by L. A. Larkin
‘Are we meant to change our passwords every day?’ she asked Sue.
‘No. Al and Darko change theirs regularly. I haven’t changed mine for weeks.’
At 5.35 pm Bukowski locked his office door and left, saying, ‘Good night, Amber,’ with his usual big smile. His departure was earlier than usual but there was nothing about his behaviour to suggest he was angry or suspicious. A few minutes later, Serena exited the cool foyer into the heat of the evening. She began walking down the street, weaving in and out of the throng, in the direction of the car park. Her neck and shoulder muscles relaxed as the tension of the day drained from her.
‘Amber!’
She barely heard the call over the traffic noise. She was deep in thought and now, she’d left the Gene-Asis building, was thinking as Serena.
‘Amber!’ It was louder this time and the accent stopped her in her tracks. A pedestrian bumped her arm as he narrowly missed colliding with her. A black Maybach had pulled up beside her. The tinted rear window was down and Al beckoned her over. Serena’s eyes widened and she had to fight the urge to run. Was he about to confront her? She stood tall, her stride confident, as she dodged the people racing up and down the street to reach his car. He opened the door to reveal rich cream upholstery and she could smell the newness of the leather. She made sure she looked him in the eye.
‘Get in. I’ll give you a ride.’
She hesitated.
‘It’s okay. I’d like to talk about Chris,’ he said as he shifted across the seat, confident she would do as he asked.
The strangeness of his invitation intrigued her; he could have spoken to her at the office. Worried Bukowski had a problem with her dinner date, she got in. He nodded to the bull-necked chauffeur, who was watching in the rear-view mirror for a signal from his boss. He pulled out into the traffic and the doors locked with a clunk. Serena instantly felt nervous. She recognised the driver as the same man who’d swept Bukowski away from McPherson’s attack. He was more than a driver; he was Bukowski’s bodyguard.
‘I hear you’re having dinner tonight?’ His legs were stretched out, his tie removed and his jacket hung on a hook. He spoke casually, as if they were friends discussing their evening’s plans. Serena wondered how he knew about their date. She suspected Sue.
‘Yes. We share a love of curries.’
He opened a compartment to reveal a minibar. ‘Would you like a drink?’ She refused, desperate for him to get to the point. But he made her wait, pouring a sparkling mineral water into an exquisite crystal tumbler.
‘Chris is a brilliant man, one of the best R&D guys I’ve had. But a gossip. I need you to do something for me.’
His smile reminded her of the wax figures at Madame Tussauds in London.
‘Go on,’ she replied.
‘I worry Chris may be a security risk. He drinks too much and says things he shouldn’t. I want you to tell me everything he says about Gene-Asis. I need to know he can be trusted.’
Serena shook her head. ‘Mr Bukowski, I couldn’t do that. It would betray his trust. Please don’t ask me to do this.’ The distress on her face was genuine. She wanted to pump Chris for information and had no intention of telling Bukowski any of their conversation.
He slowly and deliberately put down his glass and then leaned forward.
‘My dear, I know this is a lot to ask but if I have a traitor in my midst, I have to know.’
Her cheeks burned. She swallowed; her mouth dry. His gaze shifted from her right eye to the left and back to the right, observing her response. She blinked and looked down, afraid he might detect the traitor in her.
‘Mr Bukow …’
‘Al, please. Just Al.’ His face creased into the dimpled smile that had softened so many women’s hearts.
‘Al, it doesn’t feel right. Look, I’m just a PA, this is all too, um, cloak and dagger for me.’ She shook her head, pretending to be overwhelmed.
‘Amber, if Chris says nothing wrong, there can be no harm in you telling me about it, now can there?’
She was trapped and nodded in acquiescence, but knew she wouldn’t betray Chris.
‘Good, now let me drop you there. The Forresters, I believe?’
‘Yes. How did you know that?’
‘I get to know everything.’ He nodded in that I’m-the-king-of-theworld way of his and picked up his drink. ‘Surry Hills,’ he said to the driver.
‘Everything? About every product? I mean, I’d heard you’re very hands on, but how do you do it? I guess that’s why you work such long hours.’
He ran a hand through his thick black hair and glanced at his reflection in the driver’s rear-view mirror. His vanity was clearly as huge as his ego. ‘I rely on my team of experts, Amber. That’s what they’re paid for. But, yes, I work hard. You don’t get to my position without it. Power is something you have to earn and, once you have it, you have to fight to keep it.’ He sipped his water. ‘But, let me tell you, it’s worth it.’
He’d dodged the question. She tried again.
‘So, do you enjoy the science? I mean, do you check the science behind your products?’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, I read up on you before my interview; you know, to make sure I was informed about my potential new boss. You have a degree in business and genetics, so I imagine you like to get involved in the science.’
‘As I said, I rely on my team of experts for that. I have enough on my plate. You know, right now, I’m doing two roles, mine and the Asia-Pacific CEO’s. That means I cram two work days into one. In a few hours, I start my regular job. I have a conference call with my people in New York at midnight—that’s the start of their day.’
‘You must be exhausted. You do that every night?’
‘Sure do, but I don’t need a lot of sleep. I’ll sleep for a few hours, then do my work-out, have a bit of breakfast and I’m ready to go again. In my position, Amber, everyone wants a piece of you. My people, the media, government, banks, charities, legal; you name it. You know, back home, Congress won’t even consider a new agricultural bill without asking my opinion first. I get more interview requests from the media than I could ever say yes to. So when I do say yes, they lap up every word. My speeches get standing ovations. They love me, Amber. You probably can’t imagine how good that feels.’
His condescension infuriated her, but she forced a fawning smile and asked, ‘But how do you cope with all the criticism? All those people who say you’re contaminating non-GM crops, that they’re not safe to eat, that you’re bullying farmers, that sort of thing. It must be hard to take?’
‘I see you’ve done your homework.’ He nodded his approval and then moved closer to her.
‘You’ve heard that saying, “A butterfly flaps its wings here and the weather changes in China”? Well, when I talk to the Chinese government, their whole agricultural policy changes. Do you see what I’m saying? My critics can bleat all they like but they’re wasting their breath. I’m untouchable.’ He laughed and his deep-set eyes became little more than semicircles of eyelashes, resembling two black sea anemones.
Serena had read The Bonfire of the Vanities many years ago, and recalled the central character had assumed invincibility and his world had come crashing down around him. But maybe Bukowski really was a Master of the Universe. John’s warning finally sank in as she realised she wasn’t just taking on a corporation. She was taking on a man who, metaphorically speaking, could part waves.
‘And what about you, Amber? I see before me a woman of strength and intelligence. Why are you a PA when you could be so much more?’
She’d have to work harder at hiding her true self.
‘You’re right. I could do more but I choose not to. The truth is, I want to get married, have kids, have time to enjoy life. The career ladder doesn’t interest me.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t believe you.’ His mouth was set hard; his stare drilled into her. A red flush spread up her
chest and neck to her cheeks. He erupted into a loud laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Amber. I don’t mean to offend you but I see ambition in you, and I’m usually right about people.’
They were driving parallel to Hyde Park. ‘Davidson, pull over. We’re getting out.’ The driver expertly manoeuvred the car between two buses and stopped, ignoring the angry honking. ‘Will you walk with me? Have you time?’
He was leaning forward in his seat, with the eager expression of a little boy wanting to play after school. The sudden switch from narcissist to ordinary man caught her off guard. She stammered ‘Sure’ and they got out. The driver sped off.
‘Where’s he going?’ she asked.
‘He’ll do laps around the park till I’m ready. Shall we?’
They wandered along a path under a canopy of Hills Figs that provided welcome shade. The day had been breezeless and humid but a Sydney summer evening nor-easter had begun to blow through the branches, which rustled like water cascading over pebbles. Bukowski was silent for a while, watching the activity in the park. She peered at his face, wondering if Bukowski really wanted to talk about Chris, or had an ulterior motive.
Two children, no more than five or six years old, were standing in the large circular Archibald fountain, splashing water at each other and giggling with joy. Their mother was perched on the wall, arms outstretched in case one of the children fell over. Bukowski laughed as he watched them.
‘Reminds me of Jen. She used to love running through the garden sprinklers. That’s one thing I regret—not having enough time for her.’
A tiny chink of vulnerability, at last.
‘So, the world you’re helping to create—you know, one where all plants are genetically engineered—is it going to make a better world for her?’
He turned to Serena and stepped too close: the kind of closeness that happened in a fight or between lovers. ‘It’ll be a better world because I will have created it; because, through my company, the expanding population will have enough to eat. We’re going to win the war on hunger.’
The wind blew several strands of hair across Serena’s face. In the sunlight, they shone like polished copper. He lifted his hand and she almost flinched before he gently tucked the wayward strands behind her ear. He was so near she could actually see where his pupils ended and his irises—the colour of dark chocolate—began. ‘Thank you for your company,’ he said. ‘I need to get back to my hotel now. I’ll drop you off first.’
Chapter 28
If Bukowski had intended to blindside her, he couldn’t have done a better job. She stared blankly down Elizabeth Street at his departing limo. What the hell was that all about? The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled. That whole encounter had been out of kilter, especially his presumed intimacy with her. But Serena wouldn’t allow it to force her off track. She flagged down a taxi and returned to the city, as she had something important to do before she met Chris. On the way, she called John: perhaps talking it through with him would help. John was saying goodnight to a colleague when he answered. She heard him say, ‘I’ll silc you later.’
‘Silc you?’
‘Yeah, a secure internet relay chat.’
‘Right,’ she replied, still puzzled. ‘John, something weird has just happened.’
He was reluctant to talk at first but after she told him about Bukowski asking her to spy on Chris, he was all ears.
‘You’re right. It could be a trap. If you don’t tell Bukowski what Chris says, he won’t be able to trust you and you’ll be out of there,’ said John. ‘But why would he be setting a trap for you in the first place? Have you done anything to raise his suspicions?’
‘I tried getting into a Highly Protected file and got caught. They were shadowing me and I didn’t realise.’ She filled him in on the Gibson file.
‘Shit. That wasn’t a good idea.’
‘Well, it’s too late now. I played dumb and Kylie, who was shadowing me, said she wouldn’t report it. But maybe she did anyway and Bukowski is testing me. I mean, he changed his password as soon as he got back to the office.’
‘Bukowski’s password change could just be a regular thing.’ He paused. She could imagine his far-way look; the expression he always had when deep in thought. ‘But it’s her job to report you, and it would make no sense to her that you were trying to open that Gibson file. At the very least, you’ll be shadowed some more.’
‘Anyway, look, if Chris is a gossip, he’s exactly what I need. I’m going to pump him for everything I can and only tell Bukowski the safe stuff. Apart from anything else, I refuse to land Chris in trouble.’
‘Sounds like he already is. Just be careful not to implicate yourself.’
At the GPO on George Street, Serena opened her post office box. Inside its narrow confines lay a solitary package addressed to Neresa Slow. It wasn’t just a letter: the envelope was big enough to hold a book. She felt a sudden surge of adrenaline: had McPherson sent her his research notebook? She jumped when a man next to her opened his mailbox door with a loud clank. Placing the package quickly in her handbag, she locked the box. She walked towards the escalator, scanning the myriad faces of people swarming in and out of the vault-like space. Her box was at the post office backpackers used as a poste restante. She’d selected it deliberately because it was always busy. She passed two postmen piling large grey mailbags onto a trolley. A queue of backpackers waiting to pick up their mail snaked back to the escalator. She went to the ground floor and found a quiet corner in which to open the package. She ripped it open. Inside were two items: a book, but not the one she’d anticipated, and a handwritten letter.
Dear Serena
Thank you for your letter. I am sorry that we did not meet and I hope you will forgive my unavailability. I live a quiet life and do not like unexpected visitors.
You need to know that I am a man of God now, not a man of science. The only advice I can give you is to let God’s word show you the way. Read this Bible every day and The Truth will become known to you. I have marked a page for you to begin your reading. Please read it carefully, as I have selected this passage specifically for you. It is beautifully written and will transport you to an exotic land of beautiful, fragile people.
God bless you.
Fergus McPherson
She stared at the letter, frowning, trying to unravel his cryptic message. Perhaps the passage he’d marked would tell her the location of his food trials? She didn’t believe for a minute the mumbo jumbo about being a man of God.
Serena opened the Bible at the spot marked by a torn-off scrap of blank paper. It was the Book of Proverbs, Chapter 13, verses 3-6, and he’d marked in pencil a passage with an asterisk. He had also underlined five words; to emphasise their importance, she assumed. She read the passage:
Keep what you know to yourself,
and you will be safe;
Talk too much and you are done for.
No matter how much you want,
Laziness won’t help a bit,
but hard work will reward you
with more than enough.
A good person hates deceit,
but those who are evil cause shame and disgrace.
Live right, and you are safe! But sin will destroy you.
Her frown deepened. ‘Much’, ‘matter’, ‘want’, ‘deceit’ and ‘shame’ were the words he’d underlined. What did they mean? Otherwise, all she could glean from this passage was a warning to be careful. Was he asking her to keep to herself the information he’d given her? Was he encouraging her actively to seek the truth about Gene-Asis with the line ‘laziness won’t help a bit’? Perhaps he was referring to Gene-Asis’ sin with the words ‘sin will destroy you’?
No, there was more to it than that, but Serena didn’t have time to think about it, as she was running late for her date with Chris Mann. She rushed out into the street and whistled loudly at a passing taxi, which screeched to a halt.
Chapter 29
She pulled up outside The Forresters and spi
ed Chris immediately, puffing and wheezing like an old steam engine as he walked across the road to the pub.
‘Chris!’ she shouted as she waved and got out of the taxi.
He waved back, then wiped the sweat on his forehead with an orange handkerchief. The pub was buzzing with people as thirsty office workers sought a cool place to have an after-work drink. They found a shady spot outside and, once they had ice-cold beers in hand, Chris’ laboured breathing began to relax.
‘Seemed … a bit, er … down today, Amber, my dear. Not getting on top of you, is it? … No need, you know. It’s just a job.’
‘Been a tough second day. That’s all. I’m fine, really.’
The cold beer tasted divine and, before she knew it, she’d drunk half a schooner. Chris had bolted his and ordered a second.
‘You can tell me it’s none of my business if you like, but Al hasn’t … you know … made things awkward?’
She blinked. Awkward wasn’t the right word. Confusing was probably a better one.
‘No, not at all. He’s been very friendly. Why? What do you mean?’
‘Inappropriate of me to say, really … great guy, awesome businessman, but not your type, I imagine?’
‘Chris, I’m not interested in Al, other than he’s my boss.’ She decided to play innocent. ‘But surely Al would never come onto a member of staff?’
‘Hmm, normally not. But he’s a bit of a charmer and the women in the office seem to dote on him. He certainly seems interested in you.’
He placed his finger against the side of his nose and tapped it conspiratorially.
