Jonathan Lowe - The Methuselah Gene

THE METHUSELAH GENE

by Jonathan Lowe

First Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

Copyright 2011 Jonathan Lowe

Copy-edited by Erin Bailey Cover Design by David Dodd
Background image courtesy of: http://a-rien.deviantart.com/

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I felt my stomach growl. The early June sun hadnt visibly appeared, but was already spreading orange marmalade and butter onto the crusty horizon. Then, three miles from downtown Alexandria, in the middle of a field where a dairy farm had once been, the Tactar Pharmaceuticals plant suddenly loomed above the hill beyond the city. The three story glass and steel structure appeared dark, except for a few lights on the second floor. Its silhouette was haloed by a streak of distant clouds that caught the doomed colors of morning.

I parked in my usual spot, and surveyed the other cars already there. Half a dozen in the half light, not counting two plant security vehicles. Ominously, there were three police cruisers, flashers off since this was a private lot off a private road. Getting out, I looked up to tally the office lights in the administration section of the building...

My own office, Jeffers office, and two others. So Winsdon had not been summonedyet. Jeffers was keeping this low key, whatever it was.

I took the elevator, utilizing my security badge. After emitting a ping, the elevators stainless steel doors whispered open on the second floor. Treading along the hallway like a burglar might, I felt my heartbeat quicken in my temples. Then, with unusual trepidation, I approached the open door of my own office, and stuck my head inside to see Jeffers waiting for me just outside the entrance to the lab. The V.P. wore a blue pullover sports shirt, and sneakers, as though late for an early round of golf at his country club. Two uniformed officers stood at the shattered window behind him, where a plainclothes detective took a fingerprint sample.

Sir? I said.

Jeffers whirled. Staring directly at me, as if at a recalcitrant son returning to the scene of some embarrassing indiscretion, he addressed the officers behind him. Hes here, was all Jeffers said.

This time it was clearly different. The conference table had a towel laid across part of its mahogany surface, on top of which had been placed a tray of Danish pastries, a couple basic Krispy Kremes, and a coffee urn. It was 7:45 a.m. now, and other employees had already begun shuffling past the slightly open door on the way to their own offices. Only I, Jeffers, a detective named Schimmer, and a sullen Kevin Connolly remained in the room. We served ourselves with the aid of paper napkins. Were we waiting for Winsdon? I dreaded asking, and so remained silent until Jeffers answered my question by shutting the door on the hallway.

We all sat. Jeffers took Winsdons usual seat at the head of the table. Schimmer took out his note pad, and clicked his pen to the ready. Connolly cocked his head as though detecting the high pitched sound of a dog whistle. Then Jeffers frowned and looked at me steadily, a peculiar light in his eyes. Who knew about this on the outside, Alan?

I found that a perplexed agitation had gripped me. I glanced from side to side, then down at my Danish in disbelief. I picked it up, wondering whether to eat it or throw it at some hidden target. Well... no one, sir, I muttered. I did write an article, as you know, but it was short on specifics, and only hinted at what we might be doing. In the future, I mean. I took an experimental bite of the roll, then followed it with a sip of strong, acidic coffee.

I met Jeffers frozen gaze, and Schimmers. The detectives pen hovered over his pad. Glances were exchanged between Connolly and Schimmer. Finally Jeffers lifted and then lowered his own cup. Industrial espionage from a spy in our ranks, is that what youre saying?

I chewed and swallowed, ignorant of taste but thankful for the cover of food as an interrogation aid. I tried to remain calm. Im not... saying anything, sir. But it is possible, isnt it?

The others stared at me. They looked dubious.

Then Jeffers nodded with thoughtful deliberation. Point of entry was made with a glass cutter. Alarm bypassed, because were talking the second floor. No prints, though. And the guard somehow missed it all, too. So you think it didnt happen that way?

I shrugged and swallowed nervously. Unless someone talked. Doesnt seem likely to me someone would bring a ladder here in the middle of the night. Did you check to see if the glass was cut from the inside or not?

Schimmer straightened. It was made from the outside, the detective declared. But the other window could have been opened to do it.

Jeffers confirmed his assent with a nod. So its possible someone was planning to change jobs, Alan. Someone covering himself by stealing the data files on your gene research, and destroying all the computer backup. We know its not Jim Baxter, now. He paused, and leaned forward. His eyes narrowed painfully, as if he were undergoing a prostate exam. Who else would do that, do you think?

I grinned in shocked reflex. Not me, if thats what you mean. I tilted up my coffee cup slightly, my sip sounding like a slurp in the silence that followed.

After a moment, Jeffers finally leaned back, and picked up his own cup. Help us to understand why youre not involved in this, would you, Alan?

Well, its crazy, thats why, I told him. What would I gain?

How about an up front bonus? Connolly suggested. Preliminary patent process hadnt even begun.

I set down my cup a little too hard, letting out what must have seemed to them like a cackle. I cant believe this. Youre accusing me? I couldnt get away with something like this.

Connolly was unfazed. Maybe you just sold the process to the highest bidder, he postulated. Eli Lilly or Warner-Lambert?

I couldnt help laughing. What? I thought the project was a failure.

Were not accusing you of anything, Alan, Jeffers conceded, then examined his manicured nails. Its all rather academic at this point, anyway.

What do you mean?

Slowly, the three men exchanged glances, as if trying to decide who should break the news to me. The thing Id obviously missed. Jeffers, as boss, was unanimously nominated by default. Theres been an... accident.

I stared at them each in turn, in dumbfounded incomprehension. I felt as if Id never known these men. Any of them. Like Id just been ushered into an airport conference room, where these FBI agents and FAA investigators suspected I am the one who had checked six pounds of C4 shaped like a Grecian urn onto a plane that would carry their children across the ocean. Accident?

At lunchtime I drove Darryl out of the plant parking lot toward a restaurant downtown, so we could talk. On the way I was expecting Darryl to complain about having to ask his wife to drive him to work that morning. But he didnt. Instead, he wanted to know why all the secrecy about the cops leaving the plant when he arrived. I didnt reply at first, taking the turn roughly onto the public road fronting the Tactar plant. Then, when he persisted in asking me what was wrong, and what I knew, I finally said, Its all for nothing. A years work, down the tubes. And what do I get for it? A reassignment to Hepkers division. But hellmaybe the world needs a better headache remedy. I know I do.