The Atlantis Gene: A Thriller (24 page)

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Authors: A. G. Riddle

Tags: #Mystery Thriller

BOOK: The Atlantis Gene: A Thriller
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“Don’t talk like that. Like it’s over. Let’s move out, we’re T minus 15.”

They resumed their pace, and Kate kept up this time. Five minutes before the meeting time, the forest waned and an expansive train station came into view.

“It’s definitely not abandoned,” Kate said.

Before them, the station swarmed with people, all dressed in white coats, security outfits, and other uniforms. David and Kate would stick out among the masses filing into the station.

“Hurry, before they see us walking in from the trees.”

CHAPTER 50

Immari Corp. Research Complex
Outside Burang, China
Tibet Autonomous Region

Dorian watched the monitors as the researchers lead the 20 or so Chinese subjects out of the room. The therapy really did a number on them. Half could barely walk.

The observation room included a large wall with screens monitoring every inch of the research facility and several rows of computer workstations where eggheads typed on computers all day doing God knows what.

Across the room, Naomi leaned against a wall, clearly bored. She looked so strange with clothes on. Dorian motioned for her to come over. She wasn’t authorized to hear the scientist’s report.

“You want to get out of here?” Naomi said.

“In a bit. Go get acquainted with the facility. I have some work to do. I’ll come after you shortly.”

“I’ll survey the local talent.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She wandered out of the room without a word.

Dorian turned to the nervous scientist who had been lurking, following, almost stalking him since he had arrived.

“Dr. Chang?”

The man stepped forward. “Yes sir.”

“What am I looking at here?”

“That’s the third cohort. We’re working as fast as we can, Mr. Sloane.” When Dorian said nothing, Chang continued. “Will, ah, Dr. Grey be joining us?”

“No. You’ll communicate with me about this project from here out. Understood?”

“Ah, yes sir. Is… there—”

“Dr. Grey is working on a new project. I’d like you to bring me up to speed.”

Chang opened his mouth to speak.

“And be brief.” Dorian stared at him impatiently.

“Of course sir.” Chang rubbed his palms together as if he were warming them by a campfire. “Well, as you know, the project dates back to the 1930s, but we’ve only really made substantial progress in the last few years — and it’s all thanks to a few breakthroughs in genetics, in particular rapid genome sequencing.”

“I thought they already sequenced the human genome — in the 90s.”

“Ah, that’s inco—, ah, a misnomer, if you will. There is no
one
human genome. The
first
human genome was sequenced in the 90s, and the draft sequence was published in February of 2001 — ah, that was the genome of Dr. Craig Venter. But we each have a genome and each is different. That’s part of the challenge.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Yes, sorry, I don’t often talk about the project.” He chuckled nervously, “Ah, for obvious reasons! And especially not to anyone in your position. Yes, where to start? Maybe a little history. Ah, the 1930s — the research then was… radical, but yielded some interesting results, despite the methods.” Chang looked around, as if wondering if he had offended Dorian. “Ah, well, we spent decades studying what the Bell actually does to its victims. As you know it’s a form of radiation that we don’t fully understand, but the effects are—”

“Don’t lecture me about its effects, Doctor. No one on this earth knows more about what it does than I do. Tell me what you know. And be quick.”

Chang looked down. He made several fists with his hands and then tried to dry them on his pants. “Of course you know, I only meant to contrast our past research with.. Yes, today, genetics, we sequence… We… The… breakthrough has been turning the research on its head — instead of studying the effects of the device, we’ve focused on finding a way to survive the machine. We’ve known since the 30s that some subjects fare better than others, but since they all die eventually—” Chang looked up to see Dorian leering at him. The doctor ducked his head and plowed on. “We, our theory is that if we can isolate the genes that impart immunity to the machine, we can develop a gene therapy to protect us from its effects. We would use a retrovirus to deliver this gene, what we’re calling ‘The Atlantis Gene.’”

“So why haven’t you found it?”

“We thought we were close a few years ago, but no one person seems to have full immunity. Our premise, as you know, was that there was a group of humans that could have withstood the machine at some point and that their DNA has been scattered across the earth — essentially we were on a global genetic egg hunt. But frankly, after as many experiments as we’ve run, given our sample size, we were beginning to believe that the Atlantis Gene didn’t exist — that it never existed in humans.”

Dorian held his hand up and the doctor stopped to catch his breath. If what the doctor said was true, it would require a re-examination of everything they believed. And it would vindicate his methods. Or at least come close. But could it be? There were a few problems. “How did the children survive?” Dorian said.

“Unfortunately we don’t know. We aren’t even sure what they were treated with—”

“I know that. Tell me what you know.”

“We know that the therapy they received was something cutting edge. Possibly something so new we don’t have anything to compare it to. But we have some theories. There’s been another recent breakthrough in genetics — what we call Epigenetics — the idea is that our genome is less like a static blueprint and more like a piano. The piano keys represent the genome. We each get different keys, and the keys don’t change throughout our life — we die with the same piano keys — or genome — we’re born with. What changes is the sheet music — the epigenetics — and that sheet of music determines what tune is played — what genes are expressed and those genes determine our traits — everything from IQ to hair color. The idea is that this complex interaction between our genome and the epigenetics that control gene expression really determines who we become. What’s interesting is that we have a hand in writing the music, in controlling our own epigenetics. And so do our parents and even our environment. If a certain gene is expressed in your parents and grandparents, it’s more likely to activate in you. Essentially our actions, those of our parents, and our environment influence what genes could be activated. Our genes might control the possibilities, but epigenetics determines our destiny. It’s an incredible breakthrough. We’ve known something more than pure static genetics was at work for some time. Our twin studies in the 30s and 40s told us that — some twins survived longer in the machine than others, despite having almost exactly the same genome. Epigenetics is the missing link.”

“What does this have to do with the kids?”

“My personal theory is that some new kind of therapy inserted new genes into the kids and that those genes had some sort of cascade effect, possibly operating at the Epigenetic level as well. We think surviving the Bell is a matter of having the right genes
and
turning this ‘Atlantis Gene’ on — that’s the key. It’s strange, the therapy operated almost like a mutation “

“Mutation?”

“Yes, a mutation is simply a random change in the genetic code, a genetic dice roll if you will — sometimes it pays off big, imparting a new evolutionary advantage and sometimes… you get six fingers or four! But this one provided immunity to the Bell. It’s so fascinating. I wonder if I could speak with Dr. Warner. It would be incredibly helpf—”

“Forget Dr. Warner.” Dorian rubbed his temple. Genetics, Epigenetics, mutations. It all added up to the same thing: failed research, no viable therapy for immunity to the Bell, and no time left on the clock. “How many subjects can your bell room hold?”

“Ah, we usually limit each trial to 50 subjects, but maybe 100, maybe a little more if we pack them in.”

Dorian gazed at the monitors. A cadre of white-coat-clad egg heads were corralling a new cohort of subjects into the lounge chairs, then hooking them up to clear plastic bags of death. “How long does it take to run?”

“Not long. Five or ten minutes is about as long as any subject goes.”

“Five or ten minutes.” His voice was just above a whisper. He leaned back in the chair, turning the idea over in his mind. Then he stood and took a step toward the door. “Start processing all your remaining subjects through the Bell — as quickly as you can.” Dr. Chang stepped forward to protest, but Dorian was already halfway out the door. “Oh, and remember, don’t destroy the bodies. We need them. I’ll be in the nuclear section, Doctor.”

CHAPTER 51

Immari Corp. Train
Outside Burang, China
Tibet Autonomous Region

Kate sat in silence, watching the green countryside fly by at 90 miles an hour. Across from her, David shifted a little on his side of the closed train compartment. How could he sleep at a time like this? He would have a crick in his neck from sleeping like that. Kate leaned forward and nudged his head a little.

Even if her nerves weren’t going crazy, Kate’s legs hurt too much to sleep. David’s brisk pace on their hike from the plane’s “landing site” to the train station had taken its toll. And so had the sprint inside, to the bank of lockers and #44, which had been their salvation.

Inside the locker they found two outfits — a security outfit for David and a white coat for Kate. There were ID badges too — Kate was now Dr. Emma West, research associate in ‘Bell Primary - Genetics Division,’ whatever that was. David was Conner Anderson. The pictures on the IDs didn’t match, but they only had to run them through a swipe machine, like a subway or credit card reader, to get on the 10:45 train — apparently the last train of the morning.

As they boarded the train, Kate had turned to David and said, “What now? What’s the plan?” David turned her back around and said, “Don’t talk, they could be listening. Follow the plan.”

“The Plan” wasn’t much of one — her goal was to find the children and get back on the train. David would take out the power and join her. It wasn’t even half a plan. They would probably be caught before they got off the train. And he was sleeping.

But… he probably hadn’t slept much the night before. Had he stayed up to see if the men searching the cottage would find the entrance to the bomb shelter? How long had he laid on that concrete floor? And then the three hour flight in that vibrating antique death trap of a plane. Kate wadded up some of the clothes from her bag and put them between his face and the wall.

Another thirty minutes passed, and Kate felt the train slowing. In the corridor, people were making a line.

David grabbed Kate’s arm. When had he woken up? Kate looked at him, panic creeping into her face.

“Stay calm,” he said. “Remember, you work here. You’re taking the kids for a test. Director’s orders.”

“What director?” Kate hissed.

“If they ask that, tell them it’s above their pay grade and keep walking.”

Kate tried to ask another question, but David yanked the compartment door open and shoved Kate into the moving line. By the time she looked back, he was several people behind her and moving the other way — putting distance between them. She was alone. She whipped her head back around and swallowed a few times. She could do this.

She moved with the flow of people, trying to act casual. The workers were mostly Asian, but there were quite a few Europeans, possibly Americans. She was a minority, but she didn’t stick out too much. There were several entrances to the giant facility, each with three lines. She spotted the entrance with the most white coats and drifted over to it. She stood in line, waiting to swipe her card, trying to get a glimpse of the badges around her. ‘Bell Auxiliary - Primate Housing.’ She looked in the line beside her. ‘Bell Control — Maintenance and Housekeeping.’ What was she? Bell something. It had genetics in it. She had the overwhelming fear that if she glanced down at her fake badge that someone would point at her and scream “Impostor! Get her!”, like a playground kid calling you out for peeing in your pants.

Up ahead white coats were marching forward, scanning their badges like automatons. The line was moving quickly — just like the train station. She now saw something else —six armed guards. Three were spread out, one stationed at each line, scrutinizing every face. The other three loitered behind a chain-link fence, drinking coffee and talking quickly, horsing around with each other like officemates the day after the super bowl. Each man had an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder as casually as if it were a messenger bag with inner-office memos.

She had to focus. The badge. Kate slipped her card out and sneaked a peak — ‘Bell Primary - Genetics Division.’ In the line beside her, she saw a tall blond man, 40ish, holding a card with the same division. He was several people behind her. She would have to wait for him to get through, then follow him.

“Ma’am—”

They were talking to her!

“Ma’am.” The guard pointed to the wide post with the magnetic card reader at the top. Beside her people were swiping and hurrying past.

Kate fought to steady her hand as she ripped her card across the slot. A different beep. A red light.

Beside her two more people swiped. Green lights, no beep, they were off.

The guard cocked his head and took a step toward her.

Her hands were shaking visibly now. Act casual. She got the card in the slot and ran it through, slowly this time. Red Light. Bad Beep.

The guards behind the fence had stopped talking. They were looking at her. The guard in her line looked back at the other guards.

She tried to line up the card for another try, but someone grabbed her hand. “You’re backwards love.”

Kate looked up. The blonde man. She couldn’t think. What had he said? “I work here,” Kate said quickly, looking around. Everyone was looking at them. They were blocking two of the three lines.

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