‘Stolen from the toilets a few minutes ago.’
Todd audibly gasped. ‘But what about the film?’
‘Don't worry. All the footage I took is stored on memory cards and kept in safe places. And a copy of everything is in cloud-space and on YouTube.’
‘So, who took your bag?’ Ashleigh raised the newspaper to offer them some pretence of privacy.
Jordan lifted his shoulders. ‘I didn't see. I was focusing on the job in hand.’
‘Did the nuns take it?’ said Todd.
‘From the men's toilet?’ Ashleigh sneered.
‘Or maybe it was that pharmaceutical rep guy with the cardigan from the bar? Or those two people at the ladies toilets at the cinema? Or, maybe, one of those lot?’ Todd raised his arm towards another window. Outside, about 30 people, some familiar-looking and wearing raincoats, chanted slogans and waved placards indicating that they were enraged members and supporters of the University Students’ Catholic Club. ‘Or, maybe, those two doctor-scientist non-believer ladies took your bag.’
Ashleigh slowly breathed out. ‘It has occurred to me that we haven't focused enough of our attention and investigation on Doctors Olsson and Mitchell. It's possible they killed the two gangsters.’
Jordan pursed his lips. ‘But can anyone be arrested for murder if the person didn't actually die?’
* * * * *
Adelaide was designed and built in the mid-19th century around the River Torrens. Compared to other city waterways around Australia, such as the Swan River in Perth and the Derwent in Hobart, the Torrens is an unimposing creek that can be actually drained to clear it of rubbish. But much of the Torrens is lined with pleasing greenery and sporting facilities as it leads into Elder Park.
A customary ritual among tourists, especially the young and young at heart, is a 40-minute trip along the river aboard Popeye, a whitewashed boat that cruises from Elder Park to the zoo and golf course. Passengers were waiting opposite the waterfall that drapes off a $40-million bridge linking the brash, new and spherical Adelaide Oval complex with the bland, old and angular Festival Theatre centre.
But Ashleigh wasn’t a tourist; nor did she believe she was young or even young at heart. ‘And you thought this would be a good place to meet?’
Jordan smirked. ‘It was my turn to choose. Like Toddles, I am also mixing business with pleasure.’ As they waited with other passengers, Jordan threw a line into the water – although no fish had lived, or probably been able to survive, in the river for decades. ‘And no-one would ever find us here.’ They swivelled around towards the unexpected whirring of a speedboat careering in their direction. ‘… except maybe those two people.’
The speedboat darted around a flock of black swans before decelerating at the river’s edge. The three students were too dumbfounded to move. The line of tourists waiting to board Popeye stared open-mouthed; several children dropped their ice-creams in shock and began bawling.
Ashleigh swiftly activated her digital voice-recorder as the two people disembarked and approached. ‘Isn't this all a bit overdramatic?’
Dr Olsson pointed at Todd. ‘He said we could mix business with pleasure.’
Dr Mitchell nodded towards Jordan. ‘And we heard your video camera was stolen.’
‘What?’ Jordan dropped his fishing reel into the water. ‘How did you know that?’
Dr Olsson unzipped the daypack across her shoulder and passed a new handy-cam to Jordan. He was impressed. ‘Shit. It’s the latest model.’
Dr Mitchell gave Ashleigh a device barely the size of a thumbnail. Ashleigh immediately understood its purpose, offered a thin smile, and placed it inside her bra – which gave Todd and Jordan an excuse to legitimately stare at her cleavage.
‘These are tokens of our thanks for what you've all done to help the group,’ said Dr Mitchell.
‘But we don't share your beliefs.’ Ashleigh was guarded.
‘Yeah.’ Todd had to momentarily holler as Popeye arrived. ‘We are non-non-believers.’
‘Does that make us believers?’ Jordan checked that the battery in his new handy-cam had been charged and opened the monitor screen. He raised his arm to indicate that they should all move under the trees and away from Popeye.
Ashleigh turned on her digital voice-recorder and pointed it at Dr Olsson. ‘You treated the two gangsters. You signed both their death certificates. And you injected the drug into them.’ She turned towards Dr Mitchell. ‘And you did the same to the nuns. Why? What are your motives?’
Dr Mitchell paused. ‘Isn't it obvious?’
‘Sure.’ Ashleigh was far from certain, however. ‘But not to these dimwits.’ She waved an arm in the direction of Todd taking notes and Jordan holding the camera.
‘We are atheists,’ explained Dr Mitchell. ‘We don't believe in religion – any religion. We don't believe in god with a capital “g” or any other god. And we will never accept that any god created the world.’
‘We also do not believe in an afterlife,’ added Dr Olsson. ‘There is no heaven or hell. And certainly not with a capital “h”.’
‘Oh.’ Todd scribbled out several words on his notepad.
‘And now we have proved it.’
‘… by injecting your drug to dead people, so they come back to life and explain what they saw or heard or felt. Or didn't.’
Dr Mitchell was pleased. ‘Well done, Ashleigh.’
‘And that's why you were at the nuns' funeral. To give them the drug, too.’
Dr Olsson sighed. ‘The whole thing took longer than we thought. No-one ended up believing the gangsters and what they said about hell. So, we found some nuns. Everyone has to believe a nun if she says there is no heaven.’
‘In our last interview with you, Doctor Olsson, you implied that you'd seen Charlie Harper twice as a patient about the drug. And when I asked you …’ Ashleigh turned to Dr Mitchell ‘… about when Dom Futura got the drug, you said the “first one”. But you didn't say–’
En masse, they and the Popeye passengers turned abruptly as another speedboat advanced from the weir to the south.
* * * * *
Less than an hour later, Ashleigh, Todd and Jordan were assembled in a detention room on the top floor of a nondescript windowless building along a deserted side-street of North Adelaide. The room contained nothing more than three chairs, one table and a mirror. They were miserable, fearful and still soaked by spray caused by the second speedboat.
But Jordan also had something else on his mind. ‘I'm dying for a pee.’
Ashleigh glared at him. ‘Should a twenty year old have prostate problems?’
Jordan remained silent – mainly because he wasn’t sure what Ashleigh was talking about. The three of them spun around as a man with a crew cut and permanent scowl marched in. He glanced at Ashleigh admiringly as she adjusted something inside her bra – which also gave Todd and Jordan another excuse to peep at her cleavage.
The man unsealed a folder and scanned a document. ‘According to our records, Jordan is twenty one. And his prostate is fine.’
Todd tried unsuccessfully to be defiant. ‘What do you want? And who are you?’
The man grinned momentarily. ‘You are meant to say it the other way around.’
Jordan leaned down towards his daypack.
‘Don't bother,’ said the man.
Jordan checked the contents and groaned. ‘Did you steal my other video camera too?’
‘Your films are of great use.’
‘To who?’ Ashleigh slipped a hand inside her jacket slung over a chair.
‘We also took your voice-recorder.’ The man turned to Todd. ‘And your pen and notepad.’
Todd patted down his numerous trouser side-pockets and growled.
‘You didn't answer my question,’ said Ashleigh.
‘And you can answer mine in any order you want,’ added Todd.
‘I work for the government.’ As the man passed Ashleigh his business card, she immediately
recognised the unusual font of the single word – GOVERNMENT – and the large G covering the back.
‘FBI?’ Todd was excited.
‘CIA?’ Jordan was worried.
‘I am the Prime Minister’s Special Envoy.’
‘Like in the movies?’ said Todd.
‘Exactly.’
Todd and Jordan sneered and mouthed the words “I told you” to Ashleigh.
But she ignored them. ‘What do you want with us? And what did you do with Doctor Olsson and Doctor Mitchell?’
‘They are unharmed. But they aren't co-operating as much as we'd like.’
‘Co-operating about what? The drug? We don't know anything about it.’ Ashleigh crossed her arms.
Special Envoy grinned menacingly. ‘But under some duress one of the doctors did claim that you do know something, but they wouldn't elaborate ... What we want is simple: the formula for the Eternal Drug. Or at least a sample so we can replicate it.’
‘We?’ Ashleigh glanced at the mirror again with dwindling confidence.
‘The Prime Minister only wants the Eternal Drug for personal use. He doesn't want to sell it and make billions of dollars. He already has billions. But those two women won't help us.’
‘But why does he want the drug?’ Todd followed Ashleigh’s gaze towards the mirror and shuddered.
‘I know,’ said Ashleigh. ‘I read about it. The Prime Minister’s mother is on death's door.’
‘In fact, the PM’s mother died yesterday, but it hasn't been announced publicly yet.’
‘And you want the drug to bring his mother back to life.’
Special Envoy spread his hands in an attempt at being conciliatory. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’
‘But why should only she get the drug?’
‘That, Ashleigh, is the moral high ground those two doctors are claiming ... We'll no doubt have to use more persuasive methods with you three as well.’
Todd gulped. ‘What methods?’
Ashleigh continued. ‘Would you allow the rest of the world access to this drug?’
Special Envoy involuntarily trembled. ‘No, of course not.’
Jordan decided to be more gracious and courteous with Special Envoy. ‘How persuasive are, um, those methods you mentioned, sir?’
‘Will you let other people with deceased family members and friends use the drug?’
Special Envoy shook his head decisively. ‘Ashleigh, we cannot possibly let every dead person come back to life. No country on earth could remotely cope with a system where people never die. It can never be allowed to happen.’
‘… except if you're the mother of someone very rich and very powerful,’ mumbled Ashleigh.
‘Sir, envoy person, sir.’ Todd decided to join Jordan’s obsequious pleas. ‘I would tell you everything I know, but I never remember anything.’
‘The world is tough.’ Special Envoy stared at Ashleigh. ‘And unfair.’
‘I am aware of that.’ Ashleigh returned his stare but still involuntarily gulped.
‘And I remember even less, sir, than him.’ Jordan pointed at Todd.
Special Envoy glared at the three students in turn. ‘So, will you help us?’
‘We wouldn't if we could, which we can't, so we won't.’ Ashleigh crossed her arms.
Special Envoy’s forehead creased. ‘Does that mean no?’
‘Yes, that means no.’
‘I see.’ Special Envoy pursed his lips before striding out of the detention room.
Jordan whispered to Ashleigh. ‘What was that stuff he said about the doctors claiming we know something about the formula?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Ashleigh glanced at the mirror; she had assumed from the very beginning that others, now including Special Envoy, were watching and listening. So, she casually turned her back to the mirror and reached into her bra to extract the thumbnail-sized recording device given to her by Dr Mitchell. Ashleigh squinted at the miniscule screen on the device, which indicated that two recordings had been made. She lifted the device to her ear and listened to snippets of the conversation just concluded with Special Envoy. Ashleigh then wordlessly instructed Todd and Jordan to huddle and listen.
‘Will you let other people with deceased family members and friends use the drug?’
‘Ashleigh, we cannot possibly let every dead person come back to life. No country on earth could remotely cope with a system where people never die. It can never be allowed to happen.’
As Special Envoy stormed back into the room, Ashleigh urgently checked the miniature screen on the device and pressed several tiny buttons.
Special Envoy snatched the device from Ashleigh’s palm but gazed at it helplessly as the screen indicated that the two recordings were “being sent”. ‘Shit!’ The screen promptly indicated that both recordings had “been sent”. ‘What have you done?’
Ashleigh grinned for the first time since their detention. ‘The world will be able to listen to our little chat – all of it, in fact – online in about ... ‘ She lifted an arm to check her watch. ‘… now.’
‘What?’ Special Envoy frantically pressed all the tiny buttons on the device before squinting at the instruction on the screen which read “now deleted”. ‘What was that other recording? Did you send that too?’
Ashleigh shrugged. ‘It was already on the device when the doctors gave it to me. But I'm guessing it's the formula for the Eternal Drug.’
‘Holy shit!’ He glanced at the mirror with dread. ‘You have no idea what you have just done.’ He thundered back towards the door. ‘Now the entire world can access the Eternal Drug. No-one will ever die!’
‘Poor people will. They’ll never be able to afford the Eternal Drug. They can’t afford any medicines now. They’ll still die in the millions from malaria and small pox and other preventable diseases that cost a pittance to prevent.’
‘Piss off. All of you.’
Chapter Eight
Tuesday
The City of Adelaide is encircled by superb parklands and dotted with squares of greenery and serenity. And in the adjoining suburb of North Adelaide, stately century-old buildings, such as the abandoned Primitive Methodist Church, line the street leading to Wellington Square. But this colonial splendour does not extend, however, to the offices and studios of Channel Nine, one of the city’s three commercial television stations.
Inside an undersized room with no windows or natural air, Ashleigh and Jordan were slumped in chairs waiting for their faces to be caked with makeup; the former far more comfortable with the idea than the latter. Todd was pacing about restlessly, steadfastly refusing to be anywhere near makeup unless it had already been applied to the face of some “hot chick”.
Along one wall a television silently showed the live broadcast of the TV show they were about to appear on from an adjacent studio. On another wall, several smaller muted screens displayed national and international 24-hour news channels. One of these, Sky News, featured a report about potentially violent clashes outside morgues across Australia, Europe and North America between protesters and police. Hundreds of enraged demonstrators holding placards with slogans such as “We Want the Eternal Drug” and “Give the Drug to Everyone!” were ramming against armoured police.
Ashleigh lifted herself from the makeup chair and sat at a table scattered with the latest glossy fashion and women’s magazines. From a hidden pocket within her jeans, she extracted the business cards she’d received from Tracksuit Man, Umbrella Woman and Special Envoy. She laid the cards across the table so the vivid lights overhead could highlight the three oversized letters on the back: P, R and G.
Todd picked up a bottle of lotion. ‘Why do women put on all this crap?’
‘I don't.’
‘You'll be plastering this stuff all over your face, Ash, when you get to her age.’ Todd nodded towards the largest screen which showed the TV host dancing seductively but incompetently with a flustered guest.
Propped up by an elbow on the armrest
, Jordan watched a muted report on ABC News 24 about cardinals and priests from Catholic churches across the world being pursued by paparazzi. ‘Who watches TV at this God-awful hour anyway?’ Jordan glanced at the wall clock which read 7.17. ‘People working or going to school are now rushing about like headless chickens, so the only people who have any time in the mornings to watch crap on TV are on welfare or at Uni. And we’re all normally still in bed at this God-awful ...’
Jordan’s jaw plummeted as two drop-dead gorgeous makeup artists – one blonde and buxom, the other Asian and petite – sauntered into the room. Todd scurried into the spare makeup chair as Ashleigh peered at another muted screen with a report about mergers and bankruptcies of pharmaceutical companies seeking access to the Eternal Drug. She then shuffled the three business cards along the table and frowned once more.
Todd stopped leering at Buxom Makeup Girl for a nanosecond and squinted at the cards. ‘I've got one of those.’
‘One of what?’
‘One of those, um …’ Todd could sense Ashleigh’s impending vitriol.
‘What?! Show me!’
Todd reluctantly lumbered out the makeup chair and extracted from his back pocket a business card, which Ashleigh snatched. Although crumpled, stained and wet, she could still determine the singular word – UNILATERALISM – in the unusual font above a telephone number and email address. But, again, no name was listed. Similarly, a substantial letter U was apparent on the back of the card despite damage caused by Todd’s backside and yesterday’s speedboat spray.
Ashleigh furiously waved the card. ‘When the hell did you get this?’
Todd swiftly returned to the relative safety of the makeup chair and the sweet fragrance of Buxom Makeup Girl. ‘Um, at the bar on, ah, Thursday. From that guy we met before. The one with the cardigan who kept buying us drinks. He came into the bar again.’
‘Why did you talk to him?’
‘Because he kept buying me drinks.’
‘Why the hell didn't you tell me?’
Todd couldn’t really fake shame while his face was being plied with powder. ‘He made me swear to secrecy sometime between my third and fourth beer.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Ash, you know I can't remember anything I say or do after four beers.’
‘Well, what did he talk about?’
‘I don’t know. Weapons. Military stuff ... I can't remember.’