5. Director of Security

Jeremy Peters was a powerful man; he had dozens of people working under him. One of them was under him right now. Her name was Clarissa and she worked for him as a junior advertising rep at the Receptacle in the town of Yellowcake Springs. Clarissa was decent at her job, as far as he could tell, but she was even better at this. She didn’t moan, didn’t talk, didn’t try to take the initiative with him, but nor was she entirely passive. Not frozen up inside like his wife, Clarissa demonstrated a certain appreciation. She lay there on her back with her legs splayed as he went at her, and she made eye contact. He’d noticed that Australian girls were good at that, whereas the Chinese and Koreans tended to avert their eyes, especially when he really got going. He didn’t like that; he wanted some sense of reciprocation from them. Not too much, but a little. He might be of Chinese ethnicity himself, but that didn’t mean he wanted a Chinese girl in the bed with him, if he could help it.

“That was great,” Clarissa said when he’d finished. “You’re an animal.”

He lay alongside her and stroked her dark hair. Her scalp was moist, her body slicked with sweat. “We’re all animals,” he replied.

His heart hammered away in his chest. It was a little embarrassing, but he supposed he wasn’t doing badly for a stumpy, balding, middle-aged Chinese man with a pot belly from too many official lunches with visiting dignitaries. Economic power and not physical beauty or strength had got him where he was tonight, in Clarissa’s Green Zone apartment and in her bed. He was under no illusions, and knowing this he went out of his way to woo the tallest, the fairest, the slenderest of his subordinates. Clarissa was a brunette, but close enough. And she stood a good six inches taller than him on long, tanned legs. Not a blemish on her. He rubbed her flat belly and down along the tops of her thighs.

“Ready for more?” she asked, turning toward him so that her little breasts bobbed enticingly.

He patted her shoulder. “You’ll be the death of me. Even a greedy man needs to know his limitations.” She nodded and turned on the bedside light. She knew that he liked to watch her dressing and undressing, so she gave him a little show while she put on a fresh pair of silk panties and a cotton chemise. Then she went into the bathroom while he lay there on his back trying to catch his breath. His pulse was still racing even though it’d been a good five minutes since he’d stopped moving.

It was just after nine and he supposed he’d best be heading home in a minute, not that Hui would be waiting for him to return especially. These days he just said he was working late and left it at that. From what he could gather from their not-conversations and non-disclosures, Hui didn’t care who he slept with as long as he used a condom and didn’t bring disgrace upon her.

Still, something inside of him was cracking up and he didn’t know what it was. Perhaps his heart was about to give out, wrecked prematurely by too much fine food and too much unmitigated vice. His doctor had warned him about his blood pressure and cholesterol, but at least with Clarissa was getting some exercise. Or maybe the pain in his chest was his battered conscience, emerging from its long hibernation. It hardly seemed likely. Surely this coupling was of benefit to them both. In a way he was doing her a favour, giving her a leg up on the corporate ladder. Pretty soon, if he wanted to keep this up, he’d have to promote her. She had a sick sister in Perth or something. He felt sure she could use the money.

“Glass of wine?” Clarissa asked, returning from the bathroom. She sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Just a small one. I must be leaving,” he called after her. But where were his clothes?

His fingers felt clumsy and unresponsive and he found that he could barely pull on his underpants. He was definitely having some kind of episode, and he was glad that the girl was in the kitchen and not here to witness his trembling hands and his fumbling attempts at dressing himself. He just needed to rest on the bed for a minute and then he would be able to put on his shirt. Some fresh air would revive him, if he could make it outside.

“Can you bring me some water?” he said, but not loud enough for Clarissa to hear him. He heard the hiss of the fridge and the clink of glasses.

“Are you all right?” she said when she returned, clearly seeing that he wasn’t well. She put the wine glasses down on the dressing table and came over to him, and in that moment he loved her with all his misfiring heart. He wanted to embrace her but he could barely lift his arms for the pounding in his chest.

“You’ve gone very pale. Your lips are blue,” she said.

“Some water please,” he whispered. It felt better to lie on his back than to remain sitting, and it no longer concerned him for the full extent of his corpulence to be displayed in the unforgiving light.

Clarissa rushed back into the kitchen and returned promptly with a glass of water. Propped up on pillows, he sipped at it but could not seem to take more than a small mouthful at a time.

“I’m ringing for an ambulance,” she said, pacing.

“I’m all right now,” he said. “I think... something sweet, but not wine. Have you anything like that?” She went away and the glass in his hands hit the bedside table with undue force, but not quite hard enough to break it. Water sloshed onto the carpet.

He closed his eyes.

His pulse no longer raced in the way that it had done before, but now he felt clammy and ill. He could request a driver to take him home – nothing easier – but that might lead to rumours on two fronts, both that he was a philanderer and that his health was poor. It wouldn’t do.

“Jeremy,” Clarissa said, standing over him. She really was very beautiful. Even if he never slept with her again, she’d done more than enough to earn that promotion.

“Jelly beans?” he said. He took a handful from the packet in her hand. Munching them, he felt immediately better.

“My sister’s a diabetic,” Clarissa said by way of explanation. “Maybe you should get yourself checked out?”

“You know, I really should,” he agreed, sitting up almost in triumph. “Now where did I put my trousers?”

The night air did revive him somewhat, but he still felt deeply wrong as he tottered out in the direction of the bus stop, his overcoat wrapped around him despite the relative warmth. Clarissa offered to escort him but he assured her that he could manage. Besides, he couldn’t be seen with her. He imagined that he cut a pitiable figure: a sad, wheezing man with a dodgy heart peering short-sightedly into the night. Not that he could come to any harm on the streets of Yellowcake Springs. But even a simple misstep might fell him in his current weakened condition. He had to be vigilant.

At the bus stop he blinked repeatedly, trying to focus in the bright light of the advertising hoardings, many of which his office had designed. He couldn’t be seen alone in the Green Zone after dark. CIQ Sinocorp’s Director of Advertising didn’t catch the Reactor Line bus like an ordinary plebeian. The bus wasn’t long in coming, and thankfully it was empty except for a young couple who were undoubtedly on their way to an Amber Zone nightclub. He swiped a blank multicard instead of his own ID and sat in the vacant disabled seat at the front. Driverless, the bus continued on into the night.

Safely deposited at his doorstep on the more salubrious side of Antimatter Avenue, he shuffled up to the door and swiped his card to let himself in. It was twenty past nine. He hung up his coat and walked along the hall, past the open doorway of the home theatre where some boorish nonsense blared away on the 3V, and went into the kitchen. He needed a drink, preferably his finest Scotch whisky.

Hui stood at the kitchen counter, arms folded across her stout middle. Not now, he thought. He didn’t have the strength for an argument tonight.

“Why is your fliptop switched off?” she asked. “I was worried.”

He pulled the fliptop out of his pocket and looked at it. It was powered down, except for the time and temperature. “I think the battery’s dead,” he said. “I’ll get someone to look at it tomorrow.” In truth there was nothing wrong with the fliptop, except that he hadn’t wanted to be disturbed in flagrante delicto. He edged past his wife and, opening the liquor cabinet, reached for the crystal decanter of single malt.

“It’s just that Mr Li called,” Hui said. “I think it’s something important. I tried to ring you.”

Decanter in hand, he turned around to face his wife. “The Grand Director called? At this hour?” He got a glass out of the cupboard and put it on the smooth benchtop.

“You smell strange, Jeremy,” Hui said, moving closer. “What have you been eating?”

“Ah, very little,” he said. He uncapped the decanter and poured himself a generous measure of the precious amber fluid. He took a large sip and a pleasant fire began to burn in his belly.

Hui pointed to the corner of the confectionery packet sticking out from his trouser pocket. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Jelly beans,” he said, pulling out the packet. “Would you like some?”

Hui stared at him for a second and then went into the home theatre and sat down. He sipped his whisky and stood in the theatre doorway. “I’ll ring Mr Li from the office.”

Hui said nothing, absorbed by the shimmering colours emanating from the 3V.

Nestled in the belly of the house, his office had no windows and was his hiding place. He could close the door and shut out the light and just sit there in silence. Just him, his thoughts, and his whiskey.

It took the rest of the glass before he was ready to make the call to the Grand Director. It was after ten but he didn’t think it too late to make the call. Better to get it over with now rather than stew on it all night. There was a tiny chance that this was his day of reckoning. It could be that word of his indiscretions had reached the Grand Director’s ears. It could be the hammer that he had long half-expected to fall on him.

He placed the call on the desktop.

The rotating ‘pending’ image was replaced by a hologram of the elderly Li in his dressing gown.

“Mr Li,” he said, bowing his head. “I hope I haven’t disturbed your rest.”

“Ah, Jeremy,” Mr Li said. “You should know by now that old men rarely sleep and never for long. What troubles you?”

“My wife informs me that you rang earlier this evening? I apologise for being unavailable at the time.”

The Grand Director dismissed his concerns with a nonchalant flick of the wrist. “Everyone needs a little downtime,” he said and Jeremy scrambled to read the meaning in his serene expression. “I’ve got some troubling news, but for you I think there is a silver lining.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Yang Po has had a heart attack. He’s in a critical condition.”

“I saw Mr Yang just yesterday at lunch! My goodness, do they think he’ll recover?”

“Yes, these things can happen suddenly,” Mr Li said. “Especially when one doesn’t watch one’s weight sufficiently. Yang Po may recover in time, but he will need to rest and to regain his strength. He’ll be returning to the homeland for his convalescence, and thus I need a new Director of Security.”

“Mr Li, you mean to say that you are offering the position to me?”

“I am, but on an interim basis to begin with. But let us just say, between you and I, that Yang Po’s heart attack comes at a provident moment. I had been dissatisfied with his performance for some months.”

“But who will take up the Directorship in Advertising in my absence?”

“I thought your deputy, Tiffany Cramer, would suffice. That is, unless you counsel otherwise?”

“An Australian? Are you sure, Mr Li? Tiffany will be delighted. And yes, she is more than capable.”

“So you accept?” the old man asked. “I felt certain that you would jump at the opportunity, Jeremy. This pleases me. And you are an Australian yourself, or at least you were born here. An ethnic Australian could not be trusted with Security, perhaps, but Advertising? I don’t see why not.”

“I accept wholeheartedly, sir,” Jeremy said. It was impossible to do otherwise.

“Excellent! Then you may take the rest of this week to hand over the Advertising portfolio to Ms Cramer. I trust all is well with you and yours?”

“Never better,” Jeremy said. “Thank you, Grand Director. I’ll leave you to your rest. I must inform my wife of the good news!”

Mr Li laughed and shook his head. “Your skill in persuasion is your primary virtue, Jeremy. Try to make honesty another.” He nodded curtly and terminated the call, leaving Jeremy in the dark, an empty glass in his hand.