Apocalypse by Dean Crawford

her arms. ‘Ten bucks it is.’
    Ethan stopped reading and flicked back a few pages. All at once, it leapt out at him as clear as the sunlight streaming into the room.
    ‘The code’s not
in
the names,’ he said. ‘It
is
the names.’

16
MANDARIN ORIENTAL HOTEL, MIAMI
    June 28, 10:40
    ‘Gentlemen, welcome.’
    Dennis Aubrey stood unobtrusively to one side of the private breakfast room that Joaquin Abell had hired, and watched as he spoke to the men of substance before them. Behind Joaquin was a
suspended silver screen, and behind his guests, a projector. To Aubrey’s surprise, four heavy-set men in suits stood like guards around the edge of the room. Aubrey was unused to being in
such company, and equally uncomfortable being under armed guard, something that Joaquin had neglected to mention before they had entered the hotel.
    All of the seven seated dignitaries before them looked entirely at home in their opulent surroundings. Champagne bottles worth more than some cars lay in buckets of sparkling ice, and the bright
sunlight from outside was shielded by glowing opaque blinds.
    ‘Thank you all for taking the time to come here,’ Joaquin said. ‘You may wonder why I’ve asked for this breakfast meeting so urgently, but I know that within just a few
minutes you will all understand, as well as appreciating the need for absolute security.’
    Joaquin paced up and down slowly as he spoke, his movements giving rhythm to his words.
    ‘All of you wield immense control over the lives of the people that you govern,’ he said, and selected a member of his audience with receding red hair. ‘Congressman Ryan
Goldberg, you’ve served Congress for over twenty years and your word is considered your bond. Mr. Murtaugh,’ he went on, indicating an elderly man, ‘you own and operate one of the
largest news networks in the continental United States, providing 24-hour coverage to millions of homes.’ Joaquin turned to another, middle-aged man who wore a Stetson and sunglasses.
‘Mr. Reed, you are the Executive Officer of one of our largest oil companies, providing fuel for our modern world.’ One of the men watching was a widely respected statesman, a face
known to millions of Floridians. ‘Governor MacKenzie, the people of Florida look to you to represent them, and follow you respectfully.’
    Joaquin paused, as though thinking. Aubrey knew it was a theatrical flourish. Joaquin Abell was never lost for words.
    ‘Yet despite your combined wealth and influence there is one thing that none of you can control. Time. Like the rest of the world you are held captive by what you know in the here and
now.’ Joaquin smiled at them. ‘I, however, am liberated by the knowledge of tomorrow. And it is this that I wish to share with you this morning.’
    Aubrey frowned as he watched, caught unaware by Joaquin’s astonishing claim.
    Joaquin glanced across at him and, as previously instructed, Aubrey pressed a button on the remote control he held in his hand. The projector flickered into life and the screen behind Joaquin
lit up. Almost immediately, Aubrey recognized the face of news anchor Juliette Parker as she appeared on the screen – the iconic face of one of Robert Murtaugh’s best-known employees.
But there was no sound to the image and it flickered strangely, as though Parker’s studio had been filmed through a rippling heat haze. Brief flares of static leapt across the image as Parker
silently mouthed her lines. Aubrey caught a few words from her lips:
earthquake
;
sudden
;
casualties.
    Suddenly, the image changed to one of a devastated shoreline, upturned boats and vehicles scattered across roads buckled by the immense seismic might of a churning tectonic plate. Aubrey watched
the silently flickering images of stricken survivors afloat amidst vast swathes of floodwater filled with the detritus of smashed buildings. A tsunami, he realized, sweeping vulnerable human life
before its wrath across a land devastated