Christ Clone (29 page)

'I wondered if you'd like to come out for a spot of early dinner? That is, if you can pull yourself away from the entertainment channel.'

'I'm sure that would be possible. What do you have in mind?'

'It's a surprise. Just grab your things and we'll get going.'

Taylor walked out to her desk, and after another quick scan around the room, Travis followed her.

The helicopter flight to the boat was a veritable feast of visual delight for Taylor. To her, Los Angeles was a shambles. A jumbled mess of roads and buildings, as if a kid had dumped a load of Lego pieces on his bedroom floor and called it a city. Riding to work on the bus, she often wondered as they weaved in and out of traffic, taking roads left and right, whether or not there was, in fact, a plan to the city. But now, up above all the hustle and bustle, she could see the city for what it was — a well-constructed maze of interconnected suburbs where all roads led to the city's heart.

At Travis' instruction, the pilot took them on a short tour of the Los
Angeles basin, pointing out various sights as they passed above them.
Taylor's heart, having calmed since her close call in Travis' office, was pounding with excitement.

After the sightseeing tour, the chopper made its way to the coast where Travis' launch was waiting. The Pacific was calm and the chopper touched gently down on the boat's helipad. Travis spoke to the pilot via radio mike, telling him to be back at eight o'clock sharp.
Once both passengers were safely on board the launch, the chopper lifted off as gracefully as it had landed.

Taylor felt a small sense of dread at being left alone with Travis in the middle of the ocean. Of course she felt stupid as soon as they went below — Jules and Darren were there to greet them.

Of course they'd be there! How else would the boat get here?
Taylor silently berated herself. She'd spoken with Darren numerous times and was pleased to finally put a face to the voice.

'Welcome aboard, Taylor,' Darren said, handing her a glass of champagne.

'Pleasure to be here and to finally meet you, Darren. This must be your lovely wife Jules.' Taylor stuck out her hand toward Jules, who brushed past it and kissed her on the cheek.

'How very European,' Travis said, smiling.

Darren ushered them into the lounge. Plates of nibbles had been laid out on the table. 'Dinner won't be for another hour. I hope you like Lobster Thermidor,' Darren said, looking at Taylor.

'Sounds wonderful to me.'

'If that's all for now I'll leave you two alone. Champagne is in the ice bucket, and just call if you need anything else.'

Travis thanked him and he left the room.

Taylor suddenly felt alone again, alone with the man she suspected of being a kidnapper and murderer. She took a large mouthful of her champagne to quell her apprehension.

'Come and take a look at the view through this window,' Travis said, beckoning her to his side.

The view back towards the city was outstanding, and as her eyes moved slowly from building to building her tension started to ease.

'It's beautiful isn't it,' Travis said.

Taylor nodded.

'Despite all the crime, smog, and potential earthquakes, I still believe it's one of the most amazing places in the world. If you count
Hollywood, it's even got its own outsize royal family.' Travis chuckled at his own wit.

Taylor continued to look out of the window.

'What's with you today?' Travis asked, touching her shoulder as he spoke.

Taylor jumped, nearly spilling her drink.

'Whoa there, Taylor, it's only me.'

Taylor collected herself.

'Sorry Simon, I was miles away.'

'I can see that. What's going on? Do you want to talk about it?'

Taylor took another long sip of her champagne and moved to the nibbles. 'It's nothing, just family stuff.'

'Well, that says it all. Family is enough to make anyone jumpy.'

Taylor popped an appetizer into her mouth and looked at Travis.
'In all the years I've known you, you've never really spoken about your family, Simon. I don't even know if you've got any brothers or sisters.'

He didn't respond. What had she said? The silence was becoming uncomfortable.

'I've always thought of my work colleagues as my family,' Travis said as he moved to one of the sofas and sat down.

Taylor picked up another nibble and followed. 'Isn't that a bit of a cliché? The boss who loves his workers enough to call them family.'
She smiled.

'The thing is, Taylor, as you know both my parents are no longer with me, and to answer your question, no, I don't have any other family. There's just me. So I guess that at some point I adopted all of you as my family. So, cliché it may be, it's quite true. Most of my favourite memories are centred around Travicom and its staff.'

What a very lonely man he was, Taylor thought, and for him to have achieved so much without family support and guidance was no small feat. She started to wonder how her life would have been without her parents to watch over her. Sure they'd nagged a lot, but they loved her and wanted the best for her.

'And that's why trust is such an important part of my relationship with you all, but in particular, with my senior and most valued staff members.'

Travis took the bottle from the bucket and topped up their glasses.
'I know I don't thank you, or even acknowledge all the work you do, but I'm so grateful for your loyalty Taylor.' Travis put the bottle down and raised his glass. 'Here's to you, Taylor, my right-hand woman.'

Taylor blushed and clinked her glass against his. 'Thank you,
Simon,' was all the response she could muster.

Darren announced dinner would be served in five minutes. Taylor and Travis took their seats at the table and watched as the banquet arrived, a seafood extravaganza — fish and shellfish of all kinds: lobsters, prawns, oysters, caviar and more, sautéed, grilled, and marinated. Taylor was astounded.

'I hope you're both hungry.' Darren and Jules finished unloading the trolley.

'I hope you've got plenty of doggy bags. I'm not going to waste any of this. Thank you so much, it all looks marvellous.' Taylor was already moving towards the oysters.

Jules and Darren's faces shone with satisfaction as they left the room.

Wainright's search for Needham had turned up nothing; the guy had simply disappeared. All he could establish was that Needham had rushed out of his office distraught, and wasn't answering either his home or cellphones. Wainright had someone check Needham's boat, then try a few places where they'd met before, all to no avail. Without knowing what Needham had told Travis, he was going to have to wing the meeting. He felt sure Needham would have spilled the beans regarding Stemtex's own cloning experiment, which begged the question of why Travis wanted the meeting.

L
OS
A
NGELES

Travis checked his watch. It was nine-fifteen. He hated going into a meeting unprepared, but this time it was unavoidable. In a last-ditch attempt to find something to go on, Travis had swung past his office to check the internet to see if Wainright — or Stemtex — had published anything recently that could give him an indication of their intentions.
His search uncovered nothing; in fact, he found almost no recent press on Wainright at all, which in itself was odd since Wainright was outspoken in public as a rule.

Travis showed his pass to the desk clerk at the airport lounge and asked if a Mr Wainright had arrived. He hadn't. Travis asked for the key to a private meeting room before ordering a Bloody Mary at the bar. He checked his watch again. Nine-thirty exactly.

***

Wainright knew Travis was not a man to be bullied; he was a good negotiator. The best thing he could do to unsettle Travis would be to arrive late. He knew punctuality was one of Travis' obsessions, and he smiled as he flicked idly through the magazine rack at the airport.

***

Five minutes late at an airport was excusable. He didn't like it, but he decided to tolerate it. Travis' leg was starting to fidget as he looked around the room at the travellers and commuters. He stirred his drink with the celery stick, then pulled it out and took a bite. People were mingling around the room. Travis studied their faces; they all seemed to have a purpose, and they all seemed to be watching the time.

Like yawning after watching someone else do the same, Travis pulled up his sleeve and checked his own watch again. Nine thirty-seven.

***

At nine-forty, Wainright decided he'd annoyed Travis long enough and made his way to the lounge. The doors opened and the two adversaries met face to face.

'I thought you'd had a better offer; I was just leaving.'

'Now, now, Travis, sorry I'm late; the traffic was terrible. Shall we go in?'

The mere fact that he was still there meant Travis needed something from him. Wainright smiled as he walked on through.

Wainright ordered a large cognac at the bar, and with Travis hot on his heels he ordered him a Bloody Mary. 'You do still drink that nasty tomato stuff, don't you?'

Travis was stone-faced.

'Oh, lighten up, will you? So I was a little late. Let's have a drink together, and then you can tell me what this is all about.'

The two men sank their drinks silently, ordered another, and made their way to the private meeting room. They sat at opposite ends of the table, the air conditioning doing nothing to diffuse the tension in the air.

Travis began: 'I knew you were a low life, but to have a mole planted among my staff, well that's just fucking despicable.'

'Mr Travis, I thought you called this meeting to discuss something important. If it's just going to be some kind of slanging match, then
I think we should end it right now.'

Travis closed his mouth as he struggled to find the best way to proceed.

Wainright took control. 'While we're on the subject of despicable behaviour, would you like to talk about a small cloning project you have on the go?'

Travis' face went beet red. He grimaced, waiting for Wainright to say he'd called the authorities, and life as he knew it was all over.
But with nothing forthcoming, Travis reverted to attack as the best means of defence. 'For someone who's made a career out of copying other people's science, I'm surprised you haven't exploited your mole's information.'

There was something in the way Wainright reacted to his comment that made Travis suspicious. He was a great believer in body language and, subtle as it was, a little something skittered across Wainright's face. It was so fleeting most people would have missed it, but not
Travis. Over the years, he'd watched every media clip he could get his hands on, studying Wainright in preparation for just such an occasion as this. Travis knew what to look for; he knew that whenever
Wainright lied, or even if he was about to, his thick left eyebrow made a quick sideways twitch.

'I don't believe it! You've fucking done it!'

It was Wainright's turn to be embarrassed.

Suddenly, both men had filled in the blanks. Needham hadn't told
Travis the full story, and Wainright was conducting his own version of the cloning experiment so he was in no position to shop Travis.

Each silently mulled over his predicament.

With Wainright involved, the whole project was compromised.
What if Stemtex had created the
true
clone? The thought made Travis'
stomach turn.

Wainright's dilemma was a lot simpler. With Stemtex's involvement exposed, the project would turn into a race — winner takes all. As far as he could work out, no one had yet put up their hand to swear they'd recreated Jesus, but with the element of surprise gone, one of the other contenders could certainly try to get to the press first and claim the kudos. Wainright couldn't and wouldn't let this happen. With a smile he said, 'Seems to me we now have something to talk about.'

Keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer, was the spirit of their negotiations now. Each man despised the other, but also knew he needed him. After a considerable amount of manoeuvring, they came to some form of agreement. Wainright would receive credit for the science; he and he alone would receive the credit for the project
— and the infamy that would accompany it. Travis would receive custody of the clones.

Wainright had one final demand, and he started off by saying, 'With three clones in the mix, the unveiling could be a huge event.'

'What do you mean?' Travis looked puzzled.

'We could have three clones of no one in particular, or we could have three clones of Jesus. Either way I want to handle the whole event. I see footage of Jesus on the cross, worldwide crossovers, and my face on every TV or media outlet — now that's a publicity event people would pay to see.'

Travis was astounded at the depths to which one man could sink.
'So, with all that's gone on, and with the endless possibilities ahead if we
have
created the true Son of God, all you can think of is your own ego and your own advancement?'

Wainright just nodded his head. 'Look, people used to sink their money into temples glorifying the sun god or whatever. All I'm saying is, if people want to believe I've recreated the son of their god, and they're happy to pay, I'm happy to accept their kind donations.'

Travis just shook his head.

Having reached a gentlemen's agreement, they went their separate ways.

***

Aboard his private jet again, Wainright felt relieved the meeting between him and Travis had gone so well. In fact, he found it slightly amusing that a negotiator of Travis' standard would roll over so easily on so many points. He seemed to want only the clones. Although he'd managed to secure all the points he wanted, Wainright still didn't trust the little upstart and decided he'd renege on the deal once his name was in lights. What did Travis want with the clones anyway?

From the moment he got wind of the challenge, and the whole concept of cloning Jesus Christ, he'd thought of little else. He'd planned down to the finest detail. The science was comparatively easy; Travis'
eggheads had covered all that. No, the real details came with authenticity.
Abducting a virgin Mary to serve as the host mother seemed to be high on the agenda for all parties, but Wainright seriously doubted the Germans or the Ruskis would have gone to the lengths he had, getting builders in to recreate what could best be described as a small biblical town. Wainright managed to secure a group of disused hangars just over the Nevada border, and had no trouble persuading a team of movie set builders to turn it into a mini-Jerusalem. The airstrip was ideal, allowing Wainright to come and go as he pleased, and the movie set cover meant that very few people asked questions during the construction. The result was superb, and apart from necessary anachronisms like screens, monitors, and sensors, you could be forgiven for believing you were in a town from a time long forgotten.

Not long after the clone was born at Wainright's laboratory in
Sorrento, he, the host mother and the attending nurse Beverly, had been transported to the facility in Nevada. Here the clone would be reared as Jesus. His new life was to be a re-enactment of his first.
Aside from the medical equipment, all reference to the intervening two thousand years had been deleted. After a great deal of research, all clothing, tools, materials and education were based on the religion, faith, and culture of that time. As soon as he was able to read, the
Old Testament became his regular source of reading material. Bedtime stories were parables from the Talmud. He was taught basic carpentry skills and, much to the delight of his tutors, seemed to have a natural flair for the craft.

The regression therapy had turned up some interesting results — things that were unique to the clone — and after checking the information he'd been given, the doctors concluded his dreams were based on first-hand experience rather than on their manufactured images.

Wainright, who was given each day's communication transcripts, didn't care if the clone's dreams represented genuine regression or not.
All that mattered was that the clone was credible.

'If he's not the Son of God, he will be by the time I've finished with him.' He was thinking aloud as he poured a cognac from his on-board mini bar and sank into the cushioned leather seat.