“You have my package. Do you want me to sign something?”
“I do, indeedy-do.” Jack pulled papers from his pocket. Dr Steven unscrewed the top of his fountain pen.
“Just there,” said Jack and Dr Steven signed.
“And there.”
“Here?”
“Just there. And there if you don’t mind.”
“Here?”
“No, there.”
“Sorry.” Dr Steven signed again.
“And if you’d just put your initials here.”
“Certainly.”
“And tick this box.”
“Of course.”
“And put today’s date.”
“My pleasure.”
“Then if you’ll be so kind as to fill in the details here and sign this.”
Dr Steven raised his eyebrows and lowered his ears.
“Did you learn that in Tibet?” Jack asked.
“There’s an awful lot of paperwork,” said Dr Steven.
“There is,” Jack agreed. “And all of it unnecessary. I only insist upon it to be officious. Would you mind repeating all that you’ve just done on the carbon copy, please?”
“Actually I would.”
“How very trying for you. But you can’t have the package if you don’t.”
“What blood type are you?” asked Dr Steven Malone.
Hang on to your Hats
“AB negative,” said Jack. “I used to bleed a lot as a child.”
“Nosebleeds?” Dr Steven asked.
“No, the top of my head.”
“How unusual.”
“Not really. My brother wanted to be a musician.”
“I don’t think I quite follow you.”
“He wanted to play the xylophone, but my dad couldn’t afford one, so my brother, my older brother, used to line up all us younger brothers in descending order of height, then go round behind us and strike each of us on the top of the head with a tent peg mallet. A sort of human xylophone, you see. He could do almost the entire Lennon and McCartney song book. I was Middle C. I used to suffer a lot from concussion.”
“Does your brother play the xylophone now?”
“In Broadmoor, yes.”
“I wonder if I might take a sample of your blood.”
“I don’t see why not. What do you want it for?”
“It’s a top secret experiment.”
“How interesting. What’s it all about then?”
“It’s top secret.”
“I can keep a secret,” said Jack. “Listen to this one.” He whispered words into the still lowered ear of Dr Steven.
“She never does,” said the doctor.
“She does too, but don’t tell anyone.”
“I certainly won’t.”
“So what’s the top secret then?”
Dr Steven Malone waved Jack into a fireside chair and seated himself upon another. “For the last two years,” said he, “I have been engaged upon a groundbreaking project. From all over the world I have gathered dried blood samples. From the Shroud of Turin, the Spear of Longinus, the purported crown of thorns in Troyes, nails from the true cross scattered in cathedrals across Europe, even an item claimed to be the holy prepuce. I have cross-matched two and I am certain that they come from the same being.”
“Jesus Christ!” said Jack.
“The very same. It is now my intention, using a reagent of my own formulation, to liquefy this blood and extract the DNA. With this I intend to clone…”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Exactly. And not just the one. I am going to clone at least six.”
“Like in that film,” said Jack. “The Boys from Brazil. Where they cloned Hitler.”
“Exactly. Mine will be The Boys from Bethlehem.”
“But surely,” said Jack, “you are tampering with forces that no man should dare to tamper with.”
“Oh, absolutely, yes. But then – do you mind if I stand up while I do this bit?”
“Not at all.”
Dr Steven Malone stood up, flung his pale arms in the air and began to stalk about the room. “They thought me mad, you see!” he cried out in a ranting sort of a tone. “Mad? I who have discovered the very secrets of Life itself?” He sat down again. “What do you think?”
“Very impressive. But you could also add, ‘One day the whole world will know my name.’”
“Thanks very much. I’ll remember that in future. Now, about your blood.”
“How much do you want?”
“About eight pints.”
Close Your Eyes and Cover Your Ears
“Well, I’d like to,” said Jack. “But I really should be getting back to work.”
“Another time, then. I’ll show you out.”
“Thanks very much. Goodbye.”
Eh?
“Well, I’d like to,” said Jack. “But I really should be getting back to work.”
Dr Steven Malone produced a small automatic pistol from a trouser pocket and pointed it at Jack. “Regrettably no,” said he. “I cannot allow you to leave. I require your blood and I require it now. It’s nothing personal, you understand. I would have used the blood of whoever had delivered the package. The isotopes are all I require to complete my procedures.”
Jack began to worry. “Aw, come on,” he whined. “You don’t want my blood. My blood’s just ordinary stuff. I could telephone my wife, she’s got terrific blood.”
“Is your surname Bryant, by any chance?”
“That’s right. Perhaps you know my wife. Wears a very short dress. Has this lurcher that’s also a Dane, and…”
“Likes to make love with her head in the fridge?”
“She hasn’t mentioned that to me,” said Jack.
“Move,” said Dr Steven. “Along the corridor and down the steps.”
“Oh no-diddly-oh-no-no.”
This had undoubtedly been the most eventful day in Jack’s long and uneventful life. Sadly it would also be the last.
Dr Steven stood in profile, pointing with his pistol to the basement off the page.
6
