Instinct

By Aleksandar Vichev

What is the underlying cause of the endless cycle of peace and violence throughout the entire human history? Riots and wars? What do skyscrapers have to do with fashion trends? What do financial markets and music tastes have in common? What if they all depend on one single thing? “Instinct” is a book of fiction about the hidden engine of real-world processes.

Suraj Kapur just graduated as a journalist in the United States. Unable to find a job, left by his girlfriend, who went on to pursue her glamorous career, Suraj finds himself pressed against the wall by depression. So when he hears that the most powerful man in the world, Nicholas Grant, who many call the Puppet Master, has decided to reveal his secret in a book, Suraj embraces the ludicrous idea to do everything he possibly could to be chosen as the author.
Is he going to succeed? What is he going to find? What is Nicholas Grant’s secret and why are the other few, who know it, willing to kill him, but not let him share it with the rest of the world?

One thing is certain. “Instinct” will change the way you look at the world…

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483570358

Book preview

ONE

1.

He woke up. Despite the thick curtains of his window, sunlight managed to creep through. It was most likely past noon. After multiple attempts to fall asleep again, he finally succumbed to the will of his biological clock and got up from bed. He knew perfectly how his day would go, and so had no desire to even start it.

Not that he had anything special coming or was afraid of something. Quite the contrary – he expected nothing significant. Today. Just as nothing had happened to him yesterday. And the day before yesterday.

He would get dressed, go to the nearby supermarket where he’d buy the same low-grade food he had eaten yesterday. Afterwards he’d trawl through the entire Internet in search of job postings that make sense for a recently graduated young journalist to even bother with. Disheartened, he would then go out and read a book in fresh air. In the evening he would usually watch some stupid movie on TV, finishing what was left of his lunch. And so, with little meaning, another day of his life would have irreversibly passed.

He had been doing this for months. As it turned out, his oh-so-coveted diploma was merely an expensive piece of paper. Especially in the hands of an Indian immigrant with no practical experience outside of the university. Sure, he had covered some events. A car show, the city marathon. But nothing that could open the door to real, big journalism. The one he dreamt of as a teenager back in Mumbai. He had imagined a job as an investigative journalist at a large media company. Lately, this idea seemed even more ludicrous to him, to the point where it was funny.

Still, he got up and sat on the bed. He picked up the phone. He didn’t expect anyone to have called but checked anyway. He was right. No missed calls or messages. His friends had stopped thinking of him lately.

I understand – he said in his mind – most of them work, some even have families now. I am none of their concern.

He was sadder, however, about the fact that even she would call more seldom. In the first months after she left they would hear each other nearly every day. After that, once or twice a week. Now he was happy with a five-minute call once a month.

That’s the thing about long-distance relationships.

He laughed at his naïveté. There was no relationship. It was crystal clear to both of them that it would be a formality, nothing more. Especially with the several thousand miles between them.

Never had he imagined that life in New York could be this lonely.

He stood up, put on his slippers and crossed the room. Physically, he was healthy. Depression, however, ruined his psyche day by day. It turned even the most routine activities into torture. It made his daily life seem ever grayer.

He started walking through the only room in his apartment. He stumbled in a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, which he had endlessly delayed washing. He also had a little kitchen and a bathroom. The poverty threshold for a man who is not homeless yet. As they say, for some things one can never know.

He went to the bathroom, washed up hastily, after which he put on yesterday’s clothes and went out. His stomach was growling terribly. Long sleep alleviated the hunger, but once awake, he could hardly take it.

He walked inside the supermarket and headed for the foods with the largest discount. He knew by heart what was ‘off’ each day and where to find it. Adversity teaches one such things. And so does a lack of income.

He took a ready-to-eat packed pizza, a bag of chips and a large bottle of Coke. He became addicted to the dark, fizzy liquid as soon as he arrived in America nearly five years ago.

Whether you like it or not – he started justifying his actions – you pick up mostly the bad habits of a new culture.

He lined up in a queue in front of one of the registers. When things were going well, such thoughts never crossed his mind. Now, though, it all seemed so insulting. The whole made-up order. Were animals not lined up for branding in the same way? He could never shake the feeling that he was somewhat insignificant in the big picture.

- Hello! – he greeted the cashier politely when his turn came.

He received no response. Not even a glance, let alone a smile or anything along those lines. The cashier just slid his groceries through the barcode scanner.

- $12.97, please.

He could have sworn that this was the most fake ‘please’ anyone had ever uttered in the history of the planet. He paid, took his things and left.

He was already halfway home when he heard a voice behind him:

- Suraj! Suraj, hold up!

He wished he could disappear before he even turned to see who it was. Just sink into the ground. Or end up on another planet. Anything. What wouldn’t he give, only to avoid having these stupid feigned conversations in which people act intimate just as society had taught them. He suppressed his impulse to run and turned with a wide, friendly smile on his face.

It was one of his fellow students from college. They had graduated together. They had frequented the same halls to attend the same lectures for four years. Somewhere around that number hovered the times when they had actually said something to one another. Despite that, Suraj remembered his name.

- Hey, Jake, how are you?

Naturally, he couldn’t care less about how Jake was. This is why he hated this type of conversations.

- The guys at the office are busting my ass, but otherwise I’m pretty well.

- What office? Where do you work?

- Haven’t you heard? I got taken on by The New York Times about two months ago. It’s tiring but it’s been going fine for now. I’m covering the G-20 summit in two weeks. How have you been?

He felt sick. He managed to somehow get a hold of himself and respond:

- I’m doing fine as well, I’m working on a few projects for independent media companies.

Stupid lie. Now he couldn’t wait to leave.

- Well, nice seeing you, Jake. Good luck with your work.

He didn’t even wait for a response. He paced away hastily. He could feel the rage taking over him. He got angry. At Jake, at his luck, at the unfair world. He had applied to tens of places, one of which was The New York Times. Why had they not taken him instead of this…Jake.

I don’t remember him distinguishing himself with something in college. – he thought – We both have the exact same degrees and the exact same recommendations. And now he’s on his way to work at The New York Times and I’m on my way to eat microwaved pizza in my crummy, dark apartment.

***

He didn’t even realize he’d gotten home. He reached inside his jeans’ right pocket and pulled out the key to the front door. Dropped it. His hand was shaking. His whole body was shaking. He was raised never to envy but to be happy for others’ success. It wasn’t easy.

He bent over, took the key from the ground, unlocked and walked inside. He left the groceries on the kitchen table and went to his room. Not that there was anything to do there, he just couldn’t stay in one spot. He paced back and forth thinking about all his acquaintances whose lives seemed to just arrange themselves on their own.

Did I go wrong somewhere? Am I doing something wrong?, he asked himself.

He spent at least half an hour addressing similar questions to the empty room. He finally settled down. He went in the kitchen, warmed a slice of pizza in the microwave and went back to the room. He took the remote from the bedside cabinet and turned on the TV. At the same time, he ate on the bed. There were crumbles everywhere but those had stopped bothering him a long time ago.

He shuffled through the channels looking for something interesting to watch but at this time of day – it was supposed to be afternoon – there was nothing of interest anywhere. There must have been a place where something was happening that was worth being informed about. That’s why he switched to CNN – another place where he’d applied for a job and had not even gotten a response.

The TV was placed on top of a small table directly in front of his bed, so he turned up the volume, so as to hear better, and lay down comfortably.

After a while, he started to feel like even in the outside world there was nothing new happening. In the Middle East some fanatics had decided to butcher an entire village of innocent civilians because God had told them to. Europe was still recovering from the economic recession. In the States they were considering raising the minimum hourly wage. The Australian stock exchange was collapsing. And so on, and so forth.

***

He was starting to get bored and was just thinking about turning on his laptop and checking the job ads when the anchorwoman started talking about something that caught his attention. He was undoubtedly not the only one affected by this piece of news. When it came to the actions of the Puppet Master the whole world listened in.

- Businessman Nicholas Grant – began the newscaster – has just made the thrilling announcement that he intends to permit only one person to enter his mansion. A journalist, who will write a book about him. A biography in which Mr. Grant will not only share his life story, but will also reveal the secret to his success.

Suraj sat there, stupefied. He couldn’t believe his ears.

- All candidates for the job are to submit only a cover letter. Mr. Grant has stressed that the motivation and personal qualities of the applicants are the only things that matter to him. The address for mailing applications can be found on CNN’s website.

This was followed by a story on yet another one of the President’s speeches. Suraj stopped listening almost instantly. He could not follow the commentary since his mind kept repeating over and over again what he had just heard.

Nicholas Grant, known by many as the Puppet Master, had decided to let one individual into his inner circle. The single richest and most influential person in the world wanted to uncover the many mysteries that had been surrounding him for decades.

Apparently, at ninety-seven you stop being a greedy narcissist., Suraj thought to himself and smiled.

The grey mogul, it appears, had figured he wouldn’t be alive for much longer and wanted to leave something to the world. And what would be better than the single thing that everyone was after – his secret.

Nicholas Grant had initially accrued his wealth on the stock market in the mid-20th century. What distinguished him from the other magnates on Wall Street was that the market wasn’t his only source of income. Grant had built something of a private empire. In the past he had bought off nascent media companies that currently kept over 70% of the world’s population in the loop. He’d also founded a fashion house that was now estimated to be somewhere in the billions range. It appeared as if anything Grant got his hands on turned into gold.

Over the years the world had witnessed many stock market collapses, in which most investors had lost entire fortunes. Not Grant. He somehow managed to pull his investments just before every crash. After every global crisis, he came out even richer than before.

Which is why many doubted his honesty. And rightfully so. How was it possible for someone to always be in the right place at the right time? How was it possible for him to always predict the tornado’s path and be able to avoid it? Was it possible that he himself was the reason behind it? Questions that everybody asked themselves and that the Puppet Master had finally decided to answer. And to this end, he looked for someone who could put his answers in writing.

The book would instantly become a bestseller and its author would, without a doubt, gain a tremendous amount of fame. Suraj made a promise to himself to do everything it takes to be the one Grant chooses.

He got up, went to the kitchen to get the pizza and the bottle of Coke, and went back to the room. He switched on his laptop and spent the rest of the day researching Nicholas Grant’s persona. It would not be an easy task to get his attention, but he had to try in every way possible. Millions would send in a cover letter. The chance of his letter being the one they like was close to that of winning the lottery. He needed to think of something else.

2.

- Damini! Hey Damini, move a bit to the left, the sun’s messing up my shot when you’re standing there!

- Better?

- Perfect! You ready? Three, two, go!

- Ladies and gentlemen, right now we’re standing in front of the Sydney Opera House where any minute now we’re expecting Madonna, the queen of pop, to walk the red carpet in order to perform at the final live concert of her career. Many of the biggest celebrities, both local and global, will be in attendance as well. We’re expecting names like Hugh Jackman, Nicholas Cage, Nicole Kidman and many, many others and we’ll be right here the entire time to get you as close as possible to the glamor of the stars. The best part is yet to come! We’ll be with you shortly after these messages.

She waited for the camera’s red light, an indicator that she’s on air, to go out and instantly asked:

- How was that?

- Not bad at all!

***

She could barely climb the stairs to her home. She felt beaten. She hadn’t slept since last morning and the sun was already setting outside. She’d been awake for about twenty-four, twenty-five hours.

God, these people were dragging themselves as if they’re going to the Oscars ceremony, not a concert.

After the whole thing, which lasted more than eleven hours, including the arrival of all the guests, was through, all she had strength for was slumping on the bed with her clothes on.

They have it easy, these celebrities, – she thought – a few shots on the way in and that’s it. And I have to look good on camera for eleven hours of live coverage.

Despite the overwhelming fatigue, she felt immense satisfaction. This was the first time they’d assigned her to cover an entire event from start to finish since she got the job a few months ago. Her superiors were clearly beginning to notice her qualities and were giving her ever greater responsibilities. The feeling that she was making big, confident strides towards her professional dream was perhaps too close to happiness. After a few more brilliant performances like this one, maybe they’d give her a shot at the 8 o’clock news. And after that, who knows, why not her ultimate goal – her own show.

With thoughts like this running through her head, she walked into her apartment, left her purse on the ground, slipped her shoes off without even stopping on the way to the bed and dove face first on