Dead of Night

I feel uneasy getting into bed. It’s been a troublesome day. My plans are unravelling, and I'm really starting to panic. The problem with being a practical scientist is that I can only stop worrying about work by being in the Lab – trying to fix things. Once I get into bed, I become agitated and unable to rest.

I do have one trick that helps me to get to sleep. I start to plot a story. It started out with dreaming up bedtime stories for my son, Oliver – the darker the better! At first, I'd make them up on the fly, based on well-known classics that I knew he hadn’t read. Later, he became a little more demanding, always looking for a good twist at the end. I started planning them as I dozed off and made notes in the morning if I remembered. No stress. I wasn't working to deadlines, so it didn't matter much if they were any good. My son loved them, but they were equally good for me. They cleared my head of the daily junk and allowed my mind to roam free.

That was a few years ago, and Oliver has long since grown out of my tall tales. I now live alone …long story. I still have ideas as I go to sleep. It sounds counter-intuitive but, for me, high levels of concentration produce short bursts of new narrative that quickly makes me drowsy. Actually, it is the same 'story', rather than 'stories'. Basically, I have been working on one idea for ages, without ever writing it down – or telling anyone else about it. I always fall asleep well before the end. It doesn't really matter. No one will ever read it. Maybe it would break the spell if they did ...I don't know.

Tonight, I need my authorial distraction technique (ADT) more than ever. The experiment today couldn't have been a bigger failure. I may get shut down - unless I somehow conjure up a miraculous turnaround. I've always been good at pulling rabbits out of hats, but this is a new level of difficulty.

***

I'm woken by a sharp, 'Rap, rap!' at the door. It takes me a moment to acknowledge that it's real, but I listen carefully – now wide awake and concerned. After about thirty seconds, it repeats the same, 'Rap, rap!' The most alarming thing is that we have a Eufy camera doorbell with lights that come on as callers approach. Why isn't it ringing?

I try to analyse the knock. It is firm but not too urgent. If it were a real emergency, it wouldn't be just a short tap and a long wait for an answer. I'm sure that most of my family and friends would call, rather than knock on my door at this hour. What time is it? ...Midnight! Wow! This is strange. If they haven't got a phone, why don't they shout their identity through the door? I would.

Who could it be? Maybe someone is lost or out of petrol. We live on a dark semi-rural lane – so that's possible. A sharp knock, to make sure of being heard, followed by a respectful delay before trying again. That makes sense. I'll go and see.

...What am I saying? We have live CCTV in the doorbell that is impossible to evade. The porch is recessed by over two metres. The doorbell has a wide-angle lens and a separate camera that looks down to detect parcel drops. I hear a further knock as I grab my phone and flick on the App, which opens on the live scene. I switch the outside lights on and off remotely to ensure that it is live …It is.

Nobody there! What's going on?

They may have stepped away, in the time it took to open the App, but there is no sign of anybody in the driveway. The PIRs on the garage and cottage have not been activated. I check on the doorbell memory card, which records thirty-second videos of all visitors as they approach from the drive. There is nothing since I arrived home at eight. A mystery!

I wait another two minutes. ‘Is that it? Have they gone?’

I have to admit that I'm reluctant to open the door at this time of night. It's very dark, and the nearest neighbour is over a hundred metres away, with no sightlines through the high hedges.

I look through the spy hole in the door – still nothing.

Someone could rush me, and no one would hear. On the other hand, a late-night knock on the door is not enough to alert the police.

I head back to bed, confused and shaken.

Only seconds after I switch off the light:

'Rap, rap!'

I time it. Exactly thirty seconds later ;

'Rap, rap!'

Thirty seconds after that;

'Rap, rap!'

It reminds me of something, but I can’t think what?

This is getting scary, but my lateral brain starts to kick in. Could this be an elaborate prank? I've often told my friends and family about the high jinks Mo and I got up to at Boarding School. But why now? It isn't Halloween. Today is the tenth of December –nothing special? If it is an elaborate trick, is it meant to be humorous or threatening? So far, I'm not laughing.

I start to think about how I'd do it. Probably, by a small parcel containing a speaker and transmitter. It would have to be after I arrived home and somehow avoid the camera. The parcel box is next to the door, so it would sound real if it wasn't activated too close to the listener. That would work, but would require some knowledge of my home and habits.

It's got to be Mo! He knows everything and has the skills and resources. He has his own mini-recording studio in his garden. Easy-peasy! I also might owe him one from our student days. Long memory! My only doubt is that he's a good friend and colleague who knows my perilous situation at work, only too well. We’ve always been close, and now he lives only half a mile away. Why would he try to scare me at such a critical time?

I open the front door, ready to close it quickly.

"Mo! Come on out, you've been rumbled!"

Not a sound, but I glance down at the parcel box and, sure enough, the door is slightly ajar. Keeping hold of the door, I kick it open.

Empty.

Maybe the 'recorded knock' idea is a bit ‘old-school’. Everything is connected these days. Nearly every device has a camera, microphone and transmitter. It wouldn’t take a genius to arrange for a live recording of a knock on one door (possibly their own), being transmitted by Wifi, and Bluetooth, to the speaker in the doorbell. I bought the top model to ensure we get the clearest speech when someone is at the door. Just a little software shenanigans is all that’s required! No need for any new hardware or a door knocker in the flesh. Mystery solved …surely.

Just a question of who and why? You could do all this remotely, but I have a strong feeling of being watched. They seem to know where I am in the house. This person is close – in every sense…

***

The money they are paying is amazing. Ten times our usual rates. Twenty-five million dollars each up front and twenty-five more if we can prove our concept in the next three months. …but they’ll want their pound of flesh if we fail. We’re not sure, but we think that we’re competing with two other teams. What happens next after this stage is unknown.

Our breakthrough last year never made the headlines. They paid well for our silence. We only ever meet Williams, but we’ve figured out some things. From scraps that we’ve overheard, we believe that Williams fronts a secretive Billionaire ( possibly Trillionaire) Boys Club, who crave the one thing money cannot buy – a real-world ‘fountain of youth’. We haven’t promised that, but extending life spans by several decades is feasible. One hundred and fifty to two hundred years is the target range. All the evidence from apes shows that we’ve cracked the stem cell code and developed a method of injecting them into precise locations in the human body. They can repair all damage from age and disease. It even looks possible, in the future, to self-repair major organs in situ, without the need for implants. For the future of medicine, this is the holy grail – putting an end to centuries of butchery and crude mechanical repairs. Each stem cell has the complete molecular blueprint of the whole body, right down to the last brain cell. In everyday life, only a small percentage of their potential is activated. Our new procedure effectively reprograms every cell in the target area to return to the embryonic stem cell state and then regrow into an adult replacement cell. The trick is that Stem Cells not only know the whole game but also transform into any player on the pitch.

Many teams are working in this area, but we’re confident that our work is far ahead of the competition, and more immediately realisable. Williams’ people recognised this and chose us as contenders to lead their research. However, it was unsettling to find out how quickly we surrendered our professional integrity when there were enough noughts on the fee agreement. Mo said it out loud first, but I quickly agreed to their terms. They recognised that other teams at Harvard and Oxford were doing well, but were frustrated that the deliverables were likely to be decades away. Williams’ clients wanted them now!

A cure, or even a reversal, of ageing will change everything about being human. Elites will rule the world, and established incumbents will remain in every position for over a century. Health benefits for the masses will be limited. Opportunities and space for future generations will be taken away. Corrupt Presidents will outlive not just us, but our children and grandchildren. I care about the consequences – I do! – but they are going to happen with or without me. Why shouldn’t we get rich and become part of the elite? I can already see that our ‘friends’ have no intention of sharing their bounty with all mankind. This is a ‘bio-engineered evolution’, and they want to own it.

Has our failure today leaked out already? It was all looking so good. We haven’t wasted time on years of animal testing. Last January, we moved straight to human trials by recruiting small boat immigrants in Dover. Until July, we had a nearly one hundred per cent success rate. Almost all their damaged cells self-repaired, and their biological age was reduced significantly. One older subject got a job as a rugged-looking fashion model. On the back of these amazing results, one of the Billionaires became impatient. He had cancer and wanted it cured immediately. We were reluctant to support treatment, but duly complied – big mistake! BIG MISTAKE!

The first sign of the wheels coming off was ten days ago. One by one, the boat people started to reject the new cells and became ill. Some survived …most did not. I feel bad that we’ve caused this. Let's remember that they were well paid and the risks were explained to them. We understood their needs and tried to help them. Both Mo and I were studying for our PhDs at Cambridge during the first days of the Syrian Civil War. My father was imprisoned, and Mo’s father ‘disappeared’. We had to seek asylum in England. We know how desperate you become when you’ve lost one homeland and haven’t yet gained another.

So far, we think we’ve managed to keep our failures a secret, hoping against hope that it was a simple programming mistake we could fix. Our lives may depend on whether we can fix Ivan (not his real name, but probably Russian). It’s not looking good. They won’t care about the boat people, but killing one of their own is unlikely to be forgiven.

***

I call Mo. He picks up on the first ring.

“You’re awake. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Yes, I was woken by a knock on the front door. There’s no one showing themselves, but it keeps repeating, every thirty seconds. It’s spooky”

“Same here! Someone is knocking twice every thirty seconds – except when I’m near. It’s driving me nuts! It feels very threatening. Are you alone?

“ Yes. Is this bad? ….it is, isn’t it?

“Why don’t you come over? I know it’s risky, but we’re better off together. Avoid the cameras. We’ve practised this, so just do it. I’ll see you at my rendezvous point.”

“I hope it’s only press snoopers that we’re trying to outsmart. Why your rendezvous point and not mine?”

“It’ll need both of us outside to get back into my house safely. I’ve got the best security, state-of-the-art signal-blocking, and …a shotgun. They won’t expect you to walk”

“You don’t know that”

“Do you want to wait on your own?”

A long hesitation followed… “I’ll be there in ten. Listen up. I’ll use the owl call.

“See you soon. Good luck.”

The grab bag is in my closet, packed with money, a fake passport and essentials. Mo had the same. We’d prepared them on the advice of MI6, who warned us several years ago that our names had turned up on a Syrian Hit List. I have a back door right opposite a ‘neighbour gate’ installed by a previous owner. We’re not that friendly with the current owners, but we’re both too polite to lock or remove it. Very handy for a quick escape through a pitch black rear garden.

Whilst waiting, I start to think about Williams. He was our only human connection in all this. We never met the boat people. He had an implementation team that followed our instructions.

He never said anything, but he was likely to be ex-military.

Now I remember where I’d heard the knocking before! At our last meeting, Williams was explaining the way that his support team seek immediate confirmation of all experimental evidence, by requiring a rapid repeat of every step – on the same day if possible. He tapped the table twice with his knuckles as he said the words ‘rapid repeat’.

I follow our procedure to the meeting point. There is no sign of anyone following.

I hadn’t noticed before, but it is very windy. This is feeling more serious. I hear a very convincing owl.

“That you Mo?” I whispered.

“Goldfinger”

“Good evening, Mr Bond... I’ve always wanted to say that...”

“Pretty crap code words though.” Mo laughs.

“BOOM!!!”

We both instinctively hit the ground, holding our ears.

” FUUUCK!” I scream.

We are both reeling and can’t move or speak. Eventually, I raise my head and see flames and smoke coming from the direction of Mo’s house.

Ten minutes pass in silence. No movement anywhere. Then;

“BOOM!!!”

I gasp. My head is still raised, as I witness my house exploding into a ball of flames. A second explosion erupts behind me, again in the direction of Mo’s house.

Realisation dawns. They weren’t knocking on our door to scare us. They were checking that we were both home. After midnight is the most likely time to be at your house. But to make sure, they hit both our houses, with a ‘double tap’ – the military term for killing first responders to an air strike. In this case, it would be one of us, trying to save a friend.

Brutal …and not subtle. Maybe they want to warn others about the consequences of failure.

Being outside at the vital moment saved us. We have to go, but we have to stay dead.

Luckily, we have a plan – conceived by MI6 – to ‘borrow’ a boat from Hayling Island Marina, sail to France and hitch/walk to Calais and:

…book an expensive trip on an overcrowded inflatable boat.

They’ll help that far, but the rest is down to us. We’ll be real refugees and can’t work as scientists ever again.

***

I wake at six as usual, my head spinning but determined to make some notes. What I have is some real progress.

Just as I’m leaving for work, my phone rings. It is Jeremy, my grumpy old neighbour.

“ Good morning Yusuf. I just want you to know that I knocked on your door last night – several times to no avail. Your bin was left outside with the lid rattling and the contents blowing down the Lane. You really must be careful, old chap, leaving bins out when there’s a storm due. I picked up some of your rubbish, but it’s quite a mess”

“Sorry, Jeremy. I’ll do the rest. Leave it to me” This is going to make me very late.

I get most of it done, but then I get stuck in heavy traffic with the school mums. At 9:15 the phone rings again. This time it is the headmaster, Colonel Williams.

“Late again. Yusuf. Your timekeeping has got to improve. I have an unruly biology class waiting to hear you explain all about stem cells. I gather that your attempt at a cutaway model of a cell failed miserably yesterday. ‘The glue melted, and it collapsed in a heap’, I was told by one smirking boy.

Not good enough, Yusuf, not good enough at all.