, and don’t worry. You’ll come through this stronger than ever before, you’ll see.’ Greg leaned over and patted his arm, as if the physical contact could camouflage the banality of his words.

  But Carlos didn’t see. He didn’t see anything. All the uncertainties buzzing around in his brain, they were driving him insane. He clutched his head and shook it, trying to drive out the Babel of warring voices inside.

  Corrinne knocked on the door and after waiting only a moment walked in. Carlos hadn’t moved since Greg left. He was still sitting on the sofa staring out of the window with an empty expression on his face, his untouched coffee on the table in front of him.

  Whether he heard Corrinne or not it was hard to tell, since he didn’t acknowledge her presence.

  ‘Erika’s here.’ she said.

  He turned his head towards her.

  ‘Erika’s here,’ she repeated.

  He blinked.

  Corrinne walked over to join him on the couch, wanting to tell him that as a result of their phone calls she’d got to know Erika over the previous week and found her to be a very nice woman. She had grown to like her easy manner. Erika had the knack of leaving her smiling every time they said goodbye, which made her feel good and in spite of the age difference, the two women were becoming friends.

  During their conversations Erika had described how she’d first met Carlos all those years ago when he and Drew were working at Goddard. She’d always kept in touch with Drew, she’d said, and it was clear from the way she spoke about him they were very close. However, it was only when she’d spoken to Corrinne the day before that it became clear just how close. When Corrinne told Erika Carlos was dropping by the office, it was obvious from her reaction that Drew had shared a lot more information about Carlos’s situation than she had originally let on. Corrinne liked her for that, for her discretion. Corrinne had no time for blabbermouths.

  ‘Carlos,’ she said sitting down next to him. He looked other-worldly and insubstantial compared with the bulky substance of the cushions on the sofa. ‘Carlos,’ she repeated, ‘look. Here they are. They’re from the ‘60s, all with features on the Stones. See? Two NMEs and one Melody Maker. Here, take a look.’

  Although he leafed through them it was obvious that even the vintage music magazines couldn’t spark his interest.

  He slid his briefcase from the coffee table onto his lap, unsnapped the catches and took out his wallet. He fished out a fistful of Euros, gave them to Corrinne and after tossing the wallet inside pushed the briefcase back onto the table without closi
ng it. She counted the notes. ‘It’s too much Carlos,’ she said, trying to hand some back.

  ‘She can keep it. I won’t need it where I’m going.’

  A wave of something flowed through the length of Corrinne’s body. It made her feel quite weak. Was it empathy or pity? She wasn’t sure.

  ‘Carlos,’ she touched his hand, ‘do you want to speak to her? I can’t let her in your office, but I could open the door so you could…’

  ‘Speak to her? Didn’t she tell you? About her ex-boyfriend and my wife?’

  Corrinne pursed her lips. Erika hadn’t betrayed any confidences, although she’d said enough for Corrinne to know Carlos wanted nothing more to do with Drew.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ***

  ‘I asked him if he wants to talk to you,’ Erika raised her brows but Corrinne shook her head and sighed, ‘but he doesn’t. He’s in a dreadful state. Worse than when I spoke to him yesterday. He’s lost so much weight… his suit’s just hanging on him.’

  ‘Do you think he’s ill?’

  Corrinne shrugged. ‘I always thought he was depressed, but seeing him now? It’s like he’s had a breakdown,’ and she shuffled some papers around on her desk.

  ‘How long’s he here for?’

  ‘In Vienna?’

  ‘No. At the office.’

  ‘A couple more hours? Just now when the Secretary-General left, he told me to let him know when Carlos had finished packing up his stuff. But from what I’ve seen he hasn’t even started.’ She shook her head. ‘He can’t be well – he hasn’t even touched the coffee I made. Normally he’s addicted to the stuff.’

  ‘I bought some cakes in. I thought you’d probably skipped lunch again.’

  Corrinne ducked her head. ‘You know me so well,’ she said, making Erika smile.