The Last Gasp, page 57
Cheryl ruffled Dan’s hair and he squirmed away, embarrassed.
‘Don’t! I’m all right.’
‘I certainly hope so.’ Cheryl frowned at Chase accusingly.
Nick chipped in, ‘He was perfectly okay in Princeton. Jen said he ate like a horse.’ He winked at Dan. ‘Must have been all that female cosseting.’
The four of them were in Chase’s hotel room on West 110th Street, overlooking Central Park. This side of town, and further east to Park Avenue, had once been the most expensive and exclusive real estate in New York. The big apartment blocks had housed the wealthiest, most successful and most famous residents of Manhattan. It was still high-price, even though many had given up and moved out – way out – some as far as Oregon and Washington State, where the air was still breathable.
Here in the city the apartment complexes and larger hotels, such as this one, had been made into sealed enclosures, with clean, oxygen-enriched air pumped through the guest suites and public reception rooms.
Chase stood looking out at the murk over Central Park; even if there’d been something to see he wouldn’t have seen it. He felt restless and nervous.
‘Is Madam Van Dorn expecting you?’ Cheryl asked him, the ‘Madam’ sounding distinctly frosty.
‘Yes, but she’s got a heavy schedule today. She’s giving her annual Special Rapporteur report to the General Assembly.’
‘I still don’t understand, Gavin.’ Cheryl wished he’d turn around to face her; he’d been staring out at nothing for the last ten minutes. ‘You’ve always insisted that we have to change people’s attitudes first: that unless we achieve that, no real progress is possible, politically or scientifically. That was the whole idea behind your book and Midnite-Net, wasn’t it?’
After a moment, Chase nodded.
‘And yet you’ve agreed to this.’ Cheryl shook her head, puzzled and frustrated. Not only did she not understand it, she was baffled also by his reluctance to discuss it. This wasn’t a bit like Gavin. ‘We’ve got our hands full already with Midnite-Net and the media campaign and the national tour and your speaking dates – some of which you’ve had to give up on.’ There was resentment in her tone.
‘There’s no reason why Midnite-Net shouldn’t carry on as before,’ Chase said. ‘But I happen to believe that this could succeed, or at least has a chance of succeeding. It could make a positive difference.’
‘You mean a practical solution? But you’ve always said that unless we can change people, change the way they think, nothing else is worth a damn. Don’t you believe that any more?’
‘I also believe that as scientists we have a duty to sort out this mess – if it can be sorted out.’
At last he turned to her. ‘Why do you think your father spent years of his life on a lump of rock in the middle of the Pacific? Because he wanted to use his gifts, his talents, whatever, in the service of mankind. That’s what he was best fitted for. So was he wrong? Was his life wasted?’
Their eyes met and locked, yet it seemed to Cheryl that this time – and it had never happened before – she couldn’t see inside him.
It was Chase who broke away, turning back to the dismal view, and Cheryl said, ‘What do you think, Nick?’
‘To be honest, I’m not really sure.’ Nick leaned back, hands clasped behind his balding head. He gnawed his lip above the frizzy fringe of beard. ‘In theory there’s no reason why we couldn’t undo the harm we’ve done. That’s point number one. Point number two is how do we do it. Point number three – assuming we find the answer to point number two – is do we have the urge and the will to change things?’
‘What do you mean, the urge?’ Dan asked. He was hunched forward on the arm of the couch, chin propped in his hand.
‘I mean that the human race seems to have a collective death wish. It’s like somebody who accepts that cigarettes cause lung cancer and still carries on smoking. We’ve known for decades we were damaging the environment, and look what we do: the response of a supposedly intelligent species.’ His elbows lifted in a shrug. ‘Just keep right on doing the same.’
‘But is there any chance? What do you think?’ Cheryl said.
‘What, of finding a scientific solution?’ Nick nodded slowly. ‘I think there is. I hope there is. Providing it’s organised properly and the funds are available.’
Cheryl was studying the back of Chase’s head. ‘Well, they’ve got the organiser lined up, haven’t they,’ she said, a small frown on her lightly freckled face. ‘That only leaves the money.’
There was a further silence, and then Chase said, ‘The money has been guaranteed. Ingrid Van Dorn and Senator Prothero have arranged it.’
‘The UN is funding it?’ Cheryl said in plain disbelief.
Chase turned finally and met her gaze. ‘No, not the UN. Other sources. Corporate finance. Trust funds. Wealthy private individuals. That’s one of the matters I want to discuss with them.’ He looked at his watch. ‘In fact I’d better go; I’ll try and catch Ingrid before her speech.’
Cheryl didn’t say anything.
There was an expression on her face that Chase couldn’t read, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.
2
The luminous dial of his watch read 4:17 a.m. Chase squinted at it and lay back on the pillow. He stared up at the shadowed ceiling, knowing that sleep would never come. There was too much on his mind. Cheryl knew he was holding something back – her silence told him that.
Slipping out of bed, taking care not to disturb her, he put on his dressing gown and went into the living room. He didn’t switch on the light. The bottles on the cabinet gleamed temptingly, but instead he fumbled his way to an armchair and sat down.
Sooner or later he would have to tell her. The inevitable was near; in fact it was here and now, he realised, when he saw her pale form in the bedroom doorway.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Chase said unnecessarily. ‘Sorry if I woke you.’
‘You didn’t.’ Cheryl came into the room. ‘Do you want some coffee?’
Chase shook his head before it occurred to him that she wasn’t able to see him properly. ‘No thanks.’
He heard a rustle as she settled herself on the couch and arranged her robe to cover her legs. Neither of them spoke for a minute.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Tell you?’ Chase said obtusely.
‘Yes, tell me,’ Cheryl said deliberately, ‘instead of me having to drag it out of Nick.’
‘You asked him?’
‘Of course I did. It was obvious there was something wrong. I was waiting – hoping you’d tell me yourself.’
‘I had to get it straight in my own mind first.’
‘Get it straight?’ Cheryl said in outrage and astonishment. ‘What the fuck is there to get straight? Gelstrom is funding the project and you didn’t have the guts to tell me.’
‘It isn’t that simple.’
‘It couldn’t be more simple,’ Cheryl contradicted him. Her voice was suddenly quiet and calm. It was a serious sign. ‘Do I really have to remind you? A man who made a fortune supplying toxic chemicals to the army; who for years was in collusion with the Pentagon, hatching a cosy little plan to kill every living thing on this planet. And now – sweet Jesus, talk about poetic justice – because he’s been stricken with the disease he wanted to inflict on everyone else, this guy has a change of heart. Well, well – and get this for a sick joke – all at once he decides to switch sides, to become the saviour of mankind instead of its executioner. Does that cover everything? I think it does.’
‘Nothing can save him,’ Chase said patiently. ‘Gelstrom is dying. He’s beyond hope. He’s not doing this for himself.’
‘So what is it? Some kind of “grand final gesture”?’ Cheryl exclaimed with ponderous sarcasm. ‘Well, sure, of course, that changes everything. Forget what’s happened before and welcome him back into the fold. Hey! – I bet he’s really a great guy at heart, fond of his grey-haired old mother, had a tough upbringing—’
‘Cheryl, please listen.’ Chase leaned towards her. ‘Gelstrom isn’t behind this project; can’t you understand that?’ His voice had risen. He glanced at Dan’s door, then went on in a lowered tone, ‘He’s not involved in any way.’
‘Except for the small matter of – what, two, three billion dollars.’
‘Does it matter where the money comes from? Money is money.’ Chase said it without knowing if he believed it.
‘I can’t accept that. I can’t even begin to understand what you’re saying. How can you, of all people . . . knowing what that man has done? For God’s sake—’ She broke off, fighting down emotion. ‘My God, Gav, it does matter about the money – of course it does!’
Cheryl stood up and he heard her rummaging about in the darkened room. A moment later something solid and heavy with sharp corners hit him on the chest and winded him.
‘Read your own goddamn book!’ Cheryl stood next to the armchair, breathing hard. ‘It’s all there: how companies made fortunes by raping the world and quietly disposing of anyone who got in their way. How a few scientists tried to warn people what was happening and ended up dead for their trouble. One of them was a marine biologist called Theo Detrick, you might remember. You ought to read the book, Gav. It might jog your memory about a few things you’ve obviously forgotten.’
Chase placed the book on the table. There wasn’t anything Cheryl could say that he hadn’t already thought about and agonised over. He was even prepared to concede that she was right; morally right, at any rate. But moral rightness or wrongness wasn’t the issue. He had to work on the project; it was a compulsive feeling as strong as any he’d ever felt in his life. Right or wrong didn’t stand a chance.
Chase said, ‘You’ve discussed this with Nick. How does he feel about it?’
‘He thinks you’ve taken leave of your senses.’
‘Then he must have changed his mind within forty-eight hours,’ Chase said. ‘I told him about Gelstrom – everything, the whole story – on the way back from Desert Range. His exact words were, “Money is the means to an end, not an end in itself. If the guy wants to pay for his sins, why try to stop him?”’
‘You didn’t tell him that Gelstrom murdered my father.’
‘No,’ Chase said, ‘that’s true. I didn’t. The reason is simple. We don’t know for sure if Gelstrom was responsible. It could have been an accident, Cheryl, a heart attack—’
Cheryl laughed, an ugly, harsh sound. She said, ‘What the fuck is this? A gathering of the Joseph Earl Gelstrom Appreciation Society?’
Chase couldn’t see her face but he knew its expression. She spoke with a virulence he’d never heard before. ‘At least Nick has principles. At least he believes in them and sticks to them.’
Well, well, well. A true-confession therapy session had been going on here while he was seeing Ingrid Van Dorn, it appeared. No wonder when he got back to the hotel he’d walked into an atmosphere you could have cut with a blunt shovel.
‘All right,’ Chase said consolingly. ‘I hear what you say. So where do we go from here?’
‘I guess that’s up to you.’
‘I’ve given them my answer.’ Chase was firm. ‘I can’t go back on it.’
‘Then I guess you have my answer too.’
A horrible sickening chill swept through him, right to his stomach.
Chase took a deep final breath and said, ‘I’m not doing this for Prothero or Van Dorn, for Gelstrom or for myself. If you can’t see why I’m doing this, Cheryl, if you won’t understand – then you and I have nothing more to say to each other.’
‘No,’ Cheryl said. She was tight-lipped and dry-eyed. ‘I didn’t think we had.’
2036
1
1
In the opinion of Colonel Gavril Burdovsky, the woman was perfect. He had chosen her himself and therefore had cause to feel smug and self-congratulatory. He was also aroused by her – one of the reasons he thought her ideally suited for this assignment. Unfortunately this left him with a gnawing ache that could only be assuaged by Natassya Pavlovitch’s smooth firm body. The fact that he was an obese, balding man of fifty-seven and she a beautiful young woman of twenty-four was a trivial incompatibility.
‘I trust you have everything you require,’ said the colonel, sitting on the corner of the desk and swinging a short bulbous leg in an attempt to make this final briefing casual, friendly – and dare he hope? – intimate. ‘The black silk underwear is satisfactory?’ There was a slight tremor in his voice at the mention of this item.
‘Yes. Thank you, sir.’ Natassya Pavlovitch was brisk, impersonal. She had been too well trained to display emotion in front of a superior.
Colonel Burdovsky nodded and stroked his pencil-thin moustache. The moustache was real, but it looked artificial, as if a strip of black paper had been stuck to his broad wax-like face with its hanging jowls.
‘Good. Excellent,’ murmured Burdovsky, for a moment lost in contemplation of the pale curve of her neck at the point where it disappeared into the enticing shadow beneath the collar of her dark grey woollen suit. That the rest of her should be so soft and warm and pliable . . .
He cleared his throat and said gruffly, ‘You have all you need. Excellent.’
‘I do have a question, if the colonel will permit.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Burdovsky slid down awkwardly from the desk, straightened the tail flap of his uniform with an abrupt tug and strolled behind her chair, hands clasped behind his plump buttocks.
Natassya looked straight ahead, speaking to the desk. ‘Do we have no intelligence at all, Colonel, regarding Zone Four? The reports give no indication whatsoever of the research being carried out there.’
‘There are a number of speculations, but nothing definite. The Americans thought they were being very clever in allowing our scientific people to inspect their facilities at Starbuck Island. Of course it was to satisfy us that the research was solely in connection with the Final Solution programme.’
He came to stand close behind her, breathing in her perfume. ‘We are not that stupid, Leytenánt Pavlovitch. It was noted that parts of the island were off-limits to our inspection teams, and therefore it was necessary to instigate this series of operations.’ Burdovsky unclasped his hands and placed them lightly on her shoulders, experiencing a sensation that was at once stimulating and extremely uncomfortable in his tight uniform. ‘From the reports we know that the operatives who preceded you met with considerable difficulty in obtaining intelligence on Zone Four, which has led, as you know, to this new type of approach . . .’ His stubby fingers touched her neck. Her skin felt cool, and yet his fingertips burned. ‘And to you, Leytenánt, being personally selected by me to undertake the assignment.’
‘I understand that, Colonel.’ Her voice was totally without expression. She might have been carved out of stone. His fingers roamed lower, feeling for the hollows formed by her collarbones.
Natassya said crisply, ‘The reports are quite explicit in having discovered nothing at all about the activities in Zone Four.’
Explicit they were, thought Burdovsky, with one crucial omission: that of the three operatives sent to Starbuck as members of the scientific inspection teams, two had failed to return. Their reports had been culled from notes and tapes left with their colleagues. As for the third operative, he had returned, but had no information to add to the sketchy findings thus far.
‘We are satisfied that the Americans have cooperated fully in their research into various techniques of mass extermination.’ Burdovsky’s fingers strayed down inside the woollen collar. ‘But Starbuck Island is being used for some other purpose, which they do not wish to reveal.’ He could feel the gentle slopes of her breasts, rising and falling with each steady breath. ‘And it is vital that we learn what that is. Absolutely vital.’ His voice sank to a throaty whisper. ‘I know you will not fail me . . .’
In a calm, unhurried movement Natassya Pavlovitch removed his chubby paws and rose to her feet, towering statuesquely above him like an Amazon confronting a Pygmy. ‘You may have every confidence that I will do my duty, Colonel Burdovsky. I thank you for this opportunity to be of service.’
With trembling regret, he watched her leave, the fleshy palms of his hands damp.
2
The lip of the sun crept over the straight edge of the horizon: a sharply defined and perfectly symmetrical arc of vivid orange that widened and deepened until the entire glowing orb stood precariously balanced on the rim of the world. At this hour it was possible to stare it full in the face. But not for long; for in minutes the first faint rays lanced through the cool air, bathing the onlooker in a virulent wash of solar radiation unchecked by the tenuously thin ozone layer.
For Chase, unable to sleep, it brought back poignant memories. He was reminded of that other sunrise, nearly a quarter of a century ago on a bitterly cold, inhospitable continent, when as a young man he had been filled with unbounded optimism and the promise of all the years stretching ahead into the golden future. Then it had seemed as if nothing would be denied him, that anything and everything was possible.
But the possibilities had dwindled one by one, the options had been annulled – until he was left with only the bleak reality of the inescapable present.
Below the desert scrub, secure beneath thick slabs of concrete and steel, another day was beginning. Not for the first time, nor probably the last, Chase wondered at the purpose of this ceaseless activity. Every day for the past four years, ever since the scientists and technical staff had assembled here in the refurbished silo complex, work had gone ahead to solve a problem so vast that it numbed the imagination. Was it all just a grand illusion, or more aptly, delusion? What folly to think that their puny efforts could achieve anything – what arrogance! Cheryl had been right, maybe for the wrong reasons, but she had been right all the same.
