The Long Game
Molly Maguire, a 40-something researcher from Yale University’s staff of Zoological Studies, stepped off the portable staircase at Pemba Airport in northeastern Mozambique. It was the fourth airplane she’d disembarked from in the last 35 hours, having left New Haven what seemed like a week ago, and while she was extremely fatigued, there was a thrill in her heart, for this was her first professional research trip after getting her MA in Biology. Just after graduating that spring, Yale Bio Labs, Inc. had called her up, inviting her to work all summer on a fun trip to the heart of the savanna.
Making her way through the small airport of Pemba, she rented an old car from a ramshackle place that only had a few ratty beaters, some that didn’t even have roofs. She ended up choosing a Birkin, a South African desert jalopy with bars instead of a roof. Low slung, it was like getting into a tube, and she barely had any room for her bags. The engine popped and spluttered at first, but when she got the hang of it, and at the outskirts of Pemba she did, it soon roared into action, hurtling her at 70 mph around corners and onto the open plain.
As she prepared herself for the days ahead, she drove into the protected zone. She turned a corner and saw, about 1,500 yards away, a barrier in the road, with a single flashing light. As she pulled up, a tall man in a military uniform (that needed pressing) strode up, and, in a not-too-friendly manner, gestured for her to pull off right and take the car into a dirty-looking car wash. With a man in a booth, looking bored, and to either side of him, miles of fences – farther than the eye could see, Molly was despite herself, enchanted. The man gestured for Molly to drive inside the wash, quickly shutting the large doors behind her. She was searched and sanitized.
Apparently, it was some new technology using special chemicals that would soak into everything while also killing everything. After being soaked through and through, she was let into the wilderness. As the 40 miles came and went, she enjoyed the feeling of warm summer air wrapping around her shivering body like a blanket on a snowy winter day.
The air roasted her and dried her up. While thinking about where she was going and what she’d be doing, her car started acting up. Of course, she knew this was coming. There was no way a 30-year-old car, even a Birkin, rusted and battered, could survive the African heat. Checking, she heard an absurd sound coming from the engine. While she was familiar with automobiles, having worked at her uncle’s shop, she opened the hood and unscrewed the tops, but she could not find anything wrong. Eventually giving up, she decided to ignore the noise and the shaking and continuing with her journey. After all, she hadn’t come all this way to be stopped by a faulty vehicle.
Burning rubber past an abandoned oil derrick, she sighted the sun’s angle and realized it was now later in the afternoon. She drummed her hands on the sporty steering wheel. Suddenly, rounding a corner in the plain, passing a stand of acacia trees, she saw, very far away, what looked to be a metallic dome. As she raced towards it, her heart began to pump excitedly too.
By some miracle, the car held up all the way there. At this time of day, the sun’s rays lightened their load, but still mercilessly beat down on Molly’s skin, and up ahead, she could only glimpse what seemed to be an alcove, hiding under a small cliff, housing a giant solar panel, and under it lay a magnificent lab, with marble finishes and no shortage of huge windows, covered in pearl-white paint.
Molly’s life before this had been full of twists and turns. Her parents died at an early age and
she’d spent most of her 30s running around the world sightseeing. This drew out her love for animals and birds, which is what led to Yale. She started by just volunteering at animal shelters, making friends along the way that helped her publish her first research paper on the habits of stray sugar gliders. With a friend in a high place, she easily got access to resources she needed. From that, she kept publishing papers until they eventually caught the eye of Yale recruiters. Because she was in a relationship with a very spiteful man, she put Yale on hold while she figured things out, but when their relationship slowly died, Molly called Yale.
Pulling up to the metallic dome, Molly saw just how beat up it was. Originally built back in the 1900s as an oil-related Quonset hut, recent funding did not go toward any renovations, leaving the headquarters looking like a cannonball cut in half, washed ashore.
Pulling up into the driveway, Molly parked her car under a solar panel and went to see if she could find her colleague, Jasmine. They had been at Yale together, but Jasmine was a year higher. A pretty black woman peeled away from a group of pointy-headed and bespectled nerds.
“Jas!”
“Molly, I am so happy to see you! Where’s your gear? I’ve been assigned (actually, I volunteered) to get you situated here.”
“Jasmine, how did you know that is exactly what I hoped would happen, girl?”
“Get over here.” They hugged. Jasmine’s dark, tight curly hair had a fragrance of feet to it, Molly thought. She wondered if the showers were hot.
“Come on, I have to show you this weird little car I rented.”
The colleagues marched off to see the car, and before a half hour had passed, Molly’d shut her bedroom door on her friend, saying, “See you at dinner at 8!”.
Her room was cramped, but the window was big, and when she opened it, the wall of air that moved into the room was exotic and wild-smelling, and Molly, for the first time since leaving Connecticut, felt a tingle of happiness.
The research center, originally an oil mine used by European countries, abandoned after the wells ran dry, had been turned into a sort of renegade research center by a certain Mr. Long, who was also the manager, or overseer of the place. Mr. Long had been a trustee of Yale, his parents having passed on this prestigious position, but because he thought it was too much work, he forfeited ownership on the condition that they fund his wild adventures and theories, with enough capital to sustain a staff and a rotating pool of visiting researchers.
At the facility, staff basically did whatever Mr. Long said, and if visiting researchers made a discovery, they would only get 40% recognition; the rest would go to him. Even with these downsides, people competed fiercely to go, for if you made a discovery, you would be paid handsomely and could retire or use it to further your careers.
Molly and Jasmine, however, did not care for the money. They simply wanted to use the place for its opportunities, and decided they would do whatever they wanted. The screening process was all decided by Mr. Long, and whoever he saw fit would be let in.
Navigating herself towards the cafeteria, trying to recall Jasmine’s directions through the elaborate maze of the dormitories, she found various rooms with wide windows: she took in the view. Through the first floor windows, you could see miles and miles of the savannah. Now the sun had set.
Spotting Jasmine already in line, Molly hurried to snatch a spot in the line behind her.
“So how long you been in this dump, Jas, and – “
“DUMP!? Girl, you better…”
“Just joking. This place looks torn up from the outside, but – “
“Pretty cozy from inside, eh?”
Jasmine piled her tray with madumbe salad and pork rinds while Molly got her hands dirty with some mac and cheese. The women dug in. Although the food there tasted like a public school lunch, for being in the middle of nowhere, it was actually pretty impressive.
Molly saw a tall man in running shoes speaking with a knowing ease outside the cafeteria and guessed that it was Mr. Long. She didn’t like the way his eyes followed her, and especially the way they went up and down her body. Creep. But when she was introduced to him a few minutes later, she was disarmed, for he was extremely gracious, and even respectful, and she thought that maybe his first glance was unconscious. Men are such natural pigs, she thought.
“Ah, Miss Maguire!” Mr. Long said. “We are so happy to have a Yale Bio Labs researcher here. Welcome to the team!”
“Thank you, Mr. Long – “
“Call me Andrew – “
“Well, then call me Maggie!” He immediately dropped the niceties and began asking her about the research project.
“I haven’t even started. We need to collect more data tomorrow because I can’t write about something with data so inconclusive. My hands are tied.”
“But isn’t the deadline in a week?”
“Yea it’s fine, I’ll just do it later.”
She giggled. Up close, even though he was as stringy as a bean, his skin looked well cared for, and his receding hairline still fringed a nicely-shaped skull. His teeth were sharp but cunningly white, and his… wait, she thought to herself, is he attractive? She was brushing her teeth now in the little bathroom adjacent to her room, considering the events of the day.
He had asked her about her research with natural ease, and he was surprisingly nimble with his questions, drilling down into why she was researching genetic variations of Kenyan lions. He had even asked her about one of the white papers she’d published the year prior, and for someone so important, he seemed remarkably naive about the process of submitting to journals. Perhaps he was feigning ignorance. She spat out the toothpaste and smiled at herself to see if her teeth were as white as Andrew’s.
Waking up the next day, Molly felt super sore but still decided to grit her teeth and go to work.
Meeting up with Jasmine, they signed out a car from the garage, which was an old, beat-up Jeep, since the good ones were taken already. The Jeep, which looked like it had been used in Vietnam, barely started. Driving through the savanna was no easy task. Once you were off-road, you had to watch out for bushes, thorns, and even flowers that could mess up your journey big time. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Per laws and regulations, you had to maintain at least 30 feet from all endangered species, making it like driving through a minefield. For this, the first day, Jasmine took on the role of the driver.
“Well, guess this is our chariot for the day,” Jasmine muttered, unhappy with their luck.
The savanna stretched endlessly once they were off the road. A sea of grass interrupted by the uncommon acacia tree and the distant sounds of animals running seemed to never end. Pulling up beside one of the trees, they relished the shade. They searched for about an hour, clambering all around the area, up on rocks, down into gullies, before locating the camera Jasmine had set up on a camouflaged tripod long before Molly’s arrival, and they had a bad time struggling to remove the SD card. The footage, screened in the back of the Jeep, was interesting. On one hand, it was lucky that the camera had even survived the blazing heat and the occasional dust storms. On the other, however, the camera had fallen to a bad angle after a storm. Because the storm hit only a day after the camera’s set-up, there wasn’t much data to review. Deciding to still check, they sat down, backs leaning on a tree trunk. What they saw was concerning. Pride after pride of lions that looked exactly the same, as if copied and pasted.
“They all look the same… is that normal?” Jasmine asked, worried.
“Not really,” Molly replied, looking at her notepad. “In large healthy populations, there is more variation in genes, different shades of fur, patterns, and appearance. But because of the civilizations popping up around us, the lions may have been isolated, leading to these… similarities.”
Confused, Jasmine asked, “Are you sure? I mean, I know that it’s the genes, but the nearest pride is miles and miles away… There has to be another reason.”
“Well, either way a reduced genetic diversity means more vulnerability to things like disease. I touched on this in my white paper, how the traits are selected when the pool is limited,” Molly said grimly.
Moving on to the next camera, they continued to observe the same things across many species: the display of eerie similarities and what seemed to be doubles, triples, and quadruples of the same exact shot.
Arriving back at the compound, Molly and Jasmine agreed to split the work of carefully cleaning and repairing the cameras.
Unable to sleep under the bright hunter’s moon, Molly shook herself up and decided to take a hike. The African weather was pleasant, with a warm breeze passing by. Walking along the walls of the compound, she was bothered by today’s events. The prides of lions she saw – the resemblance could be explained with a limited gene pool – but was unlikely. Rounding the corner, Molly glanced into the offices and happened to see Mr. Long fumbling with a calculator.
“Hi Mr. Long,” Molly whispered, trying not to scare him, which did not work, as Mr. Long jumped up from his seat, startled.
“You scared me there, Molly,” Mr. Long mumbled as he tried to regain his composure.
“What are you doing this late? Should you not be sleeping?”
“I was just finishing up some last minute calculations before sending my monthly report back to Yale, that’s all. What are you doing up so late?”
“I was just struggling with some jet lag, but Jasmine and I got out on the field today, and I was puzzled over something.”
At this Mr. Long perked up, and as he stood up, his stringy body seeming to never stop rising. She wondered how tall he was. 6’7”? 6’9”? Maybe it was that he seemed tall because he was just so… just so…
“Well, we just so happened to see a pride of lions that looked eerily similar while checking the camera playback today. Although it could be explained by recurring genes caused by isolation and a lowering count of the overall gene pool, it should not be as noticeable. It’s just really confusing.”
Mr. Long was concerned, and assured Molly that the cameras would be checked and that anything that would otherwise disturb their research would be removed. Mr. Long then asked Molly to show her the footage, making sure nothing else could have caused this.
Molly giggled. “Right now?”
“No Molly, unlike you, I’m not on Connecticut time. And you will need to alert the night watchman that you are out and about.”
“Can you do it for me?”
Mr. Long laughed.
Back in her dorm, finally being able to fall asleep, Molly put her worries aside to dream.
Molly only slept a few hours – the dawn was just about over when her eyes snapped open, and she jumped from bed and ran down to the cafeteria. Where was Mr. Long? Ahh, there’s Jas.
“Jas!”
“Molly! Join me for pão and badjias!”
It was hard to eat this breakfast: a carb bomb if there was ever one – a bread stuffed with bean cakes. Molly felt like she had a shoebox stuck in her gut.
Mr. Long swaggered in and informed the two that he’d called up a researcher who used to have a career as a private detective, and that they had decided to inspect the other cameras located around the area. Molly and Jasmine, however, were to stay back for safety.
“I can’t believe that we’re just sitting here rotting away while Mr. Long and the other guy get to solve a mystery. Why am I always excluded from the fun?” Jasmine muttered as she sipped her Coke later that afternoon. Molly was dozing in a chair by the window. She snorted awake.
“Come on Jasmine, you know it’s not fun out there. The sun would burn us up and we’d probably spend all day trying to find a clue.”
“Molly, for someone who loves an adventure so much, you’re oddly on his side.”
“I mean an adventure is great and all, but we’ve made it so far. Better safe than sorry.”
“Safe from what? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I mean what if the person who did all of this came and… I don’t know, attacked you?”
“Just keep dreaming.”
Hours later, Mr. Long came back. Half excited, half worried, he told Molly and Jasmine that all other cameras had been manipulated: every single one, suggesting that a mole was among them!
The next day, the cameras were taken to a lab to be dusted for fingerprints. What they found was kind of confusing. All cameras had fingerprints that had eerily similar whorls but in further analysis of the latent fingerprint, distinctive deltas (points in loop and whorl prints that lay within an often triangular, three-pronged or funnel-shaped structure) were identified. These seemed so identical, yet…
With no explanation, they pondered on it for a while until Molly had an idea. The culprit had to be siblings: physically, it was impossible for a person’s fingerprints to change; they were born with it, and it stayed with them their entire lives, but what about those among us with identical DNA?
“Dr. Long?” Molly called out.
“Yes?”
“I think I have an idea.”
“About what?”
“The fingerprints, obviously. I was thinking that maybe these people were related by blood? Maybe that’s why they are kind of similar?”
“Well, that’s interesting. I’ll see about it later.”
“Oh. Alright.”
Later the next day, Dr. Long still had no news about it. Deciding to take it into her own hands, Molly went on the facility laptop to check out the current on-site researchers. Scrolling down, she saw her name, then Jasmine’s, then some friends, until she stumbled upon Oliver and Brendan Zhang, the only two people in the entire facility who shared a last name. She decided to hunt them down.
“Hey Oliver. I wanted to talk to you for a second,” Molly said as she ran to catch up with him.
“Sure. What’s happening?”
“Why are you sabotaging the facility?”
“What?”
“I know it. You are sabotaging the facility.”
“How do you know?”
“It doesn’t matter, tell me why and what you’re doing.”
Oliver’s face went pale. He glanced around the empty room, looking for anyone that heard something.
“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “How much do you know?”
“Everything. The cameras, the fingerprints, the identical animals. You and your brother.”
Oliver once again looked around, before quietly whispering, “Fine. You want the truth? Dr. Long ruined my parents.”
“What?”
“Ten years ago, my parents were researchers here. They made a discovery. A big one. About elephant migration patterns, which would’ve concerned the whole continent of Africa. Could’ve made good money.” His voice was unhappy, almost bitter. “Long took it. Published it under his name. Gave them their 40% of the earnings, but crossed their names out entirely. Honestly, they didn’t deserve to have their names completely erased and their fame and reputation ignored.”
Molly heard this and kept quiet. Obviously Oliver had no idea that Molly was doing the same thing, and she would like to keep it this way.
“I did this to make him look dumb. Hoping he would publish a paper full of errors and ruin his reputation. Thanks a lot.”
With this, Oliver turned around and left. Just as Molly was contemplating whether she should tell Dr. Long, she saw the twins driving away, toward the direction of the airport. The next day, no one was able to locate the two. Dr. Long, being intelligent enough, pieced together that they were the reason for the broken footage and that they had fled.
One month later, Molly made the discovery of a lifetime.