Black Order (34 page)

“This patterning is caused by the light waves passing through the right and left windows interfering with each other. So let’s call this Interference Pattern B…what is caused by waves.”

“Got it,” Lisa said, not sure where this was going.

Anna held up the two patterns. “Now take an electron gun and shoot a single line of electrons at the double slits. What pattern would you get?”

“Since you’re shooting electrons like bullets, I’d guess Diffraction Pattern A.” Lisa pointed to the first picture.

“Actually, in laboratory tests you get the second. Interference Pattern B.”

Lisa thought about this. “The wave pattern. So then the electrons must be shooting out of the gun—not like bullets—but like
light
out of a flashlight, traveling in waves and creating Pattern B.”

“Correct.”

“So electrons move like waves.”

“Yes.
But
only when no one actually witnesses the electrons passing through the slits.”

“I don’t understand.”

“In another experiment, scientists placed a little clicker at one of the slits. It beeped whenever it sensed an electron passing through the slit, measuring or observing the passage of an electron past the detector. What was the pattern on the other side when the device was turned on?”

“It shouldn’t change, should it?”

“In the larger world, you’re correct. But
not
at the subatomic world. Once the device was switched on, it immediately changed into Diffraction Pattern A.”

“So the simple act of measuring changed the pattern?”

“Just as Heisenberg predicted. Though it may seem impossible, it’s true. Verified over and over again. Electrons exist in a constant state of both wave and particle until something measures the electron. That very act of measuring the electron
forces
it to collapse into one reality or the other.”

Lisa tried to picture a subatomic world where everything was held in a constant state of
potential
. It made no sense.

“If subatomic particles make up atoms,” Lisa asked, “and atoms make up the world we know, touch, and feel, where is the line between the phantom world of quantum mechanics and our world of real objects?”

“Again, the only way to
collapse
potential is to have something measure it. Such measuring tools are constantly present in the environment. It can be one particle bumping into another, a photon of light hitting something. Constantly the environment is
measuring
the subatomic world, collapsing potential into hard reality. Look at your hands, for example. At the quantum level, the subatomic particles that make up your atoms operate according to fuzzy quantum rules, but expand outward, into the world of billions of atoms that make up your fingernail. Those atoms are bumping, jostling, and interacting—measuring one another—forcing potential into one fixed reality.”

“Okay…”

Anna must have heard the skepticism in her voice.

“I know it’s bizarre, but I’ve barely scratched the surface of the fuzzy world of quantum theory. I’m skipping over such concepts as nonlocality, time tunneling, and multiple universes.”

Painter nodded. “Gets pretty weird out there.”

“But all you need to understand are those three points,” Anna said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Subatomic particles exist in a quantum state of potential. It takes a measuring tool to collapse that potential. And it is the
environment
that constantly performs those measurements to fix our reality.”

Lisa lifted her hand, acquiescing for the moment. “But what does that have to do with the Bell? Back at the library, you mentioned something called
quantum evolution
.”

“Exactly,” Anna said. “What is DNA? Nothing but a protein machine,
ja
? Producing all the basic building blocks of cells, of bodies.”

“At its simplest.”

“Then go even simpler. Is DNA not merely genetic codes locked in chemical bonds? And what breaks these bonds, turning genes on and off?”

Lisa switched back to basic chemistry. “The movement of electrons and protons.”

“And these subatomic particles obey which rules: the classical or the quantum?”

“The quantum.”

“So if a proton could be in two places—A or B—turning a gene on or off—which place would it be found?”

Lisa squinted. “If it has the potential to be in both places, then it
is
in both places. The gene is both on
and
off. Until something measures it.”

“And what measures it?”

“The environment.”

“And the environment of a gene is…?”

Lisa’s eyes slowly widened. “The DNA molecule itself.”

A nod and a smile. “At its most fundamental level, the living cell acts as its own quantum-measuring device. And it is this constant cellular measurement that is the true engine of evolution. It explains how mutations are
not
random. Why evolution occurs at a pace faster than attributable by random chance.”

“Wait,” Lisa said. “You’ll have to back that one up.”

“Consider an example, then. Remember those bacteria that could not digest lactose—how when they were starved, offered only lactose, they mutated at a miraculous pace to develop an enzyme that could digest lactose. Against astronomical odds.” Anna lifted an eyebrow. “Can you explain it now? Using the three quantum principles? Especially if I tell you that the beneficial mutation required only a single proton to move from one place to another.”

Lisa was willing to try. “Okay, if the proton could be in both places, then quantum theory says the proton
was
in both places. So the gene was both mutated
and
not mutated. Held in the potential between both.”

Anna nodded. “Go on.”

“Then the cell, acting as a quantum-measuring tool, would force the DNA to collapse on one side of the fence or the other. To mutate or not to mutate. And because the cell is living and influenced by its environment, it tilted the scale, defying randomness to produce the beneficial mutation.”

“What scientists now call adaptive mutation. The environment influenced the cell, the cell influenced the DNA, and the mutation occurred that benefited the cell. All driven by the mechanics of the quantum world.”

Lisa began to conceive an inkling of where this was heading. Anna had used the term “intelligent design” in their previous discussion. The woman had even answered the question of
who
she thought was behind that intelligence.

Us
.

Lisa now understood. It is
our
own cells that are directing evolution, responding to the environment and collapsing potential in DNA to better fit that environment. Darwinian natural selection then kicked in to preserve these modifications.

“But even more importantly,” Anna said, her voice beginning to catch and rasp a bit, “quantum mechanics explains how life’s
first
spark started. Remember the improbability of that first replicating protein forming out of the primordial soup? In the quantum world, randomness is taken out of the equation. The first replicating protein formed because it was order out of chaos. Its ability to measure and collapse quantum potential superseded the randomness of merely bumping and jostling that had been going on in the primordial soup. Life started because it was a
better
quantum-measuring tool.”

“And God had nothing to do with it?” Lisa said, repeating a question Anna had first asked her…what seemed like decades ago.

Anna lifted a palm to her forehead, fingers shaking. Her eyes tweaked. She stared out the window with a pained expression. Her voice was almost too soft to hear. “I didn’t say that either…you’re looking at it the wrong way, in the wrong direction.”

Lisa let that drop. She recognized that Anna was growing too exhausted to continue. They all needed more sleep. But there was one question that had to be asked.

“The Bell?” Lisa asked. “What does it do?”

Anna lowered her hand and stared first at Painter, then at Lisa. “The Bell is the
ultimate
quantum-measuring device.”

Lisa held her breath, considering what Anna was saying.

Something fiery shone through Anna’s exhaustion. It was difficult to read: pride, justification, faith…but also a fair amount of fear.

“The Bell’s field—if it could be mastered—holds the ability not only to
evolve
DNA to its more perfect form, but also to take mankind with it.”

“And what about us?” Painter said, stirring. From his expression, he was plainly unmoved by her ardor. “You and me? How is what is happening to us perfection?”

The fire died in Anna’s eyes, quenched by exhaustion and defeat. “Because as much as the Bell holds the potential to evolve, the reverse also lurks within its quantum waves.”

“The reverse?”

“The disease that’s inflicted our cells.” Anna glanced away. “It’s not just degeneration…it’s
devolution
.”

Painter stared at her, stunned.

Her words dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Our bodies are heading back to the primordial ooze from which we came.”

5:05
A.M
.
SOUTH AFRICA

The monkeys woke him.

Monkeys?

The strangeness shocked him, snapping him from a groggy somnolence to an instant alertness. Gray shoved up. Memory crackled up next as he tried to comprehend his surroundings.

He was alive.

In a cell.

He remembered the flow of gas, the Wewelsburg museum, the lie. He had burned the Darwin Bible, claiming it contained a secret only his group knew about. He had hoped caution would outweigh revenge. Apparently it had. He was alive. But where were the others? Monk, Fiona, and Ryan?

Gray searched his cell. It was utilitarian. A cot, a toilet, an open shower stall. No windows. The door was inch-thick bars. It opened into a hallway lit by overhead fluorescent lighting. Gray took a moment to inspect himself. Someone had stripped him naked, but a neat pile of clothes had been folded atop a chair bolted to the foot of the bed.

He tossed aside the blanket and stood up. The world tilted, but a few breaths steadied it. An edge of nausea continued. His lungs felt coarse and heavy. The aftereffects of the poisoning.

Gray also noted a deep ache in his thigh. He fingered a fist-size bruise on his flank. He felt some scabbed needle pricks. There was also a Band-Aid stuck to the back of his left hand. From an IV? Apparently someone had treated him, saving his life.

Distantly he heard another spat of howls and screamed calls.

Wild monkeys.

It wasn’t a caged sound.

More like the natural world awakening.

But what world? The air smelled drier, warmer, scented muskier. He was in a much more temperate climate. Maybe somewhere in Africa. How long had he been out? They had left him no wristwatch to check the time of day, let alone
which
day it was. But he sensed no more than a day had passed. The thickening of stubble on his chin belied any long nap.

He stepped to the doorway and reached for the piled clothes.

His motion drew someone’s attention.

Directly across the hall, Monk stepped to the barred door on the far cell. Gray felt a surge of relief at finding his partner alive. “Thank God…,” he whispered.

“You okay?”

“Groggy…wearing off though.”

Monk was already dressed, wearing the same white jumpsuit that had been left for him. Gray climbed into his.

Monk lifted up his left arm, baring his stumped wrist and the titanium bio-contact implants that normally linked Monk’s prosthesis to his arm. “Bastards even took my goddamn hand.”

Monk’s missing prosthesis was the least of their worries. In fact, it might be to their advantage. But first things first…

“Fiona and Ryan?”

“No clue. They may be in another cell here…or somewhere else entirely.”

Or dead,
Gray added silently.

“What now, boss?” Monk asked.

“Not much choice. We wait for our captors to make the first move. They want the information we have. We’ll see what we can buy with that knowledge.”

Monk nodded. He knew Gray had been bluffing back at the castle, but the ruse had to be maintained. The cellblock was likely under surveillance.

Proving this, a door clanged open at the end of the hall.

Many footsteps approached. A group.

They came into view: a troop of guards dressed in green and black camouflage uniforms, led by the tall, pale blond man, the buyer from the auction. He was dapperly fashioned as usual: in black twill pants and pressed linen shirt, with white leather loafers and a white cashmere cardigan. He looked like he was dressed for a garden party.

Ten guards accompanied him. They split into two groups, crossing to each cell. Gray and Monk were marched out, barefoot, with their arms secured in plastic ties behind their backs.

The leader stepped in front of them.

His blue eyes were ice upon Gray.

“Good morning,” he said stiffly and a bit staged, as if he were sensitive to the cameras in the halls, knew he was being watched. “My grandfather requests an audience with you.”

Despite the civility, a black anger etched each word, an unspoken promise of pain. The man had been denied his kill before and now merely bided his time. Still, what was the real source of his fury? His brother’s death…or the fact that Gray had outfoxed him at the castle? Either way, behind all the cultured dress and mannerisms lurked something feral.

“This way,” he said and turned away.

He again led the group down the hall, Gray and Monk in tow. As they proceeded, Gray searched the cells to either side. Empty. No sign of Fiona or Ryan. Were they still alive?