by L. A. Larkin
‘What are you looking at?’ Shoorai snaps at Dr McPherson as she blinks back salty sweat.
Dr McPherson looks down at his palm-sized notebook computer, clearly embarrassed. He continues to take notes, his sweaty hand slipping on the keys.
The girl, barely fifteen, stifles a cry. He steps forward, but the old woman shakes her head, so he steps back. She drops the privacy blanket and hobbles on her emaciated legs to a clay pot of water. Dipping a cloth in it, she wipes the girl’s face. Before the rag is removed, Shoorai screams again, panting fast. McPherson says something to Shoorai in her native tongue, but she doesn’t respond. He calls for a nurse, who arrives looking tired and dishevelled.
A few moments later, the baby’s head begins to appear and with one final push, the infant drops into the nurse’s hands. The mother lifts her head, craning her neck to see her child, laughing and gulping back tears. The nurse screws up her face in disgust as she cuts the umbilical cord. She ignores Shoorai’s outstretched arms and places the baby on a blanket at the foot of the bed. The nurse backs away.
Catching sight of her child, Shoorai’s face freezes, as if she has been mummified. Soon her lips begin to quiver. She stares at her son. Her whole body shakes. Finally, she turns away from him, weeping.
The professor steps closer to get a better look. The young mother releases a sound so hollow, so alien, that he drops instantly to his knees at her side. He hangs his head in shame.
A young man rushes in and, seeing his child, stops, speechless. Wanting an explanation, he stares at each person there. Mouths are open, but no words spoken. Shoorai faces her husband, tears and sweat smeared across her cheeks, imploring him. Reading his expression, she dives for the baby, trying to scoop him up in her arms, but the husband pulls her back.
The camera zooms in on the naked newborn.
From the child’s back, something wormlike protrudes. It wriggles. The baby boy has an extended spine, which stretches ten centimetres from his coccyx and is covered in dark skin, forming a tail. The camera travels to the baby’s face, to reveal he has no eyes or eye sockets. The skin stretches tightly from his cheeks to his forehead.
The professor puts his hands out to protect the baby but the old woman turns to him. She points a crooked finger and hisses, ‘You! You people did this. Leave us. Go!’
He hesitates and then backs away. She rails at him, screaming and pointing to the baby, spittle dribbling from her toothless mouth.
The camera is jolted violently to one side and then crashes to the floor. The last image is of scuffling feet, which suddenly cuts to black.
Chapter 73
All sixty-eight billboard screens were blank and, for a few seconds, thousands of people in Times Square were silent. Then, grappling for an explanation, they began to look around, asking questions.
‘Did you see what I just saw?’
‘I saw it. Yeah, we all did. How could anyone do that?’
‘Yeah, and what about us? Those sons of bitches have been feeding us this shit. My brother’s got that hepatitis disease, and it’s all because of them.’
‘They’ve been poisoning us.’
‘Oh my God!’ called a woman, fainting.
Shaking themselves from their inertia, the news presenters began an almost simultaneous live commentary, the volume rocketing.
‘I’m going to sue.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘They’re going down!’
‘How the hell did she get control of the billboards? That’s one clever lady,’ said a tourist.
‘Yeah, how the hell did she?’ one NYPD police officer asked another.
‘Get ready for some trouble,’ replied his senior officer.
‘Gene-Asis must pay!’ yelled a man.
‘Over there. Get them.’
Serena watched a group near the Gene-Asis building begin to charge forward angrily, recognising the well-publicised faces of some senior executives. But Bukowski was nowhere to be seen.
‘We want answers.’
Like dogs at a race day chasing the rabbit, the media raced each other towards the evacuated Gene-Asis building, desperate to record the confrontation. The president of research and development, Randolph J. Randolph, was surrounded by shouting people, his bodyguards and the police fighting hopelessly to keep the hoards at bay.
‘Murderers!’
Serena still gazed up at the blank screens above Two Times Square, and smiled. She didn’t know how on earth John had hacked into all the Times Square billboards, but somehow he had done it. The Gene-Asis secret was out in the open. The noise was deafening. People talked animatedly, drivers honked their horns, news reporters shouted and jostled for position, police yelled directions, sirens blazed. Everyone was on the move, except for Serena. She remained rooted to the spot, like a tree withstanding the force of floodwaters. She was enjoying the moment. Still facing Two Times Square, she watched as all the billboards winked from their blankness into their many and varied advertising messages, all the brands boldly displayed, the ticker tapes resumed, the NASDAQ lit up once again.
Scuttling down the middle of the street, chased by dozens of news reporters clutching microphones, was Dr Singh, the American scientist who’d worked on the development of Supercrop Ultra. Escorted through the stationary traffic by a Gene-Asis security guard, he tried to hide his face from photographers, who hounded him with the same zeal they would a politician caught with his pants down. Serena wanted nothing more than to be with John, celebrating his achievement. Relishing her anonymity, she wandered through the crowds, alone and unnoticed, towards the Times Tower Hotel.
‘Serena, cooeeee!’
Gloria’s loud voice carried over the din of the busy streets. She raced after Serena, hands flapping above her head, until she caught up.
‘Serena, this is amazing,’ she said, gesturing at the billboards above them. ‘However did you do it?’
‘I didn’t. A friend did. But thank you for saving my life. Ben was going to kill me.’
‘Serena, I know I’ve been a real bitch to you, and I’m sorry. I watched the documentary on that funky memory key. That’s how I knew you’d been telling the truth. What you did took guts. Real guts. I know I’d never have the courage to take on Gene-Asis. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.’
‘By sending that cop to arrest Ben, you saved my life.’
‘I was dialling 911 when the fire alarm went off, and it was chaos. So when I saw you evacuating the building, I told that policeman Ben was a terrorist and you were his hostage. I’m so glad you’re okay.’
‘I’m fine now,’ she said, looking around her.
‘You know, I haven’t done much in my life that I’m proud of. Until today,’ Gloria beamed.
‘Me neither,’ replied Serena.
Gloria held out John’s ring. Serena didn’t take it.
‘Would you hand it to the police commissioner for me? I’m going to my hotel.’
‘What! No, darling, not yet. This is your greatest hour. You did all this and you must take the glory. You’ve earned it.’
‘Gloria, I’m tired. The rest can wait. I want to leave.’
Gloria leaned in closer, her red gash of lipstick slightly smudged at the edges. She took Serena’s hand in hers, holding it reassuringly.
‘Let me look after you, darling. Let me do your PR. You’re going to be famous and I can make you a fortune. And me a teensy-weensy one too. There’ll be TV interviews, magazine articles, even a book.’
‘All I want is justice. I want them brought to trial and convicted.’
‘And I happen to know one of the very best lawyers in New York. I’ll get on to him in a moment. But, first, you must make a statement. Look. The world’s news media are all around. Pick a channel, any channel, it’s all yours.’
Serena looked at the scrambling news crews racing around the Square, and she couldn’t face them.
‘I don’t think …’
‘Let me choose for you. Don’t worry, Seren
a. I know what I’m doing here. I’m good at this. Remember?’
Among all this mayhem, one man stood still, leaning against a lamppost on a traffic island dividing Seventh and Broadway. His black hair glistened in the cold sunlight, not a strand out of place. He had his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly forward, deep in thought. He was not protected by any Gene-Asis security staff and, ironically, for that reason, hadn’t been spotted by the news reporters. But his face was well known and it wouldn’t be long before he was identified. Despite this, he appeared to display no fear.
Serena froze. The mere sight of him sent her heart rate through the roof. Memory-bites from her assault filled her head. She grabbed Gloria’s arm for support.
Gloria followed her line of vision and spotted Bukowski.
‘Don’t let him bother you. He’s going to get what he deserves. Come on, let’s find you a big TV station to talk to.’
Gloria tried to steer Serena from him but she didn’t move.
‘What’s the matter?’
Serena dragged her eyes away and looked at Gloria.
‘I have something to say to him. Gloria, he tried to rape me.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus! You give him a kick in the groin from me.’
‘Can you call for help if I need it?’
Before the speechless woman could reply, Serena had taken her first determined step in Bukowski’s direction. ‘You’ll pay now, Bukowski,’ Serena said.
He looked up and unfolded his arms. There was not a hint of concern in his body language. The ‘One Way’ sign above his head vibrated.
‘I don’t think so,’ he replied slowly, grinning, displaying his shockingly white teeth.
‘You’ll be arrested for crimes against humanity and I’ll enjoy testifying against you,’ Serena said, her voice shaky.
‘What crimes?’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve committed no crime. My colleagues at Gene-Asis may be guilty of crimes. But not me. I don’t know anything about this. It’s come as a terrible shock to me,’ he said, faking a look of distress.
‘No. Nobody will believe that crap. You’re guilty as hell and you’ll pay for it. How will you like prison, Bukowski?’ she asked, deliberately echoing his words to her at Channel One.
He took a step towards her, and she instinctively backed away. Even surrounded by masses of people, she flinched at his overpowering dark presence. She looked round and saw Gloria watching her closely. It seemed that he sensed her fear and it elated him.
‘Don’t come any closer. Touch me and any one of these cops will arrest you.’
Bukowski remained where he was, shaking his head.
‘Serena, you just don’t understand how the corporate game is played, do you? Well, here’s how it is: it’s all about power. My power to destroy evidence, and anyone who’ll try to speak against me. My power to buy the very best lawyers. My power to control the news media. And the power of a few choice words whispered to the police commissioner so I get off with a slapped wrist.’
Shaking her head in disbelief, she asked, ‘Have you no remorse? Don’t you care how this affects your daughter?’
‘Remorse? What for? For running a company to maximise its profits? That’s my job. For being loyal to Gene-Asis and protecting its reputation? That’s my job. For having some fun with you? That was my pleasure.’
She punched Bukowski so hard that his head jerked sideways with a crack. Her fist had collided with the side of his nose and, as he straightened, blood trickled down his upper lip. Bukowski pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it away, raising his eyebrows in surprise, while his eyes flashed angrily, like black marble in sunlight.
‘Your father understood. A pity you don’t.’
Serena’s hand felt as if it were broken but her rage numbed the pain. She yelled at him.
‘My dad died of lung cancer because of your toxic canola.’
‘He knew what he was doing,’ Bukowski said, putting away the handkerchief.
‘How could he? He trusted your company. Trusted your seeds were safe to plant. You killed him just like you killed those Zimbabweans, and God knows how many people who died with Hep S. You’re despicable.’
‘He knew because we paid him to know.’
His words stopped her in her tracks.
‘Paid him? What do you mean “paid him”?’
‘I mean, paid him. And very well, I might add. We employed him to test GM crops for us; on the quiet, of course. It was never official. He helped us get around all that restrictive bureaucratic red tape.’
‘He would never work for you,’ she whispered, incredulous.
‘So, who do you think paid your university fees and for your first car? For your brother’s private medical fees? For your expensive family holidays? You wouldn’t have had that successful career if we hadn’t paid for your education.’
In that instant, it all made sense. How else had a small-time arable farmer like her father paid for all that? Neighbouring farms in Orange had struggled to make a profit, yet her dad always seemed to have money. Bukowski was telling the truth for once—her beloved father, the man she had always revered, had worked for the very company that killed him. She leaned forwards, her hands on her knees, barely able to stand.
‘But your canola caused his cancer.’
‘Yes, we’re still working on that one. Can’t get it quite right.’ He shrugged. ‘You know it took us a couple of days to work out who you really were. It’s ironic, isn’t it? Imagine my surprise when you turn out to be the daughter of an employee who helped develop the very varieties you have so misrepresented today.’ He gestured towards the big screens. ‘You must understand now why your father didn’t want you taking us to court.’
She groaned, recalling his protestations, which she had mistakenly thought were because he’d wanted to end his life peacefully.
‘Serena, are you all right?’ asked Gloria, placing a protective arm around her.
‘It’s been fun, Serena, but I have things to do.’
‘Go to hell, where you belong,’ said Serena, as he walked away.
Chapter 74
Bukowski smiled broadly and strode towards a CNN news team that was hounding the police commissioner. He tapped the attractive news presenter’s shoulder. She swung round to find him smiling charmingly at her.
‘Hey, aren’t you … ?’
‘Yes, I am, and I would like to make a statement.’
‘You would? Jesus, Larry, over here. Forget the police commissioner. This is Al Bukowski.’
‘Okay, let’s run with it,’ she said. Then, smiling into the camera, she began. ‘This is Tina Mudgeway from CNN, with an exclusive coming to you live from Times Square. With me is Al R. Bukowski, global CEO of Gene-Asis. He would like to make a statement about today’s events.’
Bukowski looked straight into the camera: immaculate, unflustered and solemn.
‘Firstly, I wish to speak to you from the heart, not in my capacity as CEO of Gene-Asis. The images we saw broadcast just now have moved and upset me greatly. Who would not be disturbed by such harrowing images of pain and suffering? If the allegations made in the documentary are true, I will be the first to speak out against those who participated in such heinous crimes.
‘In my role as global CEO, however, I must point out that, at this stage, we have no idea of the validity of that documentary. It may, indeed, turn out to be some sick prank, the result of a vendetta against the company, or an attempt at extortion. We simply don’t know.
‘What I can tell you is that I was never made aware of any problems with these food trials in Zimbabwe, and I never saw any documentation that raised concerns. I was, to the contrary, informed that Supercrop 13 had proved safe for human consumption. If there had been the slightest doubt as to its safety, I would never have allowed its release.
‘And let me say finally that I will be cooperating fully with the investigating authorities. I, more than anyone, want to get to the bottom of this. Thank you.’
&nbs
p; He attempted to step away but was now surrounded by baying reporters.
‘Mr Bukowski,’ said Tina, ‘you can’t seriously expect us to believe that? A man in your position would know your products were unsafe. It’s your job to know.’
‘Tina, I’m only as good as the information I receive, and I never received such information.’
Like worker bees swarming around the queen bee, reporters fired questions at him, clambering to get near. In the midst of the buzzing media, Al R. Bukowski stood calmly answering their questions. He was in his element.
Serena watched his performance with abhorrence. She could see his charm working its magic on the faces around him and realised that her earlier elation had been premature. They’d opened the can of Gene-Asis worms, but now its contents had to be untangled. In fact, Serena and John were only at the very beginning of a long and difficult investigation into Bukowski and the other senior executives. She knew it would take many years of gruelling legal work before the case against Bukowski reached the International Criminal Court. She thought of her father and how he had fallen into Gene-Asis’ trap, to give his children the kind of start in life he had not had. Serena vowed she would correct her father’s mistake. She’d use that Gene-Asis-funded education to see the legal process through to the bitter end.
‘Serena, don’t let that smarmy piece of shit bother you. Your story is the one everyone wants to hear,’ said Gloria, forcing Serena back to reality. ‘You’re not going to let him win, are you?’
‘Oh no,’ she replied. ‘I’m taking this man down. Find me a journalist, Gloria.’
‘Will do,’ she replied excitedly.
Within minutes, a camera crew and reporter came through the gridlocked traffic towards them. Serena saw the BBC World Service logo on the side of the camera. A ruddy-complexioned man put out his hand and shook hers enthusiastically.
‘Hi, I’m Paul Weil from the BBC. I know Tracey Pollack very well, and I hear from Gloria you worked together on this amazing exposé.’