Authors: Graham Brown
“This was your idea.”
“Father kept looking for someone to take pity on him,” she said. “I chose to find people who would
beg us
to take their money. With Paradox we’d have unlimited funding and we wouldn’t have to run or hide or lie about what we’re working on like Father always did.”
There was a new sense of pride in Sonia’s voice as she spoke. Paradox was her creation, not just another step following in her father’s footsteps. Hawker had to admit it was a brilliant move. And by basing Paradox in a nation without stringent standards or an entrenched bureaucracy like the American FDA, she and her fellow researchers could do almost anything they wanted.
“Long life equals big money,” Savi noted with some disdain. “But if it’s just for the rich, how does it make this world a better place?”
“I don’t care about the world,” Sonia said. “I care about Nadia. And Father. Paradox was their way out. It would have worked, for both of them. But now …”
Her voice trailed off as if she realized that that particular dream was shattered beyond repair.
Savi shook her head. “Your father wanted to keep the research secret. That’s why he did the things he did. Why he went through all he went through.”
“I went through it with him,” Sonia reminded her.
Savi nodded. “I’m sorry, Sonia,” she said. “He didn’t want people to live forever.”
“I heard a speech he gave once,” Hawker said. “He talked about forced sterilization, culling the herd. Was he really that radical?”
Sonia looked embarrassed at this revelation. “Father didn’t really believe in those things. He was just trying to make a point. What he wanted was birth control and responsibility and family planning.”
Savi spoke up. “When Ranga and I were children, Mr. Hawker, we traveled with our mother. She was a nurse. She went on missions to the poorest parts of the world. Slums like Dharavi, outside Mumbai, or Kibera near Nairobi. The poor live there among filth you couldn’t imagine, crawling all over one another like ants. They survive just long enough to have more children and increase the population and suffering. Medicines and food are delivered by those who wish to help. People like our mother. And so fewer die in childbirth, fewer die in childhood, and ever more are confined to utter misery.”
Hawker remained quiet.
Savi turned toward him. “Have you ever been to a place where parents burn their children with scalding water, Mr. Hawker? Or poke their eyes out with a stick so they will be more pitiful when they go and beg? Or kill them because they cannot afford to have one more mouth to feed?”
“You’d be surprised where I’ve been,” he said, coldly.
“Then you understand why my brother spoke as he did,” she replied.
As Hawker listened he got the feeling that Savi and Sonia had practiced defending Ranga for a long time. And in a way, Hawker did understand. In the poorest, most overpopulated parts of the world, Western help in the form of medicines and food had wreaked havoc. In lands where large numbers of children were the norm because
so few survived to adulthood, Western efforts had changed the equation drastically.
Where once a family had ten children and counted on two or three to become adults, now nine or ten did. Five generations used to take the population from four to twenty; now it took them to a hundred or more. There was simply not enough food or jobs or water or land for such growth.
But to pretend that only evil and misery came from such places was a conceit of the rich and a lie. He’d seen great love and affection and joy in some of the poorest places he’d ever been to.
“I’m not judging him,” Hawker said. “I’m only trying to understand. And to figure out who took his life and stop them from harming anyone else, including the three of you.”
For a second Savi looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s just …”
“It’s okay,” he said, then turned to Sonia. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to your father in time. But he mentioned a breakthrough. Said he was near the answer. I think the people who killed him were after that. Do you know what it was?”
Sonia’s face brightened. Her eyes found Hawker and appeared both tremendously innocent and somehow prideful and strong and wise all at the same time.
“After years of pure research, Father decided to take a different route,” she said. “He studied animals blessed with long life spans, tortoises and parrots and things like that. And then he worked with stem cells, and compounds that could affect those stem cells.”
She glanced toward the forward cabin.
“Some of mine have been given to Nadia. They’re a part of her now. It seems to be helping.”
“And the breakthrough?”
“Father became convinced that if a genetic defect that
destroyed telomeres existed in nature, then the opposite must already exist somewhere as well. He began to research stories of long life and even legends of immortality. It seemed so very odd, but he felt there would be some truth to whatever stories existed.
“He became friends with a man named Bashir, an Iranian archaeologist. They were quite a pair. Two bitter old madmen, it seemed. Father looking for immortality and Bashir chasing a dream he said he’d once lost in the desert sands.”
“What dream are we talking about here?” Hawker asked, recognizing Bashir’s name.
“Bashir’s great obsession,” she said. “Every equal of my father’s. He claimed he’d once found the grave of Adam. And clutched in Adam’s hand was a scroll of copper, which Bashir had become certain would lead him to the Garden of Eden.”
Hawker felt as if he were treading water, reaching for the bottom with his feet only to find each time that there was no ground beneath him.
“The Garden of Eden?”
“I know how it sounds,” Sonia said. “But Bashir believed they could find it, and Father believed he could save Nadia with what he would discover there.”
Hawker fought to contain his skepticism. “And what would that be?”
“A miracle from God, to some. A miracle of science, to my father,” she said. “The hope of immortality.”
He looked at her. “Immortality?”
She nodded. “In the book of Genesis, it was called the Tree of Life.”
S
cindo stood with Cruor in the same darkened room in which he had been named. He was here for a different reason now. Another man stood in front of them, an older man with gray hair and reddish brown skin. Cruor called him Bashir.
“We have something for you,” Cruor said.
“I want nothing of yours,” Bashir said.
Cruor laughed, a deep, sickly laugh.
“What I give you was never mine, but once it was yours. Or so you say.”
From Bashir’s features and accent, Scindo knew he was Middle Eastern, Persian as opposed to his own Arabian heritage. Why he was present, Scindo didn’t know; that he’d been beaten was obvious. There were bruises around his face, and he hobbled when he walked.
He was also missing an eye, but that scar was old.
“You were friends with Ranga,” Cruor said to the prisoner. “He told us what you believed.”
“You tortured it out of him.”
“This was before we caught both of you, before Ranga had betrayed us.”
“You murdered him for leaving you,” Bashir said.
“No,” Cruor said. “We punished him for betrayal.”
“What right do you have to punish anyone?” Bashir asked, straining, angry.
“We claim the right, as gods have done for millennia,” Cruor said. “Ranga understood this. He was part of it. He knew the punishment. We all know it.”
Cruor carried with him a long cardboard tube, which he placed down. Scindo did not know what lay inside.
“I won’t help you,” Bashir said. “I have been tortured before. What can you do to me that they have not already done?”
Cruor reached out and grabbed Bashir by the face, pulling him closer and examining the old scar.
“We can do worse,” he insisted. “I promise you.”
Cruor released Bashir and shoved him backward into a chair. He picked up the long cardboard tube and opened it.
Scindo had expected to see a weapon, a spear or a sword or some kind of blade. Instead what he saw looked like a thin, curved piece of metal.
Cruor placed it down on the table and began to unroll it.
Bashir stood. He moved forward slowly, as if drawn to the table.
As Scindo watched, Cruor unbent the copper sheet, rolling it out with great effort and precision. Eventually, when the sheet had been made somewhat flat, he and another man clamped the edges to the table.
Scindo stared. He saw that symbols had been pounded into the copper.
“You have been looking for this half your life,” Cruor said. “We give you a chance to read it.”
Bashir looked up.
“Be careful you do not lie to us. We will have others to check what you say.”
“Why would you care?” Bashir asked. “It’s ancient.”
“It exposes the lie,” Cruor said.
“What lie?”
“The lie of God,” Cruor said.
Bashir looked confused.
“For one small act of disobedience, God cast humanity from paradise. For one mistake He confined us to a harsh life and to certain death. Some go to heaven and some to hell, or so we are told. But if a man can live forever, he has no need for heaven or hell or the claims of a false god.”
Bashir struggled to respond, but he looked as if he did not know what to say.
“It is the first lie!” Cruor shouted. “All the other lies have come from it. Go to any corner of the world. There you will find men begging a god they cannot see for forgiveness, for life. We will not beg for what we can take … and give if we choose.”
Bashir backed away. Cruor grabbed him.
“Look at it,” he said.
“You’re insane,” Bashir said, panicking. “All of you, more insane than those who kill for greed or lust.”
“The truth is written there!” Cruor shouted. “You said it yourself.”
“No,” Bashir said. “I will not show you.”
Cruor shoved Bashir’s head toward the scroll, slamming his face into it. “You will show us the way.”
“Go to hell,” Bashir managed.
Cruor pulled him back and struck him across the face, sending him flying into the wall.
Remaining on the floor, Bashir cowered as far from the Man of Blood as he could get.
Cruor motioned to another member of the brotherhood, who grabbed Bashir and dragged him forward. With a knife, Cruor cut Bashir’s hands free. Then, one by one, he chained them to the rails where Scindo’s hands had been cuffed days before.
“Scindo!” Cruor shouted, pointing to Bashir’s feet.
Scindo dropped to the ground and shackled Bashir’s
feet. Despite the man’s struggles, he quickly pulled the straps tight so Bashir could no longer move.
“What are you doing?” Bashir shouted.
No answers.
Cruor moved toward a door. The other member of the brotherhood removed an acetylene torch from a rack and turned the handle for the gas.
With a spark, the flame lit. A jet of white and blue.
“I’ll read it,” Bashir said. “I’ll tell you what it says.”
Scindo knew it had to be done, but he felt sick inside. He looked to Cruor, who paused in the doorway as the man with the blowtorch moved up beside Bashir.
“Wait,” Cruor said.
Scindo’s heart pounded in his chest; a sense of relief swept over him. The Persian had come to his senses. Perhaps Cruor would spare him.
Cruor smiled at the man with the torch.
“Have Scindo do it,” he said with finality. “He must earn his stripes.” And then he stepped out and slammed the metal door shut.
H
awker stared dumbfounded at Sonia. He remembered the branding on her father’s chest, the verse from Genesis. He knew that Ranga had been interested in ancient artifacts, and that Bashir had been a noted seller of such things—that’s why Danielle had gone to Beirut—but what Sonia had just told him sounded patently absurd.
“The Tree of Life?” he said. “As in Adam and Eve, don’t eat from this tree or you’ll die, Tree of Life?”
“Actually,” she said, “Adam and Eve were allowed to eat from the Tree of Life. And in doing so they remained young and healthy and immortal. It was the Tree of Knowledge that they were warned against eating from.”
“Right,” Hawker said, trying to remember his Sunday school teaching from so long ago. “And your father thought this was real?”
A question came from Savi. “Don’t you believe in the Garden of Eden, Mr. Hawker?”
“On a physical level?” he said. “No.”
“Interesting,” she said. “So the Fall of Man, the doctrine of Original Sin, God’s punishment for us: Are these not things you accept?”
The last thing Hawker had expected this evening was a discussion of religious doctrine. Still, he felt the need to answer, as if Savi was testing him somehow.
“The fall of man—I see it every day,” he said. “But we’re capable of great good and righteous sacrifice ourselves.” This was something he’d almost lost belief in until recently. “As far as Original Sin goes, I have enough of my own to worry about.”
“And God’s punishment?” she repeated.
There was definitely a test in her words somewhere. As if she was probing for an answer.
In truth, much of what religious groups called God’s punishment made little sense to Hawker. The soldier guarding the Ark of the Covenant getting hit by lightning for touching it as he tried to stop it from falling to the ground. Moses doing everything God asked but being forced to wander the desert for forty years and then barred from entering the Promised Land because he had one moment of arrogance. It all sounded a little harsh to him. A little too human, like the men who wanted to instill a doctrine of absolute obedience regardless of right and wrong. Something he had always railed against.
“I’ve done plenty of things God would be right to punish me for,” he said. “But Adam and Eve? They took the apple—or whatever it was—after being tricked by the serpent. If I remember rightly, the Bible even mentions that the serpent was filled with guile the likes of which Adam and Eve had never seen.”
“The serpent was the devil,” Savi noted.
“I know that,” Hawker said. “But my point is this: If God is all-knowing, then He had to know what would happen when the devil found Adam and Eve in the Garden. And if He’s all-powerful, then He could have stopped the serpent from getting in there in the first place by snapping His fingers. So Adam and Eve made a bad choice. But to some extent—if you believe it all really happened that way—then somehow God was partially responsible. And punishing humanity for that makes no sense to me.
Would you punish your child for being tricked by a predator that you allowed into their world in the first place?”