Apocalypse (26 page)

‘We can look into the past.’

June 28, 14:18

Joaquin Abell stood alone in his private quarters, his hands behind his back as he looked out of a portal into a bleak, dark, underwater wilderness. Thick glass protected him
from the freezing water and the immense pressure outside, but the movement of the occasional fish fascinated him. Small, almost insignificant creatures, and yet they were perfectly adapted to the
world in which they lived, one in which humans required the benefits of technology to survive.

He felt strangely alone now that Katherine had gone. The darkness outside seemed a little closer than it once had, his world devoid of meaning. Joaquin closed his eyes and struggled with an
unfamiliar emotional turmoil. He called out to it, reeled it in, and then recoiled from the sensations that surged deep through his core, emotions that were as alien to him as the ancient creatures
scurrying across the seabed. He crushed the shame and regret, for they were the true obstacles to enlightenment, the Achilles’ Heel of success.
Stay the course
, he told himself,
and
all will be resolved
.
There is no gain without loss.

He felt uniquely privileged, standing down here, immune to the dangers of the world, his wealth and the technology of mankind enveloping him securely. And now he possessed a gift like no other,
the ability to predetermine his own future, to see literally what no man had ever seen before. Mankind had ceased long ago in his subservience to his environment, to be subject to the harsh
judgment of Mother Nature over those of her children who failed to adapt and thus to survive. But never had mankind believed it possible that he need not be enslaved by the bonds of cause and
effect.

Joaquin breathed deeply in the knowledge that he would never again fail in any endeavor, never again be defeated. For centuries, millennia even, mankind had dreamed of travelling through time,
of witnessing events from the past and those yet to come in the future, yet for all of that time the scientists and the dreamers had been doomed to failure. Only Joaquin, by way of his
father’s unique vision, had been able to come to the realization that the notion of
travelling through
time was itself the flaw in mankind’s thinking. Just as it was not
physically possible, with current technology, to travel through time, it was, in fact, not even necessary.

One only had to
see
through time.

The past surrounded every species that possessed sight, even the glass of the window through which Joaquin watched was, ever so slightly, a part of history. The distance is the past. Space is
the past. Warp that space enough, wrap it into a ball so tightly that not even light can escape, and then the path of time becomes so distorted that, for an observer close to its immense influence,
time elsewhere runs faster.

‘So simple,’ Joaquin whispered.

‘Sir?’

Joaquin blinked and turned to see one of his men holding a satellite phone. Joaquin strode across to him and took the phone in his hand.

‘Abell.’

The monotone voice on the other end of the line sounded out of breath.

‘It is done.’

Olaf Jorgenson had proven his loyalty to Joaquin a thousand times and, despite everything, Joaquin knew that without his friend, much of what he had achieved so far would never have occurred.
However, what nature had blessed the mighty Nordic with in terms of physical prowess it had taken from him in intelligence. The fool had exposed himself, and therefore was now a liability.

‘The authorities have a photo of you, Olaf,’ he said. ‘It is only a matter of time before they hunt you down.’

‘I can remain ashore for as long as you wish,’
Olaf replied.
‘My failure is my own.’

Joaquin felt a distant pinch of concern that felt like something from his childhood, a sense of abandonment and enforced solitude. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts.

Katherine was unlikely to be charged with any crime, but considering what had just happened it seemed almost certain that, before long, he himself would be subjected to investigation. The
prosecution could hardly fail to suspect that IRIS had somehow arranged the murder of Macy Lieberman. That was fine with him, just as long as they had no evidence of the Deep Blue facility in which
he stood. Charles Purcell had done his work well in trying to expose Joaquin’s work, but his vision of the future clearly had not gone far enough to anticipate Joaquin’s responses. With
the incriminating documents destroyed, the only thing preventing Joaquin from completing his greatest triumph was the possibility, however slim, that Purcell might somehow convince the authorities
that IRIS was responsible for the murder of his family.

‘How did Purcell contact the prosecution?’ he asked Olaf. ‘He must have spoken to them.’

‘He did not,’
Olaf replied with conviction.
‘He posted all of the documents, which have now been destroyed.’

Joaquin felt a new fear creep through him as he glanced around at the underwater facility he had built. Purcell could have posted more than one copy of those incriminating documents. It was, of
course, the greatest weakness he had. Over a hundred people had been involved in the construction of the lair, most of them employees devoted to the IRIS cause. A few, here and there, had come to
question Joaquin’s true motivations; but as with any complex construction program, tragic accidents occurred from time to time, and none of those individuals had been able to air their
concerns. When Charles Purcell had fled the complex after breaching protocol and viewing the future – a future that included the death of his own family – Joaquin had been forced to act
immediately and without hubris. Two hours later, Purcell’s family had been murdered and his colleagues killed in a tragic air crash. Now only Purcell remained, a victim of his own curiosity.
Had he not succumbed to the temptation of viewing the future, he would not be on the run now.

‘
It’s a wonder he hasn’t gone to the press and revealed the location of Deep Blue
,’ Olaf suggested.

‘There’s nothing on the news reports in the next few hours that suggests he’s gone to the media, and with his family terminated there is no danger of their exposing us,’
Joaquin explained. ‘And as long as our media-tycoon friend Robert Murtaugh plays ball, any attempt Purcell makes to expose his knowledge will be buried, and we’ll end up possessing any
testimony he might make to the press. Murtaugh’s network dominance will overwhelm any other media access to the story. Unless proven innocent, Purcell has no credibility and nobody to look
out for him.’

‘
That may not be quite true
.’

‘How so?’

‘
I was pursued by two cops, a man and a woman. I got away, but they were good. Too good to be normal detectives. Somebody else may be involved in this, people who might know what
Charles Purcell is trying to do
.’

Joaquin considered this for a moment, an image of Jarvis, Warner and Lopez hovering ominously in his mind. He made a decision.

‘Stand by, Olaf. Soon we will know where Charles Purcell is hiding. I will call you back as soon as I can.’

Joaquin cut the line off and turned to the soldier next to him.

‘Tell Dennis to extract the Florida camera, immediately.’

Dennis Aubrey watched as the robotic arm lifted Camera 7 from the black-hole chamber and set it gently down before replacing it with a new camera, set to record. From his
vantage point at the control-center panel, Dennis could see that the camera had been watching a screen that was tuned to one of the major Florida news networks.

Despite himself, Dennis was fascinated by the machine and found himself eagerly willing the camera out of the chamber.

So far, he had been able to watch the contents of only three of the cameras extracted from the chamber, but each piece of footage had riveted him. The flickering, grainy and entirely silent
images were nothing short of spectacular, and as Dennis had watched tomorrow’s news unfold before him he had found himself captivated by the ticking clock at the bottom-right corner of the
screen showing the time many hours in advance. There was no doubt about it: Joaquin had achieved something utterly unique, something that could change the balance of power in the world. Even as he
thought about it, Dennis found himself enveloped by a fear that, wherever that power went, tragedy would follow it.

He looked across the control panel to a series of radio stacks that controlled communications between the Deep Blue facility and the
Event Horizon
, and the yacht’s onboard satellite
receivers that picked up the news channels. A buoy tethered to the facility floated just under the water’s surface, some two thousand feet above. Its depth was controlled by an automatic
flotation bladder that was itself connected to a communications room on the opposite side of the Deep Blue complex. A series of radio transmitters and aerials extended from the concealed buoy up
and out of the water. Barely visible on the surface, the aerials enabled both radio and satellite phone communications in all but the wildest of weather. However, the radio was currently disabled,
and could be reactivated only via an access code on the control panel – further evidence that Joaquin did not want Aubrey contacting anybody on the surface.

Aubrey reached into his pocket and retrieved his cellphone, scrolling through his contact list until he found the name he was looking for
.
Just one call and he could reveal everything.
Fear warred with loyalty to Katherine in his mind, and he stared down at the number intently as he tried to figure out how to tell her. He wondered briefly if he could use the communications room
directly in order to bypass the access code.

‘What news, Dennis?’

Dennis flinched as Joaquin’s voice crackled across the chamber. He slipped his cellphone discreetly back into his pocket and turned as he strode up toward him.

‘Camera 7 is ready,’ he reported. ‘I was just about to play it.’

Aubrey busied himself with downloading the files from the camera into the control panel’s database, watching as the information bars slowly filled and racking his brain for some way to
convince Joaquin to give him access to the communications room.

‘How do you know that the governor and his friends won’t simply tell the government about this facility?’ he asked. ‘Any one of them could be overcome with moral
righteousness, especially Benjamin Tyler.’

‘They are greedy men,’ Joaquin replied impatiently, ‘obsessed with power and image. They won’t be able to overcome their vanity.’

Aubrey wondered at the depths of Joaquin’s delusion, that he could say such things and be oblivious to the fact that he was describing himself. Aubrey mastered his fear and pressed
further.

‘You’re in danger of pushing them too far,’ he cautioned. ‘Resentment forces men of power to do stupid things. Perhaps you should ask Katherine down here. Her influence
might calm them, convince them to follow you.’

Joaquin’s jaw clenched beneath his tanned skin.

‘Katherine has gone to work on one of our charity projects in the Dominican Republic,’ he snapped. ‘She won’t be coming here.’

‘But she might be able to help us—’

‘Nobody will oppose us!’ Joaquin shouted. ‘By the time I’ve finished with them here, they’ll do anything I say!’ The tycoon’s rage subsided as quickly
as it had arrived. He smiled and clapped Aubrey on the back. ‘But I thank you for your concern. Now, play the damned tape.’

Aubrey pressed play. Immediately the image of the Florida news station appeared, racing forward at double speed. Aubrey squinted as he tried to follow the rapidly changing screens and the
silently jabbering anchors. Images of the Florida coastline, a Coastguard rescue, and the words falling silently from the moving lips of the anchors: a train wreck down Tampa way; a fugitive chase
down the interstate; a murder suspect charged with . . .

‘There, that’s it!’ Joaquin pointed at the screen.

Aubrey paused the image, rewound it to the beginning of the piece, and then set it playing at half its normal speed. Now, the images and the anchor’s motions and lips appeared to move at
normal speed, only the occasional flare of energy flickering to disrupt the image.

As the anchor mouthed her silent words at the camera, an image of Charles Purcell appeared behind her, captured from a holiday snap with his wife and daughter. Dennis Aubrey felt a terrible pang
of impotent despair as he saw the beautiful woman and their angelic child, now lying in a morgue somewhere in Florida.

‘It’s just a piece on the manhunt for him,’ Aubrey said, reading the anchor’s lips.

Joaquin shook his head and leaned closer to the screen.

‘They did that already, or rather they
will
do. This is new.’

Suddenly the image changed. A police cordon, tape strung between the twisted branches of mangroves way out in what Aubrey guessed was the Everglades. Aubrey saw that there were no police cars,
the scene attended by small hovercrafts, the only type of vehicle able to access the immense swamplands.

‘They’ll find a body,’ Joaquin guessed.

Aubrey glanced at the clock on the lower portion of the screen. The news report was from less than two hours’ time. The shot of the Everglades disappeared as the anchor reappeared in the
frame, with the shot of Charles Purcell beside her. Now, the scrolling text beneath her ran with new information:

Joaquin stood up from the screen.

‘Charles, your time is about to come to an end.’

Aubrey looked at Joaquin in confusion. ‘You think that the police killed him?’

Joaquin shook his head as he reached for the satellite phone on the control panel, whilst retrieving his access card and opening a communication channel.

‘It would have said so,’ he decided.

‘Then who did it?’

Joaquin smiled as he held the phone to his ear. ‘We did, Dennis.’