by Gary Weston
Harrison took the phone camera off Pritchard and went through the pictures of the remains of Alex Gordon.
'My God,' Harrison said, finally. 'Where?'
'North of Patch Creek.
Harrison handed back the phone. 'This is not how we found Tasker and you know it. He was overcome by smoke and his body was practically cremated. But surely you're not suggesting...'
'We found several dead possums by the body. Shot by the hunters gun. He had the tip of the gun in his mouth, but he had used up all his bullets. All he could do was to lay there and be eaten alive. It isn't much of a leap of imagination to put several dead possums as being part of a pack that brought down and ate the hunter.'
Harrison shook his head. 'Possums don't hunt in packs. Everyone knows that.'
'Before I saw the body this morning, along with the evidence of the shot possums, I'd have agreed with you. Your company has helped create a new kind of possum. A meat eating, pack hunting predator.'
'Rubbish. All the genetically modified possums were destroyed.'
'Ah! So the possums were genetically modified then?'
Harrison looked sheepish, regretting his slip of the tongue. 'Something my father was working on. I don't really know the details.'
'Liar.'
'How dare you call me a liar.'
'I did and I will. You're a liar, Harrison. There was one humongous cover up with both your company, the government department involved and I suspect possibly even several high ranking police officers. I suspected as much when next to nothing was covered by the media. By the following day, the story had been buried. Tell me, Mr Harrison. How many modified possums escaped the facility?'
Harrison leaned back in his chair. 'Okay. One. Well, technically two or possibly three. The female possum was pregnant.'
'Mr Harrison. We've had fifteen years of breeding and mutating going on. God knows how many are out there now.'
Harrison slapped his desk with the palm of his hand. 'Damnation. The escaped possums should have just died of starvation. We all assumed...'
'That the experiment was ultimately successful?'
'That's what we all hoped. Anyway. It was just one pregnant female. We decided the chances of anything bad happening with her escaping was zero.'
'Boy. Did you get that one wrong. Now. Fill in the gaps, Mr Harrison. What was it all really about?'
Harrison got up and went to a small but well stocked drinks cabinet and without asking Pritchard if he wanted a drink, poured them both a large measure of single malt whiskey. Passing one to the the policeman, they both took a long pull on the booze.
'It was my late father's idea. New Zealand had, still has, a terrible possum problem. My father came up with an idea to do something about it, other than dropping tons of bait laced with ten eighty poison. It was just theory, but he was a pioneer in the field of genetics. His published papers on it didn't go unnoticed. Other people were keen to put an end to using ten eighty. And we both know how popular that stuff is.'
Pritchard sipped his drink. 'From the beginning.'
Chapter 14
Fifteen years earlier, deep in the central north island bush.
The base was deep in the bush. It consisted of one secured barn, one hundred yards by fifty, and two separate one room accommodation huts. It would have been impossible to use wheeled vehicles to transport the materials to the site, so everything had to be brought in by chopper. A myriad of solar panels kept the place functioning for the two humans and the possums captured from the bush and incarcerated in cages in the barn.
'This is stupid. You know that already, right?'
'Smith. Just do what you have to do and leave the thinking to me, okay? A few months from now, another year or so at the most, we both pack our bags and walk away from here well rewarded.'
Smith took another swig of his beer. 'Tasker...'
'Doctor Tasker, if you don't mind.'
Smith shrugged. 'If it stops you crawling any deeper up your own asshole, fine. I'm just saying. If you had spent the years I have in darkest Africa, you would already know this was a doomed project from the start.'
'Look, Smith. I didn't get my doctorate and other degrees with out learning something along the way. I'm making good solid progress. I'm certain I can make this thing work. Follow my lead and we can get the job done and then you and I will be handsomely rewarded for a successful mission.'
Smith looked at the row of cages along all four sides of the barn. Stacked four high, all Smith could see was one hundred and fifty nine possums staring back ominously at him.
'Shit. That lot stinks,' said Smith. 'You're obviously immune, so I'll let you get on with it.'
Tasker was glad to see Smith leave the barn. He had already grown bored with the man's stories of his hunting days in Africa, most of them coloured with too much alcohol and too high an opinion of himself.
At one end of the barn was where the real work was carried out. The laboratory, operating room and the office. Tasker sat at the desk and studied his notes. The solar powered computer was a useful tool to map out his experiments, but he didn't completely trust them, considering them to be unreliable at the best of times. He not only backed up the data with several copies, he hand wrote most of it in his notebooks. On the front of the ledger number one was a large yellow label.
Property of Harrison Genetics, Ltd. Classified information.
In Tasker's opinion, the label was superfluous. He, like the company, had too much riding on the project to let anyone else have access to the notes. It was, he'd decided, there as a constant reminder to him of who the paymasters were. It was irrelevant. Nobody would be paid anything if the experiment was a failure.
It had been fortuitous timing when he had applied for a position with the company. After sixteen years of lecturing and research work at the university, his career and marriage had come to an abrupt end when a pretty student had accused him of sexual misconduct. He had been completely innocent. The young woman had cornered him in his office one afternoon, unbuttoned her blouse and offered herself to him in exchange for higher grades. As tempting as her pert breasts had looked, he had adamantly refused.
She had stormed out of the office and Tasker considered that to be the end of the matter. Later that day, he had been summoned to the dean's office, where the distraught student sat, her mascara stained cheeks and ripped blouse adding credence to her lies.
The dean had told him of her accusations and her insistence that Tasker be reported to the police. Taker's reaction was to laugh out loud at the ridiculous situation, and told his version of the events. With no witnesses, it was his word against the student.
The dean asked the student to leave, assuring her the matter would be dealt with most seriously. Unseen by the dean, she gave Tasker a “Got you” look and she left the office.
The police would have to be brought in, insisted the dean. Again Tasker protested his innocence. After years of unblemished service to the university, the dean was inclined to believe him. But serious accusations had been made and if the dean didn't call the police in, the girl surely would. The only alternative was for Tasker to resign, effective immediately. That would be the only way to avoid a scandal for himself and the university. The dean assured him an excellent reference if he complied. He'd reluctantly agreed.
His wife, of course, wanted to know the truth, so he had told her. Whether she believed him or not, to her it was just the excuse she needed to end a loveless marriage.
His honesty at the interview at Harrison's Genetics Ltd, finally paid off and after a final meeting with Simon Harrison, Harrison himself offered a brand new position to Tasker.
It suited Harrison to offer the position to an outsider, rather than any of the employees. Discretion was called for and with Tasker desperate for a job, the threat of police action hanging over him would ensure total loyalty.
Simon Harrison told Tasker what was expected of him. In a secret deal with an undisclosed government department, Harrison'
s had been approached to try a radical new concept for eradicating the millions of possums devastating the bush. Simon Harrison's published works on accelerated genetic engineering had come to their attention and the department wanted to put the theories into practice.
The public were becoming increasingly uneasy with the use of ten eighty poison dropped by the ton, killing more than the possums. Catching them by traps and shooting barely made a dent in their numbers. It was time for something new.
It was well known that possums raided nests, ate the eggs and sometimes the chicks, but mostly they were vegetarian. The plan had been to modify possums physiology to make the vegetation indigestible to them. This would hopefully be passed on to future generations, thus starving the pests into annihilation. It was just crazy enough to work.
Harrison's were to fund the project themselves, but if the theory worked in practice, a substantial amount of money would be paid to the company. This meant all the risk of failure would be met by Harrison's and not the government. The sum of money involved plus the promise of further government contracts was enough to persuade Simon Harrison to accept the challenge.
When the project was discussed between Simon Harrison and Tasker, Tasker could see it was an opportunity to make a name for himself in the scientific community and be hailed as a hero by the population as a whole. If, that was, the project worked.
Tasker was familiar with Simon Harrison's theories and Harrison had promised to provide him with his input to turn the ideas into something practical. It was cutting edge stuff and Tasker had already done some work on a molecular level using Harrison's theories and was keen to work with him on the project.
Harrison promised Tasker anything he needed to make things happen, other than any technical assistants. For the sake of secrecy, he was to do the practical work alone, with only a trained hunter to provide him with as many possums as he needed. With no job opportunities on the horizon and a bank account plunging deeper into the red, Tasker knew he had no choice but to accept.
Chapter 15
'It was an unmitigated failure,' said Max Harrison.
Pritchard didn't see it the same way. 'Actually, I think Tasker succeeded. His job was to make it impossible for the possums to digest their natural food, which is vegetation. That part of it worked. What you lot didn't bank on was the possums quickly adapting to their situation and eating meat. Us included on the menu.'
'Damn it, Pritchard. You were there when it all went pear shaped.'
'If it hadn't been for an electrical fault in the barn, God only knows what would have happened if Tasker had carried on. Tasker died trying to save his data. I remember your father telling the detectives it was just some Harrison funded general study into possum behaviour going on. He was adamant no possums had escaped and like Tasker, had all died from the smoke and the fire.'
Harrison said, 'We genuinely believed that to be the case. Smith had done a runner, not wanting to be around when the crap hit the fan, so he wasn't available to provide us with the number of animals in the barn. As far as we knew, nothing escaped.
All that was left of the paper data were ashes in Tasker's hands. The back-up discs were destroyed in the fire. The computer looked un-salvageable but we retrieved it anyway. One of our technicians managed to save the data on the hard-drive. It was only then when we realised the pregnant possum had escaped.'
'Tell me something,' said Pritchard. 'Which government department was it and who were the ones pushing the project?'
'I have no idea. My father dealt with everything.'
Pritchard snarled, 'You know, alright, Harrison. You're covering their backs.'
Harrison said, 'I've told you all I'm going to tell you.'
'Why are you protecting them? Some nice juicy government contracts coming your way perhaps?'
'How dare you...'
Pritchard glared at Harrison. 'Pity you didn't come clean with that information about the possum escaping at the time.' He held up his phone which held the gruesome images of Alex Gordon. 'We might have been able to do something about it and the man we found today might still be alive if you had.'
Harrison thumped the desk. 'You don't know that the hunter's death was anything to do with this company. And I'll tell you something else. Make accusations suggesting it was, I'll not only ruin your career, I'll squeeze you so hard you'll think living on the streets is a luxury. Got that?'
Pritchard got up and leaned with his fists on the desk. 'Don't you threaten me, Harrison. I intend to get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I ever do. If anyone else dies as a result of what your company did, I'll make sure the whole world knows about it.'
'Get out,' growled Harrison.
'I'm going,' Pritchard said, pointing at Harrison. 'Just you remember this is far from over. Have a nice day.'
Chapter 16
'And this is your idea of a holiday, is it?' said Martha Ringpole, struggling to make the bed in the confined space of the camper van. 'Parked up on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere.'
'Try to look at it as us having the freedom of the open road, free to go in any direction, anywhere we want to go.'
'Is that right? Well, in that case, drive us back to seventeen Oak Crescent in London.'
Trevor had endured his wife's continuous carping all the way from Rotorua, through Taupo, and along the Desert Road until he'd had enough of driving and pulled in a lay-by for the night. The beautiful scenic drive had been completely lost on her; her every comment a negative one. He had resisted the temptation to retaliate, but he really had taken as much as he could.
'It'll all seem better in the morning,' said Trevor. 'The forecast is for fine weather and there are some nice places to see on the way. Once we get to Wellington, I'll treat us to a couple of nights in a hotel where we can both be pampered.'
'Typical. Only you could think of hiring a camper van to sleep in and then fork out extra so we can sleep in a proper bed. No wonder the company fired you.'
'Excuse me? I was not fired. I took early retirement.'
'Hmm,' snorted Martha. 'Delude yourself all you want. We both know the truth.'
'That's a bit mean, Martha.'
'If you weren't such a spineless weasel, you'd have stood up for yourself and retired properly, with some dignity.'
From his jacket pocket, Trevor took a packet of small cigars.
Martha bristled. 'If you dare to light that stinking thing up in here, I'll not be responsible.'
'Don't worry. I'm going outside.'
'Good. And leave the door open. This sweat-box needs a change of air.'
'Your every wish is my command, my love.'
He stepped outside, leaving the door open slightly, and lit up his cigar. There was enough light from the moon for him to see where he was treading and a gentle breeze carried the cigar smoke away. A sudden urge to urinate struck him, and rather than put out his cigar to use the toilet in the camper van, he decided the nearby trees would suffice.
As he got behind a bush to do what nature intended, he became aware of rustling in the tall branches around him. This, he knew from his research, wouldn't be anything to be concerned about. New Zealand had no animals a full grown man had to worry about. With the cigar in his mouth, he unzipped his trousers.
Chapter 17
Senior Sergeant Mick Pritchard had called Sergeant Bill Prickle to meet him in the Nagging Bladder, Bill's local. They had found a quiet nook where they couldn't be overheard.
'You didn't drive all the way over from headquarters just to have a pint with me,' said Prickle.
'Not on this occasion, Bill, no.'
'Mick. If you have something to say, spit it out.'
'How long have we known each other, Bill?'
'About half our lives. Your point being?'
Pritchard took a deep breath. 'I need somebody to confide in. You picked the short straw.'
'Is this anything to do with the hunter we found today?'
'Very much so. Bill. I nee
d to know you'll keep this to yourself.'
'You shouldn't need to ask.'
Pritchard nodded. 'Sorry. Heard of a company called Harrison's Genetics?'
'Nope. Should I have done?'
'About fifteen years ago, me being just a plod back then, we were called to an incident in the bush. About ninety miles north east of Patch Creek. Some weird shit had been going on. I was only there to make up the numbers, but I saw everything the others did. It was some sort of research facility. A purpose built barn held a load of possums in cages. A fire broke out and the man in charge was killed by the smoke and finished off by the flames.'
Prickle shrugged. 'Can't say I recall hearing anything about it.'
'I'm not surprised. It was all hushed up.'
'What? Why would a bush fire be hushed up?'
'Because of what was going on there. They were doing genetic engineering on possums. Nothing was said at the time of the fire, at least nothing I heard. I do recall Simon Harrison fobbing it off as just some run of the mill research work on possums. Nothing special. His son Max Harrison filled in the blanks for me.
The idea was to make the vegetation impossible for the possums to digest. This, they hoped, would be passed on to their young and eventually, they would be starved out of existence.'
Prickle gasped. 'What shit for brains came up with a plan like that?'
'Simon Harrison, deceased. He was a genius in his field. His son Max runs the place now. Harrison senior had friends in very high places. They also saw a chance to use his science to eradicate the pest. The two men working in some government department saw some merit in the idea. But they were pretty smart about it.'
'One of our governments was smart?'
'The actual government was kept in the dark about all this. This is largely conjecture on my part, coupled with what little I could squeeze out of Max Harrison. I think it was just one or two ambitious men working in some government funded department involved with possum control. That could have been one of half a dozen the way they overlap.
