Mark of the Beast (10 page)

“Actually, we used it previously to clarify and accurately define the genes responsible for the galactosamine disorders.”

“Very interesting, but how did you think of using it here?”

“One of my research assistants suggested using it to wash out the impurities in the solution. Guess what? It worked.”

“I can't wait to get back to Chicago. The governor will be thrilled.”

“How did you get the governor in on this?” Dickerson asked.

“Well, he ran his campaign on a crime reduction theme, and I enthusiastically supported him. In any event, I knew him from his days in Congress.”

“That's a nice connection. It may come in handy.”

“He's actually given us his blessing and has allocated state funding for more research at the Kankakee Federal Prison.”

“That's great,” Dickerson said with some envy. “How did you pull that off?”

“Are you ready to order?” the waitress interrupted, while serving the drinks.

“What do you seriously think about these HLA B66 findings?” Abramhoff asked when the waitress finally left after taking their orders.

“I believe we're onto something, and neither of us currently is aware of the implications; what do you think?”

“I do believe that with the proper legislative action, we might be on the verge of ridding society of all predestined criminal elements.”

“How did you surmise that?” Dickerson asked.

“Look at it this way”—Abramhoff clasped his hands, leaned forward, and rested them on the table—“if we can test people and methodically pick out the HLA B66 positive individuals … Can you imagine?”

With a slight hesitation, Dr. Dickerson, in a barely audible voice, advised, “I think we should move more cautiously in that direction.”

 

4

D
R.
D
ICKERSON RETURNED FROM
FLORIDA
tired, especially after three grueling days attending conferences, chairing sessions, and being the focus of many question-and-answer periods. The flight from Orlando to San Diego, except for a few wind bumps, was uneventful. She was able to nap for about twenty-five minutes on the return flight. She spent the rest of the time making mental notes to herself. The overriding question on her mind was what Dr. Abramhoff planned to do with the HLA B66 finding.

He unwittingly gave her the impression that he was on some type of witch hunt.

The Constitution of United States guarantees that a person is innocent until proven guilty, and they're entitled to be judged by a jury of their peers. Witch hunts and broad inquisitions are especially frowned upon today.

But what if Dr. Abramhoff was right?

If, by using HLA B66 in random testing, the authorities could detect and stop a serial killer, how many lives and resources could be saved? What would the financial savings be to the states and the federal government? The dominant question, however, was what to do with the HLA B66 positive individuals who had committed no crime whatsoever. Watch them? Imprison them? Or what?

Dickerson made a conscious decision to stay on the scientific side of whatever argument might arise and let the elected officials legislate on the social implications of the research.

Arriving home, she could not wait to call Pinkett.

“How was your conference?” the detective asked.

“Thought provoking,” Dickerson replied.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” she answered with a pause, “Dr. Abramhoff is something else.”

“What? He's really smart, or just something else?”

“He's already met with the governor of Illinois and obtained funding from the state to conduct studies at a local state prison.”

“Oh, really? That's four steps ahead of you.”

“I have to think of something to accelerate our project.”

“How about collaborating?” the detective suggested.

“I don't know,” Dickerson said. “He appeared a little pompous, even though he was a gentleman.”

“What, is he handsome?”

“You might say handsome,” Dickerson said, “I'd say studious, late fifties to early sixties, just a little chubby but dressed impeccably.”

“All right.” Pinkett gave up. “At least ask him for collaboration.”

“I'll do that,” Dickerson promised.

 

5

T
HE FEAST OF
O
UR
Lady of Guadalupe, on December twelfth, was a celebrated occasion for Catholics living in San Diego, especially for the vast population of Mexicans. Dr. Dickerson, over the years, had made plans to attend the yearly ceremonial mass, but schedule conflicts with her work always prevented her. This year, the feast fell on Wednesday. It was a very busy day for Dr. Dickerson at the university, but she promised herself she'd attend the afternoon festive mass and, for once, observe the carrying of the statue of Our Lady across Locust Street. She had always been fascinated by the story of the appearance of the Blessed Virgin Mary's apparition to the folks at Guadalupe.

The first reading during mass was a passage from the Book of Revelation. Usually, only half paying attention, she could follow most readings during mass, a process she had mastered over the years of attending masses.

This time, however, her whole being sat straight up when she heard, during the reading, “No one could buy or sell except one who had the stamped image of the beast … that number is 666.”

The half sleep in her eyes immediately evaporated. Fully attentive now, she listened to Father Sanchez saying during the sermon that the number 666 was not physically written on the body or on the head of anyone, as Hollywood has made us believe, but rather: “We as Christians should hope and pray to God for illumination so that we can identify those who are the agents of evil and, in the process, be able to recognize and avoid their temptations. By the same token, we should be aware of God's immense love for us and follow the path it takes to be a good Christian, no matter the cost, so that in the final analysis we shall inherit God's Kingdom and not that of the devil.”

Driving back to the laboratory, and all afternoon, Dickerson was consumed with wild thoughts of a possible connection between the number 666 in the Bible, and their bizarre HLA findings. Multiple thoughts raced through her mind.

Is this a coincidence?

Is there a connection?

Wait a minute. The number is 666. Our HLA is B66.

Is there an HLA 666?

Nope, wrong nomenclature.

What about HLA B666?

That's not possible, because the B locus is not long enough to accommodate up to 600 positions.

What, then, is the significance of HLA B66?

Does it have anything to do with the beast in the Book of Revelation?

And why is it associated with hard-core criminals at the maximum-security prison?

Arriving home, late in the evening, Dickerson made her way straight to the bedroom. In the drawer of her nightstand, she knew there was a family Bible, the New American Bible. Her dad had given it to her on her graduation from medical school; he usually explained complicated situations to her by quoting passages from the Scriptures. Dickerson knew the Bible was there, but she had never picked it up to read, except today.

The reading was from the Book of Revelation, but what chapter? She hardly ever looked at the missals during mass. Not wanting to read the entire book, she called the church and discovered that the reading was taken from chapters twelve and thirteen. She read both entire chapters and, not wanting to stop reading, went all the way to the end of the book. Early the next morning, she called Detective Pinkett on her cell phone.

“Hey, you,” Dickerson greeted Pinkett.

“What's up, Doc?” replied Pinkett.

“What do you know about the number 666?” asked Dickerson.

“What number 666?”

“You know, the one in the Bible.”

“Well, it's supposed to be associated with the devil. What about it?”

“I went to church yesterday.”

“Good for you. Did you pray for me?”

“I forgot. Listen, the church reading was about 666. I went home and read the Book of Revelation, the part that talked about 666.” Dickerson's voice was rushed.

“Where is this story going?” interrupted Detective Pinkett.

“Just hush and pay attention.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“As I was saying, after reading the book I thought about the HLA.”

“I'm not following, because I don't see a connection.”

“Maybe there is none, but what if the 666 in the Bible is B66?”

There was a momentary pause at the other end, and then Pinkett replied, “Okay, let's look at this closely. The Bible says 666, you have B66. I don't see the match.”

“I know … I know,” Dickerson contended, “but you can't deny the fact that B66 is, as I explained to you, found in criminals who have what might be called ‘hellish' intentions.”

“Even if it is, are you suggesting that these people are devils … or whatever?”

“I don't know what I'm suggesting, because this whole thing doesn't make any sense.”

“Exactly. No match, no connections, makes no sense, case closed.”

“Thanks for your help,” Dickerson said in exasperation.

“I'm the one here trying to be realistic.”

“I know you are. There has to be a scientific explanation, though.”

“When you find out, could you please let me know?” Pinky ended on a sarcastic note.

After that conversation, Dr. Dickerson fixed her customary breakfast of two pieces of toast, one boiled egg, black coffee, and an orange juice. While eating breakfast, she decided to go back to the church library and find out all she could about the Book of Revelation.

At the library, she couldn't find any significant answers, except that the book was written by St. John, using unfamiliar symbols, during the early years of Christian persecution at the hands of the Romans. Dickerson went to work the next day still in awe, and bewildered over the possible connections between ancient revelations and modern-day science.

At the 10:00
A.M.
medical rounds, the subject was ankylosing spondylitis, a disease affecting the spinal joints. It had a high predilection for HLA B27. Seizing on that, Dickerson began. “Dr. Pavigoose, what is your understanding of the HLA system?” she asked the third-year resident, a shy, introverted man who thought Dr. Dickerson always picked on him.

“I think the HLA systems define compatibility,” Dr. Pavigoose answered. Even though he was shy, he was nonetheless intelligent and quick with his responses, a characteristic admired by Dickerson.

“Yes, go on.”

“It defines individuality and orchestrates a rejection when foreign tissues or organs are introduced in the body.”

“How does it define or mark an individual?” asked Dr. Dickerson.

“Current literature suggests that individuals with specific and well-characterized HLAs may be prone to manifest specific diseases or characteristics.”

“Impressive, Dr. Pavigoose, you've been following the literature.”

A faint smile gleamed on Dr. Pavigoose's face.

“What we do know today about the HLAs, especially the B loci, is that they have the unique ability to single out disease processes in certain individuals.” Dickerson eyeballed the rest of the morning-round team. “Most importantly, as you will be hearing in the near future, is that B loci may be associated with human characteristics. The telling point, at this time, is that it may predetermine behavior.”

“Is it similar to the predestination theory report by Dr. Abramhoff at the Loop University in Chicago?” asked Dr. Pavigoose.

“Something like that,” replied Dickerson.

 

PART

V

 

1

T
HE SNOW ON
S
IXTY-FIRST
Street off US Highway 65 in Hobart, Indiana, looked like glistening white powder on this early February morning. It was a cold Saturday morning, and it had snowed all night long. Alexander Andalusia, with great caution, guided the Ford truck he was driving, concentrating on the road in anticipation of sudden ice patches.

Sixty-first Street, the second road off Highway 65 to Hobart, was still under a massive reconstruction into a four-lane tarred road.

Alex had been through this road multiple times, and knew where the hidden ice patches might be located. Not that he had not veered off the road once or twice before, but each had resulted in only minor incidents. He arrived at the Marathon Gas Station to fill up the truck and pick up a shovel.

Looking at his watch in a surprised gesture, Steve, the store manager inquired, “What are you doing up this early, Alex? It's only … five o'clock.”

“Hey Steve, good morning.” Alex smiled and stomped his boots on the outdoor carpet to shake off the snow.

“Morning,” Steve replied, wondering why Alex did not have a scarf around his neck, since it must be at least ten degrees below zero, counting the wind-chill factor.

“I just need to get me a little gasoline and pick up a shovel to work on my barn,” Alex replied.

“You should have waited for daylight on this godforsaken day, so that you could at least see where you're going,” Steve insisted.

“You know me, early to bed and early to rise.”

“I see, I see … says the blind man to the deaf wife,” Steve said in jest.

“Early morning sense of humor,” Alex replied.

“No better time!” Steve said, and then asked begrudgingly, “What time do you normally go to bed?”

“Oh … usually nine or ten at night.” Alex gestured with his hand.

With that, Alex picked up a new Winchester shovel, pulled out his wallet, paid for his purchases, and headed for the door.

“Have a nice day.” Steve waved.