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Author
Biography Paul Mar was
born and raised in One
bead
of sweat slowly coursed its way down the back of Doctor Peter Jacobs as he stood
and scanned the skyline above the horizon. He remained motionless, the momentary
tickling sensation a welcome distraction from the hot, dry desert air and the
glaring sun. The trickle of sweat finally made contact with his shirt and soaked
into the already damp cloth. Jacobs plucked gently at his shirt to unstick it
from his shoulders. It had been some time since he had last dealt with such hot
weather. The heat haze gave the red desert earth the shimmer of a lake surface
in the distance. It reminded Jacobs of blood. Since the latest death everything
seemed to remind him of blood. The
body had lain crumpled in the shower recess, wallowing in a pool of its own
blood. It coated the shower floor and sprays glistened wetly on the walls. So
much blood it was hard to believe it all came from one man. The smell was
nauseating, rich and tangy in the nostrils, almost thick enough to taste. Yet
somehow, what made it most disturbing was the sound. Plink
… Plink … It
was a gentle, almost musical sound as individual drops of blood dripped down the
drain to join what already filled the pipes below. The rhythmic note mocked the
situation as if to laugh at the fate of the man. Plink
… Plink … The
cause of the man’s death and source of all the blood was plain to see. Each of
his wrists bore deep slashes, both across and up the arm, forming crude crosses.
From these apparently self-inflicted crimson crucifixes his life had drained.
Jacobs had never seen anything like it before. He prayed to God that he’d
never see anything like it again. He
was so lost in thought that he completely failed to notice the approach of the
helicopter until its buffeting down-draught roused him from his distraction. As
it landed its noise thankfully drowned out the sound of dripping blood that was
replaying in his mind. The door slid open and he watched as the emerging
passenger shook hands gratefully with the pilot before stepping out. Wearing a
dark suit with tie loosened, jacket removed and long sleeves rolled up, the man
moved with a fluid grace despite his solid, athletic appearance. The pilot
handed him a large bag, which he took with ease before turning and walking
towards Jacobs. He stopped upon reaching Jacobs, shifted the bag to his left
hand and extended his right in greeting. ‘Richard
Anderson.’ ‘Dr
Peter Jacobs,’ Jacobs said as he grasped Anderson’s hand to shake it. His
accent was hard to place. The accent of a person used to travelling the globe.
‘Thank you for coming, Father Anderson.’ Anderson
smiled easily as he replied, ‘Always glad to help in any way I can. But
don’t call me Father, I’m no longer a priest.’ ‘Sorry,
I was told you were a practising priest as well as a psychologist,’ Jacobs
smiled in return ‘It
was a recent decision. I hope that’s not a problem.’ ‘Not
at all,’ Jacobs said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his
brow. Anderson
took out his own handkerchief and did likewise. ‘This is some weather you’ve
got yourself here,’ he commented. ‘Wait
until we have a hot day. You won’t know what hit you.’ ‘I
can hardly wait,’ joked Anderson. ‘Come
on, we should get going.’ Anderson
surveyed the monotonous landscape of reddish earth and low scrub patches before
heading towards a cluster of cabin-like buildings with Jacobs. The sounds of
activity came from the largest of the buildings, a long structure that reminded
Anderson of a meeting hall. ‘Go
where?’ he asked. ‘I just got here.’ ‘I’ll
explain in a moment. Firstly, I need to know what you’ve been told so far.’ Jacobs
turned his head to study the other man as they walked. Brown eyes, short brown
hair and a light tan made him appear unremarkable at first, but he had an
ageless quality about him. If his file had not listed his age at nearly forty,
Jacobs would have thought he was in his late twenties. The few lines creasing
his face showed he was rarely without a smile. He seemed to project an aura of
confidence and trustworthiness. Anderson
shrugged before answering. ‘Well, not much really. I was told that GenSciTech
needed a counsellor for a while and that I matched the requirements. It’s
common knowledge GenSciTech does research into genetic engineering, making
juicier tomatoes, seedless watermelons, that sort of thing. What I don’t
understand is, if you’re an American-owned and -based company, why do you have
this small community on the edge of the Tanami Desert here in Australia?’ ‘Actually,
we have minimal contact with GenSciTech now. At first this facility was used to
develop drought-resistant crops, but I took charge here several years ago to
work on a new project. Apart from regular funding every year we rarely hear from
the main labs in America. This base has been as good as forgotten, which is why
I picked it in the first place.’ Anderson
watched Peter Jacobs’ face as he talked. The light tan in a desert environment
indicated he spent the majority of his time indoors. His dark eyes matched his
black hair, but seemed to develop an inner fire when he began talking about his
work. Anderson could tell that this was a man who worked hard and believed in
his work. ‘Why
do you want to work in a forgotten lab in the middle of nowhere?’ he asked as
they approached the buildings. Jacobs
stopped. ‘The work we are doing here is incredibly secret. Not even the board
of GenSciTech know what it is. This project is big. I think I can safely say it
has the potential to change the world. I don’t want to risk the industrial
espionage that goes on at other facilities. If nobody knows about us, they
can’t spy on us.’ After a brief pause he continued, ‘Things have been
going well until recently. Unfortunately, there have been some problems among
the staff in the last few months.’ ‘What
sort of problems?’ ‘They’re
a good group and have always been close. More like friends and family than just
co-workers. But lately I guess you could say there have been some problems with
morale. There has been questioning over whether or not the research is ethical.
Some think it is wrong to go on, that maybe it was a mistake to have started in
the first place.’ ‘Genetic
engineering of plants has been going on for years. You’re telling me your
staff are just debating the rights and wrongs of it now?’ ‘No.
The project I started when I took over deals more with cloning. Some of the
staff have started re-evaluating their views on the whole topic, questioning
their beliefs and faiths.’ As he spoke, Jacobs slowly lowered his gaze until
he was staring at the dusty ground. ‘Do we have the right to do this? Are we
trying to be gods?’ His eyes had taken on a glazed look, as if he were staring
at something that only he could see. ‘Two of the staff killed themselves last
week.’ An
uneasy silence settled over the men. Finally, Anderson filled the quiet. ‘That
must be hard on everyone. You want me to help your staff cope with the grief at
the loss of two workmates?’ ‘Yes,
but more than just that. I need you to get the staff focused again. Get them to
put aside their doubts.’ ‘Well,
the sooner I get started the better,’ Anderson said. ‘I think it would be
best to talk with the people who worked most closely with the two staff
first.’ ‘Most
of the staff are here at the base right now. They should be having lunch in the
mess hall at the moment,’ Jacobs said, glancing at his watch. ‘The people I
need you to see first are the group still at the labs.’ ‘The
labs aren’t here?’ ‘No,
the labs are about five hours’ drive into the desert. The cabins here are more
like a base camp. All supplies and personnel arrive here first. Staff can also
spend time with their families here. After the suicides I moved everyone back
here. There are just a few essential personnel left in the lodgings at the labs.
I need to know the group at the labs are stable and not putting the project in
jeopardy. There has already been one suspected attempt at sabotage about a week
ago.’ Jacobs started for the large building, signalling an end to the
conversation. ‘We can go to the mess hall for some lunch then head for the
labs. It will save time to go over any questions you might have during the
drive.’ ‘Lunch
sounds good to me,’ said Anderson as he shifted his bag from one hand to the
other. ‘It was quite a journey getting here, and I haven’t had a chance to
eat yet.’ As
he followed Jacobs to the mess hall, his mind wandered back to when he regularly
heard the confessions of others. On reflection, it was quite a peculiar, almost
unwholesome experience to listen to strangers relieving themselves of all their
darkest secrets and most shameful moments. But no matter what was admitted, he
could always tell when something was being held back. There
was no doubt in Anderson’s mind that Jacobs was keeping some details to
himself. What remained a mystery was whether or not the missing information was
important. Unconsciously, Anderson touched the small crucifix on the chain about
his neck. When he realised what he was doing he dropped his hand away almost
guiltily, then frowned. It was strange that the habit he had broken years ago
should suddenly reassert itself. * *
* The
landscape rolled steadily by as Richard Anderson watched it from the
passenger’s side of the jeep he had been riding in for hours. The heat haze
blurred the panorama of endless hard, red, sun-baked earth and patches of
spinifex grass. It struck him as being almost alien in appearance, as if he were
seeing pictures being sent from a probe on some distant planet. Anderson
found he was starting to feel alone and isolated. He realised that after
receiving the summons from Jacobs he had not spoken to anyone before leaving his
home in Sydney. The message seemed so urgent that he had just packed and left,
catching the first available flight to Adelaide. From there, a small plane
specially chartered by GenSciTech flew him to Alice Springs. As soon as the
plane touched down, he was taken to what he considered a nearly suicidally small
helicopter for the final stage of his journey. It had taken some encouraging
words from the pilot before he had boarded, only to discover after landing that
his ultimate destination was still some hours away. ‘We’re
nearly there now,’ said Jacobs. He glanced at his passenger. ‘You’ve been
kind of quiet the whole way. Something on your mind?’ ‘I
was just thinking that I should make a few phone calls when we arrive. Get in
touch with some friends and let them know where I’ve gone. Ask one of them to
look after the house while I’m away,’ replied Anderson. ‘Sorry,
there are no telephones at the labs. I should have thought of that back at the
base, you could have sent a message from there,’ Jacobs said apologetically.
‘It just didn’t occur to me because radio contact is normally restricted to
emergencies and priority messages only.’ ‘It
sounds like you’ve managed to cut yourselves off pretty effectively. How do
people stay in touch with the rest of the world?’ ‘The
monthly supply drop at the base also doubles as a mail drop-off and pick-up.’ ‘There’s
no way of contacting anyone from the labs?’ ‘The
advantage of this facility is its isolation. At first there were satellite
phones and radio communications, but those can be intercepted. This project is
too important to take any risks, so I had them removed and a landline to the
base put in. When we get to the labs you can talk to our radio man at the base;
he’ll send on any messages you want. That’s the only way of contacting
someone without driving back to the base.’ ‘After
what it took to get here, I think I’ve done enough travelling for a while.
Sending a message will be fine,’ said Anderson. ‘Glad
to hear it because we’re here.’ Anderson
turned his attention to a small group of buildings that the jeep was
approaching. There were four buildings, all very similar to each other. They
appeared more like single-storey concrete bunkers than laboratories or any other
more conventional building. Each one was roughly square, thirty metres to a
side. The buildings were arranged to form the four corner points of a square,
with roughly one hundred metres between the buildings of each side. Within the
square were small fields of dead and withered plants, evidence of failed
experiments, or poor gardening. ‘It
may not look very impressive, but I think you will find that appearances can be
deceptive,’ said Jacobs. ‘The
place seems rather small,’ remarked Anderson. ‘What
you can see here is just the tip of the iceberg. Each of the buildings you can
see is just an entrance. The rest is all underground. It helps keep the place a
secret, and it’s more comfortable than being in the heat up here all the
time.’ Jacobs
drove the jeep up to one of the buildings and stopped in front of a large metal
shutter door with an A printed on it. After a moment the shutter began to rise,
revealing the garage-like interior. Jacobs drove inside and parked in one of the
empty spaces. The two men climbed out of the jeep as the shutter closed again.
In the garage the temperature was much more comfortable, and the fluorescent
lights overhead less harsh than the glaring sun. Anderson removed his bag from
the back of the jeep and followed Jacobs to an elevator in the corner of the
garage. ‘All
the staff here at the moment will be working now, so you will get to meet them
later,’ said Jacobs as he withdrew a card from his shirt pocket. ‘I’ll
show you your room then we can go to my office and get you an identification
card.’ Beside
the elevator doors was a panel with a card reader and a small display panel.
Jacobs swiped his ID through the card reader and a green light flashed on in the
display, accompanied by the faint hum of machinery as the elevator began to
move. ‘All
the elevators and doors in the facility are opened or activated by ID cards,’
explained Jacobs. The
elevator doors opened and the men stepped inside. Jacobs pressed the button for
level four and the doors closed again. After a short, smooth ride down the doors
reopened and the men stepped out into a brightly lit hallway. ‘This
is one of the accommodation levels,’ said Jacobs as he led the way down the
hall. ‘Unfortunately, they were designed mostly to be practical rather than
homey.’ ‘It
looks like a hospital ward,’ Anderson noted as he looked around. ‘After
a while you get used to it,’ replied Jacobs stopping outside one of the doors.
‘This will be your room, room four-twelve.’ Anderson
looked at the stark white door, distinguishable from the others only by the 412
printed on the security panel beside the door. Jacobs passed his ID through the
reader and the door lock clicked open. Anderson entered the room, switching on
the light, while Jacobs waited outside. Anderson placed his bag on the floor and
looked around. The furnishings were basic, consisting of a single bed, desk,
chair and a small wardrobe. Another door opened into a claustrophobic bathroom. ‘This
is as luxurious as the rooms get. The staff spend most of their time working or
in one of the recreational areas, so the rooms are really just somewhere to
sleep,’ Jacobs said from the doorway. ‘It
may not exactly be five-star accommodation, but I’ve stayed in a lot worse,’
replied Anderson. ‘You
probably want to unpack and freshen up a bit, but first I need you to come to my
office. I can give you an ID card and give you some basic information about this
facility.’ Everything
was happening so fast that Anderson had little choice but to let himself be
carried along. He switched off the light and closed the door as he left the
room. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. Click on the cart below to purchase this book:
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