

HEAVEN

NOR

HELL

by

Paul Greenway

copyright 2014 Paul Greenway

Smashwords Edition
Chapter One

Tuesday

'I'm very sorry, Auntie Edna.'

She dabbed her mascara-streaked eyes with a handkerchief. 'I'm not.'

Todd's expression of feigned sympathy transformed into one of confusion. 'But I thought–'

'These are tears of joy, Todd, not sadness. Your Uncle Charlie was a bastard. We all knew that.

'Oh. I didn't.'

They were at Centennial Park, a sprawling cemetery among the inner southern suburbs of Adelaide. Among the immaculate gardens of blossoms and roses enjoyed by the prolific bird life is the Jubilee Chapel complex. Inside one appropriately solemn and neutrally-coloured room, mourners were dutifully paying respects by shaking hands with relatives, strolling past the coffin to view the deceased, laying extravagant wreaths, and devouring all the food. The sounds of jewellery jangling from the women's arms and ringtones from the businessmen's phones punctuated the unusual silence among those who had nothing in common except a passing acquaintanceship or distant kinship with Charlie Harper.

Todd's aunt tried, with a spectacular lack of success, to dress and act half her 65 years, and even the funeral of her husband was no excuse not to dress up in the summer's latest fashions. She pointed to a young man in a corner prattling meaninglessly on a mobile phone. 'Your cousin Cyril is ordering ridiculously-overpriced speakers for the Jaguar he'll inherit from his father.' Edna nodded towards a woman facing the open coffin with one hand deep inside a handbag. 'And your Auntie Betty is standing over her brother's coffin with a large kitchen knife in her handbag just...' Edna paused. '... in case he ...' She gulped.

Edna had to squint intensely to fully recognise the expression of sheer horror spread across the face of Betty, whose jaw dropped as she started hyperventilating. Within seconds, Betty staggered backwards while trying to extract something from her handbag. She then collapsed to the plush grey rug below.

Five others reluctantly put down their cups of coffee and plates of sandwiches and rushed to Betty's side. They turned en masse as Betty raised her flabby arm crookedly towards the coffin. The two females screamed and buckled in a crumpled heap, while the three men gawked wordlessly as the corpse stirred.

## * * * * *

The University of Adelaide is situated along the northern fringes of the city's business district. Over 140 years old and surrounded by stately icons like the Art Gallery, Library and Museum, the campus boasts the extensive Barr Smith Library, accessible from steps linking North Terrace with the unimpressive River Torrens. Inside the library, hundreds of students were avoiding lectures, socialising and taking advantage of free Wi-Fi while lounging across a series of pink and lime-green cushions.

Among this throng was Todd, a curly-haired 23 year old with a cheeky grin struggling through the second year of a journalism degree that would be virtually useless before he even graduated. He often sat motionless and stared expressionless at his books and laptop, but this time he had a reason.

Two of his fellow students strode into the study room with the pink walls: Ashleigh, with cropped tousled hair that enhanced her striking round cheeks; and Jordan, a lanky lad whose manner, attire and general untidiness could be best described as "nerdy" – a term he relished anyway.

'You look like you've seen a ghost.' Ashleigh was genuinely concerned and sincere.

As Todd exhaled, his lips quivered. 'I think I just did.'

'Yeah, right.' Jordan couldn't fake any semblances of sincerity or concern so he checked Todd's laptop screen instead. 'And where are all those ideas you promised us yesterday?'

'I ... uh ...'

'Todd!' Ashleigh scowled. 'We came here to brainstorm, remember?'

'... for our investigative assignment?' added Jordan, although they all knew.

'I was at my uncle's funeral this morning...' mumbled Todd.

'Oh, sorry. I forgot.' Ashleigh offered a compassionate smile.

'... but I did see a ghost, there at the funeral. My Uncle Charlie was lying in the coffin.' Todd trembled at the recollection. 'Then, everyone started crying ...'

'But that's normal.' Jordan was sure this was true, although he'd never been to a funeral.

'... after someone else laughed.'

'You have a weird family.' Jordan was confident that laughter was not normal.

Todd stopped sighing so he could ponder. 'Everyone was crying when they realised my uncle wasn't dead.'

'So, who was laughing?' asked Ashleigh.

'The corpse.'

'Weird as shit.' Jordan opened his daypack as his interest rapidly waned.

But Ashleigh's curiosity intensified. 'Your uncle's still alive? That's great.'

Todd shook his curls. 'Not according to his friends and my relatives. They told me Uncle Charlie was – is – a gangster. Part of some group involved in all sorts of dodgy stuff.'

'He's a gangster?!' Jordan was now animated. 'That's great!' Several students actually studying at nearby tables rotated towards Jordan and glowered, so he made a token effort to whisper. 'I mean, there's a story in that. There has to be. Maybe, your uncle was murdered.'

'Nah. Uncle Charlie died of heart failure. But there is a story, my friends. A big one.' Leaning forward, Todd whispered almost inaudibly. 'How and why was he pronounced dead?'

Ashleigh found it impossible to contain her excitement in hushed tones. 'Funerals. Resurrection. Gangsters. Malpractice. Sounds awesome!'

Chapter Two

Wednesday

The one place where no-one even bothered pretending to study was the Uni Bar, located in the Union House in which all other essential aspects of university life can be found: the STA Travel booking office, cinema, gym and Mayo Café.

As usual, the bar was packed at lunchtime, but Todd and Ashleigh had found their usual table with its semi-circle of cushioned seats. As Todd stared at a quarter-page article in the glossy University magazine, On Dit, he alternated between frowning, muttering and sighing. Ashleigh flicked through The Advertiser, South Australia's only daily newspaper, which she never considered worthwhile buying but always found discarded somewhere on the campus. The empty glasses scattered across the table indicated the typical monetary drawbacks of university life.

Jordan approached and slapped Todd on the back. 'Oh, stop sobbing, will you? Your story about Uncle Charlie's resurrection was printed.'

Todd lifted up the thin edition of the University publication. 'But it's not the lead story.'

Jordan groaned. 'What do the lecturers tell us? It's about the story, not the reporter.'

'That is such crap.' Todd scowled at Jordan and the empty glasses. 'It's always about the reporter.'

Ashleigh flicked over a page of The Advertiser. 'Well, your story was picked up by the mainstream press.'

Todd leaned over Ashleigh's shoulder with guarded enthusiasm. 'Really?'

Ashleigh smirked. 'Yep, about 25 words on ...' She peered at the number on the bottom right-hand corner with exaggerated intent. '... page, oh, 32.'

Todd leaned back, even more dejected. 'And they misspelled my bloody name. Everyone knows Ridgway has no "e".'

'I didn't.' But Jordan didn't care remotely enough to look up from his iPhone.

'There's still a story here, I can smell it. But it needs more substance.' Todd thumped the table with dismay. 'The story needs more balls.'

Jordan flicked down the screen of his phone several times. 'And Uncle Charlie hasn't even rated one single mention in Twitter-space.'

Ashleigh folded up The Advertiser untidily and turned towards Todd. 'We've got to talk to the doctor who signed your Uncle Charlie's death certificate.'

Jordan stooped to pick up his daypack. 'And I'll borrow some decent camera gear from the faculty. It's time we stopped wasting our time on words.' He flicked his right hand disparagingly across the newspaper and magazine. 'No-one reads anymore.'

'But we still drink!' Todd pointed at the empty glasses on the table. 'Whose round is it?'

'Yours.' Ashleigh growled.

## * * * * *

The Morphettville Medical Centre is, perhaps incongruously, located opposite a McDonald's outlet and across a tram line from a racecourse. Large and functional, but devoid of any soul or ambience, it was created primarily to make money for investors rather than to maintain the health of locals.

Inside, impatient patients sat forlornly along several jumbled rows of uncomfortable chairs. They were bored of staring at the muted TV screen mounted on the wall at a neck-aching angle. Most hadn't even bothered flicking through the magazines, which were over three years old and mind-numbingly dull anyway. And they weren't allowed to use their phones to scroll through Facebook and pretend they had friends who cared about their health. So, they collectively raised their heads with undemonstrative curiosity as Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd rattled the door. The patients were also mildly fascinated with Jordan's bulky daypack in which a video camera and microphone were concealed – although he couldn't properly hide the top end of the tripod.

Todd had designated himself leader, so he approached the curved desk flanked by grey mobile filing cabinets. Two female staff were frantically typing schedules, answering phones and directing clients. Todd cursorily considered his options and naturally approached the one who was younger and more attractive. He peered through the glass to read her name tag, "Kathy", while trying not to get caught glancing at her cleavage. 'Hello, Kathy. I have an appointment. Todd Ridgway. That's with no "e".'

Jordan decided to speak forcefully for the benefit of everyone in the waiting area. 'You know, Todd, I would've thought you'd need a specialist for severe gonorrhoea.'

Kathy groaned and wordlessly raised her eyes from the computer screen.

'... especially, you being so contagious and all.'

Todd waved his left arm randomly in Ashleigh's direction. 'And these are my friends. Ashleigh something ...'

'He didn't get it from me!' Ashleigh scowled.

Todd pointed to his other friend. '... and Jordan whatever.'

'Or me!' Jordan could out-scowl anyone.

Kathy checked her computer screen and raised one eye towards Todd. 'Your appointment is at 1.40. Please sit down over there.' She pointed to the sole remaining empty chair.

Jordan continued at the same volume level. 'But he can't sit just anywhere with his acute haemorrhoids!'

Almost immediately those near the empty seat swiftly stood and shuffled as one towards a distant corner.

'Doctor Wagstaff will see you soon.'

'But, Kathy, I specifically asked to see Doctor Olsson. That's with one "s".'

Kathy had no time or tolerance to deal with anyone like Todd. 'And I am specifically telling you that Doctor Olsson – regardless of the number of "esses" – is unavailable.'

'But I have to talk to Doctor Olsson about my, um...' Leaning closer to the window separating him from the receptionist, Todd whispered. '... my condition.'

Kathy followed Jordan's lead and bellowed. 'Gonorrhoea is quite common, Mister Ridgway! And Doctor Wagstaff will treat your very embarrassing sexually transmitted disease soon!'

'But...' Todd noticed his two colleagues meandering down the corridor.

Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd checked the names on every door along both sides of the corridor before finding one labelled "Dr Olsson". Jordan unzipped his daypack, opened the video camera, and passed the wireless microphone to Ashleigh. All Todd had to do was extract a pen and notepad from a trouser pocket.

Noticing Kathy stomping towards them from the reception area, Todd swiftly opened the door to Dr Olsson's surgery room. Jordan and Ashleigh hurriedly followed. The room was packed with medical equipment, as well as a bed, desk and chair, but no-one was inside.

They turned and braced themselves for Kathy's arrival. 'I told you that Doctor Olsson is ...' She noticed the video camera and microphone aimed towards her.

Todd clicked his pen. 'Then, where is the doctor?'

'I, ah ... I don't...'

'Was the death certificate of Charlie Harper certified by Doctor Olsson?'

'Um...' Kathy gulped.

'It was according to my report in The Advertiser.'

'Really? On what page?'

'Never mind.' Todd sneered and pretended to make some notes.

Kathy raised her arm towards Jordan's camera. 'I'll talk if you turn that bloody thing off.'

Todd indicated that Jordan should close the video camera, which he reluctantly did. Ashleigh positioned the microphone by her side.

Kathy gently closed the door behind her. 'Doctor Olsson only works here at the surgery part-time, but hasn't turned up today. Hasn't rung in either ...' She paused – wary, edgy and distrustful. 'The doctor can't be contacted by telephone or email. And doesn't seem to be at home, either.'

Todd flicked over a page of his notepad with a flourish. 'I see. My uncle was Charlie Harper. I mean, is. He died – or didn't – last week of heart failure.'

Kathy nodded. 'I know.'

'How long did Doctor Olsson treat my uncle for his heart condition?'

'Your uncle didn't have any heart condition. He was disgustingly healthy for someone who smoked and drank, and whatever else gangsters do.' She stepped towards the door and gripped the handle. 'And that is strictly off the record.'

Todd triumphantly slid the pen and pad into his top pocket. 'Of course.'

'Now, I have to go back and pacify all the patients you've just terrified.'

Todd tried to smile flirtatiously. 'To show my appreciation, Kathy, can we go out for dinner?'

'I am not going out with you–'

'Oh.'

'–with your medical conditions.'

## * * * * *

By late afternoon, the Uni Bar had emptied of students, who had finished dodging lectures and were now starting one of their part-time jobs to pay for their fees. It was now starting to fill with after-workers looking for cheap beer and subsidised meals.

Once more, Todd gazed despondently at his empty glass before glancing at the counter. 'Do you think if I chatted to that bargirl with those long luscious legs that we'd get free drinks?'

'I tried that last week.'

Ashleigh wiped the seat before sitting down. 'Can you two idiots stop thinking about beer or sex for a nanosecond?'

Todd and Jordan paused, shook their heads and answered together. 'Nope.'

'Focus, will you? We have a real story here.' Ashleigh counted on her left hand. 'We have a doctor who signed a death certificate for someone who died of heart failure, but had no heart conditions.' She extended her forefinger. 'Second, we have a gangster who comes back to life.' Next was a middle finger choked with rings. 'Third, there's a doctor who has disappeared.'

Jordan glanced behind Todd. '... and, fourth, we have a curly-haired reporter called Todd with severe gonorrhoea and haemorrhoids.'

The leggy bargirl, who had intended to collect their empty glasses, immediately swivelled around and wiped down another table.

Todd glared at Jordan but spoke to Ashleigh. 'We need talking heads. An interview.'

'But Doctor Olsson's gone AWOL.' Ashleigh sighed. 'And that receptionist won't talk to us on camera.'

'... or go out with me,' added Todd with disbelief. 'So that leaves–'

'–Uncle Charlie.' Ashleigh spun around towards Todd. 'Would he agree to be interviewed on camera?'

'He would if you wear a low-cut top.' Todd pointed at the empty glasses, uncollected. 'Whose round is it?'

'Yours!' Jordan and Ashleigh growled in tandem.

## * * * * *

The esplanade along the southern stretches of Glenelg, Adelaide's pre-eminent suburban beach, is crammed with rectangular monstrosities of grey concrete and triple-garages. Most are wrapped with balconies and dotted with windows to take advantage of the renowned sunsets that boosted the cost of each home by $50,000 or more. One of these belonged to Charlie Harper, Todd's uncle.

The lounge room was decorated in a way that Charlie no doubt thought was sumptuous, but the three students considered as tacky. Barely able to resist gazing at the flaming sphere slipping over the ocean, Jordan positioned his video camera on a tripod, Ashleigh checked her wireless microphone, and Todd flicked his pen. In an adjacent alcove, Charlie's wife, aka Auntie Edna, was again dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief; Charlie's sister, Betty, had her hand once more firmly plunged inside a handbag; and Charlie's son, Cyril, was glumly flicking through a catalogue of Jaguar cars.

Eventually, Charlie ambled in clutching a crystal glass of Scotch and ice.

'Nice to see you standing up this time.' Todd shook hands with his uncle before introducing his two colleagues. 'This is Jordan and Ashleigh.' Charlie nodded at both and furtively glanced at Ashleigh's low-cut top thinking she wouldn't notice.

Charlie slumped into a plush lounge-chair and pulled a lever to extend the footrest. 'Yes, it is a miracle.' He waved a hand in the general direction of Edna, Betty and Cyril. 'And you can see how happy my recovery has made them.'

Ashleigh positioned her microphone near the man's double chin. 'So, how do you feel?'

'I feel ... I feel alive.' His rows of choppers were stained yellow from nicotine and age.

'We have reliable information that you had no heart condition, yet you died of heart failure.'

Charlie shrugged and again peeked at Ashleigh's cleavage. 'All I know is that I was dead. And then I came back to life.'

'Was Doctor Olsson treating you for anything serious?'

'Nope. Fit as a fiddle, me. I'll go back to the surgery soon and surprise them all.'

'I wouldn't bother. Doctor Olsson has disappeared.'

'Really?'

Ashleigh paused and changed her tone – tricks she'd learnt from her journalism course. 'Do you know anything about that?'

'No.' Charlie's forehead creased into several folds. 'Should I?'

'Who would want you dead?'

'But I wasn't murdered, dear. I died of heart failure.'

'You could've been poisoned.' Ashleigh waited for an answer before continuing. 'Who would've wanted to see you dead?'

'Besides this lot?' Charlie nodded sideways towards his wife, sister and son. 'Anyone, I suppose. I was involved in several businesses. And there are always rivals.'

Ashleigh nodded. 'I suppose lots of people could've sought revenge. Maybe, poisoned you to get control of your various businesses.'

Charlie shrugged and sipped. 'Maybe. But it's all hypothetical now, dear. I'm quitting my businesses and leaving the group.' Edna, Betty and Cyril raised their heads and dropped their jaws. 'That's right, I'm selling my business interests, which means some changes, like moving to a smaller house. Selling the cars.'

Edna found another handkerchief and started sobbing again. Betty angrily plunged her other hand into her handbag. And Cyril rolled up the Jaguar catalogue and thumped it into his palm.

Ashleigh allowed the tension to intensify for a few more moments. 'So, what happened after you died, Charlie? What did you see and feel?'

'Nothing, dear. Nothing at all.' He waited for another question, but Ashleigh deliberately didn't fill the silence, so he felt compelled to continue. 'No lights. No angels or, in my case, demons beckoning me along a tunnel. No fiery inferno. I was dead for five days. Then, I came back to life. And nothing happened in between.' Charlie glanced towards the door leading to the kitchen. 'But you may want a second opinion.' He then nodded in the direction of a man entering the lounge room. 'Maybe, ask someone else about their experience?'

Edna stopped crying and wiping her eyes, Betty removed both hands from her handbag and silently opened her mouth, and Cyril dropped his rolled-up Jaguar catalogue.

The man crossed his arms and scowled at Edna, Betty and Cyril. 'I see none of you bothered to turn up at my bloody funeral.'
Chapter Three

Thursday

Within minutes of the Uni Bar opening its doors, Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were seated at their usual table.

Jordan shook his head several times. 'Jeez, Todd, you've got a weird family.'

'I want it noted that the other guy, Dom, is not related to me.'

Jordan thumped the table. 'But he was dead, too. Dom walked into the lounge room yesterday from his own bloody funeral.'

Todd nodded. 'There is a lot to be said for not getting cremated.'

'Why didn't Charlie go to Dom's funeral?' said Ashleigh.

Todd stopped nodding so he could shrug. 'Dunna know.'

Ashleigh continued, although she knew they had no answers between them. 'Did Charlie know something? Is Dom Futura also a gangster?'

Jordan decided to out-shrug Todd. 'Dunna know that either. But this is major shit. We could write so many articles and put so many interviews up on YouTube.' He rubbed his hands and smirked. 'And get so many distinctions for our assignment.'

A student with a trendy, faded Motorhead T-shirt slapped Todd across his back. 'Your story has gone viral, man.' He turned to Jordan. 'And that clip you uploaded onto YouTube last night already has about a million views. You guys are white hot.'

Leggy Bargirl beamed and winked at Todd before placing the day's edition of The Advertiser on the table. The headline read "Resurrection, but no Recollection" and the sub-heading, "Man Comes Back to Life, but Denies Afterlife". She tenderly brushed her hand across Todd's shoulder. 'You're now front page of the mainstream press.'

Todd winked back at the bargirl and lifted the newspaper. 'Wow.' Then, he remembered he was thirsty. 'So, whose–?'

'Yours!' Leggy Bargirl and Motorhead T-shirt growled as ferociously as Jordan and Ashleigh.

## * * * * *

Striding up the spiral staircase, the three students tried to ignore the lure of the heated indoor pool and the theatrette before entering Charlie's lounge room again. On the monstrous TV, with all the latest devices attached, greyhounds were chasing a mechanical rabbit but the sound was muted. Again wearing a low-cut top appreciated by Charlie and Dom, Ashleigh checked her microphone as Jordan stood behind the video camera on a tripod. Edna and Betty were in the soulless and stainless-steel kitchen sobbing inconsolably while packing cutlery and crockery into large boxes marked "Acme Removals". Cyril was outside the open window trying to repair his bicycle.

'Here's my death certificate.' Charlie passed the document to Todd.

Todd scanned the deed, although he didn't really know what he was looking for. 'Heart failure... Dated the 19th... Certified by Doctor Olsson. Hey, there are two "esses".'

'Do you have your death certificate?' asked Ashleigh.

Dom shook his head. 'I think Cyril ripped it up. Or, maybe, Betty burnt it.'

Ashleigh ushered Todd and Jordan into an alcove choked with books and DVDs. 'Can you check?'

Todd extracted a phone from one of his many trouser side-pockets and pressed a few keys. As he waited, he whispered to Ashleigh and Jordan. 'That chick at the medical centre could never resist my charms. And I did prove to her that I don't have ...' He hastily turned his attention to the phone. 'Hello, Kathy? It's Todd ... Hi ... Me, too ...' He winked at Ashleigh and Jordan, who both groaned. 'No, no, I'm here at the, um, gym doing, um, press-bench-ups ... Oh, kilos of them. Look. Quick question. Has Doctor Olsson come back to work? ... No? ... And about Dom Futura's death certificate ... Yeah ... OK.' He chuckled. 'No, you were awesome last night ... No, really ...' Todd glanced at Ashleigh, who glared back. 'Look, I'd better go. I'll call you later ... No, I will. Honest. Definitely ...' Todd hung up and slid the phone into a trouser pocket. '... maybe.'

The three students returned to the lounge room and recommenced their interview with Charlie and Dom.

'I've just been talking to, um ...' Todd hesitated.

'Kathy!' hissed Ashleigh.

'Yeah, her, and your death certificate...' Todd turned to Dom. '... was signed by the same doctor. But Doctor Olsson has still not been seen by anyone at the medical centre for days.'

Ashleigh added a shade of menace to her voice. 'Do you know anything about that?'

Dom was also affronted. 'Should I?'

'You and Charlie are friends, but also rivals in the gangster business.'

Normally, Dom would've argued vehemently with Ashleigh about the "gangster" tag, although it was true, but he decided to sigh instead. 'Not any more. Like Charlie, I'm also leaving the group and selling my business interests in gambling, racketeering and child-care centres.'

Charlie nodded solemnly. 'Dying makes you appreciate that there's more to life than um, well, death. So, we're both giving away our worldly possessions to charity.'

Everyone turned towards the kitchen as Edna and Betty dropped several plates and dishes.

'Why do you think you two were spared and resurrected?'

'Good question, dear. I think it's because Charlie and I are good people.'

Everyone in the lounge room again instinctively spun towards the kitchen as more crockery clattered to the tiles.

Ashleigh continued with renewed purpose. 'But Mother Teresa didn't come back to life. Nor did any of the Popes.' Charlie and Dom shrugged. 'And why should anyone believe what you two say about the afterlife anyway? Or about anything else for that matter?' The two ex-gangsters lifted and dropped their shoulders again. 'What did you see or feel when you were dead?'

'I didn't see or feel anything,' said Dom.

Ashleigh pursed her lips. 'But would your brain be working if you were dead? Would either of you process anything when you were dead and then be able to remember it when you were alive?'

'I remember hearing what people said when they walked past my coffin. I remember someone saying "Die Charlie, you old bastard". And someone else screaming at me, "Ha, I will get the Jag now".' No-one in the lounge room bothered turning towards the open window as Cyril's bicycle thudded to the ground. 'And I remember hearing that bloody organ playing that soppy song everyone knows I hate. And I remember smelling flowers all over my face.' Charlie quivered. 'Everyone knows I'm allergic to tulips.'

Ashleigh discreetly indicated for Jordan to zoom into the faces of the two men. 'No-one else in the world has ever been dead for as long as you two. You were both officially dead for five days. Other people who have died, but only for a few minutes, say they saw tunnels ...'

'Nothing like that, dear.' Dom shook his head.

'... lights ...'

'Nope,' said Charlie firmly.

'... angels ...' continued Ashleigh.

'Not likely.' Dom chuckled.

'... or demons.'

Charlie gulped the remains of his Scotch and faced the camera to speak as earnestly as any gangster could. 'Both me and my friend Dom were dead for five days. And during that time neither of us saw or felt or heard or experienced anything–'

'Nothing,' added Dom.

'–to indicate that there is an afterlife. Nothing. There is no Hell. Though we can't say anything about Heaven.'

'I don't think we were going in that direction anyway.' Dom winked and glanced at Ashleigh's cleavage.

'But if there is no Hell, there can't be a Heaven, can there?' Charlie stared at the camera. 'Sorry to disappoint people who believe in the afterlife, but you die and that's it. There is nothing more.'

Ashleigh indicated to Jordan that the interview was over. They both turned to Todd, who nodded contentedly as he slid his pen and notepad into a top pocket.
Chapter Four

Friday

Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were again seated around their usual table inside the Uni Bar, but their situation was far from normal. Encircled by a gaggle of fellow journalism students congratulating them on their new-found fame, Todd suggested that several onlookers should buy him a beer. Spread open across the table were current editions of The Advertiser and the two major national papers that cover both spectrums of the political and communal divide: The Australian and The Age. All three publications were splashed with headlines and photos about their interview with Charlie and Dom from the day before.

But Jordan was more interested in the extent of their fan base. 'Man, look at our followers on Twitter now.' He peered intently at his phone. '... 139,893 ... –four ... –five ... –six...'

A snippet of a weird hip-hop tune indicated that Todd's phone was ringing. He extracted the phone from a trouser side-pocket and checked the caller ID. He frowned and pressed a key to ignore the call, but felt compelled to offer an explanation to those thronged around him. 'That's 47 calls from people I don't know and don't care about since happy hour started. But how do they know my number?'

Ashleigh glared at Todd. 'Because you give your number to anyone with a pulse and breasts.'

A female student leaned seductively towards Todd. 'I have those three things, but I don't have your number.'

As Todd obliged, Ashleigh groaned and swivelled towards Jordan, who was checking several websites on his laptop. 'Our interview of those two gangster dudes seems to be the major story in every newspaper and website on earth.' Jordan scrolled through several articles published by major international news websites as Todd's phone continued to ring before being transferred to voice-mail. 'Look at this headline.' Jordan read from the screen. '"The Vatican Goes into Bat Again".'

Ashleigh scoffed. 'God, those sub-editors must've done the same stupid journalism course as us.'

Jordan pressed a few more keys. 'And this one... "The Pope Says There is Hope".'

Ashleigh sipped her Coke. 'I think we've upset The Vatican. And that old guy who runs the place in the white frock.'

'And that cannot be good.' Jordan leaned back and exhaled deeply.

## * * * * *

Later that afternoon they were inside the Turquoise Room with the appropriately-coloured walls within the Barr Smith Library. Ashleigh was feverishly typing a new article on her laptop while Jordan created more clips from the interviews on his laptop for the dedicated YouTube channel he had created called "No Hell".

Todd just stared at his iPad and scrolled through a list of people who suddenly wanted to be his friends on Facebook. 'Not a chance.' He again pressed the "Not Now" icon and scrolled down.

Jordan stopped editing a clip to check his new Twitter account, @No Hell. 'We've now got over 350,000 followers.'

'Yeah, you are cute,' mumbled Todd to the snapshot on his iPad.

'And, according to Google, our story is the most read, watched and discussed thing on the planet.' Jordan leaned back with cautious delight.

'Ha! You wanna be my Facebook buddy? I don't think so.' Todd pressed the "Not Now" icon once more, but with a flourish. 'Next!'

Ashleigh flexed her fingers and wrists. 'So, how come we're not making any money?'

'Mmm, you are rather tasty...'

Jordan continued to ignore Todd. 'Because we put it all on YouTube, so we have zero control and, therefore, make zero money.' He grimaced. 'Welcome to the new world of journalism.'

Todd lifted the iPad closer to his unshaven face. 'Now, this does look interesting.' He extracted a phone, checked the iPad screen, and dialled a number. 'Is this Julie? ... Todd Ridgway here ... Yeah, no "e". Look, Julie, you sent me a message ... No, I'm now at the gym ... I see ... Really? ... But we– ... Oh, you do know Doctor Olsson?' For the first time in several minutes, Ashleigh and Jordan looked up with interest at what Todd was saying or doing. 'Tell me, how many "esses"?... Sure ... But we would want to interview you on film ... OK ... I know the place ... Yep. Great. See you then.'

Todd hung up and belched. 'And so the plot thickens.'

'What plot?'

'It's just a saying, Jords.'

## * * * * *

Adelaide's inner-west, not far from the airport, is dotted with factories, workshops and warehouses – many deserted, and several featuring "For Lease" signs. Inside one warehouse along Richmond Road, close to places selling bird cages, fertiliser and water tanks, Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were preparing to record an interview. The subject was wriggling impatiently on an uncomfortable foldup chair found at the last moment in the back of Ashleigh's battered Astra. Jordan and Todd subdued the lights and double-checked the camera angles.

The woman sneered. 'You're new to this, aren't you?'

Todd shrugged. 'We must've missed Shadowed Faces 101 at Uni.'

'And the class about fuzzy voices?'

Todd added more tape to the black curtain across a side window. 'No-one'll be able to recognise your face or voice. Trust us.'

'Trust you?' The woman scoffed. 'Because you're journalists?'

'Not yet we're not.'

The woman spun sharply towards Ashleigh. 'What? But I thought you–'

'OK.' Ashleigh turned to Jordan, who nodded. She switched on the wireless microphone and peered at the woman. 'Ready?' A slight jiggle of the woman's head indicated that she was, so Ashleigh commenced. 'Can you tell us your name?'

'Why would I bother with a shadowed face and fuzzy voice?'

Ashleigh silently acknowledged that her opening question was a tad stupid. 'Do you know Doctor Olsson?'

'Yes.'

'Can you tell me your occupation?'

'I am a scientist. And a non-believer.'

'You can earn money from not believing in anything?'

Ashleigh scowled at Todd before turning to the woman. 'Are you part of some organisation?'

'Yes.'

'And the name is ..?'

'The group.'

Ashleigh paused, perplexed, but decided to change the subject immediately because she had stumbled once already. 'You've seen the interviews we did with the two gangsters who claim there is no afterlife. You've read our reports.'

'Yes.'

'Probably followed us on Twitter ...'

'I'm too old for that shit.'

'... and you requested an interview with us. Why?'

The woman paused for effect and inhaled. 'Because I brought those two men back to life.'

'What?' The microphone trembled in Ashleigh's hand. 'I mean, um–'

'My colleague and I have created a new super drug that can bring people back from the dead. We call it Deep Blue.'

Ashleigh was temporarily floored. 'But, but w-why would you invent s-such a drug?'

'The group has decided not to reveal our reasons yet.'

'Um, so w-what can you tell us about the drug?'

'The group has decided not to reveal this information for obvious reasons either. But it is blue, hence the name Deep Blue.'

'Why would you want to bring two gangsters back to life?'

'That should become clear. You're a bright young thing.'

Ashleigh had learnt on her journalism course to ignore patronising comments from interview subjects. 'How did you give this drug to Charlie Harper and Dom Futura?'

'I injected them.'

'When did you administer the drug to Charlie Harper?'

'Friday of last week and on ...' The woman hesitated. '... um, on...'

Ashleigh waited a moment as the woman became more agitated. 'And when did Dom Futura receive the drug?'

'The, the first one was ...' The woman shielded her head with her hands before moving off-screen.
Chapter Five

Saturday

It was far easier to find a spare table at the Uni Bar on a Saturday. Again surrounded by a horde of fellow journalism students, Jordan and Ashleigh stared at the YouTube clip Jordan had uploaded of the previous day's interview.

'The, the first one was...'

Jordan addressed everyone at and near the table. 'And that's all she said. She stopped talking, got up and left.'

Ashleigh stared at the laptop despondently. 'She clearly decided that she'd said more than she'd planned.'

As Todd approached the table while putting away his phone, he noticed a man loitering within earshot. Well into his 50s and sporting a brown cardigan, the man was downright conspicuous among the downtrodden students. But of more immediate concern to Todd was his empty glass. He grimaced and opened his arms to the adoring crowd that was steadily increasing in number. A first-year student promptly bowed his head in shame and hurried to the bar counter.

Ashleigh pointed at the laptop screen. 'That woman yesterday had to be Doctor Olsson.'

'But she's, um, a, um...'

'Jeez. Doctors can be female!' Ashleigh glared at Jordan, who decided it was prudent to look away in embarrassment.

Todd checked his notepad. 'She said she gave Uncle Charlie the drug on Friday last week, which was the 19th. That was the day he died.'

Ashleigh nodded. 'She probably did the same for that other guy, Dom. But when? And what did she mean when she said "the first one"?'

The man with the cardigan approached their table clutching four bottles of beer. 'I seem to have ordered too many of these.'

Ashleigh was instantly suspicious. 'And who are you?'

But Todd was instantly grateful. 'Don't upset the man, Ash. He's buying us beer.' Todd eagerly snatched two bottles for himself.

'I am someone who has followed your amazing story about the eternal drug in the media and on YouTube, Twitter, Facebook and every other social media network.'

'Really?' Ashleigh peered intently at the man. 'People in cardigans don't use Twitter.'

'And I am someone who believes you should be making a lot of money from this.'

'Oh yeah?'

Todd gulped his beer and whispered irritably. 'Ash!'

Cardigan Man dragged a stool towards their table. 'Do you still have the original footage of your interview with that woman – without the shadowed face and fuzzy voice?'

## * * * * *

Ashleigh anxiously pushed every button at the elevator just outside the main door of the Uni Bar.

'Why are we ..?' Todd stopped as Ashleigh swiftly shoved him and Jordan inside.

She leaned out again fleetingly to check for possible pursuers before pummelling the button for the 2nd floor with her fist. 'Because we cannot trust anyone anymore anywhere anytime.'

Jordan leaned back on a rail and frowned. 'That's a shitload lot of "anys".'

Todd risked a smirk. 'Any-how that guy in the bar seemed OK. Terrible dresser, but harmless enough.'

Ashleigh poked Todd in the ribs with her pointiest fingernail. 'But you think anyone who gives you a beer is nice!'

The elevator opened at the 2nd floor in front of several students clutching bulky textbooks and chattering in Chinese. Ashleigh gruffly turned towards them. 'Sorry, it's full.' She frantically pressed the "close" and "6th floor" buttons several times. Todd spun round to confirm to himself that the elevator contained no-one else as Ashleigh continued. 'So, who was the guy in the cardigan in the bar? Why did he want the entire original footage of our interview? And why was he going to give us money?'

Todd shrugged. 'Maybe, he's some sort of agent.'

Jordan's eye sockets expanded. 'Secret agent?'

Todd stopped shrugging so he could sneer. 'No, you idiot. I mean some guy who wants to sell our story. Maybe, get us a paid interview on a current affairs show.'

'I hate those bloody shows!'

'But, Ash, it's about time we made some money out of all this.' Jordan crossed his arms with some negligible attempt at defiance.

Todd was excited. 'Maybe, he'll get me on that show. "Dancing with–".'

'But we're reporters!'

Todd and Jordan glowered at Ashleigh as they replied together. 'So?'

'We don't just sell our soul and story to anyone. Or go on stupid reality shows.'

Todd stopped shrugging and sneering so he could snort. 'I must've missed Journalistic Ethics 101.'

The elevator eventually rumbled to the 6th floor. The door opened in front of several young women wearing hijab and headscarves who had just completed their observances at the Islamic Prayer Room. Ashleigh blocked their entrance and growled maliciously. The students retreated, deciding the stairs would be safer.

Ashleigh punched the "close" and "2nd floor" buttons several times with both fists. 'Listen, you idiots. Look at the reactions from the interviews we did with the gangsters and the doctor.'

'I know.' Todd stopped shrugging, sneering and snorting, and just smiled. 'That bargirl with the legs really wants to–'

'I mean, who did we upset?'

Jordan's brain abruptly received a message from his bladder. 'I'm dying for a pee.'

Ashleigh was accustomed to answering her own questions. 'We've upset the bloody Vatican for a bloody start.' As the elevator was again decelerating towards the 2nd floor, she yanked the "emergency" lever. As they jolted to an immediate stop, Todd and Jordan glanced at each other with unease. 'Who else would want to know more about this drug and about the scientists who created it?'

'The FBI?' Todd loosened his shirt.

'The CIA?' Jordan crossed his legs.

'Jeez. You guys watch way too much TV.'

As Todd began sweating, Jordan hopped from one leg to another, but still managed to speak. 'I suppose the people who'd be most interested in this drug would be the ones who'd want to sell it.'

'Exactly. This drug would be the greatest, most-wanted, most expensive drug in the world. People would pay anything – give anything – to have it. For God's sake, it's a drug that brings people back to life!'

Todd slumped in a corner of the lift and started hyperventilating. 'W-what about, about a d-drug that, that cures claus-tro-tro-pho-b-b-bia?'

Ashleigh glanced at Todd and feigned some mild concern before turning to Jordan, who said, '... or the need to pee?' He squirmed.

Ashleigh ignored them as she pondered. 'I think that cardigan guy in the bar works for a pharmaceutical company. He's already given it a name, remember. He called it the Eternal Drug.'

Clutching at the rails to stand up, Todd began pounding on the door. 'Get me out! I'm suffocating!'

Jordan started hammering the door with one hand while clutching his crotch with the other. 'Get me out! I'm bursting!'

Ashleigh mumbled to herself. 'I suppose it's too late to find new partners for my freaking assignment.'

As Todd and Jordan continued hollering and thumping the door with clenched fists Ashleigh picked up the emergency phone.

## * * * * *

Along Rundle Street – a trendy thoroughfare of cafés and, incongruously, shops selling outdoor hiking gear – is The Nova, self-described as "Sophisticated Cinema". With angled ceilings, trendy un-scrubbed walls and menus offering cheese platters, it features art-house and foreign films that few want to watch, so even on a late Saturday afternoon the place was virtually empty.

Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were huddled together in a back row as a man in a tracksuit and a woman carrying an umbrella shuffled down the aisle closer to the screen. They glanced at Ashleigh squeezed in a seat between Todd and Jordan. Ashleigh shuddered and swapped seats with Todd, so she was no longer between the two.

Although the ads had ceased and the lights had faded, Todd forgot to whisper. 'I knew this would be crappy.'

'Shhhh!' Ashleigh crouched with embarrassment.

'Jeez. Is this in bloody French?'

'We are not here to see the movie.'

The man and woman instantly swivelled around in their seats and glowered at Ashleigh, who decided to move further to her left, so she was now one seat away from Todd and three from Jordan.

'And it's one of those bloody chick flicks.'

The two patrons turned around again but scowled at Todd instead.

Ashleigh knew how to whisper effectively. 'We are here to discuss what we're going to do with our investigation and assignment.'

Todd had lost interest in the film within seconds. 'But why couldn't we talk in the bar? We might get more people we don't really know buying us more beers we don't really need for reasons we don't really understand.'

'Exactly. There's nowhere safe to meet and talk anymore.' Ashleigh paused, her voice now almost inaudible. 'And I think I'm being followed.'

Jordan was vaguely interested in the special effects onscreen. 'I know I am. And Mum thinks our phone is bugged.'

Todd found it problematic to be incredulous while whispering. 'You still live at home?!'

Jordan shrugged. 'Sort of... And Mum does has awesome Wi-Fi.'

Ashleigh pointed to Todd. 'And we can't meet at your disgusting student flat. Or go back to Uni.'

'Are you really afraid of that huge mob back at Uni baying for our blood?' said Todd.

'I don't know if I'm more afraid of angry Catholic protesters or reps from drug companies. And...' Ashleigh paused as the man in the tracksuit approached them. Out of habit, the three students cowered and braced themselves for a tongue-lashing.

But Tracksuit Man offered Ashleigh a business card. 'Perhaps, I can introduce myself?'

## * * * * *

Ashleigh dashed into the cinema toilets and checked that each cubicle was empty before returning to the door. 'OK, get in! Quick!' As Todd and Jordan stumbled in, their initial apprehension was overtaken by fascination at the cleanliness.

'I've never been into a women's toilet.' Jordan paused to consider his statement. 'Not sober anyway.'

Ashleigh peered around again, although she knew the toilets were empty. 'We should be safe in here while the movie's on... That guy out there in the tracksuit is probably another rep from another bloody pharmaceutical company.'

'Another rep?'

The three students spun around in sync, but only Ashleigh could close her jaw and speak. 'Holy crap! How did you get in here? And this is the ladies!'

Tracksuit Man studied his surroundings. 'And so it is.' He glared at Todd and Jordan. 'But at least I wouldn't get arrested for being here.' He slid a hand inside his jacket, extracted a badge, and presented it from a distance.

'FBI?' Jordan squinted.

'CIA?' Todd also strained his eyes.

'Way too many movies, lads.' The man shook his head. 'I am here to protect you.'

'Bullshit!'

'You don't believe me, Ashleigh, but–'

'How the hell do you know my name?!'

'–I am the good guy.'

'No, I don't believe you.'

Todd decided he could also be defiant. 'And I won't decide whether to believe you until you buy me a beer.'

'I need a pee.' Jordan rapidly became agitated when he couldn't find a urinal. Ashleigh coughed and pointed to a cubicle. 'Ah.' Jordan moved inside, locked the door and started peeing – very loudly.

Tracksuit Man continued. 'You are now being chased – some would say hunted – by drug companies for information.'

'What sort of information?' said Ashleigh timidly.

'The identity of that doctor ...'

'But we keep our sources confidential.'

'... and a sample of the drug so it can be replicated.'

'The doctor didn't tell us anything.'

The man paused. 'I don't think you realise what every single pharmaceutical company in the world would give for that information. Or what they would do if you don't give them that information.'

Ashleigh shuddered at the implied threat, but continued over the sound of Jordan peeing. 'We don't know anything more than what you've read in the papers and seen on YouTube.'

'You could lead me to the doctor.'

'We could, but we won't. Even if you buy him... ' She pointed at her friend. '... a beer.'

'Yeah,' said Todd.

They turned as the female patron with the umbrella entered the toilets.

Then, they all spun back towards the cubicle as Jordan flushed, opened the door, and zipped up. He glanced at Umbrella Woman and reddened a little. 'Who ..?'

'My colleague has explained about the pharmaceutical companies, but I'm here to tell you about the other enemy you've made.' Umbrella Woman briefly checked her hair in the mirror. 'The other extremely angry identity more powerful and potentially hateful than all of the world's drug companies combined.'

'My mother?'

The woman knew Jordan was someone she could and should ignore. 'The Vatican. And The Pope is really pissed off because he needs an afterlife. The fear of Hell keeps people in churches. It makes people give money to the Church. And it keeps people afraid. And the Catholic Church needs people to be afraid, so they go to church and give money.'

'But what can The Vatican do to us?' Ashleigh realised her voice had tightened to an insecure croak.

'Within a day, the media and, therefore, the people will turn completely against you – each of you. Murky secrets about your lives, your studies, will be unearthed. True or not, it doesn't matter. And the media will report, and the public will believe, that those two gangsters can't be trusted about a concept as important as the afterlife.' Umbrella Woman gazed menacingly at the three students in turn. 'You have no idea how far The Vatican will go to protect its business. And make no mistake, Catholicism is a business – one of the biggest, most powerful and ruthless on earth. Part of a mega-industry called religion. Your journalism careers will be ruined before they've even really started.'

'But could that really happen?' Ashleigh's voice was now barely a whisper. 'Can all the media turn against us?'

'The media will do whatever we tell them.' Umbrella Woman placed a business card on the basin, and indicated that Tracksuit Man should follow her out. The three students stared silently at the toilet door as it sluggishly clunked shut.

'I need popcorn.' Todd waited a moment before leaving.

'I need to pee again.' Jordan turned into the same cubicle and bolted the door.

'And wash your bloody hands this time!' Ashleigh picked up the business card left by the woman on the basin. The only word on it – RELIGION – was typed in an unusual font. Below, a telephone number and email address were listed, but Umbrella Woman's name was not. Ashleigh twirled the card and noticed subtle shading on the back that created a large R. She eyed Todd with exasperation as he entered hugging an enormous bowl of popcorn and a giant-sized cup of Coke.

Ashleigh then scrutinised the business card given to her by Tracksuit Man. In the same large but unusual font was also a single word: PHARMACEUTICALS. Underneath were more telephone and email details, but, again, no name. Angling the back of the card to catch light streaming through a window, she noticed the same subtle shading that formed a large P.

She jolted as Jordan exited the cubicle and placed an unwashed hand into Todd's bowl of popcorn.

Jordan smirked at Ashleigh with his popcorn-packed mouth. 'I didn't do a number one or two that time. But you may be interested to know that I set up this earlier on top of the cubicle door.' He slowly raised his other hand which clutched a video camera.

Chapter Six

Sunday

Located a few blocks from the University of Adelaide is Hindley Street. Despite efforts to beautify and gentrify, the lower end is still a dingy and, at night, seedy thoroughfare dotted with places with signs proclaiming "Asian Massage", "Karaoke Lounge" and, inevitably, "For Lease". Felafel stalls and kebab shops feed the nocturnal, while during the day a few city-workers trickle towards the bookshops and fast-food outlets.

Ashleigh thumped a rolled-up copy of The Sunday Mail into her palm. 'Todd, this is ridiculous!'

'You said we should meet somewhere safe. And the place you decided we should meet was that shit-house art-house Frenchy chick flick. So, it's my turn. And I also wanted to mix business with pleasure.'

'But did we have to meet in an adult sex shop?'

'You know, this place is up for sale.' Shuffling down an aisle within Club XOX, Todd was immediately intrigued by a mannequin dressed in black leather lingerie.

But Ashleigh was still seething. 'Are we working on the assumption that Doctor Olsson is telling the truth? That she and this group she's in have this drug and have used it?'

Todd picked up a whip and flexed it. 'I thought that doctor lady was nice, and honest. And I say that even if she hasn't bought me a beer.'

Jordan flicked through a selection of erotic DVDs before realising better offerings were online and free. 'Evidence does point to the fact that she and her group invented the Eternal Drug.'

Ashleigh shuddered as she peered around. 'But is it the first time they've used the drug?'

Jordan shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'Does anyone else have access to the drug?'

Jordan shivered as he accidentally fondled a vibrator. 'I don't know.'

'Why was this group's first experiment done on two gangsters?'

'I don't...' Jordan realised that he didn't care that he didn't know, so he inspected a G-Spot Link Sex Position Strap.

'And what is a Non-Believer anyway?' Ashleigh spun towards Todd who was trying to untangle the whip. 'Why don't any of you idiots know this?'

'You're the bloody interviewer!'

Ashleigh frowned, silently conceding the point. 'We need to speak to Doctor Olsson again.'

Todd sheepishly put the whip back as a sales assistant approached. 'Ash, everything's been quiet for a few days. And I don't think I'm being followed anymore.'

Jordan stopped fidgeting with an Anal Fantasy Ass Kicker with Cock-Ring. 'I hate to say it, but I think Toddles is right. That pharmaceutical rep guy with the cardigan at the bar must've found Doctor Olsson, got the drug...' He groaned. '... and we missed out on a paltry few billion in royalties.'

'... and free beers.' Todd seemed even more disconsolate than Jordan.

'Let's stop all this shit, Ash. Let's get back to reality and work out what the hell we're going to do for our investigation assignment.'

'... which is due in two bloody weeks,' added Todd in a sudden panic.

'But nothing makes any sense.'

'Give it up, Ash.'

Ashleigh opened the newspaper folded under her armpit. The major story on page 1 referred to The Vatican refuting the gangsters' claims. Underneath was the start of another article about the race between pharmaceutical companies to obtain the Eternal Drug. She flicked through several pages until she found another on page 9 with the headline "World Health Authorities Say Eternal Drug is Fantasy – And Will Be For Ever".

'Look at this,' she whispered, as some dubious clientele sauntered past. 'Our latest articles aren't on page one anymore. Our story is dead and our evidence has been ridiculed. And then there's all this muck The Sunday Mail has been writing about us.' Ashleigh pointed to an article on page 7 with the caption "Student Investigators of Eternal Drug Cheat in Uni Test". Next to it was a series of snapshots of the three of them scurrying out of an exam room. 'The stuff they write about us is no longer on page one either.' She turned to page 3. 'This story is all about the imminent death of the Prime Minister's mother, as if we bloody care.' She flicked over to page 5. 'And this is all about those nuns who ...'

'What's on pages two, four and six?'

Todd sniggered at Jordan. 'Ads, of course.'

Ashleigh stared at the headline on page 5: "Two Nuns Found Dead at Conference". She hurriedly scanned the story and read out some critical words. 'Two nuns ... suddenly dead... found by Doctor Mitchell.' She abruptly swivelled towards Jordan. 'Give me your camera.'

Jordan obediently unzipped his daypack, extracted the handy-cam, and passed it to Ashleigh. With a degree of expertise that impressed Jordan and baffled Todd, she pressed some keys and located footage taken several days before at the Morphettville Medical Centre. The three of them peered at the monitor, which showed film taken of the corridor and doors leading to the doctors' consulting rooms. Ashleigh paused and rewound the film before zooming into a door labelled "Doctor Mitchell".

'Could be a coincidence,' said Todd cautiously. 'Another Doctor Mitchell.'

Ashleigh handed the camera back to Jordan and continued skimming through the article in The Sunday Mail. 'Doctor Mitchell found the dead nuns in the ladies toilet ...'

Todd grinned. 'Men go into the ladies sometimes.'

'At a convent?'

'Admittedly, we haven't done that... yet.'

'Doctor Mitchell is obviously a woman, you idiots, and...' Ashleigh paused to scan the text more thoroughly. 'That's it!'

'What's it?' mumbled Todd and Jordan simultaneously.

'Doctor Olsson gave the Eternal Drug to the two gangsters so they could refute the existence of Hell. But no-one cares anymore. It's old news.'

'True.' Jordan nodded.

'And the media, and the public, no longer believe what the gangsters said anyway. They're now being treated as liars and cheats.' Ashleigh showed them an article on page 9 with the headline "Gangsters Who Claim Immortality Still Have to Pay Tax!". Underneath was a photo of Charlie and Dom in handcuffs being lead to a police car. 'These nuns died five days ago. And their funeral is this afternoon. We need to go to it.'

Jordan frowned. 'But there won't be any chicks there.'

'... or beer,' added Todd.

'But there will be two very honest people at the funeral who may also come back to life. And, if so, the nuns could refute the existence of Heaven.' Ashleigh rushed down the aisle towards the front door as Todd knocked over the S&M mannequin.

## * * * * *

The funeral was held in St Francis Xavier Cathedral, squeezed between various distastefully rectangular constructions flanking Victoria Square. Under the high-beamed ceilings and among the sandstone arches, hundreds of mourners were praying at the polished pews or mingling around the pulpit, altar and vestry. Light shone piously through a pane depicting the Crucifixion, and pinned to a column was a banner bearing the face of Mary MacKillop, a South Australian who is the country's only saint.

Young, agitated and clothed like university students on a Sunday, Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd appeared conspicuous and acted self-consciously as they slipped through a side-door. Jordan's bulky jacket concealed a smaller hand-held video camera, and Ashleigh clutched a digital voice-recorder.

While waiting in line to walk past both coffins, the three students nodded dutifully and smiled mournfully at others who continued to glare at them with disquiet. Eventually, they were allowed a moment to stand above the nuns' caskets. Jordan partially opened his jacket and pressed "start" on his camera.

Ashleigh nodded at Todd, who firmly shook his head. She then glared at Jordan, who whispered back angrily. 'No! This is your freaking idea!'

'Don't swear in a bloody church!' hissed Ashleigh. She checked for any potential witnesses before slowly poking one of the nuns in the stomach and then pinching the dead woman's cheeks. Ashleigh's jaw dropped as she shuffled across to prod and squeeze the other nun lying inside the second coffin.

Striding with indignation towards Ashleigh, the Mother Superior paused and glimpsed inside the two coffins. She immediately staggered back against a lectern, shrieked an obscenity, and sunk to the floor. As others rushed to her side they also peered into the caskets. While everyone else was screeching or kneeling on the ground to pray fervently, the three students retreated to a corner. Todd took advantage of the chaos to devour the tastiest treats spread along the food table. Jordan continued filming and Ashleigh took notes while the two nuns were gently lifted out of the coffins and on to their feet.

Ashleigh had to shout to Jordan above the pandemonium pulsating across the church. 'We need to talk to the nuns now!'

As Jordan stepped towards the coffins, he accidentally elbowed a couple of panicky priests in the ribs. Ashleigh moved closer to the two nuns with her voice-recorder hidden, but Todd thought it prudent to remain in the distant corner and try the jam-topped scones.

Visibly shaken and utterly mystified, the two nuns were positioned on to chairs and offered solace and succour by the panicky priests – the only guests not actually screaming, praying or collapsing to the floor.

'Excuse me. Did you see any lights when you were dead?'

'No.' The First Nun frowned with dismay about the bluntness of Ashleigh's question. 'I saw no lights.'

'Any tunnels?'

'No.' The Second Nun hesitated, clearly baffled by her own answer. 'No, um...'

'But you must've seen some angels.'

'I didn't.' The First Nun turned to her colleague. 'Did you?'

'No.'

Ashleigh leaned closer to ensure that her voice-recorder would capture their responses. 'You were both dead for five days. Did you see or hear anything?'

The nuns shook their heads and glanced at the Mother Superior, who was still swaying a little. The Second Nun was about to speak but noticed the Mother Superior gesticulating furiously at the priests.

Ashleigh elbowed her way closer to the First Nun. 'Is there a Heaven?'

'I don't–'

But both nuns were swiftly escorted out of the church by the two priests.

## * * * * *

At about 5pm, Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were squatting on their haunches among a dense row of prickly bushes. Todd was leering through binoculars while Jordan was fiddling about with his video camera, so the only one with any semblance of control was Ashleigh. 'OK. There they are.'

Todd followed Ashleigh's gaze. 'How can you tell? They all look the same to me.'

Ashleigh stood up from behind the bushes and scanned the convent gardens. Built in the 1900s, the grand two-storey buildings and expansive gardens still maintained a grace that no doubt elicited meditation and inspired contemplation. 'Come on.' But before moving, Ashleigh realised that Jordan was standing in the bushes with his back to them and legs wide, clearly emptying his bladder.

And Todd was motionless, intently staring through binoculars at rooms along the second floor. 'Did you know that nuns don't wear anything when they–' Ashleigh slapped Todd across the back of his head. 'Ow! That hurt.'

'Good.' She raised her arm towards the binoculars. 'Put that away!' She then pointed at Jordan's crotch as he finished peeing. '... and that!'

As the two nuns continued strolling across the lush lawn, Jordan furtively opened his camera, Ashleigh checked her microphone, and Todd extracted his pen and notepad.

'Excuse me!' Ashleigh bellowed and waved as ardently as she dared in the hallowed confines of the convent. 'We have to ask you some more questions.'

The two nuns jolted and glanced uneasily at the recording equipment aimed towards them.

'You were the ones at our funeral this morning.' The First Nun spoke agreeably.

'Yes.'

'You poke hard.' But there was rancour in the Second Nun's voice.

'And I've got bruises all over.' The First Nun rubbed her shoulder gingerly.

'Sorry about that,' said Ashleigh, although even Todd could tell that she wasn't. 'Look. You said that while you were dead you saw no lights.'

The First Nun's habit quivered as she shook her head. 'No. I said there were no flights.'

'No, you did not. You said you saw no lights. And no tunnels.'

Both nuns peered further along the path towards the Mother Superior waiting at a distant door.

'We've got nothing to say,' mumbled the Second Nun. 'We have to go.'

'Did you see angels?'

The First Nun was almost inaudible. 'Angels always beckon the Blessed to Heaven.'

'But did you go to Heaven?'

Ashleigh's question forced the First Nun to stop mid-stride. 'I, uh... um...'

'How do you know there are angels and a Heaven? You are the only two people in the world ever to know if there are angels and a Heaven. But you said you didn't see or feel anything.'

During the fleeting silence, the two nuns and three students gazed fearfully at the Mother Superior as she began marching towards them.

Ashleigh continued with some urgency. 'And now you're lying. Is that part of your faith?' The two nuns glanced at each other before striding towards the Mother Superior. 'You don't know, but you two are on film. In two scenes and at two different places, each time contradicting yourselves.' The nuns remained silent as Ashleigh paced purposefully beside them. 'You said you saw nothing in the afterlife. Does that mean there is no Heaven?'

The First Nun murmured something that no-one could hear.

'Pardon?' Ashleigh shifted her microphone closer. 'What did you say?'

Now almost sobbing, the nuns scuttled past the Mother Superior and entered a darkened room within the convent.

The Mother Superior advanced towards the three students and crossed her arms. 'What they said at the funeral ... Well, they we were very distraught. Obviously confused about telling the truth. But now they're–'

'–obviously pressured into lying.' Ashleigh let the accusation hang in the air as the Mother Superior swivelled back towards the darkened room.
Chapter Seven

Monday

Adelaide's only tram commences near the beach at Glenelg and hurtles to the city along a diagonal track through the western suburbs. Ashleigh boarded at Stop 12 adjacent to the Morphettville Racecourse, an obscenely vast and sparingly-used area of grass and buildings where people gamble on horses running around in circles while being beaten with sticks by starved little men.

The tram wasn't too crowded, so she managed to find a seat in the front carriage. Placing an iPad on her lap and an earpiece in her ear, she peered around nervously at the other passengers; a few returned her suspicious glances. She opened a folder marked "ED", and scrolled down a long list of titles. She chose one which contained the complete unedited footage taken by Jordan at the nuns' funeral.

As the tram rattled through a major intersection about fifteen minutes later she gasped. After inhaling deeply, she skilfully rewound, replayed and cropped the footage. As she brought the iPad closer to her face, she again gasped and glanced around at the passengers clinging to poles and herded around doors.

Stop 3 serves the Royal Adelaide Showgrounds, another ridiculously vast area of grass and buildings rarely used. Gawking at the latest version of the Samsung Tablet glued to his hands, Jordan almost tripped as he entered the first carriage and searched for Ashleigh. He removed the daypack she'd dumped on a spare seat to the dismay of the grumpy commuters huddled nearby.

But neither had noticed four suspicious people in raincoats following Jordan into the carriage. While searching for positions as close as possible to Jordan and Ashleigh, the four glanced uneasily at another four suspicious people in raincoats who'd been following Ashleigh, unbeknownst to her.

'Check this out.' Ashleigh positioned her iPad closer to Jordan as she replayed the footage she had just cropped. It showed Dr Olsson in a wig, trying to look inconspicuous at the nuns' funeral.

Jordan found it difficult to be too aghast before 10am. 'What the hell is she doing there?'

'I don't know.' As the footage continued, it showed Dr Olsson talking earnestly with another woman. 'And I bet that is Doctor Mitchell.'

'OK, check this out.' Jordan pressed some keys on his tablet. 'This is a snippet from the original footage I took of the nuns at the convent yesterday.' He swivelled around a little but failed to notice the eight suspicious people in raincoats leaning menacingly within earshot. He inserted a wire into the device and offered one of the two earplugs to Ashleigh so they could both watch and listen to the clip.

'You said you saw nothing in the afterlife. Does that mean there is no Heaven?'

'Pardon? What did you say?'

'And this...' Jordan pressed "pause", glanced around nervously once more, and whispered. '... is the same clip but with audio enhancement.' He opened another video file and pressed "play". It was the identical fragment of footage – except that the nun's previously-inaudible mumble had been boosted with editing software and subtitles added of what the nun had said.

'You said you saw nothing in the afterlife. Does that mean there is no Heaven?'

'I don't think there is a Heaven.'

'Pardon? What did you say?'

'Holy shit!' Ashleigh's response attracted the attention of most people in the carriage, particularly the eight suspicious people in raincoats clutching poles and trying to remain inconspicuous.

The tram screeched to a halt at Pirie Street, not far from a mass of student accommodation around the Central Market. With The Advertiser folded under his smelly armpit, Todd entered the front carriage and searched for Jordan and Ashleigh. But neither Todd, nor his two accomplices, noticed another four suspicious people in raincoats entering the carriage and glancing uneasily at the other eight already there.

'You got on for one stop?' Ashleigh couldn't find the energy to scowl before coffee.

Todd shrugged and slid Jordan's feet off of the opposite seat.

Jordan twisted his head in both directions. 'Did you see the clips from the funeral and convent I posted on YouTube last night?'

Todd nodded and matched Jordan's whisper. 'Doctor Olsson and Doctor Mitchell saw the clips too. They rang me. They want another interview with us on camera – and with no shadowed faces or fuzzy voices this time.'

Todd unfolded the newspaper and scanned the front-page article about the continual and acrimonious race between major international pharmaceutical companies for the rights to the Eternal Drug. Once more, Ashleigh took out the two business cards from her top pocket and stared uncomprehendingly at the letters R and P on the back.

The tram continues to the Adelaide Entertainment Centre, yet another vast area of buildings (but no grass) seldom used, but they alighted at Rundle Mall, the city's major shopping and business precinct. As Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd gathered their daypacks and shuffled out of the door towards the university along North Terrace, they didn't notice among the masses twelve suspicious people in raincoats glancing at each other before dispersing indecisively along Hindley Street, Rundle Mall and King William Street.

## * * * * *

Inside one particularly soulless tutorial room that they always found difficult to locate, Ashleigh and Todd were restlessly scanning newspapers and iPads – mainly to avoid the glares and whispers from the other 15 students. Leggy Bargirl marched in and plonked that day's edition of The Australian in front of Todd before sitting at a distant table with her fellow students.

Ashleigh and Todd studied the front-page headline – "Todd the University Detective is Oh-So Defective: More Lies, Sleaze, Drugs and Bad Hair". They glanced over the paparazzi-style photos across pages 2 and 3 which showed the three of them fleeing from the media. Ashleigh and Todd turned towards the clamour as photographers continued jostling with onlookers for prime positions outside the windows that the other students refused to shield with the undrawn curtains.

'You know, the ones outside in the raincoats look a tad familiar,' said Todd.

'The media bashing has started big time,' whispered Ashleigh. 'That woman with the umbrella at the cinema toilets said the media will do whatever they tell them to do.' She skimmed the lengthy article in The Australian. 'And look what they said about you.'

Todd examined the photo which emphasised his untidy hair. 'Yeah. Have you got a comb?'

The other students in the tutorial room were even more disgruntled when Jordan strolled in. The photographers outside the window intensified their snapping as Jordan neatened his hair and sat next to Todd, who snatched his colleague's comb.

Jordan thumped a fist on The Australian. 'We're now in every bloody paper and on every TV show and website. But not in a good way. Whatever reputations we had ...' He lowered his head into his hands.

Ashleigh glanced at Jordan's feet. 'Where's your daypack?'

'Stolen from the toilets a few minutes ago.'

Todd audibly gasped. 'But what about the film?'

'Don't worry. All the footage I took is stored on memory cards and kept in safe places. And a copy of everything is in cloud-space and on YouTube.'

'So, who took your bag?' Ashleigh raised the newspaper to offer them some pretence of privacy.

Jordan lifted his shoulders. 'I didn't see. I was focusing on the job in hand.'

'Did the nuns take it?' said Todd.

'From the men's toilet?' Ashleigh sneered.

'Or maybe it was that pharmaceutical rep guy with the cardigan from the bar? Or those two people at the ladies toilets at the cinema? Or, maybe, one of those lot?' Todd raised his arm towards another window. Outside, about 30 people, some familiar-looking and wearing raincoats, chanted slogans and waved placards indicating that they were enraged members and supporters of the University Students' Catholic Club. 'Or, maybe, those two doctor-scientist non-believer ladies took your bag.'

Ashleigh slowly breathed out. 'It has occurred to me that we haven't focused enough of our attention and investigation on Doctors Olsson and Mitchell. It's possible they killed the two gangsters.'

Jordan pursed his lips. 'But can anyone be arrested for murder if the person didn't actually die?'

## * * * * *

Adelaide was designed and built in the mid-19th century around the River Torrens. Compared to other city waterways around Australia, such as the Swan River in Perth and the Derwent in Hobart, the Torrens is an unimposing creek that can be actually drained to clear it of rubbish. But much of the Torrens is lined with pleasing greenery and sporting facilities as it leads into Elder Park.

A customary ritual among tourists, especially the young and young at heart, is a 40-minute trip along the river aboard Popeye, a whitewashed boat that cruises from Elder Park to the zoo and golf course. Passengers were waiting opposite the waterfall that drapes off a $40-million bridge linking the brash, new and spherical Adelaide Oval complex with the bland, old and angular Festival Theatre centre.

But Ashleigh wasn't a tourist; nor did she believe she was young or even young at heart. 'And you thought this would be a good place to meet?'

Jordan smirked. 'It was my turn to choose. Like Toddles, I am also mixing business with pleasure.' As they waited with other passengers, Jordan threw a line into the water – although no fish had lived, or probably been able to survive, in the river for decades. 'And no-one would ever find us here.' They swivelled around towards the unexpected whirring of a speedboat careering in their direction. '... except maybe those two people.'

The speedboat darted around a flock of black swans before decelerating at the river's edge. The three students were too dumbfounded to move. The line of tourists waiting to board Popeye stared open-mouthed; several children dropped their ice-creams in shock and began bawling.

Ashleigh swiftly activated her digital voice-recorder as the two people disembarked and approached. 'Isn't this all a bit overdramatic?'

Dr Olsson pointed at Todd. 'He said we could mix business with pleasure.'

Dr Mitchell nodded towards Jordan. 'And we heard your video camera was stolen.'

'What?' Jordan dropped his fishing reel into the water. 'How did you know that?'

Dr Olsson unzipped the daypack across her shoulder and passed a new handy-cam to Jordan. He was impressed. 'Shit. It's the latest model.'

Dr Mitchell gave Ashleigh a device barely the size of a thumbnail. Ashleigh immediately understood its purpose, offered a thin smile, and placed it inside her bra – which gave Todd and Jordan an excuse to legitimately stare at her cleavage.

'These are tokens of our thanks for what you've all done to help the group,' said Dr Mitchell.

'But we don't share your beliefs.' Ashleigh was guarded.

'Yeah.' Todd had to momentarily holler as Popeye arrived. 'We are non-non-believers.'

'Does that make us believers?' Jordan checked that the battery in his new handy-cam had been charged and opened the monitor screen. He raised his arm to indicate that they should all move under the trees and away from Popeye.

Ashleigh turned on her digital voice-recorder and pointed it at Dr Olsson. 'You treated the two gangsters. You signed both their death certificates. And you injected the drug into them.' She turned towards Dr Mitchell. 'And you did the same to the nuns. Why? What are your motives?'

Dr Mitchell paused. 'Isn't it obvious?'

'Sure.' Ashleigh was far from certain, however. 'But not to these dimwits.' She waved an arm in the direction of Todd taking notes and Jordan holding the camera.

'We are atheists,' explained Dr Mitchell. 'We don't believe in religion – any religion. We don't believe in god with a capital "g" or any other god. And we will never accept that any god created the world.'

'We also do not believe in an afterlife,' added Dr Olsson. 'There is no heaven or hell. And certainly not with a capital "h".'

'Oh.' Todd scribbled out several words on his notepad.

'And now we have proved it.'

'... by injecting your drug to dead people, so they come back to life and explain what they saw or heard or felt. Or didn't.'

Dr Mitchell was pleased. 'Well done, Ashleigh.'

'And that's why you were at the nuns' funeral. To give them the drug, too.'

Dr Olsson sighed. 'The whole thing took longer than we thought. No-one ended up believing the gangsters and what they said about hell. So, we found some nuns. Everyone has to believe a nun if she says there is no heaven.'

'In our last interview with you, Doctor Olsson, you implied that you'd seen Charlie Harper twice as a patient about the drug. And when I asked you...' Ashleigh turned to Dr Mitchell '... about when Dom Futura got the drug, you said the "first one". But you didn't say–'

En masse, they and the Popeye passengers turned abruptly as another speedboat advanced from the weir to the south.

## * * * * *

Less than an hour later, Ashleigh, Todd and Jordan were assembled in a detention room on the top floor of a nondescript windowless building along a deserted side-street of North Adelaide. The room contained nothing more than three chairs, one table and a mirror. They were miserable, fearful and still soaked by spray caused by the second speedboat.

But Jordan also had something else on his mind. 'I'm dying for a pee.'

Ashleigh glared at him. 'Should a twenty year old have prostate problems?'

Jordan remained silent – mainly because he wasn't sure what Ashleigh was talking about. The three of them spun around as a man with a crew cut and permanent scowl marched in. He glanced at Ashleigh admiringly as she adjusted something inside her bra – which also gave Todd and Jordan another excuse to peep at her cleavage.

The man unsealed a folder and scanned a document. 'According to our records, Jordan is twenty one. And his prostate is fine.'

Todd tried unsuccessfully to be defiant. 'What do you want? And who are you?'

The man grinned momentarily. 'You are meant to say it the other way around.'

Jordan leaned down towards his daypack.

'Don't bother,' said the man.

Jordan checked the contents and groaned. 'Did you steal my other video camera too?'

'Your films are of great use.'

'To who?' Ashleigh slipped a hand inside her jacket slung over a chair.

'We also took your voice-recorder.' The man turned to Todd. 'And your pen and notepad.'

Todd patted down his numerous trouser side-pockets and growled.

'You didn't answer my question,' said Ashleigh.

'And you can answer mine in any order you want,' added Todd.

'I work for the government.' As the man passed Ashleigh his business card, she immediately recognised the unusual font of the single word – GOVERNMENT – and the large G covering the back.

'FBI?' Todd was excited.

'CIA?' Jordan was worried.

'I am the Prime Minister's Special Envoy.'

'Like in the movies?' said Todd.

'Exactly.'

Todd and Jordan sneered and mouthed the words "I told you" to Ashleigh.

But she ignored them. 'What do you want with us? And what did you do with Doctor Olsson and Doctor Mitchell?'

'They are unharmed. But they aren't co-operating as much as we'd like.'

'Co-operating about what? The drug? We don't know anything about it.' Ashleigh crossed her arms.

Special Envoy grinned menacingly. 'But under some duress one of the doctors did claim that you do know something, but they wouldn't elaborate ... What we want is simple: the formula for the Eternal Drug. Or at least a sample so we can replicate it.'

'We?' Ashleigh glanced at the mirror again with dwindling confidence.

'The Prime Minister only wants the Eternal Drug for personal use. He doesn't want to sell it and make billions of dollars. He already has billions. But those two women won't help us.'

'But why does he want the drug?' Todd followed Ashleigh's gaze towards the mirror and shuddered.

'I know,' said Ashleigh. 'I read about it. The Prime Minister's mother is on death's door.'

'In fact, the PM's mother died yesterday, but it hasn't been announced publicly yet.'

'And you want the drug to bring his mother back to life.'

Special Envoy spread his hands in an attempt at being conciliatory. 'Is that such a bad thing?'

'But why should only she get the drug?'

'That, Ashleigh, is the moral high ground those two doctors are claiming ... We'll no doubt have to use more persuasive methods with you three as well.'

Todd gulped. 'What methods?'

Ashleigh continued. 'Would you allow the rest of the world access to this drug?'

Special Envoy involuntarily trembled. 'No, of course not.'

Jordan decided to be more gracious and courteous with Special Envoy. 'How persuasive are, um, those methods you mentioned, sir?'

'Will you let other people with deceased family members and friends use the drug?'

Special Envoy shook his head decisively. 'Ashleigh, we cannot possibly let every dead person come back to life. No country on earth could remotely cope with a system where people never die. It can never be allowed to happen.'

'... except if you're the mother of someone very rich and very powerful,' mumbled Ashleigh.

'Sir, envoy person, sir.' Todd decided to join Jordan's obsequious pleas. 'I would tell you everything I know, but I never remember anything.'

'The world is tough.' Special Envoy stared at Ashleigh. 'And unfair.'

'I am aware of that.' Ashleigh returned his stare but still involuntarily gulped.

'And I remember even less, sir, than him.' Jordan pointed at Todd.

Special Envoy glared at the three students in turn. 'So, will you help us?'

'We wouldn't if we could, which we can't, so we won't.' Ashleigh crossed her arms.

Special Envoy's forehead creased. 'Does that mean no?'

'Yes, that means no.'

'I see.' Special Envoy pursed his lips before striding out of the detention room.

Jordan whispered to Ashleigh. 'What was that stuff he said about the doctors claiming we know something about the formula?'

'I'm not sure.' Ashleigh glanced at the mirror; she had assumed from the very beginning that others, now including Special Envoy, were watching and listening. So, she casually turned her back to the mirror and reached into her bra to extract the thumbnail-sized recording device given to her by Dr Mitchell. Ashleigh squinted at the miniscule screen on the device, which indicated that two recordings had been made. She lifted the device to her ear and listened to snippets of the conversation just concluded with Special Envoy. Ashleigh then wordlessly instructed Todd and Jordan to huddle and listen.

'Will you let other people with deceased family members and friends use the drug?'

'Ashleigh, we cannot possibly let every dead person come back to life. No country on earth could remotely cope with a system where people never die. It can never be allowed to happen.'

As Special Envoy stormed back into the room, Ashleigh urgently checked the miniature screen on the device and pressed several tiny buttons.

Special Envoy snatched the device from Ashleigh's palm but gazed at it helplessly as the screen indicated that the two recordings were "being sent". 'Shit!' The screen promptly indicated that both recordings had "been sent". 'What have you done?'

Ashleigh grinned for the first time since their detention. 'The world will be able to listen to our little chat – all of it, in fact – online in about ... ' She lifted an arm to check her watch. '... now.'

'What?' Special Envoy frantically pressed all the tiny buttons on the device before squinting at the instruction on the screen which read "now deleted". 'What was that other recording? Did you send that too?'

Ashleigh shrugged. 'It was already on the device when the doctors gave it to me. But I'm guessing it's the formula for the Eternal Drug.'

'Holy shit!' He glanced at the mirror with dread. 'You have no idea what you have just done.' He thundered back towards the door. 'Now the entire world can access the Eternal Drug. No-one will ever die!'

'Poor people will. They'll never be able to afford the Eternal Drug. They can't afford any medicines now. They'll still die in the millions from malaria and small pox and other preventable diseases that cost a pittance to prevent.'

'Piss off. All of you.'

Chapter Eight

Tuesday

The City of Adelaide is encircled by superb parklands and dotted with squares of greenery and serenity. And in the adjoining suburb of North Adelaide, stately century-old buildings, such as the abandoned Primitive Methodist Church, line the street leading to Wellington Square. But this colonial splendour does not extend, however, to the offices and studios of Channel Nine, one of the city's three commercial television stations.

Inside an undersized room with no windows or natural air, Ashleigh and Jordan were slumped in chairs waiting for their faces to be caked with makeup; the former far more comfortable with the idea than the latter. Todd was pacing about restlessly, steadfastly refusing to be anywhere near makeup unless it had already been applied to the face of some "hot chick".

Along one wall a television silently showed the live broadcast of the TV show they were about to appear on from an adjacent studio. On another wall, several smaller muted screens displayed national and international 24-hour news channels. One of these, Sky News, featured a report about potentially violent clashes outside morgues across Australia, Europe and North America between protesters and police. Hundreds of enraged demonstrators holding placards with slogans such as "We Want the Eternal Drug" and "Give the Drug to Everyone!" were ramming against armoured police.

Ashleigh lifted herself from the makeup chair and sat at a table scattered with the latest glossy fashion and women's magazines. From a hidden pocket within her jeans, she extracted the business cards she'd received from Tracksuit Man, Umbrella Woman and Special Envoy. She laid the cards across the table so the vivid lights overhead could highlight the three oversized letters on the back: P, R and G.

Todd picked up a bottle of lotion. 'Why do women put on all this crap?'

'I don't.'

'You'll be plastering this stuff all over your face, Ash, when you get to her age.' Todd nodded towards the largest screen which showed the TV host dancing seductively but incompetently with a flustered guest.

Propped up by an elbow on the armrest, Jordan watched a muted report on ABC News 24 about cardinals and priests from Catholic churches across the world being pursued by paparazzi. 'Who watches TV at this God-awful hour anyway?' Jordan glanced at the wall clock which read 7.17. 'People working or going to school are now rushing about like headless chickens, so the only people who have any time in the mornings to watch crap on TV are on welfare or at Uni. And we're all normally still in bed at this God-awful ...'

Jordan's jaw plummeted as two drop-dead gorgeous makeup artists – one blonde and buxom, the other Asian and petite – sauntered into the room. Todd scurried into the spare makeup chair as Ashleigh peered at another muted screen with a report about mergers and bankruptcies of pharmaceutical companies seeking access to the Eternal Drug. She then shuffled the three business cards along the table and frowned once more.

Todd stopped leering at Buxom Makeup Girl for a nanosecond and squinted at the cards. 'I've got one of those.'

'One of what?'

'One of those, um...' Todd could sense Ashleigh's impending vitriol.

'What?! Show me!'

Todd reluctantly lumbered out the makeup chair and extracted from his back pocket a business card, which Ashleigh snatched. Although crumpled, stained and wet, she could still determine the singular word – UNILATERALISM – in the unusual font above a telephone number and email address. But, again, no name was listed. Similarly, a substantial letter U was apparent on the back of the card despite damage caused by Todd's backside and yesterday's speedboat spray.

Ashleigh furiously waved the card. 'When the hell did you get this?'

Todd swiftly returned to the relative safety of the makeup chair and the sweet fragrance of Buxom Makeup Girl. 'Um, at the bar on, ah, Thursday. From that guy we met before. The one with the cardigan who kept buying us drinks. He came into the bar again.'

'Why did you talk to him?'

'Because he kept buying me drinks.'

'Why the hell didn't you tell me?'

Todd couldn't really fake shame while his face was being plied with powder. 'He made me swear to secrecy sometime between my third and fourth beer.'

'What did you tell him?'

'Ash, you know I can't remember anything I say or do after four beers.'

'Well, what did he talk about?'

'I don't know. Weapons. Military stuff ... I can't remember.'

'Bloody well remember!'

Todd couldn't really scratch his head while being coated with rouge. 'OK. He did go on and on about wars in Africa. And how they used to be about "-isms" like communism and fascism, but are now caused by diamonds and oil and stuff they put in mobile phones. Jeez, he even made me feel guilty. For a minute, anyway.'

Ashleigh stared at the card and mumbled to herself. 'Unilateralism.'

'What's that mean?' asked Jordan.

Asian Makeup Girl casually answered as she tried combing out the tangles in Jordan's hair. 'Unilateralism is a doctrine whereby nations work alone, usually without consultation with other countries, and often against the desires and interests of their citizens.' Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd stared at the woman, who glared back. 'You think I'm stupid just because I work in makeup? I have an MBA, you know.'

Jordan twisted around in the chair and peered up to Asian Makeup Girl. 'I think I'm in love.'

Todd couldn't really nod while being streaked with mascara. 'I remember something else. When that dude gave me his card, he explained that his division had to start with the letter "u". I was going to ask him why, but...'

'... your glass was empty, right?' On the table, Ashleigh placed the four cards showing the letters P, R, U and G.

Todd glanced to his left. 'PRUG?'

'These four letters have to mean something. They have to make a word. Why else would this guy's division...' Ashleigh held up the newest business card. '... have to start with a "u"?' She arranged the cards in a different order.

Jordan whispered to Asian Makeup Girl. 'Does PURG mean anything?' As she shook her head, Jordan indicated that his sideburns needed trimming.

Ashleigh continued, almost to herself. 'The four people are definitely linked. The business cards are almost identical. And the first three digits of each telephone number indicate that they most probably share the same office. Although the email addresses are all different.'

Jordan tried to impress Asian Makeup Girl, but she growled softly whenever he spoke and moved. 'But who or what runs that office?'

'Well, if we add an "e", we get the word PURGE. That guy who gave us this card...' Ashleigh pointed to the one with the letter R. '... said Catholicism was a business in one of the largest industries on earth: religion. And these are all major industries, too.' She pointed to each card. 'Pharmaceuticals. Unilateralism, which really means war. And government. But they must all be under the control of something or someone ... So, what other obscenely powerful and rich industry starts with an "e" to make PURGE?'

Todd couldn't really speak while being glazed with lip gloss. 'Environment?'

'Nah.' Ashleigh shook her makeup-free face. 'No-one becomes obscenely rich and powerful by saving the environment.'

'They do by destroying it.' Jordan grimaced as his hair continued to be untangled. 'Logging. Mining for coal. Oil.'

Ashleigh thumped the table. 'That's it!'

Asian Makeup Girl winked at Jordan, who winked back although he didn't have a clue what she and Ashleigh had both realised.

Neither did Todd. 'What is it?'

On her iPad, Ashleigh found and watched unedited footage from previous interviews of the two doctors. She then nodded with satisfaction and played a snippet of the footage to Todd and Jordan.

'Are you part of some organisation?'

'Yes.'

'And the name is ..?'

'The group.'

Todd and Jordan glanced at each other and shrugged. Ashleigh exhaled noisily, picked up a tube of lipstick, and took some blank paper from a printer. She sat down and scrawled a large O in the middle of the page with a bright shade of "Heavenly Passion". 'It's obvious. O is for "oil", which is one of the biggest, most powerful and corrupt industries on earth.' As she continued to explain, Ashleigh placed the two business cards with the letters G and R to the left of the O on the blank page. 'These are the five biggest industries on the planet. G for Government. R for Religion. Then, there's Oil.' She positioned the other two business cards with the U and P to the right of the O. 'Unilateralism, which is another word for war. And there's Pharmaceuticals. And all of these divisions are under the control of–'

'–a group called GROUP?' Todd's face was now fully caked and daubed, so he could speak properly.

Asian Makeup Girl broke the confused silence. 'The owner of this TV station is part of a group called GROUP.'

'What?' Ashleigh spun around. 'How do you know that?'

Asian Makeup Girl shrugged. 'He tells me stuff when we shag.' Jordan gaped at her with abject disappointment. 'To get anywhere in the TV business,' she mumbled glumly, 'you need more than an MBA.'

## * * * * *

In the TV studio a woman with copious makeup that could not conceal her wrinkles and droopy chin was perched daintily on the edge of a velvet chair under a sign that read Dawn at Dawn. Seated beside her was a man with a smile for which dentists charged him over $17,000. Cameras were primed as an associate producer counted down with fingers to indicate that the show was about to re-commence after an extended break of puerile advertisements.

'Welcome back to Dawn at Dawn.' The audience applauded as instructed by another associate producer. 'Joining me now is Layne...' She swivelled in the chair towards her co-host. '... our political reporter.'

Most of the audience were women and adored his $17,000 smile and football physique, so they whistled and cheered.

'Thanks, Dawn.' Layne displayed his rows of pearly-whites. 'Lovely to be here again. We have so much to cover this morning and...' He paused to beam once more. '... uncover.'

The audience cooed as one. 'Ooohhh.'

'Indeed.' Dawn tried unsuccessfully to match Layne's grin. 'So, please welcome our guests, Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd.'

To polite applause as instructed by a third associate producer, the three students strolled uncertainly on to the set and squeezed onto a couch facing the two hosts.

Dawn spun towards the camera with the red light. 'As we all know, these journalism students have hogged the headlines across the world recently because of their investigation into the Eternal Drug.' She turned towards her three guests. 'You must be delighted to be here.'

'We must be.' Jordan made little effort to control his sarcasm.

Ashleigh also couldn't hide her distaste. 'I hate these sorts of shows.'

But Todd leered at Dawn. 'Well, I am so very, very happy to be here.'

Dawn shuddered slightly before turning back to the camera. 'I am sure everyone has read all the reports, seen the film clips, and heard about the most recent voice recordings.' She raised an arm towards Ashleigh. 'But it's time to be honest now, dear. It's all a pack of lies, isn't it?'

'What? No!'

The audience jeered on command. 'Boooooo...'

Dawn had to speak above the audience's reactions. 'Why should anyone believe you?'

Ashleigh sneered. 'Why should anyone believe you?'

'... boooooo...'

Ashleigh had to almost shout. 'Look at that previous story we had to watch before all those stupid ads. How do we know that the things you said really happened?'

Dawn snorted with derision. 'Because this is a reputable show.'

The audience cheered and applauded.

'Ha!' Ashleigh sneered again.

'... boooooo...'

'You're not a journalist, are you, dear?'

'Are you?' Ashleigh knew the answer, so she didn't wait. 'How did you get a cushy job hosting this crappy show? Was it despite your bottled blond hair and Botox boobs?'

The audience gasped with disbelief as Dawn gulped. 'Time now to introduce you three to Layne...' Dawn turned to her co-host. '... who is a journalist.'

The women in the audience again whooped and whistled.

Layne addressed Ashleigh with a condescending tone. 'So, what proof do you have to back up these allegations about there being no Heaven or Hell? Or proof for your ridiculous stories about people coming back to life after being injected with this Eternal Drug?'

'But you've seen the proof. There's film clips–'

'–of two old men making preposterous claims. But no-one believes them. They are gangsters, knee-deep in racketeering, gambling and child-care centres. They lie and cheat. It's what they do. And they do it well.'

'... yeah... so well... they're crims...'

Grinning extravagantly at the audience's reactions, Layne turned to a screen that showed footage of Charlie and Dom being arrested by police. 'These men haven't been totally honest with the tax department, have they?'

The audience chuckled and cackled.

Jordan sneered at Layne. 'Have you?' Jordan turned to Todd. 'Make a note to investigate Layne's income tax records for the past ten years.'

'... boooooo ...'

Todd opened a notepad and pretended to take notes as Layne looked on uneasily.

Ashleigh continued to argue her case. 'And that nun said–'

'–what exactly?' Layne sniggered patronisingly. 'All I've seen is a clip with a digitally-altered voice that any nerd can create...' He glanced at Jordan. '... after they've illegally downloaded the editing software.'

'... ha... so wrong... such nerds... '

Jordan was forced to shout. 'And you've never illegally downloaded anything?' He again turned to Todd. 'Make a note to check.'

'... boooooo...' But the audience's reactions were now less convincing.

Layne glanced at Todd with subdued alarm. 'And the third lie is that you apparently met someone who claims to be the Prime Minister's Special Envoy.'

'I've got his business card.' Ashleigh searched for the evidence in her secret jean pocket.

'But he does not exist.' Layne shook his head with well-practised exaggeration as the audience continued with a combination of boos and jeers. 'And the Prime Minister doesn't even have a special envoy.'

'What?' Ashleigh glared at Layne. 'But...' She glanced at Jordan and Todd, who both shrugged.

'And, sadly,' added Dawn, 'the Prime Minister doesn't have a mother anymore either.'

'... aaahhh ... so sad ... a shame...'

Layne waited for the audience's responses to subside. 'And, of course, that doctor ...'

Ashleigh was aghast. 'But you saw the video clip!'

'... with the shadowed face and fuzzy voice? Lie number four, wasn't it? It could've been anyone.'

'... yeah... right... anyone...'

Dawn smirked at Ashleigh with unrepressed disdain. 'I suspect the doctor was really just one of your silly little classmates on your silly little journalism course at your silly little university.'

Layne offered an extended sigh. 'You must've learnt in Legal 101 that none of your apparent evidence would ever stand up in any court.'

'... yeah... of course ... no way ...'

'It's all just a hoax, isn't it? For...'

'... boooooo...'

'... glory, fame and money. Just a desperate attempt to get something, anything, to include in–'

'–your silly little university assignment,' added Dawn.

'... ha... yeah... so true...'

Jordan stood defiantly. 'Piss off. We had more–'

'–film of the doctors?' Layne snorted. 'So you say. But that was apparently taken from you, wasn't it, by this mysterious envoy?'

Ashleigh also stood. 'Yes, it was!'

'... no... it wasn't ... couldn't have ...'

Layne continued with confidence that a $17,000 smile and $200,000 annual salary could provide. 'And those two recordings you recently posted online. One is an apparent conversation with this special envoy–'

'–who doesn't exist,' added his co-host.

'... yeah... made up... no such person...'

'–and the other recording you claim is the formula for the Eternal Drug, but is just a list of numbers.'

'Which none of our experts can decode.' Dawn sniggered.

'... no way ... can't decode ... means nothing ...'

'Gangsters. Nuns. Resurrections. Eternal Drug. Mysterious envoy.' Layne offered the most perfect grin that $17,000 could ever buy. 'Sounds like the plot of some silly book.'

'A very silly little book that people would be crazy to read.'

The audience cackled, clapped and cheered as a fourth associate producer counted down with his fingers to another ad break.

## * * * * *

While the front of Channel Nine is well-tended and reasonably welcoming, the grubby lane running past the rear of the building is not. As Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd were shoved out the back door of the studios, they stumbled past overturned rubbish bins and peered back helplessly as the door slammed shut.

Jordan booted one of the bins. 'What just happened in there?'

Ashleigh shook her head. 'We were sucked in ...'

'... chewed up ...' added Todd.

'... and spat out,' finished Jordan.

'That's journalism, I suppose.' Todd shrugged.

The students trudged towards Wellington Square. They felt utterly dejected, and Ashleigh couldn't even find the energy to giggle at Todd and Jordan's faces still encrusted with makeup.

'So, that makeup chick would've shagged me if I was her boss?' Jordan spread out his arms. 'Is that how to get some action?'

Ashleigh scoffed. 'You could try being sincere, well-groomed, happy, funny, kind ...'

Jordan paused to consider these options before turning to Todd. 'What sort of business should I set up?'

Ashleigh slumped onto a park bench, which was clearly retained for reasons of history, not comfort. 'What are we going to do? No-one believes us anymore. Everyone – the media, the public – has turned against us. And nothing's been resolved.'

Todd slouched beside her. 'And in one week our silly little assignment is due.'

'We can't just give up.' Ashleigh paused before making a decision. 'OK. We need to do three things.'

'That's handy, cos there's three of us,' said Jordan.

Ashleigh turned to Todd. 'You ring Kathy and find Doctor Olsson and Doctor Mitchell.' She swivelled towards Jordan. 'You're the nerd. Work out what those numbers mean from that recording the doctors gave us. See if it really is some kind of code. And I'll find that special envoy guy.'

'But how?' Jordan was unsure if being called a "nerd" by Ashleigh was complimentary. 'He doesn't even exist.'

'Of course he bloody does! And he'll be at the funeral of the Prime Minister's mother tomorrow.'

Jordan stared at Ashleigh. 'But how are you going to ..?'

Ashleigh peered around the park before sheepishly extracting something from her secret jean pocket. It was a card with a photograph inside a plastic pouch and attached to a lanyard.

Todd's jaw dropped. 'You stole Dawn's press pass?!'
Chapter Nine

Wednesday

Like many profitable factories and workshops, the Morphettville Medical Centre is open 24/7. Loitering near the front entrance, Todd tried to look nonchalant but couldn't help scampering to a bush whenever he saw or heard anyone. After what seemed to him an eternity, but was less than 10 minutes, he spotted Kathy strolling down to the underground car park after her overnight shift.

Todd followed her as she approached a shiny new Jeep. 'Kathy!'

The receptionist's immediate concern about a possible assault was instantly replaced by a feeling of unambiguous anger. 'You never rang me back.'

'Yeah.' Todd tried to look contrite. 'I've been kinda busy.'

'I saw you on TV yesterday morning. They crucified you.'

'Can we talk?'

'No.' Kathy opened a handbag and fumbled for her car keys.

'I need to speak to Doctor Mitchell and Doctor Olsson again.'

'I can't.'

Todd paused as the realisation set in. 'They got to you, too?'

'Goodbye.' Kathy found her keys and opened the car door. 'And don't ring me again. Oh, that's right ...' she added with heavy sarcasm.

'Did Charlie Harper and Dom Futura visit here...' Todd waved in the general direction of the medical centre above. '... on the day they died?'

'Yes. In the morning. And just a few hours later they were...' Kathy peered around fretfully. Noticing someone approaching, she dragged Todd into an alcove of bins and kissed him. As the stranger strolled past, Kathy broke away. 'I saw that in a movie once. But it doesn't mean anything.'

'Well, it did to me.' Todd was dazed by the kiss and startled by his reaction.

'I don't know anything.' Kathy unclenched her teeth as she giggled at Todd's bemused expression. 'OK, try Doctor King. She's a friend of Doctor Olsson and Doctor Mitchell. She's worried sick about them. And angry, so she'll probably help you. She works at the Royal Adelaide.'

'Thanks, Kathy.' Todd stood back – smiling, smitten – as the car door closed. 'I'll call you!' he yelled as she sped off, before speaking softly to himself. 'Honest, I will.'

## * * * * *

Jordan was often unwashed, generally untidy and had unsavoury friends, so he, his bed and computer gear had been banished to the garage of his mother's modest home in Goodwood. Jordan and four male adolescents were now seated around a ping pong table that served as Jordan's work desk and dining table.

'Attention, please.' They glanced at Jordan while continuing to play games and check out lesbian websites on their laptops. 'You know the drill, gentlemen. Thick black-rimmed glasses.' They obediently extracted glasses from side pockets of their baggy cargo pants and slid them over their protruding noses and ears. 'Now, caps of sporting teams we don't follow.' From daypacks at their feet, each took out a colourful cap with an insignia and logo of an obscure English soccer or American basketball team. 'And, finally, smelly T-shirts with meaningless writing.' The four of them peeled off flannelette shirts to reveal grubby T-shirts with symbols and words that signified very little, if anything. Jordan inspected and sniffed each of the garments from a distance, and nodded his approval. 'OK, we can now commence this extra-ordinary meeting of All Nerds, No Birds.'

## * * * * *

The funeral was meant to be low-key, as stipulated by the Prime Minister's mother, but ballooned into a major event, as dictated by the PM's Department. So, the service was transferred to the SA Garden of Remembrance in Centennial Park with its reflective pools, contemplative benches and commemorative plaques of servicemen, which included several distant relatives of the PM.

Dozens of politicians from both divides, as well as selected members of the press and other self-appointed dignitaries, were invited, or attended unannounced in order to ingratiate themselves with the PM. They all mingled while carrying cups of coffee and plates of sandwiches, which made it difficult to shake hands as the networking continued unabated. Among the various police in uniforms and secret service agents incognito, the PM's Special Envoy, with his crew cut trimmed but snarl relaxed, was staring into the open coffin.

Seated at a makeshift table at a discreet distance, Ashleigh adjusted her blond wig, wriggled with discomfort at the padding inside her bra, and clutched nervously at the press pass dangling around her neck.

The vacuous wives of three self-absorbed luminaries recognised the TV celebrity and hurriedly approached Ashleigh. The one with elongated eyelashes sat down first. 'Oh, Dawnie, it's so great to see you...' Then, the woman remembered that she wasn't in the bar at the golf club. '... on this very sad occasion, of course.'

Ashleigh offered her most sincere Dawn-ish smile. 'It's so awesome to be here ...' And then put on her most genuine frown. '... on this very sad occasion, of course.'

Another with noticeable breast implants peered closely at Ashleigh. 'You do look different.'

'This is reality, darling.' Ashleigh waved her arms the same way Dawn had done on YouTube clips of the morning TV show. 'No makeup artists and favourable lighting here.'

The three women cackled with delight.

Breast Implants passed over a pen. 'Can I get your autograph, Dawn?'

'Of course, darling.' Ashleigh cheerfully signed autographs on napkins for the three women before realising that she had, in fact, used her own name. Each woman inspected the napkin and frowned. 'Aliases, darlings. I forget who I am sometimes.' Ashleigh impersonated Dawn's chuckle perfectly, and the sycophantic women chortled on cue. Ashleigh signed another three napkins with "Dawnie xxx".

The woman with cracked fingernails extracted her mobile phone. 'And a photo?'

Ashleigh shook her head solemnly. 'No, not at the funeral, darlings.' She glanced briefly at Special Envoy as he meandered past. 'Later. Let's do photos after the drinkies.'

## * * * * *

The Royal Adelaide Hospital is spread along North Terrace, not far from the University, although a long-overdue relocation is due within a year or two. Having played all sorts of sports badly, resulting in all kinds of injuries, Todd knew the RAH well. He strolled past patients and visitors milling around the newsagent, florist and kiosk before veering towards the Admissions desk. Of the two receptionists working diligently at their computers, one was attractive with an alluring cleavage and the other had a bulging waistline.

Todd decided subconsciously within a nanosecond which one to approach. 'Hello. Is Doctor King here?'

'I can't tell you if she is.' Alluring Cleavage didn't bother looking up from the screen. 'And I can't tell if she is not.'

'But I have to see her urgently.'

Todd leered as Alluring Cleavage pushed a blank form across the counter. 'You'll have to take whatever doctor is available. Sign this.' She fastened a button on her blouse and glanced at Todd suspiciously. 'Are you sick?'

Todd's attempts at flirtatiousness rarely succeeded. 'Only with the ache in my heart from peering into the sparkle of your eyes.'

Alluring Cleavage groaned and secured another button on her blouse. 'God, I'm far too old – and far, far too married – for that crap.'

'I'm not,' said Bulging Waistline. 'Hey, weren't you on TV yesterday?'

'Um...'

'They crucified you.'

'So, you know why I'm here.'

Bulging Waistline checked a schedule on her computer. 'Doctor King starts her shift in an hour. You can see her then, but you'll probably have to wait with the others.' She pointed to the growing number of outpatients and glanced back at Todd. 'But you don't look injured or sick.'

Alluring Cleavage pressed some keys. 'According to our records he is.' She raised her voice. 'And we can fast track you with severe gonorrhoea!' She pointed towards an empty seat in the waiting area as patients hurriedly shifted to a distant corner.

## * * * * *

Jordan thumped the ping pong table in a futile effort to appear authoritative. 'Right. You've all seen the minutes from last week. Memorized them. Spell-checked and played around with the font. Now for some serious shit.' The Four Nerds grunted as an indication of some latent interest.

Jordan switched on a projector connected to his laptop and displayed images on the only wall of the garage not plastered with Star Trek posters. The first image was a document lined with a series of numbers. 'This was on that recording given to us by the two doctors before they disappeared. I believe these 32 numbers are the code for the formula of the Eternal Drug.' He pressed some more keys and projected a clip taken from the TV show the previous morning.

The Four Nerds glanced up from their laptops because they all fancied Dawn and Ashleigh.

'–and the other recording you claim is the formula for the Eternal Drug, but is just a list of numbers.'

'Which none of our experts can decode.'

'According to my source ...' Jordan sighed as he stroked the sideburns crafted by Asian Makeup Girl. '... these so-called experts who tried to crack the code were just the sports reporter–'

'I bet he's gay.' The nerd with patchy clumps of hair across his chin giggled.

'–and the weatherman.'

'Oh, he definitely is.' The nerd who had never clipped the hair in his nostrils nodded.

## * * * * *

Ashleigh continued glancing between the coffin and Special Envoy standing nearby as the three women carried on gushing. 'Dawnie, is it true that you and Layne–?'

Ashleigh nodded jauntily. 'Of course it is, darling.'

'Really?' Elongated Eyelashes was thrilled.

'Oh yeah, Layne and I shag every chance we get.' The women gasped with delight and shuffled closer to Ashleigh. 'In the dressing rooms. Before and after the show. In the limo. On the coffee table in the studio.'

Breast Implants clasped her hands. 'I knew it!'

But Cracked Fingernails wasn't that impressed. 'I fancy the sports reporter, anyway.'

Ashleigh wobbled her head. 'Save yourself, darling. Steve is as gay as they come.'

'What?'

Ashleigh offered a smile laced with sympathy that Dawn would've been proud of. 'Yep, he and Danny, the weatherman, they're a couple.'

The three women gasped collectively. 'What?'

'Oh, everyone on our silly little morning TV show, darlings, is having marital affairs. Or is gay. Or both. And they all have truly disgusting toilet habits.'

The responses from Breast Implants, Cracked Fingernails and Elongated Eyelashes were immediate.

'No way.'

'How horrible.'

'I never knew that!'

Ashleigh lifted a lipstick-stained coffee cup to her mouth. 'So, I suggest you watch the other channel. Better still, darlings, switch off your TV sets.'

The three women silently dropped their jaws.

## * * * * *

At the waiting room inside the Royal Adelaide Hospital, Todd was able to stretch out and watch the TV screen unperturbed while other patients maintained their distance by huddling together in isolated corners.

Dr King strode in and glanced at the reception desk, where Alluring Cleavage nodded in Todd's direction. 'Follow me,' said the doctor. As Todd followed Dr King through the Outpatients Block the remaining patients began moving back cautiously towards the empty chairs.

Inside a consultancy room, Dr King peered at a computer and indicated for Todd to lie on the bed. 'Take off your trousers.'

'But I don't have, um–'

'Do you want me to check?'

'No, I'm sure. No, I know I don't have gonorrhoea.' He zipped up his trousers and shifted to the other side of Dr King's desk.

'This has to do with Doctor Olsson and Doctor Mitchell, doesn't it?'

'Do you know where they are?'

'No.' Dr King was clearly troubled. 'Do you?'

Todd shook his head. 'Do you know anything that can help us find them?'

Dr King contemplated Todd and his curly hair for a moment before extracting a phone and pressing some keys. 'A few days ago, Doctor Olsson sent me this before...' She inhaled deeply. '... they went missing. An email.'

'What does it say?'

'That's the thing.' Dr King passed the phone to Todd, who stared at it blankly. 'It says nothing. Just a bunch of numbers that mean zilch to me.'

## * * * * *

Jordan was well aware that the Four Nerds had a collective attention span of a gnat, so he raised his voice and thumped the ping pong table again. 'So, the two gay reporters and Dawn, the blond bimbo with the fake boobs–'

'Ahhh, fake boobs.' Patchy Beard sighed.

'–just sat there for a minute on set during the ads trying to decode these 32 numbers while drinking coffee and scoffing donuts.'

'Ahhh, donuts.' Hairy Nostrils whimpered dreamily.

As usual, Jordan ignored them. 'We also have to assume that the biggest and brightest nerds in the government haven't decoded these 32 numbers yet for one simple reason.'

The nerd renowned for his proclivity for nose-picking nodded. 'Because we haven't.'

'Exactly. And that's because we didn't have all the numbers. That is until now. A few minutes ago, Todd rang me on a payphone–'

'What's a payphone?' Nose Picker was as confused as the others.

'His iPhone was disabled somehow.' The Four Nerds collectively shuddered and caressed their smartphones as Jordan continued. 'Todd gave me an extra set of 32 numbers. So, I've combined the two sets to make sixty four, which we have to assume is the complete code for the drug.' Jordan bent over his laptop and pressed some keys. 'I've just sent an email to all of you a second ago with the entire set of numbers. There'll be a prize for the first person who can–'

'Got it.' Patchy Beard smirked.

Hairy Nostrils nodded. 'Yep, easy.'

'I, um ...'

Patchy Beard sniggered at Nose Picker. 'C'mon, it's a simple algorithmic equation using Pythagoras' formula for numerical equivalency, with an ingenious splash of the er-76q code formula used by the Nazis.'

Nose Picker pressed a multitude of keys within seconds. 'Oh yeah.' His head wobbled with embarrassment.

Jordan peered at his cohorts with pride. 'Well, nerds. What have we got?'

'Nothing useful,' said Patchy Beard.

'Just a list of letters,' added Hairy Nostrils.

'And?' Jordan stretched out his arms.

'We don't know anything about letters or words,' explained the nerd with the worst body odour, as the other three nodded in agreement. 'We only deal in numbers.'

## * * * * *

'You are so much prettier and nicer in real life, Dawnie. And younger.'

Ashleigh offered Elongated Eyelashes a grateful grin. 'Oh, thank you, darling.'

Breast Implants turned to the other two women. 'And isn't Dawn so sincere...'

'... honest ...' Cracked Fingernails nodded.

'... and genuine.' Elongated Eyelashes pointed at Ashleigh's chest. 'But are those for real?'

'I'm all implants and Botox, darlings.' Ashleigh bowed forward. 'Can you three ladies keep a secret?'

'No.'

'Of course not.'

'Are you kidding?'

Ashleigh continued to whisper. 'I attend AA meetings. Never give money to charity. And I fart while eating baked beans in bed.'

The women muttered their responses while furtively searching for phones in their handbags.

'Really?'

'I would never have thought.'

'Gosh!'

Ashleigh stood and straightened her dress, something she almost never wore in real life. 'I have to mingle now, darlings. The curse of being a celebrity. God, I need a drink.' She glanced admiringly at some snugly-suited men sauntering past. '... and a shag.'

As Ashleigh merged into the line of mourners meandering past the coffin, the three women glanced at each other before dispersing to different parts of the garden to whisper intently into their phones.

'Have I got a story for you?!'

'Hold the front page!'

'You will want to hear this!'

Ashleigh watched as two Secret Service agents furtively prodded and pinched the body of the Prime Minister's mother. Several guests nearby were horrified by their actions, but forcibly moved away by a third agent. The other two agents stopped prodding and pinching, turned towards Special Envoy in a far-off section of the garden, and shook their heads.

Special Envoy's firm nod prompted immediate action: Secret Service Agent 1 spoke into his shirt cuff; Agent 2 stealthily extracted a walkie-talkie and began whispering into it; and Agent 3 made a call on a mobile phone. Special Envoy scanned the garden before directing his menacing glare at Ashleigh. She gulped and scampered through an exit.

## * * * * *

After working out how to use the payphone and calling Jordan, Todd strolled down a corridor within the hospital while again disobeying the warning signs and turning on his iPhone. Immensely frustrated that he was still incommunicado, he failed to notice a doctor with spiky hair speaking into his phone. The doctor nodded, hung up, and slid the phone into the top pocket of his bleached-white coat.

Todd glanced up as Dr Spiky Hair and another doctor with a hopeful moustache grabbed him and forced him down on to a stretcher. 'But I don't need surgery for gonorrhoea!'

Dr Spiky Hair continued to pin Todd down with surprising force as Dr Hopeful Moustache injected a needle into a vein along Todd's forearm.

'Hang on, I don't ... even ... have ... gonn... o ...' Todd's speech slurred and his words eventually halted as his eyes closed. The doctors peered along the corridor before wheeling the stretcher into an empty room.

## * * * * *

Secret Service Agents 1, 2 and 3 soon found the garage in which Jordan and the Four Nerds were housed. As they strode towards the door, Agent 1 extracted a special remote control from his suit pocket and pressed a button. Jordan and the Four Nerds stopped perving at lesbian websites on their laptops and stared slack-jawed as the garage door rolled upwards. As the three agents slid under the half-opened entrance, Agent 1 pressed the "close" and "lock" buttons on the remote control.

## * * * * *

Ashleigh was inside the ladies toilet near the funeral garden frantically planning her escape as Special Envoy entered. 'Haven't we met before? Perhaps in similar surroundings?'

Ashleigh crossed her arms and answered with Dawn's renowned Queensland drawl. 'I don't know, sweetie. Maybe. I often entertain gentlemen in places like this. It's a benefit of being a B-grade TV celebrity.'

Special Envoy's snarl returned. 'But I don't think you are.'

'Are you part of a group called GROUP?'

Special Envoy abruptly grabbed Ashleigh's shoulders and shoved her into a cubicle. She stared, shocked into silence and immobility, as he reached inside his jacket and unfastened a holster.

## * * * * *

Doctors Spiky Hair and Hopeful Moustache stood over Todd as he was sprawled unconscious across the stretcher.

'Are you sure the serum will work?'

Hopeful Moustache nodded. 'He'll be singing like a bird in a few minutes, telling us everything we need to know.'

## * * * * *

As Agents 1, 2 and 3 spread to separate corners of the garage and crossed their arms Jordan and the Four Nerds began blabbering and quivering. They jolted in unison as the garage door clunked to a final locked position.

Patchy Beard mumbled fretfully to Agent 1. 'What do you want? And who are you?'

'You're meant to say it the other way around,' hissed Jordan.

'Jeez, it smells in here.' Agent 1 peered around the garage with contempt. 'Disarm the nerds.' Agents 2 and 3 yanked out every USB stick offering mobile broadband from each laptop and snatched every phone and tablet spread across the ping pong table. 'Now stand up.'

Jordan and the Four Nerds silently obeyed. The five of them were skilfully and intrusively frisked by Agents 2 and 3, who confiscated various other mobile devices found in their pockets and strapped to their lower legs, like knives hidden by criminals.

Agents 2 and 3 forced them to sit down as Agent 1 again crossed his arms. 'You're all now isolated from the rest of the world. Totally. You can't Gmail your geeky pals ...'

'But–?' Patchy Beard started whimpering.

'... play any pointless video games ...'

'W-what?' Hairy Nostrils was sobbing.

'... or send tweets every nanosecond.'

'Help!' Nose Picker shouted towards the garage door. 'Get us out of here! They're torturing us!'

Agent 1 pointed to the drum kit in the corner. 'The garage is soundproofed.'

Jordan hadn't broken down completely yet. 'I think I speak on behalf of my friends when I say...' Then, he began to screech. '... that we will do whatever you want!'

'We simply want you to work out the code. We need the formula for the Eternal Drug. And we bloody well need it now.'

Jordan was the only nerd still able to speak, although barely. 'W-we, er, worked out the c-code, but they're, they're not num-numbers. They're a-a random set of l-letters that, um, mean n-nothing.'

'Then, you'd better quickly create some sort of program to work out what the hell the letters mean. You need to find out what words these letters make...'

'But we don't deal in words. We only–'

'... if you want your phones back and access to the internet returned.'

The Four Nerds glanced at each other briefly before frantically opening their laptops.

Chapter Ten

Thursday

Very early the next morning, Dawn – the real one – was reclining in a chair as Buxom Makeup Girl tried applying mascara and Asian Makeup Girl attempted to insert padding into Dawn's bra. But the cranky TV host shooed the girls away and snatched the three daily newspapers strewn across a table. Each featured massive headlines on their front pages based on confessions during yesterday's funeral.

One headline – "Layne is Up at Dawn" – made her hyperventilate, so she ordered Asian Makeup Girl to pour another shot of whiskey into her coffee. 'W-who? ... W-why?... Th-this is all made up. It's s-so cruel!'

Buxom Makeup Girl risked a smirk. 'I think you'll find some irony if you look.'

But Dawn didn't understand irony. 'It's all lies. I don't eat baked beans, especially in bed.' Dawn fumbled for her glasses and peered at several of the photos. 'Hang on! If this isn't me, then it must be someone else.' The makeup girls rolled their eyes at each other. 'I know who that bitch is, trying to impersonate me! I will ...'

Dawn paused as the Director of Dawn at Dawn leaned against the doorframe. 'The boss wants to speak with you.'

'But, Bob, you're my ...' Then, the shocking realisation sunk in.

'No. The boss. The owner of this station. He's calling from Geneva on the webcam in the conference room.'

'But, but I'm on set in, um, two ...' Dawn gulped as she noticed the young woman.

'Tiffany will fill in for you.'

The exact replica of Dawn, but half the age and weight, yelped excitedly. 'But, Bobby darling, explain to me again about that nasty autocue-y thingy.'

## * * * * *

Jordan and the Four Nerds had worked throughout the night. Staring at laptops in a darkened room at night-time was certainly not unusual for them, but still being awake at daybreak was. Agents 1, 2 and 3 continued pacing around the ping pong table with increasing displeasure as they clutched take-away coffees.

Although it had only been a few hours since their phones had been confiscated, each of the nerds would still robotically reach for their pockets and then alternate between sobbing and whimpering. And whenever they slumped in their chair, or their heads dropped to the table, one of the agents would clip the nerd across the back of his neck.

## * * * * *

At the same time, Todd still lay on the stretcher, but was grinning like a schoolboy. Drs Spiky Hair and Hopeful Moustache again moved closer with pens and notepads poised, but once more they groaned as Todd continued to gabble.

'... and I told Mrs Hopkins in Grade 8 that I was sick, but I was really behind the bike shed trying to chat up Bethany from Year 11. And I told my mates that me and Bethany swapped saliva, but we didn't. She really just slapped me, which has happened a lot since then. And the next day, I didn't put money in my lunch bag for my pie and donut, but I told the canteen lady with the droopy boobs that the money must've been stolen by Bethany's brother. Then, the day after ...'

## * * * * *

Agent 1 was increasingly weary and irate. 'Christ, you idiots have only been without your mobile phones and Wi-Fi dongle thingies for...' He checked his watch. '... about ten hours.'

Hairy Nostrils was slumped in his chair, not responding to thumps across his skull from Agents 2 or 3; Nose Picker's head had drooped on to his laptop; Worst Body Odour was snivelling and hyperventilating uncontrollably; and Patchy Beard was staring silently and open-mouthed at the garage door.

Only Jordan was still operating his laptop – but with only one hand as he continually wiped sweat off his brow with the other. 'I think I might have something.'

There were immediate signs of resurrection from the Four Nerds.

## * * * * *

Todd was now blathering almost incoherently as the two doctors become progressively impatient.

'... but I told Kathy that I loved her. I said that to get her into bed, of course. She must've have known that's what guys like me say. But that kiss with her the other day in the car park. Wow! But I told that receptionist with the spectacular cleavage at the hospital that I'd call her too ...'

Spiky Hair whispered angrily to his colleague. 'Why is the bloody truth serum taking so bloody long?'

'... but I think she's married. Maybe, that shouldn't matter because she is superhot ...'

Hopeful Moustache gritted his teeth. 'Because he's got so many bloody lies to confess to before he can actually tell the truth.'

'... and then we met these two lady doctors who said they could inject people with this drug, so ...'

They extracted pens and notepads from their bleached-white coats and stooped over Todd.

## * * * * *

The Director and four associate producers had yet to agree on a name to replace Dawn at Dawn, but the show continued – albeit with some confusion.

As Layne and Tiffany were being touched up with last-minute foundation, a mature and distinguished man and a young and buxom woman were reading the morning news from an autocue at a separate desk. Off-screen, Steve the Sports Reporter and Danny the Weatherman were preparing for their upcoming contributions.

'It seems that all is not well in The Vatican.' As footage of cardinals scurrying away from paparazzi outside Catholic churches was shown, Mature Male Newsreader continued. 'And the disquiet caused by claims of there being no afterlife has turned to outrage as The Pope has been forced to resign.'

For no particular reason, it was now time for Young Female Newsreader to take over as footage was presented of several empty churches in unidentified countries. 'Attendances at churches across the world, particularly in the Catholic strongholds of Latin America, have plunged as believers accept that there is no Heaven and no Hell. There are reports of donations drying up completely, and the coffers of The Vatican plummeting, as people stop going to church and stop giving donations.'

More film showed priests refusing to talk to reporters as Mature Male Newsreader carried on. 'In addition, we have reports of priests from all Christian denominations resigning, but it's the Catholic Church which is feeling the brunt. It seems The Vatican's attempts to reassure people about an afterlife have not been as successful as they would have us believe.'

Mature Male Newsreader had read two sentences, so the autocue indicated that his colleague should now take charge. 'Meanwhile, thousands from all religious persuasions – or, perhaps, from none at all – are protesting outside Parliament House in Canberra.' Brief pictures depicted protesters outside the building waving placards and yelling. 'They believe the Eternal Drug should be accessible to everyone, and not just the mother of the Prime Minister.'

Mature Male Newsreader offered viewers the solemn expression he'd practised so many times before. 'In other news, police have given up trying to force people to bury their dead and cremate their loved ones.' He continued speaking over footage of people clashing with police and other authorities outside funeral homes and morgues. 'Thousands and thousands around the country are now waiting, all hoping to buy the Eternal Drug so they can bring their family and friends back to life.'

Young Female Newsreader presented her well-rehearsed grimace. 'While it seems the rich and powerful, such as the Prime Minister, may have access to the Eternal Drug, the same cannot be said for the ordinary people.' Snippets of interviews of incensed members of the public were then shown.

Her co-host continued. 'And while the search for the formula for the Eternal Drug continues, share prices of major pharmaceutical companies have quadrupled in the past few days as rumours continue about their access to the Eternal Drug and their promises to market the drug within days. However, smaller pharmaceutical companies without apparent access to the drug are now subject to immediate takeovers from these mega-corporations at rock-bottom share prices.'

Young Female Newsreader went on. 'This has forced the regulatory authorities to suspend trading on the stock exchange for all listed pharmaceutical companies. Also, there will be immediate investigations by the World Health Organization and Interpol into the entire business practices of the world's largest pharmaceutical companies since the Eternal Drug was first reported.'

'And there are grave fears for the safety and lives of the three journalism students who first broke the story.' Mature Male Newsreader paused for effect as film was shown of Ashleigh, Jordan and Todd arriving at the front of Channel Nine in a limousine. 'They were warmly welcomed on to this show just a few days ago.' He creased his forehead and jutted out a bottom lip. 'And our hearts go out to their families and friends.' After a well-drilled two-second pause, he chuckled. 'Although there seems to be much less concern about the whereabouts of these people.' In a shaky video downloaded from Facebook, the Four Nerds were shown lining up at a Star Trek conference.

'And after the break we'll introduce you to our permanent new ...' Young Female Newsreader paused, clearly startled by the unexpected content of the autocue. '... host of our chat show.' She glanced off-screen at Tiffany, who waved with one hand while the other was being manicured by Buxom Makeup Girl.

'And we also welcome our new...' Mature Male Newsreader hesitated, equally disconcerted by the words sliding down the camera he was staring at. '... um, sports reporter and weatherman.' He glanced to his left where, off-screen, Steve and Danny were being led away by burly security guards as two other men in suits were being briefed by an associate producer.

Young Female Newsreader gulped, which wasn't part of her training, before forcing a smile, which was. 'And now some pictures of a panda on a skateboard ...'

## * * * * *

The rubbish bins scattered along the grubby lane at the back of the Channel Nine studios had still not been collected as Dawn was shoved out the back entrance. She looked back helplessly as the door slammed shut.

## * * * * *

Agent 1 bent over Jordan's laptop and growled. 'Can you give me a nerd-free translation?'

Jordan nodded. 'I wondered why the numbers in the code, which we decoded into letters, totalled 64.'

The bulb inside the head of Patchy Beard was the first to light up. 'A chessboard!'

'That's right. There are 64 squares on a chessboard ...'

Agent 1 raised a gun-free hand to his brow. 'Oh God. How long will this take?'

'... and, if so, how is the chessboard used to work out what these letters mean?'

'And I am sure you're going to tell me in excruciating detail.'

Jordan risked a momentary scowl at Agent 1. 'The letters are linked to a particular game, of course.'

'It'll only encourage you if I ask "how" or "why".'

But for the first time in at least twelve hours the Four Nerds were excited.

'How?'

'Why?'

'How and why?'

'Why and how?'

'OK. I'll arrange all the letters we got from the code like this.' Jordan projected another image from his laptop on to the wall. It showed the 64 letters in alphabetical order and placed in eight rows of eight. 'I then chose a game so that each move in that game is like this. So, a pawn moving to this square represents, for example, the letter "g".' Jordan displayed the outline of a chessboard with its pieces perfectly superimposed on to the eight rows and eight columns of letters. Jordan pressed a key on his laptop and a pawn moved to a square with the letter "g".

'But which game did you use, Jords?' asked Nose Picker, as he inserted a finger into his nostril.

Agent 1 took a deep breath and aimed his gun at Jordan's head. 'Will this encourage you to hurry up and give me the bloody formula for the Eternal Drug?'

'I think that's, um, quite possible.' Jordan glanced at the weapon and gulped. 'But remember that only the pharmaceutical companies and media called it the Eternal Drug.' Jordan pressed some more keys on his laptop and projected section of a film clip of an interview with Dr Olsson.

'My colleagues and I have created a new super drug that can bring people back from the dead. We call it Deep Blue.'

Patchy Beard clapped his hands. 'Garry Kasparov versus Deep Blue!'

Still holding the gun to Jordan's temple, Agent 1 moaned. 'I can't believe I'm asking this, but who and what?'

'Years and years ago,' explained Jordan, 'there was an historic chess series between the Russian champion Garry Kasparov and a mega-computer called Deep Blue.'

'But why that series?' Worst Body Odour couldn't remember the last time he was so excited.

Jordan leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. 'Because it's a metaphor.' The Nerds glanced at each other before clicking the "dictionary" icon on their laptop toolbar. 'Because that series was a battle of one man against the world... Because the outcome was unexpected... And because deceit was alleged but never proved.'

Hairy Nostrils was also enthralled. 'But which games?'

'The first, and the last. Another metaphor.'

Having effectively checked their digital dictionaries, the Four Nerds nodded earnestly.

'Obviously.'

'The first.'

'... and last.'

'Great metaphor.'

Agent 1 growled. 'Can you idiots possibly get any nerdier?'

Jordan projected a final image onto the wall. The Nerds adjusted their black thick-rimmed glasses and soon began chortling.

Agent 1 scrutinised the image thoroughly before glaring back at Jordan. 'But this isn't a formula. It's an abbreviated message or something.'

Jordan shrugged. 'I didn't write it. I just decoded it.'

'But, but we need to know, we have to know, how to create the Eternal Drug. The Prime Minister's mother ...' As Agent 1 angrily extracted a phone from his jacket pocket the Four Nerds began to salivate.

While Agent 1 made the call, Patchy Beard unsuccessfully endeavoured to attract his attention. 'Excuse me, Mister Secret Service Man.'

'We have cracked the code, sir.'

'Now that it has been solved ...'

'But it's just a message, sir.'

'... could you please ...'

'No, it's not the formula, sir. A message of some sort. That's all. Sorry, sir.'

'... return our, um...'

'I will bring a copy of the message to you right away, sir.'

'... phones and, um ...'

'Yes, sir. It would be a pleasure to clean up the loose ends. A real pleasure.' Agent 1 slid the phone back into his pocket, glowered at the Four Nerds in turn, and raised his gun. 'Now, that the code has been solved, I don't need you idiots any–'

Everyone turned as a series of clunks indicated that the garage door was opening. The three agents instantly repositioned their bodies and aimed their weapons. But when the door was half-open, they gradually lowered their guns as they realised that no-one was outside.

'I wouldn't turn around, lads. I do have a gun. A big one.' As the man in the corner of the garage dropped the remote control onto the drum knit, he cocked his rifle and aimed it at Agent 1's head. 'You know the drill.' The three agents watchfully dropped their weapons to the concrete floor and raised their hands. 'I was just off to shoot some rabbits.' The man turned to Jason and the Four Nerds, whose mouths were still gaping wide. 'You guys look like the outdoor types. I thought you'd all like to join me and kill some innocent animals for pointless fun.'

Jason and the Four Nerds managed to close their jaws and feign enthusiasm.

'Yeah.'

'Sure.'

'Sounds like, um, fun.'

'Yeah, fun.'

'Can't wait.'

The man shifted his aim from one agent to the next. 'But, of course, if there's no rabbits, we can always kill government men in trendy suits.' Immediately, all three agents stooped under the garage door and sprinted towards the main road.

Jordan was the first to speak because he recognised the man. 'Dom?'

## * * * * *

The truth serum was gradually wearing off. As he became fully awake, the two doctors tightened the strapping around Todd's arms. He blinked several times as he peered around the room. 'W-what's go-going on?'

'You fell over several times.' Dr Spiky Hair tried to appear sympathetic. 'You must've fainted.'

'But I feel fine.' Todd winced as he tried to move. 'The only pain I feel is in the top of my arm... Did I keep falling on a needle?' Todd attempted to roll over before realising he was strapped to a stretcher. 'And you don't look like doctors.'

Dr Hopeful Moustache looked affronted. 'But we have really white coats and stetho-um-thingies and–'

The two doctors swivelled around as they heard a key rattle in the lock. They glanced at each other fearfully and bowed their heads before swiftly exiting the room and scurrying down the corridor.

Todd manoeuvred his torso and grinned. 'Uncle Charlie!'
Chapter Eleven

Friday

By about 6pm on the final day of the university week the bar was packed. As Ashleigh strolled in, those who'd been at the pool table for the past five hours and others who'd been pretending to study on their laptops for longer glanced up and gazed at her sequinned gown. She bunched up the hem and shuffled towards Todd, who was sitting at their customary table and, as usual, staring forlornly at his empty glass. His legs were wrapped in orange tights and his body encased by cardboard that replicated a tin of baked beans.

'I am not going to ask.'

Todd peered at Ashleigh in horror. 'You got married?!'

'I was a bridesmaid, you idiot.'

'Thank God. I always thought you and I would, you know ...'

'What?' Ashleigh didn't know whether to shudder or scream.

'... tie the knot. Hopefully, with the honeymoon before, during and after the wedding.'

Now she was truly horrified. 'In your dreams!'

'That too.' Todd leaned as close to Ashleigh as the cardboard tin would allow and whispered. 'Look, how about if we're both unmarried at the ripe old age of, say, 29 we get hitched?'

'Make it 99.' Ashleigh shivered several times.

Todd peered past the black-curtained stage as Jordan ambled into the bar. He was dressed in a grey jumpsuit, wrapped in something red, shiny and bulky, and topped with a white helmet featuring extended, wobbly ant-like feelers. He stared at Ashleigh in disbelief. 'You got married? But I thought you and I–?'

'Hey, she's engaged to me!'

Jordan turned his attention to Todd. 'What the hell are you?'

'A man has to make a living, especially a poor Uni student who enjoys a beer and gave up mega-millions from a slice of the bloody super-bloody-drug. I happen to be promoting a rather fine range of convenience food.' Todd stared back at Jordan. 'And what the hell are you?'

'I had to leave a Sci-Fi convention. And the Daleks are not happy.' Jordan nodded towards the adjacent table.

A shiver ran down Ashleigh's spine. 'Why did you have to bring them along?'

The Four Nerds' despondent demeanour under the robotic costumes changed as they waved excitedly at Ashleigh.

'Because they cannot be left alone... OK, Ash, why did we have to meet here so urgently?'

'He said we had to.'

'No, I didn't,' said Todd.

Ashleigh gnashed her teeth. 'You sent me a message saying that we had to meet now. And to pass on the message to Jordan.'

'No, I did not!'

'Then, who did?'

The three students gazed past the pool tables as Special Envoy sauntered in. Dressed in a Stetson hat, denim jeans and a brown leather vest, he was closely followed by Agents 1, 2 and 3 outfitted as Indians – with bows and arrows, not turbans and saris. The agents dispersed to three corners of the bar for security purposes as Special Envoy approached their table.

Todd tried unsuccessfully to put on an effeminate voice. 'Well, hello there, cowboy.'

Special Envoy growled. 'I was at a fancy-dress party at an embassy.'

'... with all your buddies from the group called GROUP, no doubt.' Ashleigh adjusted her puffy sleeves. 'Isn't it time you told us everything? Or are you afraid?'

Special Envoy scoffed as he belched. 'Of course, we're not afraid. We – the group called GROUP – control you. Everyone. The world. The universe. Everything on it, and everything in between.'

'How nice,' mumbled Ashleigh.

'We decide which wars should start, and decide the where, when and why. And we decide when – or if – the wars should finish.'

Todd sighed as he adjusted his tights. 'So, we've been wasting our time protesting against the government.'

'We also control them. The PM and his ministers, and everyone in the Opposition parties. All directed by me in the G Division.'

'We know G is for Government. And there's also Religion, Oil, Unilateralism and Pharmaceuticals.'

Reasonably garrulous from the whiskeys imbibed at the embassy bash, Special Envoy nodded several times at Ashleigh. 'Yes, Unilateralism is our most profitable division. It works closely with Oil, making sure that wars continue over something as frivolous as what you pour into a hole in your car. And the U Division works very, very closely with the R Division. It's so ironic that religion has always been the number one cause of hatred and war. So, obscene amounts of money are spent by people and organisations, which are controlled by our Religion and Government Divisions, on weapons sold to them by our Unilateralism Division.'

'And you no doubt help both sides – whatever the country, organisation or religion.'

'We are a business, Ashleigh. We don't take sides.'

Todd wanted to reach the bar counter before the Happy Hour finished, but was wedged behind the table by his cardboard outfit. 'So, why are we still involved in all this shit?'

'The P Division continues to wield far too little power and profit. Pharmaceuticals have nothing in common with oil, and we've given up trying to link it with religion.' He jiggled his head with genuine gloom. 'The Vatican just won't budge, so there's not enough power and profit in medicines for contraceptives and abortions. And as much as we tried, we just couldn't logically start a war over medicines.'

'Until now.'

Special Envoy beamed at Ashleigh. 'Have you seen the news? People all over the world are fighting each other over access to the Eternal Drug. And within months governments will start wars over the production and sale of the most valuable and wanted drug ever created in the history of mankind.' He swivelled angrily towards Jordan. 'Which is why we need that bloody formula!'

'We don't have it.' Todd quickly realised he wasn't able to cross his arms in defiance.

Special Envoy was momentarily flustered. 'But, but that's why you sent me a text message and wanted to meet.'

'No, I bloody well did not!'

'Then, who the bloody well did?'

Ashleigh tilted her head to the left of Todd's curly locks. 'Isn't that ..? Isn't she selling ..?'

Collectively, they turned around as quickly as they could in their various outfits. Wearing a matching apron and cap, Dawn approached their table with a tray strapped to her neck full of hotdogs, buns and bottles of sauce. 'This is just a fill-in until I get my old job back.'

'Don't be stupid. You're at least 42. Tiffany is half your age and weight.' Ashleigh offered her best Dawn-ish grin. 'Tiffany is the New Dawn.'

Dawn scowled as she peered around. 'Why are you all here, anyway? And dressed like that?'

'I thought you liked baked beans.'

Dawn glowered at Todd before shuddering at the Four Nerds leering at her. 'And what the hell are they?'

'You didn't send us text messages by any chance?' Todd thoroughly inspected the contents of Dawn's tray.

'Not likely. My phone's been disconnected.' Groaning with relief, Dawn plonked the tray on the table. 'Hotdogs anyone?'

'I'll take one with mustard.'

'And make mine with mayo.'

Everyone turned towards Dr Olsson and Dr Mitchell, both in white coats and with stethoscopes strapped around their necks.

Dawn curled her lip. 'Is that the best outfits you could come up with?'

Special Envoy extended his right arm, which was wrapped in denim and dripping with tassels. 'Let me introduce you, everyone, to the joint CEOs of the Pharmaceutical Division of the group called GROUP.'

'What?' Ashleigh was flabbergasted.

'We were,' said Dr Mitchell. 'We both resigned.'

'What?' It was Special Envoy's turn to be flabbergasted.

Dr Mitchell turned to Dr Olsson and caressed her arm. 'Since Julie and I became lovers ...'

'What?' Todd and Jordan out-flabbergasted everyone as they choked on their hotdogs.

'... and adopted a child, we decided to dedicate our lives to destroying whatever was irresponsible, unaccountable and uncontrollable.'

'So have I.'

'And me.'

Everyone swivelled around as well as they could while Charlie and Dom approached their table. Walking behind them at a resolute distance, Edna, Betty and Cyril were soon debating whether to sit at the table with the Four Nerds, who were still recovering from seeing two lesbians.

While busily sliding hotdogs into buns, Dawn glanced at Charlie. 'And you're not even wearing any stupid outfits.' She peered past the video-game machines as the two nuns entered in complete convent attire. 'But those costumes are impressive.'

The nuns grimaced at the Four Nerds and decided to stand nearby instead.

Todd tapped his uncle on the shoulder. 'But why are you dedicating your life to ..?' He paused. 'Hang on. Shit! You mentioned way before, at the beginning of all this, something called the group. But I didn't think you'd ...' He watched as Elongated Eyelashes, Breast Implants and Cracked Fingernails entered the bar with notepads and pens primed. They, too, collectively shuddered as the Four Nerds stopped leering at the lesbians and nuns and began ogling at them.

Charlie explained. 'I agreed to be a guinea pig for the Deep Blue drug, and so did Dom. I didn't have heart problems, but I do have inoperable cancer. So they...' He raised an arm towards Drs Olsson and Mitchell. '... convinced me to devote the rest of my short life to destroying what I helped create and helped thrive.'

Kathy strolled towards the table, placed a bottle of beer in front of Todd, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. His grateful grin vanished as soon as he noticed Layne approaching with a voice-recorder. He was followed by Steve the Sports Reporter and Danny the Weatherman, holding hands with each other, and Tiffany, who was gazing endearingly at Layne but being leered at by the Four Nerds.

'Um...' Ashleigh examined everyone who had entered the bar. Squeezed along, or standing near, the main table were Todd, Ashleigh, Jordan, Special Envoy, Kathy, Dr Olsson, Dr Mitchell, Charlie and Dom. At an adjacent table with empty chairs, the Four Nerds were scoffing hotdogs. And standing at a short distance away were Layne, Tiffany, Steve the Sports Reporter, Danny the Weatherman, Elongated Eyelashes, Breast Implants, Cracked Fingernails, the two nuns, Edna, Betty and Cyril. All were surrounded by Agents 1, 2 and 3 and numerous others who wore raincoats and looked familiar. 'Why are all these people here?'

'They all want to know what the hell's been going on.' Jordan grinned as Asian Makeup Girl sauntered towards their table. Ashleigh stared in disbelief as the girl flung her arm around Jordan's shoulder. 'I tried your advice, Ash. Kind, gentle, sincere, and all that shit.'

Alluring Cleavage and Bulging Waistline from the Medical Centre also ignored an offer of seats at the Nerds' table.

'But, but how do all these people know we're here?' said Ashleigh.

Jordan snuggled closer to Asian Makeup Girl. 'Probably from the live online streaming I set up with my video camera and laptop on the stage over there before you arrived.'

'And from all the Facebook updates and tweets I've been sending.' Todd checked his phone with satisfaction.

As Dr King squeezed in next to Drs Olsson and Mitchell, Special Envoy thumped the table. 'So, what about the bloody formula?'

Everyone shuffled a little closer as Dr Mitchell answered in a gentle voice. 'There is no formula.'

'What?' Everyone shuffled back a little as Special Envoy bellowed. 'But there was a code!'

As Drs Spiky Hair and Hopeful Moustache rushed in, Dawn sneered at their white coats and stethoscopes. 'Those outfits have been done already.'

Dr Olsson continued. 'The code wasn't a formula. It was a message in case we came to any harm. I expect you worked it out?' She turned towards Jordan, who nodded. 'Do you have a copy?'

'Yep,' said Jordan, as Asian Makeup Girl hugged him tighter.

'Please read it.'

Jordan extracted a sheet of paper from his back pocket and stared at it.

'... out loud.'

'Oh.' Jordan glanced up as Mature Male and Young Female Newsreaders entered, followed by Bob the Director, as well as a cameraman and someone else holding a microphone on a boom. 'There were only 64 letters. But I know all the abbreviations used when sending texts and tweets, so I was able to fully translate the message.' Jordan coughed a little nervously as virtually everyone in the Uni Bar stared at him. 'It says, um... There can never be a drug that brings people back to life or keeps them alive. But our lie was eagerly accepted by the world. We did this to destroy the one industry that needs an afterlife, and to crush the other that would thrive if there was an Eternal Drug.'

Special Envoy bellowed. 'What the hell does all that crap mean?!'

Everyone had to again lean closer as Dr Mitchell explained. 'What you called the Eternal Drug only makes people go into a coma. A coma so deep and with such a low pulse and low breathing that doctors would believe the person was dead.'

'So,' said Ashleigh pensively, 'you injected the drug to Charlie and Dom on the morning of the day they died to put them into the coma ...'

'Correct,' said Dr Olsson.

'... and injected them again at their funerals to bring them out of the coma.'

'Holy shit!' Everyone had to lean back again as Special Envoy roared.

'And the same with the nuns.' Ashleigh paused so everyone else could consider all the revelations. 'But that means Charlie, Dom and the two nuns never really died. So, they couldn't have gone to Heaven or Hell.' Drs Olsson and Mitchell continued grinning and nodding as Ashleigh carried on. 'So, none of them could've seen angels or tunnels or demons or lights because they never really died.'

The two nuns immediately opened their mouths and stared at each other. Inexpressibly relieved, they rushed to the bar counter, where the Mother Superior had been leaning, and ordered a jug of Bourbon and Coke.

Dr Olsson continued. 'But, as we hoped, the damage has been well and truly done. The four most powerful, rich and corrupt industries on the planet have been so damaged that they'll never fully recover.'

Special Envoy was demonstrably appalled. 'Oh God! No!'

'Most of the major religions – particularly the Catholic Church – have imploded. All the major pharmaceutical companies are now under investigation. And the insidious activities of the government, particularly the Prime Minister, have been revealed. All of which leaves the War Machine impotent, with nothing to fight for.'

Special Envoy was now even more horrified. 'But, but Government, Religion, Pharma-a-ceuticals and War are w-what makes the group called GROUP a, um, group.'

Jordan creased his forehead. 'But what about O for Oil?'

Special Envoy continued to stutter. 'We, we were g-going to dis-um-band the O Division anyway. Even the g-group called GROUP c-can't k-keep lying to the world about electric, um, cars, which aren't expensive and have been a-available for twenty years. And there's no profit in wind, sun and water. And controlling the environment was even beyond us.'

Todd closed one eye to ponder. 'But without the O Division, you'd be the group called GRUP.'

'And we were going to change the acronym.' Special Envoy became progressively more confident. 'You see, Unilateralism will be renamed Military, as it should, and Oil will be replaced by a new division representing the single most powerful industry imaginable.'

'Food?' said Ashleigh

'Water?' said Todd.

But Jordan knew the answer. 'Information.'

'Exactly.' Special Envoy was now animated. 'If we control Information – the Internet and everything on it – we will ultimately control everything else. And no-one will ever be able to stop the group called–'

'–GRIMP?' said Jordan.

Todd spread out the fingers of the one hand not clutching Kathy's bottom. 'If you kept Government, Religion and Information, but dropped the Military Division you could call yourselves GRIP.'

Closing one eye helped Jordan to concentrate. 'Or if you could get some power and profit from the Environment you could be the group called GRIPE.'

Todd was excited enough to unclamp Kathy's derriere and raise his other hand. 'Or if you dropped the M Division and spelled Pharmaceutical with an F–'

'But I thought...' Jordan stopped, desperately hoping Asian Makeup Girl hadn't heard him.

'–you could be called GRIEF.'

'Don't be stupid.' Special Envoy spoke with unrestrained scorn.

'Oh.' Todd and Jordan were instantly deflated.

'There will always be a Military Division. Oil will run out, religions may implode, the Internet may be replaced with something else, and Governments could collapse. But there will always – always – be the need for war...'

'How nice.' Ashleigh offered her finest impression of Dawn's drawl.

'... and we've come up with the perfect acronym.'
Epilogue

So what happened next?

Ashleigh was offered her own prime-time chat show on Channel Nine. Determined to include hard-hitting news, without reports about celebrities or diets, or any gratuitous endorsements, the show was shifted to the 11.30pm slot after one week, and axed after two.

Jordan and the Four Nerds have now dedicated their lives to stopping the group that used to be called the GROUP from controlling the very thing that actually controls their own lives: the Internet.

Todd wrote a book about everything that happened called "Heaven Nor Hell", but it was rejected by every known agent and publisher for being too "ridiculous" and "unrealistic".

Dawn still sells hotdogs and tells customers who don't care who she used to be. Her revengeful plot against Tiffany is well advanced.

Because of intense media pressure caused by the "Drug-Gate" scandal, the Prime Minister needed scapegoats, so Special Envoy was sacked. But with the generous bonuses and superannuation payments also offered, Special Envoy established a nationwide business using his numerous contacts within the underworld. And especially popular among pre-schoolers at the Envious Envoy Child-Care Centres are the lessons in self defensive and weapons training run by Agents 1, 2 and 3.

Drs Olsson and Mitchell hoped to win seats at the upcoming federal election. They formed an anti-capitalist organisation which they called the ORGANISATION, but it quickly disbanded. They could not possibly compete against any other political party – all of which happily received monstrous political donations from businesses within the five largest industries on earth.

The two nuns left the Church after their convent went into receivership and photographs of them sleeping in the nude mysteriously appeared on the Internet. They now operate a business, recently renamed as "Nuns with Buns", along Hindley Street which sells specialist items to discerning adults.

And, sadly, Charlie quickly succumbed to cancer. To the horror of his wife Edna, sister Betty and son Cyril, he planned to donate everything he owned to the organisation called the ORGANISATION and to All Nerds, No Birds. But everything was immediately seized by tax officials under the strict supervision of a group known to almost no-one.

It is called GRIM.

The End

127

