Past Lives

Fourteen

‘John was never really the same after that,’ said Simone. ‘He seemed to lose all confidence and started to question everything he’d done with his life. He’d always been a deeply religious man in spite of the contradictions that his career threw up along the way but now, suddenly, he found himself hopelessly confused and uncertain. His own research had undermined the very foundations of his faith. What happened next really pushed him over the edge.’

Simone paused to sip her brandy. ‘After Anne’s death, none of us had much heart for the project so we decided that we would take a break. We agreed to meet again after one month to discuss what we were going to do — continue or abandon the whole project. John chose to go on retreat to a monastery: I came home to Paris: Ashok returned to India to see his family... or so he said.’

‘You mean he didn’t?’

‘Oh yes, he went back to India but he had something other than his family in mind. Ashok had been wondering what the lack of Theta 1 did to patients to cause such major changes in personality — admittedly it was scientifically intriguing. Unknown to John and I, he took a vial of the synthetic protease with him to India and started experimenting — third-world countries are a Mecca for unscrupulous researchers. They’re like giant laboratories with unlimited human resources and very little paperwork to get in the way. In a land where people are willing to sell their kidneys for a few rupees, it was easy for Mukherjee to get “volunteers” to undergo tests with the protease.’

‘How did you find out about this?’

‘Mukherjee confessed everything to John when he came back. He was feeling so guilty.’

Macandrew waited while Simone took another sip of brandy.

‘After giving them the protease, Mukherjee started to panic when his volunteers started behaving like the Hartman tumour patients: they underwent severe personality change and started to assume new personalities. He tried to redress the balance by giving them some cloned Theta 1 but he had to use crude estimates and this wasn’t very successful.’

‘What happened?’ asked Macandrew.

‘He managed to stabilise a few of them but never as themselves. Like John’s wife and your patient back in the States, their old selves seemed to have been wiped out for ever.’

‘None of them recovered?’

‘At first, Ashok lied and told us that they had all made a full recovery but after close questioning from John, he admitted this wasn’t so. None recovered. Four died and two were left deranged.’

Macandrew grimaced. ‘What happened to Mukherjee?’

‘There was no point in reporting what he’d done to the British police because the crime had taken place in India and the people who had suffered were Indian nationals. John fired him and told him that if he had anything to do with it he would never work in science again. Ashok went back to India. The last I heard he was working among the poor in Calcutta.’

‘You don’t have to be a psychologist to work that one out,’ said Macandrew.

‘I suppose not.’

‘That still leaves the question about what Theta 1 does in the normal brain,’ said Macandrew.

‘It does,’ replied Simone. When she looked up at Macandrew he saw that she looked very vulnerable.

‘Will you say it or shall I?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps you?’ said Simone, as if somehow hoping that some secret she was harbouring might still be safe.

‘From what you’ve said,’ began Macandrew hesitantly and painfully conscious of the enormity of the conclusion he was about to draw, ‘it would appear that Theta 1 wipes out memories of... lives we’ve lived before... past lives?’

Simone conceded with a sigh. She closed her eyes for a few silent moments before saying, ‘I think that’s really why John had a breakdown. He just couldn’t cope with the idea.’

‘So he ran away from it.’

‘He was full of doubts and questions about his faith: it had always been so important to him.’

For a few more moments, the only sound was a gentle hubbub of conversation from the other tables and the clink of coffee cups in the background.

‘It seems to be the only explanation that fits with everything we’ve seen,’ said Macandrew. ‘On a bigger scale it would explain Multiple Personality Disorder and changes of personality after brain surgery and why some people can undergo memory regression under hypnosis. If these cells behind the pineal gland get damaged and stop making Theta 1, the natural memory block breaks down and the patient remembers — and assumes — previous personalities. Only, it’s not just patients, it’s all of us. Jesus, this could have enormous implications for society all over the world.’

‘That’s why we didn’t publish anything about it,’ said Simone.

‘I can see how a lot of people might find it difficult to come to terms with,’ said Macandrew. ‘I take it you’re not religious yourself?’

Simone shook her head. ‘I’m a scientist. I need proof before I accept anything and I’ve long since stopped apologising for that or feeling guilty about it.’

‘So the idea of a past life doesn’t upset you?’ said Macandrew.

‘If anything, I find it reassuring that the end of this life might not actually be the final curtain I had assumed it to be.’

‘You know,’ said Macandrew, still considering the implications, ‘it might be the same enzyme that helps us get over grief,’ said Macandrew. ‘People are always saying that time is a great healer and we all know how we recover from grief and pick up the pieces. After a while you tend to remember only the good things.’

Simone smiled. ‘And you’re left with summer days that went on forever.’

‘So John Burnett and Mukherjee gave up scientific research entirely and you changed fields?’

‘I did... but I continued to work on the tumour project part-time. It had to be that way because we agreed that the work could never be published because of the possible repercussions.’

‘So what have you been doing?’

‘The original aim for all three of us was to find a way of helping people who had been left brain-damaged so I’ve continued to do as much as I could along these lines. One of the things that struck me was the fact that the Theta 1 — producing cells were not actually destroyed by the tumours; they just stopped producing the enzyme. I’ve been trying to find a way of turning production back on again.’

‘Sounds like a reasonable approach,’ agreed Macandrew.

‘I’ve managed to set up a cell culture system in the lab where I can turn off Theta 1 in cells using John’s synthetic protease and then I try to turn it back on again using various chemical compounds.’

‘Any luck?’

‘I’ve come up with something that works in the lab. Whether it will work in patients or not is quite another matter.’

‘But that’s absolutely wonderful,’ said Macandrew. ‘You haven’t tried it out yet?’

‘Not possible,’ replied Simone. ‘There’s no way I could get permission to set up any kind of trial without explaining the rationale behind it. I think this may be why John suggested you come here. You’re a neurosurgeon with access to brain-damaged patients and you were already on the right track.’

Macandrew nodded, quickly diverting his eyes in case Simone would see the uncertainty there.

‘Now it’s your turn to answer questions,’ said Simone. ‘Who were these people at Notre Dame today? What did they want from me?’

‘The man behind it all seems to be a discredited Roman Catholic priest named Dom Ignatius.’

‘A priest?’ exclaimed Simone.

‘He’s a disgraced academic, a scripture scholar and a specialist in the history and recovery of holy scripts and relics. He’d been working in the Holy Land for many years on old manuscripts and scrolls but apparently he did something dishonest and was found out. The Vatican recalled him to Rome and gave him a menial office job but it was through this that he came across reference to John Burnett. He learned what Burnett had been doing and became very interested. He travelled to the abbey in Scotland and persuaded him to tell him all about his work. According to the Abbot, Burnett told him everything — maybe hoping to gain some kind of absolution. From what you’ve told me however, it sounds as if Ignatius managed to get his hands on some of John’s synthetic protease and used it to carry out his own experiments, just like Mukherjee.’

‘John took what was left of the protease with him when he cleared out his lab for the last time.’ said Simone. ‘He didn’t want to leave it lying around.’

‘So that makes sense,’ said Macandrew. ‘He must have given it to Ignatius. Everything points to Ignatius having used the stuff on a group of men in Israel.’

‘But why?’ said Simone. ‘What did he hope to gain?’

‘Ignatius has formed an association with a doctor named, Stroud. Reading between the lines, they must have seen using the protease as a way of gaining more knowledge about the past. If they could regress native Israelis using the protease, they just might come up with some really interesting eyewitness accounts of times past in the Holy Land.’

‘But this man Ignatius must have known that he would damage the people it was used on,’ said Simone. ‘John would have told him that.’

‘From what I’ve learned about them, I don’t think that he or Stroud would see that as a problem,’ said Macandrew.

Simone shivered. ‘They must have used up the small quantity of protease that John gave them. They must need more. That’s what this must be about.’

‘I think, if I was them,’ said Macandrew. ‘I would want to know how to make the stuff. I suspect they’re really after Burnett’s lab notes but he didn’t keep them, did he? He gave them to you. John must have told them that.’

‘John wouldn’t...’

‘They tortured him.’

‘Tortured?’ exclaimed Simone, looking horrified.

‘I’m sorry but he would have told them everything.’

‘Oh, poor John,’ said Simone. ‘He was such a nice man.’

‘Well, he’s at peace now,’ said Macandrew, but he had to look away as the words conflicted with the image that sprang to mind of Burnett’s body, nailed to the back of the door in the seminary. ‘More coffee?’

Simone shook her head.

‘You know, what I don’t understand is why Ignatius still wants the stuff,’ said Macandrew. ‘He’s wanted by the police in Israel — probably for murder by now if some of his volunteers suffered the same fate as Mukherjee’s. He can hardly go back and do it all again so why does he want it so badly?’

Simone shrugged

‘The missing patient!’ exclaimed Macandrew, answering his own question.

‘What missing patient?’

‘One of the Israeli volunteers Ignatius was experimenting on; he and Stroud took him with them when they made a run for it. There must have been something special about him.’

‘You mean he already has his eye witness?’ said Simone.

‘I can’t think of any other reason for abducting someone when you’re trying to flee the country,’ said Macandrew. ‘Can you?’

‘No,’ agreed Simone.

‘It’s about time we made contact with the police and got you some proper protection. Do you actually have any of the protease?’

‘I have a little in the lab. I also have all John’s notes.’

Simone and Macandrew took a cab to police headquarters where they were shown to a second floor office. A handsome man in his early thirties, wearing a well-cut charcoal suit, blue shirt and red silk tie and holding a cigarette loosely between his fingers introduced himself as Inspector Paul Chirac. ‘So, Madame, you say you know something about the assault in Notre Dame Today and you think your life is in danger, is that right?’

‘I say her life is in danger,’ interrupted Macandrew.

‘Why?’

Macandrew took a deep breath and began, ‘It’s a long and complicated story but I suspect that recently you and the other European police forces have probably received a request from the Israeli authorities to keep a look out for a priest named Dom Ignatius...’

When Macandrew had finished, the policeman lifted the phone in front of him and asked for something to be checked. There was a long pause before he uttered several grunts and a final, ‘Merci.’ He dropped the phone down in its cradle and said, ‘We have had such an alert. Perhaps you would care to tell me how this concerns you?’

Macandrew wanted to give away as little as possible but had to say something and make it sound plausible.

‘What exactly does this chemical do?’ asked Chirac.

‘It’s a hallucinogen,’ replied Macandrew.

Chirac looked at him. ‘A synthetic hallucinogen? A designer drug?’

‘If you like.’

‘Why should a priest be interested in such a thing?’ asked Chirac.

‘I don’t think he’s a priest any more,’ replied Macandrew.

A uniformed man came into the room, saluted and put down a sheet of paper on Chirac’s desk. Macandrew could see in was a computer printout. Chirac read it while Macandrew and Simone exchanged reassuring glances.

‘This drug,’ began Chirac. ‘Is it responsible for the condition of the men found by the Israeli police?’

‘We think so.’

‘And you Madame are responsible for making it?’

‘I was involved in the original research,’ agreed Simone. ‘Unfortunately, some of it fell into the wrong hands.’

‘Why design such a thing in the first place?’ exclaimed Chirac with a Gallic spread of the hands.

‘It was a side product of our research into brain tumours.’

Chirac nodded in a way that suggested that he really didn’t understand but didn’t want to waste time pursuing it. ‘And now your life is in danger because this man, Ignatius, wants to know the formula for this drug. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

Chirac looked back over the notes he had been making then asked Macandrew, ‘Was Ignatius one of the men at the Cathedral today?’

‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen him.’

Chirac looked at the paper in front of him again and read out, ‘One metre ninety, slim build, sallow complexion, prominent nose, black hair swept back, brown eyes, a small scar on the left cheek — this is from the Israeli police.’

‘Doesn’t sound like either of the men in the cathedral,’ said Macandrew.

‘Probably travelling in the company of an Austrian psychiatrist named Stroud,’ continued Chirac. ‘Stroud is wanted by the Egyptian police after attempting to smuggle illegal artefacts out of the country.’ He read out a description.

Macandrew shook his head.

‘Can you describe the men in the cathedral?’

Macandrew told him what he could about height and build and the fact that they had both been wearing dark suits. One had been wearing dark glasses.

‘And you, Madame?’

‘I saw the face of the man with the knife but it was quite dark in the corner and I was terrified at the time. But there was one thing...’

‘Oui?’

‘I think he had a prosthetic eye.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I was scared, but...’ Simone paused for a moment before continuing, ‘his left, yes it was his left eye, didn’t move with his right. I’m pretty sure it was prosthetic.’

‘That’s certainly something we can ask the computer about,’ said Chirac. He wrote quickly on a pad in front of him and pressed a button on the telephone. Someone came in and took away the note. ‘In the meantime Madame we will provide you with protection until we arrest these men.’

‘I’m grateful, Monsieur.’

‘We would of course, like you to make full statements about what happened in Notre Dame today before you leave.’

‘Of course,’ said Macandrew.

‘When you have done that we will arrange transport for you Madame. And you, Monsieur, what are your plans?’

Macandrew shrugged and said, ‘I don’t have any firm plans. I was hoping Dr Robin and I might talk further before I left Paris.’ He looked at Simone who nodded. ‘Then I’ll return to Scotland and probably leave for the States at the weekend, unless there are any objections?’

Chirac shrugged once more in true French fashion and said, ‘Not for my part, Monsieur, although we would like a contact address. Do you know where you will be staying in Paris tonight?’

‘Not yet,’ confessed Macandrew.

‘You can stay at my place,’ said Simone. ‘There’s plenty of room and I think I’d rather not be alone this evening.’

‘Thank you,’ said Macandrew.

As Simone and Macandrew were later escorted to the door of the building, a uniformed man caught up with them and handed something to Chirac. Chirac showed it to Simone. It was a photograph.

Simone caught her breath.

‘Is this the man, Madame?’

Simone nodded.

‘You were right about the left eye,’ said Chirac. ‘He lost it in a knife fight in Naples in 1984. He’s Vito Parvelli. The computer knew him. Ignatius and Stroud are not associating with choirboys.’