The Miracle Strain (30 page)

"That's all right, then," said Hugo Myers, his voice as dry as tinder. "Because if you plead not guilty, there's about as much chance of your getting off as there is of your being elected President."

IT Section. GENIUS Headquarters. Boston. A week later.

Why the hell was nothing ever simple? thought Jasmine a week later, as she reached across her desk for the Diet Coke. She put the ice-cold can to her forehead. She had run out of ideas. Whatever she tried she couldn't get any more data out of the Black Hole in the minute allowed, other than the coded number and a small stretch of genome.

In the three weeks since Maria's arrest she had been busy giving evidence and avoiding TV cameras. Larry had been great. When it came to handling fame and media interest, his film producer contacts came to the fore. He had brought in one of his Hollywood press specialists to be Tom's and her spokesman, fielding all the press interest over her "saving Dr. Tom Carter's life," and the "heroic capture of the Preacher by Nobel scientists." Having the media channeled away from her had given her room to breathe, allowing her time to think through what had happened.

The Preacher aside, Jasmine still hadn't come to terms with the fact that she had now scanned every DNA database in existence and found two matches, including the recently deceased Al Puyiana. That was two out of five hundred million people. Given that the world population was about four and a half billion, did that mean proportionately there were some nineteen people walking the earth carrying Christ's genes? The chosen few were rare in the extreme, a minuscule percentage, but hardly unique. Which one was the real Messiah, if any of them was?

Jasmine had been wrestling with her faith. In the end she told herself that Christ had been unique for spiritual reasons, but by coincidence had also possessed these three genes. She knew this conveniently sidestepped the issue, but she'd intentionally distracted herself by working flat-out on the search to find the identity of the match on the Black Hole database.

She looked at the computer screen in front of her. So far she'd been able to get back into the Black Hole and access file #6699784, but in the sixty seconds before the Predator system traced her she hadn't had time to pull off the whole genome. She had tried to pull off new sections of the sequence, but each time she had gone back in she had been able to access only the sequence she already possessed. She certainly didn't have enough of the genome to do an appearance analysis, and without the sex chromosomes she couldn't even identify the gender.

She opened the can and took a drink. Idly, she tapped a few keys and called up IGOR. She hadn't checked the latest entries collected by Big Mother for at least a week. Without thinking, she clicked on the icon containing the Nazareth genes and fed them into the IGOR update window, clicking the on-screen "Match Sequence" button. At the last minute she realized she hadn't imported the Nazareth genes icon at all, but the icon containing the incomplete #6699784 sequence she'd taken from the Black Hole.

"Jeez." She was even more screen-drunk than she'd thought. She moved the mouse but before she could press the cancel icon, "Match Found" suddenly flashed up on the screen.

"What?" That shouldn't have happened. #6699784 had been scanned weeks, months, even years ago, whereas the IGOR updates were scans done in the last few days. A cold clammy panic descended, as she realized what might have happened. Immediately she clicked on the Nazareth genes icon and inserted it into the IGOR update window. She crossed her fingers and watched the screen.

And waited.

"Match Found" flashed the words again.

Quickly she selected the matched genome and opened it. Seconds later the screen was filled with three pictures of the subject's face: left profile, full frontal, and right profile. Beneath the pictures was a name and personal details. The database title on the top of the screen told her that this was the exact same subject she'd located in the Black Hole. But this barely registered on her brain as she stared at the face in front of her, a face she knew too well.

Over in the Hospital Suite Tom didn't know whether to feel elated or depressed. This morning Hank Polanski was leaving the ward, to continue his impressive recovery at home. Tom saw how the other six patients took encouragement from his cure. He just wished that one of them--the newest arrival--wasn't Holly.

Hank Polanski went to each patient in turn to say goodbye and wish them well. He seemed painfully aware of how lucky he was to be able to leave this exclusive, close-knit club before he was forced to take out life membership.

"See ya, Holly," said Hank Polanski as he came to Holly's bed. Most of her beautiful blond hair had already fallen out from the first round of chemotherapy and she looked pale. "You'll be okay."

"Bye, Hank," smiled Holly bravely, returning his offered high five.

"And when I get stuck with Wrath of Zarg or my old Doom games, I know who to ask for help," said the twenty-three-yearold with a grin.

"Yeah, right," said Holly, trying to hold her tired smile.

Finally, Hank came to Tom and there were tears in his eyes. The young man began to say something, then thought better of it. He just reached for Tom's hand and shook it strongly. "Thanks, Doc. Thanks for everything."

Tom smiled and patted his shoulder. "Hank, this is what it's all about. It's a joy, a genuine joy, to see you well again." He meant it too. And as Hank and his mother left the ward to continue a life they thought had been lost to them, Tom turned his attention back to Holly.

Karl Lambert, the NIH neurosurgeon based at GENIUS, had advised immediate keyhole laser surgery, but the scan had shown Holly's tumor to be in a particularly inaccessible part of the brain. The risk of paralysis or worse from just one slip of the laser was great. So Tom had elected to try to slow the tumor's growth, buying time till Jasmine identified her match and Project Cana could be used. As well as chemo this stalling strategy involved radiation and some pro-drug therapy.

Even if these treatments worked they were at best hold ing measures, and he would have to operate eventually. But at least they bought him time to give Cana a chance of coming to the rescue.

He entered Holly's cubicle and sat on the bed beside her. "How are you feeling, Holly?"

The brave smile Holly had flashed for Hank suddenly crumpled, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Why can't I go home like Hank, Dad?"

Tom felt his heart squeeze deep inside him. Holly had reacted particularly badly to the radiation, which had made her nauseated. There were no other kids on the ward to keep her company, and now even the lively Hank had gone.

"It took time to make Hank well, Holly," he soothed. "And we need to keep you here to observe you, and ensure you get the right treatment."

"But I hate it here," she said, hurt and frustration flaring in her hazel eyes. As her voice got louder and the pitch higher, large tears rolled down her cheeks. "If Mom was here, she'd let me go home." Holly turned away from him and pushed her face into the pillow. "I don't want to be sick," she shouted into the linen, her small shoulders racked with her sobbing. "I hate it. I hate it. I hate it."

He leaned forward and put his hand on the back of her neck, stroking her. He sat there in silence for some moments, until gradually her sobbing calmed and her breathing became regular. Leaning forward, he kissed her. "Holly, you will feel better soon. The tablets the nurse gave you earlier will start to work any moment now."

Standing up, he told Holly he'd see her soon and headed for the atrium. Before he reached the door Jasmine came running into the ward, brandishing a printout in one hand and looking flushed.

She grabbed Tom by the arm and steered him through the still swinging door into the deserted waiting room. As soon as they were alone she passed him the folded printout and hissed, "I've found out who our match is."

"What? That's great!"

"Read it before you say it's great."

He quickly unfolded the paper, then did a double take when he saw the face.

Jasmine muttered darkly, "Your Ezekiel fellow's in for a bit of a surprise, isn't he?"

But Tom didn't say anything. He couldn't. He was so shocked he just stared at the paper in disbelieving silence.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

GENIUS Headquarters, Boston

As the limousine turned into the GENIUS campus, Ezekiel De La Croix twisted the ruby ring on his finger. He felt an uncomfortable blend of heady excitement and nervous apprehension. Were all his prayers going to be answered at last?

He disliked the pyramid of tinted glass as soon as he saw it. It was everything the Cave of the Sacred Light wasn't: brash, modern, bright, and arrogant. There was no attempt to blend into the surrounding natural world. Unlike the Brotherhood's cave, which had been fashioned over centuries out of an existing space, this was overtly imposed on the green lawns of the GENIUS campus--a symbol of the scientist's insecure and vain need to dominate God's world.

De La Croix hadn't wanted to come, and Dr. Carter's unusual request that he forward one of his hair follicles in advance had done little to reassure him. However, Dr. Carter had refused to give him any details of the match over the phone, so he had been obliged to make the visit. "It's better we discuss this face to face," the scientist had told him two days ago. "You will understand why, when you come."

Not only did he feel uncomfortable coming to his enemy's pagan temple, but the thought had also crossed his mind that it might be a trap. If Maria had betrayed him and the Brotherhood, then the best way for the authorities to arrest him would be for Dr. Carter to invite him here on American soil. He had discussed this with the Inner Circle and decided it was highly unlikely. After all, if they had been betrayed, then the authorities would no doubt have already raided the cave. But being cautious he had asked Brother Helix to brief him on the scientific questions and had come alone. If there was a trap only he would be sacrificed. Brother Helix could then take over the Brotherhood's mission with Brother Bernard by his side.

He watched as the limousine, which had picked him up at Logan Airport, pulled up outside the main door. Carter was waiting on the gravel drive. Next to him was a young black woman with a fine-featured face and a compact Afro. He guessed this was Dr. Washington.

On leaving the car, he was greeted by his hosts and escorted briskly into the building. It was a Saturday and the marblefloored atrium was as quiet as a tomb. Despite his dislike of the exterior, he couldn't help but be impressed by its airy grace. He was particularly drawn to the thirty-foot hologram in the middle of the atrium, with its double helix of multicolored DNA spiraling up to the apex of the crystal pyramid. The beauty of its complex, iridescent hues contrasted starkly with the white purity of the Sacred Flame. As the glass elevator took them past the mezzanine level to the next floor, he was struck by the light and space of the interior.

Coming out of the elevator they came to a glass door bearing the etched legend MENDEL LABORATORY SUITE--AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY, where Ezekiel was introduced to Bob Cooke and Nora Lutz. "Both have helped with analyzing the Nazareth genes," explained Carter. "They wanted to meet you."

"Is this the whole Cana team?" asked Ezekiel, indicating the four of them.

"Yes, I decided to keep it as discreet as possible."

"Very wise," he said with an approving nod. This would make it easier in the future, he thought. "Very wise indeed."

The scientist and his people then led Ezekiel through the door into an alien landscape of glass tubes, spotless white workbenches, humming apparatus, blinking lights, and alarming messages:

Warning! Biohazard.

Danger!--180 degrees--Thermal gloves must be worn at alltimes.

Ethidium bromide--avoid contact with skin.

This was a hostile environment, cold and unnatural. A brave new world he wanted no part of. He was relieved when Dr. Carter finally ushered him through another door, marked FRANCIS CRICK CONFERENCE ROOM. Here he found a familiar conference table and chairs, a projection screen, and a bizarre instrument, which sat like a mechanical swan in one corner. Two black circular pads lay on the floor in front of it.