by Ben Brown
“I’m pleased to meet you too. And yes, I work for the BBC.”
“Of course, of course, that’s right. But, please, call me Henry or Doc. Mr. Skinner was my father,” replied the old man.
She smiled as she quickly looked in Dominic’s direction.
He was clearly irritated by his father’s friendly manner and over-familiarity.
She pulled her hand away, quickly, sensing his irritation.
Michael joined the group.
“Well done, Michael, you have carried out your mission admirably,” Dominic said, as he eyed Sinclair and his father angrily. “You must be tired. Go and get some rest.”
Michael’s eyes never left his former leader as he replied, “Thank you, but I’m not so much tired as I am hungry.”
“Of course; how silly of me; you must both be famished. Michael, take my father to your accommodations. You can both get freshened up there. I’ll have someone bring you both a fresh change of clothes. In the meantime, I will have breakfast prepared. The two of you can join Jane and me in my quarters, in say …” He looked at his watch. “… half an hour.”
Michael nodded agreement as he grabbed Doc firmly by the arm and led him away in the direction of his own quarters.
Once Michael and the old man were safely behind closed doors, he released his grip. Michael quickly closed all the window shutters before speaking in a low whisper. “I don’t like this — we should make a break for it. I was mad bringing you here, what was I thinking?”
“Shall I shower first?” Doc asked, as if he hadn’t heard Michaels’s protests.
“Didn’t you hear me? This is madness.” Michael paced the room.
“I heard you, my boy, but we’ve gone over this. I will see this through to the end. Plus, how far do you think we would get in this jungle?” Doc replied from the bathroom as he opened a number of different cupboard doors. “Where do you keep the soap?”
“The soap’s in the medicine cabinet, above the sink,” Michael said as he slumped down on the bed.
He now knew that there was no turning back. Together, he and Doc would see things through to the end.
A second later, there was a knock at the door. Michael opened it to reveal a small African boy holding two white suits. He took them and thanked the lad as he shut the door. He then turned and laid the crisp clean garments on the bed.
Behind the closed bathroom door, he could hear the old man whistling as he showered. He shook his head in disbelief. Nothing seemed to shake him. He seemed to take everything in stride, or at least he gave that illusion.
After about ten minutes, Skinner came strolling out of the bathroom, wrapped in a large bath towel.
“That was just what the doctor ordered. A good shower and a shave really makes one feel much better.”
The old man sat down in a large armchair. He let out a loud sigh as his body relaxed into the soft leather; his arms flopped loosely over its arms.
“She’s all yours, my boy — there are some fresh towels in the cupboard. I think I’ll get dressed and grab forty winks while I’m waiting.”
Michael headed for the bathroom. He had to admit it; he was looking forward to a shower and a fresh change of clothes.
* * *
Doc woke with a jolt.
“Sorry to wake you, Doctor, but it’s time for breakfast. It would be ill-advised to keep your son waiting.” Michael stood before the old man completely dressed in a white suit that matched his.
“My son really has a thing for white, doesn’t he?”
Michael looked down at his clothes. “Dominic believes white symbolizes the rebirth of humanity through his subjects. When we attend formal functions with him, he demands that only white be worn.”
The old man looked at Michael’s shoes, which were black. “What about shoes? Why are you allowed black shoes then?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? He’s your son. He makes up the rules as he goes along. All I know is — you have to follow them. Now come on or we’re going to be late.”
Michael offered the old man his hand as he helped him from the chair.
Skinner made the same loud sigh as he had when he sat. Then the two headed for Dominic’s quarters.
* * *
Dominic stood quietly, chatting with Sinclair, as his servants prepared the table for breakfast.
“I must say, Jane, you look absolutely stunning in that gown.” Dominic’s eyes traced every contour of her body. Normally, he didn’t notice such things; however, even he struggled not to notice her in such a flattering dress.
It was a full-length, white silk dress, which clung to her body, accentuating every curve. He eyed her hungrily.
Sinclair smiled coolly and said, “Thank you. I had hoped you would like it. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”
He didn’t reply — his eyes were fixed on her breasts. The shear silk of her dress barely contained them.
She allowed his gaze to linger for a few seconds longer, then she moved purposefully towards the table, breaking her spell on him.
He took a few moments to regain his composure. He had never reacted like that before. He was aroused and wasn’t used to the sensation; it unsettled him. He stood in silence for ten seconds before he, too, headed over to the table.
He helped Sinclair with her chair and then sat next to her.
A knock at the door sent one of the male servants rushing to answer it. The servant gestured to the guests to enter.
The two men headed for the lavishly laid table where Dominic and Sinclair sat, waiting.
Dominic looked at his watch as the two men approached. “Perfect time keeping as always, Michael; that’s one of the things I admire in you. You are never tardy.”
The servant who had opened the door, showed the two to their chairs.
“Thank you,” Michael replied, his eyes feasting on Sinclair.
Dominic followed his gaze to the beauty that seemed to be casting a spell on all the men but one; his father had barely even noticed her. He felt a pang of jealousy, but didn’t understand why. He had never looked on her as anything more than an accomplished assistant — until now. However, seeing her in such a figure-hugging dress made him feel like a jealous schoolboy — and he didn’t like the feeling. He was irritated by his jealousy towards Michael.
Dominic forced himself to resist the urge to lash out. Instead, he opted for tact. “She really is stunning this morning, isn’t she?”
Michael began to blush, as Sinclair reveled in the attention.
“Oh yes — yes, she is — I mean you are — stunning, that is,” he stammered as he grappled with his chair. “I’m sorry, let me start again. You’re looking beautiful this morning, Jane.” Suddenly, he looked very hot and uncomfortable.
Sinclair simply smiled.
“What’s on the menu, Dominic? I could eat a horse!” Doc said, apparently oblivious to what was going on around him.
“I have arranged for a full English breakfast buffet. You know, bacon, eggs, and kippers — that sort of thing. Is that to your liking, Father?”
The old man rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Then he looked directly at his son and asked, “Dominic, when are you going to stop all of this? You know that you’re destined to fail, why don’t you return to England with me? We can carry on with your research there; it’s bound to advance quicker if we work together.”
Dominic stared at the old man in disbelief. Was he trying to get himself killed in the first five minutes? Nobody talked to him like that and lived. In addition, why had he suddenly decided to be so, blunt?
Dominic’s demeanor didn’t change; he simply answered the question as if his father had asked the time of the day. “Firstly, I will leave here when my work is done. Secondly, I will not fail; everything is in place and going according to plan. Thirdly, you will not be going anywhere, let alone returning to England.
“Would you like some tea, Father?”
He gestured to one of the servants to bring
out the tea. The young boy bowed and hurried off.
Michael and Sinclair sat in silence as the battle of wills went on.
“I see. And why won’t I be leaving here?” Skinner said as he held out his teacup to the young boy. “Oh, yes please, white with one.”
Dominic stared at his father. “Well, I thought that would be obvious. I’m going to kill you here — in this village. Do you know why we are in this village in particular?”
Skinner shook his head, as he blew on his hot drink.
“This is where my mother, your beloved wife, was killed. She died in this village. Now it’s going to be your turn to die.”
Skinner dropped his cup, as the color drained from his face.
The young servant hurried to clear away the mess.
Dominic looked at Michael. He had felt something from him; was it pity for his father?
“You mean Joanne was killed in this village?” Skinner’s voice cracked as the tears flooded into his eyes.
Dominic smiled coldly, but again, he felt Michael struggle to control his sympathy for the old man.
Michael’s eyes met Dominic’s cold stare. He stood up quickly, causing his chair to fly backwards into the wall.
“Stop with your crying, you old fool! It’s your fault your wife died and now you will pay for it. Your son will see to that,” Michael yelled, as he lunged for the old man.
Dominic’s attention switched to his father again.
“Thank you, Michael, but please sit down. I can handle my father,” he said calmly, his eyes still fixed on the upset old man.
One of the servants retrieved the chair and helped Michael to regain his seat.
“So, Father, things have come full circle. Now finally my mother’s death will be avenged.”
“Okay, so you blame me for your mother’s death, maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have let her go to Africa. But your mother was very strong-willed; if I had tried to stop her, she would have hated me for it.”
“Mother might have ended up hating you, perhaps as much as I do; nevertheless, she would still be alive.”
Doc stared at his son for a while, then nodded. “You’re right, Joanne is dead, and I could have prevented it. I’m sorry.”
Dominic, sensing he had the upper hand, continued to act as if everything was fine, and that this was just a normal family breakfast. He reached for a small silver bell that sat on a plate in front of him. He picked it up, and rang it.
Instantly, trolleys, pushed by well-groomed servants, started to pour into the room from the kitchen. Each trolley held a large silver platter, which was covered by a large silver domed lid. There were four trolleys in all, one for Dominic, and one for each of his guests. Each of the trolleys came to a stop alongside one of the seated diners. Then, in a perfectly choreographed movement, the servants lifted the lids simultaneously, revealing an array of breakfast delights.
As the servants began to load up the breakfast plates, Dominic laid his serviette in his lap and said, “So, Father, aren’t you wondering what my plans are after your death?”
Doc had just taken a mouthful of sausage; he wiped his mouth with his serviette and considered his response.
“Well, I’m guessing that with your beliefs in subject superiority, you’re planning on a world uprising of some kind. In addition, once achieved, you will rule the world like some kind of emperor. Am I close?”
Dominic’s cheek muscles tightened as he placed his cutlery on his plate. He laid his hands flat on the table, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He was very angry, but he controlled the sensation. “Subjects are superior. It’s not a belief — it’s a fact. I do not see myself as an emperor, but I am their creator. Furthermore, as such, I deserve their respect and love.
“Yes, Father, you’re right. I will lead them.”
“Do you see yourself as a god? Is that it?” Doc said in a raised voice. It was his turn to become angry.
“God was created by man to explain the unexplainable. Science can now answer any question that is posed. God is, therefore, irrelevant and redundant. God does not exist.
“No, Father, I am merely helping evolution along. As Charles Darwin once said, ‘In the survival of favored individuals and races, during the constantly-recurring struggle for existence, we see a powerful and ever-acting form of selection.’ I am simply speeding up that selection process.”
He grinned as he took a mouthful of bacon.
Doc stared back at his son with a look of disgust on his face. “If I may quote one of the greatest Englishmen who ever lived, Sir Winston Churchill: he said, ‘The price of greatness is responsibility.’ Sadly, Dominic, responsibility is one of many things that you lack. The subjects that you unlock don’t follow you because they want to; they do it because you force them to. If it weren’t for your nanites coursing through their bodies, the majority of your subjects would have nothing to do with you. As long as you force their obedience and adoration you will never be a true leader. You will be a dictator!”
Dominic glared at his father; he felt like jumping over the table and ripping the old man’s throat out. However, he had planned for this moment for years and must not allow his father to anger him. If he was to savor his father’s death, then he must bide his time. He must follow his plan to the letter.
“Maybe you’re right, Father, maybe I am a dictator. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Subjects should take their rightful place at the top of the food chain and I will do everything in my power to ensure that happens. History may judge me harshly if I fail. However, history is written by the victor, and I’m afraid, there’s not much that you can do to stop me.”
Skinner stared at his son. “Your arrogance is astounding.” He shook his head slowly. “And I can’t begin to express to you how sad that makes me feel. You think you are untouchable, but believe me, you’re not. There are many people who are more than a match for you. Even if one day you do defeat everyone who stands in your way, you still won’t be safe. You see, Dominic, eventually your own followers will rise up against you. It’s the way of the world. All dictators are ultimately overthrown.”
Dominic once again smiled at his father. “Let’s stop this petty bickering. We should finish our meals in peace. After all, we will never see eye to eye, so all this debate is pointless. When we finish breakfast, I will show you something I think may change your mind about my chances of success.”
The group continued their meal in relative silence. Only the odd polite word regarding the passing of pepper, or the refilling of tea, broke the silence.
It took only about twenty minutes for the meal to finish, at which time Dominic stood and led the way from the room. He was excited; he could hardly wait to see his father’s reaction when he saw his two guests.
“Jane, Michael, would you both join us?” Dominic headed for the door.
28
Dr Hien monitored Zac’s critical signs closely; in spite of his savage beating, all his vitals had returned to normal.
The doctor approached his prisoner and began to feel his face; all evidence of broken bones had vanished. Hien looked in Zac’s mouth. New teeth had sprouted, pushing out the broken and replacing the missing. He guessed that it would only be a short time until his prisoner regained consciousness.
Hien hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, fatigue and fear engulfed him. He knew that if his prisoner escaped, there would be little anyone could do to stop him.
He had previously felt safe and secure in the camp, but now that feeling was gone, replaced with a sense of dread. He sat at his desk and laid his head on the reports he’d been writing. Just a few minutes’ sleep will make me feel much better. But his head had barely touched the paper when the door opened.
He sprang to his feet in a split second, looking like a soldier standing to attention. He felt dizzy; he swayed slightly as his hand reached for the desk to steady himself.
“Please, after you, Father. We must never forget our manners,” Dominic said from
outside the door.
Hien looked at the old man as he entered, recognizing him straight away.
A sense of foreboding gripped him, suddenly. For some reason, he felt he was going to die.
Dominic followed his father into the room, closely followed by Sinclair and Michael. Hien watched as Dominic placed himself between his father and Zac. He clearly wasn’t ready for his father to realize what was going on. Hien felt like he was watching something dangerous beginning to unfold.
“So, Father, you think I have little chance of success — you say that there are people in the world with the abilities to stop me. You sent those people after me in a vain attempt to subvert my plans. Those people were the strongest you had. You care for at least one of them; you care for that person like a daughter.” He spoke as if reading from an auto cue; he had practiced his speech many times before.
Skinner’s eyes locked on his son as he said the word ‘daughter’. Up until that point, he had been scanning the room, looking at all the medical instruments. Then his head snapped in the direction of the bed.
“Lea!” the old man shouted as he rushed to her side. He grabbed the young woman’s hand. “What have you done?”
Hien’s anxiety grew as Dominic stood to one side, allowing a clear view of his other prisoner.
“She’s not my only guest.” He gestured with his hand.
The old man turned slowly; his eyes fell instantly on the man bound to the chair.
Dominic, clearly enjoying his father’s distress, began to laugh wildly. “This is better than I ever anticipated,” he crowed.
Skinner stood quietly. Then, after some seconds he slowly approached his comrade who sat tethered like an animal. He quickly examined his friend. “Why is he unconscious? I can’t find any signs of injury.”
“Well, he took a hell of a beating only a few hours ago. With that in mind, I have some questions for you about this man.
“Dr Hien, could you revive our guest please.”
Hien filled a syringe with a stimulant and stuck it in the arm of his unconscious patient.
