The Genesis Flaw

by L. A. Larkin

  ‘But you’ve helped friends out before. Stu, when he left jail and wanted to start afresh. You even got into Parliament House once; you were pretending to be a senator, weren’t you?’

  He smirked. ‘That was fun. But again, that was before I worked in InfoSec.’

  She knew she was badgering him. She knew she shouldn’t ask. But, like a terrier, she had the scent and wouldn’t give up.

  ‘When did you become such a wuss? What happened to the guy who loved challenging authority?’

  ‘He grew up.’

  ‘Well, if you won’t do it, can you find me someone who will?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Where’s all your, I don’t know, get up and go gone? You were the one who always got me doing things I never would have.’

  ‘Seri, it’s there, believe me, but it’s like being an alcoholic. If you’ve stopped drinking, you want nothing more than to have another drink but you don’t. You don’t dare or you’ll never be able to stop drinking. I can create you a fake passport, a fake anything, but I’ll get a taste for it and want to test myself with something more challenging. And, before I know it, I’ve been caught out and, bang, I’m in prison.’ He blinked rapidly, confused. ‘I thought you’d prefer me this way; you know, law-abiding, salaried.’

  He stood up and turned his back to her.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to have a go at me for getting my shit together.’

  She stood too and touched his shoulder gently. She’d gone too far and felt bad.

  ‘John, I never meant it that way. I’m very proud of you, I really am.’

  He remained silent, his square shoulders tensed, his back to her. She placed both arms around his waist and leaned into his back, placing her cheek against his right shoulderblade. She did it instinctively, having done this many a time when they were young and John was unhappy. She felt the muscles in his back relax and he placed his hands over hers which were clasped across his stomach. They stayed silently like this for several seconds.

  ‘I’ll give you a name. That’s all,’ he said softly. ‘There’ll be no hacking of Gene-Asis files.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be hacking. You’d just be coaching me how on to get through security. I’d never implicate you.’

  He pulled away from her embrace, angry again.

  ‘Of course I’d be implicated. I live with you. Seri, think this through. God, this is so you.’ He threw up his hands in exasperation.

  She frowned.

  ‘What do you mean, “so me”?’

  ‘You decide what you want and nothing will stop you. You won’t listen to anyone. Even your dad didn’t want you to do this. You’re prepared to ruin my life because of something you want to do. Well, not this time, Serena.’

  It was as if she’d been slapped. She was speechless, and felt her stomach plunge as she recognised her selfishness but then, a split second later, she recalled why she was driving John so hard.

  ‘John, I have to do this. Every day I see Dad on his death bed and every day I know, deep down, that he should still be alive. And I know he didn’t want me going after Gene-Asis because he thought I’d never win. But I know I can get them now. And I’m a big girl. I can look after myself. So, forgive me, but I’m going to do this with or without your help. Please don’t try to stop me.’

  He was calmer now. ‘I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you, Seri. I mean, who could? And Baz? You’re not getting him involved?’

  ‘No, I’ll get a job there without his help.’

  ‘What job, exactly?’

  ‘PA to the CEO, which means Bukowski, while he’s in Sydney.’ Karen, the PA who had found Mancini dead, had left the country to recuperate.

  ‘Bukowski? He’s no fool. I’ve read articles on him: brilliant, ruthless. It’s too risky.’

  ‘The risk is worth it.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ he said loudly, ‘God, we’re going round in circles.’

  ‘Okay, John, tell me this. Why did Mancini commit suicide only a few weeks before Supercrop Ultra’s launch? What was so bad he couldn’t bear to live with it anymore?

  ‘What is so critical that Bukowski, the global CEO, the single most important man in Gene-Asis, has to stay in Australia?

  ‘Why has Munroe suddenly disappeared?

  ‘Why was McPherson so terrified he didn’t want to talk to me? If he’d just wanted to cause trouble, he’d have blabbed away happily. And why was his research report never published?

  ‘Why did I get warned off by those two cops? And what about the burned photograph, with the threat on the back?

  ‘And why did my healthy dad suddenly die of lung cancer only a year after first using T-Speed, another Supercrop? Is this just coincidence or is something very strange going on?’

  John nodded. ‘Okay, I agree. It’s probably all connected somehow. But go to the police and let them find the evidence.’

  ‘Come on! By the time the police get access to the building, the evidence will be destroyed. You know as well as I do that complaints against Gene-Asis get swept under the carpet. Do you remember when a New South Wales farmer was taken to court by Gene-Asis because their GE canola blew into his organic fields? Gene-Asis claimed he stole their product. I mean, how could he have stopped the wind carrying pollen! They destroyed him in court, poor guy.’

  ‘So what do you expect to achieve, Seri? How can one person make a difference?’

  ‘One person can slip under the radar.’

  Chapter 21

  In her bedroom, Serena flicked though an ancient photograph album. She turned the pages rhythmically, like windmill sails, until she stopped at a photograph of herself as a skinny, twelve-year-old, arm in arm with John and Baz. It had been John’s birthday. Serena was in the middle, then as tall as John, and Baz was making a silly face. John was looking sideways at her, while she laughed into the camera. Their relationship had been so uncomplicated. Now she was unsure what kind of relationship they had. It was like they were in a no-man’s-land, wandering blindly. And the tension in the house tonight was like an electric current strong enough to power the CBD. She and John had never disagreed so profoundly on anything before, and it made her unhappy.

  Shutting the dog-eared album, Serena pulled out a sheet of paper and an envelope, and began to compose a letter to McPherson. She hadn’t been able to find a phone number or any internet-based address for him, so this was her only option. Pressing the pen onto the paper felt strangely old-fashioned. After several drafts had ended up in the bin and her hand ached, she finally had a letter she was happy with:

  Dear Dr McPherson,

  Remember me? I was one of your postgrad students at Arthur Phillip University (BSc). I wanted to tell you how truly inspiring I found your lectures. Despite your well-intentioned warnings about the difficulty of my chosen career path, I have decided to pursue my ambitions of conducting research overseas, and I was wondering if you could give me some guidance? Are there any particular countries or places you would recommend I conduct food trials? I am very grateful for any advice you can give me.

  Kind regards,

  Neresa Slow

  She hoped that the letter wouldn’t raise suspicions if anyone read his mail. As for the sender’s name, she had no doubt the professor would see through it instantly. She was equally sure Grimes and Heffernan would not. Tomorrow, as a precautionary measure, she’d get a post office box so the letter wouldn’t be traced back to the unit.

  Her Tbyte beeped. It was an email from Tracey:

  Hey! What do you think about this? I’ve been checking news headlines for 2012 to see if anything new, strange, or unusual happened that could be linked to eating Supercrop 13. One thing stood out: a new hepatitis virus, first recorded in the US in August 2012. They called it hepatitis S. Since then, over 20,000 people worldwide have died from it. No cure’s been found, and it’s a mystery how it’s being transmitted.

  Give me a call. Trace.

  Serena dialled Tracey’s number immediately.
/>
  ‘It’s possible they’re linked,’ said Serena. ‘But how can food cause a new virus?’ She watched Tracey in the monitor: slumped forward, hand propping up her head.

  ‘Well, I’ve looked into this. Say a Gene-Asis scientist used a virus closely related to the hepatitis S virus as a promoter gene in a plant. And then, let’s say, this plant, containing this promoter gene, is eaten by someone. Then say this virus manages to transfer through the person’s intestine into the rest of the body, there’s a possibility this could trigger an ancient hepatitis virus.’

  ‘What do you mean, ancient virus?’ Serena leaned closer to the screen, unaware that Tracey was getting a close-up of her cleavage.

  ‘Hey, you’re suffocating me with your bazookas.’

  Serena leaned back, smiling. ‘You’re so easily distracted. Go on.’

  ‘Well, our DNA goes back to the birth of humankind. And over the centuries, we’ve had to fight off viruses and the survivors pass on their immunity. So our DNA is embedded with dormant viruses rendered harmless, unless something triggers them again.’

  ‘That’s creepy. And when you say “related” to hep S, do you mean from the same family of viruses?’

  ‘Exactly. There are lots of viruses related to human hepatitis, including HIV. So, what I’m saying is, they could have used a virus related to hepatitis S, but one not known to affect people.’

  ‘But what’s a “promoter gene”?’

  Tracey tapped her nose several times with a pen. ‘Okay. Say I want to place a gene into a potato to stop pests. First, I’d use what’s called a vector to transfer the alien gene. But the potato doesn’t know if it should switch the new gene on or not. So scientists equip the new gene with a promoter which is like a light switch permanently set to “on”.’

  ‘Why would anybody in their right mind use a virus linked to hepatitis or HIV?’

  ‘For a promoter to work, it needs to be aggressive and force the host into accepting the alien gene. And a virus is very aggressive—simply put, it bullies the plant into turning on the new gene. I’m not saying anyone would use the human hepatitis S virus in plants, but it could be any one of a number of viruses related to hepatitis S.’

  ‘And then the virus enters the human body through the stomach?’

  ‘It’s possible, but horizontal gene transfer has been vehemently denied by all biotech companies. They claim it just doesn’t happen. But there’s mounting evidence it does occur.’

  ‘Let me get this straight. It’s possible that a virus used to genetically engineer a food product could be absorbed via the stomach lining into the bloodstream?’ asked Serena, shocked.

  ‘Yes, but there’s nothing conclusive yet.’

  ‘So why is hep S untreatable?’

  ‘That, I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, your theory’s sounding more and more likely.’

  ‘It is just a theory at this stage.’

  Serena pondered this information until she remembered John. ‘I’ve talked to John and it didn’t go well. He reluctantly agreed to put me in touch with someone for the ID but he’s not going to help me find the file.’

  ‘That’s a bummer. Does he know anyone who’s got hep S?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Serena, but she already knew where Tracey’s thoughts were going and she didn’t like it. ‘Yes, his girlfriend recently died of it and, no, we’re not going to use his grief to get him to help. No way.’

  ‘But what if you tell him Supercrop 13 could be linked to the outbreak?’

  ‘I can’t do it, mate. It feels wrong, like blackmail,’ she replied.

  ‘Up to you.’

  After finishing the call, Serena lay on her bed. No, she’d asked enough of John. All she needed was an introduction. She pondered her new identity: what would be her new name, how would she look and what should her résumé say? Serena vaguely registered the phone ringing in the lounge and John talking. Some time later, there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  John sat on her bed, his face drawn.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, sitting up.

  ‘Your friend Tracey called me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She thinks Gene-Asis’ food started the virus that killed Kat.’

  ‘She shouldn’t have told you that. It’s only a theory.’

  ‘But is she right?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, John. Nobody seems to know where this virus came from, and the timing fits in with the release of Supercrop 13. And the professor was talking about a finger in the dyke, trying to hold something back. It could be the virus.’

  He stood up and walked towards the door, pausing in the doorway, his back to her.

  ‘Okay, let’s get your Tbyte secure and I’ll call my mate who can help with the new ID. And I’ll advise you on corporate security—within reason. I draw the line at hacking.’

  Chapter 22

  In the shower, Serena leaned her head back as far as possible without losing her balance. The water, like hot pinpricks, stung her forehead. The rich copper hair dye trickled down her face, shoulders, back, stomach and legs, forming an orange question mark at her feet before it disappeared down the drain. Her hands slid down the recently cut strands of her sleek bob to her exposed neck. The last time she’d had hair this short, she’d been ten.

  The steam was too thick for the tiny ceiling fan that was trying to suck it away. She stepped out, took a black towel and dried her hair and body, then wiped the mirror. She stared at her reflection. It wasn’t Serena Swift she saw in the glass. The vibrant red hair made her skin appear paler, her hazel eyes greener. The sharp edge of the cut formed a horizontal line just below the ears, which accentuated her slender neck. Not bad, she thought.

  Yesterday had been difficult; she hoped today would be better. John had told Baz of her plans and, to her surprise, Baz had been on her side. It had led to an argument between the two brothers.

  ‘Guys, please. I’ll move out,’ she’d said.

  ‘No,’ both brothers had said in unison.

  Baz had looked at John. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you,’ he said, turning his gaze to her, ‘Seri, I know the recruiter, I can put in a good word. As far as I know, you’re whoever you tell me you are. Just give me a name. I’ll put in a call on Monday.’

  John had left the flat, slamming the door behind him. Some hours later, he’d returned with a slab of beers, opened three of them, and it was as if the argument had never happened. She knew full well she was asking too much of her childhood friends but was determined to seize her chance to get Gene-Asis.

  Putting on her black silk bathrobe, Serena opened the door. Steam escaped from behind her, like a ghost released from its tomb. From the music coming from the lounge, she guessed John must be in there. As she was about to enter, he opened the door and stared at her.

  ‘My God, you look amazing.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She stretched out her hand and shook his. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Bukowski’s new PA,’ she said presumptuously.

  John nodded, mesmerised.

  ‘Oh no wait. One more thing.’ Serena ran into her room and reappeared wearing black rectangular-framed glasses. Whilst the style was simple, the brand was Dolce & Gabbana.

  John found his tongue. ‘If you hadn’t just stepped out of my bathroom, I wouldn’t have known you. The red hair makes such a difference. And where did you get the glasses? They’re very librarian.’

  ‘They’re mine. I got them in England and wore them once or twice, and then forgot about them. I prefer contacts.’

  There was an awkward silence. John stepped to his right to let her pass but she didn’t move, blocking his passage. ‘Any luck finding someone to do the ID?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘God, Seri, you’ll be the death of me. Come with me.’

  He led her to his office and shut the door. Of the six monitors, only one was on. It displayed a hackers’ chat room conversation. Green letters on a black screen—the
time, the person and the comment.

  ‘Interesting,’ said John, as he read the last few lines. ‘They’re talking about legal intercept, the capability of governments to intercept the communications of people at home. Anyway, take a seat,’ he said, pulling up a chair. ‘Okay, let’s be clear about this. I’ll help you with the fake ID but only because I don’t want the cops knocking on our door. I have the contacts, I know who should be trustworthy—you don’t. But you need to understand that, as this is a rushed job, it’ll be risky and expensive.’ Serena opened her mouth to thank him but he continued, ‘So what security checks does Gene-Asis do on new employees?’

  ‘I have to produce a driver’s licence or passport, and three work references.’

  ‘Right. Do you have a fake CV yet?’

  ‘Yes, and I have in mind three friends who’ll give me references. I can get away with giving Gene-Asis mobile numbers, which means my mates can pretend to be anybody I ask them to be.’

  ‘Great. I’ll leave that bit to you, then. You’ll also need a bank account for your salary and a tax file number.’

  She nodded and then cupped her hand under her chin, leaning towards him and resting her elbow on her crossed leg.

  ‘Let’s park those for a moment. I want to focus on the driver’s licence and passport.’ He leaned way back in his Herman Miller Aeron chair; so far back, in fact, he was almost horizontal. It was as if Serena and John were the two parts of a yin and yang: as she moved forwards, he moved backwards. He then tucked his hands behind his head to consider the obstacles. ‘The passport is too hard. The licence is easier.’

  As John was on a roll, Serena refrained from asking why.

  ‘So how do you get a driver’s licence in someone else’s name? Well, first up you need a birth certificate and the best way to get a fake birth certificate is to use a dead child’s identity.’

  Serena’s head shot up. ‘Dead child?’ she asked frowning, finding the concept distasteful.

  ‘Yeah. This isn’t very nice, Seri, but what you’re about to do isn’t exactly kosher. So, get with it or forget the whole idea.’ John had leaned forward, the chair back following him. His eyes were like blue ice. ‘Do you want to know more or shall we stop this now?’