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    The Mars Effect
    The Mars Effect
    The Mars Effect
    Ebook83 pages1 hour

    The Mars Effect

    By Matt Sorensen

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Dr.Marcus Bettinger is researching ways to increase crop yields to feed the world's exploding population. He discovers the answer in a most unlikely place and is preparing to publish his findings when he comes head-to-head with powerful and ruthless interests who will resort to kidnapping and murder to further their own agenda.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMatt Sorensen
    Release dateMar 7, 2011
    ISBN9781458117236
    The Mars Effect
    Author

    Matt Sorensen

    Matt Sorensen is a pseudonym. It's taken from my Danish grandfather's first name (Matthias) and my grandmother's maiden name (Sorensen). They were proud, hardworking immigrants like the ones talked about in chapter 5 of my book "In the Bowl of Night." I was born in 1933 and served in the Navy during the Korean War. I write technical articles under my real name, Paul Honore', and fiction under my pseudonym. People ask me. "Why?" It's explained in my Smashwords interview.

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      Book preview

      The Mars Effect - Matt Sorensen

      The Mars Effect

      by Matt Sorensen

      Smashwords edition

      Copyright 2011 Matt Sorensen

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

      Chapter 1 The Call

      After earning a Master’s degree in biology from Duke University. Marcus Bettinger decided to take a year’s break from his studies before immersing himself in the PhD program. He joined the Peace Corps and was sent to a remote village near Madhipura, India, to help dig an irrigation canal. He counted it the best year of his life because it was there that he met the girl who would become his wife and assistant.

      When he first set eyes on her, Alicia was standing, pants rolled to her knees, in the filthy water of a padi, planting rice alongside the locals. A sweat-soaked dungaree shirt hung about her like a sack and, topping a head of honey-colored hair, cropped short like a man’s, was the ugliest; most dysfunctional straw hat he could imagine. From that moment it was decided. He would marry this girl, and married they were, by a Methodist missionary minister, in a sunset ceremony on the banks of the Ganges.

      After the Peace Corps, the Bettingers moved to California and Marcus earned a Doctorate in bio-chemistry from Stanford. He never forgot the time spent in the third-world. Memories of starving children and undernourished adults haunted his dreams and his waking thoughts. As a youth among poor sharecroppers in Alabama, he thought he knew poverty. In India, he learned what real poverty was -- people who had never known more than a single meal of millet porridge a day, and sometimes not even that. He felt driven to do everything in his power to help them to a better life.

      Ten years had passed. As Professor of agronomy at U.C. Davis, all of his efforts were focused on the development of genetically enhanced crops to feed a rapidly exploding world population.

      He was studying a wall chart -- a multi-colored helix representing the genetic makeup of wheat; making notes on a scratch pad. There was a knock at the door and a secretary entered. Dr. Bettinger, there’s a call for you on the outside line.

      Damn it, Laura, you know I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m working. That’s why I refuse to have a telephone installed in my office.

      I know but this is urgent. It’s Washington, sir.

      Washington?

      Yes sir. The person at the other end said he's with U.N. headquarters.

      I don’t know anyone at the U.N. He probably wants me to deliver a paper or something. He resumed his note taking. Tell him I've more important things to do.

      The secretary left. A few minutes later, she returned. Dr. Bettinger, I'm sorry to keep interrupting but the gentleman from Washington is most insistent that he speak with you.

      Bettinger put the pad in his pocket and breathed, heavily. Okay, but you'd better hope he's not selling anything.

      The main office in the Biology Department was crowded and noisy. It was lunch hour and students and faculty were jostling each other for the attention of office staff. Marcus was having difficulty understanding the man on the telephone. IFAD? What the hell is that? International what? There was a long pause while the man on the telephone explained. International Fund for Agricultural Development? I thought you were with the U.N. There was another long pause. I see. you want me to come to Washington. I'm sorry, I can't do that. My work here is too important. He hung up the phone and returned to the quiet of his office. No more interruptions, Laura. I'm onto something important and I don't want to be disturbed.

      Marcus hadn't counted on the persistence of the U.N. representative. When he got home that evening, Alicia was waiting for him with a stack of memos. You're a very important man. she said. You've been getting phone calls all day from Washington, A doctor Rajampani and some other fellow whose name I can't begin to pronounce desperately want to talk to you about your work with genetic modification of seed.

      But my research is in its infancy. So far, I've only been able to produce a five percent improvement in crop yield, and that's not 100 percent certain. I'll need at least ten successive crops to prove the gain is permanent.

      Still, I think you should talk with them.

      I know what they want. They want me to go to Washington.

      You know?

      They called at the office.

      What did you say?

      I said I was too busy.

      ‘Honey, this might be your big opportunity. If the U.N. is interested in your work, maybe they'll provide the funds you so desperately need. At least go and find out what they have to say."

      ***

      The red-eye flight to New York was far from pleasant and did nothing to improve Marcus' attitude, nor did the accommodations allotted by the University -- a one-star, sixty five dollar a night hotel with a shared bathroom and hot and cold running cockroaches. He made a safe-arrival call to Alicia, took a hot bath, and got into bed with the intent of getting a few hour's sleep before meeting with Dr. Rajampani. As tired as he was, the all-night traffic and strange surroundings conspired to destroy his efforts. His head ached and he was in a twilight state of half-wakefulness when his travel alarm rang.

      At U.N. Headquarters, he was met by a short, balding man who introduced himself as Majavir Mehta, Project manager for IFAD. Dr. Rajampani is in an important conference but will be with us shortly. I trust you had a pleasant trip?

      Not very. What the hell is this all about?

      All in good time, Dr. Bettinger. Have you breakfasted?

      No, there wasn't time.

      If you will be my guest, we have a very good restaurant here. Please, allow me. he said with a flourish.

      "What about my meeting with

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