The Genesis Code (6 page)

Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Office
34th Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York

Madison’s eyes were locked on the still form of Joshua Ambergris, lying on his office floor, covered by a thin white sheet. His mind reeled from news of Dr. Ambergris’ murder. Despite the fine sheen of sweat that had appeared on his forehead, Madison felt a cold chill sweep through his arms and legs.

“No…not again…”

Painful memories welled in his mind.

Justin was a ghost of a child, lying thin and frail under the starched white sheets of a hospital bed. A tangle of tubes and wires crisscrossed his chest, connecting his dying body with IV bags, monitors, and machines.

The monotonous beep of a heart monitor ticked off the passage of seconds. Christian Madison sat at his bedside, gently holding Justin’s hand.

Madison realized that Giovanni was speaking.

“It’s my understanding that Dr. Ambergris had made significant discoveries that he planned to announce at the Biogenetics Conference. Can you tell me what Dr. Ambergris was working on?” asked Giovanni.

“I feel sick,” said Madison. His face was pale and his knees felt weak.

Giovanni grasped Madison’s shoulder. Tightly.

“Dr. Madison, focus for a minute. This is very important.”

Cold beads of sweat ran down the back of Madison’s shirt. His hands were damp and clammy.

“I have to know what Joshua was working on,” said Giovanni.

“I wasn’t involved in Dr. Ambergris’ current research project. I have no idea what he planned to present at the conference. Why? Do you think his research has something to do with his murder?”

“I don’t know,” said Giovanni, “but it’s a possibility. Triad Genomics has been the target of corporate espionage before. Theft. Blackmail. But never this. Never murder.”

Madison looked around. “Where are the police?”

“We’ll alert the authorities in due course,” said Giovanni. “But first I need to get a handle on what we’re dealing with.”

Madison was stunned. “You haven’t called the police?”

“Listen to me,” said Giovanni. “The death of our senior geneticist could send our stock price plunging. Rumors of corporate espionage and murder could be disastrous if not handled carefully.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Madison. “Dr. Ambergris was murdered, in his office, and your first priority is the company’s stock price?”

Giovanni grabbed his shoulder.

“I need to obtain as much control over this situation as possible before I allow it to become public knowledge. With all due respect to the NYPD, I need some answers before I invite a bull into the china shop.”

Crowe folded his arms across his massive chest, straining the fabric of his blazer.

“Dr. Madison, when was the last time you spoke with Dr. Ambergris?” asked Crowe.

Madison stared at Crowe for a moment, then turned to Giovanni.

“What is this, an interrogation?”

“No, of course not,” said Giovanni. He buttoned the middle button of his suit jacket and straightened his cuffs. “But we do need your help. I’d like for you to assist Crowe in his investigation.”

“With all due respect, I don’t want to get involved,” said Madison. “If you want to delay informing the police, that’s your choice. But I want nothing to do with it.”

“Dr. Madison, this is important. Ambergris was your mentor. He recruited you, brought you to Triad Genomics. For God’s sake, working with Dr. Ambergris got you on the cover of
Time
magazine. Don’t you think you owe it to him to help investigate his murder?”

Madison’s face flushed with emotion.

“Owe it to him?”

His voice rose.

“All Ambergris ever did for me was lead me down the primrose path. Genetic research with absolutely no practical application. Did those years of research accomplish anything worthwhile? I wasted years of my life in the lab with Dr. Ambergris. Nights. Weekends. Time I should have spent with my family…”

His voice cracked.

“…time I should have spent with my son.”

Madison locked eyes with Dante Giovanni.

“Did our research save any lives? Did we stop even one child from dying of cancer? Of leukemia?”

Giovanni held up a hand.

“That’s enough, Dr. Madison. I know you’re upset. But this is helping no one. Take a few minutes. Go back to your office. Cool off. Think things through. Rationally. Then we’ll talk.”

Madison took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.

“Look, all I know is that Ambergris was working with introns. Anyone who has read the agenda for the Biogenetics Conference knows that much. If you want the details on his research, you should speak with Grace Nguyen.”

Production Studio
WXNY, Channel 10
Queens, New York

Introns.

With a few discreet inquiries, Flavia Veloso easily identified the woman who had clashed with the protesters outside the Millennium Tower—Dr. Grace Nguyen. Digging for background information on the hotheaded young scientist had been just as easy. A quick review of the press packet for the International Biogenetics Conference revealed that Dr. Nguyen, a geneticist with Triad Genomics, was slated to give a joint presentation with Dr. Joshua Ambergris on introns.

Introns?

Flavia’s cameraman, Randy, was holed up in WXNY’s production studio, editing the film of Dr. Nguyen’s hostile exchange with the protesters and adding Flavia’s voice-over to the footage. With a little luck, and creative editing, they just might snag the lead story on the ten o’clock local news.

While Randy worked his magic with the footage, Flavia was determined to learn as much as she could about Dr. Grace Nguyen. Her first step was to hunt down WXNY’s science and technology correspondent. After adjusting her push-up bra for maximum effect, she cornered Donald Ebersole in his cubicle on the third floor. He was busy at work on a ham and egg breakfast sandwich.

“Hi, Donald,” said Flavia, giving him her best smile. “Do you have time for a favor?”

Ebersole set his breakfast sandwich down on the sports section of yesterday’s
New York Times.
He hiked up the bifocals on his nose with a greasy index finger. His narrow head was crowded between two large ears.

“You are asking for my help? My pleasure. What can I do for you?”

Ebersole took a quick slug from a mug of lukewarm coffee and a surreptitious leer at Flavia’s cleavage.

“I need to tap into that encyclopedic storehouse of knowledge in that brain of yours. Some background info for an assignment I’m working on,” she said.

Flavia retrieved a chair from the next cubicle and sat, crossing one slim thigh over the other.

Ebersole grinned. “Flattery, my dear, will get you everywhere.”

Flavia flipped to a blank page in her pad, armed with a ballpoint pen. “Donald, what can you tell me about introns?”

“Introns,” repeated Ebersole. He searched his mind for information. He wanted to make a good impression on the attractive young reporter.

“Well, introns are also called junk DNA. They’re long sequences of DNA in the human genome. Scientists don’t really know what introns do. They don’t appear to serve any useful purpose.”

Flavia was puzzled.

“Back up. More basic. Science wasn’t really my thing in school. What exactly is DNA? I mean, I know the basics, but what is it really?”

Ebersole leaned forward and cracked his knuckles.

“Okay. Let me give you a brief overview to get you oriented. Two minutes on genetics. It’s like this. High school textbooks refer to DNA as the blueprint of life. It exists in every single organism, from the smallest virus to the largest mammal. DNA, or deoxyribonucleic acid, is the chemical inside our cells that carries the genetic instructions for making living organisms. It’s passed along from generation to generation.”

“Right,” said Flavia. “Genes. Heredity. I remember that much.”

“The interesting question is this: what is it about DNA that makes it the key to heredity?”

“The double helix?” Flavia ventured.

“Exactly. See, you know more than you realize. Two intertwined spirals form what looks like a long, thin, twisted ladder. This is called the double helix. This structure enables DNA to reproduce itself.”

“Reproduce itself?”

“Yes. Interesting, is it not? DNA can make a copy of itself, a twin, if you will, to pass along to new cells or to a new generation.”

Ebersole took another sip of coffee, patted Flavia on the knee, then continued.

“DNA is like a master pattern from which living things can be replicated again and again. Inside each human cell are two complete copies of the human genome. Each set contains around seventy thousand genes on twenty-three sets of chromosomes.”

Ebersole’s hand remained on Flavia’s knee. Her skin crawled at his touch, but she didn’t flinch, encouraging Ebersole with a smile to continue his lecture. Ebersole removed his hand and pulled a book from a shelf above his desk. He opened it at random to a page near the middle and set it on Flavia’s lap.

“How shall we visualize it? Like this. You can think of the human genome like a book,” he said, pointing to the open page in the book. “It has twenty-three chapters called
chromosomes.
Each chapter contains thousands of paragraphs called
genes.
Each paragraph is made up of sentences called
exons.
Each sentence is composed of words called
codons
. And each word is written in letters called
bases
.”

“Okay, I’m with you.”

“But instead of being written on pages of paper, like this book, the human genome is written on long chains of sugar and phosphate called DNA molecules.”

“And how long is this book?” asked Flavia, warming to the analogy.

“There are over a billion words in the human genomic book. It’s as long as eight hundred King James Bibles. Incredible, no? If you were to read the human genome aloud at a rate of one second per word for eight hours a day, seven days a week, it would take over a hundred years to read it all.”

“Wow.”

It seemed to Flavia that Ebersole was dredging up every bit of information on DNA from his memory.

“You can think of human DNA as a message written in a code of chemicals, one chemical for each letter. The language of DNA is an alphabet with only four letters—A, C, G, and T—adenine, cytosine, guanine, and thymine. The DNA message carries the chemical instructions for assembling a new person.”

“A recipe for making humans?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. DNA is the code for life, and that code has been replicated in every person who has ever lived. Some might call it the secret language of God.”

63rd Floor, Petronas Towers
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

“Here is what I propose,” said Tanaka to the group. “Decisive action.”

Tanaka’s demeanor radiated confidence and power. He looked into the eyes of each member of the Council in turn.

“The day after tomorrow begins the Ninth Annual International Biogenetics Conference at the Millennium Tower, only ten floors below the offices of Triad Genomics. Assembled at that conference will be most of the world’s leading geneticists. We have the opportunity, with one decisive action, to eliminate both the unascertained threat at Triad Genomics and to impede the progress of biogenetics research for decades. Research that threatens to uncover the secrets of the Genesis Code.”

“You propose that we destroy the Millennium Tower during the middle of the Biogenetics Conference?” asked a senior member of the Order. “That this Council should sanction the murder of hundreds of scientists? And the killing of thousands of innocent men and women who work in the Millennium Tower?”

Tanaka picked up a Japanese sword from its display stand and slid the blade from its scabbard.

“Some must be sacrificed for a higher purpose. It has always been so.”

Surveying the faces of the Council members, Tanaka knew that his will would prevail. There would be dissenters. But ultimately, he would strike them all down.

Tanaka swung the katana in an overhead arc, executing an offensive attack from the aikido school of martial arts.

“How long to set this course of action in motion?” asked a member of the Council.

“We can begin moving assets into place immediately. Zero-hour will be nine-fifteen
A.M.
on the first day of the Biogenetics Conference.”

Dante Giovanni’s Office
Executive Suite, Triad Genomics
Manhattan, New York

Dante Giovanni’s expansive corner office offered a breathtaking panoramic view of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline. On a typical day, Giovanni began his morning by reading
The New York Times
and
The Wall Street Journal,
sipping Columbian coffee, and enjoying the view.

Today, however, was not a typical day.

Today he was seated with his chief of security at a round mahogany conference table, calmly discussing the murder of Dr. Joshua Ambergris—his business partner, his oldest friend, and Triad Genomics’ top geneticist.

“Barring some personal vendetta against Dr. Ambergris, which I find highly unlikely, the motive for his murder must be related in some way to his work,” said Crowe.

Giovanni folded his arms and sat back in his chair. Along each wall of the ornate office, at ceiling level, small unobtrusive speakers emitted “pink noise.” At frequencies indiscernible to the human ear, the emissions from the speakers blocked any attempts at eavesdropping by electronic devices either smuggled into the room or directed at the office from outside.

“That may be,” said Giovanni.

“Dr. Ambergris had a limited circle of friends and acquaintances,” said Crowe. “He was a widower. No children. No gambling habits or unusual sexual preferences. If he was concealing something in his personal life that would provide a motive for murder, it is not evident to me.”

There was a tentative knock at the door.

Giovanni pressed a button hidden beneath the tabletop. The office door unlocked and swung open. One of Giovanni’s young female assistants hastily deposited a carafe of coffee, two ceramic mugs, and a tray of breakfast pastries on the conference table. At a nod from Giovanni, she scurried out the door.

“Let’s look at this from another angle,” said Crowe, turning back to the conversation. “Ambergris’ killer was able to compromise our security. Unless we’re dealing with an extremely sophisticated operation—sponsored by a foreign government, perhaps—it is inconceivable that our security system could be breached unless the intruder had intimate knowledge of our facility. Inside information. That leaves only two possibilities.”

He drummed his fingers on the mahogany table.

“Either the killer already had security clearance, or Dr. Ambergris’ murderer had help from the inside,” said Crowe.

“Yes. I suppose that’s the logical conclusion.”

Crowe served himself a cup of steaming black coffee.

“Either way, we’re dealing with a traitor within our ranks.”