Christ Clone

by McLeod, David

  Malone felt a quick flash of both happiness and envy. 'That's great news,' he said, hoping the jealousy didn't show.

  Veronica fumbled through her bag for a picture of her daughter, a well-fed girl who looked like she was about thirteen. She had dark brown hair and brown eyes.

  'She has your eyes,' Malone said, grasping for something nice to say.

  Veronica stared at the photograph before and putting it away again. 'She was taken from me for just over six years. My husband had left me well before her abduction, so Anne-Marie was all I had.'

  Malone looked at the wedding band on her finger.

  'Oh, that's my current husband. It sounds so strange when I say it like that. He came on the scene after Anne-Marie's return. My life has changed so much for the better since she returned, which is why I say, never give up hope.'

  Malone looked up at the waitress as she presented their food. Spaghetti and meatballs were a standard Malone Italian order; he was a self-confessed creature of habit. He rolled his first mouthful of pasta and asked, 'So, how did you find her?'

  'Well, in a roundabout sort of way, she found me. It turned out she was abducted to order. The couple were from Texas, and couldn't conceive their own child. They'd been turned down as adoptive parents and after all the controversy with celebrities and Russian babies, Immigration had closed that window of opportunity as well. There are people you can go and see who will, for a price, acquire a child for you. You can specify the child you want: boy, girl, skin colour, even down to the hair and eye colour for that matter.'

  Malone had heard this sort of thing before, but had never met anyone who'd been involved. He'd always thought of it as an urban myth, the kind of horror story that belonged on TV.

  'I was stupid; Anne-Marie had been out of my sight for less than a minute in the park. I'd turned to talk to one of the other mothers, turned back, and she was gone. No one saw anything and, of course, I blamed myself. But the reality is these guys are professional kidnappers and stopping them is very difficult, almost impossible. Anyway, Anne-Marie grew up with her new family; she was only two when she was taken so she didn't know any different.'

  Malone was listening intently.

  'As luck would have it, the reason that couple had been turned down for adoption in the first place was that they'd had two prior domestic violence charges. Then one night, about five years ago, the police were called to a big fight the couple had gotten into with their neighbours. I forget who was actually at fault, but the officer involved decided to run priors. Something just didn't add up for him. When I spoke to him later, he said it was just a gut feeling. He ended up calling child support, and they came and interviewed the couple. The rest, as they say, is history. It was a combination of great gut instinct, good police work, and fantastic inter-departmental communication . . . which is why we're pushing so hard for computer system and database integration; it will take away the need for gut feelings.' Veronica took a big gulp of her red wine, and proposed a toast to both agencies; Malone clinked his glass against hers.

  ***

  Several weeks had passed and Malone had settled into his role. He'd formed a good working relationship with Veronica and quite often they would slip out for coffee to discuss various cases or sometimes just a quick pep talk. The Italian restaurant was the special place they went if the day had been particularly tough, or had gone very well.

  This particular day they had a cause for celebration. They'd received word that a big company had agreed to give them their entire allocation of sponsorship funds for the year. It meant big bucks. They started by celebrating the good news, but as the meal progressed the subject somehow turned to Malone's use of a private investigator and a clairvoyant to look for his daughter.

  'The PI called us quite soon after Mary's face was put on national TV. He called on our home line and came around that day. His credentials seemed fine, and he told us he specialized in the return of teen agers. He even listed the names of children he'd found. Hindsight being the wonderful thing it is, we realized later we should've got all of it down on paper and called the families for reference.' Malone paused for a moment, then continued, 'We organized a retainer of fifteen hundred dollars a month, and he told us it probably wouldn't take more than a couple of months. There would be expenses on top of that fee, but again he didn't think they'd amount to much. The first few days he called us a lot. He told us his contacts were out on the street ferreting and gathering intelligence. The first week's expenses were low, a few faxes and some cash claims to loosen mouths. Then, late in the second week, he called — very excited — and told us the trail was leading him to Miami. He needed to get a flight there in the morning, would we cover the expenses? Of course we said yes. This turned out to be a false alarm. That bill was seven hundred and fifty bucks. The second month's calls were less, but the expenses were more. We were naïve, and the total cost came to over twelve grand. All the leads sounded legitimate at the time, and we just couldn't say no. But, as hard as it was to do it, we didn't go to a third month with him.'

  Veronica shook her head in anger. 'They're nasty parasites,' she said through her teeth.

  Malone was a little taken aback by her anger, but he agreed with the sentiment. 'Then there was the clairvoyant,' he said. 'Looking back, I can see the clairvoyant was hysterical. You truly never know how desperate you can become until you're in this situation. Out of the blue, we got a call from a psychic who'd had a vision about Mary, and could she come around and tell us about it. I flat out refused; it went against my whole belief system. There was no way I would ever agree to such an outrageous request. But my wife, Barbara, always seemed to have a way of talking me around. So, after a few days of often heated discussion I, of course, gave in. The very next day this hippy-looking woman arrived, fresh out of the circus. She was armed with candles, incense sticks, and Tarot cards — everything but the crystal ball. She asked us for a thousand dollars; it seemed the spirits needed funding too. After our experience with the PI, we wanted proof first. She told us a couple of personal things about Mary, things only Mary would know. Her favourite singer, friends' names and so on, but nothing that would inspire us to part with our cash. Then she brought up a horseback riding accident Mary had as a child. This was all the proof my wife needed to convince her. I'm still not sure where she got the information, maybe luck, or maybe she was a true psychic. To cut a long story short, she supplied us with a list of leads that, with the help of the LAPD, we found to be totally fruitless.'

  Malone laughed, but he knew he wasn't fooling Veronica. She wouldn't miss the sadness in his eyes.

  Once their meal was finished, and after some small talk, they went their separate ways home.

  The lights were on and the TV was blaring when Malone walked through his front door. Daniel was so engrossed in whatever was on TV that he didn't notice Malone come into the room.

  'So this is what you call being hard at work is it?'

  Startled, Malone's words made Daniel jump.

  'I've just this minute finished,' he protested. 'I've made some good progress on the design for that muffler company around the corner. I . . .'

  'I'm just kidding with you. Don't you designers have a sense of humour?'

  'Ha, bloody ha.' Daniel looked at his watch. 'What time do you call this anyway? Putting in the overtime or sucking up to the boss?'

  Malone went to the kitchen to fix himself a coffee. 'If you must know, Veronica and I went for dinner after work. We . . .'

  'Veronica and you dining together again, eh? You still haven't told me much about her — is she cute?' Daniel goaded.

  'Don't get ahead of yourself. It's nothing like that. Do you want a drink?'

  'Nah, I'm gonna hit the hay.' With that, Daniel switched off the box.

  With Daniel set up in business in his home, and his new friend Veronica giving him the opportunity he needed to unburden himself, Malone felt his world had finally turned a corner. His life had new purpose. He was beginning to live aga
in.

  20

  BERLIN

  The baby's progress was remarkable. The Germline science that had been downloaded from the cloning challenge website was spot on. Dr Zudermeister and the scientists watched as, hour by hour, the baby grew. Their progress meetings were conducted twice a day, at eight a.m. and six p.m., but with the baby's rapid rate of change, they were thinking of adding another meeting time.

  The birth had been traumatic for all involved — not least for the host mother, Mary Krieger. She had lost a lot of blood during the birth and, for a time, it was touch and go as to whether or not she was going to pull through. They needed to keep her alive for several reasons: immediately, for her milk and the nutrients it provided; later, she would be an ideal host should they need to repeat the experiment; and last, but certainly not least, they were scientists not kidnappers, and they didn't quite know what to do with her.

  The questions surrounding her future and well-being had been debated into the early hours one morning. Keeping the girl mildly sedated and imprisoned for what was going to be more than seven months seemed extreme. But under the circumstances, they had all reluctantly agreed it was a small price to pay for such an immense project. They decided she was to be kept in the best of care, and at the end of her usefulness to their project she would have her memory erased. A small argument as to whether they should replace her memory of the time with a fake one had come to an abrupt halt when one of them suggested they should make her believe aliens had abducted her and conducted tests.

  In the early hours of a Tuesday morning, baby Ansgar was born. Although naming the clone was supposed to be a group decision, Klaus had already researched the one most suitable. The literal meaning of Ansgar was 'God and Spear'.

  The fact that the baby's birth had taken place just over a month after implanting the embryo had them all speechless, but it was the rate of growth since birth that had been the most astonishing. The area was manned twenty-four hours a day with an assortment of people: nurses, doctors, specialists, and scientists, each with their own specific tasks and each of them aware of what would befall them should they leak one word of the experiment to the outside world. They were all professionals, but since the bungled abduction Klaus had decided to add some additional checks and fail-safes to ensure both mother and baby were protected. Physical contact was kept to a minimum, and for this brief, initial stage, the picking up and cuddling of the baby was banned.

  The baby had spent most of its first day in a specially adapted incubator. The protein and nutrient drips needed to be changed on the hour, so rather than disturb the child, a gelatine substance was used inside the mattress. This kept the baby in a relatively stationary position, ensuring that no undue pressure was put on the attached drips or the baby himself. The fact that he was able to sleep undisturbed also allowed his body to grow without hindrance. The machine was angled slightly downwards, keeping the baby's head high and its bottom low. Washing facilities were piped into the unit, with anti-rash powder close at hand.

  During baby Ansgar's waking time, he looked around but was initially unable to focus. The specialist told the group he thought it would be a number of days before the baby would be able to control his vision. It took him four hours. Once focusing was mastered, he moved his gaze from people to equipment, taking in all the sights. Even though his neck muscles were not yet able to handle the load, he tried on a regular basis to raise his head to be able to see more, and followed this with small shrieks and gurgles. Over the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours, the nurses took it in turns to move toys in front of his eyes. They shook rattles in order to stimulate both ocular and aural responses. Pulling funny faces was everyone's job, and at times even the more stand-offish scientists were prone to displaying their own facial distortions. However, bubble blowing and dribbling remained the infant's own party pieces.

  On day three, it was becoming difficult to keep the baby still. He was moving around in the incubator, and using his arms and legs to bat at the toys left in the unit. He was now laughing on a regular basis, and recognizing his favourite members of staff. His eyes would light up and his dribbling would intensify if he really liked someone.

  'What the hell were you thinking?' Klaus yelled at one of the nurses. It was around midnight on day three, and one of the nurses had made a huge mistake that could have killed the baby.

  'It was the same vaccine I've used for the past two days,' she sobbed. 'Someone must have swapped it. I swear I would never hurt the baby.'

  She was near the end of her shift and apparently in a hurry to leave. She couldn't tell Klaus how it happened, but she had picked up the wrong germ vaccine. If she had administered this to the baby, he would have convulsed, vomited, and quite probably died. Thankfully, this error was picked up by one of the double checks Klaus had put into place. The nurse was removed immediately with a stern reminder of the deadly consequences of betraying the project to anyone, at any time in the future.

  By day four, the incubator was discarded and the baby started to crawl. His first tooth had come through, but caused him very little discomfort. His diet had moved to solid food and when he wasn't putting everything within reach into his mouth, the nurses were taking turns feeding him. He had mastered sitting up, was responding to his own name when called, and had started to imitate speech.

  From days four to seven, more developmental steps were accomplished with stunning speed. He waved goodbye to people as they left, stood and held things, drank from a cup, and understood simple instructions. A milestone event happened some time late on day five. 'Da da,' he said, to a rather butch female scientist who took it graciously as the majority of staff in the room laughed out loud. Only her boss managed to hide his amusement, at least until he left the room.

  At week two the clone reached his terrible twos, and was moving about on his own two feet. This made it necessary for the nutrient distribution system to be redesigned. Having a drip trolley to push around had proved a recipe for disaster; they found this out the hard way. So, necessity being the mother of invention, a simple backpack was adapted for the toddler to wear. This allowed him the freedom to move about and yet still receive the required substances.

  Week three was the speech therapists' turn. Ansgar's vocabulary had reached the one thousand-word stage, and they introduced nursery rhymes and had him answering simple questions. The clone was to be taught several languages, but fluency in English was part of the Terms and Conditions. Watching him roll his eyes towards the ceiling before answering was a clear indication that his imagination was developing rapidly. He had moved away from the constant negative stage, and was now becoming more adventurous. The lab and surrounding rooms had been his total environment, so discovering what lay behind doors and inside cupboards was a huge source of interest and amusement.

  He really enjoyed music and, in particular, rock music. His dancing left a lot to be desired, but the blame for this really fell on one of the scientist's shoulders; the heavy metal head-banging was easy for him to copy but, thankfully, the air guitar had yet to be mastered.

  He was starting to put on his own shoes, and by week four he had accomplished washing and dressing himself. He was now pushing his own boundaries. This was a difficult week for everyone; the clone-child needed increased supervision as he went about testing what he could and couldn't do. If the guardian looked away for too long, Ansgar would climb up onto a cabinet and pull at machine switches, or be ready to jump to the floor. He was answering back more now, questioning whichever authority figure was present at the time. His vocabulary now exceeded fifteen hundred words, but his favourite one was 'why?'

  He experienced his first big scare that week. Ansgar awoke with his bladder full. He pulled back the covers and padded out of his bedroom and into the en suite to pee. Both rooms were dark but he didn't want to put on the lights; experience had already taught him that the bright lights would wake him up completely. Once finished, he pulled up his pyjama bottoms and flushed the toilet before headi
ng back to bed.

  Boom! A large explosion came from a monitoring device beside his bed. Bright yellow and white sparks filled his vision, quickly followed by fire. Ansgar didn't know whether to dive under the bed or rush back into the en suite. Instead, he just stood there and started to cry. Immediately the sprinkler system cut in and began to rain down on the entire contents of the room. The guards rushed into the room to find a sodden and shaken but unharmed child.

  As a precaution, all monitoring equipment was immediately housed in protective cases, but the child remained slightly anxious when he was close to them.

  By his fifth week, Ansgar was very self-assured — like most five-year-olds — and he had even started to criticize himself if he thought he could have done better at something, like drawing or kicking a ball at a goal. His vocabulary was now over two thousand words and he had begun to read, easily identifying the labels in his facility. Counting to a hundred had been accomplished early in the week, and he could even do simple sums. His attitude towards rules had changed again, and now he liked to follow them — provided he trusted the person issuing them. He now had a sense of the difference between fact and fiction, and focused on facts. Specialist tutors were brought in to assist in the clone's development, always extending him. For additional stimulation but mainly as a treat, the TV was virtually always on the Discovery or National Geographic channels and he would spend solid half-hour blocks of time riveted to the screen, absorbing the information it delivered.

  All information provided to the clone was censored to ensure there was no religious content.

  21

  LOS ANGELES

  Logan finally held the music CD in his hand. It often astounded him how people could deal with adversity and then move on with their lives. Admittedly, the cases he worked on were generally considered cold to the point of freezing, but it never failed to surprise him when victims' families moved house, or even states or countries, and didn't bother to leave a forwarding address. Anita Bailey's parents and brother were a case in point. They'd been more than helpful when he finally found and met with them, but finding them at all had been a mission.