Dark Matter (25 page)

'I wish them well of course.'

Here it comes
, thought Jane.

'However I believe that they have missed an historic opportunity.'

'Oh, how so?' 

'Well this could have been, would have been a much more important exercise if it had been a US, European and Russian exercise.  That would have been a truly multi-national exercise and could have formed the basis for other even larger exercises in the future.  As it is, well, like I say I wish them luck.'

'You doubt the outcome of the exercise?'

'Let me just say,' the ambassador continued, 'that I am sure the military exercise will proceed well and that they will issue a unified memorandum of its positive outcomes.  However to spend such money and to limit its scope to three countries seems, well, short sighted at the very least.'

Now we are getting somewhere
, Jane thought.

'Unfortunately, this was not a European initiative and therefore there was no requirement for any of the participants to consult with the EU, or the UN for that matter.' 

The quality of his voice had changed, Jane noted, gone was the more pleasant, melodic quality, replaced by a sharper, more abrupt tone.  The French Ambassador clearly felt that Europe, the UN, and particularly the French should have been consulted, if not directly included.

The remainder of the interview revealed nothing more, however the French being good hosts were not ones to rush through anything.  Eventually Jane and George managed to depart, both feeling that there could be a good story in this for them after all.

Now for the big one,
thought Jane,
China.

16:50
              09 November  [11:50 09 November GMT]

Office of the Chinese Ambassador to the United Nations, New York
.

The appointment time had come and gone.  The Chinese like to deal with their peers.  When required to meet with people they view as below their station they make them wait.  The amount of waiting time being directly proportional to the difference in status.  This made for a long wait indeed for Jane and George.  Then there was the problem of sex.  Jane was simply the wrong sex to deal with a Chinese man ordinarily; however, those who work in the West, such as the Ambassador, have made the transition.  Nevertheless, they are still products of their culture.

When they were finally called in to see the Ambassador, they both felt surprisingly humbled.  The Chinese Ambassador clearly believed his station to be vastly superior to theirs.  This impression was confirmed upon meeting him.

The Ambassador was not a physically imposing man.  He was less than average in height, even for his race.  Childhood illness had conspired during puberty to limit his growth; the months confined to a hospital bed had both fed his ambition and given him the opportunity for additional, advanced study.  This, plus the benefit of his family background, provided him with a monumental career path.  However, an indiscretion only two years before meant that he had reached as far as he ever would.  He hadn’t lost his position but knew he would advance no further.  Now he felt obliged to make it known how important he was at every opportunity.  He wasn't happy to be interviewed, questioned as he felt it to be, by a woman.  If she had been Chinese, he would never have agreed.  As it was, it had been made clear to him that he would receive her and participate fully in the interview.  Disobedience was not in his nature.

George looked round the Ambassador’s office, which was Western in design and Eastern in decoration.  Presumably important vases skulked within the recesses of a display cabinet, daring new comers to touch them.  He resisted the temptation, choosing instead to stand and wait for the Ambassador to be seated first.  The Ambassador smiled and waved his right hand in a gesture to allow them to be seated. 

Jane noted the smile,
so he likes every bit of protocol does he? 
Now she would have to wait for him to speak and then to address her directly before she could speak.

The Ambassador leaned forward onto his desk; resting his elbows on the edge, he made a tower of his fingers in a splayed prayer fashion.  Seconds ticked by as he sat impassively observing them.  At last he spoke, breaking the silence.

'George Hamilton.  Are you related to William and Sarah Hamilton?'

'Yes,' replied George, the pain ever present, 'they were my parents.'

'I see.'  The Ambassador didn't even blink.  'How long have you been a journalist?'

'I've just returned to Photo-Journalism, but previously I was in it for nearly four years.'

'What do you like about it?'

'I enjoy the action, the people I meet, making a difference by capturing a story.'

'I see.' 

The Ambassador lapsed back into silence.  Apart from the wave earlier, he hadn't even acknowledged that Jane was present.  He didn't now, instead his eyes remained fixed on George, his face disclosing nothing of what he was thinking if anything.

Two full minutes passed.  The Ambassador reached out, picking up a glass of water from which he took a sip.  His head turned to the left and he locked eyes with Jane.

'Jane Spencer-Brown.  You are fortunate to meet me.  I read your article on the border intrusion we suffered two years ago.  Your analysis was entirely incorrect.  However, your writing was flawless.  So you understand, this meeting was arranged as part of my country's well-known openness.  Were we not so open I might have refused your request.'

So,
Jane thought,
he doesn't like me, the Free Press, or being open.  If it was up to him we wouldn't be here, or at least, I wouldn’t be here. 

'Thank you for seeing me.’  Jane offered, not rising to his bait.

'You are entirely welcome.  I believe that you wish to discuss my country's opinion on the outrageous plan by the Americans and Russians to conduct provocative and dangerous joint military manoeuvres.'

'The upcoming exercise, that is correct.'  Jane ignored the obviously intentional snub; he hadn’t mentioned Great Britain’s participation.

The rest of the interview was just posturing.  The Ambassador stating how his country would be holding its own military exercise at the same time.  How he hoped there would not be any incidents.  What were the Americans and Russians so worried about that they needed to train together less than a day’s drive from the Chinese border?  His rants and pontificating went on for over an hour.  They both felt entirely drained at the end of it.  One thing was clear though, the Chinese were very, very unhappy and their state of military readiness would be escalated to match the perceived threat level.

18:20
              09 November  [13:20 09 November GMT]

40th Floor, United Nations Building, New York.

The screen dimmed and went blank, the session over.  This was only Jayanti Kapoor's second visit to this room, the second time seeing the secret organisation and now they had delivered the bombshell. 
They are coming.  They are coming here.  They will arrive tomorrow.
  No part of her brain was ready to accept this. 
What should I do?
  She had asked. 
Nothing, yet.  Allow your people to inform you when they discover it.  React how you would have reacted, exactly as you did this evening.  Keep calm and look to your duties.
  She told them about her interview with the Global Disclosure journalists scheduled for tomorrow asking whether she should reschedule. 
No.  Keep the appointment, we know about it.
  That reply had stressed her even further.
  Of course, they know about it,
they seem to know pretty much everything!
  Again she had pressed. 
What should I do about the journalists then?
 
Keep them with you,
had come the reply,
make them part of the story.

Jay headed home that night and poured herself an especially large glass of red wine.  Guilt set in so she kept it to just that one glass,
I'm going to need a clear head for tomorrow
.  Dark images plagued her mind that night.  The nightmare of arrival beckoning out to her as the four horsemen rode across a burning sky.

10:20
              10 November  [05:20 10 November GMT]

Office of the Secretary-General, United Nations Building, New York.

Their meeting with Jayanti Kapoor, the Secretary-General of the United Nations did not start well.  They were late.  It was George's fault.  He had not slept well, finally admitting defeat he had taken two sleeping tablets at around five in the morning in an attempt to get some much needed rest.  He had always had them to hand, ever since he was fourteen.  He had not needed them in years, but always renewed them as a charm against the bad times.  Now was becoming such a time.  The talk of his parents, especially his mother, had brought back the waking nightmares.  He had relived their captivity, every day of it imagined in the smallest detail.  Their last day became the broken record.  How he believed that his parents both knew it was Christmas day.  How they had awoken and wished each other Happy Christmas and then said the same in a prayer to each of their three children.  Images of his own Christmas day interplayed in his mind, the excited nine-year-old racing downstairs, still half expecting to see his parents, racing to see what Father Christmas had brought him.  The terrorist coming to the door, opening and inviting his parents out at the point of a gun.  His brother and sister, looking on as he opened his presents.  The walk into the room, a camera set up pointing against the wall.  The longed for train set found amongst the treasures.  The stern look upon their captors faces, different from how they had looked previously, when they had forced them to make an appeal on camera.  The unpacking of the pieces and feverish assembly of the train set.  The binding of their hands and feet, this was new.  The excitement as the power was switched on and the first train exited the station.  The strap placed around their heads, tied to their feet, forcing their heads back, exposing their necks.  The glee as the train hurtled around the track.  The appearance of the knife at his wife's throat, his pleas to them to spare his wife.  Another train now on a different track.  The unmanly scream as the spray of blood hit the right side of his face, trickling into his still screaming mouth.  The second train gathering speed now, hurtling in the opposite direction of the first.  The man with the knife, moving behind his father.  The trains colliding at a crossing.

George had finally appeared in the hotel lobby, unshaven, without breakfast, a look haunting him that Jane did not care for at all.  He had apologised profusely.  Jane accepted it without criticism.  She was not one to throw stones.  Now the two of them sat waiting, still hoping to see the Secretary-General.

'The Secretary-General will see you now.'  The assistant spoke very good English, hardly betraying her Nigerian parentage.

We've only been waiting five minutes!
  Jane's mind screamed,
and we were twenty minutes late!
 
Either this is an impossibly slow day or she actually wants to see us.

'Thank you' Jane replied as the assistant showed them through.

Jayanti Kapoor rose from behind her large, ornate desk, and approached them hand out-stretched, a smile fixed on her face.

'It's so good to meet you both.'

'It is an honour to meet you Madam Secretary-General.’  Jane replied overly formally, the better to set the ground for being so late.

'Oh please, call me Jay.'

'Thank you.  I'm Jane and this is George.'

'Please won't you take a seat?'  Jay said pointing them to some comfortable chairs arranged around a coffee table. 

They talked at some length, discussing the planned military exercise.  Jane noted that Jayanti was factual but otherwise not especially interested.  She said all the required things; “Military exercises always being preferable to actual conflicts”, “Closer relations between East and West are most welcome”.  Jayanti kept unconsciously looking at her watch, making Jane and George feel that they had already outstayed their welcome. 
Maybe,
Jane wondered,
she does have a busy day after all and seeing us was just out of politeness
.

There was a loud knock at the door, followed by her personal aide William entering without waiting for the customary acknowledgement. 

'Madam Secretary-General, I must inform you that we are tracking an object entering Earth's orbit.  It, it,' He stammered trying to get the words out, he took a deep breath, 'It appears that it is going to land.'  He said finally, waiting for the enormity of it to hit them.

'I see,’ Jay replied coolly, and then she remembered what she had been instructed, 'what do you mean it's going to land?'

'It appears as though there is a space born vehicle that is going to land on Earth.'  He replied as calmly as he could, his palms sweating, pulse elevated.