The Methuselah Gene (31 page)

“No, I can't,” I admitted, considering Jim's research was a failure, too.
 
“What kind of trees are they?”

“Apple trees.
 
Wanna know where from?
 
Can you guess?”
 
He paused.
 
“Okay, I'll be generous, then.
 
I'll give you a hint.
 
Ever heard of an archaeologist named
Zarins
?”

“Jules
Zarins
?”

“Bingo.
 
He had a theory about the location of an ancient site being under the waters at the head of the Persian Gulf.
 
He used LANDSAT images taken from space to trace the connection of a fossil river to the Gulf, after he learned that the
Sumarians
claimed their ancestors came ‘out of the sea,' as they retreated from rising waters.
 
The area that was still underwater, despite Saddam's draining projects earlier.”

“I read about that too,” I said, “years ago.”

“Really?
 
Well, did you read that a secret underwater expedition was mounted in December of ‘99 which had some success back on Millennium Day?
 
Did you read a private salvage company, kinda like ours, excavated a sealed clay tube containing seeds of an extinct tree, embedded inside some herbal material?
 
I'll bet you didn't read that, Chief.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying those seeds were DNA sequenced, and although they were degraded, they were cloned.”

I was stunned by the implication.
 
“Meaning the trees up there are . . .”

“That's right.
 
Are from the Garden of Eden.”
 
He paused again, as I squinted up at him, unable to move.
 
“It did exist, by the way.
 
But not in the way you might think.
 
According to references previously deciphered from a cuneiform tablet, the seeds were collected by a
Sumarian
hero named Gilgamesh, who'd been searching for the ‘tree of life.'
 
Zarins
also believes that Gilgamesh was Adam, because there's reference to a snake.
 
Possibly one who ate some of his seeds while he slept.
 
Except that it wasn't a snake, but a creature with feathers, now extinct.
 
One that the Assyrians depicted in reliefs.
 
Of course Jules doesn't know anything about this private expedition, or what the Studio is doing here.”

For a moment I couldn't speak, as the jigsaw pieces fell silently, one by one, to form a picture like a Rorschach ink blot.
 
I looked down at the dirt beneath me.
 
The soil.
 
I imprinted it with my hand, then scooped it, and let it filter through my fingers before looking up again.
 
“The DNA sequence had been degraded, you said, and so . . . and so there was something missing.
 
A gene?”

“A gene,” Walter repeated.
 
“Bravo, Chief, you're right on the money once again!
 
Look at you.
 
You finally figured out the big project here.
 
You must be proud.
 
It's one that a few enterprising scientists like yourself have been working on for years.
 
Too bad your gene was a failure, too, despite any delivery method.
 
Not very fruitful, I'm afraid, if you catch my drift.”

“No apples?”

“No apples.
 
Not even a bud.
 
And everybody was so hoping we'd all get to live long, long lives like they did back in Genesis times.
 
What was it, now . . . eight hundred years?
 
Can you imagine how much a drug to do that would cost?
 
I wouldn't mind living at least four hundred, personally.
 
Question now is, how long do you think you have left to live, with your talent for figuring things out too late?”

“I still haven't figured out who you are, yet,” I said, half to myself.

“No?
 
Well, we should probably leave one question for you to carry to your grave.”

Walter looked to his right again, and as if on cue there came the sound of a car door opening.
 
A sound that drew my attention too.
 
When Cody rocked forward out of his patrol car, his forehead was blotched red, decorated with a carnation of blood.
 
His eyes were alive and now focused on me.
 
He straightened and turned, slamming the car door behind him with his left hand.
 
Then his fingers flexed near his holster, as though about to draw on me, like in a western movie.
 
His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes were wide and deadly crazy.

“See what I mean about a price on your head?” said Walter, pleased at this scenario.
 
“The price of dead or alive?”

I turned my palms toward the Sheriff, extending my empty hands.
 
Then I struggled to my feet, fighting the cramp jumping in my right calf.

Suddenly a pistol landed in front of me, dropped from above.
 
I stared down at it in disbelief, then backed up to see the silhouettes of both Walter and Sean standing beside the camera tripod, filming me.

“There's one bullet left,” Walter announced.
 
“And your last decision is who you're gonna shoot—him or me.”

Cody seemed to be looking at the gun at my feet too, and he also smiled.
 
Then he took two steps forward, his fingers clenching and unclenching on cue.

“They were hoping for success this time,” Walter continued.
 
“The Satan bug, as you call it, might have been a useful tool for the military, too.
 
Don't you think?
 
Something entirely new, and more effective than anthrax, if it could be controlled.”

“I thought we destroyed all our biological weapons.”

Walter laughed, then wagged his finger in front of the light, sending a magnified shadow whipping across the dark, shattered windows of the Slow Poke café.
 
“No, no.
 
Didn't I just tell you?
 
This was unforeseen.
 
A failed experiment, just like the other failed experiments here in the past.
 
And in the Middle East.
 
What's happened in Zion this time?
 
Let's just say it was too much, even for them.
 
So they pulled out.
 
After all, they're not even supposed to operate here.”

“And where are they now?”

Walter made a vague gesture.
 
“Does it matter?
 
Important thing is that they left damage control to us.
 
Okay?
 
Means we're on our own here . . . another failed trial done under the protection of people who just can't be linked to this.”
 
He sighed.
 
“So I guess we'll keep their million in clean up money, and try again somewhere else, in some other small town, when we're hired again.”

“When you're—”

“Hey, I know a million sounds like chicken feed.
 
The cast members of
Friends
each probably snagged that for every episode of their last season, remember?
 
But those who hired us are good for more, and think of us as friends.
 
Even paid us in drug money.
 
Isn't that a kick?
 
Fresh, clean bills.
 
Of course after we clean up here, it's gonna be you who caused all the mess, not us.
 
But not to worry.
 
No one will ever know your real motives.
 
So now just wave to the camera, and go for your gun, Wyatt.
 
It's time for the money shot.”

“What about Zion . . . the other townspeople?”

“We're shooting a movie here, partner, haven't you noticed?
 
Folks have graciously agreed to stay off the streets.
 
Those who didn't cooperate are in church, at a . . . a rather special prayer service, shall we say.”

I could hear a faint sound now, like distant talking, coming from the direction of a light I could see in the church window down the street.
 
“What about Julie?” I demanded.
 
“Where is she?”

“Your ex-lover?
 
She's with Earl and George, now.
 
She said you took off without her.
 
That true?”

I reeled, struck by his words.
 
“You're lying.”

“Am I?
 
Look around you.
 
Open your eyes, Chief.”

I felt numb.
 
“Who else is behind this?”

“Who else?”
 
Walter pointed toward a sixth car behind me, which I hadn't noticed.
 
It was parked in an alley, with only the trunk and bumper showing.
 
A dark blue Cadillac El Dorado, with a license plate the same color as the state of Virginia's.
 
“He's on a little cross country road trip, thought he'd stop by since you were here.
 
Never met him in person, myself, until today.
 
Interesting day, by the way.
 
‘Bout time to wrap up now, though.”

“
Winsdon
?” I asked.

“That would be telling.
 
And no one ever tells the truth.
 
Not even Congress.”

“Why?
 
Why do it this way?”

“You'd have to ask him, but I think he only wants to see you dead.”

“Like Jim Baxter, you mean?
 
Like he killed Jim?”

Walter made a clucking sound.
 
Cody took two more steps toward me, and now his face became intense and strained.
 
I gazed jealously down at the pistol near my foot.
 
I thought about the virus, and who might want it now.
 
When they saw what it did, maybe they'll all want it.
 
Every fanatic with a cause.
 
Especially if the spooks had switched back to don't ask/don't tell as modus operandi.

Walter turned toward his accomplice at the camera.
 
“Are you getting this, Sean?”

The other man didn't answer.
 
Because a third figure had just joined them on the roof.
 
It was a man, approaching them from behind.
 
A black man in a shirt and tie, carrying a sheaf of papers.

Please . . . oh God, no . . .

I squinted into the light to hear a voice that sliced into my soul like a laser through fog.
 
“Sean,” the voice hailed, with a familiar timbre as distinctive as a signature.
 
“You gave me these research notes . . . but I'm a hacker, not a chemist, so I don't understand them, really.”

Sean's voice registered confusion as his shadow turned.
 
“What?”

Both of them now focused their attention on Darryl, as did I.
 
It was an impossibility more riveting to me than if a black hole had opened in space, and a hand had emerged from it to beckon me in.
 
These three on the roof . . . this unsuspected Trinity of deception . . . what kind of deal had they made?
 
What unholy alliance had been forged, and—

“And then there was this too,” Darryl announced unexpectedly.
 
In amazement, I saw his hand drop the white sheaf of papers, which fluttered like doves from a cloud, leaving only a surprise silver lining—the barrel of a gun.
 
A gun that was leveled at Walter.
 
“But maybe this explains it,” Darryl said, as though in answer to my question.

I was experiencing a mixture of confusion, hope, and consternation when a sudden gun blast discharged nearby.
 
I jumped in my skin, and whirled to see the Sheriff aiming his revolver upward, now.
 
Smoke from the barrel wafted out like an exhaled breath on a snow-blind day.
 
And when I looked back up at Darryl, he no longer held his pistol, but instead clutched his side in stunned incredulity.

“No!” I yelled.
 
I fell on the gun at my feet as Walter drew his own.
 
I pulled the trigger once, twice, three times before my own revolver finally fired, and hit Walter in the back.

Too late.

Walter shot Darryl first.

It was a gut shot.
 
Darryl fell to his knees and then toppled forward in agony as Walter crumpled backward, the life in him wrenched more quickly away—like a puppet whose strings had been cut.