The Tomorrow Code (11 page)

Tane thought Fatboy would change his mind when he found out that it wasn’t just about picking the Lotto and was quite surprised when he didn’t.

After that, Fatboy waved over their patiently waiting lawyer, who recommended a trust to cope with the financial arrangements.

After school, Fatboy picked them both up in the new Jeep, and they went to the bank to sign some documents and pick up cash-cards for their new bank account, which had almost as many zeroes in it as the messages from the future. Then Fatboy took them around to Tane’s house to check their e-mail.

There had been no response from Subeo, but Fatboy, ever practical, suggested a phone call to the UK. He felt they could probably afford the cost of the call.

It turned out that the Subeo sales representative was in Sydney on a visit to the Australian Navy, and Fatboy didn’t have to tell him too many lies to persuade him to add Auckland to his itinerary.

It was Rebecca who finally asked the question that Tane had been dreading. “What are we going to do about Professor Green?” she asked.

That brought reality crashing back into the excitement of the money and the trust and the submarine purchase. There was a reason for all this, they suddenly remembered. Some time in the future, they were going to be in big trouble.

Tane said, “If we believe the instructions in the message and understand them correctly, then we are supposed to somehow stop the Chimera Project.”

“But what
is
the Chimera Project?” Rebecca wondered.

“Look it up on Google?” Fatboy suggested.

“I did,” Rebecca said. “Nothing. So I looked up Professor Green and the research facility. There’s a lot of stuff about their research into rhinoviruses—”

“Rhino viruses?” Fatboy looked up incredulously.

Rebecca smiled. “Nothing to do with rhinos. It’s the virus that causes the common cold.”

“Oh.” Fatboy looked quite disappointed.

Rebecca continued, “But researching the common cold isn’t going to cause a worldwide disaster, so that can’t be the reason for the SOS. But then again, Prof Green is a geneticist, and playing with genes can be playing with fire. Maybe there’s something else going on at the lab that they don’t want the rest of the world to know about.”

“The Chimera Project,” breathed Tane.

“And we’re supposed to stop it,” Fatboy said.

“I think we should go and see the professor,” Rebecca said, “ask her about the project, and perhaps ask her to stop it.”

“And if she says no?” Tane asked.

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

“Why don’t we just tell the police?” Fatboy asked. “Or the government? Or someone official. I mean, what are the three of us supposed to do?”

Tane looked at Rebecca, who shook her head. “Not yet. I doubt they’d believe us, but more importantly, the message told us not to tell anyone. Until we know the reason why, we should follow the instructions.”

Tane looked at her closely. That made sense, but he couldn’t help wondering if there was a bit more to it than that. Was she afraid that someone else would whisk this discovery away from them and claim credit for their ideas and hard work?

The next day, school or no school, exams or no exams, SOS or no SOS, Tane and Rebecca took their new cash-cards and went shopping. It wasn’t every day that you became a millionaire, after all. They didn’t go wild, though. Nothing extravagant.

Rebecca bought a new pair of jeans that she’d been admiring for a while, then a couple of pairs of shoes to go with them. Tane bought a new leather jacket that he thought looked really cool.

Then Rebecca bought a few CDs—music she couldn’t afford to buy before, just twenty or so of her favorite groups—and Tane bought a new joystick for his computer and a couple of new computer games. There were a few other odds and ends, too.

At lunchtime, Tane said he was going to take Rebecca to the best restaurant in the whole of Auckland, and according to the driver of the limousine they hired, the best restaurant in town was Number Five, which had just reopened up in City Road, near the Sheraton Hotel.

It was very nice. So nice, in fact, that it wouldn’t let them in. Not in the clothes they were wearing. But half an hour in Smith & Caughey’s fixed that, and Tane toasted Rebecca across a very fine cut of eye-fillet steak wearing the first suit he had ever owned and the second he had ever worn. The first being at Rebecca’s father’s funeral.

By the end of the day, the score was fifty-seven CDs, eleven DVDs, one top-end laptop computer for Rebecca, twenty-two articles of clothing, one computer joystick, four computer games, seven pairs of shoes, two books, four items of jewelry (of which Tane’s new necklace was by far the most expensive), a bicycle, two pairs of sunglasses, a life-sized stuffed toy baboon that sat in a spare seat in the limo and laughed at them the rest of the day, three mobile phones, and a two-storied cliff-top house for Rebecca and her mother to live in that happened to have a boatshed, looking out over the water at West Harbor.

Nothing extravagant.

T
HE
M
AN FROM
S
UBEO

The man from Subeo was
Arthur Fong, which sounded Chinese, although he wasn’t. He said he’d be there on Thursday evening, November 26, at seven-thirty on the dot and rang the doorbell as the clock in the hallway just ticked over.

Tane, Rebecca, and Fatboy had gathered at Rebecca’s new house for the meeting. Fatboy had picked up Tane after school, and they had had a quick dinner of fish and chips while waiting for Arthur Fong to arrive.

It was Tane who answered the door. He’d jumped up like a shot and practically sprinted for the door while the others were still registering the sound of the bell. Then, not wanting to appear too eager, he had sedately strolled down the polished wooden floors of the hallway to the front door.

The door was solid kauri inlaid with panels of stained glass. It was a nice door. It was a nice home. It wasn’t new; in fact, it must have been fifty years old, but it was elegant, and a lot of money had been spent restoring it. None of which had really mattered to Tane, Rebecca, and Fatboy when they had found the place. What had sold them were two things. Firstly, it was vacant and available for immediate possession. Secondly, the back lawn led straight down to the edge of a high cliff above a secluded inlet of the upper harbor. At the bottom of the cliff, down a series of wooden staircases, there was a large, brown, slightly ramshackle boatshed.

From an upstairs room, the sound of a television washed faintly through the floorboards. Rebecca insisted that her mum was only grieving, that her mind was all right, but she had not questioned her daughter when she told her that they had bought a new house. Had not asked where the money had come from. Had just moved in, quietly accepted the room that Rebecca pointed out to her, and turned on the television.

As sad as it was, it was also convenient. It was good that she didn’t ask too many questions.

Arthur Fong was tall. Thin of face but wide of bottom, he was rather like a pyramid in shape and when he realized that his appointment was with three teenagers, suddenly found several pressing reasons to leave.

“Sit down,” Fatboy said, and added, “please,” for good measure.

Mr. Fong sat down. People had a habit of doing things when Fatboy told them to.

“Listen,” Mr. Fong said, “I admire your initiative. If this is for a school project, then I’d be happy to send over some brochures, even some of our technical drawings, which we don’t normally release. But I am on a very tight schedule.”

Tane said, “Mr. Fong—” But Fong held up his hand to interrupt him. “I have spent time—and money—flying over here because I thought I was going to be meeting with a company who was genuinely interested in purchasing one of our products.” He rubbed vigorously at his face with both hands, a gesture of tiredness and frustration.

“Can I get you a cup of tea?” Rebecca said demurely, and Tane glanced at her. That was not really like her.

That seemed to soften his attitude slightly, although he declined.

“Not had a good week?” Rebecca asked.

Mr. Fong smiled tightly. “You could say that. I’ve had flights delayed, lost luggage, canceled orders, and now a wasted trip to New Zealand, so excuse me if I seem a little brusque. You do realize, don’t you, that the price of the Nautilus is over a million pounds. It is not a toy!”

“Canceled orders?” Rebecca asked casually.

Fong said nothing.

“In Australia?” she coaxed.

Fong sighed. “Yes. Six months of negotiations all down the drain. And now this.” He made moves to get up again.

“Why did they cancel?” Rebecca asked quickly but still with a casual tone. “Is there something wrong with the submarine?”

“Of course not,” Fong said indignantly.

“Because if there are problems with it, then—”

“The sub passed every test they gave it with flying colors. The cancellation was all to do with bureaucracy and politics in upper management. The sub is fine. It’s brilliant, in fact.”

“So where is the sub now?” Rebecca coaxed.

Fong looked at her and smiled, realizing where she was heading.

“It’s still in Sydney,” he said. “But please be serious. It costs a million pounds. I don’t know what that would be in New Zealand dollars—”

“Four million, one hundred twelve thousand, two hundred and twenty-nine dollars,” Rebecca said from memory. “And ten cents. At today’s rate.”

Fong rose to his feet.

“It was nice to meet you. But right now, I am going to leave. I don’t like my time being wasted.”

“Your time is not being wasted,” Fatboy said. “We represent a trust that has substantial funding. The Nautilus you have in Sydney. We’ll buy it.”

“A trust,” Fong said skeptically.

“I said we’ll buy it.”

Mr. Fong looked at Fatboy with a kind of exasperation, as if he were speaking to an idiot who wouldn’t see sense. “Sure. It’s yours,” he said. “Just write me out a check for, hell, round it off to four million New Zealand dollars. It’s yours.”

The doorbell sounded and Rebecca went to answer it.

Fatboy stretched out a hand and said, “Mr. Fong, you have a deal.”

Fong ignored the hand.

Fatboy continued, “There are two conditions. You ask no questions, and you don’t inform the press. This deal is just between you and us.”

Mr. Fong looked at him cynically for a moment, but then laughed and shook Fatboy’s hand. “Absolutely. Anything you say. No questions asked. And the check?”

Fatboy shook his head. “We don’t have a checking account yet, but—”

“What a surprise.” Fong didn’t sound surprised at all. “Then I’m afraid the deal is off.”

Rebecca’s voice came from the doorway. “Mr. Fong, I’d like you to meet our lawyer, Anson Strange.”

“Just in bloody time,” Tane said out loud, without intending to.