The Gene of Life

by Tetsuo Ted Takashima

  “Swing right. There’s a large trailer 200 yards behind. It’s going 100 per hour.”

  Max looked from side to side.

  “Don’t take your eyes off the road,” came the calm voice. “Switch to the right lane and slow down more. Go around 50 per hour.”

  It was Feldman. Max checked the rearview mirror, and saw the large trailer in the distance. It was approaching at dizzying speeds.

  “Is it the enemy?”

  “No, it’s just a runaway trailer. But if I said nothing while your life was in danger, the world would bear a grudge against me.”

  Max sped up to 100 mph.

  “My, my, Professor. You’re wobbling left and right. Eyes on the road. Now, I’m waiting at a restaurant named ‘Das blaue Dach.’ You can see it on the hill to your right. As the name suggests, it’s the building with the blue roof. It’s ten minutes from where you are.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “Just thought I’d invite you for a spot of tea.”

  “I told you I didn’t want to see you again.”

  “Don’t be so mean. I just want to engage in some small talk.”

  “And I just want to forget about it. About everything surrounding that incident.”

  “Do you see it?” Feldman said, ignoring Max’s words.

  Max strained his eyes, and sure enough, there it was. The blue rooftop at the top of the hill. “Please leave me alone.”

  “I’m sure you’re not uninterested, Professor. In fact, I’m sure you can’t pass this up—all this time, the word ‘why’ has been weighing down on you.” Feldman’s voice was brimming with confidence.

  The Porsche slowed down. Max’s foot on the accelerator relaxed of its own accord.

  “Excellent. Swing right. It’s the trailer.”

  Max swerved right. The trailer roared past. The car swayed in its wake. Max was clenching the wheel.

  “It’d be best if we drop this call. In any case, I’ll be here, waiting. Please drive safe. I would hate it if the world resented me.” Click.

  The restaurant was less than a mile away. Contrary to his inclinations, Max slowed down and turned into a side road leading to the restaurant.

  The eye-catching roof aside, the restaurant had a subdued mountain-lodge feel. Max stood at the entrance and spotted Feldman sitting by the window with the best view. He was looking at Max. Max walked closer, and Feldman lowered his head to indicate the seat across from him. Large binoculars were placed at the edge of the table. Feldman called the waitress, and ordered himself another cup of tea and Max some coffee.

  “You like coffee, correct?”

  “You came to this restaurant on an afternoon stroll, and saw me coincidentally pass by while you took in the scenery. That’ll be our story.”

  “I just happened to learn you were headed for Wittenfurt. And so I got the urge to go, too. I love this road, too. I drive down it from time to time.”

  “Sure, with your binoculars and everything.”

  “They’re Israeli military issue. You can see a penny 500 yards away.” He picked up the binoculars.

  “I need to get to the university by 4:00 p.m. I don’t have time for idle chitchat.”

  “Then let’s make this brief.” Feldman fixed his gaze on him and took a Lufthansa ticket out of a large envelope and put it on the table. “This is for a flight from Berlin–Tegel to Manaus via São Paulo. Charter planes are available from Manaus. We’ll take a helicopter to the small village of Boyas and then drive to Umabes. From there we paddle a kayak and then walk. A full day’s journey will take us to a small village in the Amazonian north—to Domba.”

  “Where did you hear that name?”

  Feldman ignored his question, and unfolded a map of South America and placed it on the table. A nameless point in northern Brazil had been marked in red.

  The waitress came with their drinks. Feldman took his tea and made sure to savor its aroma before taking a sip. Max looked away; it was the first time he noticed that part of the middle finger of Feldman’s left hand past the first knuckle joint was missing. In addition, the nails of his thumb and pointer finger were deformed.

  “Approximately 450 miles southwest of the Guiana Highlands, close to the border between Colombia and Peru, as well as to what is known as the Amazon headwaters. It’s even deeper than the Amazon Reserve, where even the Brazilian National Indian Foundation hasn’t set foot. The population and culture of the people that live there are unknown. There’s no official record of the place from the Indio Union either. Neither poachers nor rubber collectors have entered, and no specifics are available. As difficult to believe as it may be, the village has been left behind by the twenty-first century. The Brazilian government calls it a special reserve to distinguish it from traditional reserves. There’s a possibility it was left isolated on purpose.”

  “Where did you dig all that up?”

  “I told you, didn’t I? Our information network is worldwide. I haven’t spent all of my time simply mourning that woman’s death.” Feldman stared at Max, and through his eyes, Feldman exhibited, as he occasionally did, the darkness and the astuteness that enabled him to see through to people’s hearts.

  Max looked at the map.

  “South America is where many Nazi remnants ended up fleeing. Since before the war, the Nazis have aided in the birth and continued existence of a large number of right-wing governments in South America. There were many devotees of Hitler in Argentina, Bolivia, and Chile. They poured immense amounts of money that they stole from all over Europe and from the Jewish people into those nations. It’s said that as many as 250,000 men and women disappeared from Germany shortly after the war. At Hitler’s behest, they fled to South America to build the Fourth Reich. Where exactly did they disappear to? We still don’t know. There’s a plethora of mysteries surrounding the Nazis to this day.” Feldman heaved a deep sigh. Then he fixed his eyes on Max again. “We’ve made our preparations. We would like you to accompany us there, Professor.”

  “Are you saying you’re going, too?”

  Feldman stayed silent for a while. “Thirty years ago, I ventured into the mountains of Chile and the rainforests of Argentina and Peru. In order to hunt some Nazis, of course. I know full well how fearsome and unforgiving the jungles can be. Besides . . .” He stared at his fingers, which were splayed on the table. His hand was gnarly, rough, and discolored. The golden hairs between the wrinkles shone in the sunlight. “I’m getting on in years,” he murmured forlornly. “I would be a liability. Jake will go. I sent your equipment and clothing to your hotel.”

  “It’s not as though I’ve agreed to your proposal.”

  “But you haven’t turned it down, either. You will go. It’s your destiny.”

  Max looked out the window. The road stretched on like a winding white serpent. From the distance, the cars going down the road looked like toys. He turned the word ‘destiny’ over in his mind.

  “We’ll finish making all of the preparations in two days’ time. All you need to do is go to the airport with your personal luggage. The main thing you need to do to prepare is steel yourself for what’s to come. I’ll allow you to bring your assistant with you if necessary. That energetic young woman will do well, even in the Amazon.”

  “She wasn’t sent to me by your organization, was she? Otherwise, how did you know the name ‘Domba’?”

  “How silly of you to think we would send someone to spy on you. We wouldn’t ever do something so pointless.” The gentleness that had been in his gaze moments ago was now gone; in his eyes lurked the ruthless intensity of a Nazi hunter. He placed a photo in front of Max.

  “Reinhard Benchell. The man Simon asked you to find and kill.” He pulled off his scarf; a reddish-brown scar about an inch and a half wide went down from the back of his neck to his collarbone. “That man, he put a burning piece of firewood to the neck of a ten-year-old boy, laughing all the while.” Feldman leaned forward to show him his neck. A fragrant cigar smell wafted
through the air.

  Max was at a loss for words.

  The waitress was whispering to the man at the counter, their faces very close together, watching them.

  “I told you about him, about Benchell, right?” Feldman straightened himself up, as though embarrassed by that moment of passion, and wrapped the scarf back around his neck. “After eluding capture in Europe, he was found in a hotel near Rio de Janeiro in 1972 and shot dead in a gun battle. In 1987, he was shot while cruising off the coast of Miami. He got shot twice in the heart. Nine years earlier, in 1978, we found him again in the suburbs of Milan. That time, he’d evidently died in a car crash. Our agent crushed him with a truck, and his car blew up. The burnt corpse was identified.” After Feldman regained his cool, he took a number of deep breaths.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The first man had his fingerprints flattened. Photos just before his death showed that he was right-handed, though the genuine article is left-handed. The man shot in Miami was an alcoholic and addicted to drugs. His face and physique were Benchell’s. In the car crash, the body burned up, and he was unidentified at that time. Recently, however, the body was revealed to have been a fake. Some of his organs were cryopreserved, and this was discovered through DNA analysis.”

  “So, they were all . . .”

  “Impostors, yes. And each time, eyewitnesses testified it was, in fact, Benchell. He hasn’t come out in the open since then. He is a cautious man.” Feldman heaved a deep sigh. “I want to catch this man before I die. I want to bring him to Israel and have him face trial. If I fail to, then the souls of the six million Jews he helped exterminate will never know true peace. And neither will Simon’s,” he glowered at Max. “You said you only have so much time left. Three or four years.”

  Max’s face went white. How does he—

  “Your days are numbered, too. Surely, there must be things you need to do to ensure you live on, Professor. Now then, the time is now, Professor. But don’t be too hasty—slow and steady wins the race, as they say.” He checked his watch, and pushed the envelope toward him that contained the ticket and the map.

  Max found himself taking the envelope. Then he reached for the check, but Feldman grabbed his hand. Feldman’s hand was deformed and bony, but vaguely warm, and as strong as ever.

  Max returned to the lab past ten that night. He stood at the entrance, turned on the lights, and scanned the room. Slowly, he stepped inside. His eyes passed from the ceiling to the walls, to the bookshelves, to the desk, to the computers, to the lamp. He felt around the underside of the tables, but there was nothing. He carefully checked the desk, the chairs, above the bookshelves, under the lamps.

  A half hour passed. He wondered whether he’d been mistaken. No, we’re talking about an intelligence agency that operates on a global scale.They’ll be using some method I could never even dream of. They caught wind of Domba’s name and location.

  He was about to give up when his eyes fell on the DNA figure on the desk. He picked it up and examined it. It was just over a foot tall. The double helix was beautiful in its elegant simplicity, and it contained endless mysteries and wonders.

  He looked at the other side of the teak stand. Nothing looked out of the ordinary about the screwed-on back cover. He removed the back cover with his pocketknife, and a one-cubic-inch chip with a battery was affixed to the hollow cavity. A bug. He carefully removed it and threw it in the garbage chute at the end of the hallway. Now all Feldman and his people would hear was the occasional sound of garbage being dropped in.

  Perhaps there were more bugs around, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. They had already analyzed the recordings concerning Dona. That’s how they’d known where Domba is. They’d also learned of the word ‘Aska,’ but Feldman didn’t mention it or ask about it. That meant he knew more about Aska than Max did. Most importantly, Max had made up his mind.

  Max turned on the computer and ran a search on Nazism. Millions of search results appeared. He narrowed the search to “Schutzstaffel officers,” in search of a single name—a man whose existence he had never even spared a thought for until a few days ago. Reinhard Benchell. He was a short, stout, round-faced man looking tranquilly at the camera. Max couldn’t imagine what lay behind those eyes. Beyond that gentle mask was a world that normal people couldn’t fathom.

  He checked the time and turned off the computer. He picked up the landline and dialed Katya’s extension; he knew she was still at the lab. Sure enough, when she came to Max she had her lab coat on, with a doughnut in her right hand and a cup of coffee in her left.

  She washed down some doughnut with some coffee. “I thought you said you’d be going straight back to the hotel.”

  “Is that what you’re having for dinner?”

  “This is an hors d’oeuvre. I’ll be having dinner later.”

  “Let’s talk over dinner.”

  “But I’m still . . .”

  Max put a finger to her lips. He took the cup and the rest of the doughnut from Katya’s hands and placed them on the desk. He’d removed one wiretap, but he still wasn’t comfortable discussing things here.

  The two left the research facility and found a late-night restaurant nearby. Max told her how he’d encountered Feldman on the way to Wittenfurt, and what Feldman had said. Katya listened as she robotically brought spaghetti to her mouth. Occasionally, she drank from her glass of Coke with an indifferent air.

  “You’re against it,” Max said.

  “You have other things to do, Professor.”

  “Exploring the Amazon is something I’ve always wanted to do. All boys picture themselves as intrepid explorers at some point.”

  “Not satisfied with the jungle adventure in Disneyland?” Katya’s hand stopped in midair, and she stared at him. “Why are you so obsessed with hunting Nazis, Professor?”

  “I’m not. I just want to know more about Dona.” He searched for the right words, his eyes drifting to the dark night outside. He couldn’t find the words to explain it.

  “What Dona said is weighing on my mind as well. But don’t you have more important work to do?”

  “You have no intention of going?”

  “That’s not what I said. I just want to know the real reason you’re going.”

  “Just wait a little longer, and I’ll tell you.”

  “You’ve already made up your mind to go, haven’t you?”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

  “I want you to come with me as my assistant. You’re the only one who understands what’s happened so far.”

  Katya twisted her spaghetti around her fork. “Is that the only reason?”

  “You’re good at what you do.”

  “But there must be loads of people who are even better.”

  “I’m asking you, Katya. I need you.”

  “You should’ve said that from the get-go.” She brought the pasta to her lips.

  After their meal, they returned to the lab and began preparing. Katya seemed to be having fun as she traced the map according to Max’s explanation. Max created a list of equipment to bring with them.

  “Two microscopes, one mass spectrometer, two computers. Are you planning to build a lab in the middle of the uncharted wilds, Professor?” asked Katya, reading through the list.

  “That’s Stage 2.”

  “Don’t you need a DNA sequencer?” she said, despairingly. The sequencer being used at present was the size of a washing machine.

  “UNIX created a suitcase-sized one. I’ll ask Feldman about getting one.”

  “What exactly are you expecting to uncover, Professor? I doubt you would be interrupting your research and bringing all of this huge equipment to the depths of the Amazon if you didn’t see any prospects in this trek.”

  “I was going to visit Africa before returning to the US. I’ve simply replaced Africa with South America.”

  “I’m coming with you, and it’s
because you’ve deemed me a worthy research collaborator. Don’t you think it’s time you told me at least a little more?”

  Max waved her over and turned on his laptop; the screen flickered, and the results of the DNA analysis appeared. Katya stared at the text intently.

  “Look at No. 12 of Chromosome 8.”

  Katya traced the base pair sequence on the screen with her finger. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Her eyes were glued to the screen. “Why is this?”

  “This DNA was collected from Dona.”

  “From the blood that soaked the gauze you used to treat her.”

  Max nodded. Katya brought up Gehlen’s DNA sequence, which was collected from the tissues in his hand. Then she put the two sequences side by side.

  “They’re the same,” she muttered while staring at the display. “What does this mean?”

  “I don’t know either. Dona and Gehlen lived to be over a hundred while retaining their youth. There must be something out there that’ll help us solve this mystery. The only base sequence that’s different is the one that imparts the anti-arteriosclerosis effect. I want to look into that some more.”

  Max turned off his laptop. Katya was silently staring at the now blank screen. Max glanced at the DNA figurine on his desk. He already knew what Dona’s DNA implied, but he didn’t know what lay in store for him were he to pursue this trail. He had to go to the Amazon to find out. And yet, he was running out of time.

  Max checked his list of equipment again, in an attempt to shake off the mounting anxiety. He felt Katya’s eyes on him. Then he heard a light sigh, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.

  ● ● ●

  III

  * * *

  THE JUNGLE

  CHAPTER 9

  The dense green forest stretched below them. A river wove through it like a crack in a coffee mug, glinting in the sunlight.

  “So, this is the virgin Amazonian forest,” Katya said, her forehead pressed against the window of the plane. “And that must be the Amazon River.”