by Tony Bulmer
Brad Verner looked sulky.
Ted Congo smirked and said, “And that is
why Brad belongs to me, I am the new governor of these here Islands Kane, appointed by Deng Tao himself. Now, I know you’ve been playing coy about joining us thus far, but very soon your whole world is going to be redundant—the G20 leaders will be dead and every nation on the planet will be marching to the beat of the new world order. So what you say Kane? Why don’t you lay down that gun of yours, because it won’t do you no good anyway.”
Suddenly everything made sense. Karyn narrowed her eyes and said, “So, tell me Congo, who was it who killed the Senator and Governor Geryon—you and the boy genius here?”
“Really? You haven’t worked that out yet Kane? No wonder the CIA is a spent force these days.”
“Ted and Deena did it, blurted Verner, they said I could have the girl if I helped them, I like it best when people watch… But there wasn’t time. They said there would be, but there wasn’t.”
Ted Congo threw Verner a nasty look and said, “You want to watch that big flapping mouth of yours Brad. Talk like that could get you in a whole mess of trouble.” Congo turned back to Karyn and gave her a look like he was going to justify Brad Verner’s vile confessions. But he didn’t get chance to speak because at that moment the floor started to rise up beneath them. The sound of tortured metal bending slowly out of shape filled the air. It was as though the entire building had been placed inside a giant industrial car crusher and now, subject to unimaginable pressures, was being
slowly and viscerally compressed. The windows in the office shattered suddenly, but the buckling didn’t stop. The floor bulged higher, until bolts began popping out of the steel sub frame like cannon shells. Brad Verner dived beneath his desk and squawked, “It has begun! The new age is coming!”
Ted Congo didn’t look happy, he held out his arms and tried to keep his balance, like he was riding a north shore wave. The light fittings began swinging wildly from side to side and a deep roar, like an approaching express train filled the air. “It is a goddamn earthquake is what it is,” yelled Congo. “You didn’t say nothing about no earthquake Brad, what the hell is going on here?”
Brad Verner huddled underneath the desk and shouted, “Geostatistical prediction isn’t an exact science Ted. I always told you that.”
Karyn clutched the doorway. The initial shock wave subsided, but it was superseded by fresh temblors that came in rapid succession. When at last the shockwaves subsided, the control room was irreversibly twisted out of shape and the air hung heavy with the thick, choking stench of chemicals.
Brad Verner emerged hesitantly from beneath the desk. He ran to the smoldering control consol and let out a savage cry, “The pumps are offline—God alone knows how much damage there is. I will have to get a team down to level one immediately to assess the damage. He hesitated, turned slightly and saw the contempt on Congo’s face.
“You messed up you little punk, didn’t you?” “No—I created a major event as I predicted,
just not the type of event I was hoping for.” “An earthquake? Is that the best you can
do? You said there was going to be a tsunami—a
giant wall of water to devastate our enemies…” “My equipment is damaged Ted—without
the relevant spatiotemporal data set it is
impossible to determine the extent of our success.
We must be patient, assess the data as it comes in.”
Brad Verner turned, looked at Karyn holding the
gun and opened his mouth to say something— But Karyn interrupted
“You don’t have time—either of you.” “Hey screw you Kane.” Congo took a step
forward then another. “Your whole organization is
finished. Karyn saw him reaching out the gun
before he even knew it himself. She shot him once
right in the middle of his forehead. The bullet made
a tiny pin-‐point entry, but took the back of his head
clean off, splattering the cranial contents across the
smoldering control panels.
Brad Verner grew pale. He backed away
slowly and said, “You can’t kill me Karyn, I know
too much. We have other plans you know, other
stations, today is only the beginning.” He grabbed a
loose-‐leaf binder and thrust it before him. “You
see— It’s all in here,” he said triumphantly. Karyn looked at him. “Seeing as we are
being honest Brad, maybe you could tell me
something?”
He looked about then, greedy and
desperate, ready to say just about anything to get
himself off the hook. He blinked and parted his wet
little lips, “What do you want to know?” he asked.
“Your Mom and Pops, when you killed
them, did you enjoy it?”
Peering at her over his thick-‐framed glasses
his mouth drooped open, as words formulated on
his tongue. But no words came, just the faintest
hint of a smile.
Karyn nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s what I
figured.” She shot him then, kept shooting until the
magazine ran dry and the breech locked open.
63
Los Angeles, California Reed pulled out of traffic on Ocean Avenue and parked the Range Rover on the sea front close to the Santa Monica pier. He had to roll around the lot twice, before he managed to get a parking place. According to the radio, the Pacific Coast Highway north of Colorado Avenue was closed for the duration of the President’s meeting with the G20 leaders. Reed figured that the traffic situation would have normalized by the time Carly had played away her energy in the rolling surf. How long could it take to pretend to solve the world’s problems, after all? He chuckled to himself. He had a delicious picnic lunch in the sunshine planned and those poor G20 saps would be chowing down on a menu of endless speeches.
As they hit the beach the palms on Ocean Front Walk drifted idly in the soft breeze. Reed carried a hessian shopping bag from Trader Joe’s shopping mart that had some corny beach-‐bum design on the side. He had brought a bunch of snacks, carrot sticks—olives and bologna
sandwiches. He also had a cooler filled with drinks and water. Reed balanced the shopping basket with the cooler, and tried hard not to drop the sun parasol he had tucked under his arm. Carly skipped in front, humming tunelessly, with her boogie board balanced on top of her head to screen the sun. Julia brought up the rear. She was wearing a wide-‐brimmed floppy hat and big sunglasses to accessorize her soft linen beach-‐clothes. As usual,
she was chattering into her cell phone and making flamboyant swirling gestures with her free hand. Reed tried not to listen. Her business dealings gave him a headache. Every once in a while he would try and explain to Julia why it was important to be fully present during family outings a
nd activities, but she just didn’t get it. She pouted and told him he was bossy, then after a petulant silence, she would be back on her phone emailing and texting and outlining her instructions to underlings at the office. It hadn’t always this way. The first few years they were married their relationship had been a two way street. Not now. Julia was distant, always preoccupied on that goddamn phone. Reed couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps she was cheating on him with one of those smart-‐suited assholes at the office? Perhaps she needed something he wasn’t giving her? He had tried everything he could think of to spice up their relationship—but nothing seemed to work. And yet, when he asked her if there was anything wrong, she always gave him that pretty little smile and said—Don’t be so silly darling, come here and give me a kiss.
The sand on the beach was thick and hot, and so soft it closed over your feet when you walked across it. Reed breathed the sea air. It smelled of warm kelp and cotton candy. In the distance the Santa Monica pier stretched out into the ocean, like a barnacled building site, iced off with a jangling gaudiness of fun fair color. At the very end of the pier, the Pacific Park Ferris wheel turned lazily in the afternoon sun.
The beach was super busy—a whole army of lobster colored flesh basting in the summer heat. But Reed wasn’t bothered. He knew they would
find the perfect spot. They would just have to walk a little ways that was all. Carly knew the way to go. She turned south, heading towards Venice, winding her way happily around the encampments of beach towels and chattering sunbathers. When she found a space, she skated down into the sun-‐bleached sand and spread out like a starfish.
Reed dropped the bags and popped open the sunshade. As he anchored it into the sand, he sensed Carly’s warm amber eyes melting into him. He smiled and said, “Go on then.” Carly gave a whoop and raced down to the ocean with her boogie board.
Julia drew up, still clutching her cell phone between her finely manicured fingers. She was tapping out a text message one handed. She looked at Reed over the top of her sunglasses and said, “Don’t you think we are a little far from civilization out here darling?”
Reed smoothed out the beach rug and stood up, “You want a Martini don’t you?”
“Would you mind darling, the thought of walking over to the bar in this heat. Well, I really couldn’t face it.”
Reed nodded. He had a theory that the only reason that Julia came down the beach at all was that the bar in Casa Del Mar made the best damn Martinis in the whole of LA. “Would you do me a favor honey? Keep a close eye on Carly. You know how in the moment she is, I don’t want her getting snatched away from the beach by a rip tide or…”
Julia rolled her eyes. “Stop over thinking things. She can swim can’t she? The way you baby that kid anyone would think she was a
kindergartener.” As Julia spoke there was a heavy
engined throb of a helicopter moving in from the South. Reed looked up instinctively, and saw an AH-‐ 1 Cobra decked out in USMC gray. The first helicopter was followed closely by his wing-‐man, both of them flying low, no more than two hundred feet from the beach. Memories of Afghanistan came flooding back, the dry heat, and monotony, followed by sudden cruelty and endless tragedy. Reed watched the helicopters go, imagining how his comrades from the 75th Ranger Regiment would still be running patrol in Helmand province—while here he was, stuck in this domestic pretence, like there was no kind of war happening. He turned to Julia and said, “Just keep an eye on her alright?”
Julia gave him a sparkly-‐eyed butter wouldn’t melt smile, the kind of look she could pull at a moments notice. “Don’t worry about a thing darling.” The words were so bright and plausible, Reed said nothing more, just turned and trailed back up the beach in the direction of Casa Del Mar. Julia watched him go, then when he had
disappeared from view, she relaxed under the parasol, focused on her cell phone and began writing a text message. As she settled back, she was suddenly distracted, by an electronic trilling sound. Julia looked about her, thinking that one of her neighbors had neglected to answer their cell phone. But as she looked, she quickly realized that the sound was coming from the beach bag that Reed had packed. Julia drew a sharp breath of
annoyance. That guy was so useless sometimes, always leaving his cell phone someplace—you could never get hold of him when you wanted to. She reached for the bag, but then, as she rooted inside, Julia quickly realized that the trilling noise
was coming from Carly’s iPad—probably one of her obnoxious little friends—thought Julia with a sniff. She reached out the tablet and a message window opened instantaneously.
Tsunami. Get off the beach now, read the message.
Julia pulled a face. Who knew they were at the beach? Probably some kind of childish joke. She didn’t even bother to respond, she just switched off the iPad and thrust it back inside the beach bag. Then, she sank back on the rug, a gentle frown edging across her botoxed brow. She peered over her sunglasses, looking out over the endless blue of the Pacific. She could hardly see the join between the ocean and the flawless summer sky. The weather couldn’t be more perfect—the idea that such an idyll could be suddenly spoiled just didn’t seem possible—such things never happened in Southern California, they only happened in those desperate little poor countries on the other side of the world, where vast tin-‐roofed shanty towns crawled over the coastal plains of vulnerable little islands. Julia shook her head in disbelief, what a cruel little prank. She had almost believed it for a second. She would have to have a word with Reed. Carly was obviously associating with the wrong type of friends.
Julia’s phone made a delightful little noise that indicated there was an incoming text. Still looking out at the endless blue, Julia raised her phone and glanced at the screen.
Get off the beach, or you are going to die— The Tsunami is coming now.
Julia frowned harder then typed quickly,
This is not funny, your mean jokes are not
appreciated.
The reply came back quick.
This is not a joke, leave the beach now before
the panic starts, move to high ground and stay there. Julia’s head was spinning now. The
authoritative tone of the message seemed to
indicate that this was no child communicating with
her, but why would an adult play such a cruel trick?
Julia wished that Reed would hurry back with her
Martini, the stress was just too much.
Julia’s phone trilled again. This time the
message was emphatic, Leave the beach now, this is
a level nine emergency.
What the hell was a level nine emergency?
That sounded official, like some kind of
government warning or something. But why was
nobody else moving off the beach? Surely someone
else had gotten this message too? Julia rose to her
feet and looked around anxiously. Carly was down
by the edge of the ocean, skating about in the surf
on her boogie board and looking like she was
having the greatest afternoon ever. Everything else
was as it should be—swimmers, surfers, sailors and
sunbathers, the beach scene couldn’t be more
normal or relaxed.
Shielding her eyes against the glare of the
sun, Julia turned around to look for Reed and gave a
little squeal. He was standing right behind her,
holding two 12oz soda cups. He looked at her and
said, “Are you okay honey?”
“No, I am not OK,” snapped Julia. “Someone
is playing a horrible trick and I don’t appreciate it.”
She paused for a moment, then said, “Do you have your cell phone on you?”
Reed shrugged, “No, I guess not. I must have left it in the truck again. Sorry honey. Are you out of charge or something?”
“No, I am not out of charge,” said Julia, her voice tearful. “Some horrible spiteful person keeps texting me saying we are all going to die.”
Reed stuck the cups in the sand and took Julia in his big sun-‐tanned arms. “Hey, relax. What do I keep telling you? You should leave that damn phone at home, give yourself time to relax for a change.”
“But, they were really mean Reed. They said there was going to be a tsunami. They said we were all going to die—there isn’t going to be a tsunami, is there darling?”
Reed held her by the arms and looked at her. “A tsunami?” he said.