Aftershock (5 page)

‘I wish I'd told him I suffer from claustrophobia,' Harry announced.

‘What!' Terry Mitcham exclaimed as they strapped themselves into the seats.

‘Lighten up, Terry. I'm kidding!' Harry said, rolling his eyes.

It was surprisingly quiet inside the
Cousteau
. They could just hear a slight lowering in the note of the engine as the submarine dipped beneath the surface. They had been left in the main passenger compartment which could hold 20, in five rows of four, while Michael Xavier joined the captain on the bridge at the front of the vessel. There were no portholes, but the two journalists could view outside the craft on seatback screens. As the submarine descended, the murkiness clouding the external cameras began to clear and the gorgeous vista of the Fijian coastal seabed and crystal clear waters of the Pacific Ocean came into view. ‘Certainly beats the London Aquarium,' Terry Mitcham said.

Five minutes later, the submarine reached cruising depth and levelled out. A hostess in a red uniform came round with drinks and canapés. The voice of the captain announced that they would be arriving at the Neptune in 10 minutes.

As the submarine docked, the passengers felt a gentle nudge and heard a hiss as the locks were sealed. Michael Xavier appeared from the bridge. ‘Well, gentlemen, I hope you had a pleasant trip,' he said. ‘We've docked. If you would come this way.'

The airlock of the
Cousteau
opened onto a narrow corridor surrounded by concertinaed reinforced rubber. It was brightly lit and carpeted. Emerging into the hotel proper, the two guests met a man who looked strikingly similar to Michael Xavier. He had his hand outstretched.

‘My brother, Johnny,' Michael Xavier explained. ‘Johnny is Head of Operations here. The man at the sharp end.'

‘Pleased to meet you,' Johnny said and indicated they should follow him.

The group passed along a short passageway and saw ahead of them a bank of elevators. They ascended, the elevator drew to a halt and they stepped out into a wide corridor. Johnny Xavier led the way to the main reception, explaining how the place was constructed and going through some of the mind-boggling statistics associated with the project.

The two newcomers stopped, stunned, and looked around the huge space, mouths agape. It was truly awe-inspiring, a reception that would perfectly suit a major five-star hotel in any city. An expanse of white marble stretched from where they stood to the perimeter of the circular room. Several passageways led off the space, and directly ahead stood a wide opening that connected with the next dome, Dome Beta. Beside this was a curved reception desk made from exotic dark wood. The ceiling was four storeys above their heads, adding to the sense of vast open space. A square arrangement of four gigantic crystal-and-brushed-steel chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and in the centre of the room stood a massive sculpture of the god Neptune, rendered in steel. His muscular metal arms stretched upwards, catching the light from the suspended illuminations. But perhaps the most impressive feature of the place was the perimeter of the room. It was a circle of clear glass, 6 metres high, opening onto the natural glory of the ocean beyond. The visitors were struck dumb.

‘Good God!' Harry said simply.

‘Pretty impressive, isn't it?' Johnny Xavier said. ‘I still get tingles when I walk in here and I've been living with it for what seems like a lifetime. It all looks a bit sterile right now, but in under 24 hours it should be buzzing.'

‘The Grand Opening.'

‘Correct.'

‘What's planned?'

‘Should be quite an evening,' Johnny Xavier remarked. ‘As journalists, you're very privileged to be coming,' he added with an air of self-importance. ‘We've had to turn down several A-listers. But we should have enough celebrity glamour to please your cameras. Kristy Sunshine is performing and Danny Preston will be cutting the ribbon, so to speak.' He gave his guests a brief, rather patronising smile, and Harry suddenly got the distinct impression Johnny did not have much time for journalists. Or else the man felt insecure about something. Either way, Harry had taken an instant dislike to him. ‘Danny Preston?' he said. ‘I thought he was dead.'

Terry stifled a laugh.

‘How many guests are expected?' Harry went on.

Johnny Xavier fixed the journalist with an unfriendly stare. ‘Ninety-six,' he said crisply. ‘A gala dinner, followed by the official opening. The guests will all be staying at the hotel of course. It marks the launch of a massive global media campaign, of which you are at the forefront, and we plan to be welcoming our first paying customers in two weeks.'

‘Exciting.'

‘Yes, it is.'

‘All right, let's continue the tour,' Michael Xavier said, and led the way across the echoing marble floor. The visitors gazed around them, paying little heed to where they were going. They could see circular galleries on the floors above the huge girdle of glass.

‘Above us, around the rim on the first floor, are staff areas, offices, computer control centres,' Michael Xavier said. ‘Above that, on the second and third floors, are two of our four restaurants, Sandbanks and Marianas. If you come this way, the main corridor ahead leads into Dome Beta, the accommodation area.'

A huge spiral staircase dominated the centre of Dome Beta. It swept around in a swirl of marble and chrome. Looking up, Harry and Terry could see three circular balconies. Bridges stretched from the spiral staircase to the balconies on each of the floors. The top of the dome was capped with a steel hemisphere.

Through a pair of 8 metre high doors, the journalists were led into Dome Gamma. ‘This is the recreation dome,' Michael Xavier explained. ‘The top floor is a huge pool area with a ballroom and a restaurant leading off of it. The whole area can be opened up as a single, free-flowing entertainment zone. On the second floor is the cinema and a theatre, on the first are a set of conference rooms and here on ground level we have the casino. The floors are connected by these escalators.' He pointed to a bank of three oversized moving staircases. ‘There's also a bank of elevators over here.' He led the others to the east wall. ‘Let's start at the top.'

The elevator took just a few seconds to ascend from ground to the top floor of the dome where it opened directly onto a vast open space. The pool ran the circumference of the massive room, and it was easy to imagine that swimming in it would at first be a disorientating experience. The walls were glass, offering a view onto the ocean over 50 metres below the surface. Swimming in the pool would feel like you were bathing with the fishes. In the centre of the room were the dining areas and the ballroom, all open-planned, ready for the big event.

‘It's spectacular,' Terry Mitcham declared.

Taking the escalators down to the second floor gave the men a true sense of the scale of the place as the glass roof slipped away behind them. Stepping off the escalator they found themselves in a large rectangular space. Several sets of doors led off, left and right.

‘To the right is the theatre,' Johnny Xavier said. ‘It seats 100, and we have some major shows booked, including some acts that have just completed residencies in Vegas. To the left,' and he indicated a couple of opened doors, ‘is the cinema. Here...'

A incredibly loud bang resonated throughout the dome, followed by a high-pitched whine. Harry Flanders dived to the floor, his hands over his head. Terry Mitcham froze in terror. Another tremendous bang hit them and a burst of lemon light shot from the opened doors to their left. Then silence.

Johnny Xavier bent down to help Harry to his feet. ‘We are a little jumpy, aren't we, Mr Flanders?' he grinned. ‘It's just the techs testing the cinema system!'

‘You really should take a look at this, Kristy. It's amazing!'

Brett Littleton was standing, hands on hips, staring through the 3-metre-tall window girdling the room. He felt as though he was standing in the centre of a vast fish tank. The outside of the hotel was lit up by huge floodlights embedded in the ocean floor. A giant turtle swam past, gliding low over the soft coral that burst into random red and orange shapes close to the north-facing panel. A school of tiny, silver fish – there must have been a thousand of them – wove a path close to the window and then dashed away like the swish of a curtain. ‘I've never seen anything like this,' he added.

‘Yeah, yeah, blah, blah,' Kristy Sunshine retorted.

Littleton sighed and wandered over to the sofa, picked up a remote and pointed it at a screen on a wide column in the middle of the room. The TV burst into life. It was set to
Fox News
, and the first images were those of grey warships cutting through the ocean, followed by a close-up of a sailor in combat gear manning a gun station on the deck. An American jet, an F18F, swooped down, seemingly out of nowhere and drew to a dead stop on the deck of an aircraft carrier. Then the images changed to the inside of a vast government chamber in China. The grave face of a minister reading something aloud. Brett stabbed the remote and the sound came up.

‘In Beijing, the Military Commission, the official security branch of the government, held a special meeting this morning...'

‘Oh please! Turn the thing off, Brett.' Kristy stood up and snatched the remote from her manager's outstretched hand. ‘That's the last thing I wanna hear right now.'

Brett Littleton glared at her, but he had learned long ago that when it came to Kristy, resistance was futile. It boiled down to a simple choice: keep quiet, or get fired. He kept quiet, sat down and stared at the blank screen.

Glancing over, he watched as she lowered herself to the thick cream carpet close to a coffee table. Snatching up a 100 dollar bill, she stuck one end up her nostril and ran the other end over the smooth varnished surface, hoovering up a line of white powder as she went. Placing a finger at each nostril in turn, she produced a brief indecorous snorting sound and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Littleton watched the girl's movements and thought for maybe the thousandth time what a terrible life the poor kid had. Sure, she was worth, what? Fifty mill? But on the way to such riches she had lost more than she could ever have hoped to gain. She was completely controlled, a slave to the media, a slave to cocaine, a slave to fame and adulation. He had never felt so sorry for anyone in his life.

She caught Littleton staring. ‘What's up, Brett? Still off the shit for a while?'

He nodded. ‘I think it's best I stay level-headed, don't you?'

She shrugged. ‘I hate this place. Gives me the creeps. Knew it would.'

‘God, I think it's fabulous.'

‘You would!'

He stood up and stared out at the panorama of the ocean again. He had never seen such diversity of life before, even in an aquarium. And this building ... what a feat of engineering. It was a technological miracle, barely conceivable.

Kristy Sunshine ran a hand across her forehead. ‘For God's sake. Can you pull the curtains. All that blue is giving me a headache. Not what I need, baby.'

‘There are no curtains,' Littleton said, a touch more bite in his voice than he had intended.

‘There are no curtains...' Kristy mimicked. ‘There must be fucking curtains.'

Littleton had paced over to a panel close to the TV. ‘The glass can be polarised to filter out the light,' he said. ‘Look.' And he depressed a button on a control panel fixed to the wall. Slowly, the glass darkened. ‘Weren't you paying any attention to Johnny or Michael when they escorted us up here, Kris?'

‘Well duh! Obviously, that would be a “no”.'

The singer pulled herself up from the coffee table and walked a little unsteadily towards a cabinet a few metres from where Littleton was standing. On top of the cabinet stood a small case containing more cocaine. She opened the lid and started to spoon some onto a tray as though it were sherbet.

‘Kris, do you really...?'

The girl whirled on her manager. She opened her mouth to speak just as the door buzzer sounded. Brett Littleton strode across the room. A young man with the face of a jaded angel, all cheekbones and black rings under his eyes, appeared at the edge of the door. He cleared his throat. ‘One hour to stage call, Miss...'

‘Thanks, Trent,' Littleton said and closed the door on the kid.

Hilary Xavier sat in front of the TV in the family's suite in the magnificent edifice her husband Michael had built and let the effects of the vodka soak through her. She blew a strand of peroxide blonde hair away from her face and when it fell back, she pulled it behind her ear irritably. She felt fat, but then she always felt fat, even if her doctor kept telling her to put on weight. She knew she drank too much, but she made up for it by not eating. That was supposed to keep the weight off, or at least that's what she'd read. She was always tired these days, and she felt old, much older than her 36 years.

She could hear her nine-year-old twins, Emily and Nick, in the next room, playing with the Wii. She was no longer paying any attention to the TV show, a rerun of
Will and Grace
. Her mind had started to wander, and when it wandered it always alighted on the same subject – her miserable life.

‘What the hell went wrong?' she said aloud to the room, her voice drowned out by the TV and the noise from next door. ‘I was clever once. Yes, clever. A First at Oxford, no less. Plenty under the bonnet, people used to say.
And
I was beautiful. Brains and beauty, a rare thing, not just a Porsche without an engine. But now ... now what? Here I am, mid thirties, a mother of twins, married to a billionaire. I have homes in London, New York, Santa Barbara and Monaco. I've had a racehorse named after me, for Christ's sake. I had the Rolling Stones perform at my thirtieth. The diamond of my engagement ring is the size of Madagascar, and yet I'm so unhappy I contemplate suicide
every single day
. How does that happen?'

She refilled her glass.

Yes, she had every material thing anyone could ever wish for, and more, and she loved her kids. But her marriage? That lay in tatters. Michael was a good man. Everyone loved Michael, but he was a lousy husband. She said it aloud. ‘Michael, you're a lousy husband.' That made her feel a little better. Once upon a time, they had been close, a great unit, a unit that had been fantastic for both of them. She had given him the stability he needed and she had been a damn good mother. ‘I'm a damn good mother,' she announced to the TV. But this, this
place
had taken over. Michael had effectively divorced her and married the Neptune Hotel. ‘Well, I hope it gives a good blow job,' she blurted into the glass and laughed loudly.

And then there was Johnny. Oh shit, Johnny. Why? Why had she done that? She suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of sadness hit her. She swallowed hard and gazed around the room. Her focus wasn't too good suddenly. A tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away with an angry swipe of her palm, smudging her makeup.

She refilled her glass.

All this was becoming so familiar. She drank to forget and then she had to put on a big act to make her kids believe she was sober. But sometimes, sometimes, she just wished she could really let go. ‘But what would I do?' she asked the TV. ‘Run away?' She started to giggle. ‘Oh, yeah!'

She went to refill her glass and realised the bottle was empty. Flinging it to one side of the sofa, she stood up. Reaching for another bottle on the cabinet, she slipped on a slice of lemon, started to crash forward into the array of bottles and just caught herself in time. At that moment, the door opened and Michael Xavier walked in.

‘What're you doing?'

‘What does it look like, Michael?'

Xavier sighed heavily and walked over to his wife. He went to put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched. He took a step back, looked at the floor and said, ‘Did you have to? Tonight?'

‘Tonight? Oh yes, it's your night of triumph, isn't it, my darling?'

Michael Xavier gave her an exasperated look that made her feel like a 10-year-old schoolgirl. It infuriated her. To cover her anger, she laughed, lost her balance again and gripped the edge of the cabinet to steady herself.

‘For God's sake, Hilary. What about the...?'

She glared at him. ‘Don't dare say: “What about the kids?” You wouldn't be that big a hypocrite.'

He gave Hilary another pitying glance, and the dam burst. She stepped towards her husband and went to slap him across the face. Catching her hand before it made contact, Michael tried to guide her to the sofa, but she pulled away, seething, her eyes aflame. ‘Don't!' she screamed. ‘We don't need you here, Michael. Go off to help the crews, help the staff, do something, anything, except be with us. The kids hardly know you anyway.'

Michael stared at her, expressionless. ‘This isn't the time...'

‘No, no, of course it isn't, dear. Never is the time, is it?'

‘Hilary, please.'

‘Please? Please? You don't need to say please. Michael dear, you do what you want. You always do. You don't need me. You don't need us.' And she waved her hand towards the next room.

Michael Xavier exhaled again. He felt exhausted. He knew he had been ignoring his family. Especially Hilary. He knew he had gone too far – knew their 11-year marriage was over. There had been no conscious decision to sacrifice it. Perhaps some subconscious impulse had driven him to choose the Neptune over her. But he never really had a choice. The two, the hotel and Hilary, had been mutually incompatible. Always would be. ‘I'm sorry,' he said, quietly.

Hilary turned away and refilled her glass.