The Zul Enigma

by J M Leitch

  But Greg was only half listening. He was thinking about Carlos, about Zul and about the mystery hologram. However much he wanted to believe in Carlos and however hard it was to accept the Americans’ accusations, he now realised Carlos was far sicker than he’d thought.

  To resolve it all, he needed proof that the holograms had come in as Carlos claimed.

  If Zul had appeared in Washington then the Americans would know, but would they admit it to Greg? Possibly not. However, he could have his own people check the UN logs to see if something had come in after Joseph’s call. And while they were at it, they could check out the baby holovideo too.

  ‘Listen… sorry to interrupt… but I need to ask you something. Carlos told me he had a holovideo call with Erika Stone last week. The day before he went to New York?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What time was it? Do you remember?’

  ‘It was around two o'clock. Why?’

  ‘I think we can finally resolve this whole damn riddle once and for all.’

  ‘Hans Baade?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is Greg Howard.’

  Greg could hear children’s voices laughing in the background. ‘It sounds like you’re having a lovely family time. I’m sorry to disturb it. But there’s something I need to ask you.’

  ‘No problem, sir.’

  ‘I can’t go into detail now but I want you to check our system records for Friday 16th March. A woman called Erika Stone instigated a holovideo call with Dr Maiz around two that afternoon. Immediately after it was terminated another holovideo call may have come in. I don’t know where from, but I want to know. I want everything you can give me about it.’

  ‘I’ll talk to the technician on duty and have him check. I’ll get back to you later tonight.’

  ‘Just a minute, there’s something else. Around three this afternoon Dr Maiz’s secretary accepted a holovideo call on her tag from a Dr Joseph Fisher that she accepted on Dr Maiz’s terminal. I want to know what time it was initiated, what time it was terminated and whether any others came in after. If so, again, I want all the details.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘And one more thing. Is there any chance any of these calls could have been recorded? If so, I want to see copies.’

  ‘They might have been recorded by the instigators but even if they were we wouldn’t have a record on our system. So unless Dr Maiz or Corrinne or someone else our end activated the record mode, then no, we would have no copy.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Anything else, sir?’

  ‘No. Except to say this is just between you and me. Okay?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Oh… and call me back from your wife’s mobile on the following number and don’t mention any names.’

  ***

  The most dramatic effects of the drugs were at last wearing off and although it was late Carlos had talked the staff nurse into helping him to the armchair by the window and opening the blinds. Staring out at the city comforted him.

  He had no recollection how he’d got to the hospital and it felt like he’d been there for days. He remembered landing in Vienna, going to his apartment, going to some other house and then to the office. He remembered seeing Corrinne and Greg. He remembered a holovideo call with Joseph. And he remembered talking to a beautiful woman called Astraea.

  It was at that point his recollections became hazy and although he tried to remember what she’d said, it was like watching a distorted movie spooling through his mind.

  He recalled a fierce surge of fury connected with an image of the Earth littered with bodies, the remains of people who had made an evolutionary leap to the next density, followed by an overwhelming sensation of hope. And he remembered thinking how ironic it was that a beautiful destiny could grow out of such horror. And then he was drunk. That totally out of order off your face falling down type drunk. He gripped the armrests of his chair as he tried to force himself to drag more complete memories out of his brain – but he couldn’t.

  Next came grogginess infused with fumes of antiseptic and disinfectant; sounds of hushed voices and squeaky soles; the touch of wet swabs and cold metal; glimpses of dazzling lights and gleaming tiles, white coats and distorted reflections in shiny instruments. He was powerless as his body was shifted and probed and pricked by anonymous rubber gloved hands while he tripped in and out of consciousness. He remembered Corrinne had been with him earlier, which had made him think he was still in Vienna. Now, of course, the view outside the window proved it.

  How surreal the events of the past two weeks had been: contact with aliens, meetings with the President of the USA, accusations of security breaches, house arrest and escaping from spooks. It was unbelievable and exactly what had happened Carlos was only just beginning to fathom.

  The truth was Carlos had made Zul up. And the baby. And Astraea. Because he wanted to believe there could be a better future for mankind.

  From the snippets of conversations he’d caught while drifting in and out of consciousness, Carlos knew it was a cocktail of amphetamines and benzodiazepine that had caused him to collapse. He had access to both those drugs: he took Rohypnol for insomnia and uppers when he needed a boost. He kept a stash hidden in his office and although he couldn’t recall taking any medication for weeks, he was clearly mistaken and downing the drugs, like play-acting Zul and inventing the baby and Astraea, was yet another thing he was keeping locked inside his unconscious.

  He could only guess how ill he was but inventing aliens, having visions, and attempting suicide must mean he was on the worse side of bad. He shook his head. He hated this feeling of helplessness. It had been eating away at him ever since his first night at the safe house and he knew it would continue until he got well.

  And to top it all, he was still in Vienna. Look at it laid out before him – the city lights twinkling like sequins on a bolt of velvet – beautiful Vienna that he so loved to look out on but where, with all its conservative symmetry, measured perfection, Austrian convention and stifling caution, he hated living.

  He’d been looking forward to Madrid. Not the hospital of course, but to being back home near his family, although he didn’t know how he could ever explain to his parents what he’d done. He’d always been the perfect son. He’d been an excellent student and had a distinguished career.

  Now, Carlos realised, he’d only been perfect in a superficial way. Between Drew and his alter-ego Zul, he’d discovered what a selfish, self-centred man he really was. People had been drawn to him because of his passion, Joseph had told him that, because he’d been fun to be around, but in fact he was an absolute bastard. He just hadn’t known it.

  Carlos sighed and closed his eyes. He felt so depressed. He wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to coming down off the drugs or a more permanent state. He was also very weary. And disillusioned. And sad. And lonely. And useless. What word best described what he was? A failure. He was a complete and utter failure. He’d failed in his career, his marriage, his friendships and his sanity. He’d failed in every way he possibly could.

  He’d even failed to take his own life.

  ***

  Greg took off his glasses and grabbed the phone before it could complete its first ring.

  ‘Yes,’ he panted down the receiver.

  ‘It’s me. I’ve got the information you asked for.’

  ‘Go on.’

  The waiting was over.

  ‘Regarding copies? Nobody this end activated the record function during the holovideo calls you queried. As I said earlier, they may have been recorded at the other end but if they were it wouldn’t show in our logs.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Now the log file on the video conference reflector server, the device that receives the stream of network packets from virtual conference initiators and broadcasts them out to the receivers, shows that the gentleman concerned accepted a holovideo call a week ago on Friday 16th March at 14:02. The communication lasted
fifteen minutes.’

  ‘And… did another one come in afterwards?’

  ‘No. It was the only holovideo call he received that day.’

  Greg covered his eyes with his free hand. ‘Right. And today?’ he asked in a monotone, already knowing the answer.

  ‘The logs show a holovideo call accepted by the woman’s ID at 15:09, which lasted two minutes.’

  ‘Any others?’

  He had to ask.

  ‘No,’ Hans replied.

  Greg thumped the desk with his fist.

  ‘Sir? Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes. I’m okay. This information… it’s… it’s most helpful.’

  So there it was. The last vestige of doubt had been erased and Carlos was guilty as charged. Zul, the baby, the woman? They were all figments of his imagination.

  He’d made up the whole damn story.

  And the Americans had pegged it.

  What a tragedy.

  What an embarrassment.

  PART II

  APRIL 2068

  ‘How exactly can I help you?’ Scott asked Rachael.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ she replied, ‘and I don’t know where to start.’

  She followed him into his living room where he gestured to one of an identical pair of body sculpting chairs. She picked the dead-head off the seat and sat down. The chair automatically adjusted to her form.

  ‘Do you want to use that?’ Scott said, nodding at the narrow band she was holding.

  She shook her head. ‘No. My thoughts aren’t organised enough for brain-to-brain comms. I’d rather we do it the old-fashioned way and talk.’

  Scott took some time to lower himself onto the other chair. ‘I’m a bit of a wreck at the moment,’ he laughed. ‘I’m waiting to have my joints replaced. I let it go longer than I should. I hate hospitals… and with this weather,’ they both looked out of the window at the trees thrashing in the gale, ‘I’ve been putting it off.’

  Rachael smiled. He seemed a nice old man.

  ‘You say you’re a relative of Dr Carlos Maiz?’

  ‘My father died six years ago and my mother died last month.’ She swallowed. ‘When I was going through her things, I discovered I wasn’t their daughter at all.’

  Scott looked at her with sad eyes. ‘That must have been a shock.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘An old briefcase stuffed in the back of a cupboard. Inside it there was an envelope with a manuscript, diary entries and a handwritten letter addressed to me. From my real mother – my birth mother.’

  ‘And what does all this have to do with Dr Maiz?’ Scott asked.

  Rachael swallowed and adjusted her body to a more upright position in the chair.

  ‘He was…’

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ Scott leaned forward.

  ‘He was my father,’ she said.

  MONDAY 26th MARCH – THURSDAY 20th DECEMBER 2012

  CHAPTER 1

  Greg woke up in his room at the Bristol Hotel in Vienna before the alarm went off. It didn’t matter how comfy a bed he was in, he never slept well when he was away from home.

  He ran through what he needed to prepare for his meeting with the Europeans in connection with the Russia crisis, but his thoughts kept drifting to Carlos. Now that was the real worry right there. In spite of Bob Anderson’s accusations, up until the day before, Greg had not appreciated how ill Carlos was, but now, knowing he was lying in hospital recovering from a drug overdose, well that was a shock to say the least.

  The night before Corrinne said if his physical condition continued to improve he’d be moved to a psychiatric ward for assessment and Greg could only pray that the Austrian doctors would be able to help him. But, he thought, at least Carlos was back in Vienna and under UN protection.

  After eating scrambled eggs and bacon served in his room, the eggs cooked to creamy perfection and the bacon fat browned within a few seconds of turning into charcoal just the way he liked it, Greg arrived at the door of the suite of offices he always used at UNO City to be greeted by Hans Baade.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hands clasped behind his back.

  ‘Hans,’ Greg said, reaching out to shake hands. ‘You here to see me?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well come on in. A cup of tea?’ he asked, over his shoulder.

  ‘No thanks, sir,’ Hans replied following. ‘I already had coffee.’

  Greg walked through the anteroom and into his office. ‘I was going to call you later,’ he said making his way towards a massive desk by the far wall, ‘to thank you for sacrificing your precious Sunday evening checking out those calls.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here, sir.’

  Greg, who had one hand on the arm of a large office chair about to roll it out from under the desk, glanced over at Hans who was busy polishing his spectacles with his tie.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  Hans looked up. ‘Last night I told you the records showed no further activity after the holovideo calls you queried.’

  ‘Yes…’ Greg replied sitting down.

  ‘And I gave you the times the calls ended.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Well I woke up in the middle of the night thinking I should have checked the session ending times too.’

  ‘Hans. Take a seat and explain.’

  ‘There are two separate log file records. One for the time the holovideo call ended and another later record much further down the file showing the session time out. You know the procedure, sir, once logged in with the RFId tag the session will continue until the user logs out, until the tag is out of range, or until the session is timed out after five minutes due to inactivity.’

  ‘Right,’ Greg said, nodding his head.

  ‘When I checked this morning, although the call you queried on the 16th March ended at 14:17 the session didn’t time out till 14:26, nine minutes later. And the call to Corrinne yesterday ended at 15:11 but her session didn’t time out until 15:41, exactly thirty minutes later.’

  ‘I see what you’re driving at. Some other activity must have been going on.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Can you tell from the logs what it was?’

  ‘Sending and receiving e-mails gets logged but nothing came in or went out during the times we’re investigating. If a word processor or minor utilities programme was being used, there’d be no log of it, although activity could be traced by checking in the system directory for the creation or modification or access to files during the time period in question. I can do that if you want, but I’ll need administrator privilege. And we won’t be getting results any time soon. It’s a slow process.’

  Greg sighed.

  ‘Here are the log printouts,’ and Hans slid some papers towards Greg. ‘I highlighted the relevant times.’

  Putting on his half moon glasses, Greg glanced at the reports, remembering Corrinne had told him she’d left her tag in Carlos’s office the previous afternoon. ‘This could be significant. Thanks. And yes, go ahead and start checking the system directory.’

  ‘What’s going on with Dr Maiz, sir? I heard he was in the office yesterday.’

  ‘He was. But I’m not yet at liberty to announce the latest circumstances.’ Greg stood up. ‘If you find anything else, be sure to let me know immediately.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m going to scour the logs again right now. It’s just possible there’s something we missed.’

  ***

  The President was not happy being dragged out of the first sound sleep he’d had in more weeks than he could remember. The bleeping noise that woke him, although not especially loud, was persistent and irritating. He sat up in bed and rubbed his face with both hands before grabbing the phone. With a tug of the quilt, his wife spun away onto the opposite side of the bed.

  ‘Yeah. Okay. Put her through,’ he said.

  Barbara Lord. He wondered what she wanted c
alling him so early – it was still dark. It could only mean one thing – bad news.

  ‘Mr President?’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s nearly six thirty, sir. Sorry to wake you but there’ve been some developments regarding Dr Maiz you need to know about.’

  ‘What developments?’

  ‘He’s no longer under our control, sir.’

  ‘What! How in God’s name did that happen?’

  ‘He collapsed in Vienna. At his office. Yesterday afternoon. He was taken out of UNO City without our knowledge.’

  ‘Weren’t you tracking him, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But UN security found the transmitters and planted them in his office. Our boys didn’t know he’d left the building until the Secretary-General told them.’

  ‘I don’t believe this shit!’ Bob said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He dropped his head in his free hand and took a deep breath. ‘So where is he now?’

  There was a slight hesitation before Barbara answered. ‘We don’t know. We checked all the hospitals and clinics, but none confirm admitting him. Of course, he could be under a false name, or his arrival could have been covered up, or they may not have taken him to a hospital at all.’

  ‘So,’ Bob said, changing the phone to his other hand as he turned on the bedside light, ‘not only has he escaped – again – this time you have no idea where he is. Terrific!’

  She ignored the sarcasm. ‘I tried to call Howard first thing this morning, but he was busy. His assistant told me he wouldn’t be free to accept my call before midday Vienna time – that’s in thirty minutes. As I knew you’d be getting up soon, I thought it best I let you know what was going on before I spoke to him.’

  ‘Tell Mr Howard I want him to get that man back to us pronto.’

  ‘I’m not sure it will be that easy, sir. Plus there’s something…’

  ‘And how do we know he really collapsed? Huh? It could be a load of bull they’re feeding us. They’re out of order doing what they did and Mr Howard knows it.’