The God Gene: A Novel

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Ah, but in many ways you are crew. And I am your captain—onboard, and ashore while we are here. We need—what is the English expression?—a pecking order. Yes, a pecking order if things are to run smoothly. Bakari and Razi understand that. You said you did too.”

  Jeukens looked as if he were about to make an angry retort. His teeth were clenched, as were his fists. But he stood silent for a moment, then he spoke.

  “You are right, of course. I … I apologize. ‘Impatience does become a dog that’s mad.’”

  “Yet another quote, monsieur?”

  “Shakespeare. Antony and Cleopatra.”

  Amaury had never read it, but at least he’d heard of Shakespeare.

  “You agree that I am your captain?”

  The Afrikaner nodded stiffly. “I agree.”

  “Then apology accepted,” he said, surprised how easy it had been.

  Of course, he knew Jeukens did not mean a word of it. But, at least on the surface, a proper chain of command had been established. He glanced at the brothers, who seemed satisfied.

  “I have never been known for my patience,” Jeukens added. “And you must understand that this island is completely unexplored. For all we know, we are the first humans ever to set foot on it. Who knows what wonders wait on the other side of that wall?”

  Amaury winked at Bakari and Razi. “You are thinking maybe dinosaurs, monsieur?”

  The brothers laughed and elbowed each other.

  “Do not make light of this, Captain Laffite. Something of enormous importance awaits on the other side of that wall.”

  Yes, Amaury thought. A fortune in cutesy creatures.

  “We shall know soon enough, monsieur.”

  Bakari and Razi unloaded the two extension ladders, each expandable to twenty-four feet, and carried them to the base of the wall. As they stretched one of them to its full length, Amaury inspected the nearly vertical lava. After the Afrikaner’s brief trip ashore on their first voyage, Jeukens had said the wall was not climbable. Amaury had taken him at his word and was glad of it. The lava was peppered with tiny pocks, worn almost smooth by eons of wind and weather. The vegetation that studded its surface clung precariously, offering no useful handholds.

  Ladders were the only way up.

  The brothers leaned an extended ladder against the wall with its top rung ending just shy of the rim. Jeukens stepped toward it but Razi was quicker, darting in front of him and clambering up the rungs like one of the primates Amaury intended to capture.

  With Bakari steadying the ladder from below, Razi hoisted himself up to the rim and rose to his feet. For a few seconds he stood with hands on hips, staring into the caldera, then he turned, wide-eyed, and began babbling in Ronga. Amaury had picked up some Ronga during his years in Mozambique, but Razi was rattling too fast for him to understand.

  “What did he say?” he asked Bakari in Portuguese.

  “He says it’s full of trees.”

  Excellent. Many trees meant many primates.

  Jeukens reached again for the ladder up but Bakari blocked him.

  “Capitão first.”

  Ah, yes. The pecking order. Normally Amaury would have allowed Jeukens to go, but because of the Afrikaner’s earlier challenge, he grabbed the rungs and ascended.

  Soon enough, though, all four of them were standing on the rim, staring in fascination at the canopy of green. Well, three of them, at least. Jeukens seemed more interested in an area about ninety degrees to their left along the circular rim.

  “Do you see something we do not, mon ami?”

  Jeukens stiffened, then relaxed. “Just looking for signs of the primates.”

  Why over there? he wondered. Why not directly below? Did the Afrikaner know something he was not sharing?

  “And?”

  “No sign of a single one yet.”

  “Let us hope that changes once we are inside … which should not be too difficult to reach.”

  The inner slope of the wall was much gentler than the outside, with larger vegetation, even a small tree here and there making itself at home on the incline. The climb down looked easy, but it appeared to be a lot farther than twenty feet.

  They began the arduous task of hauling up all the supplies and equipment—food, water, tents, Coleman stove, all the traps, and one cage—on ropes. The task was made somewhat easier by using the second ladder as a skid, but with no shade on the rim, and no clouds to shield them from the blazing tropical sun, they’d all soon soaked through their shirts.

  By early afternoon, everything was arranged on the rim. Razi broke out bottles of water and protein bars. As they rested and let the westerly breeze cool them, Amaury felt a nudge. He glanced up to see a grinning Bakari pointing toward the caldera.

  Amaury almost dropped his water bottle.

  The leafy canopy was alive with little blue-eyed primates, clinging to the swaying upper branches as they stared at the newcomers. Some were as close as twenty-five feet.

  “These are the lemurs we trap?” Bakari said.

  No, not lemurs, but Amaury didn’t correct him—at least not yet. People all over the world were going to make that mistake. And that would be fine at first. The eyes would sell them. But Amaury would also whisper that his little pets were being intensely studied because they were suspected of being the missing link. If Jeukens ever published the connection, excellent! If not, so what? The mere possibility that someone might own the missing link would drive up the price.

  Soon all four humans were staring back, though Jeukens seemed the least impressed.

  “How many you see?” Razi said.

  Bakari waggled his finger in the air in a show of counting. “Many hundred.”

  “And they don’t seem the least bit afraid,” Amaury said.

  “Why should they be?” Jeukens said with a shrug. “We don’t pose any obvious threat.”

  Razi grinned. “Not yet.”

  Jeukens waved his arm over the canopy. “Right now they’re kings of their little castle. I’ll bet they have no predators on this island.”

  “No big cats or snakes?” Amaury said.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they killed them off ages ago.”

  “Killed? They are little monkeys.”

  “They’re also smart and adaptable.”

  A group of five primates—three males and a female with a baby clinging to her back—cautiously moved to within a dozen feet. Bakari broke off a piece of his protein bar and tossed it their way in a high, gentle arc. The one with the baby snagged it out of the air with a one-handed catch. She sniffed the fragment, took a tiny test bite, then screeched. It must have been a happy screech because the other three immediately began fighting for it.

  “This is going to be easy, mes amis,” Amaury said, raising his palm. “So easy!”

  He and the brothers exchanged high-fives while Jeukens simply stared at the creatures.

  “We’re back in the lemur business!” Razi said in Portuguese.

  “Lemurs?” Jeukens said. “Did he say ‘lemurs’?”

  “Yes. They are called the same in English and Portuguese.”

  “They are not lemurs,” Jeukens said. “You know that.”

  “Then what?” Bakari said. “Big eyes…”

  Amaury shrugged. “No one knows.”

  “What we call them?” Razi said.

  “I propose we call them dapis,” Jeukens said. “They resemble an extinct species called adapiform primates. We can shorten that to dapi. That is, if no one objects.”

  Dapi … Amaury liked it. Easy to say and easy to spell meant easy to sell. A cute little name for a cute little creature. Perfect.

  “Dapi it is.”

  2

  MAPUTO, MOZAMBIQUE

  By the time she and Rick set down at Maputo International Airport, Laura was tired enough to cry. They’d left JFK late Monday morning and arrived in Mozambique shortly after noon—but the next day. Nineteen hours travel time, counting the layover in Johannesburg,
and one whole day extracted from their calendars.

  Bad enough that she hadn’t slept on the planes—or at least not enough to matter—she’d barely slept the night before as well.

  After recovering from the shock of seeing Keith in that photo, Rick had blown off Cape Town and was hell-bent for Mozambique. If Keith had been spotted in Maputo, that was where Rick was headed.

  The arguments against Laura coming along had vanished. Rick was no longer going out to confront a potentially dangerous, even murderous criminal. He was going after his brother. He now seemed to welcome her company. To head off any second thoughts on his part, Laura volunteered to adjust the travel arrangements and sent Rick home to pack. She kept the JFK-to-Johannesburg flight but switched the short leg from Cape Town to Maputo.

  On Monday morning, Laura and Rick had met at JFK’s Terminal 4 to begin their African odyssey.

  She found the Maputo airport surprisingly modern. As they exited the jetway they were funneled to the customs and immigration area. Everyone entering Mozambique—except citizens of a few neighboring countries—needed a visa. Rick and Laura were ahead of the game because they’d put their layover time in Johannesburg to use purchasing single-entry visas. While Laura had filled out the tedious forms, Rick purchased a supply of Mozambique meticais at the cambio booth. So they hit the Mozambican ground running.

  Once they were through the bureaucratic mill, they headed for the baggage area. Rick had brought a simple carry-on but, not knowing how long she’d be traveling, Laura had packed for every contingency.

  Rick had been flinty-eyed and withdrawn the entire trip. Despite her best efforts to draw him out, all he’d offered were monosyllables.

  And now, out of the blue, he said, “Do we check in to the hotel first and then find this Lieutenant Mugabe, or go straight to the police department?”

  “That might be the longest sentence you’ve spoken since Sunday.”

  “Really?” His mouth twisted. “I guess you’re right. Sorry. It’s kind of a lot to process.”

  “Your brother dropping out of sight for almost two months and then reappearing with another identity as a person of interest in a suspicious death? Yeah, it’s a huge amount to process. I’ll admit planes and airport waiting areas and immigration lines might not be the best places to discuss something like this, but it’s just the two of us now. So give. How do you feel?”

  He shrugged, looked uncomfortable. Feelings weren’t his forte.

  “Numb … I guess that’s the best word. Numb with shock at first. The shock’s pretty much worn off, but the numbness remains. Confused too. The things he’s done … those aren’t the actions of the nerdy guy I grew up with. If I believed in demonic possession, I’d say that’s what happened: Keith’s been possessed by a demon who’s forcing him to do these things. But you and I both know there’s no such thing. So what the fuck is going on? Excuse the ‘fuck.’”

  “No excuse necessary. Rarely has ‘fuck’ been more appropriate. I’ve never met him, but just from what I’ve seen on those interview DVDs, I totally understand the confusion. He comes across as a distracted intellectual and, well, ineffectual.”

  “An ineffectual intellectual … yeah, that’s a good sum-up. But for now we should put his personality and all that aside. We need to back-burner wondering how a guy like Keith managed to pull this off, because how isn’t the big question. For now we simply accept that he found the ability within himself and leave it at that. The big question is why? What drove him to all this?”

  “It’s got to be Mozi,” Laura said. “As Professor Keith, he found his little pet primate in Mozambique. A few months later he returned to Mozambique as Marten Jeukens. If I had to guess, I’d say he came back to find another Mozi.”

  Rick slapped his free hand against his thigh. “But why come back as someone else?”

  “We’re back to why. When we can answer that, I’m betting all the other answers will fall into place.”

  Rick was shaking his head. “I’m not saying Mozi isn’t part of the why, but it’s got to be bigger than simply finding another like her. You don’t sell nearly everything you own and assume a new identity just to hunt down a goddamn monkey. Those are the actions of someone who’s planning on not coming back.”

  Laura shrugged. “Maybe he is coming back. He didn’t sell his apartment.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have time. He seemed in a big hurry.”

  “I’m not pretending to understand him. I’m just pointing out that he left a big door open if he decides to return.”

  Laura’s bag was waiting when they arrived at the baggage claim area. Rick grabbed it and they headed outside to catch a cab.

  “Warm day,” he said as they stepped into the afternoon sunshine. “If this is their spring, wonder what their summer’s like?”

  “This is their fall.”

  He stared at her a moment, then, “Of course. Duh. We’re south of the equator.”

  “We’re also just south of the Tropic of Capricorn. Which makes this climate the equivalent of Thanksgiving in South Florida.”

  “The map savant strikes again,” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “They speak Portuguese here, right?”

  “Well, I’m glad you know something,” she said with a huff, knowing he’d catch the sarcasm. “Do you happen to know any?”

  “Not a word. You?”

  She spoke English, Spanish, French, and the Mayan Yucatec dialect, but no Portuguese. However …

  She held up her phone. “No, but I downloaded a Portuguese translator app before we left.”

  “You need an app? I’d have thought you’d have learned the language on the way over.”

  “Very funny.”

  “So I repeat my long sentence: “Do we check in to the hotel first and then find this Mugabe guy, or go straight to the police?”

  If they stopped at the hotel she might never leave—she could see herself collapsing face-first on her bed and never waking up.

  “Let’s face the fuzz first.”

  “You got it.”

  Rick hailed one of the waiting cabs. An aging white diesel Mercedes without hubcaps pulled up and extruded its big-bellied driver. His round black face glistened with perspiration. As he put their bags in the trunk, she and Rick settled in the backseat. The car had seen better days. The windows were open. She sensed air-conditioning was not in the offing. No biggie.

  She activated the translator app and spoke into her phone.

  “Please take us to the police station.” She tapped the translate icon and held the phone over the back of the front seat. “Por favor, leve-nos à delegacia de polícia.”

  The driver grinned. “Modern technology is amazing, is it not?”

  Laura felt herself redden. “Sorry. Guess I should have asked if you spoke English.”

  “No sorry necessary. I am very happy that you tried. Many drivers speak a little English, but not all.”

  A compliment was in order. “You speak very well,” she said.

  “Thank you. We have five police stations in town. Which do you wish?”

  “Five?” She shrugged and looked at Rick

  “We need to talk to Lieutenant Souza Mugabe,” he said. “Where would we find him?”

  “Ah. He will be at the station on Avenida Guerra Popular, very near our beautiful train station and the Museu de Moeda.”

  “Museu de Moeda … that means…?”

  “The Money Museum. Money from all time and from all over the world. You should stop in and see it.”

  “Maybe some other time,” Rick said. “Sounds like this Guerra Popular station is where we want to go. You know this Mugabe fellow?”

  “I know only that Tenente Mugabe is a hard man if you break the law. I will drive you and your bags to Avenida Guerra Popular for eight hundred meticais. Agreeable?”

  Laura didn’t see a taxi meter on the dash. So the fare was negotiable?

  “Eight hundred? That seems awfully—”

  “It�
��s about sixteen bucks,” Rick told her, then leaned toward the driver. “How about we make it a thousand and you get us there as quickly and smoothly as possible.”

  The driver laughed. “You have heard about our famous potholes, yes?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “They have been fixed! Well, most of them.”

  The cab lurched toward the exit and onto Avenida Acordos de Lusaka. The airport seemed integrated into the city because almost immediately they were on residential streets. Laura saw plenty of cars and rickety minibuses, but by far the most common modes of transport were bicycles, motorbikes, and plain old foot power. Roadside vendors sold from carts or small stalls or simply spread out a blanket on the ground to display their wares.

  The houses they passed were mostly one-story, some outright shanties, others hidden behind walls, still others looking like they’d been constructed of brightly painted stuccoed cinder block. Every window and door was barred, however. That said a lot.

  Rick must have noticed her concern. He leaned close and muttered, “Welcome to the Third World. Anything that can be carried off is fair game.”

  Apparently the driver overheard them. “He is right. When I bought this car it had four hubcaps. I did not have it two days before all four were stolen while I was sitting in traffic.”

  Laura’s voice jumped an octave. “While you were in the car?”

  He nodded. “Three of them and only one of me. What could I do?”

  Ahead she saw a policeman standing at the side of the road.

  “At least they’ve got police on the street.”

  The driver barked a laugh. “The biggest thieves of all!” The cop stepped out and waved the taxi over. “As you are about to learn for yourselves.”