Replica

by Bill Clem

  Praise for REPLICA

  NJ Sunday Star Ledger . . . “Well-constructed and a fine read. Non-stop action and thrills. A sure-fire bestseller."

  Delaware Weekly . . . “Exciting and moving. Twists and shocks that keep the reader wired right up till the end.

  Booklist An astonishing technique for recovering extinct-mammal DNA is discovered. A 747 crashes onto a deserted island. Then . . . all hell breaks loose!

  Philadelphia Book Review . . . “ Fans of Lost will love Replica.”

  BookPage . . . “Lost meets Jurassic Park—without the dinosaurs—but with something much worse.”

  Orlando Sentinel . . . The action-packed adventure takes readers on an exciting adventure that feels perilously real. Replica is one fun reading experience.

  Mid Atlantic Book Review . . . “It’s brilliant. The plot is great, characters realistic, and the ending . . . WOW.”

  REPLICA

  Bill Clem

  Vision Books

  Published by Vision Books

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  VISION BOOKS

  P.O. Box 9034

  New York NY 10020

  Copyright © 2009 by Bill Clem

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  ISBN 13: 978-0-979580857

  ISBN 10: 0-979580854

  www.billclem.com

  Back cover photo by John Hertzog

  Also by Bill Clem

  Novels

  Skin Deep

  Diencephalon (Holland Carter Detective Series)

  Presidential Donor

  Bliss

  Microbe

  They All Fall Down (Holland Carter Detective Series) (2008)

  Immortal

  Medicine Cup (2008)

  Replica (2009)

  The Seventh Day (2009)

  The Lazarus Effect (2009)

  A Note From Anna (Holland Carter Detective Series) (2009)

  Short Fiction

  A Brief Interval

  (Collection of Short Stories) (2008)

  Contents

  Praise for REPLICA

  Also by Bill Clem

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Part One. An Airline Disaster

  One

  Two

  Three

  Part Two. Extinct

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Part Three. Castaways

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Part Four. Revelation

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Part Five. Island of the Thylacines

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Fifty-Six

  Fifty-Seven

  Fifty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Sample of Anomoly

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to Jon Hertzog for his editorial assistance and for his unwavering support of my work; and as always, my wife and children for just being there.

  This is for the Tasmanian tiger in the hope that someday he will live again.

  Author’s Note

  Below is the article that spawned my imagination and prompted me to write Replica.

  Extinction may not be forever after all; so hoped the Australian scientists behind an ambitious project to clone the extinct Tasmanian tiger.

  The project to bring the Tasmanian tiger back from extinction began in 1999 when Australian Museum scientists extracted DNA from an ethanol-preserved female pup in its collection.

  In 2001, further DNA was extracted from two other preserved pups; the tissue source for the DNA was bone, tooth, bone marrow, and dried muscle. Dr. Mike Archer, director of the Australian Museum, said the alcohol-preserved female pup's DNA had given the scientists the Tasmanian tiger's X chromosome and the other samples the male Y chromosome.

  On 28 May 2002, the scientists from the Australian Museum in Sydney announced a breakthrough in efforts to clone the extinct Tasmanian wolf, saying they had replicated some of the animal's genes using a process called PCR (polymerase chain reaction). These PCR's show that short fragments of the DNA are undamaged and undoubtedly Tasmanian Tiger DNA, and that there is no reason why these should not work in a living cell.

  The next stage is to make large quantity copies of all the genes of the Tasmanian tiger so these can be used to construct synthetic chromosomes. The scientists said they hoped to clone a Tasmanian tiger in 10 years if they were successful in constructing large quantities of all the genes of the Tasmanian tiger and sequencing sections of the genome to create a genetic library of Tasmanian tiger DNA.

  But Dr. Mike Archer said the technology for the final stage of cloning, putting the Tasmanian tiger's genetic material into a Tasmanian devil host cell which has been stripped of the devil's genetic material was still to be developed. "We don't know the length of this journey. It's up to the speed with which technology keeps pace with the vision. But I am optimistic," he said. The ultimate aim of this project was to clone a viable reproducing population of Tasmanian tigers in the wild.

  On 15th February 2005 sad news appeared. The resurrection of the Tasmanian tiger will have to wait. After five years trying to extract DNA from preserved Tasmanian tigers in an effort to bring the lost marsupial back to life, the Australian Museum has abandoned the ambitious project, after finding its supply of Tasmanian tiger DNA too degraded. The museum said it lacked the skills and facilities to continue the project. Professor Archer, now the dean of science at the University of New South Wales, says the cloning project has lost steam since he left the museum in 2003. In a statement to ABC Science Online, Professor Archer says he is disappointed by the museum's decision but he says he still hopes it might be possible to bring the Tasmanian tiger back to life. "I and other colleagues remain interested in the project and I don't think that it will simply die because the museum can't proceed," he says. "The technology to make it happen is improving all the time. And I believe science has a duty to continue to assemble the building blocks that will be needed to do it."

  Replica

  Continent of Australia

  Tasmania in red box

  Prologue

  * * *

  CAPTAIN BRETT IRWIN GAZED THROUGH his field glasses. At first glance, all seemed well. Scanning the horizon, he stopped abruptly at a point some forty kilometers awa
y.

  That’s odd.

  Irwin was looking at a large cargo ship, no different from the many others that traversed these waters. This ship, however, was adrift, listing at an odd angle.

  A ghost ship!

  Searching the hull, he located the name: SANTA ROSA. He recognized the markings it bore as Portuguese. Probably on a cargo run from Sydney. There had to be a problem; a ship that size would never be dead in the water like that. Irwin ordered his first officer to change course. We’ll find out what the hell this is.

  Irwin was on reconnaissance for the Australian Navy with a crew of ten. Their mission was to investigate reports of pirates along the northern coast when they came across the stranded vessel. As his excitement grew, Irwin’s vessel pulled alongside the disabled ship and dropped anchor. A minute later, the captain climbed to the top of the cargo ship’s steel ladder.

  What was that?

  Irwin, peering through the inexplicable mist, turned to his left toward the bilge exhaust. In the dim light, he could make out two small circles of opaque red.

  The circles blinked.

  He sent two ensigns ahead of him, and then boarded the huge ship.

  “It looks deserted, Captain,” one of the ensigns said. Making their way across the hot deck, a sickening stench hit them.

  “Christ, what’s that smell?” the other sailor said, gagging from the funk.

  The captain stepped between the two sailors, covering his mouth with his handkerchief. He noticed a lifeboat hanging half off the stern. He ran his fingers along the top of the deck rail. Quickly retracting his hand, he wiped it on his pant leg. Instantly, a dark red stain appeared.

  Blood!

  Irwin moved aft as the two sailors watched, joining him a minute later. Irwin heard a door slam and jerked his head in the direction of the noise. Focusing his eyes, he saw the door to the cargo-hold swinging freely. A large machete lie abandoned in the stern and Irwin suddenly noticed flies buzzing loudly. He approached the door and the stench grew worse, thickening with every step. Opening the door, he stared down the stairwell into the hold. The two ensigns came up behind Irwin.

  “Jesus, what the fuck happened?” the first sailor asked, his face pale as a sheet.

  Below deck, bodies were haphazardly stacked up three-high. All of them had been torn to shreds.

  Irwin steeled himself and slowly descended the stairs. Fighting back bile, he sucked in shallow breaths through his handkerchief. When he reached the bottom, he saw one of the dead men wore a captain’s uniform, his face frozen, contorted in a howl of terror. Maggots and flies congregated in his eye sockets. With his foot, Irwin nudged the body over.

  The back of his head was gone!

  All at once, a powerful blow struck them from above. Black claws, the length of carving knives, ripped one of the sailors in two. The second ensign raised his gun to fire but before he could, the terrible stench of carrion breath filled his nostrils. Then it didn’t, as the man’s head flew off his shoulders, its arc carrying it overboard.

  Irwin screamed as he suddenly found himself upside down. A terrible fire crossed his legs, just below the knees. A sound like twigs snapping sent his brain reeling. He felt himself being flung through the air, then the rush of saltwater as he sank in the ocean.

  A long moment later, the captain bobbed to the surface, thrashing and choking, spitting seaweed and grit from his mouth. He spotted his boat and swam toward it, churning the water like a piston.

  Suddenly, his forward motion stopped and he felt a grip on his leg like none he had ever known. Irwin curled around to look, but wished he hadn’t. A horrendous silhouette of matted fur and death slashed out at him, and the pain shot through him as he saw his legs sheared off. Why don’t I pass out? He thought as he watched the gray water turn crimson.

  The reeking fury rose up in front of him. The next slash cut him in two pieces.

  And he became one with the sea.

  Part One

  An Airline Disaster

  One

  * * *

  THE FIRST SIGN OF SOMETHING amiss occurred shortly after 13:40 GMT (20:40 Jakarta time) above the Indian Ocean, south of Java. Senior First Officer Larry Towson and Senior Engineering Officer Roger Sippolt, at the 747’s controls, witnessed an effect on the windscreen similar to St. Elmo's fire, as if it were being hit by tracer bullets. The phenomenon persisted, so Officer Towson requested Captain Eric Hammond to return from the galley. Hammond immediately took control, checking the readings on the instruments. Despite seeing no indication of bad weather on the radar, he switched on engine anti-icing as a precaution. The Seat Belt Warning signs lit in the cabin.

  * * *

  In the passenger cabin, Jack Baker was half-asleep when the plane began to tremble. Growing irritated, he glanced out the window to see that the aircraft had entered a cloud. The air was nearly opaque, though he could make out the dark contour of the nearest engine. He pressed his fingers with his fingers when he heard another passenger comment that the engines seemed unusually bright. Jack looked again to see the engines appeared to have headlights in them shining forward through the fan blades producing a stroboscopic effect.

  That doesn’t seem right.

  Then the trembling intensified from a heavy vibration to a bone-jarring shudder. Baker pulled his seatbelt tighter and gripped the sides of the seat.

  Something was definitely wrong!

  * * *

  At approximately 13:45 GMT (20:45 Jakarta time), an alarm pierced the cockpit. Engine four surged and flamed out. The First Officer and the Flight Engineer immediately performed the engine shutdown drill, cutting off the fuel supply and arming the fire extinguishers. Captain Hammond pushed hard on the yoke, adding some rudder to counter the uneven thrust.

  The passengers could now see long glowing yellow streaks coming from the remaining engines. The atmosphere in the cabin was tense, bordering on panic. Everyone was looking for their faith, either in their god or their pilot.

  Less than a minute after the first engine failed, engine two surged and also flamed out. Before the flight crew could react to that failure, engines one shut down. The plane dipped severely and, convulsing as though the hand of God was shaking it, the final engine flared its death knell. The panicked voices from the cabin could now be heard by the pilots, rivaling the screaming alarms in the cockpit.

  "I don't believe it,” the flight engineer said, “all four engines have failed!"

  Hammond reached over and shut off the alarms before looking at his co-pilot. Their eyes met with horrific understanding. The 747 had now become a glider.

  A 747 airliner can glide 15 kilometers for every kilometer it loses in height. Captain Hammond calculated that, from its flight level of about 11,280 meters (37,000 ft.), Flight 924 would be able to glide for 23 minutes and cover 261 kilometers. Maximum.

  At 13:47 GMT, Hammond leaned back to Towson. “Declare an emergency to the local air traffic control authority; tell them all four engines have shut down.”

  It took the First Officer a moment to find his voice. He radioed a distress call and waited for response. And waited.

  Despite the squeeze on time, Captain Hammond grabbed the cabin microphone and announced what he knew was a masterpiece of understatement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. As you may be aware, we are experiencing a few problems. All four engines have stopped. We are doing our damnedest to get them going again. I trust you are not in too much distress.”

  * * *

  The jet yawed to the west, shivering violently. The structural welds and joints started to moan as the steel cage bounced with the failing momentum. The loss of power and control was immediately obvious to Jack Baker, and he watched the other passengers as they reacted to it, each in their own way. Some became silently resigned to their fate, some prayed and counted rosary beads. More than a few were clutching, and using, the sick bags tucked in with the Sky Mall magazines in the seatbacks. In the stale, thickening air, it was
obvious some weren’t bothering to use the bag.

  Some just sat back and shut their eyes, their lips moving silently, while others hastily wrote notes to their loved ones, expressing love and final thoughts. Plane going down. Do your best for the boys. I’ve had a good life. We love you. For all the different personalities on the doomed airship, the messages were eerily similar. Jack thought about writing a note, but he just didn’t know who to write it to.

  Some passengers cried out in dread and fear, convinced they were going to die. The few brave passengers attempted to calm the more panicky ones.

  Moments later, the cabin turned as dark as the sky. Carry-on bins rattled open, and the overhead lights occasionally flickered back to life: No smoking! Fasten seat belts! This is it!

  The plane was losing altitude fast, dropping like the 800,000 lb. rock it had become. It plunged, and wobbled, fighting the turbulent air around it, as the passenger cabin grew dense with the smell of vomit. People were sobbing on both sides of the aisle, while a man in the rear of the plane was on his knees praying.

  Then came the announcement by the stewards: “Ladies and gentlemen, please assume crash positions. We are all going to die now!”

  At least that was the way Jack Baker heard it.

  * * *

  The crew on the flight deck attempted to contact Jakarta for assistance, but could not be seen by Jakarta radar, despite their transponder being set to 7700, the international "general emergency" code.

  Captain Hammond knew from experience that, due to the high Indonesian mountains, an altitude of at least 11,500 ft was required to cross the coast safely. He decided that if the aircraft were unable to clear it by the time they fell to 12,000 ft, he’d have no choice; he would turn back out to sea and attempt to ditch. The crew continued the engine restart drills, despite being well above the recommended maximum engine in-flight start envelope altitude of 28,000 ft. They were having no success.

  At 13,500 ft, as Hammond looked at the photo of his wife he had taped to the dash, he attempted one last engine restart procedure.