Soul

Julia was speechless. She glanced at the exit; she could walk out, but she was still waiting for her breakfast, and as the restaurant was crowded it would be impossible to leave quickly with any dignity.

‘How dare you? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’ Julia’s angry tone attracted the attention of the people at the next table.

‘Julia, I swear if it could have been any other way—’

‘You expect me to believe that? You have no notion about love or friendship. Now get out of my sight.’

Carla walked away. A moment later, Julia saw her leave with her father.

‘One serve of crispy bacon, two eggs sunny side up, hash browns with one side of pancakes.’ The waitress, indifferent to the lingering tension in the air, in pigtails, bright pink lipstick, her teeth covered by metal braces, noisily plonked the plate down in front of Julia. ‘Enjoy.’

As she ate, Julie tried to lose herself in her research notes, but as she read she found her mind wandering to Lavinia Huntington. How had that young woman survived standing in the dock listening to the accusation of murder? Had she loved her husband? Was it possible that James Huntington could have driven her to murder? Suddenly furious with her own circumstances, Julia put down her fork and, after leaving money on the table, left the diner.

The magnetoencephalography equipment covered the shorn heads of the non-identical twins like bizarre space helmets. Wires ran down the back of their necks and into two computers that sat side by side in the laboratory. The two men were watching a large screen showing footage of one soldier killing another with a bayonet. They were separated by a partition so they could not be influenced by each other’s reactions.

Julia and Gabriel studied two monitors, one for each man, showing a magnetic mapping of the regions of the brain that were firing synapses in response to the visual stimuli.

An area lit up on the left monitor. Gabriel leaned closer. ‘Subject B.’

‘His name’s Ronald—Ronald Mack. His brother is Sammy,’ Julia said.

‘Yeah, whatever. Ronald’s amygdala just got all excited, suggesting he might be experiencing an increase in fear and anxiety.’

‘Nothing’s registering in Sammy’s.’

‘Sammy’s the ace commando, Ronald’s behind the desk, right?’

Julia nodded. She pulled out the printouts of the brothers’ gene activity profiles; the specific gene she had isolated was circled in red pen. Sure enough, Sammy’s DNA showed high activity of a previously uncharacterised gene she was beginning to suspect was the gene function she was searching for. The same gene showed a different activity profile on Ronald’s chart—a clear indication that their individual reaction to violence was genetically wired.

‘Check this out—there’s no variation in the MAOA expressed, which means…?’

‘It’s definitely a mutant gene function.’

‘Exactly. And I’ve decided to christen it: ANG–1. ANG standing for anger.’

‘So now we have a name for the Minotaur in the labyrinth but we still haven’t actually caught sight of it.’

‘That, my friend, may take months.’

‘I still suspect there’s another factor involved, one we’re not testing for yet.’

Julia glanced at Gabriel, surprised by his confidence but sensing he may be right. Perhaps she had underestimated him; he had the same focus she’d had at his age—the right kind of meticulous curiosity and tenacity needed to make a good scientist. To her annoyance she suddenly saw him as a man, and an attractive man, at that.

‘If you have any sudden insights, let me know,’ she said. ‘But at least we’re into the labyrinth now and running.’

‘Ah, but here’s the paradox: are we hunting the Minotaur or is it hunting us?’ he asked, the intensity in his voice intriguing her further.

43

‘I KNOW I MAY SEEM AN unlikely candidate for scientific progress unless it’s in the area of robotics…’

The audience—a mixture of business delegates, scientists and various industry representatives—laughed uproariously. The Candidate, famous for playing an android in a blockbuster action film in the late twentieth century, laughed with them, his squared jaw wide, teeth glinting unnaturally.

‘Oh please,’ Julia murmured sarcastically to Andrew, who looked particularly resplendent in a Gucci suit he’d obviously purchased for the occasion.

‘Give the guy some respect, he’s a demi-god.’ Applauding enthusiastically, Andrew’s gaze never left the stage.