The Jerusalem Puzzle. Laurence O’Bryan

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      12

      The call went straight to voicemail. My deflation was immediate. Isabel must have seen it on my face.

      ‘Who was that?’

      ‘Susan Hunter. Can you believe it? Now her phone is off. I didn’t even get to speak to her!’

      ‘So she’s around somewhere?’

      ‘I have no idea. I’ll try her again in a few minutes.’

      Simon was standing near me. ‘I can put those ones out,’ he said, putting his hand on the reports.

      ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m doing them.’

      He pulled his hand back. ‘I’m trying to help you, Dr Ryan.’

      ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m just a bit distracted.’

      I turned, began putting the reports on the chairs again.

      I tried Susan’s phone twice in the following five minutes. The response was the same as every time I’d called her in the past six days, since I’d heard about Kaiser.

      ‘The number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.’ They must be the thirteen most frustrating words in the English language.

      As I finished with the reports, Simon was putting a

      stack of leaflets on one of the tables at the top of the room. On the other table a laptop had already been set up.

      He sat in front of the laptop, turned and motioned me to him.

      ‘This is what I wanted to show you.’ He clicked at a file. It opened slowly.

      ‘Who’s coming to this meeting?’ I asked, bending down.

      ‘Some iron skull caps.’ He didn’t look up.

      ‘Iron skull caps?’

      ‘They’re a type of Orthodox Jew,’ said Isabel.

      She was on the other side of the table. She looked good in her black shirt.

      ‘You are right.’ He pointed a finger at Isabel. ‘But that doesn’t mean I endorse their views.’

      ‘What views?’

      I was peering at what Simon had on his screen. It was a blown-up picture of a real DNA strand with lines and labels pointing to various features on the strand. We were looking at something 2.5 nanometres wide, a billionth of a metre wide. It’s hard to even imagine something that thin.

      ‘I’m not going to explain what they believe. But I’ll tell you this. They were looking for someone who can do non-destructive DNA splicing, someone who can manipulate down to the molecular level. And they were willing to pay good money for the research to make it happen.’

      ‘You’re involved in a red heifer project, aren’t you?’ Isabel’s eyes were wide.

      He stared up at her, beaming.

      ‘What’s a red heifer project?’ I said.

      ‘It’s a project to create one of the biblical symbols of the coming of the Messiah,’ said Isabel.

      ‘What?’ I said.

      ‘Apocalyptic Christians want to breed a perfect red cow, an act which would signify the time was right to build a new Temple,’ Isabel explained.

      If this was what Simon was working on, he was crazier than I thought.

      Simon’s head went from side to side, as if he was throwing off water.

      ‘You haven’t been in Jerusalem long, have you?’ His expression was one of benign, irritating superiority.

      ‘There are more crazies per square mile in this city than anywhere else in the world. Stop people in the street and try this: ask them about their religious views. You’ll get predictions about the end of the world or about the Mahdi or about the Gates to Hell opening soon for non-believers.’ He had a determined look on his face.

      ‘Don’t get me wrong. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion, but where does it say I have to believe the same things my sponsors believe? You must understand this, the two of you. Don’t tell me you don’t.’ He scrolled forward a few slides on his laptop, then back again.

      ‘You don’t think the Messiah is on his way?’ said Isabel.

      ‘My sponsors do. They run Bible studies classes here in Jerusalem. They’ve done it for years. They have a soup kitchen, and a matchmaking service. If someone like that is willing to cover the cost of a few years of our research, should I not take the money?’ He put his head back and looked straight up at me.

      I didn’t answer. We had strict rules about who we would take money from. But we were lucky; we’d had major breakthroughs. And we were in Oxford. We could attract funding from many sources. And success spawns success in applied research, like in everything else.

      ‘What do you believe in, Sean?’ he asked.

      ‘Apple pie, the moon landings, lots of things.’

      ‘See, you can believe in anything you want. I didn’t ask you to fill in a questionnaire СКАЧАТЬ