The friends had been summoned to Sebastian and Jarek’s verandah.
After a few minutes small talk Sebastian stated bluntly, ‘We’ve two weeks before they blow up the laboratory and eliminate Jarek and me. You’d better all leave while you have time—unless you want to join us.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Do you need any help getting shifted?’
‘No, we’re fine, thanks.’ Hercules replied softly. ‘It’s strange…we've been expecting this for several years, yet it’s still a shock. Is everything settled with Primo and his clan?’
‘Yes, no problem. I transferred ownership of everything apart from the laboratory to Primo and the other new men under their legal names, immediately after writing to the government to say we wouldn’t be continuing with the cloning program. Thanks to one of the new men’s brilliant hacking skills, there’s now no record in any government office of my having owned this land; it’s been theirs or their parents since it was first surveyed, so there’ll be no problems with them continuing to live here. Today Jarek and I will transfer all our money to their accounts, and close ours, so when brother Dominic arrives to gloat we’ll be able to leave with no fears for the new men’s futures.’
‘By leave, you mean?’
‘Yes, we both reckon eighty-six, or whatever we are has been quite long enough. Are you sure you're ready?’
‘Yes, we’ll pack up the few things we want to keep and take up Peter and Jon’s invitation to move onto their land. They’ve loads of space and we thought we’d build underground again as it’s so comfortable.’
‘When will you leave?’
‘Next week, probably—after we’ve bought suitably unostentatious vehicles.’
‘We might be a bit later,’ Fidel said. ‘Arnold and I want to dismantle some of the equipment at the laboratory and take it with us for a few projects we've got in mind. It’ll take us at least a week to pack and load into a van we've yet to buy.’
‘Well, don’t leave it too late. Brother Dominic is the most unpleasant man I've met for a long time. I wouldn’t trust him not to arrive early in the hope of catching someone.’
‘Thanks for the warning. Lindoro still keeps a watch on the place, doesn't he? So I’ll get him to warn us if anyone arrives.’
‘Good old Lindoro. With a name like that he ought to be an opera singer instead of a night watchman. He’s been so reliable. Eyes always open and he’s never once asked what we do down at the labs. I hope Dominic lets him remain in the gatehouse.’
Days flashed by and suddenly Hercules, Hylas, Mort, Zadig, Robert and Bart were shaking everyone’s hands and unashamedly shedding tears of farewell.
Two days later, Fidel and Arnold were also on their way when Arnold remembered an essential tool he’d left behind in the bottom lab. They drove to the Institute, and while Arnold trotted down the drive to the labs, waving to Lindoro as he passed, Fidel saved time by driving to the nearest petrol station to fill up the tank.
Arnold descended to the lab, retrieved the tool and was locking the main entrance door when a large demolition truck backed towards him stopping only metres away. A Protector in full uniform leaned out the passenger window.
‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘I used to work here.’
‘I asked who the fuck you are!’ the man snarled, pointing a large handgun at Arnold’s chest.
‘The name’s Arnold,’ he said nervously. ‘I didn’t realise I wasn’t allowed here.’
‘Well now you know, so get back inside and wait for me so I can check your papers.’
Arnold nodded, returned inside, and as soon as he was out of sight, scarpered.
The Protector followed him in, didn’t see him, so returned to the driveway. When the other vehicles arrived he marched up to the black stretch limousine and informed Brother Dominic that a worker called Arnold was somewhere in the building.
‘Arnold!’ the priest screeched. ‘A worker from this place! Get him! Guard every exit! All of you find this man and bring him to me. I must have him! A reward to whoever brings him to me alive.’
The search was thorough, but unsuccessful.
‘He must be hiding somewhere in the building,’ the Protector insisted, ‘because all exits were locked and undamaged.’
‘He’s trapped,’ Dominic said, nodding his pleasure. “Blow the place up immediately before he escapes! If I can’t have him alive I’ll make sure he’s dead.’
While preparations were made, he lowered himself onto on a chair that had been placed for him by a young acolyte, who then held a sun umbrella to shield the holy head from the heat. The priest was not happy at missing the worker, but at least he knew the man’s name. Arnold. He’d tell that smarmy Sebastian Trovert that he’d caught him and forced him to admit what they'd been doing in the laboratory. The thought brought a thin smile to his face. Yes, he would compose a confession, have it witnessed and then his case against the laboratory would be rock solid.
After a few minutes he became bored, then nervous, recalling a few disastrous demolitions that had killed workers and observers.
‘I haven't got all day to wait for you sluggards,’ he snarled, standing and waving his stick at the workmen. ‘Make sure there’s nothing left to salvage, or tomorrow there’ll be nothing left of you.’ His twisted smile, more venomous than his customary frown, underlined the threat. Ignoring the nervous nods of his sweating acolytes, he turned, raised an imperial finger in warning and waddled back to his limousine, slashing the air with his stick to ward off mute offers of assistance from heavily armed bodyguards.
After passing silently through the gates, the black car stopped to allow the priest to gaze back through tinted windows, well out of harm’s way. Impassive, he watched until the splendid old buildings and the newer gymnasium block exploded in a gigantic fireball that briefly rivalled the sun. This wasn’t the first such establishment he’d had the pleasure of demolishing, and wouldn’t be the last. Releasing a wheezy sigh of satisfaction he nodded slightly and chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. There were few pleasures to match erasing the stench of blasphemy, nonconformist freethinking tolerance, and secretive research by ungodly intellectuals bent on disrupting god’s plans. He tapped on the bulletproof glass and the chauffeur drove smoothly away, leaving the once grand edifice’s executioners to ensure all had been destroyed.
Fidel had returned in time to see the black limousine turn into the drive and disappear. With a pounding heart he parked a hundred metres from the gate, watching in horror as several demolition lorries and a Protector Wagon followed it in and down to the laboratories. Where was Arnold? It would be suicide for Fidel to go down and look. Surely he hadn't been caught? The idea didn’t bear thinking about. But of course he could think of nothing else. If he went down and was caught, but Arnold hadn't been caught, then it’d be insane. If Arnold had been caught, then him running into the lion’s mouth wouldn’t be much use. The trucks and workmen were now completely hidden from the road, but surely Arnold had seen them coming and escaped? Perhaps he was just waiting for them to go away and would return. The urge to do something was powerful, but when he asked himself what Primo would do, Fidel realised his only rational option was to sit tight and wait.
After an age the large black car drove away. Then the ground shuddered, the air pulsed and Fidel’s heart and brain stopped. The fireball. The smoke cloud. His heart emptied. In cold numbness he sat, not wanting to think, to live, to do anything. If Arnold wasn’t there his life had no point. No reason. Time passed and the trucks eventually left. And still Fidel sat. Then Lindoro drove out in his car, but before Fidel could get out and stop him to see if he knew anything, he’d driven away in the opposite direction.
In utter despair, tears streaming, Fidel stumbled blindly down the drive and wandered like a mad man around the smoking, stinking rubble of the old gymnasium towards the cottages that for some reason the mad priest had not bothered to destroy.
Arnold had kept his wits about him and used the escape tunnel from the lower lab, from where he’d crawled as far as he could before hiding face down in long grass and grevillea bushes, not daring to even raise a finger unless it was seen. The wait was terrible as his head filled with images of Fidel arriving back and driving down into the arms of the mad priest. Worse, he’d not guess Arnold had escaped and would try to rescue him. When the explosion blasted the entire structure to fragments, Arnold waited for the dust to settle and his ears to function again before crawling close enough to see the workers. Then he waited for what seemed like hours until the last truck left, before negotiating the rubble, watching carefully in case they'd left a sentry.
Someone moved up ahead. He pulled back. Looked again, then with a whimper of relief ran towards Fidel, the only person on the planet he could never live without.
**********
Thanks for reading ‘Fidel’. I hope it hasn’t left you too pessimistic about the future. If you’d like to know what happened to Primo and his mates, read ‘NumbaCruncha’.
Cheers,
Rigby.