Thanks, Tikatu, ED and Maggie, for your kind reviews.
8: Devastation
Below the Pacific, some ten miles east of Ile St. Martin-
Nudged by rising magma, the seabed shifted again. Coarse, ancient basalts shrugged upward like Atlas, then settled wearily back to their accustomed position, a movement of maybe twelve feet; you'd travel farther walking to the kitchen for a snack. But the crust's restless spasm gave terrible force and direction to the waters above, unleashing gold, sulfur, ashes and chaos.
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Tracy Island; a clear, starry night at the family's extremely private beach-
It was, indeed, a lovely evening for a stroll out-of-doors; breezy and lush with the mingled scents of ocean and tropical gardens. Lady Penelope rarely regretted visiting Jeff's island paradise, for the peace, the views and the romance, if nothing else. She tended to come away nicely bronzed, as well, and who could ask more of a working vacation?
As the beautiful young woman ambled along the shore, hand in hand with an expansive and laughing Jeff Tracy, she very gently steered their conversation to the reason for her presence: the 2066 Multinational Corporate Conference, in Singapore.
"How terribly exciting it must be!" she cooed, gazing up at him with wondering eyes. Penny had dressed herself in an artfully revealing pink halter and wrap skirt. Her jewelry was minimal, her hair "carelessly" piled, her perfume subtle and sugary. In two short words: seductive perfection.
Jeff's feet were casually bare and his pants rolled up. His voice in the starlit darkness held a warm and audible smile.
"It's not as thrilling an event as you seem to think, Penny. I'm sure to an outsider, being presented at court would seem like non-stop excitement, too. But, when you've been there…"
The young noblewoman winced delicately, awash in vivid memories.
"Dreadfully tedious, actually," she admitted. "Dear, sweet Denys is the absolute measure of staid propriety, and an inspiration to us all. Quite makes one yearn for the vanished days of his regent… not that I speak from personal experience, of course. But I'm certain that a conference such as the one in Singapore simply pulses with high finance and intrigue."
Jeff chuckled, and his big hand tightened on her much smaller one, briefly. They'd met first in Monaco, where he'd gone to attend another such conference, and the memory of her behavior that time both enticed and frustrated him.
"More like high backstabbing and industrial espionage, Penny… but if you're that interested, why not come along, as my guest? You can't sit in on the actual meetings, but Singapore is a pretty diverting place all on its own. And, er… we could meet for dinner and a date, every evening afterward."
Mission accomplished. Penelope very briefly hugged Jeff's near arm, feeling hard muscle beneath his expensively tailored shirt. He was a strong man, wealthy, handsome and sophisticated, and she ought to have found him more attractive, but it seemed that her rebellious heart belonged to another. Still, business before each and every pleasure. Even John.
She thanked Jeff profusely, making delighted exclamations and happy plans to the music of water and the glow of soft path lighting. Inside herself, however, Penelope's mind raced with details.
Even more than states and countries, the world's multinational corporations had to avoid crossing each other… unless someone smelled blood in the water. Then, all wagers were off. These meetings were held to determine the upcoming year's division of influence, expansion and development. Naturally, key plans were expressed therein. Plans which WorldGov would pay dearly to obtain. Penny had two goals at the conference.
1) To micro-bug the secure meeting room, using RFID powder and a VPN tunnel.
2) To obtain any and all information available on one Stavros Valianatos, the newly elected CEO of Omega Petrochemical.
…And darling Jeff had just handed her the key. Penelope was reasonably close to genuine affection when she kissed his cheek, though she skipped free of the resultant embrace with a nervous laugh and a thudding heart. Not here, she told herself, not on business and not with this man, whose son she was beginning to love.
An odd sound caught Penny's attention just a fraction sooner than Jeff's, for she was several decades younger. A distinct, low-pitched rumble, it was; like the sea, only… louder? Clutching Jeff Tracy's right arm, Penny turned to regard the ocean. What she saw, glinting like frost in the starlight and moving horribly fast, was a very long line of white, raging surf.
"Jeff…?" she whispered, confused.
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Ile St. Martin, in a luxurious stateroom aboard the 100-foot yacht, Survivor-1
Jason Vann looked on via live feed at the chaos wreaked by his little pyro-team, and he laughed. Lensed by two of his cameramen… Vic and Shane… the male contestants pointed, yelled and hurled bitter accusations. The females protested their innocence, holding forth a damn tuna can as evidence that their presence in camp at the time of the blaze had been coincidental. The poor dears kept bringing up his warning of a possible raid, but Jason had made sure that only the women received that intel. The men had simply been told that those greedy females were hording food. Good old suspicious, nasty human nature had done the rest. That, and a well-flung torch.
Tomorrow night's ratings, Vann figured, would be sky-high. Deeply satisfied, the host raised a brimming wine glass to his reflection in the mirrored ceiling, noting that his highlights needed touching up. He'd have to have his personal assistant… what's-her-name…schedule an appointment at Le Chic. 'Possibly the eyebrows, too,' Jason thought, turning his attention back to Veal Marsala and plot twists.
He heard the approaching wave's avalanche rumble, but didn't understand it. Not until far too late to react.
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At the men's camp, through a cliff-side gap in the trees, twelve contestants and two gaping cameramen watched as a great, surging wave blasted into the bay. Mounting up like a white-capped wall, it caught the production company's yacht and flipped the entire thing end-over-end onto land. The noise of the wave was like roaring flame, the sound of the yacht a wild shriek; the booming death-scream of seventy tons of metal and fiberglass.
"Oh my God…" Bambi whispered, dropping her tuna can as another giant wave smashed ship and shore like a hammer. "Oh my God, they're dead! What are we going to do?"
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Tracy Island-
Alarms shrilled throughout the house, pool and lab complex, drawing rescuers from every location but one: the beach.
6
