The Jerusalem Puzzle. Laurence O’Bryan
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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 before I brought you here, did I? We’re all free to think what we want.’ He twisted his shoulders, as if he had back pain he was trying to ease.
‘What about your results,’ said Isabel. ‘Have you bred the perfect red heifer?’
He rubbed his chin. ‘We’ve bred over a thousand red heifers. The question is, are any of them perfect? The standard is high, very high. Not one single hair can be black or brown or white, God forbid.’
‘If you do breed one, a lot of people are going to claim the end of the world is nigh,’ said Isabel.
‘People are claiming that all the time. I don’t think it will lead to a panic.’
Isabel had come around the table and was looking closely at the slide on the screen. She spoke in a low voice. ‘Let’s hope you’re right.’
‘Can you tell us anything else about Max Kaiser?’ I said. It was time to get something out of all this.
‘With all due respect, you are strangers here, Dr Ryan. Our police are the best people to look for your friend Susan Hunter. I think you must talk with them, for your own good.’
Talli was standing beside us now. ‘Did you know Dr Ryan’s organisation, the Institute of Applied Research, runs one of the best academic conferences in the UK these days? Many of the world’s leading researchers attend. So I’ve heard.’ She gave me a tentative smile. It crossed my mind that maybe she wanted to speak at one of our events.
‘I wouldn’t want to make an enemy of them, that’s all I am saying, Simon,’ she continued.
Her description of our conference would have been disputed by some, but many cutting-edge researchers would have agreed with it. We’d built a reputation for having fun too, and avoiding some of the boring stuff you’d expect at such conferences.
Simon looked at me with an interested expression. Was this the route to get him to help us, or should I press another button?
I peered at the laptop screen. ‘You’re laser splicing at the single nanometre level, aren’t you? That’s unprecedented. What’s the damage threshold?’
‘Lower than your dreams.’
‘You’ll be looking for Nobel prizes, if you can get the right people to promote your case.’
His expression bordered on conceit now. No wonder he wanted to show me what he was up to. Not a lot of people would understand the real breakthrough he’d achieved.
‘How did you get to this point?’ People like Simon usually yearn for an audience, people who will hear them out and understand how truly clever they are.
He looked pleased as he began to tell me the history of their project.
I let him talk. He loved listening to himself. His eyes grew wider, as if he was in the headlights of a truck, as he went through the ins and outs of his work: how he’d discovered the breakthrough himself, how a colleague had let him down in the early stages, had even disputed his findings. And how he’d been vindicated in the end. It was the usual academic front-and-back-stabbing stuff.
When he’d run out of steam, Isabel said. ‘You should definitely be at the institute conference next year. Shouldn’t he, Sean?’
She had an enthralled look on her face. I hadn’t known she was so interested in optical science.
‘I forgot to ask, do you remember where Kaiser was staying the last time he was here?’ she said.
He smiled at her, answered quickly. ‘Somewhere on Jabotinsky.’
‘What number?’ I said. I hadn’t heard of the place, but I assumed you’d need more than a street name to find out where Kaiser had been staying. Jabotinsky could run all the way to Tel Aviv, for all I knew.
‘I don’t remember.’