Christ Clone

by McLeod, David

  Needham thought for a moment. 'I hadn't thought about it like that, but I guess so, yes.'

  Travis calmed himself for the next question. 'Does Wainright know about my current special project?'

  Needham looked at the ground.

  Travis grabbed him by the face. 'Look at me!'

  Fear filled Needham's eyes. 'Yes,' he said, wincing.

  'Shit!' Travis yelled. He paced around the room, thinking. 'Wait a minute! How did you find out about my project?'

  Needham knew he had to tell all. 'Your personal accounts are like folklore in our department. Tales about you spending vast sums of money on special projects must have got to Wainright because he asked me to look into them. Several months ago I had to do some auditing for the research laboratory in Sorrento and as I was going through Dr Androna's office I found some information on your current special project . . .'

  'You stupid motherfucker!' Travis unleashed a barrage of punches, striking Needham's head and body. Each punch underscored a syllable. 'Don't — you — know — what — this — means? Stem — Tex — now — has — all — the — da — ta — we — have!' He stopped again and grabbed Needham by the ears. 'So Wainright's had this information for months. Who knows what they'll do with all my cloning information. They could jump ahead of us in the technology. He could go to the Cloning Federation and have us closed down overnight. He could blackmail me. We could all lose millions!' As Travis was speaking, the ramifications of Needham's treachery were dawning on them both.

  As Travis thought about the real reason for the challenge and Needham having potentially screwed up the whole thing, his rage shifted into even higher gear. Looking around the room, Travis spotted a monkey wrench and, without thinking, he grabbed it. Swinging it high above his head, he brought the tool down on Needham. The accountant's cry was silenced instantly as the heavy steel implement, narrowly missing one of the Twins, connected with Needham's head and shattered his skull.

  All three men looked at the mess that had been Craig Needham.

  'Guess we'll have to charge you a removal fee now!' Terry said. Or was it Tony?

  Having cleaned up at the bar, Travis arrived back at his suite to change. He was still shaken up — from the adrenaline comedown, and by the 'what have I done?' factor. It wasn't the first time he'd killed someone, but guilt was kicking in all the same. He poured himself a large Scotch and went out onto the balcony. As he looked down at the city, he took a couple of big slugs of his drink — and thought about Needham.

  He began with pity: Needham was just trying to make a buck and he took a stupid risk. Did he really deserve to die? But he moved quickly to justifiable homicide: the fucking weasel was stealing from me, he thought, after all I've done for him — but that's a minor point. It was the fact that he was potentially screwing up this project. What did the bastard expect? A telling off?

  This was the most important project of Travis' life, for personal more than business reasons. The amount of planning and preparation that had gone into this was immense. Travis had literally poured his soul into it, and to have it compromised by Needham was unbearable. The more Travis thought about Needham's duplicity — and the potential for ruin — the happier he felt about his actions.

  'Collateral damage — fuck him!' he said out loud.

  He wondered if this was the way serial killers started out; the more you killed, the easier it became. He quickly dismissed this line of thinking as it exposed a nerve, an unrelenting ache that had tortured him through most of his adult life. Instead, he focused on his new predicament: what was he going to do about Stemtex, and in particular about Douglas Wainright?

  Wainright was a man Travis had despised from the moment they first met at a communication awards dinner. Travis' company was quite new to the industry then, and although they'd been nominated for a small research award he hadn't expected to win, and sure enough they didn't. He'd been more interested in meeting his industry peers, and maybe exchanging some ideals or dreams. Looking back now, he couldn't believe how naïve he'd been. Of course, no one was going to talk openly about their visions for the future; visions turned into concepts, and concepts — however outlandish — drove Wall Street wild.

  Stemtex took away most of the awards that year, everything from the most groundbreaking achievement to the ISO 9002 standard's most consistent performer. They even picked up the research award that Travis' company had been nominated for. After the awards, Travis made a beeline for Stemtex's CEO. He wanted to congratulate him, and to see if some of Wainright's good fortune would rub off on him. He introduced himself as the founder of Travicom, an upcoming comms company.

  Wainright looked at him as though he was a piece of dog shit on his shoe. With a huge cigar hanging from the side of his mouth, all he said was, 'Boy, in this industry, there's Stemtex and there's companies that wanna be Stemtex. If you're not with us, you're against us. My advice — don't be against us!'

  Wainright's words had stayed with Travis, giving him the drive he needed to research and develop long after other companies would have thrown in the towel.

  Travis had done his homework on Wainright. He looked like an original fat cat, born and bred to the industry. But if you delved a bit deeper into his past, you found a trail of dodgy deals and ruined lives. Wainright had been clever though. While the damage was all around him, the links to him were tenuous. Just as cleverly, Travis had been following up on the little pieces of wreckage washed ashore, hoping one day to find the ship it was from and, ultimately, the treasure within.

  If Wainright knew all about Travis' illegal cloning, it seemed to Travis that Wainright held all the cards. With just one call to the World Cloning Federation, Wainright could close him down — in fact, he was surprised his place wasn't crawling with officers already. Which meant that Wainright had other plans up his sleeve.

  Travis knew he was cornered, but he also had an instinct as to how he would proceed. He sank the last of his drink and looked out at the city again, resolving to handle Wainright the same way he handled all his enemies — head on!

  41

  NEVADA

  The project had all but consumed Douglas Wainright III. He ate, drank, slept, and shat the venture. The science was amazing, but what made it extra special was the fact that virtually all of it had been stolen from other organizations, and in particular from his nemesis, Simon Travis. He hated Travis with a vengeance. Travis didn't belong in his world of science; he got lucky with one fucking school project, and family money had bought the rest. According to Time magazine Travis was a magician, his team of research engineers conjuring up new tricks to amaze a gadget-hungry public. Until now, Wainright had considered Travis a fraud, a backstreet technician whose repairs would give out after a few uses. But now, as he looked at the almost fully developed man in his facility, he changed his mind. The science before him made what he'd borrowed over the years pale into insignificance.

  Wainright adored this project; it was going to be the apex of his career. He was going to finally upstage that little upstart, Travis, and the scientific media world would herald him as the new god of cloning. Sure, what he'd done was illegal — not just the cloning of a human, but the theft of the piece of the Cross, and of course, the abduction and incarceration of a little Los Angeles girl. But what did he care? To make omelettes, you gotta break eggs — right? He was sure the media would understand. And if they didn't? Well, there were still plenty of places in the world for a very wealthy man to retire, places that didn't believe in extradition, places where he, too, could live like a king.

  Reports were handed to Wainright virtually every hour of the day, reports on the clone's health and fitness and, more important, on his mental health and recall. The regression therapy had been going well; short of coming right out and saying it, he'd given all the signs of being the Son of God that Wainright needed. And with the guidance and religious schooling he was getting, he already was the Son of God.

  'There's a call for you, sir,' one of the
scientists said, holding a phone.

  'What have I told you about being interrupted while I'm working here?'

  'I know that, sir, but the man on the phone was very insistent; he told me you'd be expecting his call. It's a Mr Travis.'

  Wainright took the phone and ushered the scientist out of the room. 'Mr Travis, what a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?'

  'Cut the crap, Wainright. We have something we need to talk about. Seems your mole has turned into a canary.'

  Because Travis was calling, Wainright knew his source of information had been discovered, but since he didn't know how much Needham had told Travis he trod carefully. 'Sounds to me like you've got some animal issues, Simon. Have you called pest control?'

  'The only animal that needs controlling is you, you fucking snake! Name the time and place.'

  'Simon, Simon, Simon. Tut tut tut. I'm sensing some animosity.' Wainright was goading Travis, trying to get him to impart what he knew. Never go into a meeting unprepared, he counselled his executives, and Travis was an enemy of the highest calibre. To meet with him, unsure if he knew the extent of the laws that had been broken in the process of copying Travis' experiment, could be disastrous. Of course it would all be revealed in due course, but on his own terms and within his own time frame.

  'I'm trying to keep this away from both of our workplaces; don't make me come down there, Wainright. You really wouldn't like that.'

  Travis wasn't giving anything away, and Wainright knew it.

  'Okay, Simon, have it your way. How about somewhere nice and public? I'll meet you at the United Airways business lounge at LAX at say . . .' Wainright checked his watch; it was three-thirty. He wanted to give himself enough time to meet with Needham first and find out what he'd told Travis. 'Let's say nine-thirty tonight?'

  'Fine.' Both knew why the airport lounge was a good idea; with all the travellers and businessmen about, no one would notice them. More important, there was plenty of security. Neither of them would try anything untoward.

  Wainright watched his project for another hour; he knew he needed to see Needham before his meeting with Travis, but still he found it difficult to drag himself away.

  Travis paced around his apartment. He had six hours to kill and his head was buzzing with questions. Why hadn't Wainright gone straight for the kill when he was told his spy had been uncovered? It seemed like he was fishing, but fishing for what? What could he possibly have that Wainright would want? The questions kept coming, whereas the answers didn't.

  He thought about jumping in the car and going to see Probandi, but then thought better of it. By the time he'd fought through the traffic it would be time to come back. In the end, he decided to surprise Taylor and take her out for an early dinner.

  ***

  With Travis out of the office on another special projects errand, Taylor decided to snoop around and see what she could discover. The meeting with Malone had unnerved her. The man she worked for couldn't be behind the disappearance of Malone's daughter, could he? But Malone had been so sure, and things were starting to add up for her.

  The timing seemed to fit, and although she'd only met Dr Androna once, that was enough for her to distrust him. He's got a wayward look in his eyes, her mother would say about people she didn't feel comfortable with, and when Taylor met Dr Androna she'd finally understood what her mother meant. There were other things too. The lawyer, Dale Galbraith: he'd been different; he'd normally taken time to converse with her, hitting on her in his own sweet way. She knew he wanted to ask her out, and enjoyed watching him stammer through sentences, building up the courage to ask. She wasn't interested, but the game was fun; each time they met she waited for the invitation and had created a mental list of gentle letdowns. Recently though, he'd all but ignored her. He looked harassed and tired and, above all, scared.

  Over the past few days she'd taken more notice of Travis' movements, where he'd gone and how long he'd spent there and, although she felt a little ashamed, she'd listened in on a few of his meetings. Most of the meetings she'd eavesdropped on were humdrum: accounts, operations, and so on; but one in particular stuck in her mind — today's unannounced meeting with the southerner. Unannounced visitors were a pet hate of Travis'. He guarded his time like a Rottweiler with a bone, and to see him openly welcome the mysterious man into his office was perturbing. Which led her to two conclusions: one, Travis was expecting the man, and two, this meeting was too private — even for her. With all that had been going on recently, the need to listen in had been overwhelming. The information about Craig Needham spying for Stemtex was shocking; she'd seen Craig around the place quite often, and to think he'd been passing on secrets to their competitors made her go over every conversation she'd ever had with him. Had she inadvertently passed on any confidential information? She was sure Travis would have a word with her about it, and after the old man left she'd waited to be summoned. But Travis didn't emerge for over an hour, and when he did, he strode past her, heading straight to the elevator.

  'I'm unavailable for a while,' he'd fumed. He'd called in later in the morning to say he'd be working on his special project for the rest of the day, and to call him only if there was an emergency.

  The accounts department told Taylor that Craig Needham had rushed out of his office after slamming his down phone and had still not returned. Taylor's subtle efforts to find out where he'd gone got her nowhere, so she'd ended up in Travis' office going through his drawers and files. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but thought maybe she'd know when she found it.

  ***

  Travis' mood had lightened; he was quite excited at the thought of surprising Taylor and taking her somewhere nice for the afternoon. She was such an asset to him, and he often thought he took her for granted. He'd called ahead to get the boat prepared, the crew had been instructed to zip out to get provisions for dinner and to be ready for a short harbour cruise. Travis also called the helicopter service and arranged for a pick-up from the office for the two of them. The Aston Martin was waiting for him as he left his hotel, and with Stemtex relegated to a minor irritant at the back of his mind, he jumped in the car, revved it a little, and slipped into the traffic heading towards the office.

  ***

  The first few drawers Taylor opened were basically empty; sure, there were the usual forms and contracts, but of incriminating evidence they were bare. Having gone through Travis' desk drawers, she focused her attention on the cabinet against the window behind his desk. Six rows of two-tier drawers awaited her. She swung Travis' chair around and dropped into it, resigning herself to the long task ahead. She didn't really mind; Travis was out for the day, the appointment book was empty, and she'd finished her work. With only Charlie her cat waiting for her at home, Taylor had all the time in the world.

  ***

  The downtown traffic was getting worse. All the traffic signals turned red as he approached; after a while it even started to amuse him. It didn't seem to matter if he raced between lights or laboured his engine at a speed so low pedestrians could overtake him, he was still met with a red light. Only a few more blocks to go, he thought; only a handful of red lights.

  He found himself actually wanting to have an unbroken run of red lights the rest of the way, and began to count them as he went, arriving at his next red almost immediately.

  One out of one, he began to count.

  ***

  At the third drawer, Taylor pulled out a file with an envelope enclosed. As she peered inside, she saw Craig Needham's face looking back at her. She pulled the photos out and flicked through them. If a picture painted a thousand words, then these images were a thesaurus of expletives. There was no mistake. Craig Needham was consorting with the enemy. She waded through the additional information. His phone bill had telephone numbers circled, with 'DW's home' or 'DW's office' written alongside. His bank statements showed large sums deposited, but his account was still overdrawn.

  'Craig, you silly boy,' Taylor said as she put eve
rything back in the file.

  ***

  Three out of three, Travis thought as he neared the office.

  ***

  With each drawer, Taylor delved deeper into Travis' life. He seemed to keep everything in his cabinet neatly labelled and filed. It was like wandering around a library, looking at all the different bookcase classifications. Research, History, Sales and Marketing; it was all there in little files, with subsections and cross references. The difficulty was trying to decipher the codes Travis had used, and she was still not sure what she was looking for.

  ***

  Yes, five out of five. Congratulations, Mr Travis, you have successfully met with a full house of reds. In this unique competition, your prize is something that we take from you, namely about fifteen minutes of your valuable time, but since today you were looking to waste it, everybody wins! Thank you for playing, and we look forward to seeing you next week, same time, same road.

  Travis wasn't sure if this had helped improve his mood, but as he pulled up outside the Travicom building and gave the car keys to the valet, he certainly didn't feel any worse.

  Taylor found a file marked 'Research and Derelict'. Inside were photos of women with what looked like résumés attached. As Taylor flicked through, she realized they weren't employees as she'd first thought, but some of Travis' ex-girlfriends. Attached to their photos were pages of personal information; everything from police and tax records to, in some cases, what looked like their previous-partner history. Taylor was stunned by the information Travis had acquired on his girlfriends. Why would anyone do such a thing?

  ***

  Travis said hello to the staff milling around the foyer and joined the group heading into the elevator. Once he'd pushed the PH button he passed the time of day with the people on board. Because he liked to think of himself as a man of the people, he didn't have his own personal elevator; in reality though, most of his staff were far too shy of him to get past the weather as a topic of conversation. By the twelfth floor, everyone else had left the elevator and Travis was alone.