The Carbon Trap (The Carbon Series Book 1)

by Randy Dutton

  Taking a deep breath, she closed and locked the small apartment’s front door.

  Time to put Claire back into the bottle. Thankfully the reversion’s much easier.

  She unpinned the wig, removed the cap, shaking out her thick blonde mane. She smoothed makeup remover over her face, waiting as it penetrated the heavy makeup before wiping it off and attacking the traces that remained, rinsing it all with water before removing her emo-ware and stepping into the shower.

  As the hot water washed over her, she leaned back against the tile wall of the tiny shower. Claire washed away and Anna returned.

  With a chuckle she considered how her attitude changed with the role reversal.

  Claire’s intentionally too intense, too stern. I like to think I’m naturally more casual and much less...bitchy.

  The caressing sensation over her skin also prompted a decision – she needed a physical release.

  Priorities dictated she first clean out the apartment. She dried then dressed in tan capris and a sea blue camp shirt.

  Removing all the food from the pantry and refrigerator, she then vacuumed the floors and took the vacuum bag. Grabbing the linen and towels, she then wiped every hard surface with a light bleach solution to eliminate fingerprints and DNA.

  To reduce evidence, she poured Drano down the sink, shower drains, and the toilet. With all the interior doors and cabinets left open, she turned on an ozonator to flood the apartment with DNA destroying ozone gas.

  This time when she left the apartment, she took Claire’s makeup and wig, leaving no personal effects.

  Desire now flooded her mind.

  Dropping Sven off at the airport created too much sexual tension. He was never the solution...presented too many complications. What I need tonight is a diversion – a good dinner, casual conversation, and passion.

  The Alfa pulled out of the garage, and roared out of the hills and down the coast road. She flipped open her phone.

  “Robert, it’s Anna. Free tonight?”

  Robert Spenser reminded her of an early Warren Beatty. And like Beatty, Robert was a somewhat vain, former actor, and current movie director and producer. Now in his mid-40s, he always accommodated her needs without imposing any of his own. He also had a great Monaco apartment, and a skilled personal chef.

  Anna arrived at her villa around 1 PM, leaving the Alfa near the front door.

  Oh to be home again, she purred. All I’ve eaten in the past three days is junk food and I don’t know how many cans of caffeinated soda...my skin’s pale…and I feel like a slug. First thing, jump in the pool.

  Styx and Perses had other plans as to her exercise regimen. They mobbed her in their exuberance at having her home again. For 20 minutes, she rubbed tummies and played chase, sometimes hurdling over them as they approached.

  Changing into an emerald green bikini, she swam two kilometers of laps, then toweled off.

  Lunch awaited her on the deck.

  Maulana brought her a large green salad with thinly sliced chicken and a Caesar dressing. Unsweetened iced tea was all she wanted to drink.

  Behind a privacy screen, more for Maulana’s sake than her modesty, she dozed topless on the deck taking in the bright sunlight.

  By early evening she was wearing a size-8, pink-flowered Karen Millen knee-length summer dress, simple espadrilles, a gold chain necklace and matching earrings. Her hair was down and her makeup was light. She didn’t want flamboyance tonight, she wanted simplicity.

  Walking to her front door, her pace slowed while she glanced wistfully at the painting. The dark stain seemed to gain prominence. She sighed and continued past.

  Her Alfa roared into Robert’s guest parking spot promptly at six. Moments later, she rang the door of Robert’s luxury six-room Parc Saint Roman apartment.

  Always prepared, Anna carried an overnight bag that included a bikini for the private pool, a work-out outfit for the building’s gym, and a ball gown and accessories in case she changed her mind. One never knows when opportunity knocked.

  “Good evening, my darling!” Robert pulled her into a firm embrace and eagerly kissed her.

  “Bonjour, Robert,” Anna responded warmly.

  He grasped the handle of her bag and rolled it into the master bedroom.

  “I see you’ve enlarged your art collection,” she teased, while noting the apartment’s fairly sterile art gallery atmosphere of white, chrome, and glass.

  Popping out of the master bedroom, he knitted his brows. “No… I don’t think so—”

  “The poster from your latest movie, ‘When Earth Freezes Over From Too Much Heat.’” She grinned.” How’d it do at the box office?”

  “Oh that!” A grimace formed. “Anna, it’s not about attendance.... It’s about exposure.”

  Anna nodded sarcastically. “So it tanked.”

  “This was a movie of substance, and you know the masses don’t understand subtext. Art can’t be measured in currency. It must be experienced in the heart…and speaking of the heart, you look ravishing. May I get you something to drink?”

  “Yes, please, whatever you have.... perhaps Bordeaux?” She stepped out onto the deck and leaned over the railing. Her attention swept across the nearby Palace, the Monaco skyline, and straight out, the blue Mediterranean. Turning back, she walked inside through the French doors. “You recall, I offered to look the script over.”

  “Yes, Darling, I remember, but I didn’t want to burden you so. You’re such a busy girl.”

  A mostly-filled crystal glass was offered to her.

  They sat on the sofa. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under.

  “The three previous environmental movies did much better, and”—he chuckled—“I now believe that was due to your insightful influence. I particularly loved your suggestion of using a rhetorical technique to use passive tense to glide around controversial issues. And putting progressives in a passive-aggressive position so as to contrast their reasonable moderation against conservative extremism was brilliant.”

  “And promising benefits without costs?” Her head cocked with a coy smile. “Did you like that?”

  “More brilliance!” He clinked glasses. “You, my dear, could have been a director, maybe a producer, with your instincts.”

  “You’re good for my ego. I dabble in the arts, and I’ve been known to turn a phrase, but I think making it a career would bore me. It’s so much more fun to kibitz.” She emitted a sweet smile, but hid her thoughts. You don’t need to know that I’ve been sending yours and your friends’ scripts to a public relations team on my payroll that specializes in environmental messaging.

  “You are too modest,” Robert continued. “Those three movies were dramatically improved by your emotional insights.”

  “You mean my suggestion you offer up scary scenarios; make simplified, dramatic statements; and refuse to admit doubts?”

  “Right. My writers never considered the angles you provided to pull the heartstrings of children and parents as we explored the plight of nature’s creatures…all threatened by rising CO2. And the anger in the messaging, I originally thought it would turn people off.”

  Her shoulder shrugged. “Studies show anger spreads faster through a social network than sadness, disgust”—she hesitated—“or joy.” She extended her near-empty glass for a refill

  “You were magnifique,” he said while pouring.

  “And you are too generous.” She coyly demurred.

  “Not at all. Many of my producer friends want to employ your services as a consultant. I know you’ve helped some already, but you did not take any pay. May I ask why?”

  “Once it becomes work, it’s no longer fun. Besides, each of you has contributed greatly to the critical foundations I suggested – those which support the earth’s environment. And you and your friends have provided your progressive films free, as teaching aids, to all the schools around the world. That’s reward enough.”

  Anna indulged in a 10-second pause as they admire
d the view, she of the sea, he of her. “Robert, I just had a crazy idea.”

  “Name, it my love.”

  “Would you want to do a movie on the greatest advancement for the earth, ever achieved?”

  His eyes widened and his smile expanded. “Sounds like a Cannes Film Festival winner, maybe an Oscar. What would that be?”

  “The elimination of CO2 as a pollutant, and the hero behind it.”

  “Sounds great!” He leaned forward with excitement. “Who’s the hero?”

  “Alexis Swanson.”

  “Really? Even better. No doubt you’d arrange unlimited access?”

  “But of course.”

  “When does this start?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Robert’s personal chef served the couple a simple, but elegant, dinner. And then he disappeared for the night.

  They were alone, drinking wine, chatting and laughing about nothing in particular – the French Riviera social scene, food and wines, music, and especially movies. Their light touches helped renew their physical affection for each other. When the second bottle emptied, they quietly walked to the bedroom.

  Both were partly under the sheets. Anna’s head rested on Robert’s shoulder as he stoked her long, wavy hair. It was four in the morning and the early morning breeze, cool off the Mediterranean, fluttered the sheer curtains. Ambient light from the Casino and the city lights added warmth to the room and a glow to her bare back.

  Now, in this early morning, the sun was still hours from rising, both were exhausted from their physical pleasures, yet neither could asleep.

  Robert leaned toward her. “Anna, you seem distant. Do you want to talk?”

  She snuggled a little closer as darkness pulled at her from deep within her soul. Hiding her eyes from him she watched the billowing curtains create ominous shapes, some mimicking the painting. Her voice was small. “It’s nothing.”

  “Never tell a movie producer something is nothing. We’re famous for making nothing into something.”

  “Which do we have? Something...or nothing.”

  “You and me? We’ve got that ‘old shoe comfort.’”

  Her head moved slightly side to side. “I guess that’s something, but it’s not very romantic.” Beams of city lights cast shadows onto the moving curtains, which appeared to be in combat. She watched the curtains tangle and untangle.

  “After two failed marriages, I finally figured that that romantic love’s a biochemical illusion. It works for the movies but not real life. No, what we’ve got is much better.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s satisfying but without entanglement.”

  “Robert, are you satisfied?”

  “Of course. Aren’t you?”

  She sighed. “I should be. I’m getting everything I think I’ve wanted.”

  “Don’t worry. Happiness is a state of mind. You just have to pretend you’re happy...and you will be.”

  She asked softly, “Do you believe in the message within the environmental films you make?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Perhaps not,” she nearly whispered.

  “I think it provides us a forum to drive home a bigger message.”

  “What do you see as the bigger message?”

  “That humanity’s self-destructive and needs to be controlled.”

  “That’s what Swanson keeps saying.”

  “And he’s right. While I use movies, he’s using the carbon issue as his means to implement greater controls—”

  “You really think CO2’s causing global warming?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “Timothy Wirth—”

  “Former Democratic senator and President of the UN Foundation?”

  “Yes. He once told me over drinks, if I may paraphrase, ‘We've got to ride this global warming issue. Even if the theory of global warming is wrong, we will be doing the right thing in terms of economic and environmental policy.’”

  “You mentioned greater controls. Controls on what exactly?” she asked.

  “On population, for instance. There are too many people for the planet to support. Earth is running out of resources. We’re not a sustainable species. Someone needs to step in and take control.”

  “And who would that someone be?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Malthusians – those of us who ‘get it.’ Those of us in the political, economic, media, and military circles who share decisions having global consequences. We have the skills to affect policy, to steer society toward a better, simpler lifestyle. Without us, there’s no future.”

  “What’s your definition of a Malthusian?”

  “Someone who follows the theory of Malthus.”

  Anna groaned in annoyance.

  “He was an English scholar who published papers 200 years ago,” he said.

  “What about?”

  “That population increases faster than the means of subsidence and that this imbalance leads to war, famine, and disease to check the population.”

  “So, the Mathusians know how to fix society? And you’re one of them?”

  “Anna, you are too. It’s not an actual dues-paying group. It’s the elites of society…the top of the pyramid. We should be in command, because we understand what needs to happen.”

  “What does that really mean, Robert?”

  “It means most of humanity needs to get back to basics.”

  “You think you and I living the better, simpler lifestyle?” Her question was loaded with sarcasm.

  He chuckled. “I said most. Not everyone has to, though I have taken steps to cut down my carbon footprint. I’ve cut down on red meat, and I installed some LED bulbs…. Look, those of us who drive the message have certain privileges…remember Al Gore? He really got this movement going. He has a huge carbon footprint, yet without him, where would we be?”

  “He’s a buffoon.”

  “Perhaps, but a rich one – so what? He’s entitled to the billion or so he’s made off global warming, as long as he’s pushing our agenda forward.”

  “You said there are too many people…Is there a right number of people for the planet?”

  “Depends upon whom you ask.”

  “I’m asking you, and only you.”

  “I’d say two billion.”

  She raised herself up on an elbow. “But there’s about eight billion right now. What happens to the other six?”

  “Hey, my numbers are higher than some others. My CNN buddy Ted Turner said some years back, ‘A total population of 250-300 million people, a 95% decline from present levels, would be ideal.’ He’s a major UN donor, and we’ve discussed this as a movie idea. One of the Earth First co-founders, Dave Foremand, said his three main goals were ‘to reduce human population to about 100 million worldwide, destroy the industrial infrastructure and see wilderness, with its full complement of species, returning throughout the world.’”

  “You’re on quite a roll.”

  “Be as sarcastic as you want, my dear. Some radicals want to eliminate humanity entirely from the earth. Those guys see humanity as a virus.”

  “We’re a virus?” she asked incredulously.

  “Sure, consider the earth as a host, and everyone is a virus. Can a virus exist on its own?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “It lives off its host like we live off the earth, contributing nothing positive to the host. We exist and replicate. Once the virus controls all its host’s internal processes, it uses the host to produce more viruses. That’s just the way humanity abuses earth’s resources to ensure the survival of its own species. Mankind has seen the environment as an object to serve human needs. The new viruses then leave the cell, either a few at a time or all at once, rupturing the cell membrane and killing the host.”

  “Who came up with this tripe?” Her voice was tinged with disgust.

  “None other than Gaia theorist and environmentalist James Lovelock. He’s a renowned scientist who spearheaded the scientific s
tudy of global warming and formulated the Gaia Theory, which describes Earth as a living organism.” Robert maintained a pleasant tone.

  “So he essentially thinks Earth is a god?”

  “Goddess,” Robert corrected. “But, yes, pretty much. It was up to us movie makers to really popularize the concept so we could indoctrinate others. Ever see The Matrix?”

  She nodded.

  “In it, Agent Smith compares humanity to a virus, a disease organism that would replicate uncontrollably and eventually destroy the environment were it not for the machine intelligence keeping them in check. Well, we Progressives are the machine.”

  “I saw the movie, but didn’t realize the virus analogy was a real concept meant to manipulate the gullible. So Lovelock initiated the idea?”

  “He, like many environmentalists, believes our increasing pressure is forcing the planet to respond like a human immune system. Come on. You’ve heard some of the commercials I’ve made? Earth pushes back, pokes him, kicks her, whacks them upside the head and gives them headaches, steps on your foot, you know, typical responses to bully tactics. It’s some of my best work!”

  “But those commercials targeted little kids. I mean, really Robert, it’s pretty sophomoric to actually think adults believe Earth has a temperature, and thus, retaliates, with an earthquake no less.”

  His head pulled back. “Ow, that hurts!”

  “Forgive me. I’m just as much to blame for having given you many of the ideas. I know it’s always been about capturing the minds of children.”

  Through the gauzy curtains Anna could see a rosy dawn. There would be no sleep now. “Okay, I’ll change the topic a little. How did you derive your preferred population number?”

  “I’m more in sync with the UN Global Biodiversity Assessment”

  “Which says what?”

  “That ‘A reasonable estimate for an industrialized world society at the present North American material standard of living would be 1 billion. At the more frugal European standard of living, 2 to 3 billion would be possible.’"