The Sci Fi Guy

Miami

 

RM Investments Corporate Offices, International Gateway Towers

Miami, Florida

 

Raphael Montenegro was a content man. He sat at his desk in his office in the second-to-top story of the tallest building in Miami, and stared at his computer screen. The market had done wonders for him today. His once-small international investment firm had enjoyed it’s biggest single day of growth yesterday, and in doing so he’d earned his annual bonus. His trip with his girlfriend Alana to Europe was now a sure thing. They’d been talking about going since last Spring, but she wanted a nothing-but-the-best trip of five-star hotels and exclusive pampering. She wanted a world-class, once in a lifetime trip, and that’s what he wanted to give her. In his mind, she’d earned it by putting up with his radical mood changes over the last six months as his company bloomed and his time at home dwindled to nearly nothing.

 

The screen changed colors briefly, and then dimmed to a darker gray. His direct-connection to London had just been dropped. It happened all too often; that was the price for paying for updates within three seconds rather than the standard fifteen. A small circle appeared in the center of his display, spinning quickly as the software attempted to reconnect his satellite link.

 

He turned away, and stared out his office window to the Atlantic. The water was beautiful today, and the mid-morning sun shimmered off it to reveal a gorgeous medley of blues and greens, as well as the white waters caressing the beaches. Already the beaches were filled with Miami’s most envied – the bronzed men and women that had figured out how to ditch a day off work but still be able to afford the BMW’s and Lexus’ that filled the streets. Had it been a Friday, Raphael would probably join them.

 

For a moment he glanced at himself in the reflection from the window. His head of hair was still thick, but a subtle shade of gray was infiltrating his otherwise perfect black locks. His chiseled chin and deep set blue-gray eyes had earned him a “most eligible bachelor” nomination by the Miami Business Council a few years ago, and his looks also kept him from tying himself down to Alana. She was great – a former model turned environmental nonprofit leader. She exuded passion in everything she did, including the bedroom, which kept Raphael satisfied night after night. But yet, when he traveled away from Miami without her, he was constantly approached by women of all ages, and he found it hard to imagine a ring on his finger. It struck him as the equivalent of a ball-and-chain on his ankle.

 

Raphael turned his eyes back to the computer monitor, which was still a shade of light gray. The connection hadn’t reset yet. Strange. In the two years since he invested in the satellite link he hadn’t lost more than twenty or thirty seconds at a time. This was going on at least a minute. He tapped the speakerphone button on his phone and dialed ‘08′ for his secretary. She answered the phone professionally, “Yes, Mister Montenegro?”

 

“Gail, can you get Marty over at Global Markets on the phone? It looks like my bridge to London isn’t working.”

 

“Right away sir.”

 

“Thank you!” Raphael had learned long ago the secret to keeping a secretary happy was to reward her every third Friday afternoon with something (usually tickets to a weekend event or a request that she take the afternoon off and enjoy her weekend), and to always thank her for everything. Gail had been with him for the last two years, and he was confident that she’d stay around as long as she could still type. Fortunately for him she was a large woman, and thus didn’t appeal to his sexual desires. Those had cost him several secretaries, not to mention a few settlements in sexual harassment suits. Lesson learned.

 

He turned his eyes back to the water. He wasn’t concerned about the dropped connection much today. Unless a massacre was happening over there, he’d be able to leave the office within a couple hours and head over to Alana’s office for a surprise lunch. Perhaps he could rescue her from another intolerable phone call with the board of her non prof. He had no idea how she put up with them.

 

As he stared out the window, he noticed something odd on the horizon. It was dimming. The horizon at this height was sometimes hard to see – the blue of the sky faded in to the blue of the ocean with ambiguity. But right now something was off. The horizon was clear – there was a dark gray line spanning as far as his eyes could see. He fixated his gaze on the distant spectacle and for an instant thought he could see it growing. Suddenly his phone rang, and he turned around to read the display that revealed his secretary on the line. He tapped the speakerphone button, and pressed her line, “Yes, Gail?”

 

“Mister Montenegro, I can’t seem to get a connection to Global Markets. Would you like me to email them?”

 

Raphael turned his attention back to the water momentarily, and was certain that the gray horizon had grown and darkened even further.

 

“Yea, that’s fine Gail,” he stammered. He stood up from his chair and pressed his palm to the window, shielding his eyes from the mid morning sunlight. He leaned his head forward, challenging his eyes to focus on the horizon.

 

Suddenly, a realization dawned on him. The horizon was a wave.

 

A wave bigger than anything he’d ever imagined.

 

The water was rushing in quickly, and the gray color materialized in to a variety of grays and blues and whites of colliding water. It was growing larger now, and Raphael searched the horizon from North to South. This tidal wave was enormous, stretching for as far as his eyes could see. He couldn’t judge it’s height, but it seemed as if it was taller than him. It kept growing, kept rushing forward.

 

Somewhere in the offices next to him, someone else must have looked out the window. He heard a woman’s scream, a shrill soprano that was superior to any rendition he’d ever heard in a movie. So this was what terror truly felt like.

 

The wave kept growing in his vision. There was no point of reference for him to judge it’s height or speed. It just kept growing. He stared in to the water, now rushing with a brilliant white and blue on it’s surface, intertwining colors and textures like only a painter could conjure in some twisted vision of a tidal wave.

 

For a split second, Raphael Montenegro swore he could see a sailboat caught up in the fury of the surf. He was given just enough time for his heart to register a rush of adrenaline, and for his mind to think one last thought about his life. It had been good, and he felt like he was just about to get to the best part. This can’t be happening.

 

Alana.

 

The tidal wave crashed ashore, and Raphael Montenegro had far less than a second to realize that the International Gateway Towers, all 54 floors of it, were no match for this wave. It dwarfed the building by comparison, and the last thing Raphael saw was a blurry wall of blue and green water that wouldn’t be stopped by a mere building.