Forty-Eight X

by Barry Pollack

  With a clearing of his throat, General Shell, shadowed by two aides, made his presence in the microscopy room known. He had been standing there a few moments listening to father and daughter chitchat.

  “Don’t be so impressed with your father,” the general interrupted. “He won’t tell you about his failures.”

  “General, have you met my daughter?”

  “Not officially. But I know a lot about her already. She is quite the persistent young lady.”

  “Maggie, this is General Maximillian Shell, project director of Lemuria and its prime visionary. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for his insistence that the impossible was possible.”

  “I just had faith in talented people. And faith, along with time and plenty of money, makes all things possible.”

  “General, are you going to have me shot for disturbing your secrets here?”

  “I can’t say you have made my work easier, but no firing squad.”

  “Honey”—Dr. Wagner took his daughter’s hand–“it may not be what you planned on, but you’ll have to stay here on Diego Garcia for a while. But I’m looking forward to us working together.”

  “No,” the general was quick to reply. “You’ll be going home soon.”

  Julius Wagner was surprised. Just a few weeks earlier, Shell had informed him that Fala, the Egyptian archaeologist who had come too close to knowing the secrets of Lemuria, would be their guest for the “duration.” That, he assumed, meant for another three years, until their project reached its culmination with the creation of an alternative non-human fighting force of at least division strength—ten thousand chimpanzees. They even had bantered about names for it—the First Troglodyte Division; the First New Army Division; the First Lemurian Division.

  The word from the general that secrecy was no longer paramount was actually a disappointment. For the last several months, Dr. Wagner had worked hard to conceal his depression. He lived in a pleasant climate with superb intellectual stimulation and none of the stresses of academia, and yet he felt hollow. Something was missing. With Maggie’s arrival, that feeling had immediately vanished. What he was missing was the need to care about someone and for someone to care about him. General Shell had done a superb job of catering to the needs of his scientific and military community. There were wonderful accommodations, good food, entertaining diversions, intellectual stimulation. However, there was one human need he could not supply—love.

  “What about security?” Professor Wagner asked. “Do you expect my daughter to simply follow your orders and keep quiet about what she knows? She’s not one of your soldiers.”

  “What your father didn’t tell you,” the general abruptly changed the subject, “was that this same technology, what he created for that chromosomal link that gives our chimps extraordinary endurance, can also be applied to curing sickle cell disease and hemophilia.”

  Mack put his arm around the old doctor.

  “You did a great job, Julie. Extraordinary. But starting today, I want you to start organizing your findings so that you can begin disseminating the information to your colleagues worldwide. Your research is going to save lives and improve the quality of life for people all over the world. It was billions of dollars well spent.”

  “What about your First Troglodyte Division?”

  Shell smiled. Dr. Wagner had always preferred using the species name for the chimpanzee to describe his new army. Mack Shell knew, though, he would call them the Lemurian Division, a link to his ancient utopia and his hopes for a new one. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes as if he was tired and strained. There was a wetness there, as if he had teared. But that couldn’t be. Generals didn’t cry. Particularly not this one.

  “Our experiment with chimpanzees is over,” Shell announced. “I have been ordered to close down Lemuria.”

  “But why?” Wagner asked, astounded. “You’re on the verge of success. No. Except for a few missteps that are easily correctable, you have succeeded.”

  “America doesn’t like the idea.”

  “What do you mean ‘America doesn’t like the idea’? The public knows nothing about it.”

  “They’ve done polls, Julius,” the general answered. “Congress and the president do nothing without knowing how the American people will respond. When the questions involved experimenting on monkeys and saving the lives of American soldiers, nobody hesitated and the Lemuria Project was given the green light. The questions they’re asking now are quite different.”

  “How can they be different? What kind of questions are they asking?”

  “Let’s ask your daughter. She probably represents a fair sampling of American opinion.”

  “Don’t make me out to be the devil, General,” Maggie retorted. “I believe we should make human life better by genetic research. And experimenting on primates is ideal.”

  “Do you approve of animals killing humans?”

  “No.”

  “Even if they’re terrorists and murderers?” Mack countered.

  “Well, what about capturing people? Or people who want to surrender? And what about trials—”

  “You see,” the general responded. “American opinion. But that wasn’t the main reason people didn’t like the idea of my chimpanzee army.”

  The general stood silent for a moment, looking for a way to explain something that he, too, still didn’t quite understand. Then, he undid a ribbon from his jacket.

  “Major,” he ordered his adjutant, “step forward.”

  “Arnie, I couldn’t have done this job without you. You put up with my temper, which was job enough. And when a bunch of egghead scientists made impossible demands, you fulfilled them.”

  The general then pinned the ribbon to his aide’s uniform shirt.

  “I hereby award you this first Lemuria campaign ribbon for a job superbly performed.”

  Mack Shell then turned to Dr. Wagner and his daughter. “And that, my friend, is the reason Lemuria will be no more. The pollsters not only asked questions, they also rated how important the issues were to people. Sure, Americans abhor the deaths of young soldiers and want things done to prevent them. But the one thing they were not willing to give up in any scenario were their heroes. America is all about heroes. It just wouldn’t be the same country without them. And no hairy chimpanzee is ever going to get an Independence Day ticker-tape parade down Main Street.”

  And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, fit the earth and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea, the bird of the sky, and every living thing that moves on the earth.”

  —Genesis 1:28

  CHAPTER

  FORTY

  The night, as usual, was pitch-black with a trillion bright stars overhead. McGraw sat on the beach at the edge of the outgoing tide. Fala sat beside him. They were on a tiny dot of an island in a great sea on a tiny blue pebble planet, no more significant in the universe than the specks of sand on the bottom of their feet. After meeting with Julius Wagner, the general had gone on to break the news to Colonel McGraw. And, he gave him new orders. It was not an order that McGraw relished carrying out, and he made the most intelligent arguments he could to alter it. But the general made it clear. There would be no reprieves from this order. McGraw was a soldier who had received unpleasant commands before. He would carry out this one, as well. The general made one more thing clear. Link McGraw would not be returning to Leavenworth. He was too valuable an officer.

  “Even if I can’t get you reinstated, Colonel,” the general promised, “you will continue to be my ‘go to’ man. You may have to pretend to be my Filipino houseboy—but you’re not going back.”

  There was a chattering in the nearby chimp encampment. It was nothing unusual. His men were—no, McGraw suppressed that thought. He had caught himself thinking that time and again. They were his “troops” but not his “men.” They were not human.

  “Do you smell it?” Fala asked. “Do you think they do?”

  More than eight hundred
baby chimps had been euthanized during the day. Their bodies, along with a huge assortment of embryos and other genetic materials, were being disposed of in biomedical waste incinerators. Behind him, McGraw could still see the smoke curling into the starlit sky.

  “Sure, they do,” McGraw replied. “But do they know what it means? In World War II, the Jews walked passively into gas chambers past chimneys spewing the remains of their families and friends. And most didn’t know. I don’t think they know. I hope they don’t.”

  “Link, in this last week I’ve been reading a lot about chimpanzees and this genetic research. If humans and chimps are over ninety-eight percent genetically identical to us, how come they have ten percent more DNA than us?”

  “I don’t know,” McGraw replied, obviously distraught at was happening. “The science geeks have left a lot of unanswered questions. You know what’s interesting, though,” he went on, “every primate—chimps, orangutans, gorillas—doubles the birth weight of their brains from birth to adulthood. We humans—we triple ours.”

  “So?”

  “Well, my chimps, they’ve been measuring them. Some have nearly tripled their brain weight, as well.”

  McGraw had mentioned those facts and more when he argued with General Shell to save his troops.

  “Their DNA is nearly identical to ours, and we’ve made them even more like us,” McGraw pressed his argument before the general.

  “They’re not human, Link,” Shell responded. “Just because their DNA is ninety-nine percent like ours doesn’t make them ninety-nine percent human. Our DNA is about seventy-five percent similar to a worm’s. And a worm is not seventy-five percent human. I can’t save worms, and I can’t save your chimps.”

  “Sir, would the cavalry have ever considered killing their horses? Or the dogs that sniff out bombs and our men lying under rubble, would we be so cavalier in doing away with them? These animals have served us well. They deserve better.”

  He had felt like Abraham pleading with God to save Sodom and Gomorrah—if but for ten righteous souls. But the general had orders, too. The decision was made. The “how to” was not.

  “You know, I never told anyone this,” McGraw continued with Fala, “but when we were in the field, just me and my troops, I used to read them children’s bedtime stories to relax them.”

  “Did they understand?”

  “I don’t know, but they didn’t like it when I read the same story a second time and changed the ending.”

  There was a collective sigh. McGraw gently stroked Fala’s hair, but she abruptly pulled away.

  “I can’t be with you when we all leave here,” she said. “I have to be with him.”

  “If you fall in love with somebody else, it’s not your fault.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she said remorsefully. “I still love him.”

  Fala stood and kissed McGraw gently on the cheek.

  “Astaghfir Allah,” she said in farewell. “God forgive me for lusting after you—my monkey man.”

  He took her hand and held it tight. While his heart told him not to let go, he knew when a battle was lost and it was time to retreat. He kissed her hand, one last time, and she departed.

  Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine, and at last you create what you will.

  —George Bernard Shaw

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-ONE

  Withdrawals, Mack Shell thought. That had always been his specialty.

  It would take only a few days to return Diego Garcia, BIOT—British Indian Ocean Territory—back into the sleepy military outpost it had been a decade earlier. Huge air force jumbo cargo jets landed with the frequency of a major airport for several days—ferrying personnel and equipment back to the United States. The advanced science buildings were gutted. In months ahead, universities throughout the country would be reaping the benefits as a great deal of very expensive scientific equipment was listed on the Internet for sale for pennies on the dollar.

  Although the maps called it Diego Garcia, those who came to work and live on the island for years came to call it Lemuria. Many resented the end of their time in “paradise.” And if anyone was looking to place blame, it was understandable they might exorcise their anger against those they viewed as interlopers on their island. General Shell had Fala, Krantz, and Maggie Wagner on the first plane out. It was a six-hour flight on a C-130 to Singapore and then on to the United States on a commercial flight.

  From the air, Fala saw the base garbage barge. A tug was towing it out to sea. The barge was as big as a football field—ninety-one meters in overall length, twenty-seven meters wide. Its shell was six meters above the waterline. The barge was loaded with a mountain of garbage—the detritus of over five thousand military and scientific personnel on the island. Scampering atop the pile were several hundred brown figures, and Fala instantly knew the plan. These were the chimps of Lemuria, and McGraw was towing them out to sea to drown. She trembled. She felt nauseated. Trying to put the picture out of her mind, she walked back to the rear of the aircraft where Krantz was strapped to a gurney. He was conscious but sedated with several intravenous lines running in fluids and antibiotics. She took his hand and squeezed it hard.

  “Some adventure, huh?”

  Krantz exercised a weak smile.

  She held up a small wooden object with a carved moon-shaped face at one end and fork prongs at the other.

  “It’s a barrette. I found it at an abandoned construction site on the north end of the island. You know, the original inhabitants of the island were not from Mauritania or the Seychelles. They were slaves from East Africa—judging from this piece, probably from Somalia or Mozambique.”

  Fala then held up some photographs. “And there were probably much older civilizations on the island. I found these petroglyphs.”

  Krantz studied the photos. Petroglyphs were drawings carved into rock. They were prehistoric, usually Neolithic symbols, a form of pre-writing used in communication approximately ten to twelve thousand years ago by the classical cavemen. The drawings were either easy to decipher, like pictures of animals, or, after millenniums of cultural separation, near impossible to decipher. But through his drug-hazed eyes, Krantz clearly saw what these images represented. They were pictures of troops in formation, of airplanes, and dead humans. These were not petroglyphs carved by some ancient cavemen, but modern drawings made by chimpanzees who were recording their history. Recorded history is the hallmark of human civilization, Krantz thought. These chimpanzees are not millions of years behind us in evolution. They’re perhaps now just ten thousand years behind.

  Fala set the photos aside. Krantz had tried to speak, but his morphine pump weighed his lids shut and he fell asleep again. That’s best, she thought. When he wakes, he’ll be feeling better and this horrid adventure will be our own ancient history. She was anxious to resume their old life—archaeologists in search of the truth of the past. Other than being together, she wanted no more to do with the world of the present.

  From the wheelhouse on the tug, McGraw watched Fala’s C-130 head east. He was sailing west. The tugboat’s skipper and two other senior officers were aboard. McGraw had suggested the “termination” plan, and General Shell had sent two of his officers along to assure it was carried out and to photograph the event as proof. It was a sensible plan. The animals were uncaged, but they followed commands. Others had suggested they just shoot them all—but even to Shell that seemed nauseatingly bloody. And he knew the animals could be vicious. One or two could get away and maim or kill soldiers or civilians. And then there was the mess. No, McGraw’s plan was simple and clean. There would be no need to bury or incinerate the bodies. They would simply disappear into the sea.

  McGraw watched his former “command” frolicking on the mounds of garbage on the barge. If they didn’t find things worthy of eating, they found plenty of things for play. The tug captain wanted to turn back about twenty miles offshore, but McGraw in
sisted they sail on for several more hours. When they were nearly fifty miles from Diego Garcia with no land in sight, no other ships, McGraw released the tow rope. The barge floated free. His two chaperones prepared to video the event. McGraw had set explosive charges on the hull of the barge. With a nod for the officers to begin filming, he hit the switch on a remote and set them off, rupturing airtight compartments in the hull. The barge filled with water and began to quickly settle under the water. Soon, hundreds of monkeys were swimming frantically amidst the garbage. McGraw knew from what he read that chimpanzees did not like to swim. Their stocky bodies prevented them from being good swimmers. They had enjoyed splashing in the surf, but he had never seen them swim and never taught them to. Clearly several were already drowning.

  “Semp fah, semp fah!” several of the animals began to yell.

  “What are they yelling?” one of the captains asked.

  “I don’t know,” the other replied, turning to McGraw for an answer.

  “Words. I taught them some words.”

  “What?”

  “Semper fi, semper fi,” McGraw repeated. Semper fidelis, the motto of the U.S. Marine Corps. It was Latin and meant “always faithful.”

  “Do we need to see this out, Captain?” McGraw asked his escort and videographer. The officer knew the work that Colonel McGraw had accomplished with these animals. And seeing the colonel’s chin tremble, the captain knew McGraw was drowning inside, as well.

  “I’ve got enough.”

  McGraw moved to the helm of the tug, turned the boat east, and gunned the engine. He wanted to be far away very soon. Ten minutes later, the scene of the crime was well out of sight.

  There were twelve watertight compartments on the shallow-keeled garbage barge. McGraw’s explosives had ruptured four, enough to sink a ship holding two hundred tons of cargo. But empty, the ship could still stay afloat if only half those watertight compartments remained intact. McGraw had spent a long night doing the math and praying he was right. At a depth of two hundred feet, the sea had finally swept away the tons of garbage. The barge then ended its descent and slowly began to rise. More than half of his chimpanzees had already drowned when the great barge erupted to the surface. The survivors frantically clambered aboard.