Mr Drewer had thought the day couldn’t get any worse. He didn’t really mind that the day at the office had been chaotic, disorganized and stressful. Of course if you asked him about his day he would have told you that a day like he had just experienced was completely unacceptable, and that he was furious, and that heads may be rolling in the near future if things weren’t resolved, and that those heads didn’t have to be the heads of those actually responsible but maybe just the head of anyone who asked him inane questions about his day.
If he was honest however he knew that part of him always enjoyed rising to such occasions and being the one that calmed things down, organized the response and generally sucked all the stress away in that strange way that only he could. Mr Drewer seemed to not just be calm, but had the most unusual ability to actually create calm, almost without trying. He took pride in being the unflappable resilient one. It only served to increase the air of mystery and respect that surrounded him amongst his colleagues, and he had grown accustomed to that respect. He did after all deserve it.
What he did dislike though, and would candidly stress to anyone who asked, was being disturbed once he had left the office. He never left the office until everything was working again. He might not have resolved the issue yet, but things were being done, things were in motion, and that is what counted. He only ever left the office when he was completely sure that he didn’t need to poke, prod, motivate or scare someone into doing what needed doing. So when he left the office, he really meant it. You better have a damn good reason for disturbing him.
So when his mobile phone had rung just after he got home to the town house he wasn’t smiling when he glanced down to see who it was. Thankfully for the person on the other end, the person on the other end was Mr Nixon. When Mr Nixon called even Mr Drewer could put aside his displeasure at being disturbed.
“Mr Nixon?”
“Mr Drewer”
“Something important I presume?”
“Yes, just wanted to inform you of the latest information coming in to me. It would appear that the big man himself at their end is on route to London. He boarded a plane in Las Vegas an hour or so ago.”
“Thank you Mr Nixon, please update me in the morning if there are any further developments.”
“As you wish,” Mr Nixon replied before hanging up the phone.
Short, sweet and to the point. That was probably what Mr Drewer liked most about Mr Nixon. He didn’t even attempt to engage in idle chatter or pleasantries before delivering the information that he wanted to deliver. Mr Drewer really did wish sometimes that more people could be like Mr Nixon. It would make his organizing of things so much easier. He also understood the meaning of instructions. This at least meant he was unlikely to be disturbed again this evening.
There was nothing Mr Drewer valued more than his quiet time. He had become accustomed to his solitude down the years and found his respite in the little things. When you were surrounded on a daily basis by decisions that might shape the fate of entire nations, or at the very least impact the lives of ordinary people with whom you still had some sympathy, you tended to appreciate things in an altogether different way. Tonight he had already decided was going to be a nice glass of red wine while he relaxed in his over-sized red leather chair with some good music as background noise, maybe some Bob Marley this evening. Occasionally he enjoyed one of the thick Cuban cigars that sat neatly in the ornate cedar cabinet that adorned the far wall. He had acquired them during the whole Cuban episode in nineteen sixty two and they were usually reserved for special occasions. He was mulling over the notion that today might constitute an exception to that rule as he decided to pour himself a glass from the bottle of nineteen forty five Château Mouton Rothschild that he had been saving for just such a day. One of the perks of having a job like Mr Drewer had was that acquiring rare things was nowhere near as difficult for him as it would be for any ordinary collector. Any wine collector in the world would most likely keel over in shock at their first glance of his wine rack, and that was before he even thought of showing them the bottles he kept in the cellar.
Just as he poured the wine into the glass and ran his nose just above the rim of the glass to inhale he heard the very last thing he wanted to hear at that moment. The only other phone he allowed in the room rang. It was an old nineteen seventies phone, with an oddly round shape and cast in orange plastic, a very bright orange that for some reason people had found fashionable circa nineteen seventy six.
Mr Drewer sighed. It probably shouldn’t have been unexpected. He had a feeling that if the orange phone was going to ring it would be this evening. He did wish that he’d had a chance to relax first but it wouldn’t be prudent to ignore the call. It wasn’t as if the caller didn’t know that Mr Drewer was at home. He wouldn’t have called in the first place if he didn’t know that Mr Drewer was there. Putting the wine glass down Mr Drewer wandered over to the orange phone and picked it up.
“Mr Drewer?” the voice on the other end of the phone inquired. Mr Drewer wasn’t sure why such a question would even be asked given that they both knew that only the two of them used this number, and that it was extremely unlikely that Mr Drewer would have had company.
“Mr Basilisk” Mr Drewer replied.
The long silence that followed told Mr Drewer all he immediately needed to know as to the purpose of this call.
“This wasn’t down to your lot was it?” Mr Drewer asked, “You don’t know any more about any of this than we do?”
Mr Drewer had always operated on a ‘need to know’ basis with a bit of ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them’ thrown in for good measure, even to his superiors and that included the purpose of the orange telephone. His superiors most definitely did not need to know that he had an illicit direct line to his counterpart in the competition. Mr Drewer had always maintained that the notion of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer was actually good advice. Besides, he wasn’t a politics person, he was an organizer, the man who fixed the problems rather than caused them. He found having the odd informal conversation with the opposition to usually be mutually beneficial. He didn’t know that much about Mr Basilisk other than the fact they shared a common job role and had some shared opinions on the best way to operate their respective organizations. You could say that they had a strained but firm respect for each other.
“No, completely clueless so far, infuriating isn’t it.”
“Excruciatingly so.”
“All those damned seers, geniuses and prodigies with their supposedly all knowing talents and abilities and we still find ourselves resorting to good old fashioned detective work.”
“Indeed, I would gladly have strangled one or two of them today. Still, if they were as perfect as they would like us to believe then they wouldn’t need us now would they?”
“So your lot have absolutely nothing either?”
“They are resorting to the good old fashioned detective work of timeline by timeline recall analysis as we speak.”
“Likewise.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me about this would you?”
“Have I ever?”
“No, I suppose not.”
That was surprisingly completely true. Mr Basilisk and Mr Drewer seemed to share an uncannily inherent ability to know which questions were appropriate to ask of each other. They almost instinctively knew which subjects could be broached through the orange telephone, and which couldn’t. Both men knew that this was exactly the type of occasion for which they had agreed to have the orange telephone in the first place.
They had installed it in the early seventies when Mr Basiliks predecessor had been moved along to another role after the whole Watergate debacle. She had been a wretched woman that Mr Drewer had found most objectionable. Anyone who thought trying to incite a country as complicated as America into a civil war for a second time clearly had no inclination to learn from history and that was something Mr Drewer simply could not abide. So he had only been too glad when Mr Basilisk turned out to be much more of a like minded soul.
They didn’t speak often, the orange phone could go for years without ringing, but when it did it was usually for a very good reason.
“Besides, your lot must be more pleased about the current situation than my lot is. What, with the timeline now seemingly ending and all.” Mr Drewer probed.
“You have to be kidding me!” Laughed Mr Basilisk slightly bitterly, “The timeline ending on a date other than the one it is destined to end on? Our higher ups consider that just as bad, if not worse, than your infernal meddling in the destiny of humanity. They might not admit to that just yet, at least until they hear the big man offer an opinion, but they see this as potentially disastrous. If the universe throws things into a new timeline on its own steam without any interference from either of us what does that say about our mission statement? No, this is bad, very bad, they are really eager to pin this on you guys so that the rank and file doesn’t start to murmur about universal destinies and all that. It’s not like we don’t have the sort of operatives that are prone to over-thinking a situation and questioning, and you know where that leads.”
“I hadn’t considered that angle,” Mr Drewer mused, silently slightly annoyed at himself for not having deduced that likelihood on his own, “it makes sense from your point of view.”
“On the subject of the big man, he is taking a personal interest in all this. He is on a plane already and will be here sometime tomorrow morning. Just so you know.”
“I know. The ever gracious Mr Nixon informed me of the fact just before you called.”
“Really?” Mr Basilisk asked, clearly a little agitated, “damn that man, I would really like to know how he does that. He will be a thorn in our side until the very end I am sure.”
“I am sure he will. Mr Nixon however does not reveal his methods, even to me. So even if I thought there was any mileage in sharing some bits or pieces with you on that subject I wouldn’t be able to.”
“Like hell you would, even if you did know he does it.”
“Perhaps,” Mr Drewer said smiling to himself, “just like I won’t pretend to ask what your next course of action is going to be.”
“We should keep in touch though,” Mr Basilisk suggested, “I imagine that both of us will be putting in some overtime on the manipulation front over the next few days, especially given that both us know that neither of our management teams will want things to stay the way that they are.”
“I concur.”
“Good, then I shall stay in touch,” Mr Basilisk confirmed, “I have a weird feeling about this one. It isn’t normal. We should both be on our guard.”
“Aren’t we already?”
Mr Basilisk just laughed, “Aye, very true. You are probably never off guard anyway are you?”
“Some people would most definitely suggest that to be true if you asked.”
“Good night Mr Drewer.”
“Good night Mr Basilisk.”
Mr Drewer neatly placed the orange phone back on its base and decided that tonight did indeed merit one of those Cuban cigars.
If he was honest however he knew that part of him always enjoyed rising to such occasions and being the one that calmed things down, organized the response and generally sucked all the stress away in that strange way that only he could. Mr Drewer seemed to not just be calm, but had the most unusual ability to actually create calm, almost without trying. He took pride in being the unflappable resilient one. It only served to increase the air of mystery and respect that surrounded him amongst his colleagues, and he had grown accustomed to that respect. He did after all deserve it.
What he did dislike though, and would candidly stress to anyone who asked, was being disturbed once he had left the office. He never left the office until everything was working again. He might not have resolved the issue yet, but things were being done, things were in motion, and that is what counted. He only ever left the office when he was completely sure that he didn’t need to poke, prod, motivate or scare someone into doing what needed doing. So when he left the office, he really meant it. You better have a damn good reason for disturbing him.
So when his mobile phone had rung just after he got home to the town house he wasn’t smiling when he glanced down to see who it was. Thankfully for the person on the other end, the person on the other end was Mr Nixon. When Mr Nixon called even Mr Drewer could put aside his displeasure at being disturbed.
“Mr Nixon?”
“Mr Drewer”
“Something important I presume?”
“Yes, just wanted to inform you of the latest information coming in to me. It would appear that the big man himself at their end is on route to London. He boarded a plane in Las Vegas an hour or so ago.”
“Thank you Mr Nixon, please update me in the morning if there are any further developments.”
“As you wish,” Mr Nixon replied before hanging up the phone.
Short, sweet and to the point. That was probably what Mr Drewer liked most about Mr Nixon. He didn’t even attempt to engage in idle chatter or pleasantries before delivering the information that he wanted to deliver. Mr Drewer really did wish sometimes that more people could be like Mr Nixon. It would make his organizing of things so much easier. He also understood the meaning of instructions. This at least meant he was unlikely to be disturbed again this evening.
There was nothing Mr Drewer valued more than his quiet time. He had become accustomed to his solitude down the years and found his respite in the little things. When you were surrounded on a daily basis by decisions that might shape the fate of entire nations, or at the very least impact the lives of ordinary people with whom you still had some sympathy, you tended to appreciate things in an altogether different way. Tonight he had already decided was going to be a nice glass of red wine while he relaxed in his over-sized red leather chair with some good music as background noise, maybe some Bob Marley this evening. Occasionally he enjoyed one of the thick Cuban cigars that sat neatly in the ornate cedar cabinet that adorned the far wall. He had acquired them during the whole Cuban episode in nineteen sixty two and they were usually reserved for special occasions. He was mulling over the notion that today might constitute an exception to that rule as he decided to pour himself a glass from the bottle of nineteen forty five Château Mouton Rothschild that he had been saving for just such a day. One of the perks of having a job like Mr Drewer had was that acquiring rare things was nowhere near as difficult for him as it would be for any ordinary collector. Any wine collector in the world would most likely keel over in shock at their first glance of his wine rack, and that was before he even thought of showing them the bottles he kept in the cellar.
Just as he poured the wine into the glass and ran his nose just above the rim of the glass to inhale he heard the very last thing he wanted to hear at that moment. The only other phone he allowed in the room rang. It was an old nineteen seventies phone, with an oddly round shape and cast in orange plastic, a very bright orange that for some reason people had found fashionable circa nineteen seventy six.
Mr Drewer sighed. It probably shouldn’t have been unexpected. He had a feeling that if the orange phone was going to ring it would be this evening. He did wish that he’d had a chance to relax first but it wouldn’t be prudent to ignore the call. It wasn’t as if the caller didn’t know that Mr Drewer was at home. He wouldn’t have called in the first place if he didn’t know that Mr Drewer was there. Putting the wine glass down Mr Drewer wandered over to the orange phone and picked it up.
“Mr Drewer?” the voice on the other end of the phone inquired. Mr Drewer wasn’t sure why such a question would even be asked given that they both knew that only the two of them used this number, and that it was extremely unlikely that Mr Drewer would have had company.
“Mr Basilisk” Mr Drewer replied.
The long silence that followed told Mr Drewer all he immediately needed to know as to the purpose of this call.
“This wasn’t down to your lot was it?” Mr Drewer asked, “You don’t know any more about any of this than we do?”
Mr Drewer had always operated on a ‘need to know’ basis with a bit of ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them’ thrown in for good measure, even to his superiors and that included the purpose of the orange telephone. His superiors most definitely did not need to know that he had an illicit direct line to his counterpart in the competition. Mr Drewer had always maintained that the notion of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer was actually good advice. Besides, he wasn’t a politics person, he was an organizer, the man who fixed the problems rather than caused them. He found having the odd informal conversation with the opposition to usually be mutually beneficial. He didn’t know that much about Mr Basilisk other than the fact they shared a common job role and had some shared opinions on the best way to operate their respective organizations. You could say that they had a strained but firm respect for each other.
“No, completely clueless so far, infuriating isn’t it.”
“Excruciatingly so.”
“All those damned seers, geniuses and prodigies with their supposedly all knowing talents and abilities and we still find ourselves resorting to good old fashioned detective work.”
“Indeed, I would gladly have strangled one or two of them today. Still, if they were as perfect as they would like us to believe then they wouldn’t need us now would they?”
“So your lot have absolutely nothing either?”
“They are resorting to the good old fashioned detective work of timeline by timeline recall analysis as we speak.”
“Likewise.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me about this would you?”
“Have I ever?”
“No, I suppose not.”
That was surprisingly completely true. Mr Basilisk and Mr Drewer seemed to share an uncannily inherent ability to know which questions were appropriate to ask of each other. They almost instinctively knew which subjects could be broached through the orange telephone, and which couldn’t. Both men knew that this was exactly the type of occasion for which they had agreed to have the orange telephone in the first place.
They had installed it in the early seventies when Mr Basiliks predecessor had been moved along to another role after the whole Watergate debacle. She had been a wretched woman that Mr Drewer had found most objectionable. Anyone who thought trying to incite a country as complicated as America into a civil war for a second time clearly had no inclination to learn from history and that was something Mr Drewer simply could not abide. So he had only been too glad when Mr Basilisk turned out to be much more of a like minded soul.
They didn’t speak often, the orange phone could go for years without ringing, but when it did it was usually for a very good reason.
“Besides, your lot must be more pleased about the current situation than my lot is. What, with the timeline now seemingly ending and all.” Mr Drewer probed.
“You have to be kidding me!” Laughed Mr Basilisk slightly bitterly, “The timeline ending on a date other than the one it is destined to end on? Our higher ups consider that just as bad, if not worse, than your infernal meddling in the destiny of humanity. They might not admit to that just yet, at least until they hear the big man offer an opinion, but they see this as potentially disastrous. If the universe throws things into a new timeline on its own steam without any interference from either of us what does that say about our mission statement? No, this is bad, very bad, they are really eager to pin this on you guys so that the rank and file doesn’t start to murmur about universal destinies and all that. It’s not like we don’t have the sort of operatives that are prone to over-thinking a situation and questioning, and you know where that leads.”
“I hadn’t considered that angle,” Mr Drewer mused, silently slightly annoyed at himself for not having deduced that likelihood on his own, “it makes sense from your point of view.”
“On the subject of the big man, he is taking a personal interest in all this. He is on a plane already and will be here sometime tomorrow morning. Just so you know.”
“I know. The ever gracious Mr Nixon informed me of the fact just before you called.”
“Really?” Mr Basilisk asked, clearly a little agitated, “damn that man, I would really like to know how he does that. He will be a thorn in our side until the very end I am sure.”
“I am sure he will. Mr Nixon however does not reveal his methods, even to me. So even if I thought there was any mileage in sharing some bits or pieces with you on that subject I wouldn’t be able to.”
“Like hell you would, even if you did know he does it.”
“Perhaps,” Mr Drewer said smiling to himself, “just like I won’t pretend to ask what your next course of action is going to be.”
“We should keep in touch though,” Mr Basilisk suggested, “I imagine that both of us will be putting in some overtime on the manipulation front over the next few days, especially given that both us know that neither of our management teams will want things to stay the way that they are.”
“I concur.”
“Good, then I shall stay in touch,” Mr Basilisk confirmed, “I have a weird feeling about this one. It isn’t normal. We should both be on our guard.”
“Aren’t we already?”
Mr Basilisk just laughed, “Aye, very true. You are probably never off guard anyway are you?”
“Some people would most definitely suggest that to be true if you asked.”
“Good night Mr Drewer.”
“Good night Mr Basilisk.”
Mr Drewer neatly placed the orange phone back on its base and decided that tonight did indeed merit one of those Cuban cigars.
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