'Then there will never be any single solution.'
'I don't believe the Research Director is suggesting there might be,' Marley put in smoothly.
Right on cue, thought Rivers. Marley must be loving this.
'Of course I'm bloody well not.' Sheridan's angry glare was directed towards Marley. He returned his attention to Rivers. 'Look, Jim, I want to play it straight with you, okay? It's fairly obvious to all of us that you haven't yet got over that dreadful experience three months ago. It's not surprising-you were lucky to get out alive.' He held up a hand again, this time to ward off Rivers' protests. 'Look at you now. You're ready to drag me over the desk and yell in my ear that you're fine, there's nothing wrong with you, you've never felt better. You're ragged, Jim, don't you understand? Oh, you've disguised it well, but your nerves are stretched to breaking point. And we know your leg injury is still causing you a great deal of pain. Do you think we don't read our staff's medical reports? Why the hell do you imagine I ordered you to take a week's leave? If we could have spared you longer, I'd have made it a month, perhaps even more than that. The fact is, we didn't allow you enough time to recover. It's the mental scars as well as the physical that have to mend, don't you see?' Rivers forced a calmness upon himself. He leaned on the cane and studied the floor for a moment or two. 'You think I'm heading for a breakdown, is that it?' he asked Sheridan in a tone that held challenge rather than sought affirmation.
The Research Director groaned aloud. 'Certainly not. But I'm aware that you're not functioning as well as you used to. Marley here tells me-'
'Ah.'
'I was about to say that Marley tells me he's prepared to take over some of your projects if you're willing. Nothing devious about that, just a colleague extending a helping hand. You'd offer the same to him, I'm sure.'
'Is that why you're going through those'-he indicated the scatter of files on the desk-'and why you've been questioning my staff?'
Sheridan did not bother to hide his impatience. 'We were bringing ourselves up to date. Yes, yes, I know you spoke to me last week but I thought Marley and I could decide together just what he could take on.'
'Actually, I'm not sure that I agree with some of your conjectures, Rivers.' Marley was sifting through the files with a thin hand, presumably searching for one in particular. 'The influence of sea surface temperature changes on seasonal variations in the tropics, for instance…'
'Shut up, Marley.' Rivers leaned on the desk and spoke quietly to Sheridan. 'My people are good enough to continue our set projects in my absence. One week certainly wouldn't make any difference. So come on, Charles, say what's on your mind.'
Sheridan hesitated for no more than a second or two. 'I've already said it-you're not providing us with any answers, Jim.'
'At the moment there aren't any. We need more time, more examples…'
'More catastrophes? The world can't wait.'
'I didn't realize it was depending on me alone.'
'No need for sarcasm. All I'm saying is that I've decided to ease your burden a little, direct some of your work elsewhere. I think Marley here is more able to cope at this point in time.'
'And if I don't agree to it?'
'I'm not offering you a choice. I don't mean this unkindly, but I want you to leave immediately. Go home and rest. Better still, take yourself off somewhere, somewhere relaxing, where you can forget all this for a while. Give your mind-and your body, for God's sake-a break. We'll talk again on your return next week.' His gaze was unwavering. 'Until then I want to see neither hide nor hair of you. Is that clear enough?'
Rivers straightened from the desk; there was a tightness in his chest that begged release. He fought against his anger again, but Marley's half smile almost tipped the balance.
Sheridan's tone was conciliatory. 'Jim, you're not yet ready to continue your work. I made a mistake, I thought getting you back into the stream of things would be the best therapy for you. But I was wrong, and I think it's time you realized it yourself. Never mind the physical pain you're still in, it's your mental state that we're'-he hastily corrected himself, not wishing to give the impression that Rivers' soundness of mind had been a topic of general discussion-'I'm concerned about. The trauma of seeing those men die like that…' He was stopped by the sudden panic in the other man's eyes, a skittish wildness that quickly passed, yet left Rivers distant and emotionless.
Disturbed, Sheridan cleared his throat and began to say something more.
Rivers' smile cut him short; it contained no warmth at all.
'Okay,' Rivers said. 'I'll stay away. But events are escalating rapidly, Charles, and the world might not be quite the same at the end of the week.'
He left the two men staring uncertainly at the empty doorway.
10
Now why in the hell had he said that? Christ, Sheridan already thought he was in the throes of a nervous breakdown and now he'd provided him with further evidence.
Rivers yanked open the car door and slumped into the driver's seat. Shit! What had possessed him…?
'Jim?'
Celia peered through the glass. Wearily he switched on the electrics and pressed the window button.
She wiped a wisp of hair from her forehead and leaned closer to him. 'What happened with Sheridan and Marley?'
'Nothing much,' he replied more laconically than he felt. 'They seem to think some of our projects might proceed faster without me, that's all.'
She shook her head, a mixture of denial and indignation. 'That's-'
'Forget it. They could be right.' His fingers massaged the area above the bridge of his nose. 'Things have been slipping by me for a while now.'
'You haven't given yourself time to recover.'
'I'm not an invalid, Celia.'
She didn't respond.
Rivers gunned the engine, then looked back up at her. 'Play along with Marley and don't let him get to you. He knows his stuff. Tell Jonesy the same.'
'Can I come and see you at home?'
'I'm not sure I'll be there. I might just take off for a few days.'
'If you do, I'm owed some leave…'
He paused before shifting into reverse. 'The agency can't afford two of us to be away. There's too much going on. It's a nice offer though, Celia.'
She avoided his gaze. 'It's a serious one.'
Her hand was resting on the door panel and he briefly put his own hand over it. Then he reversed away, swinging the car round to face the long drive.
'Let me know if anything exciting happens,' he called out to her. Dust rose from the ground as the car shot forward. Within minutes he was part of the steady flow of traffic pressing into the capital.
He shivered as he turned down the car's air-conditioning from HIGH to LOW. And again he asked himself the question: Why had he said such a ridiculous thing to Sheridan? And why had it been said with such conviction? The feeling-the certainty of his doomsday warning-had left him the moment he set foot outside the research centre. Yet the thought lingered…
Because of its eerie yellowish cast, the bright sunshine somehow added little cheer to the shop-lined streets. Pedestrians, many of them in T-shirts and shorts, with faces, arms and legs shiny with sun-blocks, several of them wearing Sun Alert badges, moved indolently along the litter-strewn pavements; a group of teenagers squatted against a brick wall, drinking from cans, their separate cordless headphones tuned into one miniature cassette-player, their limbs twitching listlessly in time to the private beat; a woman with bare fleshy arms wheeled a solitary child in a twin pushchair, the empty space beside the sleeping toddler perhaps the cause of her melancholy. Some shop windows were grimed with dust, while others, like the one displaying thin, wall-mounted 3-D television screens, were darkened by slender iron bars, warning signs that the current through these was switched on twenty-four hours a day prominently displayed on the glass. A giant billboard was so cluttered with pirate posters for new bands and underground magazines that the original glossy advertisement was disguised
beyond legibility.
Rivers was relieved when he crossed tramlines and joined one of the Red Routes through the city, for traffic flowed more smoothly in these designated main arteries and would quickly take him away from the depressingly drab quarters. Not for the first time he wondered what London would have been like had not the 'altemate-week' system for vehicles been introduced: no doubt by now the city would have developed into one huge car park where nothing on four wheels could move more than two miles per hour.
Tower Bridge loomed up ahead, its dignity long since diminished by the garish red, white and blues of its painted girders. Traffic slowed, as if each driver was wary of the split in the old bridge's middle section; the tyre sounds took on a different tone as vehicles crossed. To the right lay the over-developed docklands area, its offices and abodes still half empty despite various government business incentive schemes and initiatives over the past ten years or so. Amidst the new-dawn architecture stood the Canary Wharf Tower, at one time the tallest tower block in Europe, and now a landmark to apathy. The constant cycle of recession had speeded up, the wheel turning ever faster because long-term investment in the swift-changing world was not merely unattractive, but nowadays deemed extreme folly. To the left was the Tower of London itself, rendered almost incongruous in these times with its backdrop of skyscraper buildings, these bastions of the city's financial quarter. Below, the Thames flowed sluggishly, its depths thick with sludge once more, the brief return to purity a decade before having become a folklore memory.
The route led him into the City itself, the capital's fiscal focus, the pecuniary precincts, through which the world's money continued to flow. The ambience changed dramatically in these canyons, for here the pace was brisk, the attire less casual. Shirts might have been short sleeved, but they were complemented by ties; even when short trousers were worn, they were of suit material. The women were bolder in dress, their light summer-wear contrasting brightly against the dull concrete environs.
It was drawing towards the end of the lunch-hour and the streets were busy, diesel taxis everywhere, vans, buses and automobiles crawling along at moderate pace. Like a tarnished monument to self-aggrandizement, the Lloyd's Insurance building rose high ahead, its steel and chrome architecture rendered even more unappealing by blemishes and grime. The conduits and piping of the building's exposed 'innards' were in an even more wretched state than the once silvery ramparts, their surfaces rust-stained and blackened. God only knew what was in the atmosphere to cause such deterioration, thought Rivers, but an architect's dream had degenerated into an occupier's nightmare. Unfortunately, massive insurance losses over recent years due to environmental damage and natural disasters, together with the escalation of crime-related claims and general incompetence had seriously eroded the corporation's financial base (and Names, those outside members whose money covered all risks, were almost impossible to attract nowadays), so that the 'cleansing' of the building itself was a low priority. There were some who took satisfaction in the knowledge that the Lutine Bell, rung whenever a ship was lost at sea, had rung metaphorically for Lloyd's itself.
Rivers slowed to a halt, allowing a group of giggling office girls trapped in the centre of the road to cross. One waved a thank you and was nudged by her companion, who cheekily stuck out a tongue at him. He managed a smile, then closed the gap between his car and the one in front when the girls were through.
Lights ahead had stopped the traffic's flow. He checked the computerized TIME-WAIT indicator set in the lamppost by the side of the road and turned off the engine when he saw that the lights would be on red for three minutes, fifteen seconds, just over the limit for engine-running in congested city areas. The hydrogen-powered vehicle was still having teething troubles (or so it was alleged: Rivers wondered how much bribery and sabotage by the big oil companies had delayed the mass-introduction of the water-drinking fuel-cell engine). He leaned forward to press the radio button, then decided against it: he'd had enough bad news. He slumped in his seat and rested an elbow on the door frame, his fingers scratching the stubble of his chin. What to do with himself for the rest of the week? Take Sheridan's advice and get away somewhere? Leave the problems behind, give his head a rest. Not such a bad idea at that. Find somewhere quiet, peaceful, let the world get on with its own predicament for a while. After all, he was only one, insignificant doctor of physics, so what difference would it make to the global plan? Besides-
Jesus! His hands gripped the steering wheel. What was that?
He looked around. People in the street had stopped dead. They, too, were looking around, bewilderment on their faces. A woman nearby clutched at her partner. The man said something to her, probably a reassurance that everything was all right, although his own expression was hardly convincing.
It came again. A kind of lurch. As if the earth itself had given a small hiccup.
A paralyzing coldness rushed through Rivers and his knuckles whitened as he clutched the plastic steering wheel even more tightly. His eyes blinked against a sudden glare, but there was nothing bright before him; the image-a round ball of light -somehow had appeared on the retinas of his eyes without being physically present. It was a thought, he quickly rationalized, a strong memory induced by shock. But so real. And so swiftly gone.
The people were beginning to move again, looking askance at one another, shaking their heads in disbelief. Someone laughed, but there was a hollowness to the sound. One of the girls who had just passed before Rivers' car started to cry. An elderly man, smartly dressed in a dark blue messenger's uniform, rested a hand against the side of a building to steady himself. Rivers noticed that the green digits of the TIME-WAIT indicator were flashing rapidly.
A low, ominous rumbling began.
He felt it rising through the floor of the car, rocking the suspension, causing the bodywork to vibrate. The initial sound was familiar, the kind of deep heavy rolling noise that a lorry passing through the night might make, but its increasing intensity-and subdued violence-was unworldly. Rivers understood what was about to happen, for he had studied recordings and films of earth tremors many times during the last few years; but nothing had prepared him for the sheer unnerving violence of the earth's sudden shift. The car began to tremble as the rumbling from below swelled to a deep roaring. The lamppost nearby began to oscillate. People out there in the street became unsteady on their feet; some reached for the nearest support. He saw huge plate-glass windows beginning to warp.
Then something pushed hard against the floor of the car, an abrupt, powerful shove that lifted him from his seat, only the seat-belt preventing his head from hitting the roof. Screams and yells came through the closed windows. Men and women sprawled on the concrete pavements, while others clung to posts or pedestrian barriers. Another wave shook the ground and Rivers' car was shunted into the vehicle in front. He jerked back into his seat and, amazed, watched the roadway outside ripple. Vein-like cracks began to appear in its surface.
The world seemed to settle once more, and the rumbling softened; but the lull did not last long.
The fearsome sound deepened, became a thunderous abyssal roaring that shook the landscape and sent people reeling for the second time. A van in the opposite lane tilted crazily as the road rose beneath it. The driver hastily slid the door back and scrambled out, crawling away as fast as his hands and knees would take him. The van failed to topple, but settled back on top of the fresh-risen mound. The glass wall of an office block's reception area further along the street split from top to bottom as people inside fled through the wide doors next to it. More poured from other doorways, panic-stricken, afraid of being caught inside collapsing buildings.
The trembling of the earth continued, its awful sound almost drowning the human cries. Some drivers and passengers were leaving their vehicles, perhaps wary of becoming trapped inside them, but Rivers stayed where he was, realizing what could happen next.
It sounded like a heavy shower or hailstones striking the car's rooftop at first, then la
rger fragments of glass began to fall. Pieces of masonry and metal bounced off the road and pavements. Larger sheets of glass, popped or shaken from distorted frames, shattered against concrete and bodies alike. His windscreen became an instant myriad of spiderweb lines as a missile exploded against the toughened glass. Still the ground thundered.
Rivers flinched every time something heavy clattered against his metal shelter, yet he was mesmerized by the scene outside. Through the side window he watched the panic as people desperately sought cover, some heading back inside the buildings they had just left, while others clung to anything solid or crawled into doorways. Many lay prone, knees curled up to their chests, their faces buried into their hands.
A man and a woman-the same two he had noticed earlier -came stumbling towards his car. The man, dressed in a beige, lightweight summer suit, shouted something at him, perhaps an appeal to open one of the passenger doors. For a second or two Rivers was motionless, too overwhelmed by what was happening-and its implications-to move. But the terror on the couple's faces galvanized him into action and he reached over his seat to pull at the door handle. His fingers froze on the latch as a huge sheet of plate glass, dislodged from an office tower's upper windows, smashed on to the pavement outside.
But before it had shattered into a million fragments, the toughened glass had sliced into the running man's left shoulder and scythed through the length of his body. Bizarrely, the woman held on to her companion as the rest of his body toppled away, and she looked into the eyes that still flickered with astonished life. The remaining portion of human flesh soon crumpled, leaving the woman clawing at her own face in shocked disbelief.
Glass mixed with blood had spattered the car's windows, a sickening split-second after-effect. He watched as the woman slowly sank to her knees beside the cloven corpse. Another sheet of glass smashed to the ground close by, missing her by only three or four feet, broken pieces flying lethally outwards. Water burst through the fissure in the roadway, a high-pressured fountain that drenched anyone in close proximity. Droplets pattered against the rooftop over Rivers' head.