The Genesis Code (12 page)

Millennium Tower Subway Station
Manhattan, New York

Madison breathed a sigh of relief as the subway car began to pull away from the platform. The subway car was only a quarter full. An assortment of well-dressed businesspeople, teenagers in baggy jeans and T-shirts, and tourists with cameras and fanny packs were spaced in clumps along the hard plastic seats.

Madison and Grace took a relatively private bench at the rear of the car where they could talk without being overheard. Newspapers littered the aisle. The air in the subway car was warm and stale.

Madison winced as he rubbed his right shoulder. He removed the printout of Ambergris’ e-mail from his pocket, unfolded it, and spread the page across his lap.

“Maybe we should go to the police…or the FBI,” said Grace.

“And tell them what?” asked Madison. “We almost killed the chief security officer of Triad Genomics. Crowe thinks you were involved in the murder of Dr. Ambergris.”

“I wasn’t there last night,” said Grace. “I swear I wasn’t there. Either someone made a mistake or evidence was deliberately fabricated implicating me in Ambergris’ murder.”

Grace tapped a finger on the printout of Ambergris’ e-mail.

“Dr. Ambergris sent this to you before he was killed. In code, to protect the message from someone inside Triad Genomics who might try and read it. Maybe the same person who planted false evidence about me.”

Madison was silent.

“And maybe the same person who plans to detonate a bomb during the Biogenetics Conference,” said Grace. “We can’t just run away from this. We have to tell someone.”

“Do you want to walk into FBI headquarters and claim that Dr. Ambergris was killed because he discovered an encrypted code hidden in human DNA? And that we got a phone call from some anonymous person telling us that Ambergris’ killers are going to blow up the Millennium Tower?”

“It does sound absolutely crazy…”

“No one is ever going to believe us. We’ll be locked up in an interrogation room while Ambergris’ killer is free to cover up his tracks and, God forbid, follow through on his plans to blow up the Millennium Tower.”

“I suppose you have a better idea?”

Madison closed his eyes and thought for a moment.

“We need some tangible proof to take to the authorities.”

“What about the journal?” asked Grace.

“That doesn’t prove anything. We need Ambergris’ raw data. His research notes. The genome sequences he was working with. Would Dr. Ambergris have kept any of his research at his residence?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Sooner or later, either Triad Genomics security or Ambergris’ killer is going to search Ambergris’ house.”

“If they haven’t already,” said Grace. “If there are any documents at his house—”

“We need to get to them first,” concluded Madison.

Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence
Uptown Manhattan, New York

The subway station closest to Dr. Ambergris’ brownstone deposited Grace and Madison on a trendy block of newly renovated historic buildings with elegant brick facades and wrought-iron balconies. Shops and restaurants filled the first floor of each building along the street. Small bistro tables spilled out onto the sidewalk from cafés with European names featuring “fusion cuisine.” After the close of business, the cafés and restaurants would begin to fill with small crowds of young professionals mingling and networking—young administrative assistants sipping dirty martinis, flirting with accountants and lawyers drinking imported beer from glass bottles.

Madison and Grace walked at a brisk clip, avoiding eye contact with the few people they passed on the sidewalk. The second and third floors along the block were filled with offices of accountants, real estate agents, designers, and lawyers. Lofts and condos occupied the upper floors. The neighborhood was typical of the multiuse “new urbanism” developments gentrifying older downtown neighborhoods in cities across America.

“Down this block,” said Grace.

She led Madison into a quiet neighborhood still untouched by the rash of urban redevelopment only two blocks away. The small enclave of ancient brownstones was nestled beneath a canopy of tall oaks that lined the narrow street.

“This is it,” said Grace, stopping in front of an impressive four-story residence.

“Is there a back door?” asked Madison. “There’s no way I can kick in that front door without drawing attention.”

“I know where the spare key is hidden,” said Grace.

Madison raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, stop. It’s nothing like that. Ambergris sent me here two or three times to pick up books or journal articles he needed at the office.”

“Sure he did.”

“Fine. Think what you want.”

She walked along the wrought-iron fence enclosing the small front yard. At the fourth fence post, she stopped and knelt down on the sidewalk, reaching beneath the bottom railing.

“It’s still here,” she said, producing a small magnetic box. Inside was a single shiny key.

Grace removed the key and slipped the magnetic box back into its hiding place.

“The front gate was never locked,” she said, raising the iron latch. The gate groaned as she pushed it open.

Madison followed Grace through the gate and closed it behind them. He scanned the street for curious neighbors and saw none.

“I kept telling him to get an alarm system,” said Grace, inserting the key into the lock on the front door and giving it a clockwise twist.

“Wait a minute…,” cautioned Madison.

Grace opened the front door.

Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence
Uptown Manhattan, New York

A black streak shot out through the doorway as Grace pulled the door open. The overweight black cat darted straight at Madison, who jumped to one side to avoid the feline projectile. Never losing speed, the cat darted through a narrow opening beneath the gate, executed a ninety-degree turn, and dove into the bushes.

Grace cried out as she lost her balance, falling backward off the top step. Madison stepped forward with his arms outstretched, neatly catching Grace in his arms as she fell.

“Nice catch,” she said.

Madison set her down on the brick walkway. “Come on,” he said, walking up the steps to the door. “Let’s get inside before we alert the entire neighborhood.”

The house was dark and quiet. The faint smell of lemons lingered in the air downstairs. Grace led Madison through the first floor and up the stairs to Dr. Ambergris’ study.

“It doesn’t look like anyone has been here,” said Grace.

“Just keep your eyes open,” said Madison.

The door to the study was ajar. Madison crept up to the doorway and peered inside the study.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“Look,” said Grace, pointing.

On the far wall, a framed picture was swung away from the wall on hidden hinges. Exposed behind the frame was a hidden safe and a small numeric keypad.

“Have you ever seen that before?” asked Madison.

“No.”

“The door to the safe is closed. Maybe Ambergris didn’t swing the picture frame back into place the last time he opened it. Or if someone else was here searching, maybe they weren’t able to get into the safe.”

They crossed the room and inspected the keypad.

“Any ideas?” asked Madison.

Grace considered the possibilities.

“The total of each row and column in the Magic Square in the e-mail Dr. Ambergris sent you was two hundred sixty,” she said.

“Give it a shot.”

Grace punched the three digits into the keypad. There was a small electronic whirr behind the panel.

“Try it.”

Grace grasped the handle on the safe and pushed down. With a loud clank, the door swung open. Inside were three leather-bound ledgers and a sheaf of handwritten letters. Grace gingerly removed the stack from the safe and spread out the individual items on Ambergris’ desk.

“These letters are all addressed to Ambergris’ father. The return address is Dr. Georgia Bowman. Yale University. New Haven, Connecticut.”

“I know that name,” said Grace. “Dr. Ambergris spent a lot of time with her over the past few months. She’s a history professor at Yale; teaches graduate courses on ancient civilizations. She was a friend and colleague of Ambergris’ father—”

Grace stopped midsentence and froze. Footsteps echoed from the ground floor.

“Someone’s coming,” whispered Madison.

Hidden inside the small closet in Dr. Ambergris’ study, Arakai watched Madison and Grace through the keyhole in the door. Alerted to footsteps on the first floor below, they scrambled to gather the contents of Dr. Ambergris’ safe.

Arakai grasped the doorknob and tensed the muscles in his legs, preparing to strike.

Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence
Uptown Manhattan, New York

In rapid succession, footfalls echoed from the stairway leading to the second floor. Grace struggled to reassemble the pile of letters from the safe.

“Leave them,” hissed Madison.

Madison ran to a large window in the west wall of the study. He unlocked the metal latch and strained to lift the window. As it popped free and slid upward, Crowe stormed through the doorway into the study.

“Christian!” yelled Grace.

Madison spun around to see Crowe burst into the room with his gun drawn.

Crowe raised the 9mm and aimed directly at Grace.

“Get down!” yelled Madison.

Without warning, the door to the small closet in the study burst open, slamming into Crowe and knocking him backward. As the door crashed into Crowe’s body, the gun discharged, sending a round speeding across the room, narrowly missing Grace and splintering the wall behind her.

“Grace, come on! Out the window!”

Grace reached out and took Madison’s hand as they climbed onto the broad windowsill. There was a loud noise behind them. Without looking back, they jumped, falling from the open window and crashing into a tangle of thick shrubbery. Madison cried out in pain as his ankle twisted beneath him.

Madison extricated himself from the dense foliage and jumped to his feet.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” said Grace, surveying her body. “I don’t think so.”

Madison pulled her to her feet. Together, they ran across the yard to an adjoining alley. Madison limped as he ran, gritting his teeth against the shooting pain in his ankle.

Grace looked back over her shoulder at Ambergris’ brownstone. She gasped as a wiry Asian man leapt from the window, landing neatly in a crouch on the green grass below.

Metro Transit Bus
Uptown Manhattan, New York

The cool air-conditioning on the city bus was a godsend. They had run seven blocks from Dr. Ambergris’ brownstone before catching the bus at a busy intersection. Madison chose a seat near the back and collapsed onto the hard plastic. Grace plopped down next to him.

When Grace finally caught her breath, she leaned over and whispered to Madison.

“Did you see him? The Asian guy that ambushed Crowe?”

“Yes,” said Madison, as he massaged his injured ankle.

“Who the hell was that? And why did he just watch us from the closet until Crowe showed up?”

“I have no idea.”

Grace chewed on her bottom lip.

“And he jumped out the window after us, but I didn’t see him chasing us once we hit the street. What was that about?”

“Grace, I don’t know. I have no idea.”

“I should have taken those letters. What a waste.”

Grace slouched in her seat and laid her head against Madison’s shoulder.

“Let me see the e-mail again.”

He dug in his pocket and retrieved the folded page. Grace took the paper and unfolded it on her lap, smoothing the creases with her fingers. She contemplated the grid of numbers in silence for several minutes.

“Okay, what do we know so far? Dr. Ambergris was trying to tell us something. Sixty-four numbers arranged in a grid. But not just any grid. These numbers form a Magic Square. And we know that the root of this Magic Square is two hundred and sixty. One year on the Mayan calendar.”

“But now we’re stuck,” said Madison.

“We must be missing something.”

“I just don’t know much about the Maya.”

“Neither do I. But the letters in Ambergris’ safe,” said Grace. “All from Dr. Bowman. Ambergris spent a lot of time with her. And I know she’s an expert on ancient civilizations. Maybe those letters were left for us to find.”

Madison nodded. He looked down at his watch.

“Ever been to Yale?” he asked.

Crowe wiped the blood from his broken nose and dialed a number on his cell phone. A male voice answered the line.

“Security.”

“This is Crowe. I want you to pull Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ phone logs for the last eight weeks.”

“Shall I take a number and ring you back?”

“No,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

Crowe kicked Ambergris’ desk chair with a savage spinning blow. It crashed against the wall. Blood again trickled from his nose and dripped onto the floor.

The voice came back on the line. “Okay, I have it. What are you looking for?”

“Any calls to persons outside the facility other than his home or relatives. Look for anything out of the ordinary.”

The security officer muttered to himself as he scanned the list of names and numbers.

“Here’s an unusual one. Multiple calls to a Dr. Georgia Bowman. Yale University.”

“Any others?”

“Yes. Also multiple calls to Dr. Alberto Vasquez. University of Chicago.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Other than those, just the usual stuff.”

Give me the numbers. And I need addresses as well.”

Quiz’s Office
Subbasement, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York

Quiz twisted the white cap off the pill bottle, tipped the bottle to one side, and coaxed a small blue pill onto the palm of his hand. He popped “Quiz’s little helper” into his mouth and swallowed hard, chasing down the bitter anticonvulsant with a shot of Diet Coke. He rubbed the cool aluminum can across his forehead.

Madison was nowhere to be found. Out of ideas, Quiz had also tried to check in with Grace. No luck. Quiz was completely frustrated. And now he was down to his last Diet Coke.

Dammit.

A tinny, disembodied voice echoed from speakers overhead.

“Attention, please. May I have your attention, please. The level one lockdown has now been lifted. The security drill has concluded. External communications have now been restored. Thank you for your cooperation.”

His computer beeped and displayed an incoming systemwide communication from Triad Security.

Thank God.

From beneath the computer desk, Quiz’s chihuahua barked in agreement.