Christ Clone

by McLeod, David

  The phone call he made to the number on their file got him talking to a man whose accent could only be described as South American, but as to what the language was, Logan was at a loss. He'd tried Mexican-Spanish and Brazilian-Portuguese after quickly giving up on English. He resorted to a slow shout to finally get their address and, as it turned out, the man gave it to him in even slower, louder English.

  Then, having tried several times unsuccessfully to contact the Baileys by phone, Logan had gone around to their new address, only to find out from neighbours that the three of them were vacationing in Europe. And as luck would have it, bad luck that is, they were not due back for another seven weeks.

  Over the next few days Logan had agonized over whether or not he should try and track them down, before deciding that it would be for the best if he waited. After all, although he was almost sure he was right, it was still just a hunch.

  Almost two months later, Logan had finally got them on the phone. 'We're so sorry Detective Logan, we just had to get away. We were losing our minds. Everything around us reminded us of Anita. We put it off for so long, but when we still hadn't heard anything we made the decision to go and see the places Anita wanted to see,' Mrs Bailey had said. Logan knew that waiting for their return had been the right choice. After apologizing profusely again for not informing him of their much-needed vacation and of course their change of address, Anita Bailey's parents told him that Anita's stereo and, as far as they knew, all of her belongings had been placed in storage.

  Her parents met Logan at the self-store unit, and they spent close to an hour fruitlessly sifting through stacks of cartons until it occurred to Mrs Bailey that maybe their son had the stereo at his house. It turned out the whole family — Anita, her brother, and the parents — all had keys to the unit. It was a sort of communal family storage unit; they could put in or take out whatever and whenever they wanted.

  After a few more phone calls, Logan found himself knocking on the brother's door. Edward Bailey, or Call me Ed (as he kept saying), had both the stereo and her box of music. He happily let Logan take the whole lot with him. 'Anything to help catch the murdering bastard!' he said.

  Although he wasn't at all sure what he was looking for, or even if there was anything to find, Logan went through twenty-four of the seventy-six CD cases and now held the prize in his latex-gloved hand.

  As it turned out, the CD had been easy to spot. The blank silver disk, suitable for either music or data storage, had had 'Music to Die For' in the title space, but the word For had been crossed out and replaced with To.

  'Music to Die To. You arrogant bastard,' Logan said out loud.

  He put the disk in the stereo and pressed play. He wrote the playlist on a pad as he skipped through them, most of the tunes and artists he knew, but some he didn't.

  I would die for you — Unknown

  Live and let die — Wings

  I'd die without you — Unknown

  The earth dies screaming — UB40

  I just died in your arms tonight — Cutting Crew

  A view to a kill — Unknown

  Psycho killer — Talking Heads

  Killer — Seal

  Die another day — Madonna

  I'm gonna cut your head off — Unknown

  The last track was different from the rest; an amateur had obviously recorded it. The music was basic and, apart from the chorus, the lyrics were almost impossible to make out.

  Logan drove across town to the crime lab. He loved the work they did there. They were meticulous in their methods, and over time had helped Logan to solve many mysteries.

  'What can you tell me about this?' Logan asked, handing the disk to the technician.

  'Logan, how did you get in here? It's been a long time.' John Merrick shook Logan's hand vigorously. He was a senior technician in the lab. A chubby guy in his early fifties, Merrick lived for his work. He always had a friendly smile for Logan and their friendship meant Logan's work went to the top of the pile.

  'Been busy walking the beat, and you guys need to get your key codes changed more regularly.'

  Merrick just nodded and asked, 'What do you have for me today? Aha, you've brought me some music. I would have preferred flowers or even donuts!'

  'I need to know everything there is to know about this disk — and in particular, the last track. I want to know where it came from, and all the lyrics need to be analyzed. I doubt if there are going to be any prints, but test it anyway. There's a reason for this CD's existence, and I want to know what it is.' Logan's face was deadpan.

  'All business today, huh? I guess you want the results yesterday, as usual. I'll get right on it. I'm sure that if there's anything in there, acoustics will find it. What case name do you want this logged in under?'

  Patting Merrick on the back, Logan turned to leave, 'Bailey, and thanks John.'

  22

  BERLIN

  This experiment was never supposed to get this far. Whatever have we done? Raynard was thinking hard. He was sitting alone in his two-bedroom apartment, his head in his hands, rocking slowly back and forth. We still don't know who or what he is . . . but who else could it be? The DNA was directly from the spear tip, it has to be him . . . maybe we're jumping the gun, maybe we should wait . . .

  'Wait?' Raynard said aloud, interrupting the flow of his own thoughts. Wait? What for? So far, all of my attempts to abort the experiment have failed. The clone is protected by all that is evil. How else could it have survived? No, no, no. I must do it, and I must do it soon!

  He jumped up and started to pace around the room. He walked to the window and tried to look out; the pitch-black night made a mirror of the window. He peered at himself and the room darkened as he focused into his own eyes. He clenched his jaw and raised a fisted hand as he spoke aloud once again, anger and frustration building in his voice. 'Tonight! Yes, I'll do it tonight.'

  He arrived at the plant without knowing how he got there. The drive normally took more than an hour, but this time he would have struggled to remember any part of that journey.

  Nodding hello to the night security guards as he passed them, Raynard moved towards the elevator.

  'Good evening sir, working late tonight?' one of the guards called.

  Raynard ignored him. The elevator doors opened and he darted inside, poking his floor number and the 'close doors' buttons in quick succession. On his own floor, he moved swiftly to the sanctuary of his office. He took a seat at his desk and switched on his computer, desperately trying to act as if everything was normal.

  I think the security guards suspected something. (Raynard's inner voice had returned.) But how could they? I often work late. They have no idea of my workload.

  He regretted dismissing the guards so abruptly, and considered going back to talk to them. But — he thought — I never say more than a couple of words to them, ever. If I go and talk to them now, they'll definitely suspect something.

  He was tying himself up in knots now, conducting an inner debate.

  It's fine, everything's fine. Calm down. He reclined in his chair, and took a deep breath. You can't be having second thoughts, the pushier of his two inner voices chided.

  Of course not, responded the other. I'm going to do it, and I'm going to do it tonight. I just need time to think, time to plan. I know they can't legally do anything to me because, legally, the experiment isn't happening. But I don't want to get caught.

  He's evil, came the reply. You'll be protected. You're doing the Lord's work, after all. Your futile attempts so far have been far too subtle.

  He thought back over the past few months; they'd gone so fast, almost a blur. Klaus had put him in charge of several tasks. The first was transporting the mother from the kidnappers to the laboratory's secure unit. As part of the process, he had been instructed to question her about her sexual activity. She was to be pure and untouched; this was to be confirmed later by their gynaecologist, but Klaus believed it would save some time if the potential host mother was qu
estioned upfront.

  The apartment had smelt disgusting. The whole building had been deemed unfit for human habitation, and the families who once lived there had long gone, replaced by tramps, winos, and addicts — derelicts who considered it an upmarket move after living under bridges or on the streets. Raynard had chosen to breathe through his mouth; the smell of faeces and urine was too much for his nostrils to cope with. The kidnappers kept their balaclavas on as they led him to the padlocked room. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw the girl curled up on the floor; blindfolded, bound and gagged. He told the kidnappers to leave him alone with her, and then helped her to a chair. Once they were alone, he untied her, removed her gag, and told her to leave the blindfold on. Believing the kidnappers were listening at the door, he began to question her about her sexual activity.

  Had she ever kissed anyone? Had she ever been touched, or touched anyone? The girl was reluctant to answer his questions until Raynard told her that if she ever wanted to see her family again she must cooperate. When he heard the kidnappers move away from the door, Raynard told the girl he was there to help her, to set her free. He told her that once he'd left the room, she was to wait one minute, then creep out and use the exit to the left.

  'Who are you?' she'd asked, as she started to pull off her blindfold.

  'Just a friend,' he replied. 'Leave the blindfold on until I've left the room.'

  Raynard located the kidnappers and distracted them as the girl slipped out the door to safety. When they realized the girl had escaped, an ugly scene broke out as the kidnappers blamed Raynard for her release and Raynard blamed them for their incompetence. His claim — why would he help somebody they needed so badly to escape? — had them beaten. He had used this line of defence again when he returned to the lab, and although suspicious, Klaus had bought it. However a different deal had been made with the kidnappers the next time, and a girl was delivered.

  Raynard's other role was supervision of the nurses. This was mainly a clerical role, but it put him in close proximity to the baby, sometimes physically, but mainly through the staff. He had managed to distract one of the nurses long enough to exchange an IV sachet for a drug whose name he couldn't pronounce, but which he knew was poisonous. She was stopped by one of the doctors before reaching the boy — one of Klaus' random spot-checks. He felt bad about having to fire an innocent worker, but she was a pawn and pawns were expendable.

  His last attempt should have been the one. He had managed to gain entry to the equipment storeroom, where, using his very limited knowledge of electrical engineering, he removed the plastic shielding from the live feed to a temperature monitor. All it needed was a small knock and the whole machine would have become live. They rotated the device every three days so he knew it would get into the boy's room the following day, and with the boy's tendency to mischievous behaviour, it wouldn't be long before the monitor would be bumped.

  Raynard still couldn't believe the equipment had exploded. The engineer said the live cable had touched a capacitor or something. Whatever the reason, the boy was still alive, but not for too much longer. This time, there would be no bungling. Raynard went to the nurses' roster on the computer and scrolled down to that evening, checking to see who was on. Happy with the nurse currently working, he planned his attack. After about half an hour, and with the plan mapped out in his head, he called the nurse and arranged to meet her in the clone's quarters. Then he headed for the supply room.

  His confidence was building as he rang for the elevator. He was doing the right thing, and if his plan worked correctly, he'd be able to pull it off without being seen or even suspected. As the elevator doors opened, he saw a security guard already in the lift. Raynard recoiled a little, surprised to find the elevator occupied. But his mind refocused quickly and he strode boldly in, put his ID card to the sensor and pushed the button for the basement. Raynard knew the basement and sub-basement were a mystery to the general security guards. The select guards protecting the lower two levels were hired specifically for this project, and would be well rewarded for their silence.

  'What does go on down there?' the guard asked curiously.

  'Sometimes even I don't know,' Raynard answered with a playful smirk.

  The guard left the elevator on the ground floor, muttering something under his breath that Raynard didn't quite catch. He felt sure it was something rude, but let it go; he had a mission to accomplish. The doors closed and the lift descended to the basement where he was greeted by a staunch-looking guard on the other side of a steel-barred gate.

  'Good evening, Mr Raynard. Would you please place your hand on the scanner.'

  Raynard wondered why the guard always asked him to do this. He'd been here so many times over the past few weeks he knew exactly what to do, and the guard knew that he knew. He guessed it was just a power thing.

  'Thank you, Mr Raynard, you've been verified.' The gate clanked open, Raynard entered and headed straight for the supplies room. Once inside he set about finding his weapon of choice — a vial of cyanide. He unlocked a cabinet, selected the vial he wanted, and then decided to take another one. Just in case. He filled a syringe with the contents of one of the vials, slipped it inside a small case and put this in his trouser pocket. He put the second vial and syringe in his jacket pocket. Moving to another chemical cabinet, he selected a bottle of potassium nitrate and a pack of sugar. Setting them up to mix together would result in the production of thick smoke; he gave himself about fifteen minutes.

  He went to the far end of the corridor and walked down the stairs to the sub-basement where the boy was housed. The lower level looked deserted, but Raynard knew there was a small team of guards watching his every move.

  'As part of Dr Zudermeister's fail-safe measures, I'm here to evaluate your night's work. Let's go inside and pick through the reports,' he said to the duty nurse standing in front of the door to baby Ansgar's rooms.

  The nurse typed in the code and they both went inside. Ansgar was asleep in another room, so they pulled the reports and laid them out on the dining table. In order to get comfortable, Raynard took off his jacket and placed it over the back of his chair. As he flicked through the papers, Raynard voiced a few grunts and appreciative mmms. After about ten minutes, he started to gather up the reports, saying, 'They all seem to be in order, well done.' He paused for a moment, and then added, 'Since we're here, I'd like to look in on Ansgar.'

  The nurse gave Raynard an inquisitive look.

  'To be honest, I've grown quite fond of him, and I sometimes like to watch him sleep. It's the closest I've ever been to being a parent.'

  The nurse seemed to understand, and she agreed. They opened the door to the bedroom and stood in the doorway; Raynard moved his hand to his pocket and waited.

  Suddenly, the fire alarm sounded. Its shrill sound made the nurse cover her ears. Raynard was ready for the alarm and moved in towards the boy, pulling out the case and removing the syringe. He'd almost reached Ansgar when the alarm stopped and the door flew open.

  'Drop it, Raynard!' a guard yelled, his weapon pointed. Raynard dropped the case, but kept the needle in his hand. Ansgar was sitting up in his bed, having been awakened by the alarm. Puzzled, he looked at the guard and then at Raynard. The shouting had frightened him, and he stood up to hide behind Raynard. At the same time, Raynard turned towards the boy and raised the syringe. The guard fired two rounds and Raynard dropped like a stone. Klaus ran in and picked up Ansgar as the guard knelt beside Raynard's body. He was dead.

  The clean-up wouldn't take long; in the meantime, they moved Ansgar to the dining area and fixed him a hot chocolate. The shock had left Ansgar feeling cold and he started to shake; the nurse pulled Raynard's jacket from the back of the chair and draped it over him.

  Later that morning, Klaus was summoned to a meeting with the Chairman to discuss what had happened. 'I suspected Raynard was out to ruin the project since the very first meeting,' he said. 'And I became increasingly suspicious with each accident
, so I told the guards to inform me every time Raynard entered the building, and generally to keep tabs on him. I got a call from the guard the moment Raynard entered the building last night. It seemed unusual that he'd be here so late at night, so I came over — just in case. I was monitoring him when he entered the boy's room, and I knew there really was something wrong when smoke came from under the supply room door and the alarm went off. We were ready for him.'

  The Chairman went silent, seeming to mull over Klaus' words.

  'Why didn't you let me know of your suspicions?' he asked.

  'Until tonight I couldn't be sure what he was up to, and I didn't want to falsely accuse a senior member of staff.'

  The Chairman nodded. 'Well, in the future, be sure and let me know if there is anything or anyone acting suspiciously — and let's increase the project's security.'

  23

  MOSCOW

  WEEK TEN: PUBERTY

  At the Russian facility, Aloysha's development had been phenomenal. Tests indicated he was growing in a normal fashion but at an incredibly increased rate. The scientists worked in collaboration with child psychologists and paediatricians, each with their own special task but with one common goal, the wellbeing of the clone.

  The debriefing room was adjacent to the boy's living quarters; cameras and staff watched him constantly, like an intense version of Big Brother. As the group filed into the room, Doctor Viktor Borgoff thanked them all for coming and welcomed them to week ten; it was his standard way of opening the meeting. Viktor Borgoff had been a scientist with the government since leaving university. Now a greying man in his fifties, his whole life had been science. Tall and thin, he was dressed in a thick tweed jacket and trousers that didn't match. He looked more like a pensioner than a man of knowledge.