The Tattooed Man

by Alex Palmer

  Grace looked around at the crowd. Among an otherwise staid group, she saw those people that anyone who lived and worked in this city knew about: dealers in influence and connection. Entrepreneurs who blurred the line between the business and criminal worlds but could still open doors in the big end of town or the government. Shock jocks who spruiked these occasions on air the way they might bet on an untried filly at the track, for a flutter. The women accompanying these men were mostly young, they glittered in the light. Those who were older had held on to the same style of dress, their clothes revealing bodies carrying a little too much age, a cumulative weight hidden by tans and dyed hair. Stuart Morrissey was sitting in the middle rows, one of these old-young blonde women with him.

  The room was darkening, a spotlight centring on the podium. In the light, Elena took her seat with half a dozen other people, including Edwards and Daniel Brinsmead.

  ‘Will you please make welcome Senator Allan Edwards,’ said an invisible announcer, ‘the federal Minister for Science and Technology.’

  There was applause. As he stepped up to the microphone, the minister’s face was pale although composed.

  ‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, as the song goes, tonight is no ordinary night. Tonight we are launching a vision I believe in so strongly that nothing could prevent me from being here. I come in the hope that I may take something positive out of the darkness that has surrounded my life lately.’ A more intense silence greeted this statement. The awareness of recent, violent death seemed tangible in the atmosphere. ‘I urge you to have the same belief, to help us build life out of death, hope out of despair. Let me introduce Dr Elena Calvo, the CEO of Life Patent Strategies International and one of the most impressive people I have ever met. Please make her most welcome.’

  He stepped back. The audience applauded. Resplendent in the light, Elena stood up and began to speak.

  ‘Thank you, Senator Edwards. Before anything else, I want to say that without Senator Edwards’ foresight and dedication, tonight would not have been possible. I will always be deeply grateful for his support. Please, if we could show our appreciation.’

  The applause was generous. Edwards nodded his thanks but appeared ill at ease, his face tense with exhaustion.

  ‘Thank you too, ladies and gentlemen, for being here tonight. To sum up our business enterprise, we open the doors to vast possibility. Tonight we offer you the opportunity to be a part of that enterprise.’

  The LPS logo on the screen had spun in on itself while she spoke. In its place, a double helix appeared in closeup, coiling across the screen: a thickish, ribbed, twisted rope made up of a darker red exterior enclosing a paler interior, its parts meshed together like teeth in a zipper.

  ‘This is a single strand of DNA,’ Elena continued. ‘What you see magnified on this screen behind me is in reality only fifty-trillionths of an inch wide. This very narrow thread supports the varieties of life. At Life Patent Strategies, we experiment with this thread, we mine its unlimited potential. Genes are our latest industrial raw material, the most inexhaustible, self-generating resource humans have ever tapped into. If you own the knowledge of what this tiny strand can do, then you own the commercial power to exploit its vast capacities. With the right expertise, you can trade in its infinite possibilities across the world’s marketplaces.

  ‘We own the knowledge. We have the expertise. We offer you the chance to be a part of this new world. To make your investment in a resource that has unending potential. Tonight, at this very moment, I am going to demonstrate exactly the kind of injury that our research will one day cure. I ask you to remain seated while I invite to the microphone someone who is a very dear friend of mine. Please do not be startled by his appearance. Let me introduce Dr Daniel Brinsmead, the head of our signature research project into the regeneration of the human body following major burns.’

  Like the ghost at the feast, Daniel Brinsmead stepped forward. His ruined face stood out as a strange mask, both illuminated and shaded by the fall of the light, staring back at the crowd. There was a stir throughout the audience.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, a disembodied voice through the microphone. ‘For those of you who haven’t seen me before, don’t be disturbed by how I look. Let me tell you where I fit in here. I’m a geneticist. You can find my résumé on the website or in your prospectus. Tonight I’m representing myself not only as the researcher but as the subject. The work that LPS does is contentious. Most biotechnology is contentious. But as a scientist, I have no doubt whatsoever that in the field of biotechnology, there are enormously positive gains to be made. Cures for crippling and painful diseases. Food crops that rely on less environmentally destructive methods of farming, with yields that promise independence for their farmers. But will we do this? Will we enhance life or produce wastelands? Or will the sources of life become something owned only by a very few people for their commercial benefit alone? Out of the source of life, will we create death?’

  The word carried through the high-ceilinged room with a curious resonance. The audience shivered despite the warm summer night. Brinsmead touched his face with both hands.

  ‘That’s the question I want to ask you tonight, all of you who want to invest in this corporation. Because I am the embodiment of all that LPS has to offer you. My face and this organisation are one and the same. I want you to look at my face, to remember it. To know that this is what burns do to people. Because this face is what you will be investing in. In the decisions that led to it happening and the pain that made it look the way it does now; and, paradoxically, the possibility that one day this injury may be repaired, this skin remade and the past expunged. Something that most of us would wish for at least once in our lives.’ He paused. ‘The questions for you as investors are: do you know what the cost of this face really is; and are you prepared to pay it? Make sure you find the right answer. That you do choose limitless possibility and not the end of life. I’ll now return you to Elena.’ He sat down.

  ‘What Daniel has said is correct,’ Elena Calvo said in a clear, ringing voice. ‘Our research program goes to the heart of life. We will be working towards renewing the human body, regenerating the mind, the nerves, the spinal cord. Now let me take you through the projects that are already in progress.’

  The curling DNA on the screen spun in on itself. A video played in its place. The audience was given a virtual tour of the building at Campbelltown. In the laboratories, the scientific personnel in charge of the individual projects spoke to the cameras. From the podium, Elena introduced her chief business officer, then her chief financial officer—individuals known and respected, with impressive résumés, all printed in the prospectus. The listeners became absorbed, a number taking notes in the half-light. Elena began to talk money: projected returns for dollars invested. The figures were impressive. She then took questions from the floor. The questioning was enthusiastic; she answered with ease.

  ‘If there are no more questions,’ she eventually said, ‘I would like to invite you all to stay and enjoy the rest of the buffet. Please don’t hesitate to come and speak to me or any of my colleagues. Thank you for your attention.’

  She and her colleagues left the podium to considerable applause. The lights came on. People got up from their seats talking with energy. A crowd gathered around the buffet; there was the sound of champagne corks popping. The string quartet began to play again. The staff moved forward quickly, folding up the vacated seats and moving them out of the way, then shifting the podium to the side. People spilled over into the open space, talking; the noise filled the room. Only the video screen remained, again displaying its strand of DNA coiling above their heads.

  Grace accepted a soda water from a passing waiter and looked around. Daniel Brinsmead was walking towards her. His movements were awkward, slow.

  ‘Grace. I hope you don’t mind if I come and talk to you. We haven’t been introduced properly. This is my card.’

  ‘This is mine,’ Grace said with a smile, making
the decision that this might be a useful connection.

  ‘I’m supposed to be earning my keep by talking to the investors. But there’s no reason why I can’t have some time out, as they say,’ Brinsmead said. ‘Your card doesn’t say what you do. Do you have the pleasure of not working?’

  ‘I’m a public servant. It’s very boring. Your work is much more interesting.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe that someone like you could be in a dull job. How did you like the presentation?’

  ‘That was quite a speech you gave. I wasn’t sure if you wanted people to invest or to go away. It was almost as if you were warning them off.’

  ‘I meant every word I said,’ he replied. ‘I really do believe that much of the negative press against genetic modification is misguided. It can be made to work positively to very great benefit. But, as usual, it’s a question of how we do it. When have we ever only developed the positives out of any technology? We seem to have the capacity to turn almost anything into a weapon.’

  ‘Aren’t you in a position to make sure that it’s only used positively in this case?’

  ‘No, I have no power to achieve that outcome. I wish I did,’ Brinsmead said. ‘I run one small project. Hopefully, what I’m doing now means that in the future people won’t feel the kind of pain I’ve felt in the past and now live with. That sounds self-pitying but it’s a fact.’

  ‘You haven’t let any of that stop you from achieving something very important.’

  ‘It’s true I’ve never been more motivated. It’s the way you feel when you know that a goal is almost in sight. It’s a pity you haven’t had the chance to speak to Commander Harrigan since he was out at LPS. He could have told you something about the building. As it happens, he and Elena had a very long and private conversation. She can be very charming, and today she’d taken a great deal of care with her appearance.’

  Grace shouldn’t have felt this but she did.

  ‘I understood it was a business meeting.’

  ‘I’m sure it was. It’s just that Elena has a habit of appropriating what she wants sometimes. Did you pick up on the comment I made in my speech about expunging the past?’ Brinsmead asked.

  ‘Yes, I did. I don’t think that’s possible. What happens in the past is part of you. It’s with you forever.’

  ‘With new medical treatments, maybe that won’t always be so,’ he said. ‘Maybe one day we’ll be able to remake ourselves so completely that memory won’t be necessary. Any injury you suffer will disappear, and with it the experience and the knowledge.’

  ‘You’d still remember the shock even if you were repaired. It would be like having a phantom limb. Even though it’s not there, it would still hurt you.’

  ‘My opinion is, if past injuries could be so effectively expunged, there’d be no need to have a conscience. Whatever you did to someone, it would be repaired. You could do what you liked and not have to feel bad about it. At one level, it’s an ultimate injustice.’

  ‘Unless you’d killed them. In my experience, people who damage other people usually have no trouble arguing that it wasn’t their fault. Either that, or it didn’t really happen, or it was the victim’s fault all along. People don’t really need any help doing that.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Brinsmead said.

  At that moment, Elena appeared out of the crowd with her entourage. ‘Daniel, here you are. The head of the Medical Research Institute is fascinated by your project. She wants to talk to you about it. Apparently, you’ve already had some conversations on the subject.’

  ‘Yes, she’s very interested in my work. I’ll go and speak to her. I’m sure I can enthral her even more.’

  Elena turned to Grace. ‘How did you like the presentation?’ she asked. ‘Did you understand it?’

  ‘Yes, I did, thank you,’ Grace replied, flashing her most professional smile.

  ‘What are you going to advise your companion to do?’

  ‘I’ll tell him what I saw and heard and he’ll make up his own mind.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he will. I’m sure he’ll give it his closest attention,’ Elena replied in a glacial tone. ‘Sam, would you like to show Grace out? I’m sure she’s seen and heard as much as she wants to.’

  ‘I was leaving anyway, Dr Calvo. I’ll see myself out, thanks.’

  Grace walked away, stopping to give her empty glass to a passing waiter. Senator Edwards appeared, walking towards her. He was alone.

  ‘Ms Riordan,’ he said, ‘I can see you’re leaving but do you have time to talk to me? Don’t worry. I’m not going to harass you in any way.’

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘Could I ask you to come outside? I’ll explain myself.’

  They walked out of the side entrance that led to First Fleet Park, where they stood on the grass. Across Sydney Cove, the lights drew the famous sight of the Opera House out of the night. The water was an oily black, the air had a thick and close humidity. Edwards reached into his inside pocket and took out a hip flask.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me it’s illegal to drink in a public place.’

  ‘I’m not with the New South Wales police any more,’ Grace replied.

  He smiled and took a mouthful.

  ‘I haven’t stopped drinking since I found my son dead, and I’m not ashamed to say it. It’s the only way I can keep going. I don’t feel the alcohol any more.’

  ‘That’s honest.’

  ‘I wanted to talk to Harrigan. But maybe you’d be prepared to talk to me in his place? I need to talk to someone. Better a woman than a man usually, and it’s clear he feels he can rely on you. Do you object?’

  ‘No. Go ahead.’

  ‘How much do you know about this investigation? My guess is you’d know the name Jerome Beck.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Do you know what I mean when I say “dossier”?’

  ‘No.’

  Edwards smiled in a tight way. ‘Do you know the sort of man we’re talking about?’

  ‘The company he kept would give you a good idea of who he was.’

  ‘Do you know the name Abaris?’

  ‘No, I’ve never heard it before.’

  ‘They’re a financial group with a specific interest in gene technology. They’re very secretive about who they are, but they’re very influential. You’ll never find them at the forefront of any deal. You have to trace back through the financial and legal trail before you start finding evidence of their involvement. I happen to know more about them than most people.’

  ‘Why is that important?’

  ‘Because Abaris is funding LPS,’ he replied. ‘That information is commercial-in-confidence but, quite frankly, I don’t care. Just about everything is meaningless to me right now.’ He took another mouthful from his hip flask. ‘Usually I’m very careful with money. Elena was impressive, but she had to prove to me she had the finance behind her before I was prepared to argue for the concessions she wanted. There was no arguing with that source of money. Abaris has very deep pockets.’

  ‘If they’re secretive, Minister, how do you know about them?’

  ‘They actually approached me on Elena’s behalf quite early in her negotiations. I can only assume she asked them to. But I’d heard of them and dealt with them before. This isn’t the first time they’ve done business in this part of the world. One of their members is an Australian entrepreneur. He’s approached me on their behalf before and I’ve assisted them in my role as a government minister before. He’s the one I mainly dealt with in establishing LPS here. I’ve met other members of Abaris in London, including Elena’s father. He’s a frightening man, to be honest. Very protective of Elena. Obsessively so. She must have been very determined in her efforts to break away from him and come here.’

  He stopped, taking another drink. Grace waited. Down on the Quay, laughing groups of partygoers were heading for the train station, the buses. She glanced back at the entrance to the function room. Sam Jonas
was standing there watching them. At the sight of Grace turning to look at her, she walked inside.

  ‘Why does any of this matter, you’re probably asking,’ Edwards said. ‘The answer is this. Beck was part of Elena’s financial package. I was told by Abaris that if he wasn’t given entry to the country, there’d be no funding for LPS.’

  ‘Did you question that?’

  ‘I was paid not to.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I was paid not to question it. Don’t look so shocked. It wasn’t anything so crude as money in a brown envelope. I wasn’t approached by the entrepreneur about Beck until after the project had been given the go ahead. They pulled a fast one in other words. I was told that if Beck was unable to gain entry to the country, then the money would be withdrawn and the project stopped. By then we’d already announced it with great fanfare. So if it was cancelled, it would be embarrassing to everyone. Apart from that, I wanted the facility onshore. It would offer work that might keep some of our best and brightest here, rather than having them go overseas the way they do now. But I was also offered a consideration: a combination of shares and royalties in other ventures this entrepreneur is involved with. It wasn’t exactly a gift. It was an investment opportunity at a very generously discounted rate, worked out through his network of associates. I thought, what harm can there be in letting a single individual into the country? I said yes.’

  ‘Who is this entrepreneur?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell you that. The request was that Beck receive a visa. The understanding was that later on he would also receive a passport.’

  ‘Was Dr Calvo involved in this?’

  ‘She wasn’t involved in any of the discussions. What she knew about Beck beforehand or what connection they have, I really don’t know. She’s a very smart woman. She knows how to think ahead of people—I’ve seen her do it. I doubt we’ll ever find out what her real understanding was.’