Authors: Christopher Forrest
Tags: #Fiction, #Thrillers, #Historical, #Science Fiction, #Genetic Engineering, #General
The Genesis Code (10 page)
Quiz’s Office
Subbasement, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
Quiz scrolled through page after page of Dr. Ambergris’ research journal. The lines of text were periodically punctuated with long sequences of genetic code. Occasionally, the daily journal entries would skip forward several days, as if Ambergris had recorded nothing for days at a time.
Or maybe those particular entries have been erased.
Quiz scrolled back to the first entry and started reading.
7 March—
Christian, I write these words not only for myself, but for you as well. Hopefully, you will never have to bear the burden of learning the truth contained within these pages. If you are reading this journal, then I have failed, and reluctantly pass on to you the secrets I have learned.
I have made many mistakes in my life. And as I reflect on my numerous failings, there is one mistake in particular for which I have never been able to bring myself to ask for your forgiveness. After the death of your son, I was unable to help you bear the burden of your grief. The scars of my own failed relationship with my father were still too raw after his passing. The sorrow I saw in your eyes only served to deepen my own. As you looked upon a bleak future filled with endless days you would never share with your son, I saw the reflection of my own past, filled with months and years of words unspoken and opportunities forever lost.
I deeply regret that I waited until after my father’s death to take a proper interest in his passions. I know now that his scholarly pursuits into the mysteries of humanity’s ancient cultures created in him the same feelings that I experienced as a young man discovering the wonders of science and genetics.
I had no faith in my father’s gods, nor he in mine. For him, the answers to life’s most important questions lay firmly entombed in the past. As for me, I looked only toward the future.
How often he tried to interest me in his newest discoveries.
How often I politely listened, with neither desire nor intent to understand, as he tried to share with me those insights and discoveries that constituted the most important moments of his life, those moments in which he felt truly alive, for which he felt true purpose.
My father was a brilliant man. And in realizing my failings as a son, I became compelled to know the inner workings of his mind. Ironically, in my study of his notes and the volumes, I have found a subject of common interest.
Throughout human history there have been many myths of a great primordial language. A language that was more than just grammar or syntax. A primordial language that described the essential structure of life. The Ursprache, as it has been called, was believed to be the language that God used to breathe life into His creations.
Like my father, I have come to believe that the Ursprache is not myth at all. Rather, the mythology surrounding the Ursprache was a primitive effort by men to describe a concept that was beyond the limits of human understanding in the age in which they lived.
Fragments of truth wrapped in layers of legend.
What does the Ursprache represent? What language does the term define? To modern science, DNA is the essential language of life, the great primordial language spoken by all living things. DNA, the written instructions inscribed in the human genome, contains a written prophecy that comes to pass with each day that we draw breath.
Scattered throughout the ancient writings of human civilization are many cryptic references overlooked by modern science. References to scientific concepts far beyond the comprehension of their authors. References repeated without understanding from their original sources now lost in the mists of antiquity.
Quiz rubbed his eyes and drank deeply from his Diet Coke. A blinking icon on his computer screen indicated that the security lockdown was still in effect.
What the hell is going on?
“Is he dead?” asked Grace.
“No, he’s still breathing,” said Madison, wiping the blood from his hand on Crowe’s jacket.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Grace.
Madison checked Crowe’s pulse. It beat a slow, steady rhythm beneath his fingertips. Madison reached down and grabbed the security badge hanging on a cord around Crowe’s neck. With a quick jerk, he ripped it free.
“This will get us out,” he said.
Madison folded the printout of the Magic Square and slipped it into his pocket.
“Let’s go.”
The halls were empty as Grace and Madison made their way toward the elevators in the reception area. Madison’s jaw throbbed with pain. He tasted blood in his mouth.
“Slow down,” hissed Madison. “Walk quickly, but not too quickly.”
Madison flashed a smile at Zoovas, seated behind the security desk.
“Back in a minute,” said Madison. “Want an espresso?”
“Dr. Madison, we’re locked down,” said Zoovas. “I can’t let you leave the floor.”
Across the room, a set of elevator doors opened. Occam was inside. When he saw Madison and Grace, Occam drew his weapon.
Security Station
34th Floor Lobby, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
“Run!” yelled Madison.
They darted toward a nearby stairwell. Occam and Zoovas ran after them.
“Come on,” yelled Madison, dragging Grace through the door and down the first flight of stairs. They reached the next landing as Occam and Zoovas entered the stairwell above them.
“Not this floor,” said Grace, panting. “The next one.”
Madison took three steps at a time down the stairs to the next floor. Grace was right beside him.
“This one,” she said, pushing through the door onto the thirty-second floor.
A barrage of screeching and howling assaulted their ears.
“The primate labs,” she said.
The stench of urine and feces was overwhelming. A deafening cacophony of screams and howls from the unhappy residents of stacks of metal cages filled the air. Monkeys and apes shook the doors of their small prisons and drummed their fists against the metal walls of their cages.
“This way,” said Grace. “Stay away from the cages.”
Small hands reached out through wire mesh, grasping at their clothing. A Colobus monkey shrieked and threw a half-eaten piece of fruit at Madison. It bounced off his shoulder and slid across the floor.
A lab technician in blue scrubs appeared at the other end of the room.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
Madison charged forward, running straight at the lab tech.
“Wait!” yelled the confused tech, throwing up his hands.
Madison slammed into the man, knocking him back against a row of cages with a loud metallic bang. Small hands and fingers erupted from the wire cage doors, grasping and pawing at the tech’s face and neck, cutting his skin with tiny nails.
“Christian—” said Grace.
“Go,” he yelled, pointing toward an open door.
The tech screamed in pain, twisting his body away from the hostile spider monkeys. Trails of blood streamed down his face. His left foot slid on a piece of partially masticated banana and he fell in a heap on the wet floor.
Zoovas and Occam burst into the primate lab from the stairwell.
“Dr. Madison, stop!” yelled Occam.
Madison grabbed the lab tech by the leg and dragged him out of reach of the furious spider monkeys.
“Let’s go,” yelled Grace.
Madison dropped the tech’s foot and ran toward the sound of her voice. Behind him, three small monkeys burst from their cage, the latch broken from the impact when the lab tech’s body crashed into the metal door.
Zoovas froze in his tracks.
“Are those things dangerous?”
Occam sneered.
“Afraid of three little monkeys?”
“Not the monkeys,” Zoovas said. “I’m afraid of what might be inside ’em.”
Occam’s face went white.
“Shit.”
He began shouting into his radio.
They turned and ran back to the stairwell, slamming the door closed behind them. Moments later, a shrill siren began to wail.
Madison and Grace darted down a narrow hallway connecting the various Triad Genomics animal labs. The bleating sound of the alarm echoed in the corridor.
“We need to find another stairwell,” said Grace.
Behind them, a shout rang out.
“Stop where you are!”
Three security guards charged around a corner twenty yards behind them, weapons drawn.
Triad Genomics
32nd Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
“Quick…this way,” yelled Madison, running down a corridor that intersected with the hallway.
Grace ran after him, trying to put distance between them and the pursuing security officers. Ahead, Madison spotted a doorway marked
NE Stairwell.
He made a beeline for the door and pulled it open.
“Down!” yelled Madison when Grace hesitated.
Madison’s breath came in ragged gasps as they ran down flight after flight of stairs. They could hear the pounding of footfalls above as the guards entered the stairwell and charged down after them.
“Stop!” yelled Grace, coming to a sudden halt on the landing on the eighteenth floor. Madison came to an abrupt stop behind her, grabbing the railing for support and struggling to catch his breath.
“Look,” she said, peering over the railing and down the stairwell.
Three floors below, a pair of Triad security officers had taken positions on either side of the fifteenth-floor landing, weapons drawn and trained on the steps above them.
Madison grabbed Grace by the hand.
“Come on. This way. This level is hotel guest rooms.”
They ran through the door at the landing and entered the hotel. The hallway was wide, with thick carpeting and rich wallpaper. Wall sconces illuminated the hall with indirect light. Lush green plants in Mediterranean clay pots filled alcoves between the numbered doors of the hotel rooms.
Thirty feet down the hallway, a housekeeping cart piled high with towels and linens was parked outside an open doorway.
“I have an idea,” said Madison. He led Grace down the hallway. Madison grabbed the handle of the cart and pushed it ahead of them into the open door.
Inside, a Hispanic maid in a pale blue uniform was startled by the sudden intrusion. “
Dios mío!
”
Grace closed and locked the door behind them. Before the maid could protest, Madison grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, wrapping a hand around her mouth to silence her. Outside, the stairwell door banged against the wall as the Triad Genomics security guards entered the hallway.
Room 1856, 18th Floor
Marriott Hotel, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
Rosa Ortiz struggled against the young man, but his grip was too strong. The plastic clip holding her long black hair snapped and fell to the floor, releasing a tumult of curls across her face and shoulders.
The man’s voice was warm in her ear.
“We aren’t going to hurt you. There are some men chasing us. Men who want to hurt us. Just be quiet and nothing bad will happen. This will all be over in a minute.”
Rosa could hear the sounds of men running in the hallway outside. She looked at the woman leaning against the door of the hotel room. She looked genuinely frightened. Rosa could feel the heaving of the young man’s chest.
She allowed her body to relax and slowly nodded her head. The grip around her loosened a bit, but still held her fast.
“Here they come,” whispered the woman at the door.
A loud voice sounded in the security guard’s earpiece. He recognized it instantly.
“Where are you?” demanded Crowe.
The guard raised his right hand to his face and spoke into the mike strapped to his wrist.
“Eighteenth floor. Hotel corridor. Madison and Nguyen just ran onto this floor from the stairwell.”
A burst of expletives boomed from the guard’s earpiece. Then a moment of silence.
“Report immediately to the atrium level. I want officers posted at every exit.”
“But sir, they’re on this floor. We were right behind them.”
Another voice broke into the transmission.
“This is Dante Giovanni. You will break off your pursuit and report immediately to the atrium. There are hotel guests on that floor. The last thing I need is for a guest of the hotel to become alarmed and phone the police.”
The guard shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, sir. We’ll be right there.”
After the security officers had left the floor, Madison released his grip on the scared maid. She took a step back away from him in fear.
Madison held up his hands.
“It’s okay. They’ve gone. We’re not going to hurt you.”
He reached into a pocket and removed his wallet, fishing out a hundred-dollar bill from the billfold.
“Can you help us get to the subbasement?” he asked.
“Why the basement?” asked Grace.
“We need help. Quiz’s office is on the subbasement,” said Madison. He turned back to the maid.
“Is there a maintenance elevator you use to take linens and things to the basement?”
“Sí,” said the woman, taking the crisp bill from Madison’s fingers.
“The laundry service pick up the linen from the alley behind the storeroom. I take you there.”
Quiz’s Office
Subbasement, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
Madison and Grace descended to the subbasement in the service elevator. Madison’s shoulder ached and his jaw throbbed with pain.
“Let’s just go,” said Grace.
“Not yet. I want to see what Quiz has found.”
“Are you going to tell him about Crowe?”
“No. I don’t want to involve Quiz any more than we have to.”
Quiz was hunched over his keyboard, stuffing a Twinkie into his mouth whole, when Grace and Madison reached his office.
Madison wiped the sweat from his forehead and slowed his breathing. He ignored the throbbing pain in his shoulder.
“Hey, Quiz.”
“Mphgrph,” said Quiz, choking down the Twinkie. He washed it down with a swallow of Diet Coke.
“What are you guys doing here?” he asked finally.
“We wanted to check in and see what you’ve found,” said Madison. “Did you locate Ambergris’ journal?”
“You betcher ass,” said Quiz. “And Christian, the first entry is addressed to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here, see for yourself.” Quiz turned the flat-panel monitor so that Grace and Madison could read the text on the screen. He scrolled back to the first entry in the journal. Grace and Madison quickly read through the lines of text.
“Jesus,” said Madison. He turned to Grace. “Did you have any idea?”
“No, Christian. He was so withdrawn. We never talked about personal things.”
“Go to the next one,” said Madison. Quiz scrolled down the page. Together, they continued reading.
8 March—
I have spent many hours exploring the thousands of volumes in my father’s library—tomes, texts, and treatises he collected during his travels around the world. The breadth of his knowledge and the range of his interests were truly impressive. His collection is most remarkable. I have found manuscripts and scrolls from ancient Egypt, Mesoamerica, the Fertile Crescent, and the Far East.
One of his prized acquisitions was the original manuscript of a rare kabbalistic text, the
Sefer Yetzirah
. It is the oldest book in the Hebrew occult tradition, also known as the
Book of Creation
. Its fragile pages rest in a leather folio in my father’s study, alongside an English translation written in his handwriting.
The
Sefer Yetzirah
describes how Yahweh created the universe and all living things within it using the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet. It explains that God “molded the letters as bits of clay into parallel and complementary strings.”
Parallel and complementary strings.
Like the intertwined strands of DNA in the double helix.
The
Sefer Yetzirah
tells us that God created all living things using the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet by molding the letters as bits of clay into parallel and complementary strings. The sixty-four unique codons of our genetic alphabet are always found in groups that code for twenty-two specific genetic letters.
Shall we accept this as mere coincidence? I cannot.
The codons of DNA are made up of three genetic letters. The Hebrew language is based on root words from which nouns, verbs, adjectives, and all other grammatical variations derive. For reasons no one has been able to explain, these Hebrew root words are made up of three letters.
Like the three genetic letters in each codon within our DNA.
My father recorded in his notes that Eliphas Levi, the famous French occultist, wrote that “the
Sefer Yetzirah
is a ladder formed of truths.” I cannot help but observe that the double helix of our DNA is often described as having the appearance of a twisting ladder.
Were Hebrew mystics and scholars unknowingly passing along an ancient knowledge which they could not understand?
Who taught them this knowledge?
My father once said that books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. What other secrets, hidden by ancient scholars in the writings of humanity’s oldest civilizations, are waiting to be discovered, concealed in dusty volumes, slumbering, untouched, unread?
