DNA - Pirate Edition ~ Message from the Author ~

Downloaded my book have we? Excellent! I put it here. If you enjoy DNA, please consider buying a copy at my website www.dna-iq.com. For only $2.49 you get a chaptered m4a version of this audiobook, a copy of this eBook in whatever format you like (ePub, PDF), as well high-res artwork. This will allow me to create new stories for you to listen to or read. Look out for the rest of the DNA series and the beginning of the next series, I.Q., which will be released mid-2011 as a podcast, audiobook and eBook! Whatever you do, I hope you enjoy DNA.

Visit the extras page on www.dna-iq.com for great but modest extras to enhance your reading experience or tell us what you thought of DNA.

For Frank and Rene Thanks for the D.N.A.

Acknowledgements Thank you to my proof readers: Bryan Cutler and Elizabeth Luff Thank you to the designer: Karen Creed, Ignite Creative Copyright 2011 ISBN 978-0-9870851-0-8 Published by Lamplight Productions Samples of Mark Clarks other writings and songs can be found at: www.markclark.com.au

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE! CHAPTER 1! CHAPTER 2! CHAPTER 3! CHAPTER 4! CHAPTER 5! CHAPTER 6! CHAPTER 7! CHAPTER 8! CHAPTER 9! CHAPTER 10! CHAPTER 11! CHAPTER 12! CHAPTER 13! CHAPTER 14! CHAPTER 15! CHAPTER 16! CHAPTER 17! CHAPTER 18!

6 15 34 53 68 77 95 111 127 136 150 167 184 192 205 213 230 242 259

CHAPTER 19! CHAPTER 20! CHAPTER 21! CHAPTER 22! CHAPTER 23! CHAPTER 24! CHAPTER 25! CHAPTER 26!

268 277 288 304 312 327 345 359

PROLOGUE
MONTAGE A picture of a man of about thirty holding up a glass of champagne amidst a halo of grinning, cheering people. A series of front pages from a dozen world newspapers in a variety of languages. Headlines include: IT'S OVER FOREVER; THE PLAGUE IS DEAD; THANK YOU, DOCTOR DUNNETT and A NEW AGE. The final photograph jumps to life. The tumultuous applause is deafening as DOCTOR DUNNETT, a youthful, if not somewhat eccentric looking man, with wild wiry dark hair and equally dark eyes, spills some champagne to the delight of his backslapping chorus. PULL BACK to reveal an English INTERVIEWER in the foreground speaking loudly over the revelry. SUPERIMPOSE ON SCREEN: LONDON - 2039 INTERVIEWER

And so it seems that the good doctor has done what none before have managed to achieve. He has not only found a cure for the recent strain of the Ebola Virus, responsible for over three hundred million deaths worldwide in the last year, but in the attempt he seems also to have found a way of protecting human cell structures from the invasion of all viruses. He finds his way towards Doctor Dunnett. INTERVIEWER (CONT.) Doctor, a word with you if I may? Is it certain that your discovery will end the threat of viruses to humankind forever? DOCTOR DUNNETT We've definitely stopped this plague in its tracks. Inoculations are underway across the globe. INTERVIEWER And other viruses? DOCTOR DUNNETT I should think so. The little terrors will have a hard time replicating themselves inside our cell structures if they can't get in. Our cure makes it impossible for external viruses to attach themselves to host cells . . . (laughs) . . . waggle their peplomers though they may.

INTERVIEWER Peplomers? DOCTOR DUNNETT Glycoproteins, my dear boy. Glycoproteins. With one single injection we can haul up the drawbridge. Laughter erupts in the background. An arm envelops Dunnett's shoulder. DOCTOR DUNNETT (CONT.) Now if you'll excuse me. Dunnett is hauled off screen. The interviewer turns back to the camera. INTERVIEWER John, I don't know what a peplomer is and I don't really care, so long as Doctor Dunnett can save us all. Back to you. FADE OUT FADE IN SUPERIMPOSE ON SCREEN: 2040 EXT.SATELLITE.IN ORBIT

A satellite hangs suspended far above the Earth. Its camera is whirring and buzzing. Tracking something. INT.SATELLITE.IN ORBIT An ASTRONAUT fiddles with controls. From his P.O.V., looking down directly upon North America, there is a discernible brown blur coming from the state of Wyoming. ASTRONAUT Yes, sir. It's Yellowstone. (he listens) No, sir, Mister President, not the whole caldera, but she's certainly sprung a pretty impressive leak. She's going up in a thin line, just like Old Faithful. EXT.YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK.AFTERNOON A smaller caldera has formed inside the major caldera of the Yellowstone Park depression. It is sprouting hot steam and ash skyward at a monumental rate. Under immense pressure the gas is driven upward. It resembles less a volcanic eruption than a black, spouting geyser. INT.TELEVISION STUDIO.NIGHT

Two U.S. style NEWS PRESENTERS, one male and one female, sit in front of a moving holographic image of the exploding volcano. CLOSE UP on the male presenter speaking in front of the 3D image. MALE NEWS PRESENTER For a little over a week the pyrotechnic display from Yellowstone has stunned the world. Finally, our prayers have been answered - the geyser has stopped. Be that as it may, during the last week many billions of tons of gas and ash have been blown straight up into the stratosphere enveloping the Earth in a thin blanket of ash. Our world is now shrouded in a permanent twilight. The camera pans back to reveal the female presenter sitting beside VANESSA GREENWAY. Vanessa is a well-presented woman in her late twenties. She wears a business suit, has short brown hair and big hazel-brown eyes. When she speaks it is with a precise, clipped British accent. FEMALE NEWS PRESENTER But what does this mean for humankind? We have with us tonight a leading British vulcanologist, Vanessa Greenway, to answer a few questions. Vanessa, what can we expect in the days to come and what does this mean for humankind in the long term?

VANESSA Because the force of the vent was so tremendous, the gas plume was able to reach the upper atmosphere, where it will remain for some time before it settles back to Earth. Opinion in the scientific community is not uniform, but it is generally hypothesised that the current twilight-like conditions may last for between six and twelve months. FEMALE NEWS PRESENTER What will the consequences be? VANESSA Well, perhaps a brief respite from global warming. The female presenter dutifully laughs. VANESSA (CONT.) We will see crop failures and upheaval in the months to come and inevitably loss of life, but with careful government and due care, by this time next year we should be over the worst of it. Then it will be golden sunsets across the globe and perhaps a faint hint of ash in our drinking water. FEMALE NEWS PRESENTER (laughs) Let's hope that's the worst of it. VANESSA

Oh, make no mistake, we're in for a rough time, but so long as that monster in Yellowstone was just venting a little steam, so to speak, we should be okay. If she really got angry like she did 640,000 years ago we could be in the dark for a decade and then we really would have some problems. FEMALE NEWS PRESENTER Twice it seems in the last two years humankind has found itself under huge global threat - once from plague and now from volcanic eruption. (smiles) Have we done something to offend God? VANESSA (laughs and points skyward) You'd have to ask someone higher up than me to answer that, I'm afraid. But if you're asking me if there's any connection between the two events, I see no evidence for that. FEMALE NEWS PRESENTER Your friend, Sir Colin Dunnett, wrote an article in The Times this week questioning our stewardship of the Earth, in which he suggested a connection between the two. VANESSA

Colin has a very dry wit and I think you'll find he was being more than a little droll. The point I think he was making is that because we've so badly mismanaged our planet's environment over the last couple of hundred years, nature may be trying to find a way to control our numbers. Global warming has forced us into overcrowded cities to the north and south of the equator. Under such conditions, with overpopulation leading to further overpopulation, some corrective to curb our numbers is bound to occur at some time. FEMALE NEWS PRESENTER A situation he has made worse by eliminating the effects of viruses on humans? VANESSA (growing a little agitated) Yes, that's true, but I think it would be more than a little mean-spirited to blame the man who has rid humanity of the curse of viral infection for the calamitous situation we now find ourselves in after almost two hundred years of mismanagement, don't you? FEMALE NEWS PRESENTER (unruffled) Some very sobering thoughts. Thank you, doctor. The camera returns to the male presenter.

MALE NEWS PRESENTER Thank you, Vanessa. Well folks, apart from a little bitterness in the drinking water, it looks like we're going to be okay. Tom, how's that weather looking - a little grey? FADE OUT SUPERIMPOSE ON BLACK SCREEN: SYDNEY - 19 YEARS LATER.

CHAPTER 1
Robert Greenway, former detective with the Greater Sydney Police Unit, woke into the endless horror that had now become his usual day. No good could now come of anything. His wife and beautiful daughter dead. Three months dead. Three months of hell - body moving automated through space; no purpose; no God; no end in sight. His eyes sought morning air. They blinked. Those eyes that had so long been vital and alive, those bright ashen orbs were now dull and insensate; dogged by white inner circles where the effort of struggling through one more day had inscribed them. As he lay on his bunk, suspended from the wall just above his wooden floor and gazed upon the cracked ceiling of his tiny apartment, he wondered if he might have the courage to end it all today. Perhaps today would see an end to the misery. But no not yet. He sat up and scratched the small parcel of matted brown hair glued by sweat upon his forehead, placed his hands upon his knees and rose into the sultry morning. At forty, he had always prided himself on not looking his age. Now, as he looked into the mirror, he knew that he did. His reflection revealed a sallow-face, cheeks slightly sunken, eyes

dim, nose understated, and mouth tight and hardened. It was a handsome face battered by strong emotion and cruel experience. Just last week he had lost a tooth to memory. Gritting his teeth with the thought of what he would do when he captured the killer of his family had produced the sudden giving way of a molar and a splintered tooth upon his tongue. He inspected the semi-cavity as he brushed his teeth. He buttoned up his shirt, a shirt that once fitted him perfectly, but that now hung pendulously upon his body. He pulled back the grimy shutters and gazed out at the city street. It was almost nine am. So this was a vision of Sydney, 2059. Overcrowded; dirty; populated by every imaginable race of humankind - a stinking crucible. It was a city full of bicycles out of control and hoping for the best. Yes, that metaphor fitted. It pretty well described the whole world a bicycle out of control and hoping for the best. All the petrol gone (for the common folk at least); intersections full of irate and angry people on battered footpowered scooters, skateboards, roller skates, even rickshaws - a city full of movement like a deranged uranium atom; a city full of formless energy; a city full of poverty and crime. The warming globe had broken down the

sovereign walls of nations and the multitudes had spilled south and north seeking cooler climes. The brimming pot had boiled over and with it all the stuff within the cauldron had spilled out too, flooding major cities with its human detritus. His mind wandered over the totality of the vision. Having temporarily forgotten his body, he stared over it with wide eyes. He refocused. In the distance he could just make out an armoured car. It would contain an emissary of one of the few wealthy people left in the world. No doubt on some errand for their master. Only the very rich had escaped the worst of it, he thought to himself, as only the very rich can, and always do. They drove in cars within the open spaces of the nearby mountains with the coolness of altitude as their ally. They locked themselves behind the gates and walls of their rambling mansions. Their thugs flew helicopters and spotter planes above the hills to keep away the nearby rabble that filled the Sydney basin and pressed upon their idyllic existence. They gave orders to New York and London that were carried out by sweat shop workers around the globe. There was no shortage of labour: labour he was watching now, scrambling around and over itself to get to precious employment; labour

which was multinational and vile and selfish and ultimately violent. Robert was frozen with thought. He stared out of his third storey window as if unable to do otherwise; as if he had forgotten the reason he had looked out there in the first place. His hand was still lightly touching his top button. Mindlessly, he fiddled with it as his mind tumbled away to other places. Then the phone rang. Who is it? he asked abruptly of the empty room. Sir Colin Dunnett, replied a childs voice, or possibly a womans. It came from nowhere in particular and flooded the room at all points. He wants to send his hologram. Very well, replied Robert. And he moved into the main room. Within an instant, a vision of Doctor Dunnett appeared mid-room. It was a perfect representation, more real than the real thing, if that is possible. He wore a black suit and was somewhat greyer than his earlier incarnation as the media star virus-killer of nearly twenty years before, but his hair was still wiry and he still possessed that large boyish face, open smile, slightly chubby cheeks (now slightly chubbier for the onset of middle age), those engaging and prominent dark eyes and, all in all, the large

irresistible features that so often characterise the first-class man. He smiled. Hello, Robert, he said affably and in his very proper English manner added, Sorry if I dont shake your hand but Im about 12,000 miles away. Hello, Colin, replied Robert, sitting down. Can you sit? Sorry, old boy, but theres no seat just where I am. I cant stay long at any rate. Just checking in to see how youre doing. Vanessas orders? Now, now. Dont get testy. Your older sister loves you and she worries about you. Yes, I know, Robert conceded, but sometimes I wish shed just leave me to my misery. She cant do that, Im afraid, and neither can I. Were human beings, dear lad. We care about one another. I dont think I care for anything any more. Robert slumped ever so slightly back into his lounge chair. Oh come on now. Thats foolish talk, replied Colin. His hologram moved closer to where Robert was sitting. Time will heal all. Time and vengeance, Robert replied. But his eyes were averted and enlarged, lost again in grim imagination.

So you see, you do feel something. Youre no sociopath. Robert looked up. So how is Vanessa? Still working with you in sunny London? Yes, yes, Colin replied with a vigorous nodding of his head and a great unfurling of his wiry black and grey mop of curls. Things are a little quiet for her though. There are no volcanos in the U.K. and he added with a smile, yet. Robert afforded himself the faintest glimmer of a smile. Aha. I saw that, said Colin with an admonishing wave of his forefinger and a generous smile upon his large, elliptical mouth. Now buck up, young man. Your sister loves you. Robert must have sensed that his friends hologram was about to disappear because he stood in anticipation of the loss. And just by the way, added Colin, now that your three months of bereavement is over, you might consider getting back to work. I think your country may need your services. Been watching the news lately? And with a broad smile and a wave, he was gone. Robert found himself once again alone in his Spartan room. No he hadnt watched the news. He hadnt watched or heard anything for the last dozen weeks or so. He had spent half

his time drugged and asleep, and the other in mindless musing or in imaginative acts of revenge upon the killer of his family. Perhaps he should take the doctors advice. He slipped on a headset and found himself immediately within a hold-up in the outer west. He reefed off the headset and fiddled with the controls. He could never figure the damn things out. There was a way of entering the virtual world gently but he could never find it. Invariably, when he turned the headset on he was at the mercy of whatever was playing. At different times over the years he had found himself underwater, in the midst of a jungle, dangling from a cliff face, sky-diving. On it went. Whatever happened to the good old days when you werent in your television? After the authorities went for 3D imaging in the forties the digital broadcasts had stopped. Now the only ones who could adjust the goddamn sets were the kids. He could still remember when you werent in your games and television stories; when such images and sounds bombarded you from a comfortable distance. But now, no one under the age of fifteen could. He resettled the headpiece and there was the next news item. Robert found himself inside a decrepit old warehouse. There, slumped against the floor,

were three bodies three young girls all under ten. They appeared to be perfectly intact except for the letters DNA meticulously carved into each of their foreheads. The anchor mans voice boomed indistinguishably away in the background as a second horror murder scene was revealed. This time a single young woman of perhaps twenty, lay like a rag doll thrown against a wall with the same awful epitaph inscribed into her brow. The blood had run and congealed but the letters were unmistakable DNA. Robert began to disentangle the headpiece as another horror story hit the virtual airwaves. He heard the reporter babble on about another mass shooting and suicide at a local primary school. He was glad to be rid of those bloody, voyeuristic images. But just as quickly, he was beset by the images of his own fertile mind. In the virtual world of his own making he imagined catching the killer of his wife and child. He imagined taking secateurs to the mans fingers one by bone-crunching one. He imagined popping the mans eyes with a carving knife. He imagined hanging the man by the balls until they turned blue with lack of circulation and dropped off. He imagined . . . He must imagine no more. He must contain his emotions. Whenever he

watched the virtual news he grew full of hate. Though he had a good reason for the disease in his mind, he must not give in to it. Hate was not his ally. He could not afford the luxury of imagination. He must be patient. He must wait; then he would act. He must make no mistakes. So the killer of his wife and daughter had struck again. How many was it now? Ten? A dozen? He had been out of the game too long. He must find out. The only way in was to get back to work. That would give him the apparatus and power he needed to pursue his foe. His compulsory three month time of grieving was over. He would go back to work and offer his services. . . for a price. He donned a more suitable dark shirt and trousers and looking into the mirror one final time, closed his eyes for strength, and left his apartment. In the sweltering streets the cries and keening whines of misery were disturbing, even for an officer of the law. Robert had seen a great many things in his twenty years of law enforcement but it seemed to him, as he sidestepped beggars and vomit and tussled for space amidst the sweating throng, that the city had never been so pathetic, sad and disorderly. Passing faces reflected a kind of doleful apathy; a distant, melancholy

abandonment at the terrible inevitability of it all. He was heading towards China-Town when he heard a muffled cry coming from a nearby alleyway. Instinctively, he went for his handgun but just as quickly remembered that he had been forced to hand it in three months earlier. Unperturbed, he dashed down the alley in time to see a young man of about eighteen with his hands around the throat of a young woman of about the same age. The would-be-killer was so incensed and absorbed in his attempted strangulation that he did not hear Robert approach. Nor did he see him pick up a large metal stump discarded beside a nearby industrial bin. Nor did he hear or see much else after Robert had smashed him across the back of the head with it. The young woman revived as Robert went through the mans pockets and found a knife. He pocketed it and then tied the mans hands together with some malleable wire, also courtesy of the bin. Are you alright? he asked the girl. Yes, I think so, she replied, investigating the outside of her neck. You know this man? No. He just jumped me. Well, said Robert, tying an old piece of chain to the makeshift handcuffs, follow me

to the nearest station and you can press charges. He grabbed the end of the rusty chain and began the laborious task of dragging the mans inert body along the filthy pavements towards Dixon Street. The girl followed. She was very pretty and on closer inspection, was obviously some years younger than his daughter perhaps only fifteen or sixteen. She was shabbily dressed in old jeans, a Greenpeace T-shirt and old sneakers, but she was clean enough. She had blonde, dyed hair with her natural black showing at the roots and she was wearing a good deal of makeup. You from around here? he grunted as he tugged his heavy burden along, mindless of the interest shown by passers-by. North of the harbour, she replied. That explains it. Explains what? Why youd be foolish enough to walk down an alley way alone in this part of town. Youre better off staying on the north side. Whats your old man do? I dont have a Dad, she replied. She was guarded. Mum? The girl simply shook her head.

Then how do you afford to stay over there? A friend, she replied laconically. Robert stopped lugging his load. He stopped outside police headquarters and looked at her. Listen, Im not the enemy, okay? Lets get that straight. He was puffing and needed a moment or two before tackling the fifteen stairs to the foyer. And you are going to press charges, arent you? The girl bit her lip. Look if you dont then this guys gonna do the same thing to some other poor girl. Do you want that on your conscience? The girl shook her head. Whats your name? Monique. Well, Monique, whats it to be? Robert looked up towards the police station, measuring the labour ahead, and then back to Monique. She nodded. He took a breath and started to haul the large fish up the stairs. Ill help, she said and together they managed to drag and eventually drop their catch onto the polished foyer floor. Thank you, he said, still puffing and with his hands on his knees in the recovery position. Im miles out of nick.

Even at this early hour of the day, the station was full of activity. Rheumy-eyed, white-skinned drug addicts were in abundance, as they had been at all hours since a new amphetamine, creatively named Street Rage, had made its appearance some months before. But there were several other young men awaiting processing that could not have been more than twenty and who, in Roberts estimation, looked like reasonably well-kept youths. He was a little surprised at the calibre of clientele. Hello, stranger, said a female voice from behind the front counter. Robert turned. Hello, Jasmine, he replied. Whats going on here? another voice interrupted before any more pleasantries could be exchanged between Jasmine, the chubby, middle-aged Indian office clerk, and Robert. It was the voice of youth and overzealousness and it belonged to a new constable who must have joined the station sometime since Robert had left. You cant come in here dragging people about. Dont you know anything? The young man came out efficiently from behind the counter. He was a white Aussie thoroughbred; the kind of freckle-faced kid that used to come from the country, when

there was such a thing. He was gangly and tall and right now he was unhappy. He looked down at the dead weight piled upon the floor and then enquiringly towards Robert. Robert blinked and looked back at the boy. He had no intention of explaining who he was to a rookie. But as it turned out, he didnt need to. At ease, Constable Ryan, ordered a smooth female voice with a hint of Vietnamese somewhere in there. Hes one of us. Constable Ryan did as he was told and retreated behind the counter. He shrugged his shoulders at Jasmine as if to say, Who is it? She widened her eyes as if to say, Why didnt you wait to find out? And he shook his head as if to say, Why doesnt anyone tell me whats going on around here? Hes new, as Im sure you can tell, said the Eurasian woman, approaching Robert with a smile. She was very pretty and dark-skinned. She had high cheekbones and had an immense amount of style about her. Her hair was a multi-coloured rainbow and her glasses had multi-coloured rims to match. She had been first in her graduating class and through hard work had become senior branch manager by the age of only thirty. Hello, Natasha, said Robert shaking her hand. I want to charge this man with

attempted murder. He motioned to the bundle on the floor. Natasha looked at the young lady who had obviously been the intended victim and then to Constable Ryan. Constable, she said authoritatively but without being too reproachful, take this young ladys details and take this pile of filth to one of the holding cells, please. Robert if I could have a word with you? Excuse me, miss, she said to Monique and sailed away into her office with Robert in tow, leaving the constable to deal with the situation. When the door had closed behind them, Natasha dispensed with formality and sat on the guests side of her desk. Robert took up a seat beside her. How are you? she asked tenderly. Alive, he replied, glancing up at her momentarily; elusive of her probing eyes. Are you coming back? Is that why youre here? I wasnt sure you would. She placed her hand upon his. He looked awkward, so she immediately withdrew it. It depends, he said slowly. On what? On whether I can have the backup I need to catch the killer of my family. I know hes

done it again. He raised his eyes up towards her, in search of response. Natasha leaned back in her chair. Robert, I really want you back but I cant promise you any special backup. I simply dont have the forces to spare. Were stretched to the limit. Worse than that; were drowning. Ive heard it all before, Natasha. Ive even dished out the same line myself, but I know that you can always find men if you have a good enough reason. I saw the news this morning. The same killer who killed my Elaine and Sarah has struck twice more this week. So, if you want me back, itll be on my terms. I want authority to handle this case alone. Natasha tilted her head to one side as she looked at him and a sudden realisation came over her. No, no, Robert, I dont think you understand, she said, and standing up, she proceeded to the other side of her desk where she began punching buttons buried into her desk. Look here, she motioned towards the previously empty air between the two of them. It was now filled with a colourful three dimensional X/Y graph. From Roberts point of view, behind the Y line, it swooped upward and outward away from him like a bridal train lifted by the tallest of attendants. If that

curve was a mountain it would be too steep to drive your car up. And thats the exponential increase in crime just in Sydney alone over the past three months. In the world cities, as a whole, she punched another button and the bridal train attendant got a little taller, were looking at an even steeper curve. But thats not the worst of it. And here she brought up a giant ochre sphere, with sections cut into it. It was suspended in space in between them like some astonished orange suddenly summonsed from the deep and carved up into uneven projecting sections. Look, Robert. The higher proportion of murders is the main reason for the rise. Homicide has risen by 350 percent since you left. She flicked off the image, awaiting his response. Do you think they knew I was leaving? His sudden humour caught her off guard. She hesitated for a moment and then laughed. And returning to his side she said kindly, But you do see my problem? So before you make any rash decisions I want you to know that I would love to have you back. Youre my best detective and I need you right now. But you cant only work on the DNA case. Robert chewed on that for a moment. Yeah, I see your problem, he replied after much

consideration, so heres a compromise. If I promise to go back to my previous workaholic ways and help you solve as many cases as I can, will you promise to give me all the evidence pertaining to the DNA killings, keep me up to date about all matters related to it and allow me at least some time to pursue it? I promise, Natasha replied. But I warn you Detective Greenway, the way things have been hopping around Sydney town these past months, youll be flat to the boards at least 24 hours a day. Well see, he replied. Now wheres my gun? I felt naked without it today. He went to stand but Natasha held out her hand and he sat back down. She held him with a stare. Remember, you must think clearly at all times. Its good to have you back on board but you mustnt allow blind vengeance to cloud your judgement. This citys problems are greater than any one mans. Not to me, Natasha, he replied wearily, standing as he spoke, but I promise to be a professional, he moved towards the door, until I meet the killer face to face, of course. Then, I promise you nothing. Robert attempted a smile and left, leaving the door ajar behind him. Natasha sat

pensively, feeling the wake of his sorrow wash over her. Once in the foyer, Robert found Monique, chewing on her nails, sitting by the main door. Come on, he said, Ill give you a lift home.

CHAPTER 2
Monique didnt say a word as she and Robert hopped into his old Ford. He drove her through the centre of the city. She sat, nervously chewing upon her nails as the directionless energy of the city passed by outside of her window. He glanced at her on one or two occasions. She was a pretty girl but the dyed hair was a mistake in his opinion. She would look better with her natural hair and less makeup. He didnt bother saying anything because judging by the anxious expression on her face she had enough on her mind already. She seemed in no mood to speak so he let her be, until they were crossing the Harbour Bridge. So whereabouts on the north side of the city? She flinched as if surprised to find another presence beside her. Oh, she replied, anywhere will do. Just drop me off in Milsons Point. No chance, Robert fired back. Listen, young lady, you were very nearly killed today. I want to impress that upon whoever it is thats taking care of you. A young woman like you shouldnt be alone in that part of town - in any part of town. Im going to make that clear to your folks.

I told you, she was sitting up more fully now. More alert. I dont have any folks. I live with friends. How old are you? Why? Dont play games with me. How old are you? Seventeen. So a fifteen year old girl needs a guardian. Who looks after you? I told you, Im . . . she was going to continue her argument about being seventeen but Robert shot her a knowing glance. Alright, so Im sixteen. And I can take care of myself. As is evidenced by the fact that youd be dead now if I hadnt happened by. So where exactly do you live? No nonsense. Youre not my father. No Im not. So where is he? I dont want to talk about it. Robert could hear in the girls shaky voice that he had hit a raw nerve. He left it alone. Alright. So its none of my business. But I am taking you home. Right to your doorstep. Maybe I dont want you to know where I live.

Youre joking, replied Robert with a hollow laugh. Listen. He touched a button on his steering wheel. The voice of Jasmine immediately responded, direct from headquarters. Yes, Robert. Jas, what information do we have on Monique ... what was her surname? The girl you brought in today . . . There was a moments silence. Monique Wilson. Aged 15 and nine months, Robert tilted his head to one side and looked at Monique. She chose to turn away and look out of the window. Blood type A negative. No tattoos or distinguishing body marks. Good for you, whispered Robert. Lives - 16 Belgrave Street, Manly with her brother Peter Wilson, seventeen. Parents died June 2056 ... At this point Monique turned back from the window in a shot of panic. Thanks, Jasmine. Thats all I need to know. Sign off. And the cabin was silent. It remained that way for quite a while, until Robert took the Manly exit and commented, You know, Manly is a very nice area. Your parents must have been quite well off compared to most of us. Monique said nothing for some time but eventually she gave in. If you could know

all of that about me then why did you bother asking me? Because I was paying you the respect you deserve. Youre not a criminal. I wanted you to tell me, not hear it from some police file. How come you know all that about me then if Im not a criminal? Its all on your DNA card, taken at birth. We have all of your details in one place for convenience. For whose convenience? asked Monique with a small snort. Forget the civil libertarians, young lady. The world of 2059 is well beyond personal freedom. You should be pleased we keep centralised tabs on everyone. If youd seen the graph I saw today, you wouldnt be arguing for freedom, youd be arguing for protection. Again there was silence. So what does your brother do? Hes only seventeen. Does he still go to school? Hes eighteen tomorrow, if you must know. And no, he doesnt go to school. He works in a shoe shop, replied Monique, apparently resigned to the fact that this cop was going to find out anyway, one way or another. You see, he replied, that wasnt so hard. Remember, Monique, Im not the enemy.

Hes the guy with the strangling cord and the knife in his pocket. Im the good guy. Having said this Robert shut up. He had uttered a falsehood and he censored his tongue from further prevarication. He wasnt the good guy. He was a selfish bastard, the same as everyone else. When extreme situations force themselves upon us we show our true colours. Who was it that said you can know a man all your life but when you hold him over the edge of a volcano you find out who that man truly is? Well, he had been held over the volcano and had found nothing residing there but a kernel of pure hatred. His core was rotten. The flesh surrounding it had been eaten away and he had been exposed for the man he truly was - a fraud. He might have considered himself a good guy once upon a time but not now. Now he knew too much about himself to think it. So from now on, he would not say it. Military Road crossed the old Spit Bridge. But there were so few petrol driven vehicles on the roads now, even this ridiculous bottleneck was free of traffic, save for the usual foot-powered vehicles in the outside lanes. It wasnt long before they dropped down into Manly and parked their car in Sydney Road behind the old police station. They

continued on foot to The Corso and on to the shoe shop where Moniques brother, Peter, worked. He turned out to be a decent sort of kid, as far as Robert could tell. He was quite a tall boy, maybe a little over the old six foot mark. He had a crew cut and reasonably large ears. He was pretty ordinary looking; a little on the thin side with a pleasant but unremarkable face - just a gangly seventeen year old kid. But he was polite and when he heard what had happened to his sister he was suitably angry, which pleased Robert. At least this young lady had someone who cared about her. She was probably doing better than over half the population of this stumbling city. You dont go anywhere without my knowing. Is that clear? Im a big girl. Not big enough, if what the detective says is true. He held her with his stern eye. Is it? She didnt reply. So dont go anywhere without my knowing? Clear? Yes, Dad! She spat out the Dad, not viciously but emphatically enough to make her disapproval obvious. Apart from anything else, she was embarrassed. There were two

other teenage girls in the shop. They were eavesdropping and giggling; enjoying one of their peers being demoted. So often human beings mistake anothers fall for their own elevation, or on a horizontal plane, like two trains stationary and side by side when one moves; its hard to tell which one is at rest and which one is in motion. But Peter was not even aware of the girls. He was focused on one thing. Detective Greenway saved your life. Did you thank him? The answer was silence. Then I think its about time you did, dont you? Monique stared at the carpeted floor and, for no real reason, fixed on a single size 7 sneaker sitting in a box. Her brother was right. She had been rude. She didnt want to be rude but she was angry. She was always so angry these days and she didnt want to be and she had been rude, so she said, Thank you, Detective, but continued to stare at the size 7 sneaker, while the two girls continued to giggle in the corner. It was my pleasure, Monique, he replied courteously and then to the giggling girls he said, Is there some reason youre not in school, ladies? at which point the two

stopped giggling and found that their desire to shop for shoes had suddenly departed them. But Roberts desire to defend Monique had unintentionally stirred up a hornets nest. And why werent you in school? Peter asked his sister. Oh dont start that again. No, Im serious. You must go to school. Im not working here ten hours a day for no reason, you know? School is pathetic. No one listens to the teachers. And the teachers hate it so much even they call in sick half the time. Whats the point? I want to make sure that you get ahead, Peter replied. Just ask the detective. Isnt it true, detective, that unless you get an education youre doomed to long hard hours of work for little money? Your brothers right, concurred Peter, but he was also conscious that Monique and the two giggling girls did have a point. Schools were pretty run down and pathetic. There seemed little real education going on and no real connection between university degrees and the jobs acquired after them. Peter was right, without any qualifications you were doomed to low pay and long hours. What Robert didnt mention to Monique was that you were still doomed to that scenario

even if you had qualifications. The whole damn structure had fallen apart. The best way to get ahead was to steal, which accounted for why he was always so busy. Perhaps Monique heard his thoughts. All the rich people are gangsters and sweat shop owners. Theres about a dozen families that run this city. The same people that own this shop own a whole chain of them and a large part of the whole city. You know that. As for the rest, it doesnt matter whether youve got a Masters Degree or you dropped out at fifteen. I dont care, replied Peter. Were not criminals and Im working so that you can have a better life. I promised Dad . . . His voice trailed away and suddenly Monique began to cry. Peter put his arm around her and smiled weakly at Robert, who took his cue, nodded and was gone. Best to leave them to themselves. He had no part in their world. It was every man for himself and they must make the most of it like everyone else. Still, he was pleased that Monique was in safe hands. Thank God shed been lucky enough to score a smart, sober brother, rather than one of the dumb thugs he dealt with every day.

By the time he got back to base in Dixon Street one of those very creatures had unleashed a barrage of bullets into a crowd in Castlereagh Street and killed eight people. The man had been bundled into an interrogation room and now Robert found himself standing beside Natasha looking at him through a two-way mirror. The man was young, just a boy really, somewhere in his late teens. He was dressed in jeans and a bloody t shirt. His face was impassive. He could have been in a chip shop patiently awaiting his order. Whats his story? asked Robert. Eighteen years old; Daddys gun; eight clean shots; eight innocent people dead. No ones innocent, Robert quipped absent-mindedly, interested by the calmness of the boy. Any reason? None that we know of yet. Maybe you can get something out of him. He did try to kill himself, but hed run out of bullets. He put the gun to his head and it didnt go off. Someone punched him. Thats his blood on his shirt. Robert nodded thoughtfully. He was about to enter the room, when Natasha lightly touched his arm.

Hold on, Robert. Constable Ryan! she yelled over her shoulder. Please escort Detective Greenway into the interrogation room. Robert stoically accepted the protocol and moments later found himself seated adjacent to the young killer with Constable Ryan standing menacingly behind him, scowling like a hit man in a gangster movie. Bright lights beamed down directly upon the young man to increase the intimidation. He was young looking for eighteen; clean-cut, blonde and lanky. Whats your name, boy? asked Robert, quietly. James, replied the boy without emotion. Whyd you do it? It was necessary, James replied. Why was it necessary, James? Robert asked, leaning slightly forward into the light to show the boy his face. The boy didnt flinch. There are too many frogs in the pond. The pond cant sustain them. These were people. Same thing. Robert sat back away from the light. The young mans countenance disturbed him. He wasnt the least bit agitated. He was almost

nonchalant. His quietly spoken frankness was unsettling. Some of those you killed were children, said Robert, hoping to provoke some reaction. Small humans, humans, frogs same thing. Robert was playing with his lip, considering his next question when suddenly Constable Ryan exploded forward into the light and grabbed the killer by the shirt collar. Whyd you do it, you prick! I should rip your bloody head off! He held up the boy by the neck for several seconds before Robert could pull him off. Control yourself, constable! yelled Robert, as Ryan continued to hurl abuse at the killer. The two were close in age. The detective could have been a teacher breaking up a school yard brawl, except for the fact that James wasnt fighting back; nor was he even struggling. He simply stared up at his aggressor with detached interest, as Constable Ryan picked him up by the collar, shook him like a marionette, spat unintentionally at close range into his face and then dropped him heavily back onto his seat before Robert intervened.

Get out of the room, Ryan! shouted Robert with great authority. And after straightening his shirt, wiping the spit from his chin and firing one last look of total hatred at the killer, Ryan did so. Robert was standing now, looking down upon the boy. Listen up, James, he said quietly, but with an undertone of menace, I want to understand one thing why? Ive told you, replied the boy steadily and passively, too many frogs in the pond; including me. Robert looked down at him. He realised that all lines of questioning would prove futile. The boy was a locked bag. He looked down at him thoughtfully for a moment more. The boy looked up at him, unruffled; unmoved. Robert left the room. Hes not talking, Robert said to Natasha, who was about to reproach Constable Ryan, but didnt have the chance. Robert stalked straight past her, picked up Ryan by the collar and slammed him against the wall so forcefully that all of the wind was momentarily knocked out of him. He listened to Roberts next words with a bug-eyed expression. He gasped for breath whilst simultaneously fearing to breathe. Listen to me, you young dickhead. If you ever do that again when Im leading an

interrogation I will smash your face in. Do you hear me? Ryan did hear him because he nodded empathically and was let go for his agreement. His face had turned a beetroot red. He leaned over with his hands on his knees, inhaling like an asthmatic, trying to regain his lungs. Natasha whispered to Robert, His sister was killed in a similar way. He joined up to help. Give him a break, Bob. Hes only seventeen. Seventeen? replied Robert, squashing his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he watched the boy return to life. Thats a bit young, isnt it? We need every police officer we can get, Natasha replied, adjusting her multi-coloured rims and throwing back her matching hair. There are a few seventeen year olds in the force now. Alright, muttered Robert after some consideration, but he better stay out of my road. Im enough of a hothead on my own. I can do without a loose cannon behind me. Im sorry, gasped Constable Ryan, standing fully erect and facing Robert. Alright, son, replied Robert, feeling some sympathy for the boy. It seemed that everyone he came across today had lost

someone near to them. He even felt a tinge of guilt for being so self-pitying. The world had always been a zoo but now the animals had no keepers to look after them. The three of them stood for a brief moment enveloped in their own thoughts, when a loud announcement came over the loudspeaker. Siege in progress; Pyrmont Bridge Road, Glebe. Repeat . . . But Robert was already on his way towards the door. Natasha shouted to his back. Take Constable Ryan with you, detective. Robert stopped mid-stride and turned. He was about to protest, but some hunger in the young mans eyes stopped him. Come on, he said, and he left, followed by the shellshocked constable. Several minutes later they jumped out of the police car. Two policemen were hiding, with their guns drawn, behind their vehicle. They were in the street, outside of a townhouse. Whats the story? asked Robert as he and the constable sheltered behind their car, also with their guns drawn. One armed male, late teens, holding a woman hostage, replied a small but robust looking policeman of about twenty five. His voice quavered with excitement and fear. We think shes the owner, thirty year old mother

of two. We dont know if the children are home. Whats the cause? Domestic? No. The mother called. She said there was a man outside acting suspiciously. By the time we got here he was already in. Youve spoken to him? Yes, but he wont come out. Robert took a breath, raised his head slightly above the bonnet of his car and shouted, I want to talk with the man in charge! There was silence for a moment and then, What do you want? came back. It was a young mans voice but it was confident; not panicked. Whats your name? Thats unimportant, was the reply. Why dont you come out with your hands up so that no-one gets hurt? Thats unimportant too. Robert thought about that for a moment. What do you want? There was a brief pause and then, To die, was his response. And immediately he opened the front door of the townhouse and brazenly walked into the small front yard. He was of medium build, blond-haired, freshfaced and he carried his gun before him with relaxed ease.

This threw electricity amongst the ranks of the police. They each thrust themselves hard against the protective wall of their cars and tightly gripped their weapons expecting action very soon. Constable Ryan looked very much like he was going to launch into unpredictable, precipitous action again. Robert held his hand up palm outward towards the boy and moved it backward and forward slightly with a Stop - Dont do anything foolish motion. The constable relaxed back down behind the car. Robert peered over the bonnet watching the mans slow but seemingly casual approach. Come no closer! Put your gun down! he yelled, feeling the Smith and Wesson in the palm of his sweaty hand. The man stopped. He was an open target in front of the house. Quite a crowd, he noted, smiling and waving his gun in the direction of the crowd that had foolishly formed just across the street. Put your gun down! Robert repeated, but the man continued to smile as if he was enjoying the notoriety. The police presence seemed to be more or less a side issue to him. Listen, son, you havent hurt anyone yet! So put your gun down, back away and well see

if we can sort this whole thing out! What do you say? Oh, its too late for that, replied the boy with a brief gust of condescending laughter. Too late for what? For that. You see, theyre already dead, he said off-hand. And then he commented almost to himself as he regarded a small knot of young women across the street. But theyre not, and without hesitation the young man levelled the gun towards the watching crowd and fired off three bullets, felling two people before Robert could jump up from behind his vehicle and pump two bullets into his chest. He crumpled and fell onto the small, stone front wall of the property. The dispersing bystanders screamed and clambered over one another in the wake of the gunfire. Two young women lay dead and bloody, trampled by the exodus. Wails and screams rent the air. Chaos shook the street. Call an ambulance! Robert screamed. See if you can help those people! He motioned vaguely in the direction of the fallen bystanders and ran, crouching, towards the front garden of the townhouse. He need not have bothered crouching. The man was dead; two neat holes side by side next to his

heart. His cheese cloth shirt was already sodden by that bloody, pumping fountain. Robert raced into the kitchen of the house. He stopped in heavy-breathing despair. For there, on the floor, against the bloodstained wall, were three corpses - the mother and her two tiny daughters - home for lunch and still in their school uniforms. Each with the letters DNA carved into their foreheads.

CHAPTER 3
Looks like you got your man, said Natasha as Robert returned to police headquarters, followed by a rather flushed Constable Ryan who was mindlessly twiddling with his hat all the while. No I didnt, replied Robert, preoccupied and looking up a wall computer for some information. What do you mean? You got the DNA killer. But Robert was not listening. He had placed his hand against the wall for clearance and he was reading a current listing of world police records relating to murder. This was classified information that the press hadnt even printed yet. It made for sad reading. Worldwide, there had been several hundred deaths to maverick gunmen in the past four hours. He scanned the list sedulously, watched silently by Natasha and the constable, but apparently, whatever he was looking for wasnt there. Send every piece of information you have on the DNA killer to my home computer please, Natasha. I want to go over some details tonight. Would you like to explain why? Hes a copycat killer. How can you be so sure?

It isnt him, said Robert, turning his gaunt and troubled face back in her direction. Natasha looked into his tortured eyes. They were pale blue, inscribed with small white rings. They were tired, enervated; a brace of deeply troubled pools. Are you sure that you dont want to believe it so you can torture the killer like youve no doubt imagined a thousand times? Maybe it wasnt satisfying enough just shooting him. Its not that, although there is a certain amount of truth in that, replied Robert frankly. But ask yourself this question up until today how much genetic material have we got on this killer? None, she replied. Thats right. None. Hes been meticulous. To leave no DNA at a crime scene is next to impossible but hes managed to do it. Am I right? Natasha nodded. She could guess where this was going. Well that bastard today left his DNA lying around like someone whos got a porn shot for a screensaver. It was everybloodywhere. No, this guys an amateur. Hes a copycat. Natasha was going to suggest that since they had no previous DNA it could still be

the killer but she shut up because she realised on balance, Robert was probably right. He generally was about such matters. Thats why she was so pleased to have him back at work. And theres something else. I cant quite . . . he trailed off into the depths of his mind but quickly returned. Also send over the files for every mass killing in the past month. Worldwide? He nodded. Thats quite a bit of homework, detective. For you and for me. Do you mind telling me why? Somethings wrong. I need to work this out. Very well, Natasha replied, adjusting her glasses and considering the ramifications of the detectives demanding request, But its going to take me all afternoon to collate that mountain of details, so I hope that your hunch comes to something. She gave him a toothless grin and entered her office to begin compiling the data. Constable Ryan had been standing in the wings during their conversation. He looked like he wanted to say something. Something on your mind, constable? Robert asked whilst taking off his holster

and placing it on the desk. Two bullets, he said to Jasmine. Dutifully, she took the gun and holster away. Id like to work with you some more, confessed the young constable, if thats alright with you? Under normal circumstances Robert would have dismissed Constable Ryans request without a thought, but he couldnt help but pity the boy. He looked at his doleful eyes. There was so much pain there; so much quiet distress. Robert understood it perfectly. He may as well have been looking in a mirror. Either way, life was going to be dangerous for the boy. It was probably better that he work with him. At least then he could keep an eye out for this impetuous kid. Ill think about it, he replied. This pleased Ryan who attempted a smile, fiddled with his hat some more, looked like he wanted to say something else but suddenly moved away from Robert like a startled rabbit. Robert almost afforded himself a smile. The rest of that day found Robert poring over old newspaper headlines and magazine articles on the CrimeWeb a massive database of information with details and related articles and clippings about anyone on the planet with any sort of a criminal record. He

had top level clearance right across the globe. He spent his whole afternoon in a profitless pursuit. The killer had been flawless in his execution. He had killed only women, but never in any similar sort of environment. He had killed in alleyways, in abandoned school yards, in office blocks after hours, in public toilets, even once in a store room at a busy ice rink. He never left any messages or calling cards. He gave no clues as to his intentions or the reasons for his actions. He usually strangled his victims. From the markings on the bodies he appeared to use some sort of thick metal wiring as a cord. The one common thread to each of the serial killings was that he never left a trace of DNA anywhere. Even at the beginning of the century that was almost impossible to achieve. Now it was surely impossible. Everyone on Earth gave their DNA at birth. It had been that way since 2020 despite the howls of indignation by the Right to Privacy lobby group. But that didnt help if you didnt have any DNA to match into the database of the CrimeWeb mainframe computer. So up until this point the killer remained a faceless marvel. No one ever saw him come and no one ever saw him go. He was as enigmatic as a shifting storm cloud.

Robert rubbed his aching eyes and gave up for a while. He said goodnight to Jasmine, who replied that it was good to have him back, and to Natasha, who told him somewhat wearily that she had sent all of the requested material to his home terminal, and then to Constable Ryan, who more or less stood to attention as a sign of respect as he passed. When he got home he forgot to eat, sat himself down on the edge of his armchair and looked at the information Natasha had complied for him. He had to admit, she was brilliantly organised. In a few short hours she had managed to compile a cross section of audio/visual and written material on every newsworthy murder of the past month, along with some audio commentary of her own with supporting graphs and visuals to support any conclusions she had come to. She had bundled the material into two files, one labelled Mass Killings, the other DNA killings. He wasnt sure why, maybe it was just too personal, maybe he just couldnt think about that murderous prick without a prelude, but Robert decided to take a look at the mass killings first. He watched, equally repulsed and mesmerised by the footage. There was not one part of the globe untouched by a rampant increase in mass

homicides. In Canada, three young men had entered a secondary girls school armed with hunting bows and taken out seventeen seventh graders and their teacher before shooting each other in the chest with the weapons apparently on the count of three, because all three were found dead along with their victims, each with a single bolt to the heart. Robert wiped tears from his eyes as he watched news reports and detailed police footage of those poor bloodied children and their assassins. In every country it seemed young men had gone mad. In London, gangs of youths had indiscriminately murdered fifteen women gathered for a hens night; in New York, one gang had infiltrated a feminist rally and opened up with automatic weapons wiping out thirty five women of various ages. In the streets of Europe, in the small towns of Scandinavia, in the far flung provinces of Japan, the song remained the same. Young men had gone mad and had then taken their own lives - thousands of deaths in all. This was a pandemic and no mistake. But why? And was there any connection between the serial killer he was stalking and these apparently random acts of insanity? There seemed none. It was frustrating. Robert sat on his modest couch watching these deplorable

actions played out in three glorious dimensions in the middle of his otherwise empty lounge room and he began to grow angry. He was gritting his teeth again. He made himself stop. Stay on the case he told himself. Remain as still waters beneath the typhoon. Solve the riddle. Solve the riddle. He began looking closely at the statistics that Natasha had compiled for him. Were there any common denominators among the mass murderers? They were all male; no real surprises there. Some women had committed murder during the period, of course, but these were largely unremarkable, routine, domestic, husband drove them to it type killings, not the methodical workings of a serial killer, nor the mindless massacre of the mass murdering kind. What else? Some were in gangs, some were solo killers. No common bond there. They were all young men but what of that? Robert cross- referenced every murder in the last month and sought commonality. He turned on his headset and watched his virtual fingers move 3D graphs about the virtual-space, pulling them apart and moulding them back together in animated slices and virtual-sections. Finally, he got angry again and threw every number he had at his disposal into one large vat of stewing data and waited to see what happened.

A second or two passed. The computer thought about it. Then it formulated its own opinion on the matter based upon Roberts manic bombardment of statistics. A single sentence clear and terse sat in virtual space right in front of his astounded eyes. He took off his headset and looked at it, sitting in the air in the middle of the room, a single sentence. It said: Every killer in the sample given reached his eighteenth birthday in the three month period prior to the killings. Ridiculous, was his first thought in response. He found the coincidence so ludicrous that he actually ran a brief check himself, lest the computer be malfunctioning, or just in case he had fed in the wrong information. He pulled out twenty of the killers at random. No. There it was. Every birth date was between February and April 2041. He tried again. Same result. But what the hell did it mean? He was so absorbed now that he had completely forgotten his initial quest for information on the DNA killer. Whether the insight he had just gained was related to that case or not seemed unimportant for the moment. No one seemed to have noticed this congruence before. Perhaps it was an unbelievable coincidence but Robert had been a policeman too long to believe in

coincidences, or to ignore an apparent one when he found it. He launched into a search of every form of media in an attempt to see if anyone else had ever noticed this. It seemed that no one had. However, he did note with interest that world authorities had become sufficiently worried by the number of murders across the world that a World Summit on the problem was scheduled for next week in New York. Still, there was no mention of the common age of the criminals. Another perplexing aspect to the killings was the type of young man perpetrating them. In this, there was no commonality, try to find one though Robert did. In fact, it was the disparity in social background of the killers that was the most striking feature. They came from every part of the globe and from every walk of life. There was no country on the planet that had been immune to at least one mass killing. That, in itself, was amazing. But even more concerning was the number of statements made by friends and family about the murderers. In this there was a common thread. Every person made a statement to the effect that the murderer had been completely normal prior to the killings. Robert might almost have dismissed this as the usual thing that people say after an

atrocity, i.e. He seemed like a nice person. He kept to himself, kept his garden well groomed, loved his dog etcetera, if it hadnt been for another recurring motif. Most of those asked did mention that the murderer had seemed more withdrawn and less passionate in the weeks prior to the killing. They used words like disinterested, dispassionate, lacking empathy. Others made some interesting statements to the effect that many of the young men had also taken to isolating themselves and had become if not morose, then at least a little more taciturn than usual and that on the odd occasion some of them seemed prone to grandiose statements about their own ability that seemed unlike their normal selves. Vaingloriousness is a common trait of young men, Robert thought to himself, and might be ignored, but again the repeated suggestion arose that such boasting was out of character for the boys in question. It was so very strange. Robert felt like a man in possession of a great secret; a secret so great that even he couldnt unravel it. Yet the answer was there somewhere, swimming like a shark within the fluidity of the data. He stood up and placed his head against the wall, lost in thought. He banged his forehead lightly against the unstable gyprock

and only stopped when someone in the apartment next door thumped back in anger. He walked absent-mindedly into his room and stared, as he had that very morning, out of his dingy window. The darkened street was ablaze with the passing headlights of pushbikes. He let the bouncing lights jumble about on his unfocussed eyes until they became a mass of neurons criss-crossing his mind. It was soothing to let it all wash over like the gentle rain of a summer storm. He abandoned himself to it, trying to free his mind of logical shackles; trying just to feel without thinking; seeking intuition. But nothing came. In spite of his tiredness he couldnt rest until he had taken a quick look at the second file Natasha had sent him. He returned to the terminal, adjusted his virtual headset, picked up the file and dispersed the virtual package indiscriminately across the universe of his lounge room. Little beehives of data tumbled across the space like a cluster of galaxies spinning haphazardly in the void. The nearer packets were the older entries. He pricked the nearest galaxy and it unfurled itself into an array of documents. He had no stomach for the audio/visuals and instead decided upon the written material only. He touched the core text file and the

information presented itself with grim formality. Here was a persons life reduced to a data stream. Here is what becomes of us all in the end, he was thinking, as he read the details pertaining to the death of some secondary schoolgirl who had the temerity to expect to be treated with respect when the DNA killer had other ideas. Again and again, nothing he didnt already know, except for the individual details of the victims, who they left behind, their habits etcetera. He didnt bother examining the file of his wife and daughter. He was barely keeping a lid on his frustration as it was; he could do without provocation to damage walls. He noted that the DNA killer had terminated the lives of seventeen women in twelve separate incidents. Except for the fact that they were all perpetrated upon women, there seemed no common thread to the killings. Try though he did at all manner of cross referencing: i.e. the age of the victims, their social background, where they lived, their profession, their school grades, their family connections - nothing seemed to provide a trigger for such a series of bizarre attacks. But when he had waded through all of the killings in his mini-local cluster and discovered nothing to forward his

investigation, he was surprised to find in the distance, at the far reaches of his universe, one remaining system spinning like a slow motion tumbleweed. He hauled it in with a long virtual arm and scattered its contents to the air. Inside this one last galaxy he found six files, all lazily rotating, and in the foreground, a suspended note from Natasha asking: What do you make of these? Intrigued, he opened the first of the data balls. To his astonishment, inside was a translated document from a Bulgarian local newspaper reporting a murder in Pleven, a town about one hundred kilometres from the capital Sofia, in which the killer had inscribed the letters DNA into the temple of his victim before taking his own life. He assumed that this poor, misguided man was probably another copycat, until he noticed the date. This murder pre-dated the first recorded homicide by the DNA killer. He opened the other files. There they swam in the ether, half a dozen bundles of joy, each reducing a persons life to a brief news obituary. In Bolivia, in Saudi Arabia, in Egypt, in Russia and in Alaska DNA killings had occurred, some pre-dating the Australian killer, some not. Apart from the one in Cairo the rest were all in unknown little villages,

but it was still sobering to think that all of these murders could go generally unnoticed by world news. It reminded Robert of the heavy volume of homicide infecting the globe right now. If you could lose half a dozen brutal murder-suicides like that, you knew there was something endemically wrong with the world. The only three things in common to all of these killers was that they only killed women, they all carved DNA into the foreheads of their victims and they all took their own lives after the murder. At least they had the decency to do that, thought Robert. If our killer had topped himself after the first one my wife and child would still be alive today. Never mind Ill end his life for him, when I eventually catch the bastard. He was getting angry again. He needed sleep. He was about to turn off the hologram when a sudden thought hit him. No, he said aloud to himself. Not a chance. But just the same he checked the date of birth of each killer. He sat upright, infused with adrenaline. Every single one of them had been born between February and April 2041.

CHAPTER 4
You look terrible, said Vanessa to her younger brothers hologram several minutes later. Thanks, he replied. But she was right. Robert appeared haggard and gaunt. His eyes were encircled by dark discs betraying a need for a good, solid sleep. You look terrific. And she did. Vanessa had aged very well. She was now in her late forties but she could have passed for ten years younger. She was at work and dressed in a dark brown dress which highlighted her eyes and complemented her short wavy brown hair. She wore glasses now, but made them a very becoming accessory. Her face was delightfully soft, blanched and nicely proportioned and while not beautiful, certainly she was very pretty. She looked businesslike and feminine standing in the virtual room of her office block in London, speaking with her rather unpredictable younger brother twelve thousand miles away. What time is it there? he asked. Three, she replied. What is it, midnight there? Yes, I suppose so, he replied with a yawn, although he supposed no such thing. To what do I owe this honour? Do you need money?

Still got your English sense of humour I see, sis. No, I want you to do me a favour. Ah, I see. I was close. Its not a big one. It takes very little effort. I want to send some data to Sir Colin. Do you still see him? She threw him an impatient look. You know I do. Ive been living with him for the past ten years. Seriously, Bob. Dont call me Bob. You know that I hate it. Its a name, for Gods sake. My names Robert. Bob is something you do for apples. How would you like it if I started calling you Van? I wouldnt mind? ! How about Lorry? Look, Robert, she emphasised his name, Im busy. If you want to send something to Colin then send it to him. It has nothing to do with me. These are top level documents. I think Im on to something and I know the higher up the chain you are the more government scrutiny you come under. I cant afford to have anyone reading these documents, or my conclusions. Not yet. So you chose your poor, unimportant sister as a screen? I didnt mean it like that.

Well, Robert, how did you mean it? I dont hear from you for years and then when I do you ask me for a favour because Im not important enough to have my electronic mail intercepted. I mean, for Gods sake, Ive called you a dozen times since . . . in the last three months and in the end Colin has to contact you before youll take the hologram. How am I supposed to feel? Elated? If possible, Robert looked even more tired for this berating. Look. Im sorry Vanessa. Youre absolutely right. But we all have our own demons. Please do this one thing for me? Vanessas tone softened and she leaned forward earnestly. Robert, listen. Youre my brother and I love you. Of course Ill help you in any way I can. I just dont want to be a doormat, thats all. I am sorry, truly, he replied. Im so bloody tired. Im unfit and Ive had a big day. If you could just pass this quietly on to Colin Id appreciate it. And I promise Ill call from time to time to catch up. Okay? He tried to smile, but he was obviously exhausted and her heart went out to him. Okay, she said. Send it now. I wont put it on the system. Ill package it direct and pass it on to Colin tonight.

Thanks, sis. Talk soon, he said without any animation in his voice. His hologram disappeared and in its place was a virtual briefcase. She took a small, comb-like object from her pocket and swiped the air it occupied. Magically, the briefcase disappeared and only reappeared with a reverse swipe of the same comb in the virtual room of her apartment later that evening. Colin looked on with interest. At least he contacted you, my love, which is a start. Now what has your brother sent us that is too hot for the main highway, hmmm? Colin put on his headset and entered the space where he began playing with files with amazing dexterity; assembling and reassembling them in a variety of possible orders. He mumbled to himself as he did so. His wiry mottled hair shifted this way and that in the process. Vanessa watched on with a combination of awe and affection. She lived with the most interesting man in England, of that she was sure. There he was, mumbling away to himself, slightly overweight but incredibly quick in his manipulation of the empty air. She had no idea what he was doing, but whatever it was he was doing it with astonishing nimbleness. He seemed puzzled about something. Then, taking his headset off, he walked back into

the kitchen to take up his position beside his lady. She knew that expression. Whats the matter? she asked. Oh, nothing. Except that some of the data your brother sent me is corrupt. Corrupt? Yes, the DNA files are tainted. Hes replicated the same file over and over. I have no idea how he managed that. Its too early in the morning there now. I shall speak with him tomorrow. Whats it about? asked Vanessa, grabbing a before-dinner glass of red and pouring one for Colin. Thanks. Oh its police work. Hes chasing that damn serial killer. Hell never let that go, you know, she mused over the lip of her wine glass. Would you? he asked in response. Well, no. I suppose not. Glad to hear it, he smiled and quaffed some of his wine. Very pleasant. Thank you. He made his way to a couch where she joined him. I only listened to his introductory narration, continued Colin, and he appears to have found an extraordinary correlation between and among all of those murders weve been reading so much about.

Yes, isnt it awful? The new terrorism theyre calling it. Theyre always calling everything something, replied Colin, shifting his middle-aged bulk more comfortably over to one side. But, you know, according to his analysis, every killer on police records over the past month, every one, mind you, was a male, born between February and March in 2041. Surely that cant be right? said Vanessa, pulling back her brown fringe with consideration and screwing up her pretty face with thought. Yes, it does seem absurd. Perhaps hes made a blunder. After all, hes sent me an iteration of the same DNA file; perhaps he did the same thing with the other files. He pursed his lips in rumination. I didnt look too closely. I couldnt be bothered thinking right now. Ill have a look at it later when my dinners gone down. What are we having? I dont know. Youre the cook tonight. Its Wednesday, isnt it? Its Thursday, she laughed and kissed him on the cheek. Nice try, Col. Col? Col? he replied in mock astonishment. Its Sir Colin to my friends. Again she laughed. Her bright hazel eyes flashed and he knew what that meant.

I shall make dinner directly on one condition, he announced. And whats that? she asked, though she already knew the answer. I make dinner. After dinner, we make love. Oh, you smooth talker, she said and gave him a rather more alluring kiss. * Later that evening, at about midnight, Colin couldnt sleep. Dressed haphazardly in his pyjamas, he wandered out into the virtual room. His amazing hair was tousled after the love making and he only had one sock on though, even had he noticed, he could not have told you why. He grabbed a glass of milk, sat himself down in the corner of the virtual room and pulled up Roberts file. Something was puzzling him. He called up Robert. His hologram dutifully appeared. Yes, said Robert rather churlishly. He was tucking in his shirt, and having completed the yes, now had a large chunk of toast in his mouth. Robert, I can see youre late for work, just one thing. Tell me, can you resend the DNA files you sent me last night? Youve somehow managed to replicate the same one.

Thats not possible, replied Robert through a mouth full of toast and jam. Anythings possible, lad, he replied, except of course women not being interested in gossip or men not fighting wars. No, they were all correctly sent. I have verification. Well, I dont know how you managed it, but they cant be right. Every single DNA file for each of your killers is identical. Robert looked at his watch. Look, Colin, I dont know what to say, but Im late so if youll excuse me? Of course, Robert, Colin replied. He watched the image of his brother-in-law fade away and he sat inert with thought. On a sudden impulse, he logged in to the main DNA data base in London. Gaining admittance to the most private details of every world citizen was a privilege extended to few and his presence there would be noted, but no matter. He must check something. He bundled up the DNA data that Robert had sent him and waited for the mainframe to accept it. Then he asked it to match each of the names with each of the DNA. He couldnt believe his eyes. The computer didnt flinch. No problems. A perfect match. The DNA samples were not corrupt.

Colin sat bolt upright. He tried again. Same result. He began to doubt himself and went back to the original sample. He closed in on the DNA of two random killers. Increasing the magnification to the genetic level, he was able to compare them. What he saw ensured that he got no further sleep that night. Nine hours later, after a day of analysis, he was on the hologram to Robert again, but that nine hours was also an eventful one for his antipodean friend.

CHAPTER 5
Robert had told Jasmine he wanted no interruptions. For nearly three hours he had been locked in his office continuing to ponder the mystery of the eighteen year old murderers. He considered contacting Colin. He figured he had been a little rude to him earlier that morning, but its so bloody annoying when youre half dressed and running late and the hologram goes off. He shouldnt have been so brusque. He began to regret his lack of self-control. Now he was intrigued as to why Colin had called. Something about corrupt files, he had said. He had already checked his home terminal from his office. Everything had relayed across perfectly. What the hell was Colin on about? He looked at the wall clock. Well, he couldnt call him now. It was into the early hours over there. He did a double take and looked again at the wall clock. He stared at it for a moment, lost in a distant memory; a memory that had not surfaced for many years. His father had taught him to read an analogue clock when he was just a little boy. Hardly anyone could read them now. No one seemed inclined to learn either. Such a terrible loss both the skill and his father. Life was full of loss, he mused. If the definition of a comedy is a story that ends well and a tragedy one that

ends badly, then life was most definitely a tragedy. Life is a gift, wrapped in sorrow. Someone knocked very loudly on his door, which gave him a start. What is it? he howled with his usual politeness. Jasmines muffled voice belted out something inaudible from the other side. With a resigned pushing away of his seat, Robert reluctantly got up and unlocked his door. He was about to tell Jasmine off for interrupting him when he saw the expression on her face. Whats wrong? he asked. That young girl, Monique. The girl you brought in yesterday? Yes. Weve had a distress call from her. She specifically wants to talk to you. She says someones trying to kill her. What? Again? said Robert. But in spite of the hollow humour in his comment, he still grabbed for his car keys and pushed past Jasmine. Divert the call to my car phone! he yelled over his shoulder as he ran out of the station. And get me some backup and an ambulance! Home address! He shot off through the city at a breakneck speed with his siren blaring. Whatever the girl was, if he had her pegged

right, she wasnt an over-reactor. And he had to be honest, he actually liked the girl. He switched on the loudspeaker to the phone link, Are you alright? he asked her as he hit his horn repeatedly and tried to find a way through the laneless rabble of pedestrians and foot-powered scooters. Quiet, Monique whispered at the other end. Her voice was sodden with fear, He might hear you. Who might hear you? asked Robert, blasting his horn again and toppling an old Asian woman from her rickshaw. She cursed him from the gutter as he barrelled past. Im at home, in the laundry closet. Please hurry, she whispered tremulously and then, Hes here. Hes found me. Oh God. And the phone went dead. Shit! yelled Robert and instead of heading up to the Harbour Bridge, he reefed the old Ford down towards Circular Quay. Once there he jumped out of his car, raced through the crowded footpath, much to the chagrin of at least a dozen people, who were hot and sweaty and who could do without this joker barging past them like an Indian towards a food queue. He didnt bother apologising. He found a little Vietnamese man who was hiring a small electric-powered speed boat contraption to tourists, held up his badge,

hopped in the boat and with the little mans shrill voice disappearing behind him, braved the harbour and headed directly towards Manly. Back in Belgrave Street all was silent. Monique dared not breathe. She felt the presence directly outside of her door. She sat in the dimness of the laundry closet with her back pressed hard against the wall furthest from the door. She watched in terror as the door handle moved, almost imperceptibly, but she saw it. This time it moved more. Now it was being grabbed at from the other side repeatedly and with greater force. Open up! bellowed a voice from the other side. She sat amongst the dirty laundry, frozen with fear. The stalker on the other side kicked hard at the door. Involuntarily, she squawked. So you are in there, he said in a menacing voice. Go away! she screamed feebly. This was followed by silence. Sweat formed in beads upon Moniques brow. She strained to hear. Water covered Roberts face and entire body as he ditched the little speed boat next to the pier at Manly and ran up into The

Corso. He barged past an incredibly fat man who dropped the top third of his triple-scoop ice cream cone, pummelled a busker outside the Council Chamber and continued the carnage through a group of first graders on an excursion. The screaming voice of the attending teacher retreated as he ran up the stairs to Moniques apartment. He stood there for a moment to catch his breath and to check his gun was full of bullets. Inside, Monique sat motionless, shrouded in dim light, dirty laundry, and silence. Suddenly, with a loud Bang! the door took a huge hit from the far side. Monique screamed again as it took another. On the third blast the hinges gave way and the door flew open to reveal the stalker. He dropped the fire extinguisher he had used to batter down the door and was removing a length of cord from his top pocket. He smiled evilly. Monique screamed. He came towards her, briskly and with great determination. On the landing, Robert heard the scream. He unloaded two shots into the door lock, ran at it with all his body weight. The door splintered open. Robert dashed into the hallway, feverishly checking each side-room as he went. His gun was sweaty and uncomfortable in his hand. He stopped. There were no more screams. That was bad. Half way

down the hallway he heard a stifled sound to his left. He rushed into the room to find Moniques brother, Peter, with a cord wrapped tightly around her neck, only seconds away from murdering her. Monique had finished struggling. She was a bright shade of red, her arms limp beside her. Drop it! screamed Robert, but the boy was in no mood to listen. Robert dashed into the room and shot Peter through the forearm at close range. He screamed and clasped his arm, releasing Monique in the process. With one swift, hard crack on the skull with his handgun, Robert knocked him out. He unravelled the cord from the girls neck. She wasnt breathing. He laid her in the recovery position and was about to attempt heart massage, when the ambulance men turned up and took over. Thank God, he stammered, as they began their resuscitation. Robert watched on as they worked on Monique. Please, he said softly, looking up to the ceiling for help. For what seemed like a half an hour to Robert they continued to pummel her chest for that elusive spark, which is the difference between light and eternal darkness, and then . . .

We have a pulse, said one of the attendants. Thank you, said Robert, once again to the ceiling. Coughing and wheezing, Monique came-to. She opened her eyes. Thank you, she echoed, feebly. Monique and Peter were both taken to hospital in St Leonards. Robert stamped about the waiting room like an expectant father for a couple of hours. Finally, he was allowed to see Peter who was now patched up and in recovery. The boy was flanked by two plain-clothed policemen who nodded respectfully as Robert entered. He drew up a chair beside the young man. Peters arm was bandaged and he was reclining but he looked well enough. Why? he asked curtly. Why not? replied Peter. Robert looked closely at the boy. He had only met him once, the day before, but something was wrong with him. Something had changed. He could see it in his eyes. They were dead; lifeless. Have you been taking drugs? asked Robert. Peter laughed, No, of course not. Then why?

Too many frogs in the pond, he replied. Roberts eyes widened for a moment. What did you just say? I said - too many frogs in the pond. The most astounded look passed like a rain cloud across Roberts face. He blinked twice and sat back in his chair. Now why would you say that? Too many of us. Boom before bust. I was just doing my bit. Is this some sort of cult thing, Peter? Because if it is Im going to blow it wide open. Peter tilted his head towards Robert as if he didnt quite understand what he meant. Cult? he asked. Robert thought that the boy was mocking him. He sat forward menacingly. The loudness of his voice startled the two policemen and even the walls. Peter, wake up! You tried to kill your sister! Do you understand? Peter looked quizzically at Robert. Its not about us, he said quietly. Robert tried a more empathetic tack. He took the boy by his good arm and shook it. He was almost pleading. What are you talking about? Im trying to understand. Yesterday you cared for your sister. Today you tried to strangle her. It makes no sense, Peter. Why did you do it?

Yesterday was a long time ago, Peter replied cryptically. His lips formed a brief smile but they were still somehow detached from the eyes; eyes that were cold - not evil, just simply devoid of empathy. Without warning, Robert took his hand from Peters good arm and punched him heavily on his damaged one, right on the bullet wound. Peter screamed with pain. He sat forward clutching his bandaged arm. The policemen looked at each other. One shrugged. Is that about you, Peter? Does that hurt you? He was furious. He stood up angrily. How does it feel to be a damaged frog? He turned to the policemen. Thank you, officers. Take him to Dixon Street. Ill interrogate him again later. Robert stamped from the room and made his way towards Monique. The nurse admitted him after a small argument. He sat beside Moniques bed. She was asleep. He took advantage of this and gently stroked her hair. He noticed how the dark roots were growing into the dyed blonde hair like ink dropped in water, only in slow motion. As he stroked her, he thought of another darkhaired beauty, his daughter. If only he could have been there for her. It was illogical but he felt so guilty for not being there. He had let down his daughter and his wife. He had

failed them in their moment of need. He could have done something if he had been there but he hadnt been there when it counted most. He was staring at the girls neck now; looking at her throat that had been so deeply indented by the strangling cord; remembering his daughter; seeing her neck; seeing her bloodied face. The sheer sadness of it grew too much for him. He began to cry. Large tears streamed down his cheeks. He buried his face into the pillow so that the nurse didnt come in, wondering what all the noise was about. His grief was almost spent when he felt the soft touch of a womans hand upon his own head. Startled, he looked up. With her left arm Monique was stroking Roberts head; returning his kindness. A little embarrassed, he wiped the tears away. They tell me youre going to be fine, he said in his most matter of fact voice. But she had seen him cry. She had seen into his soul. Its alright to cry, she said very softly. Who did you lose? My wife and daughter, he replied equally quietly. She was about your age. Thank you for coming to my rescue, she said. She smiled, then touching her hand

lightly upon the indentation in her neck she added, and just in time. He found himself taking her hand, kissing it and holding it. Is Peter alright? she asked. Yes, he replied. Are you strong enough to tell me what happened? She stared through Robert and watched the memory. It was the most surreal day of my life. Peter came home for lunch. I prepared it especially for him. You didnt go to school again? he said with mock reproach and squeezed her hand. It was a special occasion, she replied in a croaky voice. She spoke slowly, but when he got home, something was wrong. I asked him if he was okay but he obviously wasnt. He had this mad, distant look in his eyes, as if he wasnt really there. I asked him again and he said the strangest thing. He said too many frogs in the pond. He kept repeating it; chanting it almost. Then he came at me. I escaped down the hallway and luckily I had a phone in my pocket. Thats when I called you. Have you ever seen him like this before? No. Never. Do you think it could be drug induced? She shook her head. Peters dead set against drugs.

What about a cult? Has he been keeping odd hours lately? Going places or going out at odd times? Anything like that? She shook her head. Its the most bizarre thing. It has no rational explanation. He just . . . cracked. Tears welled up in her eyes. And on his birthday too. This thought opened up the flood gates. She cried in earnest, realising fully, perhaps for the first time, that her own brother had tried to kill her. But Robert was elsewhere in thought. His eighteenth birthday? he prompted. She nodded and blew her nose with a tissue. So he was born . . . May 4th, 2041. * In Roberts estimation, the nurse on duty certainly was a feisty, argumentative person. She had argued when he arrived at the ward to see Monique and she argued with him again when he told her that he was taking Monique away. But, take her away he did, to police headquarters in Dixon Street. Monique told him that she wasnt prepared to press charges against her brother. Robert told Monique that her brother had become a

raving psychopath. Monique didnt believe him, in spite of the attack. She thought that he might be okay, given time. So Robert, realising that the boy would walk free if Monique refused to press charges, suggested that she come with him to talk to her brother and to see for herself how he had changed. If after seeing him she still refused to press charges, then so be it. There was nothing more that he could do. Together they stood behind the two-way glass. When Peter was brought in, Monique raised her hand to her mouth in fear fear for her brother and fear of her brother. Are you ready? he asked her. She nodded. Now just remember. I want you to tell me if you see any of your brother left in the man you are about to talk to. She nodded again and along with another officer, they entered the interrogation room. Peter watched them enter without emotion. Robert and Monique sat opposite him. He might have been carved of stone. Peter? asked Monique, moving her head forward into the penumbra of the light. Peter stared back but did not reply. Arent you going to talk to your sister, Peter? asked Robert.

Peter methodically moved his eyes from Monique to Robert. He scanned back and forth. At length he spoke and when he did it was with awful precision. His diction was measured and deliberate; his manner slow and tortured, Life arrived here on meteorites. Did you know that, officer? Dead matter built life. We are its highest expression so far on this planet, but make no mistake, this is not about us. The players come and go but the game continues. And there are too many frogs in the pond. Why do you keep repeating that? asked Robert, genuinely perplexed by the boys strange and unanimated response. Its me, Peter, Monique tried again. She reached her hand out towards him but he withdrew his. Do you know what ninety seven percent of DNA does, officer? asked the intense young man, completely ignoring his sister. He was all crew-cut and ears and his eyes were wide like a true believer. Robert shook his head slowly. It replicates itself. Nothing else. It procreates itself - for itself. You see, the animal it resides in is merely its carrier; a necessary evil. DNA needs a vehicle. Were one of them but, here he paused and sat forward, to emphasise the point, there are

too many of us and when there are too many of us we damage ourselves and if we damage ourselves we are no longer useful to DNA. After boom comes bust and if we bust, we bust DNA. You see, our job is to get off this planet. Our job is to seed the universe. Our job is to spread DNA. What are you talking about, Peter? asked Monique, close to tears. This was not her brother. He sounded more like one of those Evangelists she and Peter laughed at on the hologram player. He turned his slow, lifeless gaze upon his sister. She looked into his eyes and found nothing; an unplumbed depth where lurked strange and dark danger. You are my sister, yes, but you are a human too. You are a female human. Curb the females and you curb the growth of the tribe. Men are dispensable. You only need one to service a civilisation - but women; these are the true prime-movers of numbers. Give me one hundred women and one fertile male and I will build you an empire. Give me one hundred men and one woman and all you will get is one very tired woman and eventually a dead tribe. He found his last remark humorous. He afforded himself a smile. Im sorry I tried

to kill you, girl he continued, lazily, but it was necessary. It was nothing personal. At this point, Monique raced from the room, obviously on the brink of tears. Peter sat, stoic and impassive, untouched by her emotion. Robert sat across from him and considered him closely. His dead-pan expression was remarkably similar to the young man he had interrogated briefly the day before. There was a connection here. It had all the hallmarks of a cult movement. But the boy had seemed a totally different person just a day ago. How could anyone change so completely and so quickly? Without a word Robert stood and left the room. He joined Monique in the next room and together they looked at Peter through the two-way glass. Peter sat, insensate motionless; seemingly indifferent to pain and pleasure alike. Can you see how hes changed? Robert asked Monique. Yes, she agreed. I dont know whats happened to him but hes still my brother. You have to press charges against him, Monique. I know hes your brother but look at him. Hes mentally unhinged. Hes a danger to society and possibly even to himself.

I just cant, she replied, anguish etched into every line upon her pretty, but contorted face. I know what happens in gaol. Hes only a boy. Hes a man in the eyes of the law. Look, Ill make sure that hes looked after but we have to charge him to hold him. If you dont press charges we simply cant hold him. Hell be free to go. Do you want that? Monique played out her internal struggle outwardly in the wringing of her hands and the bird-like shifting of her head. Listen, said Robert, youre in no state to make a decision about this tonight. Why dont you go home and sleep on it? In the morning Ill come and see you and well decide what to do. Ill hold him tonight if you give me the okay. What do you say? Monique hesitated but then made a sudden snap decision. No, she replied, I wont press charges. But Monique . . . No, officer, Ive decided. Hes my brother and I wont let him near those animals in gaol. I wont press charges. Robert looked hard at the girl. He could tell that her decision was irreversible. Every cop-sense he had told him so. She was strung as tight as a crossbow and she had that look of dour determination written

across her face. She had dug in, and although he knew it was madness, it was her right to decide. But if she pressed no charges, then effectively, nothing had happened. He sighed heavily, Okay, he said with resignation to the other officer nearby, let him go. But you, young lady, are spending the night with one of the girls, for your own protection. Monique agreed and eventually it was decided that Jasmine could put her up for the night. After work they would try to sort out some more permanent arrangement. Peter left the police station, headed for home, but on the way diverted to a playground to slice up two little girls. He was found in his flat a short time later, dead and swinging, his neck encircled by the same cord with which he had tried to murder his sister. The letters DNA were carved chaotically into the wall.

CHAPTER 6
When Vanessa came down the stairs the next morning, she found her husband sitting in an empty room, with a virtual headset on, hair still tousled, one sock still missing, conducting an invisible, inaudible symphony. It wasnt an invisible symphony to Colin. He was watching a well ordered series of spinning data streams. He was at its centre and swivelled his chair around at regular intervals to unpack some parcel of information or snatch it from one quadrant and align it carefully in another. At every altitude in the room were tumbling, discreet bundles of information, fully coloured, by choice of the machine operator, buzzing independently like mini beehives in lines and arcs and congregations of all shapes and sizes all about the room. At its core sat its mad conductor, peering into their secrets, seeking the beauty of understanding. To Vanessa it was just her slightly batty husband waving his arms about in the virtual room again. She knocked on the window. Colin swivelled around in his chair and reminded her momentarily of a newly infected victim in a B-grade zombie movie. She broke into a small gust of laughter and pointed to her watch. He stared back, unable for the moment to decipher the new world in which he found

himself. With a quick shake of the head and a blink or two of the eyes he was back. He removed his headset and leaped towards the door. He opened it so abruptly and came towards Vanessa so quickly, that she actually backed away towards the kitchen. I must show you this, he said, but his voice had not been in operation for some hours and so broke half way through the sentence, lending more than a little credit to the zombie theory. Colin, whatever is the matter? she asked. I must show you something. Come see, and he began dragging her towards the virtual room. Colin was an insomniac and would often get impressive flights of fancy that took him through the night to wild fantastic places that no doubt served the wider scientific community well. But she was in no mood to be dragged into virtual space. Its alright for you. You dont have a place of work to go to. Some of us are rather less famous and indulged, you know? But he would not be put off. No, no, he said, its absolutely incredible. What is it, Colin? she asked sternly, pulling away her arm from his grasp and folding them in defiance. The juxtaposition of the two was quite humorous. There was

Vanessa, fully organised for the day, hair neat and tidy, bright green business jacket and skirt, beautifully presented to meet the world and there was her husband, hair like a madman, pyjamas askew and one sock on he, tugging at her like a child who has seen a new captivating toy and she, arms folded and sensible like an unrelenting mother. Please, I promise you, love, it will only take five minutes. She had experienced Colins five minutes before, yet still she allowed herself to be dragged into the room. She hadnt seen her husband so passionate about an idea for a long time and she figured that whatever it was must be pretty interesting. She had no idea how interesting it was going to become. Vanessa looked out upon an empty room, felt the headset upon her temples, felt Colin flick a switch and wham! the room was full of energy and colour. Galaxies of numerals span like atoms in the non-expanding universe of which Colin was the immediate God. Vanessa saw what appeared to be a square thrust stage-space projecting in front of her, the floor boards of which were a dozen rolling balls surrounded on three sides by three seating sections for the audience. The seating sections were tiered upward in steps

and each individual seat was a spinning ball of numerals of similar size. Colin pointed to the stage space with his virtual arm. Now see here, he said. Each bundle in this section, and he touched one of the discreet rotating numeral packets from the stage space and it opened like a flower shedding its seed to the wind, scattering the foreground with buckshot, represents about six million male children born in each month of 2041. You remember that your brother found all the killers were born between February and April of that year? Vanessa nodded, unsure of where all this was heading. Right, so, Colin sucked the seed back into its pod and the former vision was restored, these other three tiers surrounding the main one are for comparison. I like to think of them as a sort of audience for the main stage. In tier one, he pointed to the left of the visual field and the dozen balls there residing, represents all the male children born in 2041. This one on the right represents all those born in 2042 and this one in the middle represents a random sample of male children born this century. Theres a little variation in each quadrant but not much. In general about seventy million male children have been born each

year on average this century. But guess what? He turned to Vanessa with an openeyed, open-mouthed amazement. What? she answered in unsteady reply, not sure whether or not she wanted to hear the response. Colin went into action grabbing and squashing each quadrant of balls one by one. If we squash 2040, 2042 and the random sample, he did so with his virtual fingers, so that they are now single balls, then if we ask the mainframe to find identical DNA in individual hosts, and by saying this, he did so. A flashing sentence appeared stating: No matches found. It is as you would expect. The chances of identical DNA are over seventeen trillion to one and since there are only ten billion or so humans on the planet the chances are incredibly tiny that any two humans DNA would be identical are miniscule, yes? Vanessa thought that sounded right and once again nodded though she was feeling less relaxed now than she had been a few minutes before, notwithstanding the fact that she had been dashing out to work at the time. Again, if we drop any one of these balls onto one another we get the same error message. So lets dispense with the audience, and with a deft flick of the wrist

he dismissed about two hundred and fifty million male children, and lets look a little more closely at the stage. He began to pick up and superimpose some of the dozen balls of the local cluster rotating in the lower part of the virtual field. If I take Mister January and Mister February of my male calendar, and he did so, again he was told there were no matches, and if I take any from August to December, again he did so again, no matches, or any combination of those, he did so. No matches. All as you would expect, he proclaimed, dismissing the offending months and leaving just six revolving orbs. Youre not going to tell me . . . began Vanessa. Just watch, he interrupted and like a man dropping stones into a pond, he dropped all of the male children born between February and June 2042 into July of that year so that only one ball remained, spinning sadly like the lonely electron of a hydrogen atom. He said to the computer, Identical DNA matches. The mainframe seemed a little stumped by this one. It had grown so used to blithely repeating no matches that it was caught off guard and actually had to do a bit of computing. Several seconds later blazoned

across the visual field came: 38,345,008, flashing red like a Dont Walk sign. There you see! stated Colin loudly, swatting at the air like a man chasing a bothersome fly. He stood up with the importance of it all. Vanessa slowly removed her headset and looked at him. She was squinting and troubled. Her pretty hazel eyes were framed by eyelids crinkled with puzzlement. Thats impossible, she stated uncertainly looking at Colin for some sort of explanation. Isnt it? Yes, of course, but there it is, he motioned towards the lonely orb. Quite a paradox. But how could this happen and what does it mean? Both excellent questions, he replied, and I dont have an answer to either yet, but I intend to work on it for as long as it takes. Whats the time? Oh God, she replied, twenty past eight and Im late for a nine oclock appointment. Must go. With a quick peck on the cheek, she made a hasty exit. Colin replaced the virtual headset to his temples and approached the spinning ball. He ran his virtual hand through it, this way and that. He was a virtual God displacing

millions of lives and then miraculously reassembling them after his hand had passed through. It might have been a pet he was stroking or a ball of sand his fingers could see but never touch. Maybe this is our relationship with the Gods, he was thinking they view and review but never interfere with, never actively touch or divert. And he continued thus for several minutes, considering the ramifications of Roberts find. In spite of the time difference he decided to contact Robert with his findings. He stated Roberts number to the room and the room responded by throwing up a bleary eyed, slightly drunk Robert sitting nearby on thin air. Colin sat too. Ah, Sir Colin, said Robert with a slur. How goes it in Albion? He was obviously inebriated and imbibed another glass of brown spirits before Colin could respond. Are you alright? asked Colin. He knew that Robert had taken to the bottle over the last three months but he had rarely seen him this drunk. Oh fine, fine, replied Robert, grabbing for an invisible bottle of bourbon that suddenly and miraculously appeared in his hand. He poured it unsteadily.

Bad day? asked Colin. Robert laughed, Oh, no, not really. The usual thing, you know saved a girl from being murdered by her brother, she refused to press charges, he went out and slaughtered two innocent girls before taking his own life. Usual thing. He took another slug of bourbon. Colin could see the pointlessness of any meaningful conversation. Im sending you a file containing my findings so far on the material you sent me. You recall? Robert nodded that drunken nod which means, in effect, I didnt hear a word you just said. It will be on your terminal at work tomorrow. Take care, Robert. I shall contact you again soon with any new information. Goodbye. And he terminated the hologram. Robert took another slug of booze, dropped his glass which fell to the floor with a clunk but didnt break and promptly fell asleep in his chair, where he awoke the next morning at seven with his tongue firmly glued to his mouth and his head being hammered like the anvil of Thor. He took a shower, which felt like an outof-body experience and somewhere along the way vaguely remembered a conversation he had

had the night before with Sir Colin Dunnett. By the time he finished the shower he was fairly sure that he had, and by the time he struggled to work through the thirty five degree heat of May and reached his office, he was certain that he had and equally certain that Colin had mentioned some information he was sending him. He entered the office, unresponsive to the good mornings he attracted and entered his office where he took three headache tablets to complement the three he had already taken at home. He opened up his computer mail. Saw Colins report. Couldnt be bothered reading it just now. Shut down the computer and leaned back in his chair with his feet up on his desk, full to the brim with codeine. When Natasha entered the room she wasnt sure if he was asleep, or in deep contemplation. He had been asleep but awoke and feigned contemplation, removing his feet from the desk just as she entered. Okay? she asked. Yeah, Im okay, he replied sadly. Sorry to hear about what happened. Well, you know, theres a lot of it about. Yes. Theyve moved that World Summit in New York forward to Monday morning. The

incidence of murder is becoming quite ridiculous. What can I do for you, Natasha? he asked, aware that his boss generally left him alone unless she required something special from him. I want you to go and visit the girl, replied Natasha. She looked at him gravely. Her dark eyes scanned his face. I know how youve taken to her and she needs you. Ive got crime to fight, remember? Well then, I order you go and see her as part of your investigation; as part of your recuperation. She has no one, Robert, she hesitated, and neither do you. He looked at her with a slow blink of his eyes. Thanks for your honesty, he said, flippantly. But he knew she was right. Go and see Monique, Robert. Beneath that antagonistic exterior of yours theres a glorious, kind interior. Let her help you find it. Take Constable Ryan with you. Ill call you soon enough if I need you. She patted his hand and looked deeply into his light blue eyes. She could so plainly see the pain. This was not the same man she had known for several years. He was damaged and in need of repair. Perhaps this young girl, so much like his daughter, was the tonic he needed.

Robert relented. He had thought of little else but Monique since he had taken her to the morgue to identify her brother. She had sobbed and sobbed into his chest until he thought that the world would suffer another flood. Her wails had tugged at the core of his own sorrow and in their awful grief they had been united. He knew that she was his daughter from now on, if not in blood, then in spirit. Constable Ryan did the driving and the talking, until Robert asked him to please be silent. It wasnt long before they reached Monique. She was at Jasmines place in Balmain. Jasmine was rostered off anyway and consented to look after the girl for a day or two. When Monique saw him she broke down once again. Constable Ryan, hat in hand once again, watched her with a combination of sorrow and wonder. She was wearing a dressing gown, wore not a scrap of makeup, her eyes were teeming with tears and she was beautiful. Robert sat her down and she dabbed her eyes with her nightgown. While Robert went into the kitchen to speak with Jasmine, Constable Ryan offered her a tissue. She gratefully accepted.

And for once in the young mans life, he had nothing to say. He watched her sitting there on the lounge with the bright, harsh light behind her and he conceived of her as an angel in a portrait by one of the masters; shrouded in the gleam of another world: right now the personification of sorrow, but beneath that the embodiment of beauty itself. He fiddled with his hat and tried not to stare but his eyes kept being drawn to her lovely face, flawed just now by the soft kiss of her tears. In the kitchen, Jasmine was pouring the tea. She was a big woman; ample perhaps was the best way to describe her. She wasnt fat but she was fleshy like a ripe fruit. She was from Goa and had wonderfully dark skin and equally enigmatic eyes that shone with the knowledge of the ages. She was as kindhearted as any woman could be and she made the best tea that Robert had ever tasted. Thanks for this, said Robert. Someone must help the poor girl, Jasmine replied, offering him a cup. How are you? I got drunk last night. I feel bloody awful, he confessed. She smiled. Come on. Life goes on. Lets take some tea and visit your new friend. Together they entered the lounge room and Constable Ryan, who had entered into a brief

conversation with Monique, stood guiltily at their entrance. At ease, Ryan, said Robert, plonking himself down roughly on an adjacent chair and nearly spilling his precious tea in the process. Constable Ryan sat himself back down. She is feeling a little better, isnt it? asked Jasmine of Monique. Monique nodded and sipped on her tea. It comes in waves, you see, explained Jasmine to Robert who knew all too well. Grief and guilt, they both come in waves and they swamp us. So you must stand fast, isnt it, until the tide passes and lowers and you must stand fast again when it returns. Every day the water grows less and less until one day, finally, you find that although you are still wet, still you have not drowned. And this is the first day when you begin to recover. But, yes, it takes time. She had finished her piece and she too sipped at her tea. Robert watched Constable Ryan trying not to gaze too often at Monique. It was amusing to watch the freckle faced boy quietly entranced by her beauty. Robert had to agree, Monique was beautiful. They sat for a while and exchanged pleasantries, until at length the inevitable

call came through for the officers to attend a crime scene down at the fish markets. And by the sound of things it was a nasty one. As they were leaving, Monique came up to Robert just before he jumped into the passenger side of the car. Im sorry, she whispered. Im so sorry. Dont blame yourself, Monique, he replied. Remember, youre not the one who killed anyone. When you feel better, come and see me at police headquarters. I may have a job for you, if youre interested? Monique nodded. Be careful, she said. Jasmine put her arm around Moniques shoulder as the two police officers sped off. Constable Ryan watched them disappear in his rear-view mirror. Beautiful girl, mused Robert, baiting a response from the young man who eagerly agreed. Robert smiled to himself. Let the water recede a little each day, he thought to himself, remembering Jasmines words. Just a little each day. But its hard to imagine the waters receding when youre standing down at the stinking fish markets with the walls and floors awash with the blood of a dozen men and women who were just trying to make an honest living. Its hard to see the tide

going out when you watch a dozen corpses tagged and bagged and carried to the morgue and its hard to breathe beneath the water when you see the letters DNA, scrawled once again, this time in blood, upon the bricks, dripping their dark maroon secrets onto the body of yet another eighteen year old boy whose poor parents would now have to live forever with the fact that they had not only lost their cherished baby, but that he would now forever be remembered, not as the boy who was about to begin university having scored so well in his final school examination, but as a mass murderer whose name would go down in infamy. Robert didnt care what time it was in London. He must speak with Colin.

CHAPTER 7
You look tired, said Robert to the hologram of Sir Colin Dunnett seated beside him, twelve thousand miles away. Im exhausted, replied the jaggedhaired scientist, wide-eyed from lack of sleep. Ive had a few naps but other than that Ive been at this, solidly. I didnt wake you up, then? Did you intend to? Its four in the morning over here, you know. No, I didnt but I needed to ask you about what you sent me. I just looked at it. Just? inquired Colin. I marked it urgent. I expected a call hours ago: perhaps at an hour where I might actually be awake under normal circumstances? Look, Im sorry, Colin, but these are hardly usual circumstances are they? What do you make of it all? Damned if I can make any sense of it. But I have got some facts to share with you. Let me show you what Ive turned up since I sent you the last lot of information. I have to give you a quick lesson so put on your headpiece. Robert did so, and side by side, the two men watched the hologram sitting in the middle of Colins lounge room. It was a close up of a DNA section. The right hand spiral of

the double helix showed clearly the rungs of bases holding the ladder together. Now look here, he began, what you see here is a section of DNA. This stuff is the building block of life. It lives in the nucleus of pretty much every one of the trillions of cells in our body. Its a kind of alphabet made up of only four letters that drives everything from reproduction to whether or not you get cancer. Each of us has massive amounts of this miniscule DNA stuff folded about in our cell structures, so much in fact, that if we unfolded it all we could lasso the moon a few times over with the amount of it inside each one of us. Are you with me? Robert nodded. Did you pay attention when they taught you this stuff in school? Robert shook his head. Pity, replied Colin and continued. Alright, so - long sections of DNA are called genes and they determine hereditary traits like eye colour, depth of voice etcetera but all of this is fundamentally determined by DNA, you understand? Again Robert nodded but not particularly convincingly. Think of it this way, the camera zoomed out, up and away from the section of DNA

previously in view, revealing a corkscrew ladder that disappeared, without end, into the dim distance. Every one of us is pretty much made of the same stuff that goes for all the plants and animals on Earth too, by the way, were 99.9 percent the same as a dog or a fish or a blade of grass. Were all pretty much the same stuff rearranged by DNA. Now, 2 or 3 percent of our DNA has little genetic flaws or snips that give us our individuality, otherwise were all much the same thing not at all as individual as you and I might like to think. But heres the thing: the other 97 percent of what DNA does, it does to replicate itself and protect itself from damage. It has nothing to do with us. In other words, it does what it does for DNA. We are simply its carrier. Robert didnt want to interrupt but he was hearing the echo of a madman in his ears. Its not about us were the killers exact words. But we are individual because of these tiny variations in our DNA. No two humans are alike. Or at least that was the case until now and its still true, up to a point. An entire length of double helix now claimed the entire visual field from end to end. It was a tortured ladder; a workmans nightmare.

So if this is one entire DNA strand, rattled out Colin, then, he marked out almost its entire length with a virtual highlighter, this entire length I have highlighted represents the portion DNA reserves for itself almost all of it. We humans are not an afterthought. DNA needs us as a carrier. Were more of a side thought, a necessary evil, as DNA might put it, if it could. Robert butted in. I still dont understand why the computer told us that the DNA of all those people was identical. If what I do remember from school is right, wouldnt that mean that they would all look and sound identical? Yes, thats true, replied Colin. To be absolutely precise they arent identical but theyre close enough for the way weve programmed the mainframe. Imagine this, expanding upon my earlier analogy: if forty million ropes of DNA did somehow lasso the moon, what do you imagine the chances would be of having smatterings of bacteria along that length in precisely the same way for more than one length of rope? Remember, were talking about infinitesimal microscopic organisms in exactly the same positions. Robert couldnt even hazard a guess.

And neither can I, returned Colin with a smile, but I can tell you, the chances are pretty bloody slim, as you Aussies might say. So the computer has picked up on the similarity of the snips. Along the length of this incredibly simple but complex double helix the alphabet has been warped at the same point in multiple, multiple places for nearly forty million of the species. It has never happened before and I would suggest that it will never happen again but somehow it has happened for this sample. Hold on, Robert interrupted. I know my place Im a good detective but Im no brains trust, not like you and your mates. So how come I discovered this and they didnt? Perhaps sometimes lack of knowledge is a useful thing. Id never have expected this correlation in a million years; a billion years; even a trillion years, so I wasnt looking for it. Also, I wasnt a detective trying to find a killer. Ah, replied Robert having seized upon a possible flaw in what Colin was saying, but other detectives have been. Why hasnt the identical nature of the DNA been noticed before? Because when one of you super duper police investigator fellows want to catch a thief or a killer you put in for an exact

match and the mainframe will give it to you strand for strand. But what you asked the mainframe to do has probably never been done before. It approximated within a range and each sample in the selection was so ridiculously close to identical that the computer saw them as matches. I mean 40 million samples all at once? What were you thinking? Consider it a rare insight of genius, Robert replied, knowing full well he had just dumped all the data in at once because he lost his temper. But you do think theres a connection? Again, playing statistics, surely there has to be. The chances of all of these killers being born within a six month period are too great. It makes me think of thalidomide. So where do we go from here? asked Robert, sitting fully forward now, intrigued by Colins thesis. I would suggest that you contact all of your people worldwide and concentrate on phenotypes whilst I concentrate on genotypes. Meaning? Meaning, you and your people look at the personality characteristics of the DNA

killers and Ill work on the gene mutations that caused them. Dont you need to call in help? asked Robert. My dear fellow, he replied with a tired smile, I can do this myself and besides, he winked across the globe, theres a Nobel Prize in this and I wouldnt dream of sharing it with anyone but you. * Vanessa rose a little earlier than usual that morning. Something was troubling her. She didnt know what it was but she felt a kind of parturiency within. There was an idea in there. She needed someone or something to shake her tree for fruit. This odd feeling dogged her as she readied herself that morning. It continued to dog her as she passed her husband, asleep and snoring furiously in his swivel chair in the virtual room and it dogged her as she began her lecture that morning at the Cambridge Club at which she was a life member and today, guest speaker. She finished the lecture on Krakatau and asked for any questions. A young man at the very back of the auditorium raised his hand.

Yes, she said, pointing to the raised hand. You say that 36,000 people perished in Sumatra and Java as a result of the tsunami? The young man was small, had a squeaky voice and was wearing a black t-shirt. Yes, she replied. Then tell me this. If Yellowstone were to really go up, as it nearly did in 2040, what would be the consequences of that? Well, firstly she replied, there would obviously be no tsunami. This got a self-congratulatory laugh from the audience they got the joke. But if youre asking me what the consequences of the full caldera blasting out would be . . . She was about to give the ash as far as the mid-west spiel, when the young man suddenly grew quite aggressive and stopped her. No. Thats not what Im talking about! he interrupted rudely. You scientists think youre so smart but you often miss the biggest picture. What do you mean? asked Vanessa, taken aback by the insolence of the young man. The boy stared at her for a moment. Then he picked up his papers, stood and left the lecture room.

Vanessa was left, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head at the remaining members of the crowd, who laughed with embarrassment likewise in return. But the image of the boy remained in her mind and it was still in her mind when she returned home to her husband that evening. Colin had showered and cleaned up a bit but still looked suitably dishevelled. He did, as he kept reminding his wife, have the persona of the mad scientist to maintain, especially in order to impress the undergraduates. She reminded him that he had finished teaching for the term and that he could drop the pretence, now that he could concentrate on research. Vanessa knew that it wasnt really a persona; he really was a mad scientist. The oddest thing happened today, she said over dinner. Hmmm? he replied distantly, still lost in the possible causes for his Nobel Prize. There was a very rude young student at the Cambridge Club. Whats new? Colin replied. Arent all the undergrads without discipline these days? Oh Colin, she replied, every generation says that about the last. No, this boy was particularly rude.

What did he say? asked Colin, suddenly awake to the fact that his good lady wife had apparently been insulted. She noticed the change in his tone. Its nothing to get hot under the collar about, darling, she said in a pleasant but patronising tone. She stroked his cheek fondly. Would you go into battle for me? Damned right, he replied with a savage nod of the head and a mock puffing of lips. She laughed. He was talking about Yellowstone. What about Yellowstone? asked Colin, attacking his fish. He said that we scientists miss the biggest picture. I dont see what he means. Thats exactly what we scientists are always chasing. Its just that sometimes in order to see it, we have to piece the very smallest pictures together. It got me thinking though. You mentioned thalidomide the other night. Hmmm? he replied through a mouth full of fish and vegetables. Oh thats just an analogy Ive been using for this DNA project. I know, but when did you say these anomalies occurred? Early February, to late July. Why?

Stay with me for a moment. She stood up and stared out of the window, as if perhaps some inspiration lay in the early evening garden. Yellowstone went up on the seventh of January for a whole week. We had that crepuscular ambience for several months. We had a what? asked Colin through another mouth full of fish. The twilight months of 2040. The Dark Earth Period. Oh yes, he nodded. Why didnt you say that? Honestly, no scientist should ever be allowed to have a degree in literature as well. She was undeterred. But it took a couple of weeks before . . . Colin stopped chewing. Before the water . . . Grew tainted! Her voice exploded into the hollow kitchen. She grabbed Colin by the arm. His eyes were wide and he still hadnt chewed. Remember? The water tasted like ash for months until towards the middle of the year all over the world. Every nation on Earth complained of it. Of course, of course, Colin muttered, using a serviette to wipe his mouth. He now had bigger fish to fry. How could I not see it? Youre brilliant. He stopped. But why? Why would volcanic ash cause molecular

reconstruction? How could it possibly cause uniform mass mutation? And why should it only trigger at age eighteen? I dont know, she replied, still holding on to his arm. Do you think Im right? Oh yes, he answered unswervingly. When such epiphanies come they are not to be ignored. What will we do? she asked. She was very excited. Whats the time? he asked looking at the clock. It was just after seven pm. Im going to contact Robert. He moved in the direction of the virtual room. But darling, she protested, its four in the morning over there now. Yes, replied Colin with a glint in his eye, about the same time he phoned me last night. With a smile he disappeared into the virtual room. A few seconds later, the unruly visage of Robert appeared there: partially clad, hair askew and eyes matted with sleep. Is everything alright? he asked through a broken voice. Fine, old boy. Fine, replied Colin with a mischievous smile. Then what the bloody hell are you calling me for at four oclock in the bloody morning?

I have some news for you and something to ask you. It better be bloody important, said Robert, scratching himself and sitting on a cushion of air in front of Colin. Oh, it is, Colin replied as he waited for Robert to wake up sufficiently to talk with him. Well? Okay, here it is. Vanessa has come up with an idea. Do you remember the volcanic eruption of Yellowstone in 2040? Of course I do. It stuffed up my twentyfirst. She thinks that the fallout from it may have caused genetic mutations that can explain the phenomenon we discussed. And I agree with her. Robert thought about that for a moment. Suddenly he woke up fully. Go on, he said. Ill have to delve into the DNA more to work out why this should happen, or how in Gods name it could happen, but I want to know something. Is there anything particularly significant about the age of eighteen, from a policemans point of view, that could connect it in any way with the extreme behaviour were seeing across the world?

Robert thought about it. Obviously the law saw you as a man once you were eighteen, but that counted for nothing except whether a boy got a bloody nose or was treated rather worse in a big mans gaol. But apart from that there wasnt any . . . wait. There was one thing. Im not an expert on this but there is one thing I did learn from police training about psychological profiles that might be important. Yes? asked Colin, expectantly. We had a psychologist talk to us once and I definitely remember him saying that sociopathic or psychopathic tendencies generally didnt reveal themselves until the age of eighteen. Yes . . . and? prompted Colin. Robert was wide awake with thought now. And, now that I think of it, sociopathic tendencies are what Ive been dealing with more and more lately. He stood up, remembering the mass murderer and remembering the sudden change in Moniques brother. Yes, it is possible, he mused, the disassociation from emotion; the glib almost charming facade and the underlying sense of self-importance and superiority. Yes, it is possible.

Alright, replied Colin, nodding his head and shaking his grey-flecked hair in concurrence. We may be on to something. From outside the virtual room, Vanessa watched her husband in animated conversation with her distant brother and she wished, how she wished, that Robert would talk with her like that. The best he ever managed for her was a perfunctory hello and a banal exchange of pleasantries. Here was her lover talking with her brother across the planet in enthusiastic discourse. She had never felt further apart from her kin geographically or emotionally. Okay, concluded Colin, Ill hop straight to it. He was about to terminate the call when Robert said, Ive just thought of something. And whats that, my boy? If youre right, were only half way through this plague. There are about twenty million sociopaths on the planet already, with another twenty million to come in the next three months. I hadnt thought of it like that, replied Colin. And he terminated the call. When he exited the virtual room he looked shaken. What did he say? asked Vanessa.

Colin looked at her with doleful eyes. Dont travel by the tube, he replied.

CHAPTER 8
The following morning, while Colin continued to slave over his computations in London, Robert called a special meeting in Dixon Street which was attended by Natasha, Constable Ryan, Jasmine and Monique. Alright, said Robert, nervously, carefully looking across the faces assembled before him, Ive gathered you here because Im going to tell you something thats going to shock you. Its going to make life bloody difficult for all of us in the short term and depending on how things run, maybe even impossible in the long run. I dont know. No one spoke, but he certainly had their attention. Im telling you this now, as a group and not you privately, Natasha, because . . . Ive come to think of you lot as a kind of family, to help me get through the family I lost. I know this sounds damn silly and Im sorry if it does, but Ive thought about it and I dont need the impersonality of others right now - I need family. I need you. So Im going to confide a secret to you and Im going to treat you all, regardless of rank, and here he looked at Natasha, whom he knew he should have confided in first, and tell you all a secret I need you to keep, may God strike you down if you dont.

These were fascinating words, particularly to Natasha, who had known Robert for some years and who had never seen him as earnest and heartfelt as this at any time. Robert squeezed his thumb and forefinger together momentarily trapping his lower lip. If Im right, or rather if Sir Colin Dunnett, my brother-in-law is right, by August of this year there will be approximately 40 million sociopathic males upon the Earth, additional to the naturally occurring ones we would have had to contend with anyway. And if this is correct, then that will mean that for every two hundred and fifty people on Earth there will be at least one DNA affected sociopath. No one interrupted and Robert went on to explain why he thought all of this and he even tried, as best he could, to give them the short lesson that Sir Colin had given him. It was rudimentary, but by the end of it, he had made his point clearly. I understand the basic gist of what you are saying, said Jasmine, with a puzzled expression scrawled across her broad, Indian face, but what I am unsure of is the connection between the volcano and the virus. We dont know yet, Jasmine. Thats what Colin is examining now.

And all the DNA is the same? asked Monique, who looked as if she was trying desperately to believe something grossly unlikely to be true. Robert nodded. Constable Ryan was fiddling with his hat and examining it very closely. He looked as if he didnt want to meet Roberts gaze. Robert looked at each of them in turn. He began to realise that the general body language of the group suggested not the support he had hoped for, but rather a kind of silent embarrassment. You dont believe me? I have this on the authority of Sir Colin Dunnett - the foremost authority on viruses on the planet. Robert, said Natasha, standing up and moving to him, we want to believe you but, be honest, would you believe it if someone told you that a volcanic eruption nineteen years ago was turning eighteen year old men into killers? Forty million of them? It does sound like the stuff of science fiction. Robert admitted that it did. But, he emphasised, there is a spike in homicides that no one else can explain. Thats true, Natasha replied, adjusting her rainbow coloured spectacles and settling them towards the end of her small, upturned nose, but that doesnt necessarily mean that

Sir Colin and Vanessa are right about this. Perhaps they want to find the answer in their fields of expertise. We all know how easy it is to find the answer you set out to find. Listen, replied Robert to everyone, I know how crazy this all sounds, but Im telling you, the DNA of forty million men of the same age is close enough to identical. Isnt that enough to convince you something pretty bloody weird is going on? Perhaps if you could show how it happened, added Monique. Robert decided to change tack. Alright, lets just say Im wrong. We already have a massive problem on our hands. Agreed? Everyone nodded. If Im right, the problem is going to double in the next few months. Now, so far youre the only people in the world apart from Sir Colin and my sister that have any idea about this theory. So (a) I want you all to keep it strictly as a secret . . . They all nodded again. . . . and (b) I want Monique to live for the time being with Jasmine, if theyll both agree to that and also I want her to have a crash course in police training to join Richard and me on patrol. Robert, said Natasha, We cant. Shes underage.

He took her by the hand and looked earnestly into her dark eyes. Natasha, the girl has no one else to care for her. Shell be safer with Jasmine at night and with me in a patrol car by day than shell be at school or anywhere else for that matter. People are going to be murdered at an increasing rate. You dont know that. Im right about this. Even if not all of the DNA affected men become killers, theres still going to be a mass of killings. Think about this. The virus isnt going to always show itself precisely on the hosts eighteenth birthday. Many young men are nasty flowers about to bloom. Trust me. Within a few weeks youll be taking every volunteer you can to stem this plague. No one will care for the rulebook. Were going to hell in a hand basket. Natasha looked deeply into Roberts tired eyes. He had a haunted, wan and disturbing appearance. Robert, she said quietly, you dont think you might want to believe all of this because of what happened to your family? I mean, look carefully at yourself - are you sure that youre balanced enough to make good decisions? Robert sighed, Natasha, he replied, Ive never claimed to be balanced, ever, but I really have stumbled upon something here

and Sir Colin Dunnett has verified it. I know that Im on to something. I know that Im right. If he can just find a connection . . . Just then a small young woman of dark complexion and equally dark, frizzy hair popped her head around the corner of the door. Sorry to interrupt, she said, but Sir Colin Dunnetts hologram is waiting for you in the virtual room, detective. Robert looked at his watch. Its very late over there, he said to himself. Then to the others he said, Come on, you lot of sceptics, if you dont believe me, perhaps youll believe a bone fide genius. He left the room quickly, followed by the others who soon found themselves in the virtual room adjusting their headsets. The large frame of Sir Colin Dunnett stood before them. From his point of view five people appeared where he expected to find just Robert. Oh, good morning, he said, adjusting his nightgown. You might have told me I was having visitors, Robert. I would have freshened myself up a bit. This is Natasha, Monique, Jasmine and . . . Richard, added Constable Ryan.

Any news? asked Robert. Have you . . .? asked Colin, with a quick nod of the head to the others. Yes. Ive told them. They dont believe me. The others were about to protest that it wasnt that they didnt believe him it was just that, well, they just didnt believe him, when Colin interjected. Of course they dont believe you, old boy. Who would? Here, let me show you all something. And Colin did his full spiel, by the end of which four worried faces surrounded Robert. Can you show any connection? asked Natasha after a short, thoughtful silence. No. Not yet. You see the trouble is that we dont have any samples of water from the period. But Im pleased to say that my dear wife is at this moment on her way to one of the Spitzbergen glaciers in Iceland to take a core sample. Unfortunately we wont have the results until next week - which means, Robert that were going to have a devil of a time next Monday. Whats happening on Monday? asked Robert. You and I are going to New York to put our case to the Crisis Summit. Its going to

be tricky without direct proof but Im hoping that well make enough of a splash to be taken seriously. The incidence of murder is rising daily but we at least have a theory for why, and lets face it, the stage isnt exactly crowded with contenders for an explanation, is it? I cant afford to jump on a shuttle and meet you in New York, Colin. The department wont pay for it. Were stretched enough as it is. And I certainly cant afford it myself. Never fear, Dunnett is here, he replied with a flourish, holding up four tickets. I have so many frequent shuttle points I dont know what to do with them. Ill leave these in virtual space and you can grab them after we finish talking. I cant take your . . . protested Robert, but Colin waved the air like a man who would not be dissuaded. Uh uh uh, I insist. I cant do it without you. Who are the other two tickets for? asked Robert, who knew his brother-in-law. His stubbornness was legendary. Youll need another police guard and one of your best garden variety psychopaths as evidence. I take it you have a few pent?

Robert nodded. There are a few who didnt succeed in killing themselves. Good. Its settled then. You leave in . . . he looked at a clock, invisible out of hologram shot, a little under twenty four hours. Get some rest. Dont go chasing killers and spraining your ankle or anything. Im relying on you. Now if youll excuse me, I must get some sleep. And he was gone. Robert produced a small metal comb from his pocket, swiped it through the tickets that hung suspended there like a misplaced wallet. They disappeared and he pocketed the tickets now residing in his virtual comb. Natasha, said Robert, give Monique a crash course in how to handle a handgun. Constable Ryan and I are off to New York. And Constable Ryan is going to behave himself, arent you, Richard? Constable Ryan stared straight ahead and nodded. His jaw was hanging slack. It had been for the last five minutes.

CHAPTER 9
The nine am Sunday morning shuttle set down in Central Park right on time. Robert had never been a great traveller, so racing like a madman out of the atmosphere in an oversized bullet, allowing the world to dutifully spin beneath and then dropping back down onto the other side of it less than an hour later like a spent cartridge into the day he had already endured, didnt leave him in the best of moods. The incessant sound of Constable Ryans high-pitched voice asking stupid adolescent questions about North America and the sullen, supercilious reticence of James Dawbney, the mass murderer, did nothing to improve this. By the time he was walking ahead of the constable and the handcuffed killer across the vast concrete square in the middle of Central Park cleared for the shuttles landing, vexed by the extreme humidity of the mid-year weather, he was ready to rip the throat out the first person who said, without meaning it, Have a nice day. Why must I have a nice day? he thought to himself, as he petulantly checked in his handgun with customs. If I dont want to have a nice day, Ill bloody well have an unnice day and be damned. None of this was helped by the fact that Constable Ryan obviously detested the killer

he had in his custody and took every opportunity to push and badger him in spite of Roberts repeated warnings that he would be on the first shuttle back to Sydney if he didnt stop it. But like many young men, of all times and places, Richard Ryan got away with whatever he felt he could manage within the blurred margins of the law. So every so often Robert would hear the killers squeals when an ear was twisted or a gun driven deep into his back to hurry him along. However, surprisingly, the killer didnt say a word for the entire trip, no matter what clandestine treatment the young constable dished out to him. Robert was expecting the boy to use his public outing to express some choice opinions, but no, he had remained silent throughout the flight. This should have pleased the detective but it didnt. If anything it gave him a gnawing sense of disquiet. The boys inscrutability was disturbing. The attractive black woman at the customs table said, Have a nice day, as Robert picked up his handgun and it was only because she was attractive that he didnt explode. Angrily, he grabbed his gun, and followed by his charge and his charges charge, he exited the shuttle lounge for the lower east side of Manhattan.

Are we staying in the Waldorf? asked Constable Ryan as they hailed a little, electric yellow cab. Robert turned with a look of disbelief at the young man. He opened his mouth slightly as if he was a child first attempting speech, but no sound issued forth. As the cab pulled up James laughed at the naivety of the remark. He got his head squashed down and was bustled roughly into the back seat of the cab for his troubles. Ryan realised he had said a stupid thing and tried to save face, Only joking, he chuckled out, followed by a forced embarrassed nasal chortle, but Robert and Dawbney looked straight ahead in knowledge of the truth. This guy was a freshman and no mistake. Robert noticed the overcrowded, multicultural nature of the Sunday morning masses. Every nationality imaginable was represented; every colour; every dress style; every type of higher order primate was there. The streets were full of bazaars, markets and general activity. They were more crowded than Londons and it was relatively early on a Sunday morning. Is it always this busy? asked Robert. The cabbie, a yellow-faced Caucasian of large proportions who smelled of stale sweat

and tobacco, sniffed and twitched his nose as if he had encountered some unknown aroma, Yer kiddin, he snapped out, with an accompanying jerk of his neck, they aint even got started yet. By ten toirty deylbe six deep. You wont get no cab tru here den. Robert wasnt exactly sure what had just been said but he got the general idea. New York was like all other major cities - a cesspool of humanity, flooding between and among buildings and other barricades and settling in a restless, seething morass upon the concrete plastered over the grass. Perhaps Dawbney read Roberts thoughts. He half-sneered, half-smiled with the assuredness of any cult member and whispered, loudly enough to be heard, Too many frogs in the pond. Ryan thumped him in the ribs for this and was berated by Robert for doing so. But the blow was not hard enough to completely wipe the sneer from Dawbneys face. He and Robert caught eyes for an instant. They both knew that he was right. It was mid-year in New York and unbelievably stifling in the cab. Havent you got air conditioning? Robert asked the flaccid man. The flaccid man chewed twice on whatever cud was rolling within his maw, looked

sideways at the new chum and said, Yer. I got air but itll coast ya an extra tweny five dollars. You cant charge for air, bleated Constable Ryan from the back. Ya can in New York, replied the cabbie looking in his rear view mirror with a haughty grin and an exaggerated chew of his gum or tobacco, or whatever it was. Just turn it on, replied Robert with a sigh. And several minutes later the twenty five dollars had been well spent. You have cars over here? asked Constable Ryan. No kiddin? replied the cabbie with a sing-song rise and fall. Robert felt compelled to defend his colleague, What the constable means is that only the very wealthy have motor-powered vehicles in Sydney. Oh yeah, the man chewed out, Well ya see, I know why dat is. My old uncle, rest his soul, used ttell me - downunda dey dont manufacture enough. Dey got so many natral resawses dey jus sell dat tdwoirld. Dey always did. So now, dey got no motors. But we got motors, cos we got General Motors. He laughed at his own wit. Maybe it was an old family joke.

Werent they bought out by the Japanese at the beginning of this century? asked Robert, who was starting to get annoyed at the self-satisfaction of this ignoramus. The cud-chewing giant stopped laughing. Yer, he replied stiffly, but we shifted to electric, like we shouda at the beginnin of the century before dat. It only took General Motors a hundred years tsee their mistake. But at least we manufactured. The belligerence of the last remark shut Robert up. He should have known better than to argue with a New York cab driver. No matter how dumb they were, they were somehow always smarter than you. The journey between the drop pad in Central Park and the police station to which they travelled was not far, but even so, on the way Robert noticed at least three separate skirmishes requiring police intervention. The third of which appeared to be serious. Looks like a murder, said Robert, hoping to elicit some interesting, knowledgeable response from the corpulent cabbie, who was so forthcoming with his opinions. Its like a permanent full moon, he replied. What do you mean? asked Constable Ryan from the rear.

The cabbie looked into his mirror like one who was addressing a child, People go mad on full moons, buddy. Everybody knows dat. And right now, don ask me why, but everybodys goin nuts all the time. Every goddam street I turn down dese days, some guys doin sometin crazy. Heres your stop. He pulled up outside a run-down but previously grand police station. Datll be two hundred and six dollars. Robert shelled out the green money and the three men found themselves thankfully devoid of the opinionated cabbie and walking up the stairs towards the sign which had originally read NYPD but which now read NYBD. Perplexed by this seemingly meaningless piece of graffiti, Robert asked the first uniformed policewoman he saw what the joke was. New York Body Dump, she replied with a toss of the head back towards the station. The womans facial expression suggested that possibly the graffitists werent quite as ignorant as one might suppose. They reached the huge pillars in the forecourt and even from a distance they could hear the incredible consternation coming from within. It sounded like hundreds of offenders were being processed. Inspired by this, Constable Ryan got rougher with his prisoner.

Theres no need to push him, said Robert to the constable as the constable pushed James into the large bustling foyer. The clatter of the boys feet echoed about the unadorned walls of the police station and blended in with the rest of the clattering din. Everywhere were miscreants, no-hopers and young men with dead eyes; their hands cuffed and fastened by sliding chains to a kind of elevated dog run along the walls to which new offenders were being constantly strung like suits in a dry cleaners. The sheer number of them was astounding. A few shouted obscenities which reverberated across the vast space, but most were silent and staring. It was mainly the sliding of their chains and shuffling of their feet that caused the incessant thunder bouncing through the foyer. It was a huge room with high ceilings. The architecture was a leftover from another time when opulence was a possibility even for the common man. Now it was a sad anachronism. The whole place was run down and saggy. Peeling paint and cracks in the cornices betrayed a lack of maintenance; so too did the scuffed floors and grimy counter. Robert reached the counter and was met by a small, frail looking man, with pale skin

and sagging black bags under his expressionless eyes. Robert Greenway to see Detective Daniels! he shouted over the noise. The pale man nodded and gestured Robert to follow him. James was taken away by two guards who were told, in no uncertain terms by Robert, that he was a not to be misplaced. Robert and Richard found themselves in a wreck of an office which had the general appearance of being a room next to which a cartoon bomb had gone off, knocking every item in it, from wall paintings to the desk itself, slightly askew. Everything about it was dirty and dilapidated. On the table was a framed photograph of a man and what, presumably, was his family. There was a teenage boy of dark hue, a well-presented middle-aged West Indian woman and a small, pleasant-faced man, with dark hair and a hunched back who was much smaller than everyone else in the photograph and who bore a striking resemblance to the actor Peter Falk, the brilliant but unorthodox detective in the television series Columbo. Hey, Constable Ryan blurted out, he looks just like . . . Columbo. I know. I know. Aint it a bitch? the man said as he entered the room

with a doughnut in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. You know, until they remastered that damn thing into 3D everyone just called me Jacob. He put down his coffee and his doughnut and shook hands with Robert and Constable Ryan, who looked like he was feeling a little embarrassed by his tactless remark. Hey, dont worry about it, said the small man with a limp-wristed, vertical forward sweep of his hand, Do you know, from the day after they started rerunning that thing, the very day, I ceased to be Jacob. I now answer to Columbo. I even practised the mannerisms, watch this. He did a very good impression of Peter Falk which impressed the constable. Ya like that, huh? Well, I can do the mannerisms but I aint as clever as that guy, otherwise Id have worked out what the hell is goin on around this crazy town right now. Please, sit down. The three men settled themselves. Jacob looked at Robert in expectation of a reply but none was forthcoming. Oh, come on, detective. I know you didnt just drop in from Downunder for a summer vacation. No one needs summer vacations any more coz its so damn hot everywhere you go. You can be honest with me. What brings you to steamy New York?

Were here on confidential business, detective, Robert replied. I cant reveal the nature of our visit just yet because if the media gets hold of it they might turn it into a circus and my job here is going to be hard enough as it is. Come on, you can tell me, said Detective Daniels with a conspiratorial smile. Let me guess. They told me you were bringing in a murderer. Is it something to do with a terrorist cult connection between North America and Australia? I bet money that it was. Oh no, replied Constable Ryan in a passionate flurry, were here to attend the World Summit tomorrow. Robert looked forward and blinked. He was deeply regretting his decision to take pity on the boy. The World Summit, said Jacob with a small whistle to signify that he was impressed. He rested back in his seat. Now I didnt expect you to be here for that. The likes of us dont usually get an invite to fancy functions at that level. Something big must be afoot. Robert pursed his lips and looked sideways at the constable who seemed in no way to understand the annoyance he had caused his superior.

We are attending the Summit tomorrow, Robert confessed, and Id appreciate it if you could keep what Im about to tell you quiet until then? Detective Daniels sat forward with interest and nodded. And Robert went on to explain his discovery and Sir Colins theory as Jacob stood, circled them absent-mindedly as he listened, with his hand in the small of his back, nodding all the while, until Robert had finished. Eventually he said, I gotta hand it to you, detective. That is a magnificent theory. And it does explain a lot. I mean, I realised that most of the killers were young men but I never cross-referenced the birth dates. Very intuitive. And the number of killings is rising steadily. Weve had over two hundred hand gun deaths alone in the past week and thats just in this precinct. But the trouble youre gonna have, he muttered, lost in thought and shaking his finger at one of the walls for no apparent reason, is that no ones gonna want to believe that their son is, or could soon become, a raving psychopath. I mean, look at me, and he picked up the family photograph, my boy is eighteen.

When is he nineteen? asked Robert with concern. In a couple of weeks, replied Jacob, looking fondly at the photograph for a lingering moment before snapping back to conversation. So dont worry, he wasnt conceived during the Dark Earth period so hes in the clear. But what if he had been? I gotta be honest, detective, I know this kid back to front. Id have a hard time believing that he was soon gonna turn into a maniac for no apparent reason without some very firm and unequivocal evidence. I know, replied Robert, but thats exactly what I have to convince a room full of world leaders tomorrow. Good luck, replied Jacob, Ill look after your prisoner for you. And Ill bring him downtown tomorrow morning too. I just hope that between you and this Dunnett guy you can convince the executive. From what I hear, a couple of em are tough nuts to crack. Then, suddenly changing tack he said, Where ya stayin? The Millennium, replied Robert. Come on. Ill take you down, he said. One thing more to consider, said Robert as he stood up. Find out from your son if any of his friends were born in the period of the Dark Earth and tell your wife and female

friends to watch their backs if any of them were. Jacob hesitated for a moment. He pouted and rubbed his thumb and forefinger under his chin and nodded his head slowly and heavily with thought. Then, abruptly, he left the room. He really does look like Columbo, said Constable Ryan, smiling like a star-struck fan and following. Robert let out an exhalation of air and shook his head.

CHAPTER 10
INT.HOTEL ROOM.NIGHT Robert is in bed and tossing fitfully in nightmare. We descend into his dream. A mechanical voice in the darkness is whispering . . . VOICE It is easy to lure the unsuspecting because they do not know the rules of the game. In fact, they dont even know that the game is on. The woman put up more of a struggle. The girl was easier only a teenager. Knocking her out first made strangling the mother simpler. She kicked and tried to scream but I shushed her to sleep. The woman died with her eyes upon her child and her limp outstretched arm towards her; a sculpture perhaps? They were a nice brace of turtle doves, those two - DNA carved into each of their foreheads; locked in deaths embrace. I did it for love, Robert. Robert struggles back to consciousness through the muffled veil of his anguish. He lies, sweating, gritting his teeth in anger. His bedside lamp reads 2:00.

ANGLE ON to the full moon beyond the window. FADE OUT EXT.UNITED NATIONS BUILDING.DAY A reporter stands outside the United Nations headquarters. He speaks to the camera. In the background limousines are stopping. They are surrounded by reporters wielding microphones and flashing cameras. Men in suits can be seen stepping out of the limousines and into the media melee. REPORTER (MIKEY) Here at U.N. Headquarters world leaders have gathered to try to come up with a multiregional solution to the growing epidemic of murder presently gripping the planet. In the past three months it is estimated conservatively that no fewer than seven million murders have been committed worldwide, way up on the seasonal average. With that number rising and with no end to the crisis in sight, let's hope these discussions prove fruitful. John? He throws to an anchor man in the studio. JOHN

Thanks, Mikey. Let's hope so. Tell me, we've heard rumours that Sir Colin Dunnett will be attending the summit and that he has a theory about all of this? He throws back to the reporter. MIKEY Yes, that's right, John. Sir Colin Dunnett, who you will remember saved the world from the plague of 2039, is reportedly attending the summit today. But as to what he has to offer, we have no idea. John? JOHN Thanks, Mikey. In other news, Madonna who turns 101 in August has had to cancel yet another tour due to ill health . . . * The organisational structure of the old United Nations had been abandoned a decade before when it had become apparent that demographic changes had made it redundant. Everyone still referred to the international body as the U.N. by force of habit, but its official title was now World Council for International and Regional Affairs. This bodys executive was known as the Supreme Head. It comprised of only five representatives. It still met in the old Security Council wing of the U.N. building

and in this chamber decisions of international security were still debated. It was three in the afternoon when Robert left Constable Ryan in the waiting room to annoy two of New Yorks finest police officers. Escorted by military guards, Robert entered the labyrinth of rooms. He turned one last corner and there was Colin. Aha, said Colin, coming towards him with his hand outstretched. Hello, Robert. Weve not talked in the flesh for some years. How are you? Reasonable, Robert replied as he shook Colins hand. But Ill be better when all of this is over. Whats happening? No change, Im afraid, replied Colin as the two men were ushered down a long, ornate but weathered corridor towards a tall mahogany door at its far end. Ive not talked to Vanessa. Shes still up in Iceland. They reached the door and the escorts, resplendent in white dress uniforms, peeled away either side of it and stood to attention. Colin, followed by Robert, entered the large, previously magnificent chamber. The murmur of the chamber hit them as soon as they passed the guards and it continued to grow as they trod across the unpolished wooden floor towards the centre of the high-

roofed room. A long oblong, wooden table awaited them there, at which sat three men and two women, surrounded by a horseshoe of chairs. There were one hundred and fifty people in those chairs. They appeared to be divided into five sections of thirty fanning out, away and behind each of the five representatives seated at the central table, as if five stones had been dropped into a pond and each had created its own distinct wake. Each of the people stationed at the table now stood to welcome Robert and Colin. Each representative was of at least middle years and some looked a deal older. Each had in front of them a plaque bearing their position. The first impression Robert had was that they had been positioned from left to right in order of bulk, for the man to the very left was barely a man at all but more an emphasised midget. His title was Representative for Commerce. His diminutive frame was swamped by a jaundiced complexion and emphasised by sunken cheeks. Beside him was the Representative for Science. He was a bigger man, though still of small proportions. Had he been a jockey his colleagues would have called him big. He was round faced, friendly looking and stocky for his height. He was rubicund and he smiled

welcomingly. The third was bigger still. This was a fearsome looking woman who was of about Roberts dimensions (about six foot and two hundred pounds on the old scale) and who looked like she could have gone a dozen rounds with Ali. She was perhaps from the Balkans, judging from her rugged complexion, had a strongly built frame, a noticeably hairy upper lip and a large mole on the left side of her face. She represented The Arts. The next, a woman, was corpulent beyond usual reckoning. She was not so much big in the sense of strong but just big in the sense of fat. She was fairer than her next door neighbour and prettier for all of her excess flesh. It struck Robert, as he sat, that the woman appeared to have dropped from the sky and landed like a semi-solid puddle onto the seat she now occupied. She represented The Civil Service. And lastly, well there are no words for the size of the man. Gargantuan is probably closest. Ursine and broad-chested, fair-skinned and squarejawed, he epitomised The Military he represented: uncompromising, tough and seemingly indestructible. He was younger than the others, perhaps in his late-forties. He wore military brown and sported four star epaulettes. As Robert and Colin settled into their seats the man seemed to be eyeing Colin

suspiciously. In Roberts estimation he most closely represented a real life but sinister Roger Ramjet. Greetings, said the corpulent woman, who had surprisingly short vocal chords for such a large neck. Her vocal pitch bordered on falsetto. Thank you, replied Colin courteously, wiggling his bottom in the seat to gain advantage of the cushion. The arms of the chair were less than amply spread and he only just fitted into their embrace. He was secretly concerned that when he needed to stand he might well pick the entire chair up with him. You have a theory to propose, I believe, Sir Colin? the orbicular faced Representative for Science asked with a smile. Yes, indeed, replied Colin with a small harrumph to clear his throat. Robert could sense Colins nervousness, though Colin concealed it well. If you could please all place on your glasses ladies and gentlemen, I shall endeavour to convince you of a rather fantastic theory. The crowd did so and Colin stood up (without the chair attached he was pleased to note). They were treated to a visual display of dazzling colour and sound. Colin rather

prided himself on his 3D audio/visual treats and this was one of his best. Accompanied by his recorded voice, furiously spiralling double-helixes were shot out from behind the viewers visual field and sped away like tracer bullets into the imaginary ether; one moment the audience was within the barrelling, barging, unimaginable speeding chaos of a single cell, the next they were shot up to the moon in lassos of DNA that swung the moon about in humorous animation. The crowd even laughed. No time to reflect, as the unlikelihood of 40,000,000 matches flashed in urgent 3D, suspended in the rooms centre and after that, a blinding flash of white and a single number floating there: 7,345,674 the number of people killed in recent murders across the globe. Then the dangling numerals sucked themselves back in like a black hole and were gone. The delegates removed their headsets and sat in silence. A conventional two dimensional projection appeared upon a screen behind Colin. These were gruesome visuals, too violent for three dimensional presentation; images of streets flowing with the blood of the innocent. No country, no region, no town had been spared. These were sanguine reminders of mans awfulness; reminders of mans tragedy when he

attempts to emulate the mindless violence of the stars. Above these images Colin chose not to speak. No words were necessary. One hundred thousand people may perish beneath a bomb, but show a crying mother or father, a bloodied shoe and a child without a leg and the donations will flow in. Colin worked on the emotion of the crowd and by the end of his show there were few dry eyes amongst the audience. There was silence for perhaps ten seconds and it seemed that Colins audio/ visual symphony had lulled them all, until a mouth beneath two dry eyes spoke up with a voice as dry, as strident, and as angry as the desert wind. Do you expect us to believe, boomed the massive military man with a savage Texan twang, that due to some unknown cause nearly forty million young men either have or will become killers sometime during the course of this year? Yes, replied Colin. The huge Texan turned half side on to the many people seated behind him and with a snide smile said, Ecclesiastes states theres nothing new under the sun, people, but I swear that bag of bullshit just dropped from another dimension.

This got a big laugh from the military contingent behind the general. He turned back around smugly to meet Colins unflappable gaze. Robert wanted to get out of his chair and throttle the haughty, pretentious bastard; although he doubted whether he had the ability to do so. One punch from that behemoth and it would be lights out. Please, intervened the jaundiced little Representative for Commerce in a soft South American accent. There is no need for blasphemy, general. At this, the smile departed the generals face, Dont talk to me about blasphemy! he belted. You will find no more pious man than me in this entire chamber! No one is questioning your piety, general, interjected the round-faced man for Science. He sounded like he had been educated in England, but you might perhaps curb your swearing in this chamber. Well, colleagues, he replied with exaggerated disdain, I just find it a little difficult to sit in this hallowed chamber and listen to such nonsense. Show some respect for the man who rid the human race of viruses, piped up Robert in Colins defence, since Colin looked like he had no intention of buying in to the argument. The general became openly hostile, And who are you, sir, to even appear in this house?

I am Detective Greenway, Robert replied, and I have been helping Sir Colin Dunnett form his hypothesis. No. Ill tell you what you are, sir, youre a helping boy, peddling faulty goods. Robert detested this parody of a military man but he curbed his tongue and instead replied, Youre quite right, general. Thats exactly what Im doing. Bring in James Dawbney. The message was relayed to an adjacent room and soon, into the stony silence of the meeting room and through the invisible animosity criss-crossing the air, stepped the mass murderer. He had no spring in his gait; no zest in his demeanour and no expression in his eyes. He was led in by Jacob and Constable Ryan. All three men moved over to one side of the central table. Dawbney sat between the other men, who remained standing. This man, Robert explained, is a mass murderer of innocent people. He has never been in any trouble with the police before and he has shown no remorse for his actions. Play the film, please. The lights dimmed and a projection of a three dimensional home video filled the space before the congregation. Robert and Colin had to turn to watch it. It was unremarkable footage. It showed a younger James playing with friends and celebrating various occasions in his life. The penultimate shots were taken at his

seventeenth birthday and they showed a happy, friendly young man who was obviously well taken care of and who loved his family. The final sequence was from a news report documenting and showing the carnage Dawbney had wrought upon eight innocent victims. At length the footage ceased and the lights were returned. What is the significance of this? asked the bovine Representative for the Arts. She turned out to be from the former Soviet Union, judging from her husky, thick accent. Robert asked Dawbney, Could you tell this committee your name and state the reason for your actions in killing those people? Dawbney looked at Robert with brittle disassociation. He then looked at the assembly and in a quiet but definite voice stated, My name is James Dawbney and I did what I did because there are too many frogs in the pond. What do you mean? asked the obese, sallow Representative for The Civil Service. I mean, Dawbney replied evenly, that there are too many people on this planet. I played my part and eradicated a few. What do you mean you played your part? asked the Representative for Science. Dawbney looked at him with great puzzlement, as if it was beyond comprehension

that the question even had to be asked. You, of all people should understand this, Mister Scientist. Its not about us, he replied, with the minor upturning of a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. I dont understand, said the fat woman. Its very simple, he replied, adjusting his lanky frame in his chair and raising his height in the process. Life has nothing to do with us, except that we possess it. In the great scheme of things we are but an outgrowth; a wart. He smiled again, evidently enjoying the wart/frog association that had so suddenly crystallised in his mind. Youre talking nonsense, son, the military man blustered out. We were put on Earth by God almighty as stewards of this planet. Life is solely about us and our dominion over it. The young man let out a howl of derision, which was met with such a howl of fury from the general, that Robert and Colin feared the man would flood across the Security Council floor like a pan handle tornado and rip the boy apart. Dont you dare laugh at me or at the almighty, boy! the general yelled, standing up and arrowing a stiff index finger firmly in the direction of the young man.

James Dawbney erupted into even more laughter at this and it took some stern remonstrations from the generals colleagues to stop him from vaulting the desk and throttling the boy. He was lightly and physically restrained from doing so by the Representative for the Arts, the only person in the chamber who seemed even close to powerful enough to achieve it. He sat with a black cloud of hatred sweeping scudding rain above his head. Dawbney shook his head, Kill me if you like, general. It makes no difference. In fact, it would help. You see, the day of reckoning is coming. The general drew his head back at this. Ah, I see Ive struck a chord. Yes, general, the end of days approaches. Is that what you want to hear? asked the boy, amused but starting to charge up now, sitting forward, his fine-featured, pale face flushed with blood, his blond hair awry upon his forehead. Yes, thats the key for you, isnt it? Well, youll be pleased to know it is coming - a tide of biblical proportions. At least your book was right about that. But its not coming as you expected it, general. It never does, does it? You never hear the bullet that kills you. The citizens of Earth never felt a ripple as the seed of the

catastrophe was sewn. Armageddons coming, general, in a way you never expected and for a reason you cant imagine because youre book will not allow you the luxury of thought outside of its perimeter. Youre speaking in riddles, boy, the general returned. But he looked uncertain as he reclined into his chair and eyed the boy with increased interest. Am I? Dawbney replied with a warped expression, as though he had just smelled something repulsive. Am I speaking in riddles? Like Nostradamus or the Bible? Then let me give you more: In the days to come, Sons will kill mothers And fathers kill sons. In the days ahead, The tenure of Adam and Eve shall be dead. Again he laughed like a madman. Mister Dunnett, barked out the Representative for Science, who seemed to have lost his jocular countenance, this chamber is not a comedic hall. If you must present evidence for your argument you had better do better than this . . . this . . featherbrained child.

I must concur, added the fat woman. He makes no sense. He is wasting our time. Featherbrained, am I? shouted Dawbney with a sudden rush of outrage. He sat fully forward and fully flushed. Listen to me, you overgrown heifer! You have grown fat, he motioned across the silent room, all of you have grown fat from the bounty of this Earth! But it must stop now! It must stop! His words were so stentorian and emphatic that only the walls dared reply to them. I am the first wave of the tsunami. Your time has come. You have failed the double helix and your stairway to heaven has led you instead towards hell. You are an experiment but you have failed. You have failed and you must be terminated for the good of life. Dawbney sat back in his chair and stared above the crowd as if they were not even present. After a while of silence the large woman for the Arts said, Sir Colin, in spite of your presentation here today, I see no good reason to suppose that your assertions are correct. I see no association between the recent spate of murders and the DNA hypothesis you assert. I concur, added the small representative for Commerce. Your nebulous comments that blame the period of The Dark Earth for the

DNA anomaly are most creative, but without conclusive proof, they are nothing more than that. To this the Science representative added, While it is true that the hypothesis is interesting, it can have no credence unless it is supported by more than just an uncanny set of numbers. Then perhaps you will listen to that support. The voice came from the doorway. It was Vanessa. She had a small bundle of paper in her hand. But I warn you all, youre not going to like it.

CHAPTER 11
Who is this? asked the Arts representative in the most Soviet tone she could manage. Colin stood, This is my wife, madam. She is a vulcanologist and I assume bears some interesting material? Colins searching gaze soon told him that he had nothing to worry about. She had come through, yet again. He could always rely on old Vanessa, (although for some reason she never liked it when he called her that). This is not an open day, Dunnett, protested the general, as Vanessa made her way purposefully across the floor towards the group. Open day? she retorted with her eyes afire. Dont patronise me, colonel, or whatever you are. Ive spent the last few days foraging through the retracting glaciers of Iceland. The globe may have warmed but its still bloody cold up there and Im not in the mood to be patronised. No one mentioned or censured Vanessas blasphemy. Perhaps it was her mellifluous English accent which made such words almost natural and almost pleasant, but more likely it was the I dare you fire she had burning like oil lamps in her eyes.

At any rate when she reached Colin he gave her a gentle peck on the cheek and said simply, Hello, dear. Lovely to see you. She always had a smile for him but there was something else in her expression. Colin noted that she was dishevelled and that she looked tired but there was something else also. It was in her eyes. Whats wrong? he asked, taking her hand lightly. Some sixth sense had whispered to him, so he whispered to her. Vanessa, what is it? She whispered privately in reply, We both agree that the truth is the most important objective of science in spite of individual reputations; even our own? She asked him this with such earnestness that he felt a ripple, a shiver, run down the length of his spine. Yes, of course, Vanessa, but . . . Very well, she said and then she turned to the five representatives seated before her and to the various related officers fanning away behind each. Ladies and gentlemen, she began, I am tired. I am cold. I am irritable. But I am here. And to be honest, Id rather be somewhere else because I am here to bring you bad news. Everything my husband has told you is correct. It is right here. And she waved about a single piece of paper from her small

bundle. Not as impressive as a 3D audio/ visual presentation, but significant, nonethe-less. The figures on this sheet represent the snap-frozen details of planet Earths water cycle for the last ten million years, or at least their key moments of transition. Think of rings in a tree showing its age and you have something of the flavour of it. We drive a cylinder down into the ice and pull out a sample. By examining the sample we can determine how much precipitation fell at any given time within the period and we can also determine its composition. And here is the interesting thing. At semi-regular intervals throughout the worlds histories there have been major volcanic eruptions as I am sure you are all aware and these, of course, affect the sample. When Yellowstone went up over 640,000 years ago, for instance, there is a discernable ring showing the excess ash in the water for that period. And youll no doubt be less than surprised to find that our recent eruption, nineteen years ago, unremarkable though it was by geological standards, shows up quite clearly in the glacial records. Now here is where the story gets interesting. She paused for a moment and looked towards her husband, who looked back at her, a

mixture of admiration and perplexity upon his soft English face. When we examine these eruptions we sometimes note an abundance of bacteria within any given ring. These are not surprising, considering that the interior of the Earth is excessively old and is, in effect, a submerged geological history of this planet. Im sure you can imagine, delegates, that over the course of billions of years many asteroids and much rocky matter has pummelled the Earth and that this must have brought with it foreign matter from far off places to settle upon the crust of the Earth, which naturally was subsumed by the process of weather and of time and the constituent parts of that matter settled into the Earth. It has happened over and over again but this time . . . she paused, this time when the bacteria hidden in the interior of the Earth was spewed out and over its crust, by sheer chance, it seems, it found a catalyst with which to bind. It found the freshly inoculated men my husband had protected from viral infection. It found a clean slate. It somehow affected the DNA for as long as the bacteria stayed in the water cycle of the world and it transformed the sperm of men for that period into a harbinger of death. It changed the genetic code so that

all those male children conceived for the period of the Dark Earth were tainted with a genetic time bomb set to go off eighteen years later. And the explosion has just begun. With these words the congregation erupted. Over the immense uproar Vanessa looked at Colin as if to apologise. He returned her gaze. Are you sure? his gaze said. Yes, her gaze replied. I must have order! yelled the Representative for Commerce over the din and at length, the noise subsided. Please continue, Doctor Greenway. I wish to understand more completely what you are suggesting. Somehow, she continued, a bacteria from the interior of the Earth, that has probably been there for hundreds of millions of years, surfaced eighteen years ago and would probably have had no effect and gone unnoticed had it not been for the fact that my husband had discovered a way to protect humans from viruses and the majority of people on Earth had just been inoculated with anti-viral serum. This bacterium has seized an advantage temporarily given and has made some sort of evolutionary correction. It is an attempt by nature to curb an overproductive species. It infected the

inoculated hosts, who then conceived DNA mutated offspring. This is a sudden jump of evolutionary proportions. And its happening right now. And you can prove this scientifically? asked the Science representative. The remainder of this paper has been hastily prepared by my colleagues and Im certain will be verified and better understood by my husband. She looked down at her small parcel of paper and then askance to Colin, who quietly placed his hand upon hers to reassure her that he was alright. It explains the technicalities, she concluded. And she sat. Through all of this, Jacob and Constable Ryan had stood transfixed Ryan, in particular, had listened to the whole thing with his mouth slightly open and had, in fact, dribbled. Robert had listened with interest to Vanessa but through her whole explanation had held his eyes fast upon the general. He watched the big mans expression carefully, trying to discern what mischief nestled there. He sensed some malicious intent in the repulsive giant. When Vanessa had finished her speech, the massive general stirred like an irate bear and sat fully forward. If what you say is true, miss, he emphasised the miss and

used it as an insult, then your husband is responsible, not only for what has happened, but also for what will happen, and that potentially makes him a mass murderer of unprecedented proportions. Some people, it seems, replied Vanessa, seem intent on finding the cloud wrapped around the silver lining. You enjoy a virus free life thanks to Sir Colin, general, added Robert. We all do. I tire of your insolence, son, the massive man replied with a furrowed brow and an ugly sneer upon his exaggerated face. You have no place in this chamber and I will thank you to keep your opinions to yourself! What I say is true and he knows it! He cocked his thumb in the direction of Sir Colin in an unnecessarily rude manner. Vanessa rankled and was about to reply when Colin stopped her with a soft touch of his hand. There is no need to be antagonistic, general. No good ever came from recriminations. What we need is a solution. And what would you suggest? asked the general with a sarcastic leer. That we establish, as a matter of urgency, centres across the globe where any young man conceived during the period of The Dark Earth be detained, hospitalised if

necessary and observed until we can either find a cure or a palliative for his condition. The room exploded with noise and it took the Soviet woman some time to quell it. The logistics of what you suggest are of staggering proportions, she said over the simmering din. It would take unprecedented co-operation across the planet to achieve that, added the Science representative. His ruddy hue was more pronounced than usual as he rolled the logistics around in his head. True, replied Colin, but then again, the situation is unprecedented, is it not? Extraordinary times require extraordinary measures. Not to mention massive funds that this world body does not currently possess, added the diminutive man for Commerce. I remind you, Sir Colin, that since national economies no longer exist, this body is responsible for the entire economy of the world. We simply do not have the resources to house and nurse so many million men. We cannot afford what you ask. We must afford it, Colin responded. We have no rational alternative that I can see. What kind of pissant solution is that? blustered the general, raising himself in his

chair like a barely contained cobra, his neck strained from the rising venom. His voice thundered, You are responsible for this disaster and that is the best solution you can come up with? The day of the Lord cometh, people, and this man has proved himself unequal to the task. He waved an admonishing finger at Colin. Mark my words, all of you gathered here today, the ways of the Lord are mysterious and beyond our understanding. Perhaps this man, in his folly, was sent by God almighty to create these conditions in preparation for Jehovahs great will. What on Earth are you talking about? asked Colin, with a brow so furrowed that it seemed to almost press his eyes into a single disc. Merely that we both do the Lords work, he replied with a sinister smile, For I too have a solution to our little problem. And what is that? asked the Representative for Civil Service, her flaccid cheeks wobbling with the sideways jerk of her neck. I propose that we let these boys do what nature intended. Let me guess, said Vanessa, who had quickly gauged the measure of the belligerent leviathan, youre going to have them all killed.

Not quite, he responded with a haughty flash of his dark grey eyes, I propose that they kill themselves. This statement met with a booming response from the entire congregation. The ranks of the assembly erupted, as assemblies are wont to do. Robert, Colin and Vanessa looked stunned. Jacob and Constable Ryan looked puzzled and the other four members of the executive looked to the large general for an explanation. James Dawbney, alone of all the people in that chamber, smiled. For a brief moment while the tide of unrest rippled through the meeting, he locked eyes with the general and some silent understanding passed between them. Explain yourself, General Bryant, said the Representative for Science. His usually affable face had long since lost its friendly lustre. Its simple. I say we gather up these boys, break them into two armies, give them some weapons and dump them in an uninhabited part of the world where they can blow the crap out of each other. There was a momentary silence which Vanessa filled. You are joking, she replied with a small gust of disbelief.

Why not? You said it yourself, Dunnett these are extraordinary times and they warrant extraordinary measures. You provided me with the example, detective, he sneered at Robert. Your mass murderer here made my point for me there are too many frogs in the pond and we could do with a little culling. This is not a time for bleeding hearts. Our women and our children are being murdered at an ever-increasing rate. If what you say is true, that will get much worse very soon. You cant just send young men out to kill and be killed, said Colin. He almost laughed with the self evidence of his remark and he did laugh in disbelief at the stoic countenance of the big man staring back at him. He was actually serious. My solution has several advantages, continued the general, as if no protest had even been raised, one, it removes the threat - they can blaze away at each other in some faraway place and leave us the hell alone; two, it culls our numbers, as the good Lord obviously intended; three its quick; and four, and most importantly, its cheap. The main cost is transportation. Apart from that, give em guns and ammo and leave em to it. Hell, most of the boys in Texas and the

southern states have got their own weapons anyhow. So theres another savin. Silence draped over the room. General Bryant puffed out his lips and looked from side to side, in expectation of response. I repeat, said Colin patiently, you cannot simply send out young men to kill one another. The suggestion is absurd. Why not? countered Bryant. Its what weve always done. When you think of it, Dunnett, of all the key methodologies and aggregations of man represented here at this executive table: the sciences, the arts, the public, the private sectors and the military - we do the last the best. Men may trade and profit, men may think and they may feel, but above all else there is one thing all men do best - they look after their own interests, cos when you think of it son, without that, the rest is kind-a-meaningless. Thats why I love military solutions. Theyre quick. Theyre effective, when executed properly, they represent the true nature of man and they create employment opportunities for many young men. Spoken like a man without children, said Jacob. This comment, coming from the bench, had the effect of stopping Bryant in his tracks. He was gobsmacked for a moment that the

small, bent man in the light tan mackintosh should even consider speaking. It took all of the wind from his sails momentarily and he hit the doldrums long enough for Robert to interject. Tell me this, General Bryant, he stated, standing in defiance, if you were like Detective Daniels here, and you had a son who might have to fight for his life in this manufactured conflict of yours, would you send him? If I did have a son, replied Bryant angrily and flinching as if the admission had stung him, then yes, I would sacrifice him for the greater good and the glory of God. Then it is well that you do not have a son, said Vanessa, staring back at him from the depths of her seat for he would have a father unworthy of that title. General Bryant was incensed by this comment and stood in retaliation, How dare you? How dare you, madam, come into this chamber and make such remarks to me? Please sit down, general, said the fat woman. I will not sit down! boomed General Bryant, who was rapidly working himself up into a furore of evangelical rage. It is Gods will I represent! I am Gods minion upon the Earth and I say unto you, unto all

of you, and here he swept his arm and upper torso in a broad all-embracing arc. This is the hour of the testing of mankind. This poor man, and he pointed at Colin who looked back at him over his criss-crossed fingers with a degree of fascination, has been used as a tool for God Almightys great design. He has shown us the way, children, the way towards the light. Some will die in the fiery furnace, but in that great crucible will be fashioned a new world springing from the ashes of the old like a great rising phoenix. The Lord give us praise! Amen, brothers! Amen! Some voices, through years of rote, replied Amen from the gallery. Vanessa and Colin, both of whom were seated with one arm across their chest and one hand cupped over their upper lip in amazement, looked at one another with widened eyes. Suddenly, Robert said boisterously, Alright. I give up. Where is it? Where is what? snarled the general returned, but still high from his selfinduced zeal. The hidden camera. Come on, general. You really had us going there for a while. Robert smiled to further infuriate the behemoth.

You will not mock me, muttered the giant to himself. He swang out from behind the desk and took three sweeping paces toward Robert who showed no sign that he would budge. All at once everyone was standing and a tumultuous noise flooded the room. Vanessa jumped up and stood in maternal impulse in front of her younger brother, impeding the path of the huge man. Robert and General Bryant stood only a metre apart with Vanessa between them. The representatives from the council were all yelling vociferously for Bryant to stop and that this was a house dedicated to world control and not a boxing ring. It was utter, confused chaos. Bryant looked above Vanessa and down upon Robert. She could feel the hot breath emanating from his nostrils. Colin stood shoulder to shoulder with Robert and had the impression that, had he wished to, the ursine man could have swiped Vanessa clean out of the way with his massive paw, clearing the way towards Robert. But the immediate danger had passed. Bryant breathed heavily, his nostrils quivering and his eyes ablaze, but he showed no sign of physical attack. Vengeance is mine, I will repay, sayeth the Lord, whispered Bryant to Robert and Colin under the cloak of the chamber

noise. We have all sinned and we must be punished. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good, replied Robert, dredging up a small gem from Sunday school. But the meeting had been breached and everyone sensed that it was over. Bryant backed away, looking from Colin to Robert as if he was deciding which one to kill first. They stood their ground but they did not bother resuming their seats. Through all of this, James Dawbney had smiled and revelled. And as the meeting broke up and Colin and his party departed, it was Dawbney who tarried for a moment to cast a meaningful eye towards Bryant. Bryant returned the gaze and nodded some secret affirmation before retreating to his quarters. As he reached the edge of the room, he whispered something into the ear of one of the guards, who nodded. Bryant turned one last time like a temporarily defeated bear and stared daggers at the space which Robert, Vanessa and Robert had just vacated, before storming away in giant but purposeful strides of anger. It had been quite a session. No one could remember such passion in the chamber. A decision had to be made and so the game of politics began. Colin said later that he

could almost hear the chess pieces positioning themselves as he departed the Security Council that day. As she left, Vanessa was worried about how her husband would react once the full ramifications of her findings fully dawned upon him; Robert was in a silent, white fury and was imagining smashing General Bryants teeth down his oesophagus; Jacob was keen to tell his family what had happened and the constable? Well, he was just glad to be a part of it all. He just kept shaking his head and saying: How big is that guy? * At the same time, in southern Sydney, someone covered from head to toe in underclothes of plastic, broke into an apartment and carefully opened a packet of twenty five candles. One by one they replaced each of the candles with replicas of their own. They sealed up the packet and withdrew.

CHAPTER 12
And Im telling you, Robert, they will, replied Colin. Surely theyll see the ridiculousness of the proposal? Robert replied, reclining once again into his comfortable lounge chair and noticing once again what a beautiful city he sat above. Do you really think so, Colin? asked Vanessa, looking troubled and switching focus between her lover and her brother. Undoubtedly, replied Colin. The Arts and the Sciences will agree with us, but the bureaucracy and the commercial representatives will see the sense in Bryants proposal. The world simply cant afford it. Cheers. And they all drank some fine wine. I dont get it, said Constable Ryan, who was somehow always a yard from the ball, if we can prove that our theory is right then surely theyll see the sense in what Sir Colin said. Oh, my young friend, replied Colin, if your parents were alive would they let you be taken under lock and key if you hadnt done anything wrong and had showed no signs of doing so? No, theyd resist with every bone in their bodies and I wouldnt blame them. I

might even do the same for my son, if I had one. They wouldnt let me go to war either. Fair comment, conceded Colin, but democracies have the power to conscript if they wish. They dont have the right to imprison an individual without cause, but they can imprison an individual if he refuses to fight for their cause. It gives them cause. Its one of the quaint anomalies of civilisation. It presupposes that the controlling elite know what theyre doing and whats best for the whole. Parents wont let their children go, Colin, retorted Vanessa who was growing flushed with wine, fatigue and annoyance. But will they have any choice, darling? asked Colin, who sensed his wifes growing chagrin and was keen that it did not blossom. You see, laws are always difficult to enforce at the best of times but when the law seems unjust, theyre impossible to enforce. You will have very little chance of getting parents to hand over their loved sons but, he placed down his wine and sat forward, will you have as much trouble getting those sons to fight? They may well volunteer. Especially if theyre infected with a desire to kill.

He sat back, having made his point. Vanessa and Robert sipped thoughtfully on their wine and the constable looked confused. But I dont want to fight, he protested. No you dont, Colin responded, but you were fortunate enough to be conceived outside of the Dark Earth Period. Otherwise youd become exactly like Dawbney and those other killers. Ill never be like Dawbney, Richard replied vehemently. Im not a killer. You see the problem? said Colin. Under normal circumstances people dont just change and so people find it hard to accept that its going to happen in this instance, but these are hardly usual circumstances. I wont, protested Richard. Its alright, boy. Its alright, Robert said, laughing and patting the young man on the back. You gotta try to listen more closely. Vanessa listened as Robert chatted with Richard and patiently explained, again, that although, yes, James was a killer, he was also sick and that he must try to bear that in mind. After all it was only but for the grace of God and a few months that Richard himself was not infected. And as she listened, her heart went out to her brother. She had a revelation that for all of his

bluster and feigned indifference to the world, her brother had a good heart and truly cared for the boy. She realised also that perhaps it was she who had been heartless and less than sensitive after the death of Roberts family. She had visited him once for the funeral, but had never visited him since. Maybe the distance between them was more of her making than of his. After Roberts kind words and assurances from Colin, Richard relaxed more into his chair. A little later there was a knock at the hotel door. The visitor turned out to be Jacob. He had brought his son, Rueben with him. Rueben was a fine looking young man with gorgeous, dark coffee-coloured skin, inherited from his West Indian mother. He had strikingly handsome features, was slender and strong. He was quite a contrast to his bent, pallid father. Just popped in to say goodbye and have a safe journey, said Jacob. Delighted to have your company, replied Robert with a shake of Jacobs hand. Please sit down. The evening was all the more salubrious for the visit. Colin and Jacob seemed to hit it off nicely and Robert and Jacob had much in common.

You must come down and visit us sometime, said Robert, once this has all blown over. Or you could come across the Atlantic and live in England for a while, suggested Colin. Youd probably never want to come back. Jacob laughed. Thanks anyway, fellas, but New York is my home town. Yes but the trouble is, Robert replied, there are thirty five to forty million people in the greater New York area and only twelve to fifteen in Sydney. We have fewer psychopaths than you. Thats a good point, mumbled Jacob, scratching his chin and nodding his head, but I guess that means there are a lot more potential victims here too, huh? Colin smiled and Robert saluted Jacob with his glass and the three men drank. Your Dads great, whispered Richard to Rueben. Thanks, Rueben replied uncertainly. Do you know him well? Oh yeah. I like him best in the one where the bad guy puts subliminal cuts in the film showing soft drinks, so that the victim gets thirsty and then the killer gets them when they go for a drink.

Um, replied Rueben, unsure of what Richard was going on about. It must be great having Columbo for a Dad. Rueben hesitated for a second and then the lights switched on. Oh, he replied with a broad smile, why yes, yes it is. Hes a great Dad. I wish my Dad was still alive, said Richard sadly. Rueben left his hand on Richards back a moment longer. What had started as joviality had suddenly become compassion. The two young men smiled at one another and the friendship was sealed. Ruebens going to be a counsellor, like his mother, said Jacob, obviously proud of his only son. Well that may come in handy, replied Robert, because I think youll have quite a few customers in the months and possibly years ahead. The night was a pleasant one. At length, after Jacob and Rueben had left and Richard had gone to bed, Colin, Robert and Vanessa had one for the road. With or without funds, Colin confided, I intend to lobby the university to create facilities for any young men who are prepared to check themselves in to lockup on campus.

If we can talk them into it, replied Vanessa. I think youll find that after this thing really starts to gain momentum some parents and their sons will see the sense in it; especially if the alternative is dying on a battlefield, mused Colin. Well save as many as we can. Im sorry I had to come and soil your name publicly like that, said Vanessa sadly, placing her hand upon Colins. Nonsense, darling. Nonsense, he replied. No, you did what you had to. The truth is more important than appearances. Chase integrity, not image. He stretched his back and yawned ferociously. Well, Im off to bed. Goodnight. He kissed Vanessa. Goodnight, mate, he attempted a poor Aussie accent on the mate, smiled and shook hands with Robert. This left brother and sister to finish the bottle above the lights of Manhattan. Back home to fight crime? she asked after a considerable silence. Yeah, he replied with a sigh. Wheres this all going to end do you think, sis? Vanessa tried not to show it, but she was overjoyed to be asked her opinion. Robert rarely ever did do. He was always so selfcontained.

I dont know, she replied uncertainly, but all we can do is act in the name of kindness and do as Colin says - save as many as we can. Robert nodded thoughtfully. Im sorry Ive been so hard to communicate with, Van, he said quietly, but I do love you. He smiled weakly at her but it was all she needed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and together they hugged. No more words were spoken; none were needed - both of them knew the dire straits they were about to cross. Millions of amoral murderers were emerging like flowers in spring; millions already awakened and millions more to come.

CHAPTER 13
INT.LOUNGE ROOM.NIGHT A gathering of fifteen young women. One wears a tiara. It is shaped above her forehead into the number 25. Others cheer as she prepares to blow out the candles on her birthday cake. She blows them out all in one go, much to the applause of her friends. No sooner has the fire turned to smoke than one by one, in quick succession, the young women swoon and drop to the floor. The candle smoke is still rising as we CUT TO: A hand inside a plastic glove turns the handle of a door. FADE OUT EXT.APARTMENT BUILDING.NIGHT A reporter stands outside of an apartment building. In the background, a gathering of onlookers can be seen jostling to peer over police tape. Covered bodies can also be seen being carried from the building. REPORTER

Another killing in the outer west of Sydney makes fifty in the last week for the Fairfield area alone. In this latest attack, fifteen young women were brutally murdered as they were celebrating a friends twenty-fifth birthday. Police have cordoned off the scene and are currently awaiting the forensic division. * Roberts shuttle landed onto the Mascot pad in the cool, tropical evening. Immediately, he managed to shake off Constable Ryan. He sent him home for some well-earned rest. At least, that was his excuse. Though one part of his heart had warmed to the boy, another found him incredibly irritating. Dawbney had been detained by the military police in New York for questioning, so for the time being, Robert was free. But his feet had barely touched the southern hemisphere when he found himself jettisoned into a crime scene. He had packed off the protesting constable into a rickshaw when an urgent call came through on his radio. He caught a police car out to a high rise apartment in Ryde. By the time he arrived, the place was swarming with men and women forensics experts who looked more like

astronauts than a police crew. He too was dressed in yellow plastic before he was allowed to enter the apartment where the carnage had been wrought. The first thing he noticed, as he entered the space, was the absence of any forced entry and the second was a line of fifteen corpses deliberately propped against the far wall. A carefully prepared line of dead young women, each with congealed and bloody throats and each with the letters DNA carved meticulously into their foreheads. The killer had either cleaned up after himself or there had been no struggle, because apart from the bloody pools around the corpses, there was no other visible blood across the room. The women had been dragged to their current position and slain where they now sat, propped against the wall like a line of broken marionettes, their eyes bulging and their life force gone. Robert followed the invisible trail that led each to their final rest, but there was nothing to be found. Upon the table sat the cake, never to be eaten, with twenty five scorched candles sitting upon it. The room seemed to hold no evidence. In frustration, he was about to leave when he spied, near the door - what was it wedged half under the skirting board? He knelt down

and carefully extracted it from its cubby hole with a ball point pen. It was an aglet from a shoelace. Possibly it had been flicked from a shoelace without the owner knowing. Perhaps it was one of the victims, perhaps not. He gave it to forensics for examination and proceeded back to the station. It was late evening by the time he arrived at Dixon Street, but he wasnt tired. His mind was full of dark forebodings and so troubled that he couldnt countenance the thought of sleep. In spite of the time, he decided to visit Monique at Jasmines. As he drove across the old ANZAC Bridge towards Balmain, his mind wandered over the crime scene. This was the work of the DNA killer, he was fairly certain of that. The man who had killed his family was at work again. He would catch him, eventually. The trouble was, tomorrow would bring a host of problems not associated with the serial killer and these would divert him from his cause. No matter. He must persist. Little by little, bit by bit he would get there in the end. In the meantime the new strain of murderous DNA would use young men to equalise the growing population of the Earth. Its not about us kept reverberating in his head like a slamming door. What the hell was going

through Dawbneys mind? What was going through all their minds? And for that matter, what was going through DNAs mind? If Dawbney was right, DNA had either given up on us as a species or it was simply culling a booming ecological group. Images of venting geysers and inoculations and frogs on lily pads invaded his mind. He shovelled them all away with a rapid shake of the head as he arrived at Jasmines house. Monique was pleased to see him. She was keen to explain how she had been taught to shoot and was quite good actually and how she was learning the basics of martial arts, just the basics mind you, in case of a struggle and of how if she kept improving she could soon join him on the road. Robert was pleased to see her too and he told her and Jasmine of his trip to New York and of the maniac general residing there. Monique had had a big day beating up dummies and firing weapons and so soon went to bed. Jasmine made Robert a cuppa and together they sat on the verandah under the balmy evening and the southern stars, sipping upon Jasmines wonderful tea. Yes, I heard that the Security Council will be making a decision tomorrow, said Jasmine in reply to Roberts question. She

chirped, as always, in her musical subcontinental voice. Did you hear that on the news? asked Robert. Yes, she replied, and I saw you also outside of the U.N. building. You looked very handsome. And I saw Richard too. But who was that other man? Columbo, isnt it? Yes, replied Robert absent-mindedly. He had something else on his mind and wasnt listening to the question. Er, no, he shook his head when he realised what the question had been. No. Hes a detective. Jasmine, listen. Ive just had an idea. You know the police site out at Epping, where the old university used to be? Jasmine nodded. Are the buildings still safe? Theyre very run down but theyre not condemned. No one has used them for thirty years. But the site is useable? Why are you asking me? Im just a secretary. Robert didnt respond. He just smiled. Jasmine was a bureaucratic whiz. He knew it and she knew it. She knew everything there was to know about the workings of the Police Department and many other government departments as well. What she was doing at

the front counter of a police station he could never fathom. Jasmine understood Roberts lack of response to be a compliment and she smiled. Well, if you must know, it is still patrolled and vagrants are kept away. The amenities are currently off line: no electricity or water but the site is now privately owned by the corporate giant, Keith Ramsey. Like a lot of other government property it was sold off to private enterprise in the noughts, tens and twenties, but still its serviceable if the will is there. Why do you ask? Im thinking of becoming a social worker, replied Robert staring, with his mind fixed into a future vision. That will be a nice change. You can go from beating people up to helping them. Robert laughed and so did Jasmine. They sipped their tea: Robert thin and gaunt, Jasmine voluptuous and ample: two unlikely friends in physical juxtaposition. Jasmine said, after a long, slow, thoughtful sip of her tea, The results came back on that eyelet you found this evening. Aglet. You already know about that? She nodded. And?

They did find some DNA, as a matter of fact. She sounded pained. Robert was surprised. Go on. It belonged to your wife. I think youll find it was from one of her shoe-laces. Jasmine sipped some more tea, awaiting Roberts response. Robert said nothing. He felt the silent fury rise within him, but with a giant effort of will, he managed to suppress it. He must remain logical. So the killer was playing a game with him. Hardly surprising his face had been plastered all over the papers as the bereaved detective after the murder of his wife and daughter. Presumably the killer kept trophies and thought returning the aglet good sport. Well, he would slip up. They always did. Robert Greenway always got his man eventually. He mollified himself with that thought. Monique is a good girl, Jasmine said after some time. Robert nodded and sipped his tea. He looked down three stories from the verandah and on to a nearby soccer oval. Three children were playing on swings and a roundabout in a playground adjacent to it. She is trying so hard, Jasmine continued, smiling with the thought. Those enigmatic dark Indian eyes of hers shining

like glistening water. You should have seen her, Robert. She was shooting and fighting and trying so hard and she kept saying, If I can show Robert that I can help him hell let me help him and I can do some good in my life. She is a lovely girl, that. She certainly grows on you, replied Robert. But he wasnt thinking about his reply because as he looked down through the twilight at the playground, he saw a man appear and begin to talk to the three little girls who were playing there. It wasnt anyone they knew. Robert, like all good policemen, was a natural expert in body language and he felt strongly that the children didnt know this man. The man stooped but the girls kept their distance and the biggest of them stood forward of the bunch in an early-maternal protective response. Roberts cop-sense kicked him in the teeth. Excuse me, he said and he had already stood and left the verandah before he had finished saying so. Jasmine was never one to be ruffled or excited and she was used to her impulsive younger colleague. She continued to sip her tea. Within about ninety seconds, Jasmine saw several incredible things. First, she heard the door to her apartment building slam shut.

Then she saw Robert in full flight running across the road. Naturally, she looked outward in the direction towards which he was running. There she saw the man in the playground grappling with two of the young girls while the third tried to punch him in the upper leg. Jasmine stood. She dropped and smashed her tea cup. She saw the man throw one young girl onto the sawdust floor of the playground and grab the other by the waist. While the little girl struggled, he fumbled urgently into his pocket. He produced what appeared to be a knife. Jasmine raised her hand to her mouth. The man drew the blade up towards the girls throat while the other two girls, no more than five, beat furiously at the mans legs. In burst Robert like a raging volcano. He caught the assailant off-guard. He smashed his fist hard into the mans face. His elbow followed through and completed the bonejarring assault. The man squawked, fell and lost his knife to a nearby patch of shrubs. Robert also fell with the vigour of the attack and for a moment, the three little girls stood screaming mindlessly, looking down upon two large men rolling upon the playground floor. It was the assailant who regained his feet first. He tried to scramble away into the nearby park-land but Robert was

having none of it. He dived after him and trapped him, rugby style, by the ankles. Down he came crashing onto his already bloodied face. Robert rose above him and pounded him mercilessly about the mouth and eyes and would have continued but for the cries of the three little girls. Breathing like a madman, he ceased the attack. Beneath him lay the semi-conscious young man, who under normal circumstances would probably be out having fun with his mates right now, instead of stalking playgrounds because of this vile infection. With a massive grunt, Robert grabbed the boy by the collar and ripped him up into a semi-standing position. The boy was circling beneath Roberts outstretched arm in drunken circles; bloody and defeated. After the police had come and taken the offender away and the three young girls returned to their grateful parents, Jasmine and Robert stood in the street, along with Monique who having been awoken from her slumber, huddled in a blanket for warmth. So, youre really are an action man, isnt it? said Jasmine. She was large and bovine and beautiful. Youd better be careful mister. If I wasnt an old woman I would fall in love with you. And she was a little bit in love with him too. She kissed him on the forehead. Now go

home and get some rest and Ill see you tomorrow. Robert bade the women goodnight and left. Im a little bit in love with him too, said Monique to Jasmine as she nestled for warmth and comfort in her blanket under the big womans arm. Theres plenty to love, she replied. Hes a good man with a great sadness. And you know, she added, looking down into Moniques eyes, perhaps this is, in a terrible way, the way men regain their dignity. They lost their currency, you see. Before the technological revolution we women always needed them to protect us from the terror of other men, but for a long time now the balance has been shifted. It is a sad truth but now, maybe, we need the physical strength of men again and maybe it is that that will in a paradoxical way help them regain their dignity and their sense of worth. All I know is that I feel safer when hes around, replied Monique. Knowing which man to trust has always been a problem for women, but it has never been harder than now. Come. Lets go inside, said Jasmine.

She entered the front door with the small, blue parcel of Monique, inside her blanket, tucked neatly under her arm.

CHAPTER 14
I dont give a rats ass what the God damn police say. I want im here and I want im here inside of twenty minutes! thundered the menacing, polar bear general. He slammed down the phone and turned to his military executive. There sat three sallow-faced men. War is horror and horror doesnt have a single face, gentlemen, it has a hundred thousand, maybe a million. Why do men kill one another? The three sallow-faced men looked one to the other. Fear? ventured the middle one, the bravest of the trio. He, like his colleagues, wore army brown, had greying temples and had important looking facial features. All three could have been carved out of soap or rock. At one level, maybe, considered the general, but theres something else; something deeper. Men kill one another to satisfy the hole in their genetic memory. The three sallow-faced men sat inert. They had no idea what General Bryant meant but he would undoubtedly tell them. He always did. And they always listened. For centuries men have killed one another for limited resources. They have butchered

and plundered, they have raped and they have burned, they have stolen and drowned and disfigured and tortured - but, here he paused with the embers in his eyes stirring, for the last one hundred years they have not been allowed to. Civilisation has insisted that they cease and so they have. Unconsciously, they have bundled up thousands of years of bloody murder into a polite smile and a handshake. But the memory will not be still. It stirs like a hidden spark awaiting re-ignition. Since the end of the Second War of the last century, apart from military men, nearly every other man has been governed by the shackles of morality. His voice was rising into evangelical zeal. The sallowfaced men buckled themselves in. And I am not here speaking of the morality instilled in us by our great Lord and teacher, Jesus Christ! I speak here of man-made morality; of political correctness; of censored action that disallows a man to kill in the name of a good cause. In the name of God! He paused. You see, gentlemen, if the good Lord intends it, it will occur. There is no surer text than that and on this occasion He has written a script so tantalising, so perfect, that even I did not at first perceive its subtlety. Yes, gentlemen, even I did not see it at first.

What the hell was it? The three sallowfaced men were intrigued. Bryant took a deep breath and looked above them to some distant, invisible horizon, I see the future. I see it as clearly as if it was hanging in the air before me. The time has come. The time has come for men to realise their true passion and power. His voice rose in volume, Hear this all of ye! Hear this all of ye here this night! The sons of Adam and Eve shall rise and kill and fulfil their genetic memory. Through history men have killed and now, after the pain of restriction, they shall kill again. But they shall kill in the name of God Almighty! He who rules on high! He who created the Earth and the Heavens in seven days! He who is all things in all time! He shall imbue them with great power and great strength and He will guide them towards a great victory over themselves and over the human race! He lost the far-off expression of his eyes. Gentlemen, we are going to have a war. And this time it really will be the war to end all wars. The Day of the Lord cometh. The great Day of Reckoning is almost upon us. His eyes had grown frenzied and wide. The fine hairs bristled on his great bear-like neck. A shudder ran down through his bulky, muscular torso. And he was still frozen for

a brief moment in distorted-faced epiphany. Then, with a shake of his shoulders, he returned to his audience. He regarded them for a moment as though he had only just noticed their presence. You will speak with all of those I have ordered you to. I expect numbers, gentlemen. Numbers and results. Now go. The three sallow-faced men needed no encouragement. They departed, cowering like mistreated dogs; nodding like Japanese tourists; scurrying from the Bryant tornado. General Bryant breathed in a deep breath. His eyes widened with imagined deeds. He sat into his armchair. He lighted a cigar. * Into that same room, twenty minutes later, James Dawbney was herded. The door snapped closed behind him. Bryant sat back in his armchair looking at him through a haze of blue cigar smoke. To Bryant, who had spent a great portion of his early life training recruits; teaching boys to kill; turning boys into men; civilians into killing machines; this boy seemed unremarkable. He was thin and gangly like most youths. He was soft and manicured like a middle class Nancy-boy as he was fond of

calling them. He was fine featured, tall and blonde. He was a boy. He was nothing special - except for one thing. And to Bryant it was a noticeable thing: he wasnt the least bit scared. Bryant knew. Above all things, Bryant knew fear. He knew the scent of it on a young soldier. He could see the involuntary quiver of the top lip; the inadvertent gulp and the shuffling anxiety of fear. He was used to boys of this age pissing their pants in his presence. He prided himself on being an intimidating son-of-a-bitch. Right now he was sitting in an armchair, all one hundred and fifty kilograms of him, swivelling slowly, taking long methodical drags on his cigar and watching a mere boy who stood at close quarters before him without even the slightest hint of fear. For almost a minute Bryant pondered the boy, but the boy did not speak, nor did he budge. Dawbney might have been standing on a street corner waiting for a bus. He looked towards the general with disinterest. Whats your name, son? Bryant asked with uncharacteristic quietness. James. You know why youre here? Im a test case, replied the thin-faced boy, allowing his eyes to wander momentarily about the room.

Test case for what? You want to start a war among boys like me and Im here so you can gauge my measure. He returned his eyes almost defiantly towards the general. Bryant nodded slowly. That scientist fella and his cronies reckon youve changed, boy. What do you say about that? Yes, Ive changed, James replied evenly. For the better or for the worse? Ive changed. How? I see things clearly now. I see the biggest picture. And what do you see in that picture? asked Bryant, ashing his huge Cuban cigar into a nearby ashtray. James stared hard at Bryant, I see the future, he replied. I see war. I see death. I see the necessary. Bryant rose from his chair, a great brown bear with epaulettes. The cigar smoke rose to keep him company. Do you see the end of mankind? he asked, as if, instead of a general in control of the forces of the world, he was a young man seeking his fortune at the local fair in a fortune ball under a canvas canopy. His bluster had momentarily gone. In spite of his imposing stature, he seemed to have lost status.

No, replied James, sensing this shift. But you were right, general - the great Day of Reckoning approaches, but it is not the end of man it is the end of the age. Of the age? muttered Bryant, no longer puffing; now fully entranced. Go on. The evil will perish in the bowels of the great fire and the righteous will prosper in the new kingdom to come. Yes. Yes, whispered Bryant, his mind alight with possibilities. And the angels tears will rain like fire down upon the Earth and clear away all of the evil. The boy smiled and Bryant did too as he approached him. The two looked at one another at close quarters for the first time. I see it, whispered Bryant. It will come to pass, said James. Bryant threw his cigar to one side as if he was already on the battlefield and scooped the boy up in one huge embrace. He laughed aloud and James felt his body crushed within the generals massive embrace and he smelled the cigar smoke permeating his shirt and he held his breath until the general placed him back on the carpet. Bryant was beside himself with second-hand revelation. He looked from James to the window behind him. He looked out over the

concrete; over the river; over the millions of lives stretched out there below and he was intoxicated. And so it shall be, my boy. As God Almighty is my witness, so it shall be. He folded his arms in contemplation. James looked at the big mans back and realised, as he considered that large figure silhouetted before the shining embers of city light, that he, James Dawbney, had grown from criminal to prophet in the wink of a conversation.

CHAPTER 15
It was early June and still the mercury refused to dive below thirty degrees Celsius in the Sydney basin. Robert was high above it in a helicopter. His sweaty fingers grasped the newspaper which proclaimed: World Council Votes Today plastered at the top of the front page. It sported a picture of both Sir Colin Dunnett and General Bryant on its opposite sides, signifying, presumably, the different positions they had taken in their quest to convince the council to adopt their respective solutions to the murderous epidemic. Dunnett had remained in New York for the last week and lobbied for government and corporate funds to open hundreds of sanatoriums across the globe. He had pledged his own time and energy to oversee those established in the British Isles. Bryant had glorified his intentions and made the proposed war games into a kind of international sporting contest and not surprisingly was courting the big dollars from major corporations and the media. The next thirty pages were then dedicated to the various atrocities being perpetrated everywhere. It was a media dreamtime with full colour supplements of slaughtered children and bloodied corpses. The editors conclusion, i.e. whatever was to be decided

to stop the carnage had to be decided immediately, seemed redundant. Robert dropped the paper from his eyes and instead looked out of the helicopter window. Below him he could see the flat lands give way to the mountains. He looked down with interest at the shanty towns and poorly constructed dwellings spat out beneath him like scattered, fractured dice and beyond these, a large barbed wire fence stretching out in both directions to keep these poor intruders away from the mountain homes of the wealthy. How long? he shouted out to the pilot seated beside him. The pilot held up three fingers. Robert nodded. The chopper belonged to Keith Ramsey, a corporate magnate who had prospered in shares by shrewd manoeuvring after the major crash of the early part of the twenty-first century. He was one of only two handfuls of families wealthy enough to live in the Blue Mountains, high above the putrid living conditions of the western suburbs vomiting out from the central city. Now he traded in everything from dart boards to diamonds, although his dealings were so shrouded in mystery that no-one really knew exactly what he was up to.

However, Robert did know one thing this guy was mega-rich and mega-powerful, probably the most influential man presently in the country. And he owned plenty of real estate, including the land at Marsfield upon which the old Macquarie University had once resided. If Robert could win his trust and secure the use of the former university grounds, he could begin to house the growing number of young men being afflicted by the sociopathic disease. During the last week, since his excursion to New York, Robert had worked eighteen hours a day, alongside Constable Ryan and Monique in a constant battle against the meaningless violence. Each day brought forth new atrocities. He was determined to stop treating the symptoms and begin preventing the disease at the root. One large rehabilitation facility would at least help the overall cause. His ambitions were not as grand as Sir Colins but he was determined to do his bit and seeing Keith Ramsey seemed to be the logical starting point. The bronze-coloured helicopter rose with the rising hills. Robert stared thoughtfully at the highway meandering within the heart of the trees sprinkled below. It, like the schoolyards and playing fields dotted beside it, were unused and uninhabited. There was no

movement in the small townships beside the highway; no traffic through them; no life to be seen along her flanks. Such a waste, he was thinking. But the pilot broke his thoughts by pointing across him towards a large open field to the left, beside which stood a mansion. It was a glorious sandstone edifice amongst a desert of trees. He disembarked beneath the helicopter wind and was escorted into the mansion by a dwarf clad in a dinner suit. As he followed the small man into the house he couldnt help thinking he was in some sort of film noir movie. This notion was compounded when he entered a large living room with massive concave windows overlooking a polo ground, to find a large man in a light-weight beige suit standing next to an old-fashioned tickertape machine. The man was engrossed in the long, thin roll of paper tape emanating from the small machine and seemed unaware of Roberts presence, so Robert stood patiently awaiting his discovery. The dwarf attendant stood behind Robert by the door, awaiting instructions. Robert recognised him as Keith Ramsey, even from behind. Ramsey was a well-reported media figure who would often pop up in the social pages. He was a small but corpulent man reputedly given to profuse sweating and

juvenile temper tantrums. Robert noted the half-moon perspiration stains beneath each of his armpits and the wispy, white, almost translucent hair tousled upon the rolls of fat on the back of his neck. I prefer the old technology, stated Ramsey, without turning, although Robert presumed he was speaking to him. Robert detected a slight South African accent, mingled in with the educated Australian. Its mostly untraceable and I do so love to be untraced. Dont you agree, Mister Greenway? Ramsey snapped the tickertape away from the machine and turned to regard his guest. Robert first noted Ramseys chubby neck overhanging his white shirt collar and invading the top of his blood-red tie. He also noticed the thick lenses of Ramseys black-rimmed glasses, which seemed in keeping with the rest of his large sagging facial features. He was somewhere in his late fifties. His face was rounded but not affable, although he had applied a smile to it as he ambled with his outstretched hand towards Robert, who did likewise and met him half way across the large expanse of flawless polished, redwood floor. Pleased to meet you, Mister Ramsey, said Robert politely, as he shook the chubby hand.

Likewise, Mr Greenway, Ramsey replied and he ushered Robert towards the table by the window. Ramsey turned and made a motion to his dwarf, who understood the code and exited quietly through the tall door. Ramsey and Robert sat together looking out at the polo field. Do you play? asked Ramsey. No, replied Robert. I cant afford to keep a wife, let alone horses. Ramsey thought this enormously funny and belted out a belly laugh that reverberated through the glass bass-trap before them. Touch. Touch, he chortled as the dwarf attendant entered with two gins and tonic in two tall glasses. I took the liberty of preparing you a drink. I hope you dont mind? Of course Robert didnt and the two men sipped their drinks, silently enjoying the greenery in the foreground and the sprawling Sydney basin behind. The world is ailing, so they tell me, Mister Greenway, said Ramsey after a while. He put down his drink and grabbed a nearby fan. He began to fan himself, languidly. Ive not seen it first hand, you understand. Im quoting the papers. But I hope theyre telling the truth. After all I own both of

them. He smiled, which brought creases to his otherwise flawless, peachy complexion. Yes, Robert replied, placing his drink down and turning to fully face him. And I guess you know exactly why Im here? Ramsey laughed again, though this time not so loudly. Yes, of course. I make it my business to know such things. It gives me the edge, you see? He grabbed for his drink. So, you want to make use of the old Macquarie University Estate? I want to help house some of the growing number of young men afflicted by this new disease. Whats in it for me? he asked directly. He was renowned for his no-nonsense approach to matters business. Well, apart from anything else, a great deal of excellent publicity. There are thousands of worried parents in Sydney alone who would thank you for your support. Man does not live by publicity alone, Ramsey replied, fanning himself ever-soslightly more rapidly as he spoke. Not to mention the fact that the structures are in a state of disrepair. The United Nations will bring down their recommendation today. Im hoping that they will make funds available for the restoration

of the facility. The state would operate it. It would be at no cost to you, sir. Ramsey was flattered by Roberts deference but he shook his head none the less. Mister Greenway, I have not attained this position by being a charitable organisation. If the funds are not forthcoming from the International fund, then how do you propose to restore them? He put down his fan and fumbled into his jacket pocket for a handkerchief, which he found and patted across his moist forehead. I was hoping that, in that case, you might help with the cost. Ramsey faltered for a brief second. The handkerchief stopped mid dab. I thought that might perhaps be the case. But again, I ask you, Mister Greenway, what is in it for me, apart from publicity in my own newspapers? Robert had hoped that Ramsey might be at least marginally altruistic; obviously he was mistaken. I cant offer much in the way of remuneration, replied Robert, I was hoping that the good will generated by such actions would be good for your business. Mister Greenway, laughed Ramsey, you presume too much. I live up here in the lap of luxury, along with several other families,

while you and everybody else in this city live down there, he motioned towards the distance, in squalor and increasing violence, because I am a careful business man. If I go throwing money at every person who asks for it on some altruistic whim, Id be ruined inside of a year and then where would I be? Ill tell you where, Id be down there amongst the squalor with them; with you. And that would help nobody. I thought perhaps you might help. Thats all, replied Robert. The disappointment fell from his words and this honesty momentarily extinguished the flames of Ramseys selfish sentiment. Listen, he said earnestly, putting down his fan and looking directly into Roberts eyes. Im not a monster, but Im worried Mister Greenway. Im worried that I will lose my fortune and compromise my power base. The world has no countries to speak of any more. Boundaries remain; languages and cultures too, but these are anachronisms. Todays world may be administered by the U.N. but theyre largely a rubber stamp. The world is run and owned by twenty five to thirty corporate families, of which one, I am privileged to be the head. So you must understand that any poor decision I make could jeopardise that position. There are

other forces at work waiting and hoping for me to fall. Surely though, countered Robert, it is possible that the United Nations might decide to fund the process anyway. So all the venture would require is your permission to use the amenities? The emotion on Ramseys fat face changed momentarily. Robert saw it pass for a flickering second. It was no more than the shadow of a passing cloud on a sun bleached day, but Robert saw it. Ramsey knew something and was withholding it from him. You may use the amenities, Mister Greenway. I told you, I am not a monster, but Im afraid I can give you no monetary support. My funds are to be diverted elsewhere. You know something, said Robert, who had long abandoned his gin and tonic and was now sitting fully forward, urging Ramsey to disclose his secret. At this moment a bell rang. Robert presumed that his ten minutes was up, or some such thing. Ramsey quaffed the remainder of his drink, adjusted his tie and stood up. Robert stood also. I must go now. Business calls. But I can confide this to you. He held out his hand and Robert responded, but instead of shaking

it, Ramsey held it fast and looked meaningfully into Roberts eyes. I can tell you ahead of time that you and your Doctor Dunnett will not receive any funding from the United Nations. But how. . ? interjected Robert. Lets just say, Ramsey continued, still clasping Roberts hand tightly, that there are forces at work that would rather remove, than rehabilitate. He let go of Roberts hand and concluded, Im sorry, Mister Greenway, you may have your sanatorium if you can find the funds to create and support it but Im afraid I cannot afford to miss this business opportunity. Bryan, my butler, will show you out. I dont understand, said Robert, but he spoke to Ramseys sweaty, retreating back. And moments later he found himself alone in the great, glass encased room. For several moments he stood there, pondering Ramseys words. For some reason, Bryan didnt show up to show him out. Robert placed his hands upon his hips and turned instinctively towards the view, as a flower might towards the sun, for inspirational energy. He was still standing thus, a minute or so later, absent-mindedly running his fingers through his brown hair, when he

stopped and blinked. At first, he thought he was having a vision; a surreal moment. Across the lawn cantered a magnificent chestnut horse. And upon the horse, polo mallet in hand, sat a woman. She dismounted and stood for a moment adjacent to where Robert stood. She could not see him, presumably due to the reflection of the window. She handed her mallet to Bryan and then removed her riding cap. A river of black curls cascaded down the sides of her face. She flicked them back and strode across the lawn towards the front door. Robert stood, transfixed, and remained so as he heard the front door open and did not move even as the vision entered the room and saw him standing there. Oh. Hello, she said with some surprise. She was almost as tall as Robert but perhaps ten years younger. She was statuesque and stunning in her close-fitting riding outfit, which revealed her subtle, understated curves. She was a classic beauty. Her dark hair tumbled carelessly about her delightfully rosy face and even at this distance, across the large room, Robert could see the piercing blue of her eyes. Hello, he replied, uncertainly.

She smiled as she approached him, holding out her hand. Im Mary, she said, shaking his. Mary Ramsey. Im Robert, he replied, feeling the soft skin of her hand, bewitched momentarily by her equally soft beauty. Youre South African, he noted, having heard those unmistakable vowels. Very good, she replied with a smile and a toss of the head. So what brings you here, Robert? Her carefree attitude was enchanting. It was so unlike almost everyone else in Roberts world. Where he lived was always a prelude to misery and the shadow of that impending monster shrouded all but the most overly optimistic of characters. Where he came from was gloom and winter in spite of the heat; here was a breath of summer breeze, unaffected by the cruelty and coldness of the world. I came to ask Mister Ramsey for some money to fund a rehabilitation project Im starting. What sort of rehabilitation project? she asked, grabbing a glass of water and downing it in one go. To help the victims of this plague were having. Plague? What plague? she asked, throwing herself down upon a nearby couch and patting

it, entreating Robert to join her, which he happily did. You know, he continued, the Dark Earth Plague. At least I think thats what your husbands newspapers called it. For a moment she was baffled and then she let out a wholesome laugh, not unlike Ramsey had earlier. Oh, silly, she said, placing her hand upon his. Im not his wife. Im his daughter. Again she laughed at the mere suggestion. Then a cloud crossed her face. Why? Do I look old enough to be his wife? Oh no. No, stuttered Robert quickly. Its just that, well, you know, rich men sometimes have young, beautiful wives. She stared at him for a moment and he noticed her hand lingered upon his. So, you think Im beautiful do you? Her bright eyes sparkled with dark mischief and for a moment Robert was speechless. A moment later, she leaned forward and kissed him sumptuously upon the lips, which stole not only his words but his breath also. Her pupils were wide and her cheeks rosy. She smiled and sat back away from him. Now what were you saying about a plague? Surely you read your fathers papers, he asked, finally regaining his tongue.

No, she replied with insouciance. All they do is make me unhappy. But you do know about the mass murders? Again she shook her head with indifference. Like I said, it brings me down. A tinge of gloss wore off of the pearl before him. Her soft hands had never seen a days work. Her hard words had never known sorrow. Many young men are infected with a disease. Theyre killing innocent people. Surely you care about that? Not really, she replied honestly. Ive never really met anybody else, except for Daddys corporate friends. The smouldering embers of mischief rekindled in her eyes. She moved up closer to him. Except for you, that is. She ran her hand along Roberts cheek and looked deeply into his eyes. Would you like a drink? Or perhaps - I can offer you something else? She kissed him again and he melted for a moment into her lips but something pulled him back from the precipice and he broke the seal. I have to go, he said. Dont, she entreated. Daddy wont interrupt us. All he cares about is money.

She tried to kiss him again. But he stood up. No. Im sorry. I really have to go. Why? she pouted. It was a good question. Daddy was away doing business and Bryan, the dwarf, was nowhere to be seen. Later, he told himself it was out of respect for his former wife, but the truth was that this girl/woman was a danger to him and to herself. She was maybe thirty, going on fifteen. She obviously knew nothing of the world. He imagined the next thing hed know hed be receiving cards with love hearts in place of the i on i love you, swiftly followed by Daddys henchmen with crowbars and a shotgun. While he found the girl astoundingly attractive, beauty is as beauty does and also, right at this stage in his life, he had more serious business to which he must attend. And he told her so. Please stay, she implored him with an affected moue. I never meet anyone new. I tell you what, he said, producing a card from his pocket. Thats the number of where Ill be working. If you ever decide to help, we can always do with another pair of hands when we begin work at the rehab centre. She went to kiss him goodbye but he steeled himself and shook her hand.

Im going to do some good, he said. As my friend put it, Im going to stop beating people up and Im going to start helping them. Goodbye, Mary. And he left. She watched the helicopter take off, looked at the card he had given her and held it to her heart, swivelling slightly on the spot, like a star-struck teenager. It was a hot afternoon. And Robert needed a cold shower.

CHAPTER 16
EXT.STEPS OF THE WHITEHOUSE.DAY General Bryant stands before a microphone. He is immaculate and imposing in full military regalia. Behind him stand the other four members of the Executive Council. In front of him, on the steps below, is a gathering of journalists. Cameras flash as he speaks. Journalists point microphones towards him. It is noticeable that each microphone has a corporate logo blazoned upon it. BRYANT As you know, over the past few months the incidence of homicide has increased at a frightening rate. In the last week, across the globe, psychopaths have killed over six million people. The only good news is that amongst that number are at least two million of the offenders themselves. Those responsible have been shot on sight where possible, though most have taken their own lives after their cowardly acts. Our graveyards are full of those dearest to us and the morgues are overflowing with the corpses of our loved ones. (pause)

I am therefore here to inform you all that, as of this moment, martial law is in effect across the world and a 10 pm curfew will, until otherwise notified, be mandatory for all world citizens. Local law enforcement organisations have been notified. In some instances, military police will work hand in hand with local police to ensure that these laws are obeyed. In others, those local authorities will be temporarily replaced by military police. Cameras flash and there is much verbal consternation from the gallery. Bryant waits patiently while it stills. BRYANT (CONT.) After due deliberation, the executive council has decided not to endorse Doctor Dunnett's expensive and cumbersome plan for the attempted rehabilitation of the killers that stalk our streets and our children. Instead, my plan has been accepted. Over the next three to four weeks all young men affected by the Dark Earth Plague will be required to present to one of the many military bases about to be established for the purpose of conscription into a war games exercise to be held at an area yet to be designated. Again, cameras flash and there is much consternation. A great number of hands shoot up from the press gallery.

Bryant fields questions. BRYANT (CONT.) (pointing to a member of the gallery) Yes, the representative for Perfect Plastics. REPRESENTATIVE FOR PERFECT PLASTICS You say 'war games', General Bryant. Don't you really mean 'war'? BRYANT Have it your way, son. One way or another we have to solve this problem. I can see no other solution and neither can my colleagues. (pointing to another press member) The representative for Beefy Burgers REPRESENTATIVE FOR BEEFY BURGERS What if they refuse to present? BRYANT All those who do not present, or resist arrest, will be shot. (pointing to another gallery member) The representative for Sweat Shop Shoes. REPRESENTATIVE FOR SWEAT SHOP SHOES Are you worried that the citizens of the Earth will find these actions draconian and refuse to give their sons up for slaughter? BRYANT (angrily)

Listen up, all of you. We're dealing with a plague here of massive proportions. There may be up to forty million killers out there. I would urge all the good men and women of the Earth uninfected by this disease to gather together to defeat it. And I would suggest that you all rally behind this cause. Inform on a friend if you have to because the next DNA attack may be upon one of your own. (points to another member of the gallery.) One more. The representative for Crispy Fries. REPRESENTATIVE FOR CRISPY FRIES How do you know that these boys will kill each other? Most of the dead have been women up until now. BRYANT Don't be so foolish, son. Of course they'll kill one another. They'll kill anything that moves. They're psychopathic killers. They were born to kill and nothing can stop em. All we have to do is ship em out with a swag of guns and a bag full of bullets and let them do the rest. I guarantee all of you within six months we'll be over this thing. Until then, all international travel will be by permit only. Bryant leaves, turns and walks up the steps away from the press gallery, followed by the other members of the Executive Council.

Camera flashes fall upon their backs as they exit. Journalists and cameramen scurry away to post their stories. FADE OUT FADE IN INT.NEWS ROOM.NIGHT An anchor woman addresses the camera. Behind her is a three dimensional representation of the scenes that she describes. (Video) Thousands of dead-eyed eighteen year olds line up. They receive military uniforms and equipment. (Audio) Over the past week or so millions of young men have presented to specially established military bases across the planet for conscription into the 'War Effort' as its creator, General Bryant, has named it. (Video) Multiple shots of teary mothers and fathers watching their sons stride away from them. They are unable to stop them.

(Audio) Parents of those already affected by the plague have been unable to stop their sons from enlisting. It seems that they are keen to fight. (Video) A father is shot dead outside of his home, trying to protect his son. The mother is thrown aside in bushes by the military police. They begin to bludgeon the boy to death. (Audio) However, many parents of those young men not yet affected, but who soon will be, have been less co-operative with authorities. In such cases skirmishes and violent incidents have ensued. (Video) Prowling gangs of angry young men set upon a young man as he exits a cinema. (Audio) Bands of vigilantes have grown, and unimpeded by the authorities, have begun reprisals of their own. (Video) Military police use taser guns and cattle prods upon several people who havent made it home on time.

(Audio) Those breaching the world curfew have also been dealt with harshly. (Video) Lines of dead-eyed young men in military uniforms load onto planes and ships. Crying parents stand in airport lounges and on docks to bid them farewell. (Audio) The Games have been set to start in the Desert of New Mexico and Texas between the Rio Grande and the Mississippi River later this month. And while major companies clamour for sponsorship deals, the psychopaths have already begun shipping out for the war zone. FADE OUT * There was an enormous bellowing from immediately outside of General Bryants door. He opened it to see what the ruckus was and was confronted with the most extraordinary sight. Two MPs were struggling to hold fast Sir Colin Dunnett who was red-faced and raising the roof, screaming at the top of his lungs that he would see the general or heaven would freeze over. General Bryant told the

military policemen to unhand Sir Colin and then bade him enter his office. Colin shrugged off the officers, regained his composure, adjusted his tie, and entered. Now whats all this about? asked Bryant when Sir Colin had finally taken his seat across from him. Im sorry to behave so indecorously, he stated, still regaining his breath, but short of setting myself alight I could find no other way to get your attention. Ive been in Washington for a week now and as far as I can tell, youve ignored every letter I have sent you and dismissed every call that I have made. I had no idea you were trying to contact me, sir, or upon my honour, I would have happily received you. Bryant lied. Hed received every request and gleefully ignored them. But a screaming knight outside of your headquarters tends to gain some press and he could do without the diversion right now. So what can I do for you? Having reached his objective, Colin had composed himself. He wanted to reach across the desk and rip the big mans throat out for condemning so many young men to the torture of war, but he desisted, realising that he was in no position to make threats. Instead,

he decided upon good old English manners and polite assertiveness. I have come to make a request of you, not the executive, for I realise now that true executive power resides in you. Bryant was flattered, as Colin had intended. What exactly is the nature of your request? asked Bryant, leaning back smugly into his leather chair, enjoying this sycophancy from his former adversary. I ask permission for independent bodies to establish rehabilitation lazarettes anywhere in the world where they may be practical. I ask that any young men born in the Dark Earth period be allowed to admit themselves and remain there until such time as a cure is found. I ask no charity from the state. Instead, I shall ask for volunteer help from anyone willing to help fund, run and administer such hospitals. I should think that enough parents will be willing to do that for their sons. I myself will give up my own time and money in the effort. All I ask is support from local police wherever such hospitals are set up and all I ask of you is regular patrols from military police. Bryant swivelled in his chair as he listened. When Dunnett had finished he did not answer immediately but quietly consulted

his thoughts. He had come under much pressure from the press over the last week since his announcement. The evening news did not make pretty viewing. He was fairly sure that once the war games were underway the viewing public would largely fall into line, at least those whose sons were not being eradicated, but for the time being he could do with a veneer of altruism in the public eye. After all, if such containment centres were set up, when all the smoke cleared from the war he would know exactly where to find the rest of the psychopaths. Yes, he was a winner both ways. Very well, he said. But understand this - military guards will patrol all quarantine centres created. Anyone attempting to escape will be shot. Is that understood, Dunnett? Colin despised the tone of this overfed oaf, but he had gained what he sought, so, Thank you, he said, obsequiously, standing and nodding his head as he departed. General Bryant smiled haughtily to himself as he reached for a Havana Cigar. Victory is sweet. There is nothing more palatable than watching ones former adversary grovel before you. *

A week later, Bryant was at it again. This time it was merely out of spite. He personally contacted Dixon Street in Sydney and commanded Natasha to stand Robert down from active duty. Why on Earth would you stand down my best officer? she enquired of the huge general, whose nasty demeanour she had quickly gauged in her brief conversation with him. Because I deem him unfit for duty under the present circumstances. Thats ridiculous..., Natasha began, but Bryant cut her off. Listen, woman, he spat out, Im the chief of operations for the whole goddam world! If I say hes to stand down, then he goddam stands down! You follow? Natasha followed alright. This type of man was generally known as a dickhead or a cock in her country, but she dare not give voice to these sentiments. If she lost command, everyone was out of the loop and she would no longer be able to give Robert any inside information. So she bit her tongue and terminated the unsavoury conversation. By the time Robert returned from yet another mass murder scene, accompanied by Monique and Constable Ryan, Dixon Street was crawling with military police.

Natasha gathered the team together and gave Robert the bad news. But he was philosophical. They say one door closes and another one opens. Thisll give me more time to help out at Macquarie. Im standing down too, said Monique. Me too, added Constable Ryan. What do you want me to do? asked Jasmine. Her eyes were moist and she was obviously upset for her good friend. Dont be upset, Jas, he said, giving her a kiss on her broad, brown forehead. You can help me most by helping Natasha here and syphoning off information as it arises. Jasmine nodded and sniffed back the tears. Just then a military policeman entered the room. I need you lot out. Im commandeering the office, he said rudely. Natasha and Jasmine looked at Robert. Hold it steady, he whispered. Keep me posted. Well get through this. Within an hour, Natasha was relocated to a smaller office and Robert, Monique and Constable Ryan were on their way home to gather their belongings. They were heading out to Macquarie for some hard work.

CHAPTER 17
It was late in June. Credences bad moon was rocketing around the globe, raging in unstoppable fury. Hurricanes pounded the Pacific Coast of North America, monsoonal rain swept away portions of the Indian coast and an awful, steamy evening lay upon the Thames. Under that stifling blanket, marauding bands of likely-lads hovered and indiscriminately attacked any young man who appeared to be around the age of eighteen. They were misguided vigilantes, adding to the explosion of carnage besetting the world. Military police patrolled the streets augmenting the terror for the general public. Everywhere was an impending sense of violence and fragmentation into chaos. The world, it seemed, was being held together by a thin garment of threads and patches. In a studio beside the Thames, Colin and Vanessa were defending themselves against the howls emanating from both press and public . . . Interviewer ! But responsibility? Colin! surely you bear some

Yes, of course, in the same way the Wright Brothers are responsible for every plane crash.

Interviewer! I wonder if our audience members agree with you. (pointing into the crowd) You, sir. Yes you. You have your hand up. What would you like to ask? Old Man! While youre settin up your so called rehabilitation ospitals outside of London, my daughters avin a nervous breakdown. She asnt left the ouse for weeks. Shes scared out of er wits. So whats the question? the bloody

Interviewer! Old Man!

Ill tell you what question is . . .

Interviewer! Theres no swearing . . . Old Man!

need

for

. . . why doesnt old smarty pants ere find a cure for this disease like he did the last time, rather than wastin is time tryin to save the likes o them young psychopaths?

A cry of Hear! Hear! And Too bloody right! arose from the mob. Colin raised his hands to quell the noise. Vanessa looked out across the angry sea of faces and began to wish she and Colin hadnt accepted the invitation to attend. She was beginning to think they might get lynched. Colin! Please, everyone. Please. We must try to remain calm. The world may be descending into chaos but remember were British. Dont forget Rorkes Drift. Who the bloody ell is Rorke? yelled out one woman and this reanimated the crowd who were becoming increasingly fractious. Vanessa could sense that her eccentric husband was not the tonic to placate the indignant crowd and decided to take command. Vanessa! veryone. Listen. E Her softer voice had the desired effect. Vanessa! hose of you here with children, I T ask you to consider this. It is only by the grace of God that they were not infected by this affliction. If

they had been, would you want angry mob calling for their blood? There was silence.

an

Vanessa! he actions of General Bryant as Head T of the Executive Council have divided us when we should most be united. My husband is a good man. Twenty years ago he saved us from a pandemic and today he is doing what he can to help save as many young men as he can. What about the safety of our children? piped up a lone voice. This time the crowds jeers were less emphatic in support. Vanessa! By quarantining as many of the diseased young men as possible we can only make the streets safer for your children. The others, alas, are destined for the war. And good riddance too, I say! shouted out one mother from the North and half the crowd agreed. The interview finished with a desultory round of applause and a great sadness swamping Colin and Vanessa. She held his hand as the lights dimmed. The interviewer thanked

them and they left for home, escorted through the deserted streets by military police, for the curfew had fallen. Light rain had also fallen and the streets were awash with harsh, reflected neon light. The tar had become a mirror. All through the once bustling city, silence ruled. Colin felt the greatness of responsibility as a burden upon his shoulders. Well work it out, whispered Vanessa into his ear. He didnt look at her. He merely squeezed her hand, attempted a smile, and watched the roads dim lustre roll beneath him. * Back in Sydney, Robert was equally feeling the burden at least the physical one. It was early morning and work had already begun. Over the past two weeks or so, he, Monique and Constable Ryan had supervised the construction of several kilometres of electronic perimeter fence, encircling the old Macquarie University site, now redubbed the Macquarie University Gaol by those who helped erect the fence. These were, in the main, parents of the young men who were to dwell behind it. It was strange, thought Robert to himself, as he watched these many

youths erect their own prison, how all of these boys, without exception, were to become psychopaths, on, or soon after, their eighteenth birthday. Colin will come through, he was thinking. Hes done it before. But there were no guarantees that he would, and if Robert could feel the trepidation that Colin was feeling right at that very moment as he motored away from the late night London interview, he might not have been so optimistic. Still, all was progressing well here. Local councils and charities had whipped the hat around and, along with every penny the parents of the young men to be incarcerated could raise, a formidable sum had been accumulated. Enough at least to get the rehabilitation centre up and running with electricity, water and some basic amenities. Beds and bookshelves, towels and blankets and the like were all forthcoming from those in the general public who saw the current phenomenon as a disease, rather than as purely criminal behaviour. What shocked Robert most of all was the cost of feeding the intended inmates. He needed to cater for ten to twelve thousand of them only a scratch on the surface of the vast numbers afflicted with the psychological disorder, but a significant number, none the less -

especially when he had to find the money to feed each one, each day. So at the same time as some were erecting the fence, others were tilling the soil and planting seeds for a self-sustaining garden. News of the institution had spread throughout the country and Robert was heartened to find that parents with foresight from all over the country had brought their sons to him. What astounded him though was the amount of parents who had not. Many refused to believe that their beautiful child was soon to turn into a maniac and instead, waited for the inevitable day when the military van stopped outside their house to take their son to Bryants war. By the time that happened, all was lost. The end of that road was usually a dead father, a beaten mother and a half-dead son dragged off in a paddy wagon. As if theres not enough killing, Robert mused to himself, as he drove in another fence pole. The papers were full of it; that and the upcoming war. The letters DNA carved into countless female foreheads; young men shooting or stabbing manically into crowds and then committing suicide; and to top it all off, bets being run on the upcoming war and a promised full coverage from Day One. It

sounded more like The World Series than the lives of countless boys. However, Robert was doing something positive and of this he was both proud and happy. He still scoured the papers for any reports of the killer of his family and Jasmine kept him abreast of any new developments, but that creature remained dormant for the time being. And now that the vast arm of the U.N. military had effectively taken over all police work, he was free to pursue his desire to help those in need. He was providing a true community service; something he felt he had never really done before, but something which he found he rather enjoyed. He was sweaty, he was tired and dirty, but his physical strength had more than returned, his muscles were developing with each day, he slept better than he had for a long time and not only that, he had stopped gritting his teeth. He was too busy thinking of others to dwell upon his own woes. It was lunchtime before Robert stopped to rewrap his poor blistered hands. He met up with Monique in the mess room, which was alive with the sound of a thousand scraping forks on metal.

Hows my darling? he asked with familiar ease as she dropped beside him for a wellearned breather. Exhausted, she replied. She homed in on his hand. Here, let me see. Robert let her redress his wounds. Thanks, he said. Im not hardened yet. Soon Ill be able to go all day without a problem. Only a few hundred poles to hammer in. What are you using for wire in between? she asked. I havent seen any delivered. Thats the good news, he replied. The metal poles have electronic sensors in them. Theres nothing between them but sweet air. I got the idea from a friend of mine who keeps dogs. Tomorrow we implant an electronic sensor in the arm of every inmate. If they get too close to the fence they feel uncomfortable. Closer still and they get zapped. The same principle applies to the cells. No iron required. Hey, thats pretty smart, she said. Why thank you, maam, he replied with a dip of the forehead. It was invention born of necessity. I couldnt afford the wire and I didnt want to have to put it up. He noticed Constable Ryan over by the food tray, no doubt annoying the cook. Hows our young

friend? he asked with a smile, nodding in Ryans direction. Monique laughed too. Richard? Oh hes harmless enough. A bit annoying perhaps. A bit? replied Robert, laughing as he rested his tired neck up against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. Now theres an understatement. He means well enough, replied Monique. Hes just not quite on the same frequency as everyone else. Hes like a radio station, just off the channel. I hear that, said Robert, with his eyes still closed. Monique looked thoughtful. Some of these boys are due to turn eighteen soon. How long until were at lock up stage? Robert opened one eye and looked at her from the corner of it without moving his head, No pun intended, I assume. She realised what she had said and they shared a laugh. Only a couple of days now, replied Robert, rousing himself and sitting forward. Well, Id best get back into it. Just then, a tray crashed to the concrete floor with a massive clatter. Robert looked over towards the serving area and saw two young men thrashing away at each other. One of them was Constable Ryan.

What in Gods name . . ? stammered Robert. And he darted over towards the fight. By the time he arrived, a young woman, who was ashen-faced and beside herself with fear, was being comforted by one of the parents, and the constable had a boy pinned down by the throat. At first, Robert thought that Ryan had gone mad, until he realised that he was being aided by two other men who were helping hold the other young mans arms to the floor. Though restricted, the boy was thrashing and flailing about like a fish on a trawler. He was also frothing at the mouth like a frenzied stallion. The pupils of his eyes were dilated and the eyes themselves darted from side to side in mad apoplexy. Robert had rarely seen such insanity, even in his line of work. But he was not about to let one wild boy spoil his orderly lunch room. He pushed Constable Ryan aside, reefed the young man up by the collar, and before the boy could mount any sort of attack, Robert head butted him into unconsciousness. It was one of those moments when a temporary silence falls upon a crowd and a hundred men have an instant voice in their head which says, Remind me not to pick a fight with that guy.

The boy dropped limp into Roberts arms. Robert sat his inert body into the nearest chair. What happened? he asked. Richard? I dunno. Honestly. He was just talking to this girl here and the next minute, he just went crazy, replied the breathless constable. A middle-aged man approached them. Hes my son, said the man. He made me lie about his age. He turned eighteen last week. Im sorry. I didnt think it would matter. Hes such a good boy and he wanted to help with the fence. He knew that if he told you the truth before the gaol was built the military police would take him. He . . . The man broke down into tears. Its alright, Robert comforted him. Go and see to your boy. Im sorry, the man repeated. And he went to his sons side. Listen up! Robert belted out. His words skipped across horizontal surfaces and banged into vertical ones. If anyone else has lied about their age, you can see the consequences. You wont be turned over to the military police but we will have to separate you as soon as you reach your eighteenth birthday. If you dont wish to comply with this, then you should leave now!

The message was clear enough. Everyone nodded and went back to their lunch, but a kind of dark shroud had been thrown over proceedings. It reminded everyone of their parlous situation. Parents held hands with sons and sons ate thoughtfully, recognising in that maniacal display their own illness to come. Are you alright? Monique asked Robert, but Constable Ryan thought that the question was for him. Yeah. I might end up with a black eye though, and gingerly he touched his face, while Monique shared a small smile with Robert. I wish I was ten years older, she said and gave Robert a peck on the cheek. Twenty, he corrected. But he was already thinking of something else. You see the problem, dont you? I cant trust all of these boys to tell the truth about their age. Its like death everyone knows its coming, but deep down, nobody believes it will happen to them. In a way its amazing that they turned up here at all. The military police wont give me access to their DNA cards, so I cant be sure of their exact birth dates. Youd think theyd be pleased to have so many potentially dangerous men off the streets, but you know, I honestly think some of those

military guys would rather shoot these boys than fix them. He walked away, driven by thought. Monique watched patiently as the cogs of his mind turned over. After a minute or so, he flinched. He had made a decision. We need to step up our efforts, he stated with emphasis, more to convince himself than anything else. I want this place operational and all inmates in their cells by the end of the week. How do you feel about implanting ten thousand boys with electronic implants, starting tomorrow? Monique nodded. She, like Robert, had found that action had swamped self-pity. Excellent, he said. But after that you have to leave. I want you to stay with Jasmine. But why? she asked, pouting a little. Youre going to become a red rag to a bull, sweetie, he said tenderly, pushing back her dark fringe in a fatherly manner. These boys will soon be DNA programmed to kill young women like you. Monique screwed up her pretty face, but she knew that he was right. I can still see you though? Of course, he nodded. I couldnt go more than a couple of days a week without seeing my surrogate daughter.

She smiled. He was about to head back to work when he stopped and looked at her. Youre not wearing any make-up, he noticed. I havent worn any for weeks, she replied. And your hair its natural, isnt it? She nodded. Good for you, he said, ruffling her hair for good measure. You look great. And off he marched. Monique watched him go. She sighed with admiration. When Robert reached what was to be the perimeter fence, he found two military police next to a jeep, arguing with a group of parents. Whats going on? he asked as he approached the gathering. You in charge? asked a young corporal with a belligerent scowl upon his face. Yeah. I am, Robert replied with equal belligerence. He wasnt about to be ordered around by some kid in a uniform. The boy produced some papers from his top pocket. Weve been assigned patrol of this precinct. He said it like it was a foul encumbrance and an affront to his dignity. When are you operational?

End of the week, Robert replied, curtly, examining the papers. The corporal jumped back in the jeep. If I see anyone outside of that perimeter, he pointed to the long line of poles dotted down the hill, Ill shoot em. Hey! shouted Robert, just as the driver was about to take off. The corporal motioned him to stop with a languid wave of his hand, which the driver dutifully obeyed. What? Youre supposed to be helping. You do realise that, dont you? Youre acting as peace-keepers, not a friggin occupying army. The young corporal didnt even grace this with a reply. He simply waved his hand and with a snarl, he was gone. Robert shook his head. Come on, folks, he said. Back to work. * Natasha was having a similar experience back in Dixon Street headquarters. A dozen beefy U.N. grunts were ripping out filing cabinets and commandeering all of her computers and software. At the same time others were carrying in computing and

surveillance equipment and enough weapons to sink the Titanic. Whos in charge? Natasha asked fiercely, as yet another large military man barged past her with a crate full of guns. I am, replied a thin, black captain with doleful eyes. Where are you taking all of my records? Property of the military, he replied laconically. His facial expression was impassive; almost bored. I thought we were working together, captain? We are. But your operation is subordinate. I report directly to Bryant. Bryant, she thought. That pig. But there was nothing she could do. One word of dissent and she was out on her ear. Come on, whispered Jasmine into that ear. Ill make you some tea. The two women moved away. Natasha stared daggers at the military policeman but he didnt bother returning the gaze. He was here to kill trouble and thats just what he was going to do. Thats what the military did. Negotiation was for pussies.

CHAPTER 18 SUPER: BORDER OF NEW MEXICO AND TEXAS Looking down from the P.O.V. of a helicopter. . . As far as the eye can see, tens upon tens of thousands of tents are spread out across the flat, barren, desert terrain. Countless men in military uniform swarm upon the plain. In the distance a cargo plane is landing. A reporter speaks into the camera. REPORTER As you can see the war games will soon be underway. We're looking down on the Red Army here. They've taken up position east of El Paso. The Blue Army is some distance off, west of Odessa, Texas. General Bryant, Head of Military at the Security Council, is reputedly here to oversee operations. INT.BRYANT'S TENT.DAY The image of the same journalist speaking to camera can be seen on the old television set in Bryant's tent.

Outside of the tent, through the tent flap, Bryant can be seen turned away, looking in the opposite direction. EXT.BRYANT''S TENT.DAY General Bryant stands on a hill looking through a pair of binoculars. Two helicopters circle. One bears the logo: Ramseys Tele-holograms; the other: Perfect Plastics. He takes the binoculars from his eyes and turns to see James Dawbney, dressed in army uniform, escorted towards him by two soldiers. The soldiers stop and salute. Bryant languidly responds. BRYANT Leave him with me. Dismissed. The two soldiers salute again and leave. BRYANT (CONT.) (motioning to the activity) Well, Private Dawbney. How do you like it? DAWBNEY (sniffing the air) It smells like death.

BRYANT Doesn't it though? DAWBNEY What do you want from me? Bryant places his arm around Dawbney's shoulder and guides him towards a jeep where a driver awaits orders. BRYANT Nothin' but your company, boy. You're my lucky rabbit's foot. They get into the jeep. BRYANT (CONT.) You and me are gonna see the end of the age. (laughs) Shit, boy - we're gonna make it happen. Now I got someone for you to meet. Be on your best behaviour now. (to the driver) Drive. They take off down the hill with a crunch of desert rock. * Several minutes later Bryant and hopped out of the jeep and stepped one of the many thousands of tents across the desert. The first thing Dawbney towards spread Dawbney

noticed was the meticulous quietude. Millions of men moved about without issuing a sound. The only noise came from the distant rumble of a planes engine. The men themselves were silent. Silent and methodical, just like me, he was thinking: silent, measured and contained before the explosion. He smiled to himself as he pulled back the flap and entered the tent. Ah, general, said Keith Ramsey, extending his hand in apparent friendship. How nice to see you again. Both men knew he didnt mean it, but business is business. This is James Dawbney, said Bryant to Ramsey. Neither Ramsey nor Dawbney extended his hand to the other: Dawbney because he was a cold, damp presence, unable to connect with anything, and Ramsey because he recognised the mass murderer from his newspapers headlines. What is he doing here? enquired Ramsey. Hes an adviser, replied Bryant, churlish that anyone should in any way censure his authority. Hes a killer, said Ramsey, staring hard at the boy, who stared back at him with total detachment.

Now lets not get hypocritical, Mr Ramsey. After all were all killers and youre providing the weapons for the slaughter. You know what I mean, countered Ramsey. He almost spat out the words, apparently finding Dawbneys presence utterly distasteful. Not really, replied the general. He always had the last word. The only difference is context. War is legalised homicide, isnt it? There was no real argument against that. But even so, Ramsey was not prepared to talk business in Dawbneys presence. Go take a piss, boy, Bryant said loudly over his shoulder to Dawbney, whilst smiling condescendingly at Ramsey. Dawbney turned to leave. And boy, Bryant added. Dawbney stopped. See that you dont get into any mischief, or therell be consequences, ya hear? Dawbney did hear, but he chose not to answer. He pushed his way through the tent flap. I dont know why you surround yourself with scum like that, Ramsey stated when he thought Dawbney was out of earshot.

But Dawbney had tarried outside the tent for a moment and he heard the remark. A shadow passed his face before he strode off in search of the mess hall. Ramsey, there are already millions of potential killers just outside this tent. Theres a big difference between a potential killer and an actual one. That boy mowed down eight innocent civilians, countered Ramsey. Listen, Bryant replied, shifting his enormous bulk from one foot to the other, the only reason the boys outside are not at each others throats right now is because theyre sociopaths, and sociopaths are vain. Shit, with the amount of public notoriety and monetary rewards youve promised these boys theyll stay potential rather than actual killers for as long as we tell em to. I still dont want to look at his ugly face. Forget Dawbney, replied Bryant. Is everything in place? Yes, said Ramsey, shaking away Dawbneys memory with a flick of his fine white hair. He approached a table and handed Bryant a piece of paper. You have everything youve asked for: provisions, tents, guns, billions of rounds of ammunition.

Thatll do for now, said Bryant with a smirk. What about coverage? Its all arranged, replied Ramsey, grabbing for a handkerchief and furiously dabbing his sweaty forehead. You have no doubt seen my helicopters? Bryant looked at Ramsey with a mingling of amazement and disgust. He shook his head lightly. Im surprised there are still enough people in the world with money to purchase your merchandise. Oh there always will be, replied Ramsey. He finished mopping his sodden brow and replaced the handkerchief in his pocket. The general populace may not have enough food in the larder, but they always find money for cigarettes and pay T.V. Bryant thought about that for a moment. He watched this corporate king in his light fawn safari suit mopping his brow and he hated him. He hated his success. In fact he hated success in general, unless it was his own, but he particularly hated this fat, pyknic man with the flabby neck and the billions of dollars. In that case, he said, nodding with thought, already mentally free of the shackles of the corporate world, you should return to your world, Mister Ramsey and I to

mine. You can watch my work on your television station. Ramsey detested this oaf as much as this oaf detested him but he had his own agenda. No, he replied. I intend to stay. I have my entire media and military fortune at stake here, General Bryant. I want to see my dollars well spent and at close quarters. Very well, replied Bryant, who had supposed as much. But I warn you, things are gonna hot up around here in a couple of days. I hope youre ready for it. You look after your world of murder, general, and Ill sell it to the world. Bryant nodded and left without another word. He found Ramseys presence infuriating. But he needed him for the moment. To calm himself he went to watch the endless arrival of planes bearing cargo and thousands upon thousands of murderous eighteen year old boys. While Bryant inspected some of his troops, James Dawbney was in the mess hall addressing a gathering of a thousand soldiers already settled and ready for war. Having loudly announced himself as the bringer of light he stood upon a wooden box at one end of the hall. He looked out upon a sea of vacuous faces; expressionless, indifferent, cold faces. They stared at him without a sound.

Pass the word to all you see! he bellowed and his voice was cast like a net upon the waters. For the Promised land is within sight and all who follow me shall share in it! Why you? shouted out one soldier. Crowley commanded - Do what thou wilt follow your true path! Dawbney replied stridently. I was destined to be the bringer of the new age. Michael whispered it to me through the branches of the Tree of Knowledge. And from Keter to Malchut I will complete my destiny! The same soldier repeated, Whats in it for us? Enough death to quench the flames in each of your frozen hearts. Dawbney scanned across the audience with his index finger. Make no mistake, I know you. I know you all. Your souls are aflame with cold indifference. Your minds are ablaze with the icy waters of unfathomed hatred. So pass the word among the men that I, James Dawbney, have a plan. The silence of the room spoke of interest. Dawbney had their attention. And I will tell you what it is, he said.

CHAPTER 19
Colin had dragged over fifty ancient computer screens and keyboards into his lounge room. They were hooked up to a mainframe in London which itself was connected by satellite to all parts of the globe. The terminals were arranged around him in a huge square right around the room. There wasnt an inch of wall to be seen. In the midst of this dazzling data stream he sat like a mad market broker, watching trends here, and communicating across the globe there. He had paper strewn from one end of the room to the other and his hair was as manic and as frenzied as his current activity. He was in a rolling chair, which, as the need arose, he pushed away from one terminal and towards another at frightening velocity. One by one, right across the world, rehabilitation hospitals were becoming operational and coming on line. Colin had volunteered to become Rehabilitation Coordinator for the British Isles, but as it turned out he had become, by default, the World Co-ordinator. Every Rehab Centre sent him data and he replied to each: giving instructions and encouragement; receiving updates on numbers and activity, and generally overseeing the massive endeavour.

Vanessa came to the door. Dinner, she said. Oh hello, darling, he replied. Look here. Your brothers due to go on line later tonight. Nearly twelve thousand men. Good for him. Well done, replied Vanessa entering the room and standing behind her husband with her hands lightly resting upon his shoulders. Well done indeed, he added with a smile, whilst sending Robert a congratulatory message. Do you know, he asked, spinning around in his chair to face Vanessa, within a week there will be over four hundred and fifty such centres world-wide? Actually, Vanessa did know that because Colin had told her that on numerous occasions, but he obviously liked telling her that and she loved him - so she replied, again, Are there really? Yes, which means that close to five million young men will be temporarily safe from the mad general and his war. Did you know that he has between twenty and thirty million boys over there in Texas? Can you imagine it twenty to thirty million? No, Vanessa couldnt imagine it and she told her husband so, whilst coaxing him out of his rolling chair and guiding him towards the kitchen for dinner. Colin rattled on as

he moved into the kitchen, though it was by no means certain that he realised thats where he was. It restores your faith in human nature, doesnt it? I mean all of these hospitals funded by the general public of the world. Amazing achievement. People power competing with the will of governments and corporations. Its so much more difficult to find a peaceful solution to a problem. So much easier to blow everything up. She sat him down. There are still over five million boys at large, you know? Some dormant and some active - the plague hasnt run its full course yet . . . And presented a plate of spaghetti marinara in front of him. . . . so it turns out that the curfew was a good idea . . . She gave him a fork. . . . Once the Rehab Centres are all up and running smoothly, Ill leave them to be run by local authorities and begin searching for a cure to this damn disease. She took his fork, wound some spaghetti around it and held it up in front of his face. For a second Colin appeared bewildered. Then he raised his chin slightly and squinted having finally registered the object. A

moment later he said, That looks good. Whats that? Dinner, she replied. Thank you, dear, he said grabbing the fork and munching away in silence. He stared at the wall while he ate, and on more than one occasion Vanessa had to repeat the process of winding spaghetti onto his fork, which more or less restarted him and got him eating again. Just as he finished, a beep went off in the lounge room. Ah, that will be Wales, he proclaimed, standing. Thank you, dear. And he was off. Vanessa placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin upon her upturned knuckle. She opened her pretty hazel-brown eyes wide with thought and wondered how long it would be before her husband would notice her again. Oh well, she sighed, its a small price to pay for living with a genius. * It was Saturday morning in Sydney. Robert hit a button and simultaneously two things happened: one, the electronic fence activated and two, he sent a message to Sir Colin Dunnett informing him that his Rehabilitation Centre was finally fully operational. Robert

was of course aware that in reality this was not really a rehabilitation centre, it was a gaol, but the nomenclature possessed a certain optimism that he, Sir Colin, and four hundred and fifty other administrators around the globe found appealing; so they stuck with it. Hopefully, one day these rehabilitation centres would become just that. Natasha, Jasmine and Monique were present for the auspicious occasion and broke into instant applause as Robert hit the button. Nothing else changed, except for a faint whirring sound as the fence was activated. Robert grabbed for the intercom and his voice boomed out over a loudspeaker system. Boys of the Macquarie Rehabilitation Centre, he said with a smile towards his small entourage. The perimeter fence is now operational. You will be directed to your rooms as required. He put down the microphone and was immediately hugged by Jasmine, Natasha and Monique. Were all so proud of you, Robert, said Jasmine. Her jowls wobbled slightly as she shook her head with pleasure and beamed him her generous smile. I never thought Id see the day, marvelled Natasha. Detective Robert Greenway a volunteer community worker.

Im only a small part of this machine, replied Robert. Ive got a roster of two thousand fathers and even a few grandfathers helping out. Some of them are former police officers, so Im using them as guards. The communitys pulling together. Yes, but someone had to lead them. Look at what youve achieved, said Jasmine and she gave him another hug. She wouldnt have admitted it, but Robert was fit and had become quite muscular and she didnt mind hugging him one little bit. Are you going to put the boys in their cells as soon as they turn eighteen? asked Natasha. Im calling them rooms, not cells. No, I dont think so. Im going to wait and see what happens. Its by no means certain that theyll go crazy as soon as they turn eighteen. Some of them may just become weird and withdrawn. So before I throw anyone in a cell . . . I mean, a room, Ill give them the benefit of the doubt. Ill wait and see. Constable Ryan came in carrying Ramseys Morning Star newspaper. He was his usual gangly, freckle-faced self. Bad news overseas, he quoted from the paper, completely oblivious that any conversation may have been in progress prior to his entrance. In separate incidents over the

last twenty four hours, two in Europe and one in South America, three stadiums have been levelled by multiple bomb blasts resulting in the deaths of over thirty eight thousand people. Oh no, said all three women, almost in unison. In one accord each placed their hand to their mouth as if their very life might escape from them if they didnt. Yeah, continued the constable, again reading. Except for the war games all collective outdoor activities are banned by the United Nations until further notice. He finished reading and looked up. How about that, hey? Thanks for being the bearer of good tidings, Richard, said Monique, aware that Roberts moment of triumph had been killed by the announcement. What do you mean? asked Ryan, completely unaware. Never mind, she said with a shake of her head. Robert looked thoughtful. All we can do is manage the symptoms until someone finds a cure. So thats what I intend to do. Changing tack he said, How are things back at Dixon Street, Natasha? Those military boys giving you a hard time?

You havent been in there for a while have you? Its like a military zone. Tanks in the street and men with rifles at every corner. Still, better that than chaos, Robert replied. Yes, thats true, she said quietly. And no more activity from the true DNA killer, Jas? Jasmine hesitated long enough for Robert to become suspicious. There is? Jasmine produced a small typed note which she handed gingerly to Robert. I was going to give this to you later. I didnt want to rain on your parade. Robert took the note and read it. It was typed on standard paper and merely stated: Are you a detective or a warden? Youll have to decide next week. Robert quietly placed the paper onto his desk and pursed his lips. You know what? he said brightly, Im not going to let anything spoil today. Im proud of what weve achieved and I love everyone here, and he added with a mischievous smile, - except maybe you, Richard. They all laughed, except for Richard, who had gone back to reading the paper and wasnt really listening.

Huh? he said with his large ears twitching slightly. I have some champagne and a few glasses here somewhere, said Robert. And he went about the business of retrieving them.

CHAPTER 20
It was Saturday morning the 5th of July, 2059. In the desert of New Mexico and Texas, between the Rio Grande and the Mississippi, two opposing armies of over ten million men were gathered. The Red Army had left their tents where they stood and were now assembled facing the outstretched, sandy expanse. Bryant stood upon a hill beside his personal helicopter watching through binoculars in silent excitement. He nodded to a subordinate who sent up a flare. Like a great, awakening, creaky giant, the foremost ranks began to move. Within an hour the multi-cellular monster was advancing into the flat, arid wasteland: millions of men, all upon foot, marching towards the desert horizon. Forty kilometres away, Keith Ramsey signalled for the Blue Army to advance. Across the dry Earth they moved, trampling cacti into the dust. Millions of boots, tossing up the desert sand as far as the eye could see. Its like two goddamn cities attacking one another, Bryant muttered to himself with almost orgasmic glee. He couldnt wrench his eyes from his binoculars. He was intoxicated by the sight. Dawbney stood beside him,

watching him, watch the troops. This is the biggest damn mobilisation in history, boy. You realise that? Dawbney continued to stare at Bryant. He didnt speak. Bryant reluctantly withdrew the binoculars from his eyes and turned to look at him. Did you hear what I said? I heard you, Dawbney replied quietly. Well goddamn answer me in future. He went back to his binoculars. My Lord, that is a sight. Yes, sir. Had Bryant been less absorbed he would have noted Dawbneys disdain. Dawbney regarded the general as if he had smelled something bad. He appeared to be almost fascinated by this image of the salivating giant overseeing his war. How long? asked Dawbney. Theres no rush, replied Bryant. They wont reach one another til this afternoon. The wars scheduled to start at 2pm, right after the baseball. A helicopter hovered above the moving mass of men. In it was a reporter. REPORTER Art Griffin here in the Ramsey Tele-Hologram helicopter. Whew! Thats a mouthful. (laughs)

What you can see below me is the Red Army. Made up of millions of would-be mass murderers and diseased misogynists, this DNA rabble is headed for battle. In a little over four hours theyll reach the Blue Army and folks, were gonna be in for a 3D audio/ visual treat. Ill be bringing you regular updates so settle in for this I Dont Play Any Competitive Sport Saturday on Channel 2123 and remember if youre not watching on a Ramsey Tele-hologram, youre back in two dimensions. Chuck? * What a load of crap, said Colin staring at the television. Darling, said Vanessa reproachfully. You mustnt swear. Im sorry but its true. What do you think is wrong with Americans? They originally came from good British and European stock, didnt they? They have too much space, dear, she replied absent-mindedly. So do the Australians. Yes, and look what happened to them?

Its all so frustrating, spouted Colin, scratching the stubble on his chin in agitation. If the U.N. set its mind to it we neednt have this war at all. We could pen those boys and that would give us more time to find a cure. I mean look at this. Now theyre back to the baseball. Only in America could you have a domestic baseball competition and dare to call it the World Series. * REPORTER Here we are a little over an hour from showtime. Below me you can see the dust thrown up by the two armies. Theyre getting closer by the second, so dont wave your hand through that hologram and remember dont think outside of the square, think outside of the box with a Ramsey 3D Tele-Hologram. If youre not watching on a Ramsey Tele-hologram, youre back in two dimensions. Back to the top of the seventh. Chuck? * This is gonna be amazing, said Constable Ryan as he sat in front of the old television set. Pity we havent got a Ramsey TeleHologram. If you say that again, Ill send you into two dimensions, replied Robert. Turn it off.

Huh? mumbled Ryan, taking his feet off the desk. How come? Because all youre doing is supporting Keith Ramsey and Keith Ramsey is dealing in death. Its just a war game, protested Constable Ryan, but Robert had already left to do his rounds.

* V/O They come from all over the world: from America; from Canada; from Alaska. Theyre good guys gone bad and theyre as mad as hell. Welcome to WAR GAMES. . . * From Bryants P.O.V. in the chopper the view was staggering - two incoming tides of khaki spread across the desert; two massive waves heading directly towards one another. To the edge of the horizon, even from this elevated vantage point, all he could see were millions of dots blending like pixels into one giant mosaic. Dawbney sat impassively behind Bryant and was only distracted when one of Ramseys helicopters flew a little too close to theirs.

Get out of our air space! Brant yelled to the offending pilot, waving his arms about like an agitated orang-utan. He placed the binoculars back to his eyes. Wont be long now.' With helicopters buzzing just above their heads, cameras trained upon them and an audience of billions across the globe tuning in, the two armies met in the middle of that dry and sandy desert. All over the world people held their breath, morbidly fascinated with the impending massacre. And . . . Nothing happened. The two armies met and stood talking. Instead of two armies, now there was one. Circling above, and watching close ups on his state of the art mini-hologram monitor playing out on the dashboard of the helicopter, Bryant howled in fury. What in the name of Mel Gibson is going on? Take us down! Take us down! he screamed at the pilot. Behind him, Dawbney was smiling. Moments later Bryants chopper landed in the midst of the soldiers; right at the join where the two armies met. He scuttled out of the helicopter, holding his hand to his mouth to ward away the sand displaced by the slowly diminishing fervour of the whirring blades. Dawbney followed him at a more leisurely and measured place. He seemed amused by the huge mans tantrum.

Nearby, another helicopter had also landed. In the small ellipse created in the midst of the soldiers, Keith Ramsey met up with General Bryant. Neither was too happy. What the hell is going on? asked Bryant of Ramsey. How the hell should I know? replied Ramsey. They looked around them. They found only passive, stony-eyed faces. Each man held a rifle muzzle towards the Earth. No one seemed to have the least intention of fighting. Do you boys realise how much is at stake here? Bryant blasted. There are over eight billion people waiting for you to fight! added Ramsey, as if this would somehow energise the troops into action. It didnt. They wont fight, said James Dawbney. Bryant and Ramsey turned angrily upon him. Bryant, in particular, was red-faced with fury. He strode towards Dawbney, but Dawbney did not flinch. Bryant invaded his personal space. And how do you know that? he asked in a harsh, strained almost-whisper. His breath was tickling Dawbneys nose. Because I told them not to, he replied, simply. Bryant couldnt believe his ears. You told them? he repeated, dumbly.

Yes, replied Dawbney gaining some distance from the bulky general and moving into the space between him and Ramsey. I told you, its the end of the age. Intuitively each of these men know that, just as I know that. What are you talking about? asked Ramsey reaching for his ever-present handkerchief. You must fight. You have to fight. This is the most expensive television extravaganza ever attempted. Is that all youre worried about? laughed Dawbney, and surprisingly, a large number of the soldiers within earshot followed his lead. Bryant looked uneasily at the shifting sea of men surrounding him.

Well I wouldnt worry about that, Mister Corporate Man, said Dawbney swaggering slightly as he approached Ramsey. It struck Ramsey, as the boy approached, that he was gaining in confidence by the second, fuelled somehow by the surrounding soldiers who seemed to be responding to him. You see, your ratings will be through the roof once you hear what Ive got to say once they hear what Ive got to say. He motioned towards the cameras which were protruding from the nearby helicopters. In fact its all started off rather well. Quite a bit of early drama really. Perhaps not exactly what was expected but then again that can be a good thing, especially when everyone in the viewing world, all eight billion of them, hear what were about to do. And what exactly is that? asked General Bryant through gritted teeth. All in good time, general. All in good time, Dawbney said, patronisingly. If youre going to make the reality show to end all reality shows you really must hold some secrets in reserve. He yelled past Bryants shoulder, Get me a megaphone! and a young man scurried over to the helicopter to find one. While they waited for it, Dawbney smiled and Bryant stared furiously back at him. Ramsey continued to dab his forehead. He looked around at the soldiers with steadily increasing alarm.

Dawbney grabbed the megaphone. Pass this on! he shouted down its funnel. From now on we are one army and I am your leader! I will deliver you what I promised! A ripple of sound spread away in every direction as if a stone had been dropped into a well. Dawbney dropped the megaphone to his side. He said quietly to Ramsey and Bryant, but loud enough so that the camera microphones could hear. And you two are my hostages. Bryants eyes flared and he wanted to rip the upstart apart, but some of the surrounding soldiers had already raised their gun muzzles, silently encouraging him to cooperate. He had no choice but to stand and take it. He had been tricked but he had lost none of his evangelical zeal. The day of the Lord cometh, boy, he whispered to Dawbney. Dawbney sidled up beside him and whispered, Oh I know, general, but I told you, not in the way that you expected. With a condescending laugh he motioned towards the two men and commanded, Chain them! and it was done.

Dawbney sauntered past Bryant and mounted the dormant helicopter. Cameras were trained on him from all angles. He raised his fine, white hands into the air and his thin, blonde hair ruffled ever-so-slightly in the light wind. There he stood, astride the world like the Colossus at Rhodes. He looked out over the vast death machine he had miraculously inherited and he knew his time had come. And the angels will rain down their tears upon the Earth! he shouted, And the Earth shall be cleansed! And the next great age of the Earth shall come! * Robert walked back into the office just in time to hear Dawbneys last words. He was incredulous. He stared uncomprehendingly at the murderer he had been ordered to leave in America, now standing on a helicopter in the middle of the New Mexico desert, surrounded by millions of cheering psychopaths. What happened? he asked. But Constable Ryan didnt seem the least bit interested. He was busy looking through the T.V. guide. Oh, not much, he replied. Bit of a fizzer. Oh look. Theres a rerun of Columbo on Channel 187.

CHAPTER 21
Within an hour the same bronze helicopter that had taken Robert up to Ramseys mansion was approaching the main courtyard of the Macquarie Centre. The grassy area was a couple of football fields wide and long and nestled among four towering former lectureblocks. These were now lodgings for the plague victims. Robert heard the helicopters approach and was already outside in the courtyard when it arrived. He recognised it immediately. He looked from it, and then towards the hundreds of young men currently milling about in the area. He cursed, and quickly, before it could land, he spoke into his handset. Guards on all buildings. Cover me. Robert ran out towards the helicopter, cowering away from its down-blast. A large leopard-patterned suitcase was hurled through the door and almost collected Robert. He dodged it and held up his hand. Out jumped Mary Ramsey, svelte as a cat in a leopardpatterned one piece jump suit. She had no sooner hit the ground than a young man in the near vicinity turned to look at her with a snap of his head and a manic expression in his eyes. For Gods sake! What are you doing here? he yelled under the cacophony of the blades.

I had no place else to go! she replied, as he led her from the helicopter, dragging her heavy suitcase with his spare hand. One glimpse of her face told Robert that she had been crying. He looked around the courtyard. The majority of the inmates seemed disinterested in the arrival, but two of the men seemed agitated by it and were moving in his general direction, seemingly with some intent. He hurried the young woman away from the machine and towards his office block, but the two men cut off his progress. 968 and 3122, he said, noting the numbers on their shirts, get out of my way. Neither man spoke, but both appeared to be having some overpowering, maniacal, internal dialogue. It was as if they were in slow motion explosion; as if an atom bomb was detonating somewhere deep inside them and the shock wave was only now beginning to reach the surface. Their eyes widened with growing rage and their faces contorted grotesquely. They both began to shake as they looked upon Marys feminine form. This beautiful flower had grown weeds of fury within them; weeds which must strangle the garden. Marys face grew blanched. She retreated behind Robert. This only incensed the two men.

With insane howls that reverberated through the courtyard, they ran at her, their mouths open as if they meant to devour her flesh. But Robert had already pulled a gun from his holster, and before either man could reach his target, he had unloaded a single bullet into one leg of each man. They fell screaming, half in agony, still half in the clutches of the plague. The guards came running. Keep them in their rooms from now on! commanded Robert. And get them some medical attention! He ushered the girl from the courtyard as swiftly as he could, looking around all the while for any other assailants. But they were safe for the time being. Once inside the building he locked the main door behind them. They stood in a great hall. He held both her arms and shook them lightly to emphasise the folly of her actions. You were very nearly killed, Mary. This is a facility for plague victims, for Gods sake. Many of these men are already eighteen.

My fathers been taken hostage and Im scared. I dont know anyone else who can help me. Im sorry, she whimpered, and she fell into his embrace. He let her keep her face turned sideways upon his chest for a while until her grief was spent. When she had finished crying, she turned her radiant blue eyes up towards him, now glistening with the residue of her tears. Please help me, she whispered. Im scared and alone up in the mountains. Robert looked down upon that vision: dark, beautiful and imploring. He watched her mouth move. Those moist, red lips, just now trembling deliciously, invitingly so close; so close - he wanted so much to kiss her, but he didnt. You cant stay here, he said emphatically, moving her to a safe arms length. Come with me. I have a friend who might help. On the way to Jasmines place, Mary appeared to regain her composure. She seemed more intent on stroking Roberts hair. Please, Mary, he said. Im trying to drive. She smiled and continued to stare at him. She had pulled the zipper down on her jump suit and was revealing her small, but efficient cleavage. Robert was desperately trying not to notice. Have you ever met James Dawbney? he asked her, as much for his own diversion as for information. Who?

The man who has your father hostage. He looked at her for a moment. You do remember that your father has been kidnapped? Oh yes. Of course. No, Daddy never introduced me. Daddy never introduces me to anybody interesting. Her hand was making its way mischievously towards his crotch. But he placed his hand upon hers, halted its advance, and placed it back upon her lap. Well, somehow that maniac has managed to find himself in control of an army of maniacs. Oooh. Sounds like fun, she replied with a big grin and an excited shrug of her shoulders. Robert did a double take at her. He wasnt sure whether this was a woman or a child. One moment he wanted to make love to her and the next, to send her to her room without dinner. She placed her hand upon his forearm. Oh, youre strong, she noticed with delight. Listen, she whispered close to his ear, why dont you take me home and stay there with me? We have everything we need up there and Id feel nice and safe with you next to me at night.

Robert should really have been forceful and told her not to be so damn foolish and to please not whisper so close to his ear because he could feel her hot breath, but somehow he couldnt quite muster up the forcefulness required. He did however have enough presence of mind to say, No. You can stay with Jasmine until we find someone else to look after you, which, considering the fact that the girl was pushing thirty, did seem a bit ridiculous. Realising this and thinking of her once again as just an overgrown kid, he found firmer resolve and asked her to please stop fondling him. She withdrew with a petulant folding of arms and an affected moue out of the window. When they arrived at Jasmines apartment block, Mary looked up at it with distaste. Yuk, she pulled a face. Who lives in there? You do. If youre lucky. Come on. He led her up the stairs and into Jasmines apartment, lugging her suitcase all the way, where they found a rather surprised Monique, still in her dressing gown, with her hair up in a towel and Jasmine in a pair of track suit pants doing the washing up at the kitchen sink. She dried her hands. You might have told us that you were coming, Robert, she said with mild reproach, wiping her hands with a tea towel and coming over to shake the young ladys hand.

This is Jasmine and this is Monique, introduced Robert. This is Mary. It became apparent that Mary had no intention of shaking Jasmines hand which prompted Jasmine to look at Robert enquiringly. At the same time Mary had sized up Monique and found her annoyingly pretty, in spite of the towel on her head, and Monique had taken one look at the trim, rich girl in the zipped down leopard-patterned jump suit, with matching suitcase, and hated her immediately. To consolidate this feeling, Mary took Robert by the arm and pressed her cheek against his forearm. Roberts been helping me. Havent you, Robert? she said, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. Has he now? replied Monique, the embers of jealousy stirring in her eyes. Mary ignored Monique, let go of Roberts arm, and strutted straight past Jasmine to have a look at the balcony. Oh look, at this, she said loudly, How quaint. This balcony is smaller than my shower. Jasmine looked at Robert. Her eyes flared. Its only for a few days, he whispered. Her father has been kidnapped. You want her to stay here? Jasmine whispered back. Only for a few days. Until we find someone to take care of her. Take care of her? Monique echoed, moving purposefully towards him. How old is she? And how exactly have you been helping her?

Robert had landed himself smack bang into the middle of an explain yourself, buddy situation, with two women tapping their feet upon the lino waiting for an explanation. No. No. Its nothing like that, he replied in hushed tones. Please, girls. Shes a bit of a handful but her father is Keith Ramsey and hes been kidnapped. Right on cue, the television burst into epic breaking news music. This drew Mary from the balcony and all four towards the television. Wheres the hologram machine? asked Mary. Ssh, replied Monique. ANCHOR MAN This breaking news from the desert of New Mexico. EXT.NEW MEXICO DESERT.DAY A reporter, in a helicopter, speaks to the camera. REPORTER

Im above the desert of New Mexico where billionaire tycoon Keith Ramsey and United Nations Head of the Military Executive General Rufus Bryant have been taken captive by James Dawbney, former mass murderer. If you look below me you can see a truly remarkable sight. The massive force assembled here by General Bryant has been taken over by Dawbney and appears to be fracturing. We go to our man on the ground, Mike McClaren. A reporter walks at the head of a great marching throng of men. Directly behind him is General Bryants jeep at the vanguard of the army. Keith Ramsey and General Bryant can be seen handcuffed, gagged and tied up in the back seat. Dawbney stands on the front seat of the jeep like a liberating general. MIKE

Thanks, John. As you can see behind me, Commander James Dawbney, as he has dubbed himself, is leading this vast army of men towards Washington. It appears that the army has split into 25 units of approximately one million men and this unit, headed by Dawbney, is marching in the general direction of Odessa. Dawbney wont say what his intentions are when he gets there, or what he intends to do in the long run. ANCHOR MAN Well be back shortly with a slow motion replay of the earlier conversation between Dawbney, Ramsey and Bryant. And well keep you abreast of any developments as they occur. And just remember even in a war situation, theres always time for a Crispy Fry. Robert snapped off the television with a primal grunt and stood for a moment facing the wall. The three women watched his back and it seemed to Jasmine she could almost see the thoughts jumble about in the back of his head. Finally he turned. Jas, he said, if youd be kind enough to look after Mary for a couple of days Id really appreciate it. Jasmine nodded graciously. Moniques expression wasnt quite so gracious.

And Mary, you behave yourself and dont give Jasmine any trouble, or youll be sent home alone. You understand? Mary understood but she didnt like it. She screwed up her face like a surly teenage girl and nodded. Im going home to contact Colin, he said and he was about to leave when two young women more or less launched themselves at him. Monique grabbed his right arm and Mary his left. For a moment Jasmine thought that they might have a tug of war. Will I see you soon? asked Mary, flashing her eyes at him as much as it is possible for anybody to flash their eyes at anybody. Soon enough, he replied. Take care, Robert, said Monique with a gentle smile. Robert touched her lightly on the cheek, I will, sweetheart, he said and disengaged from the two girls. A silent fire blazed behind Marys eyes. Sweetheart? He never calls me sweetheart, she was thinking as Robert left the room, escorted by Jasmine. This left the two women face to face and alone for a moment.

Oh look, said Mary with mock surprise, a cockroach! She squashed an unfortunate cockroach beneath her foot as it made a quick dash for cover. Then, looking meaningfully at Monique, she slowly twisted her heel and ground the cockroach into the apartment floor. I do so hate lowly things. Monique stared defiantly towards her new, unwanted guest. Mary smirked back at her and it seemed to Monique that some dark danger lurked in those bright, blue eyes. Thanks for this, Jas, said Robert, on the other side of the door. Shes a bit of a pain in the arse, but I couldnt just leave her alone. Hopefully, if they let her father go . . . Do you think they will? she asked. Not in the short term, he replied. Not before they drain some of those billions. And what will become of those poor people in Odessa? Ill give you a tip, Jas if I lived in the U.S.A. right now, Id be looking for a fast boat and a friendly country. Im afraid our mad general has started more than he bargained for. He was about to leave when Jasmine held him lightly by the arm. He looked enquiringly back at her. She handed him a small disc. This came for you yesterday at Dixon Street, she said almost apologetically. He took a deep breath and took the disc.

On his way home he placed it in the old disc player of his car. An effected voice spoke in a deep, mechanical drawl. Still no clues, Mister Greenway? it slurred, in disguise. Perhaps I can help you. Look where your jewel kept her jewels. And that was it. He played it over and over in his mind and was still replaying it when, fifteen minutes later, he was back in his lounge room speaking to a hologram of Sir Colin. So what do we do? asked Robert. Unless someone acts very soon, theres gonna be a bloody world war. Yes, indeed, Colin replied, smoothing his fingers under his chin. Yes, indeed, so we shall take one step at a time. Vanessa and I have assembled a team of scientists at the university and were trying to find a cure or an antidote. What about your end? Robert didnt mention the DNA killers taunts. He figured any problems he had were completely insignificant compared to recent events. Weve managed to drop the crime rate significantly. Weve got thousands under lock and key. There are still quite a few killers on the loose, but the Military Police dont muck around. Alright, Colin replied thoughtfully. Im off to an emergency meeting at the U.N. late tomorrow morning. Ill keep you informed. And he was gone.

Robert sat for a while staring at the empty room. He had an overwhelming desire to hold someone, male or female, it didnt matter. He just needed some human contact. He felt so incredibly alone and sad. The world was full of ominous rumblings and he was like a cave man without a mate under the thunderous sky. Once he had enjoyed a family loved-ones to stand beside and weather the storm. In real terms it only meant that they would have all got wet together, but there was comfort in human connection. He moved into his bedroom and went to the drawer within which his wife kept her jewellery and where it still was untouched since her death; a kind of mini-shrine. He opened the drawer and froze for a moment. There upon his wifes jewellery was a note. It had been placed there sometime within the last week. Robert knew that for sure. He didnt admit it to anyone, but he still fondled his wifes jewellery fairly often. The familiarity struck an harmonious chord within the harp of his soul. Now, instead of angels music, a Devils song began. He picked it up. It was another typed note. It read: Four more dead. If at first you dont succeed. . . And then it listed an address in Chippendale.

Within minutes Robert arrived at the small townhouse which squatted beside the main road. It was an innocuous little dwelling. Its front yard was barely a yard in length and its plastered concrete was cracked and weathered. There appeared to be no life in the old building, but never-the-less, Robert approached cautiously. He had no back up. The Military Police didnt look too kindly upon local police working within their jurisdiction. He looked furtively about but there were few people around, even in this usually busy part of town. Thousands of murders tend to clear the streets fairly rapidly; that and the presence of armoured vehicles powered by uniformed men of irascible temperament. Slowly and cautiously he pulled his gun, opened the door, which was not locked, and entered. Once inside he placed his hand across his mouth. He smelled something very bad. The cause soon became clear. There, upon the floor, partially rotted into the floor of the kitchen, were four piles of human: one woman, one man and two children. Though their brows had melted with decay he could still make out the letters DNA gouged into their foreheads. Then he stopped with a sudden jerk. Wait a minute. He knew these people. He held his breath and took a closer look.

It was two of the children he had saved from the playground and the parents who were so happy to have them safely returned by Roberts intervention. Another note, partially consumed by the rotting flesh in the littlest girls neck read: Death will come to all you love.

CHAPTER 22
The Security Council was in emergency session and Colin was already in full flight on the floor. Listening to him again were the Representatives for the Arts, Sciences, Commerce and Civil Service. General Bryant had been replaced by the three sallow-faced men who were purportedly his advisers. Apparently, they acted as one voice and couldnt be separated, at least that was the only reason Colin could see for all three of them being there. Vanessa had accompanied her husband and she sat quietly to one side as he spoke. None of the bureaucracy, usually seated behind each of the executive, was present. You must see the urgency, stated Colin with an emphatic upturning of his fine, intelligent hands to drive home his point. He had the distinct feeling that no one was really listening. We must take drastic action before the troops reach any major cities. What would you suggest? asked the corpulent Representative for the Civil Services in her high-pitched voice. We must oppose them, he replied incredulously. They have no air power and theyre on foot. Are you suggesting that we attack them? asked the small, yellow-faced South American Representative for Commerce.

Yes, Colin replied, aghast at the councils seeming failure to see the urgency of the situation. We cant go bombing civilians as a first resort, said the Representative for the Arts in her raucous voice. We must try diplomacy first. What are you talking about? asked Colin. This council has already agreed once to let them blow the hell out of each other. Whats the difference whether we do it now? Representatives for the Military, surely you see the exigency of this? The three sallow-faced men went into an immediate huddle. This took almost a minute. In that time Colin turned to his wife. Vanessa shrugged. Colin began to suspect that General Bryant had been in command for so long that everyone else in the military had forgotten how to make decisions. He turned back in time to see the middle sallow-faced man reply. General Bryants approach to this dilemma and our approach are quite different. We are of the opinion that diplomacy must be attempted first. We suggest that a diplomatic party be sent out to meet the unit of the army commanded by James Dawbney. Youre joking, replied Colin, scanning quickly across the impenetrable faces. And you think that they will listen?

We must try, said the Representative for the Sciences, his ruddy hue never more pronounced than now perhaps through embarrassment, Colin was thinking. This is absurd, he replied vehemently. Earlier, when the situation required diplomacy you chose aggression. Now it requires aggression and youre clutching at diplomacy. Please listen to me, all of you. It is vital that you understand the gravity of this situation. Millions of men in twenty five separate units are about to swarm like locusts across North America and God knows where else. If you do not act now, while theyre still in the open desert, it will be too late. Soon they will reach civilisation; first towns and then cities and our opportunity to strike will be lost. This is not a time for diplomacy; it is a time for force of arms. These men are diseased psychopaths. He stopped and watched his words wash away into thin air. They had decided. All protests would be useless. Colin looked especially at the three sallow-faced military advisers. Where Bryant had shown too much aggression these buffoons were showing too little; or maybe they were hoping that Bryant would be publicly humiliated by the ordeal and they liked the idea. Whatever the case, he could see their closed faces, which betrayed their closed minds.

We note, stated the middle sallow-faced man imperiously, that you, yourself have been unable to find a cure for this plague and that it was your inoculations twenty years ago that caused this dilemma. Perhaps then the blame for this situation should fall upon you? Vanessa could take no more of this. She stood and took the floor beside her husband. How dare you! she thundered. How dare you blame my husband for this situation? I remind you that he argued against your stupid plan of creating an army in the first place! Thank you, Ms Greenway, said the Representative for the Arts, in an attempt to quell her passion. And he may well have found a cure for this disease, Vanessa continued, unabated, had he been given the time to do so. But hes been forced to raise public money and co-ordinate hospital facilities that you as the international body should have been doing yourselves, instead of allowing this idiotic general to have his evangelical war! That will be enough! replied the three sallow-faced men in unison. Im afraid what you have decided here will be nowhere near enough, said Colin sadly. He took Vanessas arm. Come, my dear. I suggest we leave this country while it is still possible to do so. What is that supposed to mean? asked the Representative for Science.

I fear you will find out within a few weeks, Colin replied. Now, if youll excuse us? He and Vanessa exited the chamber and found their way onto First Avenue where Colin was both surprised and delighted to find Jacob Daniels and his son Rueben standing on the corner. Jacob! hailed Colin when he spied them. Jacob Daniels! Jacob waved back and soon the greeting and salutations were complete. What goes on, my man? asked Colin affably, perhaps even a little more affably than normal due to the release from the annoyance he had been feeling in the Security Council. Oh, replied Jacob with a characteristic body shuffle, things havent been going so well of late. He looked like he might break down. He couldnt complete what he was saying. Rueben finished it for him, Mum died, he said sadly. She was murdered a few weeks ago. Oh, Im so sorry, replied Vanessa. And she found herself comforting Rueben who had burst into silent tears.

Jacob also shed a tear and this presented Colin with quite a problem. He was far too British to engage in physical embrace with another man, but far too human not to. He decided upon a hybrid reaction which was a kind of half an arm around the shoulder affair, until the grief had passed. Im sorry, said Jacob, dabbing his eyes. I still cant believe shes gone. Lets walk by the river, Vanessa suggested, and that seemed like a good idea. They were a motley crew, those four, strolling beside the East River of Manhattan: the wiry haired Colin; the smooth, white complexions of he and his wife; the tall, dark, swarthy Rueben, and his father, the small, shuffling Columbo doppelganger. They walked in silence for some time. The mid-year warmth of New York had been exacerbated by global warming. It was hot and it was sticky under the middle-day sun. Are you back at work? asked Colin, after they had listened to the gulls for some time. Not yet, Jacob replied. Ill go back soon enough, I guess. If the military police will have me, that is. Colin had been brewing an idea. Listen Jacob, he said suddenly. I once said to you that you might enjoy visiting England. I was wondering if you might not like to take up that offer now? Id like to see London, Rueben admitted. London? Jacob echoed. Its short notice.

You can stay with us for a time, Vanessa offered. Oh we couldnt impose . . . began Jacob. Nonsense, Colin interrupted, sensing some indecision and the real possibility of acceptance, and whats more, the travel tickets are on me. Jacob didnt know what to say. Can we, Dad? asked Rueben. Look, Jacob, said Colin earnestly, taking his small friend lightly by the elbow and halting his progress, I dont want to be the prophet of doom and gloom but you and I both know that theres a storm coming. Those armies are going to shatter like shrapnel across the face of the Americas and you, and your son, will be a hell of a lot safer across the Atlantic for the time being. What do you say? You can always come back. Colins words impacted upon Jacob, especially the mention of his son. He had already lost his dear wife; the last thing he could bear was to lose his beloved son. When can we go? he asked. Rueben beamed a huge smile first to his father and then towards Colin. Our shuttle leaves this evening, Colin replied. Then thoughtfully he added, Ill only get you one way tickets for the time being. *

Robert had reported the murder of the children to the military police now fully in command of Dixon Street and was berated for his efforts. He had explained that they were part of a series of killings directed specifically at him, but the young, fat-faced soldier almost laughed at him. Let us know if you turn up any more clues, he said sarcastically. And Robert left, realising that if he wanted anything done, he must do it himself. He got to thinking - it was some measure of how far things had deteriorated when a man tells an officer upholding the law that four people have been murdered by a serial killer and the officer laughs because of the insignificance of the crime. But given the circumstances, he could hardly blame the officer. When a battlefield is strewn with corpses no general sheds a tear over any one particular corpse. When death is all around it becomes the unavoidable ambience and everyone becomes inured. Robert returned to the Macquarie Centre and promptly sent two men over to guard Jasmine, Monique and Mary. Death will come to all of those you love, the note had said. He was taking no chances.

CHAPTER 23
EXT.NEW MEXICO DESERT.DAY A reporter speaks to the camera. REPORTER Its been four days since James Dawbney took command of the Dark Earth Army. His contingent of men continues to storm across the desert of New Mexico. They are now nearing Odessa, whilst other contingents of this vast army have splintered in all directions across the U.S.A. We go to our man on the ground, Mike Williams. Mike, I believe a meeting is about to take place between Dawbney and three representatives from the U.N.? MIKE (whispers) Thats right, John. In fact well cut straight to our jeep cam and watch the action live. Dawbney is already in negotiation with three, what can only be described as, sallow-faced military men. JEEP CAM is written at the bottom of the screen. We see Dawbney in front of the U.N. jeep listening to the middle member of the sallowfaced trio.

General Bryant stands beside him at point. He is held fast by two large He is still bound and gagged but he struggling and appears to be trying something.

gun soldiers. is to say

SALLOW-FACED MAN So thats our offer. If you can convince your men to put down their weapons, well try to find a way to help them when they return to civilisation. DAWBNEY (laughs) Its a little late for that, wouldnt you say? SALLOW-FACED MAN Thats our final offer. DAWBNEY No deal. He shoves General Bryant towards the U.N representatives. SALLOW-FACED MAN What do you mean no deal? DAWBNEY I mean what I say. So long, general. Dawbney turns back towards his own jeep and the camera.

The three military men take General Bryant and place him in the back seat of their jeep. One of them takes his gag off. BRYANT (urgently) Theres a bomb, you Goddamn fool! In a rush of adrenaline the sallow-faced man rips open Bryants shirt. He is strapped with dynamite. The men look immediately towards Dawbney who has a detonator in his hand. SALLOW-FACED MAN No! Dawbney pushes the detonator and the U.N. jeep explodes into a million pieces. Even Dawbney has to shade his eyes from the ferocity of the blast. The camera comes back on to the field reporter. MIKE This war brought to you by Crispy Fries. You can catch the highlights tonight at 9. John? *

Soon the United States of America was ripped apart. Through every state the rampaging armies wrought havoc ... A map of the U.S.A. shows arrows indicating troop movement to accompany the narration. NARRATOR The Dark Earth Armies have spread like wildfire, bringing death and destruction wherever they go. In a little under two weeks theyve tramped through Oklahoma and Kansas and onwards to the Badlands of South Dakota. To the west theyve headed through Arizona and up into Southern California. To the south, Central America has been overwhelmed. Meanwhile, Dawbneys contingent is currently heading via the southern states, up towards Washington D.C. MONTAGE Tens of thousands of soldiers swarming over gridlocked traffic. Men, trying to defend their families, are shot beside dormant cars. Children have their throats slashed by steely-eyed brutes. Women are swarmed upon; pack-raped, murdered and discarded like used toys. NARRATOR

While the United Nations argue over mobilisation, millions flee the beleaguered American shores. Thousands of civilians pour onto docks. Fist fights break out as families try to board overcrowded ocean liners. In airport lounges, men, women and children clamour for plane tickets. Scalpers are knifed and tickets stolen. NARRATOR No-one foolish enough to stand their ground is spared a violent end. Air bases and military facilities, which have so long awaited orders to attack, are under siege and many have been destroyed. Soldiers defend their posts bravely, but are overwhelmed by the sheer force of numbers against them. Many die where they dig in. Tens of thousands of soldiers press against the barbed wire of military compounds, beating them down by sheer force of numbers. Those soldiers within, fire at the advancing mass of bodies. Many fall, but more keep coming. A tidal wave of madness besets the enclosure like a swarm of ants upon discarded food scraps. SEVERAL DAYS LATER . . . NARRATOR

Finally, the United Nations has sanctioned aircraft carriers to ferry weapons and planes towards North America. But these arrangements are cumbersome and time consuming and many would argue, far too late. Dawbneys contingent has now reached Houston. They have accumulated cars and trucks and all manner of transportation. Soldiers approach the outskirts of suburbs. Those who have not evacuated are ripped from their houses and shot. Young soldiers carouse in bars. Churches are defiled and set to the torch. Gun shops are raided and ammunition doled out. NARRATOR Thousands of splinter groups of renegade, sociopathic young men, continue to rampage through the bars, the bowling alleys, the apartment blocks and the suburban houses of America, killing inhabitants, consuming foodstuffs and stealing that great American bounty - guns and ammunition. Tanks and all manner of armoured vehicles have been commandeered from military bases. . .
*

Dawbney carried the cameras with him as far as New Orleans at which time he tired of them and killed Mike and his boys. The Ramsey helicopter still circled, but of Ramsey himself, there was nothing to be seen. Finally, Dawbney tired even of this. One fine morning while the regular report was going out live, Dawbney had the helicopter brought down by a rocket launcher. From that point on it was impossible for the media to know what was happening on the ground except via radio and satellite reports. The United Nations rattled its sabres as its aircraft carriers loaded for war, but the mutilation continued. Little was achieved but condemnation and resolutions to hold more meetings. And, in truth, having left a response so long, there was little more they could do. The opportunity for a mass killing had long since passed. The armies of the Dark Earth had scattered like buckshot across the proud face of America. She was a sinking ship and the rats were deserting. In boats, in ships, and anything that would float, they left her shores for anywhere that would take them. There were skirmishes and brawls for a single seat upon a ferry. Men killed one another in an attempt to save their wives and children. Human beings were revealed for their true, underlying selves selfish and ultimately violent.

Ever the bastion of self-interest, the media of the world realised that the true value of the story was now in the carnage of the civilians fighting for their lives in the cities. So it switched its focus from the military advance and to the city streets themselves, where those trying to escape before the monstrous armies arrived to destroy them, became tasty fodder for the far away six oclock news. Chaos reigned here, where the American pastime of looting during a crisis situation ruled the urban jungle and gangs roamed the streets fully armed and ready for any action; many of these young men were foolish enough to believe that they could beat their foe because they knew their own hood and, Aint nobody gonna force me out of my hood bro. But they had no notion of the insurmountable odds rolling like a restless sea towards them. Half a million men were gathering on the outskirts of New York. Four hundred thousand assembled to the north of Washington and a further six hundred thousand men sat poised on the western outskirts of the capital, led by the ever-megalomaniacal James Dawbney.

Dawbney had grown in stature in his own mind over the past fortnight. As towns and cities tumbled before him, so his ego had grown commensurately. He had wrapped a small American flag around his head as a bandana. At times he saw himself as some sort of modern day Alexander, or Caesar, purging the outskirts of the known world of the barbarians who dwelt there. But more often he conceived himself as the second coming of the Christ, placed upon this Earth to cleanse it of its sins and bring down the fury of the Lord upon it - for he was mighty and he was righteous and all the world would one day kneel before him and tremble, but not before the Great Purges which were soon to come. Dawbney and his army entered Washington. A force was amassed against him there but he was unconcerned. He threw men at the problem and the problem resolved. He had learned the trick of the Soviet Union one hundred years before if you are prepared to lose a million men, two million men, you can eventually win any operation, or invade and capture any city.

The battle for Washington was ferocious. Hundreds of thousands of men who had marched in deathly silence towards their goal, at once became incensed at the sight of women, and though these women cowered with their men away from the blast, soon the streets of the capital were awash with bloody contest and littered with corpses. Wave upon wave of madmen drowned the streets of Washington in saliva, sweat and blood. But . . . As Dawbney stood at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue, staring up towards the White House, dreaming of presidential grandeur, a young private snapped to attention behind him; some detail no doubt required his urgent attention. Yes? Dawbney enquired languidly, without bothering to turn. The private hesitated. Yes? Dawbney repeated in a tone that suggested he was not used to waiting. A strange occurrence to report, sir. Well? Several thousand men, sir. Dead, sir. Dawbney didnt hide his contempt. He turned on the private and looked him up and down. Of course there are thousands dead, boy. Its a war. Look!

He waved his arm across the expanse that had once been the peaceful capital, Washington D.C. The incessant drone of gunfire rent the air and everywhere was battle. Men strangled and knifed and were mutilated. Structures were mauled and torn. A haze of dark smoke hung like shifting, blackened gossamer above the pitted streets. No, I dont think you understand, sir, the young man stammered. What dont I understand, private? Dawbney replied, turning back once again to view the carnage. He gazed beyond it and imagined himself strolling into the White House. They werent killed, sir. They just . . . died. Dawbney screwed up his face and returned his gaze to the soldier. Of what? No one knows, sir. Dawbney didnt speak for moment. Alright. Go. he ordered, and the private made haste away from his irritated superior. Fatigue? thought Dawbney. Disease? It couldnt be. There are no diseases. Of what then? He paused for clarity but nothing came. Oh well, no matter, he thought. The job is almost done. They were probably gassed or some such thing and nobody was able to figure it out. My army, he mused. Huh. Just a bunch of kids. Not one qualified doctor among them and only a couple of rookie pilots.

He went back to gazing at the White House. In the foreground the presidents elite guard was fighting to the death. Dawbney smirked as the weight of numbers overcame them and his advancing horde carved a bloody trail towards his prize. Within an hour, flanked by half a dozen cold-eyed young men, Dawbney sauntered into the West Wing like a cocky schoolboy. He grabbed himself a Cuban cigar and sat, with his feet up in the Oval Office, soiling the presidents desk. A huge guard appeared at the door and hurled the president onto the floor of the office, then stood directly behind him as the president picked himself from the floor. President McEwan was in his late sixties, grey at the temples, tall and thin, and wrinkled like the sands of Afghanistan. Where are the codes for the missiles? asked Dawbney, coating the end of his cigar in saliva. The president didnt move; didnt say a word. I know theyre here in Washington, he continued, lighting a match and drawing heavily upon his cigar, and you know where they are. Theyre no longer here, the president replied defiantly. And take your feet off my desk.

Dawbney laughed, but his feet remained where they were. Be serious, McEwan. Your post hasnt had any real power for over two decades. Its a centralised world, you know that, and I know that. Its a world run by men with money. So dont give me any of that sentimental claptrap. The thin man stood firm, snarling with disdain at this upstart. So come on, sir, replied Dawbney, imperiously puffing on his cigar, unconsciously replicating Bryants earlier display, both you and I know that you should have moved those launch codes, but you can be honest with me none of you really believed that I could do it, did you? None of you big brass really thought that Washington would fall? And now youre trapped with a computer somewhere in the White House that holds the missile launch codes for the western hemisphere. The president flinched. Surprised at my knowledge, old man? asked Dawbney, taking his feet off the desk and standing. Well, you shouldnt be. I merely extracted a few details from your subordinates before I followed the chain all the way up to you. He advanced menacingly towards the president. So where are they?

The wizened old man wasnt about to give Dawbney any information. Dawbney had guessed that would be the case. He nodded to the large soldier who produced a hammer from his pocket and handed it to Dawbney. The guard hauled the struggling president over to his desk and held his hand down firmly upon it. Without another word, Dawbney smashed the hammer down ferociously onto President McEwans knuckles. He let out a strangled cry. He was in massive pain but desperately trying not to show that to his tormentor. Oh come on, sir, said Dawbney in a friendly tone, as if he was trying to convince a friend to have an ice-cream, theres no need for all of this. And again he brought down the hammer, this time upon the poor mans thumb. Again the president cried in muffled agony. Dawbney looked closely at him. He examined his face up close for a number of seconds before deciding that this man was tough and would probably not talk. In a fit of temper he smashed the hammer down repeatedly upon the mans hand until it was little more than a pillow of flesh, splattered partially across the fractured table top. The president, by this time, was mercifully unconscious with the pain and was slumped into the arms of the large guard. When he wakes, burn his skin in a thousand places but dont let him die. If he talks I want to know about it.

The guard dragged the unfortunate man from the room with his heels scraping across the carpet and his hand trailing blood to mark his course. Dawbney turned towards the window. Looks like well have to do things the hard way, he said to himself.

CHAPTER 24
Vanessa and Colin worked at the university by day and spoke at night with Jacob and Rueben. They spent hours discussing the ramifications of the alarming events in the U.S.A. They were as worried as anyone else at the murder and mayhem occurring across North and now Central America. Every night brought some new tale and vision of horror. The television screens were full of refugees abandoning all they had acquired in their lives to save themselves and their loved ones. That very evening, Washington had fallen to Dawbneys Army and all week the U.K. news had shown thousands upon thousands of seaworthy vessels that had braved the Atlantic and found their way to either England or to the continent. Whatever shall we do with all these people? asked Vanessa as she watched the evening news. Taxi drivers? suggested Colin. Oh Colin, really. Vanessa rolled her eyes towards Jacob and Rueben. In all seriousness though, said Colin, this is a huge problem in itself, quite apart from the fact that America is now in the clutches of a madman. Youre quite right, love, how will we house and feed these people? If this guy Dawbney gets his way we may not need to bother, replied Jacob. I say we nuke Washington before he nukes us.

Yes, it may come to that, nodded Colin, taking a sip of wine. Oh Colin, dont be so callous, said Vanessa reproachfully. Callous? Colin repeated in mock offence. Callous? Do you think Im callous, Rueben? Colin had learned some time ago that he had a great audience in Rueben. The boy positively loved Colins dry sense of humour and Colin played up to it relentlessly. Dont laugh at him, Rueben, said Vanessa, but she froze as she said this. What is it? asked Ruben who was smiling at her at the time. I saw something. Outside. There, she pointed towards the window. Probably the trees moving. It is a little windy tonight, Colin replied. No, Colin. Theres someone out there. Before another word could be uttered, there was a loud smash and the window splintered, letting in the wind and a sprinkling of rain. These elements were accompanied by a much more undesirable element. Two men in overcoats stormed into the room with blades raised. A third man entered wielding a handgun. What is the meaning of this? Colin asked, but the meaning was clear enough. Give us food and water and we wont hurt you, said one of the assailants. He spoke with an American accent.

Put down your weapon, replied Jacob. He recognised the Bronx accent. Oh. A New Yorker. In London, replied the man to Jacob. You just stand still, pal, and no onell get hurt. The man was true to his word. He and his accomplices ransacked the fridge and the pantry and took some blankets and other provisions, but otherwise they left Colin and his house guests unharmed. As they left, the same man turned and said, apologetically, Ive never done this before, but I have no choice. Im sorry. With that he was gone, leaving Colin and his friends grabbing for a stiff scotch after they had patched up the broken window. And this is just the beginning, muttered Colin, staring thoughtfully at the wall. This is just the beginning. * Back in Australia the DNA killer had struck three times. Once to kill the other little girl Robert had saved that day at the playground; and a second and third time to kill two of Roberts oldest friends. Both were women who had been close to him for years and both had notes stapled to their foreheads atop the DNA insignia informing him, yet again, that he would lose all those that he had ever loved. Robert thanked God he had Monique and Jasmine protected around the clock.

It was thanks to Jasmine that Robert even found out about the murders. The military police made cursory enquiries on each occasion but they didnt really seem all that interested. There was the possibility of nuclear war being shouted out of every newspaper. The fall of America was trumpeted on every news stand. The law enforcers seemed less than enthusiastic about Roberts plight. But on each occasion Robert trolled through the detritus of the crime scenes looking for clues and as usual, apart from the notes, there were none. The DNA killer had been as meticulous as ever. How was he doing it? How could the killer possibly never leave any traces of DNA whatsoever? It seemed impossible. He raked through his mind, once again, to think whom he had offended or hurt or damaged over the years. Who would be vindictive enough to do this to him? The answer came back any one of several thousand criminals he had captured and put away in his long career as a policeman. But who would be clever enough? To that he could hazard no guess. He needed the killer to slip up. He needed a clue. Unfortunately, Robert had his share of problems back at the Macquarie Centre. He had left Constable Ryan in charge while he attended a DNA crime scene and . . . EARLIER THAT DAY . . .

You there! Ryan belted out. Number 7332. Where are you going? Im going to the toilet, if you must know, replied the overweight teenager with the shaved head. Oh no youre not, Ryan replied, rather stupidly. What do you want me to do? replied the man petulantly, piss on the floor of my room? Dont be insubordinate to me! Ryan blustered like a first year out teacher, seeking argument where there was none. Several other young men nearby, sensing injustice from a man only just above their age, joined the fray. Whats up? asked one short, stroppy boy with an attitude problem and his trousers too low. This bloke thinks he owns the place, replied the first. Oh, does he? chimed in a lanky lad, with stooped shoulders and knock-knees. Who put him in charge? Superintendent Greenway, Ryan replied defiantly. He never calls himself that, you dick, retorted the stroppy boy. Dont you swear at me! And you! Ryan shouted at several plague victims who were shuffling across the compound in zombie-like fashion. Where do you think youre going? They didnt even hear him.

They cant hear you, mate, replied the knock-kneed boy on their behalf. Theyre ratshit. The plagues got em. I told you to stop the swearing, replied Ryan. Oh fuck off, muttered the small stroppy one, turning away at the same time, as if he had more important business elsewhere. Right thats it. Youre confined to your cell. The boy turned back on him. Listen, mate, he snarled, the plague hasnt got me yet. I can still think straight. And I think youre actin like a first class dick! Ryan was white hot with temper. He looked from one boy to the other. They were both expressly and deliberately defying his authority and he trembled with anger. Well see about that! he thundered. He strode away across the compound past several other young men who appeared to share the same, poor opinion of him, judging by their body language. He barged through a bevy of plague victims who blinked and watched as he thundered by. He made for the microphone. Ive had enough of this! he blasted across the compound in amplified aggression. Until further notice, every inmate of this gaol is confined to barracks! The response of the inmates was audible. Within minutes it was thunderous. . .

. . . by the time Robert returned, he nearly had a revolt on his hands. He came back to the centre to find every single inmate in their cell and Ryan pressed up against the wall by two of the volunteer guards. Whats going on? Robert shouted, ripping away the men from the constable. Hes a dickhead. Thats whats wrong, replied one of the men, who was father to one of the inmates. He told my boy he was a diseased killer. My boys never killed anyone in his life. Hes not even eighteen yet. Hes here of his own choice. Then he told all the boys he didnt trust em, added the other guard, also a father, and that while he was in charge theyd all be confined to their cells. Did you? asked Robert of Ryan. Ryans lack of response was a clear and resounding yes. Thank you, gentlemen, he said to the guards. Let the boys out of their rooms. Ill deal with this. He took Constable Ryan into his office. You prick! he roared. I leave you in charge for less than six hours and youve got a bloody mutiny on your hands! What were you thinking? They are killers, replied Ryan, at least potentially.

Has it not struck you, stated Robert emphatically, that we have not had one ounce of trouble from these boys in the whole time weve been operational? But half of them walk around as if theyre kinda zombies. Theyre sick, Richard. Dont you get it? As long as we keep women away from them theyre okay. They cant go anywhere beyond the perimeter fence, so why the hell would you increase their frustration by putting them in a room? Ryan said nothing. Come on, Robert decided suddenly. Were going. Where? To Jasmines. You can stay with her. I cant trust you here. Ryan tried to protest but he was unceremoniously hauled out across the main courtyard as the inmates were being released. None cheered or carried on. Most of them looked dead behind the eyes. It was easy to tell those as yet unaffected by the plague they still had some zest in their demeanour and some bounce in their step. Robert left one of the more competent fathers in charge, which he now realised he should have done in the first place, pushed Ryan into his police car and headed for the main gate.

When he reached it he found the same military policeman he had met there weeks earlier, looking as belligerent as ever. He had a baton in one hand and the other on his holster. Heard there was some trouble, stated the young policeman. Everythings under control, replied Robert. Just remember, this is my precinct and if anyone leaves this compound Ill shoot em. Robert scrunched up his face into a grotesque scowl of utter contempt. Boy, he said, you would have to be the biggest prick Ive struck this side of the black stump. Hey, replied the boy, you cant . . . I can, and I will, interrupted Robert. Why dont you get your head out of your arse and become part of the solution and not part of the problem? Theres a friggin war about to break out, son. Then youll have plenty of people to shoot. The young policeman was gobsmacked. But later on that night, when he was playing cards with his friends, he thought of at least ten things he should have said. Robert jumped back into his car and took off with a scattering of stones. Thats telling him, said Ryan. Oh shut up, replied Robert. Just when he thought that his day couldnt get any worse, Robert arrived at Jasmines to find two irate women.

Robert, whispered Jasmine through gritted teeth, I swear if that girl stays here for another minute Ill murder her. Ill send her to Yama. Shes vain and shes stupid and I cant stand her, added Monique. Shes lazy. She has to be told what to do before she does anything, isnt it? Jasmine looked at Monique for more support. Monique was keen to give it. She cant even work the washing machine. And she goes out all the time alone, and she comes home whenever she wants and . . . Robert definitely heard the last sentence. She goes out alone? he asked incredulously. What? At night? Out there? he motioned vaguely towards the window. Monique was pleased they were getting through. Yes. She just disappears for hours and then when she comes back she wont say where shes been. Shes absolutely horrible, Robert. ! Ill have a word with her about going out alone at night. Thats not on. But dont be too hard on the girl. Her fathers still missing. Hes probably dead. I wonder, replied Jasmine, standing more upright, her bronze jowls wobbling ever-soslightly with the movement, if you would be quite so forgiving if she didnt look like a pin- up from a mens sports magazine? Monique also stood more erect, folded her arms and nodded her head.

Robert looked from one to the other. Now that is really unfair. You hadnt noticed? Monique asked. Shes not as beautiful as you, Monique. Monique unfolded her arms. Or you, Jas. Now I know hes lying, Jasmine said to Monique. Yes, of course Ive noticed, but what other solution is there? He hesitated for a moment. And I was going to ask one more favour. Jasmine raised her eyebrows. Constable Ryan . . . But that was far as he got through that particular sentence. No, Robert. Definitely not. I draw the line. Richard is even more annoying than her, she motioned towards the bedroom where Mary was currently presumably sleeping off a night on the town. What else can I do with him? Well, where did he live before? This stopped Robert. That was a good point. He popped his head into the kitchen doorway. Whered you used to live? With my sister, he sulked from the corner. After she died I lived at the police barracks. He cant go back there. The military have seconded it. Please, Jas?

Just then one of the guards Robert had posted in the building, to protect the girls, popped his head in. Excuse me, Robert, he said. He was kindly-face man of about fifty, with a receding hairline and a compensatory beard. Sorry to disturb you, but this was in the letter box. Its addressed to you. Robert took the letter and opened it. On a single piece of paper inside was typed: You cant protect them forever. And there were several drops of blood splattered upon it. Damn! yelled Robert and screwed up the note. What is it? asked Monique. The killer knows youre here, he replied. This is a threat. Just then Mary came into the lounge room, yawning. She wore a see-through pink negligee. Whats going on? she asked stretching out her arms and revealing everything but her soul. Oh, youre here, she purred innocently. Roberts eyes widened and upon hearing the female voice, Constable Ryan quickly popped his head around the corner. He took one look at Mary and reacted with such vigour that his head involuntarily smacked into the wall. As if you didnt know, replied Monique, tossing the young lioness a dressing gown. Mary took her time putting it on. Jasmine shook her head and looked at Robert.

Change of plans, said Robert. Its no longer safe here. Mary, how long before you can get your fathers helicopter down? Anytime I want. Why? Alright, replied Robert, nodding his head as he thought. Get it down here right away. Youre all going to stay at Marys place for a while. Are you coming? Mary asked Robert. She still hadnt quite managed to do up the top of the nightgown. No. Im leaving Constable Ryan in charge. Think you can handle it, Ryan? Ryan looked from the pretty Monique to the stunning Mary, kind of skipping over Jasmine in the process. Yes, he was sure he could handle it. Okay. Its settled then. A little over an hour later, Constable Ryan, Mary, Jasmine and Monique were piling their suitcases onto the chopper and Robert was bidding them farewell. Ill see you soon! he shouted under the blades. And dont worry, Jas, youll have lots more space to yourself up there! Wait til you see the place! He gave her a quick kiss. He gave Monique a quick kiss. Mary put her arms out for one, but Robert saw the look on Jasmines face and shook Marys hand. The last thing he saw was Mary pouting as the helicopter took off from the soccer oval heading up towards the mountains.

* Enough! Enough! Colin shouted at the top of his lungs. He, his wife and his guests had returned from dinner, where they had been accosted by all manner of homeless people, to find that their house had been ransacked again. This on top of an attack at the university campus where three thousand refugees had set up camp and then taken everything that wasnt bolted down, and added to the fact that Vanessa had been the victim of an attempted robbery only yesterday. This was the last straw. Come on, he proclaimed to Vanessa, Jacob and Rueben. Were leaving. Leaving for where? asked Vanessa. Australia, he said. Get your things everyone. Ill stop off at the uni on the way to the shuttle launch. But Colin . . . Vanessa began to protest.

In response Colin held up his hand to silence her and flicked on the television. Within minutes news reports showed chaos on the streets of every major city from London to Prague. City squares were filled with chanting, protesting displaced people from Argentina to Alaska. Frustrated, angry people shouted and screamed for bread and shelter. On the other side of the U.S., across the Bering Strait, thousands trudged into the former Soviet Union. Boats floundered off Newfoundland and hundreds of lives were lost in the Sea of Japan. There is no way that the infrastructure of Europe, England or Asia can handle this influx. We must get away. The northern hemisphere has become a nightmare. He was about to turn off the television when a news flash came through that angry mobs had stormed one of the London rehab centres and let out several thousand plague victims. Thats it, were off, said Colin. And no one argued. *

Dawbneys men had ripped the White House to pieces in their quest for the launch codes. Over two weeks had passed. The tortured president had died of sheer pain but had revealed no secrets. Dawbney was frustrated as he kicked through the mess in the West Wing. The electricity no longer functioned in this grid and only a handful of his men had any knowledge of how to restore it. They had been apprentice electricians prior to the onset of the plague and so Dawbney had sent them to fix the problem, but so far, with no luck. Incompetent fools, he muttered to himself. But the truth was that he was an eighteen year old boy, leading an eighteen year old army. Very few of the boys he commanded had any life skills at all.

Far beneath him in one of the labyrinthine spaces in the bowels of the great complex, one of those boys had stumbled upon an oddity. It appeared to be an ancient computer, tucked away into the very back corner of a store room. It was tiny and covered over by a metal case, which explained why he and his men had not stumbled upon it sooner. Curiously, it was in pristine condition; shiny and new looking. Attached to it was a printer which also appeared to be in working order. The soldier who found it decided to push the on button, even though there was obviously no electricity flowing into the dark, windowless room. Miraculously though, the green tinged screen came to life, obviously powered by some back up battery or generator. Upon it, in green lettering appeared the characters: MSDOS\win\. As if in a dream and urged by some strange, genetic memory, the young man hit the enter button and instantly a stream of letters and numbers flooded the screen. Simultaneously, the printer started into life and began to print the screens contents. When the pages had been printed the boy ran with his bundle back up to his commander in the Oval Office. Dawbney took one look at the pages and knew instantly that these were the codes he had been looking for. He held the bundle to his chest. Find me a brilliant mathematician, he said, much to the surprise of the guards.

A what? one of them replied, uncertainly. You heard me, he repeated; a mathematician. There must be one in America. Out of twenty odd million psychopaths one must have been brilliant at maths at school. Send out a message. Find me one. And both guards scurried away. Dawbney smiled with smug, selfsatisfaction. He strolled haughtily around the Oval Office. He looked first at the portrait of George Washington suspended above the sandstone mantelpiece and then he stared out of the window over the glorious garden. And as he stared he said quietly to himself, I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last, and I bring to all the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death. But not in the way that you would imagine, all you world leaders. No, not in that manner at all.

CHAPTER 25
Colin used all his persuasive power and contacts. He maintained that he needed to visit Australia to find the time and peace within which to understand and study the DNA plague. He suggested that such a cure might prove damaging to the cause of the Dark Earth Army and since the trip appeared to be militarily related, he managed to shuttle out of London late the next evening, with his wife and Jacob as his assistants and Rueben as his bodyguard. Within two hours they were landing at Kingsford Smith Airport. Robert was there to greet them. Early though it was in the morning, he was overjoyed to see Colin and his sister again, safely away from the reported perils of the north. He was equally pleased, although a little surprised, to see Jacob and Rueben. Yes, it took a little smooth talking, Colin suggested when Robert voiced his surprise. Well stay at the Macquarie Centre, said Robert. You can do any experiments you like there and you can observe the victims first hand. Vanessa, it wouldnt be wise for you to stay there, because as you know the men go crazy at the mere sight of a woman. Thats been going on all through history, my boy, quipped Colin, though not quite so literally, of course. Rueben laughed. Rueben is Colins admiration society, Vanessa explained.

Ah, replied Robert. But its no matter. I can work from your place, cant I? Well, no actually, Robert confessed. Why ever not? she asked. So Robert had to explain about the serial killer and the ongoing notes. Why in Gods name didnt you tell us? asked Vanessa when the tale had been told. I didnt want to worry everyone and it seemed insignificant compared to everything else thats going on. Its madness to keep in secrets like that, my boy, added Colin. You have to share the burden, you know. My boss, Natasha, said shed put you up until we get you organised. She lives in Leichhardt. Ill drop you off on the way to Macquarie. Colin unbuttoned his shirt. Damned hot, he commented. I thought this was supposed to be the middle of winter. It is, replied Robert. You should be here in January. And everyone was impressed. I havent seen any kangaroos yet, said Rueben, after a while of driving. Oh, you will, replied Robert with a glint in his eye and a wink towards Vanessa. Keep a look out when we reach the M2. *

European and British aircraft carriers reached the coast of the U.S.A. from the east. Soviet and Chinese aircraft carriers had steamed in from the west. Now they sat poised, awaiting orders from U.N. headquarters, which had been moved to The Hague, after the U.N. headquarters in New York was burned to the ground. Dawbney was well aware of their presence because the media kept him informed very nicely. But, since he had hounded them out of America, he knew that they had no idea what he was up to, or what power he had at his disposal. It was just as well the media wasnt present, because if they had been, the forces opposing him would have moved sooner. All the major cities of the U.S.A. had been fully raped. Washington was a battlefield and the rotting carcasses on that battlefield where beginning to reek. By night the corpses were piled upon pyres and the young men danced about them, liquor ridden and mad-eyed. It would not be long before they sent their planes and bombs against him but by then it would be too late. One more media extravaganza would be his swansong. He would organise it for tomorrow. He had the electricity back on; he had his missiles on line; he had his new co-ordinates planned, thanks to some genius kid from Missouri, and he had his plans worked out to a dotted i. Tomorrow, Wednesday, July 23rd, 2059 would see the beginning of the new age.

The only small, dark cloud upon his sunny horizon was the loss of more men to some mysterious illness. No matter. He could spare them. The outcome was already assured. * So you left them to wander the grounds, said Colin, looking down upon the main courtyard of the centre. In England we put them all immediately into cells. Youve had no trouble? As long as women are kept away, theyre more like zombies, Robert replied. How extraordinary, muttered Colin. But it does make sense. DNA is mainly trying to wipe out women. If it works it will put a hell of a dent in the world population by the end of this century. Ive often wondered how Dawbney got his men to fight in the U.S., said Robert. They didnt kill each other, but they did kill off anyone, male or female, in the major cities. Or so were told. Yes, Ive thought about that too. I suppose if you give a psychopath a gun and throw him into a war situation where other men are shooting at him, its hardly surprising that he shoots back. But youre right, they didnt kill one another initially and these boys here prove the point yet again. So what does that tell us?

That DNA doesnt completely want to destroy human life, just to cull it for a while, suggested Jacob, who was seated at the desk. I think Sir Colin already realised that, Dad, said Rueben, who was seated beside him. But Jacob heard nothing except for the thoughts sparking in his head. He stood up with his fingers pressed upon his forehead with thought. So if it was DNAs objective only to cull, not to completely kill off humans, then how would it regulate the death rate? Go on, said Colin, who recognised a man in the middle of a developing idea. DNA created about forty million murderers. There are approximately five billion women in the world. Whats that percentage? Uh, one in every one hundred and twenty five, calculated Colin. Thats a large percentage, isnt it? I mean, if you were DNA, at that percentage wouldnt you think youd run the risk of wiping out all life and not just culling it? What are you suggesting? Im not sure, he mumbled, but have you got any cell samples from living plague victims? Why, yes, replied Colin with some surprise, I brought everything with me from London. Theyre down in the refrigerator.

This is just a hunch, said Jacob, nodding his head and squinting, whilst rubbing his chin. Would you mind if we took a look at one? Certainly not, replied Colin. And minutes later they were down in the cool room. Could we look at the oldest cell scraping you have? asked Jacob. Yes, replied Colin but why . . . Please. Indulge me. How old is this sample. Colin obliged. He pulled out a mini X-ray machine, placed a cell scraping onto a slide and projected the sample up onto the wall for everyone to see. It was taken a month ago. But I dont understand why you would want to see an old sample, said Colin, as he brought the image into focus. In general Ive been looking at new samples because . . . He stopped talking as the image stabilized into sharp focus. What is it? asked Robert, who along with everyone else had watched the sudden thunderbolt hit Sir Colin. Oh my God, he stammered. What is it? asked everybody all at once. The double helix, he stammered. Its unravelling. Which means? asked Rueben, blinking as he looked up at the multi-coloured screen.

If this is indicative of all the samples. . . Wait a moment, he muttered and he grabbed several other old cell scrapings, placed them onto a slide and projected their magnified images upon the screen. He almost stumbled backwards with surprise. Oh my God. It is! What! For Gods sake! What? blurted out Rueben. He, Jacob and Robert had watched patiently with their hearts in their mouths for over a minute. Theyre dying, he said quietly, sitting in the nearest chair, still staring up at the wall projection and the twisted ladders splintering apart there. The DNA has given itself a time limit. All those boys are going to die very soon. *

Mary was back in her element in her mountain mansion. She had no sooner unpacked than she went to check her horses. Having done so she berated poor little Bryan in front of the others because she considered that her best pony had lost weight. He assured her that it had not, but she wouldnt listen and rudely told him to go to his room and not to come out. Then she brusquely told her pilot she would not be requiring him for a few days and told him to leave the premises. After which she grabbed a gin and tonic without offering one to anybody else and put her feet up on the glass coffee table. Jasmine and Monique watched the little miss pour herself another drink, before they decided to leave her to it. They took a walk in the garden with Richard. Mary watched them walk past the great convex window in her lounge room and a strange, spiteful look crossed her face. * Much later that evening, neither Vanessa nor Natasha could sleep, so they decided upon a midnight cup of hot milk. They had never met before today, but they did have two topics of conversation that interested them both greatly the possibility of war, and Robert.

Do you think it will really happen? Natasha asked Vanessa as she passed her a warm cup. I really dont know, she replied, but unfortunately theres not much we can do about it, is there? I just comfort myself with the thought that weve had nuclear weapons for over a hundred years and theyve never been used since Nagasaki. Thats hardly a guarantee though, is it? noted Natasha burying her face into her mug of milk. No, thats true, replied Vanessa, especially when the greatest country in the world, with the most nuclear weapons, has been taken over by a psycho. Hopefully he wont be able to work out how to launch them. It cant be easy. Vanessa nodded, but neither she, nor Jasmine, had any idea. There was silence for a while. Vanessa played with the rim of her mug. So, hows he been? she asked. I mean, really? He says hes alright, replied Natasha, understanding that the question was about Robert, but Im not so sure. Hes had this horrendous thing hanging over him. He never told us, you know? We had no idea someone was taunting him, or stalking him, or whatever it is you call it here. Its awful, isnt it? Natasha nodded, sipping upon her hot milk. But thats Robert for you - all He-man on the outside, and as sensitive as a lamb on the inside.

Vanessa nodded and sipped. She rarely saw the lamb. And there are no clues? she asked. None. Not a speck of DNA to be found. And that, I know, is driving him crazy. Hmmm, replied Vanessa thoughtfully. The television interrupted their conversation. ANCHOR WOMAN In breaking news billionaire tycoon, Keith Ramsey, is reportedly still alive. James Dawbney, leader of the Washington contingent of the Dark Earth Army, has called a meeting at the eleventh hour before U.N. forces begin a full scale attack on North America. Dawbney claims that he will hand over Ramsey to the media and clear up a few misconceptions about his actions. The meeting is scheduled for 7:30pm Washington time, which is 9:30am Eastern Standard time - a little over nine hours from now. Weve compiled a brief summary of Keith Ramseys highly successful corporate life.

(Video) Some still shots of a small fibro house in a peaceful but simple suburban street. (Audio) Keith Ramsey was born in the western suburbs of Sydney in 1994.

(Video) Some video footage of Ramsey, aged 16, standing outside Penrith High School and waving towards it, as if to say goodbye, whilst laughing towards the camera. (Audio) He left school in 2010 and made good investment choices on the rising stock market after the fall of 2008-2009. (Video) Several products are shown. Notably Beefy Burgers and Crispy Fries. (Audio) He quickly diversified into foodstuffs and many of his brands are household names today. (Video) We see Ramsey shaking hands and laughing with top U.N. Military brass. A room full of scientists work away in a laboratory. A transparent body suit, complete with a full head cover is held up and displayed by an attractive young woman for an applauding audience of generals. In the background the logo: PP Perfect Plastics adorns the wall. (Audio)

But his real fortune came in the 2020s when he began a long relationship with the United Nations military, providing them not only with arms but also with cheap, lightweight whole body suits developed by his own team of scientists. These suits, impervious to all external matter proved highly successful for spy work and commando work alike. (Video) An older Ramsey sits behind a large desk and holds up a cheque. (Audio) Under the banner Perfect Plastics Ramsey hoisted the flag that would see him become one of the ten richest men in the world. (Video) Ramsey and his attractive wife huddle over their baby daughter and smile for the cameras. (Audio) Ramsey married late and divorced soon after but in between had one daughter, Mary, born in 2031. ANCHOR WOMAN And just repeating, that meeting with James Dawbney, when he will hopefully hand over billionaire, Keith Ramsey, to the media, will be broadcast at 9:30 am Eastern Standard time, in a little over nine hours from now.

I hope hes really still alive, said Natasha, especially for Marys sake. Ive heard about this Mary but Ive never met her. Whats she like? asked Vanessa. Natasha laughed. Shes absolutely gorgeous and as silly as a sixth grader. She has the most incredible crush on your brother. She stood up. Well, that did the trick. Ill see you in the morning. Anything I can get you? No and thank you so much, Vanessa replied. With a smile Natasha departed, leaving Vanessa to finish her milk. But something was troubling Vanessa and in her bed that night she tossed and turned. Something was in the back of her mind and she was trying to bring it to the front. What was it? The sun was already up when she woke with a sudden snap- opening of her eyes. She stared thoughtfully for a moment at the ceiling. In sleep, a thought had crystallised in her mind. With a sudden burst of energy she leapt from her bed and went straight to the telephone. It was fairly early for a phone call but this one couldnt wait. Soon she had a thick-voiced Robert on the other end of the wire. Within half an hour, he was fully awake and in his police car, heading towards the

mountains.

CHAPTER 26
The roads of the inner-city suburbs were already thick with congestion heading towards the city. Rickshaws and trishaws and pushbikes filled the lane-less approach to the city. Those with a few extra dollars and a few contacts could manage a mini motor scooter, but these were few and far between. But by the time Robert had reached Homebush, there were nothing but clear roads, broken down buildings, shanty towns and squatters. These were the lawless lands where it was best not to go unless you had a petrol-driven vehicle and even then only when you were certain that it wasnt going to break down. He reached the Penrith gate and showed his papers. A large policeman took his details and after clearing him with Dixon Street, opened the latch and let him through the high barbed wire fence running between the lowlands and the mountains.

He drove up the old Great Western Highway and thought about how much humans had stuffed everything up. All this beautiful country and no one was allowed to enjoy it except for the mega-rich. He had just passed through the overpopulated, third world poverty and squalor of what used to be a first world city, in a world tortured by global warming. What a mess. Perhaps it would be better if someone did blow the whole thing up and humans could start again. Then he thought about what that would probably really mean and he revised his opinion. There was enough chaos as it was. Humans were hanging on by the skin of their teeth. The trouble was there were ten billion of them hanging on by the skin of their teeth, which was why nature had sent the DNA plague in the first place. All these thoughts pummelled his mind. In many ways the larger problems of the world were some comfort to him since they distracted him from his own.

After a short while, he reached the lower mountains and turned off the main road and to the left, towards Ramseys mansion. A private road wended through the gum trees and through them, to his left, he could see a beautiful view beginning to reveal itself. By the time the trees cleared and he was driving up towards Ramseys sandstone edifice, the thinning forest had given way to open green fields and a magnificent view of the Sydney Basin. On the radio the announcer was telling listeners to prepare themselves for the Dawbney announcement, which would be historical. Not if there are no historical records left, Robert thought to himself, as he pulled up the car and turned the radio off. The place had a deserted look about it. Robert knew that look only too well and he didnt like it. Where was Monique? And where was Jas? Where were Richard and Mary? Not to mention Bryan, the butler? He touched his holster absent-mindedly as he stepped out of the car and cautiously approached the silent house. He found the front door open. Hello! he yelled as he reached it. His voice reverberated off the high walls of the foyer and echoed away. No response. He tried again. Still no reply.

Robert pulled out his gun and crept carefully into the house. Further in, he could hear noise. It wasnt until he entered the lounge room that he saw the cause of it. Someone had left the hologram machine on. It was a state of the art machine. The picture was crystal clear and its 3D image occupied a large portion of the room. Presently, it showed an interviewer, obviously discussing with a military man the likely outcome of the historical meeting scheduled only minutes away. A digital clock hung suspended in air, just above the floor, counting down five minutes until the momentous occasion. Robert turned from the lounge room and retraced his steps. He scoured the entire bottom floor of the mansion. This took some time; the house was large and Robert was methodical in his progress. He had seen many impetuous policemen fall during his years on the force and he didnt intend to become one of them. Finally though, he was convinced; there was no one on this level. He looked up the stairwell. It zigzagged into the heart of the building. Again he called out. Again there was no reply. A fanfare of some sort erupted into the lounge room and made him jump. Instinctively, he turned his gun towards the noise, until he realised that something was about to happen on the news report. He was possibly the only person in the world not watching that report at the moment, but he had smaller fish to fry.

Climbing the stairway, he brushed past painting after painting. One he recognised as Rembrandts self portrait. Even in his current, wired state he did a double take at that one. Jesus, he exclaimed and continued up the stairs. In the lounge room, the hologram had resolved into . . . EXT.PENNSYVANIA AVENUE.WASHINGTON D.C. Dawbney stands in the intersection outside the old post office on Pennsylvania Avenue. Behind him, as far as the eye can see, stretching up to Capitol Hill, are masses of armed soldiers. Next to Dawbney stands Keith Ramsey. He appears thin and gaunt like a man facing the gallows. His hands are tied behind his back. He is gagged and the U.S. flag, masquerading as a bandana, has been wrapped across his forehead in a swath of stars and stripes. An Intercontinental Ballistic Missile sits on a launcher directly in the middle of the intersection. Upon its visible side, the letters 666 have been scrawled, crudely. Dawbney addresses the camera.

DAWBNEY I am aware that masses of weapons are trained upon us from the east. But your aircraft carriers and the destruction they bear are too little and too late. The Day of Reckoning has come . . . Robert reached the landing at the top of the stairs. He crept softly across the hardwood floor. He stepped quickly and nervously past a doorway, his gun before him. Nothing . . . DAWBNEY This man . . . He grabs Keith Ramsey roughly by the shirt collar. DAWBNEY (CONT.) This man and his kind have ruled the world for long enough. His kind and the selfinterest he represents have brought us to this the end of an age . . . Robert slid silently along an internal wall; fully alert now and certain that something was wrong. The silence that hung like a pall over the house contained human presence. There was danger here . . . DAWBNEY Men like this have raped our planet for selfaggrandisement and profit.

He pulls Ramseys head back by the bandana. DAWBNEY have spewed forth the their factories into the and filled our atmosphere cancer . . .

Men like this contamination of lungs of the Earth with

There was another room directly ahead. Stealthily, Robert approached. It was huge. He crept into it, quickly checking beneath the bed. He slipped quietly into the walk-inwardrobe. It was Marys room. It carried her scent. Along the walls were racks upon racks of magnificent apparel; much of it unworn and still in its original packaging. He was about to leave when he saw a separate rack of what he thought at first were plastic wrappings over more dresses, but upon closer inspection, these were plastic suits and all bore the insignia PP Perfect Plastics.

Pensively, he fingered the plastic for some time. Then he turned and slipped back into the bedroom. In the darkness, he spied a sliver of light, coming from the adjacent wall, casting a subtle penumbra upon the carpet beside the bed. He approached it. It appeared to be one, unbroken surface, but when he pushed lightly upon the wall, he heard a faint click. Miraculously, a section of the wall withdrew to one side and revealed a small doorway, beyond which was a spiral staircase winding down, like a corkscrew, into the bowels of the mansion. Cautiously, gun before him, he began his descent . . . . DAWBNEY Men like this have raped our planet and millions of children have starved while they amassed fortunes they could never spend in a hundred lifetimes. See how he wears the mark of the beast. He pushes Ramseys head forward, bringing the stars and stripes towards the camera. DAWBNEY (chanting) And upon his head was the name of blasphemy . . .

Robert was sweating now. His trim, taut muscles, wet and bulging through his shirt; his body responding to the challenge of adrenaline. Palpitations banged inside his ears as down, down he ventured, towards a dim light beneath. DAWBNEY But in spite of the cruel inequality that he and his kind have perpetrated upon the citizens of this globe . . . He motions for two guards to grab Ramsay. DAWBNEY (CONT.) . . . he and men like him have triumphed until now. The guards begin to strap the struggling Ramsey onto the rocket. DAWBNEY (chanting) And they worshipped the beast, saying, Who is like unto the beast? Who is able to make war with him? . . . It was warm down here. Warm with human presence. Warm with danger. Robert squinted. There was something on the walls. It was difficult to see. He turned up the lightdimmer. He froze with an adrenaline rush . . .

DAWBNEY And yes, men of the world, you may make war with me. And yes big, big men of the world, I want you to. Go ahead, push that button. I am happy for you to do so, and do you know why? Ramsey has been secured to the missile but is still struggling . . . Robert stood; amazed. All across one wall of this small, dungeon-like room, were newspaper clippings, magazine articles . . . of . . . him . . . DAWBNEY Because this final war of men; this apocalypse to end the rapacious age of modern mankind, begins with the destruction of not only the enemies of the weapons but also with the destruction of the inventors of the weapons themselves. (chanting) And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast . . .

In the dim light, Robert approached the paper on the wall. He saw picture after picture of himself. He ripped one down. It was a local paper clipping from at least ten years ago. It showed him saving a dog from death on a flooded causeway. He ripped down another. There he was receiving an award from the Dixon Street Branch of the Police Department. And a hundred others. There were photographs. Taken from his house. His own photographs; his own possessions plastered erratically upon someone elses wall. Then he noticed the opposing wall . . . Dawbney stands beside the ICBM stroking it fondly across the letters 666. DAWBNEY You see, the dragon gave him his power, and his seat, and great authority, but only twice did the dragon unleash its fire - until now . . .

In utter disbelief he approached the second wall. It was a bloody shrine to death. All over it, so that barely a patch of paint was visible, were newspaper and magazine cutouts. In chronological order, front page after front page was plastered there - each neatly pinned beside the next, each depicting the savage DNA murders. It was a wall full of poor innocents, their final epitaph - three initials carved cruelly into their brows. And worst of all, his wife and daughter, there too, slumped in death beside his old coffee table. Robert turned. His breath was harsh and laboured. His head was pounding. Every muscle in his body ached for want of explosion. He looked down and saw a pink notebook. He opened it and flicked through its perfumed pages. Upon each one were scribbled love hearts and fond, childish love doodlings. Love hearts taking place of the dots of the is, as he had once imagined. But no perfume could cover the sinister stench of murder. He grew angry. Such a fury was rising within him. But he must hold it all together. He must contain the fire . . . DAWBNEY He that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword so that he maketh fire come down from Heaven on the Earth in the sight of men . . .

Robert heard a noise. It was coming from upstairs; possibly from outside. He dashed up the stairway and back into the bedroom. He crept back out onto the upstairs landing. Step by silent step he made his way back down towards the lounge room. Again the drone of Dawbneys chanting voice rose up like a bad smell from the moor. DAWBNEY But I will be merciful. Yes, I will reign down fire upon the Earth, but I have aimed my missiles between and among your precious cities. And in your mad scramble for life amidst the ruins of the old world of nations, a new age of cities will begin. And lest I be called a patriot to the cause of the nation upon whose soil I now stand, fear not. For I have missiles enough for it and the entire world. Nowhere shall evade my wrath. Robert edged into the room. He found Mary, her back towards him, arms akimbo, standing laughing at the hologram vision of her father struggling upon the back of the missile. In her hand was a Bowie knife and on the floor, unconscious in front of her, with splashes of hologram light flickering across them, were Monique, Jasmine and Richard. All were hogtied, and each, it appeared, had just been dragged into the lounge room. What did you do, Mary - drug them? Robert asked over the ramblings of the hologram.

Mary turned, caught unawares. She was in her riding gear and as beautiful as Satan. Robert, she stammered. What are you . . .? Its over, Mary. Put the knife down. Thats my book, she said, noticing her pink scrapbook in his hand. Thats private. Put the knife down, Mary. DAWBNEY And I heard a voice from Heaven, as the voice of many waters, and of the voice of a great thunder . . . He places his head next to the 666 on the rocket. DAWBNEY And he causeth all to receive a mark upon their foreheads of six hundred three score and six . . . Oh, she pouted and stamped her foot. Now youve gone and ruined everything. Mary, if you dont put the gun down right this second, Im going to shoot you dead, so help me. But, Robert. I love you. Cant you see that? Why cant you see that? She emphasised her frustration with a short stamp of her foot and a pronounced moue.

Put it down! he bellowed with such ferocity that Mary recoiled two paces, directly behind Monique. In a split second she was kneeling behind her, with her large knife held hard against Moniques soft, white throat. Put it down, Robert, or Ill slit her throat! You know I will! Her voice had changed. Gone was the little girl whine. In its place was the hard-edged tone of the killer. Robert knew the difference between those who were bluffing and those who meant it. He put down the gun. Kick it over to me! He did. She dropped Monique back to the floor. She picked up the gun Robert had kicked towards her and held it by her side. She held her own gun at Robert and bit her upper lip with indecision. You wont get away with this, Mary. I have friends wholl come looking for me. One is a police . . . Shut up! she stormed. Just shut up! . . . Dawbneys sermon is reaching fever pitch. He stands before the teeming masses of his men like a deranged messiah.

Suddenly, a great ripple, visible even to the eye of the camera, runs through the ranks assembled behind him. Men appear to be falling. Bodies now begin to fall like dominoes. The dying, grunting as they fall. A guard runs up to Dawbney distracted by the noise. DAWBNEY What is it? The guard whispers in Dawbneys ear. Dawbney turns thoughtfully back towards the camera. Behind him men continue to drop. DAWBNEY It seems we have a complication. I should have seen it coming - too many frogs in the pond including us. But it is no great matter. He nods to someone off camera. DAWBNEY The game is complete for us, it seems . . . who has been

If you hadnt come up here youd never have known. And with these out of the way, she jostled Moniques unconscious body with her foot, you would have eventually chosen me. You killed my family. You would never have known. Listen to what youre saying. Youre mad. Perhaps, she granted with a complacent smirk, but I was smart enough to pretend to be a DNA killer - and I fooled you and every other policeman down there in that shit hole. Why? he asked. Why not? she replied with a little girls surly, sideways shake of the head. I was bored. Daddy never took me anywhere. I knew with all these murders going on anyway Id never get caught if I was smart. And I am. Why my family? he persisted. I started off just wanting to see what it was like to kill someone. And I found I enjoyed it. When I saw you in the paper, I knew I had to have you. So it made sense to kill everyone you might care for so I could have you all to myself. That makes no sense at all, Mary. Your minds not right.

Well, as I said, I was smart enough to fool you. You couldnt find a trace of me, could you? She tossed her hair back petulantly. I left no clues at all. I even broke into your own house. With the help of Daddys special suits? Robert replied with a knowing nod of his head. Yes, thats right. New military supply. Totally sealed. Do you know you can breathe in them for up to thirty six hours? I have Daddy to thank for that. She looked fondly at the hologram. He does look cute strapped to that rocket doesnt he? Another guard has electronic device. brought Dawbney a small

DAWBNEY . . . But for the rest of you, the game has a long course to run. A return to the Dark Ages, perhaps? He holds up the electronic device. DAWBNEY To bastardise the words of the great T.S. Eliot - This is the way the world ends . . . Im sorry it has to end like this, Robert. Truly I am. She levelled the gun directly at Roberts chest.

DAWBNEY This is the way the world ends . . . Behind Mary, in the distance, behind the large convex window, Robert suddenly makes out a figure. DAWBNEY This is the way the world ends . . . Goodbye, my darling, whispered Mary as she cocked the handgun. DAWBNEY Not with a whimper, but a bang! . . . Mary began to squeeze the trigger, but at that very instant Robert dropped to the floor like an eagle. Simultaneously, a bullet ripped into the window behind her, shattering it everywhere across the floor and through the hologram of Dawbney. Marys bullet hit Robert in the shoulder as he fell. But she did not have time to discharge another. As she turned towards the shattered window a second bullet met her in the forehead. With a small gurgle, she dropped to her knees and with a final bone-crunching face-dive into the glass-strewn floor, she was dead. Outside, in the garden, slowly lowering her gun - was Natasha.

Robert clutched his arm and looked at her through the huge image of Dawbney screaming about the tears of the angels, with men clutching at their throats and dying all around him. And then he saw his sister and Colin and Jacob and Rueben entering the room. They ran towards him through the hologram which now showed a graphic of hundreds of Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles crisscrossing trajectories across the face of a rotating, animated, three dimensional Earth. Are you alright? Oh, Robert, said Vanessa who was first to reach him. Yes. Yes, he replied with urgency. Quickly. Help me up. Get the others. But youre hurt, said Vanessa as he attempted to gain his feet. I think he means we need to get away from that, replied Colin, nodding towards the massive globe rotating beside them. The missile traces were growing. Rueben and Jacob struggled, but they managed to pick up Jasmine and Monique. Richard was regaining consciousness and Colin helped him up and along. As swiftly as they could they ascended the stairway, and then descended deeper below via Marys room, taking pillows, blankets and a mattress along the way. Put the mattress against the door, ordered Robert. How long do we have? asked Rueben. Minutes, replied Colin.

The short journey had jolted Monique and Jasmine back to life. They sat beside the wall, recovering consciousness. Richard was groggy but sitting upright. Jacob and Rueben sealed the door as well as they could which left nothing to be done but sit in the semi-darkness and await the explosion. Hows your shoulder? Vanessa asked Robert. He smiled. Ill live, he replied. You were right about the plastic suits. Youd make a good detective. Yes, added Colin, who was steadying Jasmine and helping her into a chair, and more than that. If what that nutcase Dawbney was saying is true, then that bloody great bomb is about to land smack bang on top of where we wouldve been. Of course! Robert yelled suddenly, scaring the hell out of everybody. Quick Rueben, come with me. Open the door! He tore the mattress away from the door and raced up the stairs, closely followed by Rueben. For a moment the rest watched this odd display in mute astonishment. Colin was the first to regain his voice. What in the world. . ? Robert! Vanessa screamed and she went to follow him. Jacob stopped her. Its okay, maam, he said. Im sure he has a good reason.

Moments later the reason became apparent. Robert and Rueben re-entered the room with a handful of Ramseys plastic suits. Put these on, he said. Youll have up to thirty six hours of air once you close up the hood. So dont do it up until the bomb goes off. How will we know when the bomb goes off? asked Constable Ryan, rubbing his head and squinting. Oh, youll know, Robert replied. And they all helped one another into the suits. Then they sat and waited. Im scared, said Monique. Ill look after you, replied Rueben. And she huddled under his arm for protection. Topside, the rotating, animated 3D representation of the globe was almost completely obscured by the multi-coloured missile pathways scribbled upon it. The vision looked like a four year olds attempts at colouring in a picture of the Earth. With a quick blip it began. Before long the Earth was no longer scribbled upon. Its image was being obliterated by hundreds of explosive blips. They fell right across the planet, but not upon the city centres, as Dawbney had promised. Instead, the spaces in between the major cities were being obliterated, separating from one another those fortunate, or unfortunate enough to be spared. And then it came the turn of Sydney.

EXT.SYDNEY BASIN.DAY Through the smashed front window in Ramseys house we see a vapour trail in the far distance, directly above the Sydney Basin. There is a blinding flash of light, followed by a massive mushroom cloud. Moments later there is an enormous thundercrack explosion. As the mushroom cloud grows in the distance, the shockwave hits the house and the great blast gushes through the room. The hologram is gone. But the house is still standing.

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