Apocalypse

by Dean Crawford

  ‘Mrs Abell, is it true that IRIS is being investigated by the United Nations for alleged atrocities by its security forces during charitable operations in Somalia?’

  ‘Mrs Abell, do you have any comment on the discrepancies between government-funded IRIS programs in Africa and the Middle East and the reports from people on the ground that the money never gets through?’

  ‘Mrs Abell, do you represent a charity or a business?’

  Before the hacks could get too close, the four IRIS bodyguards formed a human cordon around her and strode unstoppably toward the court building. The crowds of reporters stumbled away as Katherine Abell and her human cordon climbed the steps toward the entrance, where they were ushered into the relative peace within the building.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, feeling more comfortable once inside, despite the hustle and bustle of lawyers, police officers, inmates and members of the public shuffling to and fro. The Eleventh Judicial Circuit of Florida, serving Miami-Dade County, was the largest in the state and the fourth largest trial court in the nation, with over a hundred judges serving some two million citizens.

  ‘Please wait here, Mrs Abell.’

  An usher directed Katherine and her bodyguards to a wood-paneled waiting room, replete with worn leather seats. As her escorts silently took up positions inside and outside the room, Katherine moved to stand beside a window that looked out across the ocean of television cameras.

  Melancholy weighed down on her shoulders as she saw protesters holding placards bearing angry messages. ‘IRIS: PROVOKING POVERTY FOR PROFIT’; ‘IRIS: THE BIG DECEPTION’; ‘IRIS: CHARITY STARTS AT JOAQUIN ABELL’S HOME’.

  The Justice Building was the location of the latest legal challenge to IRIS programs, brought by immigrants from East Africa who had obtained US citizenship through the company’s free-transport-to-America initiative, and had then promptly sued IRIS for breaches of their human rights. Katherine’s heart sank as she thought of Joaquin’s efforts to bring comfort to thousands of otherwise-doomed people, to bring them out of a medieval darkness of suffering and starvation and into the light of a modern democratic nation, only for them to turn the might of that nation’s laws against him. She could scarcely believe that these people, liberated from a life spent on their knees groveling for scraps on the dusty plains of failed states, could so easily turn against their savior.

  A lawyer before she had met Joaquin, she had watched as the company faced more of these suits every year, brought by those who had once hovered on the brink of death and who now looked forward to hundreds of thousands of dollars of compensation for their affronted human rights. This time, she intended to defend IRIS, and Joaquin, herself.

  ‘Mrs Abell?’ Katherine turned to see Peter Hamill approaching her. ‘The court is ready.’

  Peter, her assistant, was in his forties, with wispy blond hair, pale skin and a soft, unassuming voice that made him seem more like a choirboy than a successful lawyer in his own right. His wan appearance belied a sharp and inquisitive mind.

  ‘Let’s go and see what they have to say then,’ she said, and gestured for Peter to lead the way.

  Katherine strode out of the waiting room and followed Peter into an elevator for the trip up to a court on the seventh floor.

  The public gallery faced a broad mahogany-paneled bar, behind which was a leather seat that would be occupied by the judge. An ornate curtained door in the wall behind the bar allowed easy access for the judge, avoiding the public entrance to the court. The door was flanked by the Stars and Stripes on the left and the court’s emblem on the right.

  Katherine strode confidently into the court and immediately heard a torrent of whispers from the gallery as the public recognized her. She sat down, and moments later the court rose as the judge glided in through the curtained door and took her seat behind the bar. She wasted no time in beginning as the court settled back down.

  ‘The court is to hear opening arguments for Uhungu versus IRIS. Will the prosecution stand?’

  Katherine watched as the chief prosecutor, Macy Lieberman, took the stand. Macy was an African American and a bleeding-heart liberal from California, who built many of her cases on her supposed personal understanding of immigration issues: her ancestors had been shipped to America in 1854 aboard a slaver from the Ivory Coast. Only four out of seventeen had survived, a story she never stopped telling anybody who hadn’t already heard it. The fact that virtually every African American living in the continental United States could trace their ancestry back to slaves seemed to have escaped her, along with the fact that the Union they both now served had risen from the ashen battlefields of a Civil War fought to liberate those same slaves.

  Macy Lieberman knew how to swing a jury, or a judge, with her sob stories. Katherine steeled herself as Macy addressed the court.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, your honor,’ she began in her sweet voice, flashing a bright smile. ‘This case is being brought by a family who have been deeply wronged by a government-funded charity that serves not the people it purports to protect, but the people who own it. My clients, the Uhungu family, did not wish to bring this case to the courts, preferring instead to deal directly with IRIS itself. However, after two years of having their questions and concerns rebuffed, they feel that they have no choice but to bring their case into the judicial system.’

  Macy Lieberman let the court digest this information before she continued.

  ‘This is not the first time such a case has been brought against a major company. It has, in recent years, emerged that there is a trend within modern Western government to devise means by which to prevent the development of Third-World nations, in order that the military and economic superiority of the aforementioned Western nations is maintained.’

  Katherine’s eyes widened and before she could stop herself she was on her feet.

  ‘Conjecture, your honor. Unspecified accusations beyond the scope of this case.’

  ‘Upheld,’ the chief justice agreed.

  Macy Lieberman shot a sideways glance of irritation at Katherine, but she composed herself and went on.

  ‘Then allow me to rephrase the point in hand,’ she purred. ‘In recent years, almost all government programs used to rebuild foreign countries such as Iraq, Afghanistan and so on have been placed in the hands of private companies which use funds provided by the taxpayer to help those in greater need. The problem is that they withhold the vast majority of those funds, usually blaming terrorist or insurgent activity for the lack of progress. Rebuilding comes to a halt, troop numbers are reduced after years of fighting and the companies then cite security concerns before pulling out, taking the majority of the rebuilding funds with them. It is a fact that before the US military went into Iraq it required little rebuilding at all. Billions of dollars were provided to restructure the country, but only a fraction of that funding reached the populace.’

  Macy gestured behind her.

  ‘This family was rescued from certain death by IRIS from the streets of Mogadishu. They have absolutely nothing but the utmost respect for what the company did for them.’ She looked across at Katherine. ‘What they cannot believe is that they are almost entirely alone: that their friends and families have known no such support from IRIS, a fact deliberately avoided in IRIS press releases which give the impression that hundreds have been liberated from squalor and conflict around the world. In fact, as far as we are aware, the Uhungu family is the only family ever to have been liberated by IRIS from East Africa in the last five years, to great media applause and propaganda generated by IRIS itself. It is our contention that IRIS has misappropriated taxpayers’ funds in the same manner as so many other corporations over the last decade, in a never-ending cycle of palm-greasing and corruption.’

  Katherine’s eyes narrowed. There was no telling where Lieberman might have gotten such an idea: it might even be true, as IRIS’s main focus was on providing the resources for the survival of native populations, not spiriting individual families overs
eas to new lives. Most Africans did not want to live in another country, but rather wanted their own countries to have the same quality of life as those in the West.

  ‘The court was persuaded to hear this case,’ Macy went on, ‘based on documents collected by the Uhungu family proving that IRIS claims of liberating countless lives in Somalia were falsified: that the monies provided by the taxpayer to IRIS has instead apparently vanished into thin air, and that IRIS has steadfastly refused to provide accounts that they claim show where the money was spent.’

  With that, Macy Lieberman sat down.

  The chief justice glanced across at Katherine.

  ‘Will the defense stand?’

  Katherine stood up and opened her casebook. Although she knew the case inside out, it was always good practice to have everything to hand. In the past some litigators she had faced had taken this as a sign of weakness. They had soon regretted it.

  She cleared her throat, and began.

  ‘Uhungu versus IRIS is a case built around the charge that the aforementioned company has failed in principle to uphold its duty of care to the extended family of the Uhungus, who were transported from East Africa to the United States. It is the position of my client, and the position that I intend to defend, that without the intervention of IRIS in the first place, these individuals would have no case to bring, as they would have neither the means nor the legal structure to do so.’ Katherine let her gaze fall on the families in the gallery who had brought the case. ‘In short, your honor, the complainants are lucky to be alive at all, and can only bring this case to the courts because of IRIS’s generosity in saving their lives in the first place.’

  ‘That’s bullcrap!’ A flabby, gray-haired old lady leapt up out of her seat and pointed a finger at Katherine. ‘We din’ wanna bring no case at all, but you forced us into it!’

  The judge slammed a hammer down and glared up at the old lady, who Katherine recognized as Jala Uhungu, the matriarch of the family.

  ‘Ma’am, may I remind you that this is a court. If I hear any further interruptions I will have the session dissolved and continue this case in private, is that clear?’

  Jala Uhungu trembled with suppressed rage and tears quivered in her eyes, but she obeyed the judge and sat back down. Katherine watched as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and wondered at her audacity: that she could act so enraged and deprived when just years before she had been found by IRIS’s representatives delirious with fever on a dusty street in Mogadishu, surrounded by her starving grandchildren.

  ‘You may continue,’ the Chief Justice said.

  Katherine changed tack and turned the outburst to her advantage.

  ‘It is not beyond our capacity as human beings to realize that, whilst one family has been saved, many others still suffer, and that this supposed injustice can create considerable outrage amongst those with a voice and a means to make themselves heard. But IRIS is just one company, and even were it to donate its entire assets it would be unable to make any noticeable difference to the sheer weight of suffering in the world. Contrary to the prosecution’s claims, IRIS’s charter is not designed to bring impoverished families from foreign countries back into the United States – such acts only occur spontaneously when it is clear that the suffering of those families is such that they cannot possibly survive their predicament. Such was the case with the Uhungu family.’

  Katherine paused, glancing down at her notes.

  ‘IRIS’s chief objective, as laid out in its charter, is to use government funds to enable the people of foreign countries to help themselves, to give them the tools and the resources to build their own future. In this, IRIS has been spectacularly successful. In ten years of operations, IRIS has committed over one hundred million dollars to rebuilding programs across Africa, the Middle and Far East and the Malay Archipelago. Hundreds of thousands of lives have been saved by vaccination programs, freshwater wells, family-planning and contraception initiatives and grain supplies organized and delivered by IRIS.’ Katherine looked directly at the Uhungu family. ‘I apologize, on behalf of the company, if you somehow feel as though your extended family have been cheated in life by our work, or even if the burden of regret you feel for having been liberated in preference to others who still suffer seems too heavy. But IRIS is not to blame for the ills of countless countries across the world. It is a force for good, and I say again, with the deepest respect, that without it, none of you would be sitting here today.’

  Katherine stood back from the bar and walked quietly across to her seat. She had barely sat down when Macy Lieberman’s petite voice tinkled across the court.

  ‘An emotive performance, Mrs Abell,’ she said, ‘delivered with all the conviction of a woman married to the owner of IRIS himself.’

  A ripple of laughs fluttered across the public gallery. Katherine did not react and simply read through her notes. Macy Lieberman’s voice might dance lightly through the court but her words stung like a hornet.

  ‘However, we have proof that of the 117 million dollars provided by government in approved contracts over the last five years, just twelve million dollars have reached the people who needed it most. The rest, it would appear, has simply vanished.’

  Katherine sat bolt upright and looked directly at Macy.

  ‘Where on earth did you drag that rubbish from?’

  Macy Lieberman smiled and held up a slim blue folder.

  ‘It would appear, Mrs Abell, that somebody in your company does not want Joaquin Abell’s little operation to continue unchallenged any longer. Our prosecution has in the past been repeatedly blocked and hindered by IRIS’s determination to prevent public access to its accounts despite considerable evidence on the ground in foreign countries of its failure to use those taxpayer funds for their assigned purpose. These extremely detailed files were received yesterday morning at my office, sent by UPS. They reveal the true extent of IRIS’s fraudulent use of state money and provide the evidence we need to bring the company down.’

  Katherine leapt from her seat, a weakness trembling in her knees as she stared at the blue file.

  ‘Veracity?!’ she demanded.

  ‘They were provided, and signed, by a former employee of IRIS,’ Macy smiled. ‘A man you may even know. His name is Charles Purcell.’

  22

  IRIS, DEEP BLUE RESEARCH STATION, FLORIDA STRAITS

  June 28, 11:12

  Dennis Aubrey stood beside the control panel and watched as two security guards, their assault rifles strapped to their backs, opened the door to a chamber adjoined to the containment sphere. Joaquin stood to one side and directed their movements. One of the guards turned and picked up a robust-looking remote-control arm from the floor beside him and attached it to two rails secured to the floor of the chamber. The robotic arm carried a video camera attached just below a grappling claw at its head. The security guards closed the chamber’s outer door and sealed it.

  ‘Stand back, gentlemen.’ The two guards backed away, and Joaquin looked up at Aubrey on the control platform.

  ‘Over to you, Dennis.’

  Aubrey took a deep breath and turned to his control panel. There, a television screen showed the view from the front of the remote-control arm. Aubrey checked the instruments and then pressed a button on the console before him. Instantly, the chamber’s inner door whined open. Aubrey saw the air rush through the hatch in a whorl of vapor, ice crystals glistening in mid-air as they were whipped away into the main chamber, and then the plunging sphere of blackness within appeared on the screen, its attendant writhing coils of electrical energy snapping between the walls of the chamber.

  ‘Chamber’s open,’ Aubrey announced. ‘Advancing inside.’

  He pressed forward on a simple joystick, and the robotic arm travelled along on the rails that prevented it from being hauled into the terrifying heart of the chamber. Slowly, the arm trundled along around the edge of the chamber, passing in front of the mounted cameras within.

  ‘Camera number fiv
e,’ Joaquin reminded him.

  Aubrey considered reminding Joaquin that he could count for himself, but for some reason he feared any reprisal his new employer might concoct. Instead, Aubrey obediently guided the robotic arm to stand in front of camera five.

  This camera, Aubrey had learned from Joaquin, was different from the others, in that it did not look at a televised newsfeed. Instead it watched a screen that showed the view from a small buoy bobbing on the surface of the ocean. There was no land visible nearby, nothing to betray where the camera was located.

  Carefully, Aubrey used the arm’s specially shaped grapple to dismount the camera from its base, and then placed the camera in a storage box on the arm’s platform. Then, he picked up the spare camera and secured it to the mount within the chamber before turning it on.

  ‘Well done,’ Joaquin clapped. ‘Now, let’s bring it out shall we?’

  Patiently, Aubrey guided the robotic arm along the rails and out of the chamber, making sure to wait for the automatic seal on the inner hatch to activate. As the camera waited in the entrance chamber, jets of steam hissed and enveloped the entire device in thick water vapor that poured onto the floor and drained away into narrow grilles. A precautionary measure, to wash away any particles irradiated by the immense energy within the chamber.

  ‘Clear!’ called one of the guards, who was monitoring a Geiger counter.

  ‘Open the chamber!’ Joaquin ordered.

  The outer doors were opened and Aubrey guided the arm out. Immediately the camera was grabbed by Joaquin, who hurried up to the control panel alongside Aubrey and opened the device, handing him the USB hard drive within.

  ‘Play it,’ he ordered.

  Aubrey slipped the drive into a player on the console before him, and watched as a pixilated image of the ocean far above appeared on the screen. Flares of white noise from the bursts of electrical energy within the chamber distorted the serene image of rolling waves beneath a cloud-specked blue sky.