Wednesday 5.45
Sally had turned on her television for the first time this day, as a distraction while she painted her toenails, and had broken into a news program. It stated that the countdown was finally about to reach its conclusion. Half way through the art deco of her eighth toe she’d stopped to watch its final seconds.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she’d forgotten about the cotton balls between her toes as she’d leaned forward towards the television. Her attention became totally immersed in the actions of the man in the baggy suit, until finally her jaw had snapped shut in disgust when the camera zoomed in on the rats.
Animals had never played any part in her life, other than the odd mouse that had on occasions invaded her kitchen. Sometimes a stray or leashed dog she was forced to avoid on the city’s streets.
She was a city girl, born and bred. She’d never had a pet and had never been out of this city. The only farm animals she’d ever come in contact with were wrapped in plastic sheeting on refrigerated shelves in supermarkets. As a child, there had been the zoo of course, but the strong smell of animal body odour had tamed any enthusiasm. Not to mention the suggestion of skin irritation brought on by the animal’s incessant scratching, which had over powered her senses to the point she vowed she would never return. She agreed with the man in the baggy suit, that rats, if they were to be in close proximity of man or woman, should be kept under some form of quarantine. Basic hygiene commanded segregation, and she had smiled to herself at the man in the baggy suit. Who, even by her standards was going a bit overboard by wearing such an odd shaped suit, as well as imprisoning the rats in a glass cage.
Her light smile had persisted for only some seconds. Until a man with a voice whose tone suggested it was not one to be trusted, suddenly beckoned her wary attention. Then he immediately grasped it with the mention of reality television. Sally liked reality T.V, and had watched most of the shows available to Sydney’s networks. Taking part in them with careful consideration when the time came to SMS her decisions, as to who should be evicted or elected.
Her brow furrowed with light lines of confusion as she tried to guess what a reality program had to do with the news station.
As the voice continued, so did Sally’s confusion. She retreated back across her bed, away from the scenes of the stiff legged rats, whose grinning frothy faces gave rise to her alarm.
She tried to tear her eyes away from the horrible sight, and for a brief second she succeeded, until her gaze was dragged back. To where it involuntarily set rock steady on the rats, whose rigid state proclaimed clearly in suspended silence their thousand words. Sally sat stunned as the camera operator redirected her attention to the actions of the man in the baggy suit. While two words used in the narration tolled like bells in the back of her brain.
Her mind wandered away from the events on the television’s screen as she sought to seek out the significance of the two words. A conscious thought suddenly blossomed, and Sally’s lips slowly formed into a quietly spoken question.
“What five cities?”
She pulled her dressing gown closer about her as she listened for more information, but it appeared that he’d said all that there was to say. Then the program finished as if its plug had been pulled, and almost as suddenly a well-dressed news presenter appeared.
He remained speechless for some seconds, like one whose thunder had been stolen, before he offered comment.
“Well there you have it,” offered the news presenter. “Five cities have simultaneously been forced to accept the fact that they have within their midst a weapon of mass destruction. A weapon that will be presented on a silver platter to any lunatic terrorist who can come up with the enough money to win this madman’s auction. In a moment we’ll be speaking with Dr. James Wren. He is an internationally recognized expert on chemical weapons, who will expand on what we already know of the deadly nerve gas 10X.”
“What five cities?” Sally demanded impatiently. She touched the remote control and brought to view another station. Its news cameraman was obviously viewing Sydney from the top of one of the cities high rise buildings.
She watched as the camera operators lens surveyed the Eastern Suburbs as it began a three hundred and sixty degree rotation. It covered the cities south, before it panned slowly across the Western Suburbs, until finally she recognized the leafy green suburb in which her own backyard lay.
A chill feeling swept through her as she heard the news reporter say, “...and it is suspected that somewhere within the circle our camera has just surveyed, that the weapon of mass destruction awaits its new owner….”
Sally felt physically ill and she hurried from her bed to the bathroom to wash away the sickly taste that had suddenly regurgitated to the back of her throat. Then a sense of panic touched her, and she rushed back to her bedside table where with a water wet chin she dialled her telephone. Her small hands clenched as she waited for her call to be answered.
“Tom, I’ve just seen the dead rats on television and I’m scared. I want to get out of here.” She couldn’t believe the calm in his voice. After all, the bomb thing could be right on his doorstep too, couldn’t it?
“Ah! Sally. Finally woke up to the fact that the world has been spinning around without you for the last few days, have you?”
“What?” She was suddenly concerned at his attitude, “Tom. Don’t play games. The newsman said that the bomb thing could be near the house, and the terrorist said that we have two hours. I need to get away.”
“You have a car. Get in it and drive away.”
“What do you mean, on my own?”
“Sal, I’ve always given you the freedom to do what you need to do, haven’t I? Well, that freedom is still there. All you have to do is go where you wish to go.” Sally’s silence suggested to Lee that she was unsure as to whether she wanted to hear the answer he might give if she asked him to explain.
The silence that followed allowed Lee time to arrange his thoughts. He wanted to be tough with her, but he decided to play it cool for amusements sake. See where the conversation took them.
He realized the significance of the difference between their ages. In their time together she had come of age, while he had finally, and begrudgingly accepted his membership to the ‘over forties’ club.
Lee decided to pull the plug on her politely.
“Sally...” He paused as he reminded himself that his telephone might not be secure, before deciding to use that possibility to his own advantage and kill two birds with one stone, “Look Sal.” The bomb that holds the gas that killed the rats was brought into the country by one of my companies…”
“You did it?” Sally asked.
“No of course not. I knew nothing about it. A man who worked for me whose name was Sudovich did it. He went behind my back, without my knowledge and used one of my companies’ names to import it, but that’s not important right now where you are concerned. The important thing is that the police might try to implicate me in Sudovich’s wrong doings. That’s why I think that now is a good time for you to take the opportunity to distance yourself from me. Get into your car and get away for a while.”
Sally heard his words clearly, although her quiet consideration was not for them, but more for the seemingly mocking tone he used to deliver them. She suddenly and venomously accused.
“Bullshit, Tom Lee! You’re up to something. You’re ditching me, and making it look like I’m leaving you because you’re scared of what I can do to you in a divorce court.”
“Come on Sal. Why would I want to ditch you? You’ve done nothing serious enough to warrant a divorce” He allowed the words to sink in before he asked, “Have you?” Lee smiled to himself as Sally’s sudden silence told him what he already knew.
“Damn you. You’ve got another woman, and you want me out so you can bring her to my house, haven’t you? Well I’m not moving. You can go to hell.” She screamed.
“What’s happened Sal, did I hit a nerve?” Lee asked before
he made a suggestion, “Listen. Why don’t you call up your boyfriend, maybe he can help you?”
Silence reigned from Sally’s end of the phone for some seconds until she threatened.
“Damn you, Tom Lee. You’ll get yours. I’ll bury you and when I do I’ll be there to piss on your grave.”
Lee listened as she slammed her telephone hand piece down.
“I think you’ve buried me already Sal,” he whispered as he lowered his own hand piece onto its cradle.
London time.
Charles stood quietly behind Phillip. Watching the man’s computer screen, and trying to relate its information changes to the increased speed of Phillip’s fingertips on its keyboard. While he waited, his hands though dry writhed against each other as if to wipe away an imagined moistness. His tongue, as with its own attitude writhed against his lips in an effort to maintain moisture.
The silence of the large room was broken only by Phillip’s keyboard tap, and Charles was forced to still an overwhelming desire to demand verbal commentary from one of the computer wizards. He looked to those console operators who sat with still hands. A few fingertips drummed quietly onto the table’s top, as they waited with anticipation for their invitation to participate.
One of them whose hands had left the table to be wiped on the thighs of his trousers suddenly returned them to his keyboard where they came alive. As if to compete with Phillip’s apparent involuntary effort, they created a second sound which claimed its space in the large high ceiling room. Some seconds later Charles’s hands lightened their grasp as a third console operator’s fingers added further voice to the keyboard chorus. Then a fourth added harmony.
After some minutes the chorus became like the rattle of out of time snare drums. Charles’s hands rubbed together like those belonging to a miser who could smell money in the air. He moved away from his position behind Phillip and walked around the large table. Quietly pausing, and then peering over the shoulder of each of the console operators to digest the information posted on their screens. He strode on to the operations communications computer. It sat alone with its operator in a corner of the room.
“Stephen, advise Athol of seventeen hits, offering one million pounds at this time, but as yet early days.” He waited while Stephen carried out his wishes and then ordered, “Let me know the minute our people are either in the air or on safe soil.”
He turned again to the large table, and with the keyboard clatter now beating a rhythm of success, he smiled to himself as he thought, I love this job.