The Hidden Genes of Professor K

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Thanks, Jack,’ said Dr Rosen, no longer feeling quite so alone. ‘I’d like that.’

  Jack thrived on a challenge. For him, the promise of adventure was the cherished reward for risks taken, and danger the icing on the cake that would become the subject of his next book. And there was more: Jack had a knack for trusting his instincts and following leads, however far-fetched and fanciful they might initially appear. He also believed in destiny.

  54

  Half asleep and with the warming, feel-good glow of the whisky still pleasantly clouding his brain, Jack dismissed the strange sound that had woken him as something coming from outside. But then, there it was again, only closer. A muffled kind of sobbing. Definitely in here, he thought, rubbing his stiff neck. He was much too tall for the narrow camp bed and had difficulty finding a comfortable position. The only other person in the small tent was Tristan lying on the bed next to him. Lola was sharing a tent with Dr Rosen’s assistant. Wide awake by now, Jack sat up and looked at Tristan. It’s him, he thought, he’s crying!

  Jack reached across and gently patted Tristan on the shoulder. ‘What’s wrong, mate?’ he whispered. The sobbing stopped. Silence. Bad dream, thought Jack, withdrawing his hand.

  ‘They are crying,’ said Tristan after a while.

  ‘Who’s crying?’ asked Jack.

  ‘The angels.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s this place. I’ve never felt anything like it. This is a well of desperate souls. So many of them. They are all around us and they are drowning in their own pain. That’s why the angels are crying.’

  Jack had never heard Tristan speak like that. He must have glimpsed something really frightening. ‘Come on, let’s go outside,’ he said, trying to break the spell. ‘We can both do with a little fresh air.’

  Outside it was much cooler. The cooking fires had died down, with only blinking embers remaining. They reminded Jack of a swarm of fireflies dancing off into the night. The camp was never silent. The daytime hum of activity had turned into a rhythmic, night-time whisper, like the heaving chest of a sleeping giant.

  Jack pulled up two canvas chairs and they sat in front of Dr Rosen’s surgery.

  ‘You mustn’t let this place overwhelm you,’ said Jack. ‘This is a sanctuary, a refuge where many amazing people do amazing things. Take Bettany, for example. She works tirelessly to help those in need and has devoted her life to helping others. She’s a healer. A very special one. There’s a huge amount of love here, and compassion. You have to learn to see that.’

  Tristan looked at Jack, surprised. He had never heard him speak like that before. Feeling better, he looked up at the stars and tried to identify the familiar constellations.

  ‘I thought I could hear voices,’ said Dr Rosen, stepping out of the shadows. ‘You two should be asleep …’

  ‘Our young friend here had a bad dream …’ said Jack.

  Dr Rosen understood at once. ‘This place can get to you,’ she said, taking another canvas chair and sitting next to Tristan. ‘It gets to me every time I come here, which is twice a year. At first, I felt sadness, often even despair, but as I got to know the place better, I began to feel joy and hope. Wonderful things are being done here, the most important of which is to provide hope – to thousands. Just look at this place as one big hope factory.’ Dr Rosen put her arm around Tristan. Tristan closed his eyes and began to relax. The love flowing from Dr Rosen towards him banished the dark thoughts that had so troubled him before.

  ‘Take Ifra, my assistant for example,’ continued Dr Rosen. ‘She lost her entire family during the fighting in Somalia, but she radiates hope and compassion. She isn’t much older than you. I’ll ask her to show you around tomorrow. You will see this place in a different light, trust me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tristan, and began to drift back to sleep in the chair.

  For a while, Jack and Dr Rosen sat in silence and looked up at the stars blazing above them like a sea of diamonds reaching into eternity.

  ‘Do you ever wonder …?’ Jack mused.

  Dr Rosen pointed up at the night sky. ‘How all this came about? The beginning of the universe from a single, primordial atom some twenty billion years ago? The big bang?’

  ‘Yes. Did you know it was a Belgian priest – Georges Lemaître – who first proposed this in the nineteen twenties?’ said Jack.

  ‘And then Edwin Hubble observed that galaxies were in fact speeding away from us …’

  ‘Quite, and then came the discovery of cosmic microwave radiation—’

  ‘By Penzias and Wilson,’ interjected Dr Rosen.

  ‘Leftover light from the big bang taking us back in time, perhaps to the very beginning.’

  ‘But without giving us an answer to the big question …’

  ‘Which is?’ asked Jack.

  ‘The original cause of the big bang itself.’

  ‘Something out of nothing? I don’t buy it,’ said Jack, shaking his head.

  ‘Do you ever wonder how we ended up with a brain boasting one hundred billion neurons and one hundred trillion connections? That’s more than all the stars in the universe,’ said Dr Rosen.

  ‘Wow! Staggering!’

  ‘Sure is. Since life first crawled out of the primordial soup millions of years ago, it has come a long way. In the beginning, progress was slow and nothing much appeared to happen. Then, two hundred and fifty thousand years ago something occurred not far from here, in the Rift Valley in Ethiopia, which changed everything.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘An ape-man did something quite extraordinary.’

  ‘He did?’ said Jack.

  ‘Yes. He picked up a lump of obsidian – volcanic glass – and split it. He now had a razor-sharp flint, which he attached to a long piece of wood. He now had a weapon, a spear for hunting. It all went from there. Two hundred and fifty thousand years later, a relatively short time, ape-man has become space-man.’ Dr Rosen pointed to the sky above. ‘Travelling up there. And all thanks to a grey blob of matter we still don’t fully understand, weighing about a kilo and a half. Incredible, don’t you think?’

  Jack looked up at the stars again, the timeless beauty of the night sky filling him with awe. ‘Stars, hide your fires,’ he said. ‘What did she mean by that, I wonder?’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ asked Dr Rosen.

  ‘Lady Elms’ last words to her son just before she died.’

  ‘Don’t you remember your Shakespeare?’

  ‘Shakespeare?’ repeated Jack.

  ‘The full quote goes like this: “Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires”. Macbeth. It’s all about ambition.’

  Jack sat up as if pricked by a hot needle from behind. ‘Say that again!’

  ‘Is ambition justified at all cost, or are we to accept fate and chance as our masters? That’s the question. Classic Shakespeare,’ said Dr Rosen.

  ‘Macbeth … How extraordinary!’

  ‘Is it really?’

  ‘It is in this case, believe me,’ Jack said excitedly. ‘I think you’ve just solved a puzzle that has confounded us since Lady Elms died.’

  ‘I have?’ said Dr Rosen, surprised.

  ‘I spoke to Sir Charles, Isis’ lawyer, yesterday. He’s trying to find out what Lord Elms was working on just before he was murdered. All very hush-hush. However, the project had a name: Stars, hide your fires. Lady Elms uttered the same words just before she died. The question is, why? Dark ambition? This is all a little too much for me right now. I need some time to think.’

  Dr Rosen reached across to Jack. ‘A starry night of revelations?’ she said, patting his arm. For a while they sat in silence again, marvelling at the stars and contemplating what had just been said.

  Jack looked at Tristan. ‘I think he’s fallen asleep,’ he said. ‘The angels must have stopped crying.’ Jack stood up, carefully lifted Tristan out of the chair and carried him back into the tent, returning moments later.

  ‘What a
remarkable boy,’ said Dr Rosen. ‘I read all about him in your book, of course. And about his parents … He’s special. I’ve come across only a handful of people like him over the years. They are wired differently. Emotionally, and some would say spiritually as well. It’s both a gift and a curse.’

  ‘He’s special all right,’ said Jack. ‘His mother was a Maori clairvoyant. Not a day goes by he doesn’t surprise me in some way. His insights are amazing … He sees things differently. A kid with an ancient soul, and a lot more …’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, Jack,’ said Dr Rosen, changing direction. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about the things we spoke about earlier.’

  ‘Understandable. Quite a lot to take in.’

  ‘It’s not just that. You asked me if I could remember anything, anything at all about the brother.’

  ‘You said there was nothing.’

  ‘But there is something …’

  ‘Oh? What?’

  ‘I remember overhearing my father and his friend, Anton Hoffmeister, arguing on the veranda during one of his visits to Australia. We were all staying at our house in the Blue Mountains.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They spoke German, of course, and Hoffmeister was shouting, “Dein Bruder, immer dein Bruder” – Always your brother. I’m almost certain this happened around the same time I found that dreadful photo in my father’s study …’

  ‘Déjà vu,’ said Jack. ‘We are coming back to Hoffmeister again. The slippery Don Antonio from Buenos Aires who couldn’t be trusted has re-entered the fray. He let us down big time once before, remember?’

  ‘Sure did. Just before the court case started. Marcus was beside himself.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t do any harm to turn to him again to find out what he knows …’

  Dr Rosen shook her head. ‘Do you really think he’ll talk to you after all that’s happened?’ she said.

  ‘Sure. Money turned him away from us, and money will bring him back; you’ll see. Desperation and greed are very reliable. The main thing is to find out if he’s still around. We must try to track him down, and I know just the man who may be able to do that.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Is it that important?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Why, Jack? Why have you come here?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in the morning.’

  Tristan was peacefully asleep inside, and Dr Rosen had gone back into her tent to get some rest before facing the challenges of the big day to come. Jack however, was too excited to go back to sleep. He had to tell someone about his discovery.

  Sir Charles had spoken to him the night before and told him about a breakthrough. George Underwood, his contact, had made some remarkable progress. Not only had he discovered the name of Lord Elms’ project whispered in the corridors of Whitehall – Stars, hide your fires – but he had also identified the subject matter of the Elms investigation. Lord Elms was investigating pharmaceutical companies at the time he died. But which one, and why, was still a mystery, and so was the meaning of the cryptic name given to his project. Not any more, thought Jack, composing his text message.

  ‘The penny dropped tonight, Charles, typed Jack, and all thanks to you and Shakespeare. Stars, hide your fires is part of a famous quote – “Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires”. And do you know where it’s from? Macbeth! And it’s all about ambition. Think! Which pharmaceutical giant would you associate with Macbeth? Alistair Macbeth, Blackburn Pharmaceuticals; who else! Ask Underwood to start digging. Talk soon.’

  Feeling better, Jack walked into the tent and threw himself onto the narrow bunk. Moments later, he was fast asleep. He didn’t hear the blip on his phone signalling an incoming message. It was a reply from Sir Charles:

  ‘Well done, Jack, you’re a genius! Astonishing, but compelling. If Macbeth is our mystery man, all we have to do is find those black and deep desires … I’ll speak to Underwood in the morning to start the ball rolling. Who says knowing the classics is old hat, eh?’

  55

  Carrington was due to arrive in the evening after a long flight from London. Jana went to collect him from the airport and Alexandra was cooking the long overdue dinner. The unexpected encounter with her abductor at the institute had not only soured a most successful function and personal triumph, but had also rocked Alexandra to the core. She was seriously considering resigning and going back to France. Had it not been for Jana’s reassurance and calm voice of reason, Alexandra would have been packing her bags right now. Instead, she immersed herself in something she loved to do: cooking.

  Alexandra opened a bottle of red – a shiraz from the Barossa – and poured herself a glass. The warm, peppery taste of the smooth wine primed her palate for the familiar treat to come. Perfect, she thought. It was definitely the right wine for the dish she had chosen. Because Jana had told her that Marcus loved beef, Alexandra decided to cook Boeuf Bourguignon, one of her favourites. She knew the recipe by heart – her grandmother had taught her well – and enjoyed preparing the ingredients: 2 ½ tablespoons of olive oil; 1 large brown onion, finely chopped; 200g shortcut rindless bacon, halved lengthways and cut into 1 cm strips; a generous cup of red wine … Alexandra reached for the beef, a splendid piece of eye fillet, and began to cut it into five centimetre pieces.

  The familiar routine reminded her of her grandmother’s kitchen in her cottage just outside Paris. The treasured memories began to calm Alexandra. The excellent wine – her third glass – helped as well. With a sense of wellbeing washing over her, she relaxed and her mind began to wander.

  She had spent many a school holiday at her grandmother’s home in the country. From time to time, Professor K, who knew her grandmother well, came to stay for the weekend. Alexandra remembered sitting in the garden on balmy summer evenings, talking about mathematics – one of Professor K’s favourite subjects – while mum and grandma were preparing dinner. She remembered how she struggled to understand Leibniz’s notation and how her grandmother used to tease her about being more interested in the mysteries of the calculus than baking a cake.

  Gottfried Wilhelm Leibnitz was a seventeenth century German philosopher and mathematician whose ideas had fascinated Professor K. In fact, Professor K was a closet computer nerd, obsessed with information technology, especially ‘going digital’, which he believed in some way helped him understand information storage and transfer in the genome.

  As the mouth-watering aroma of frying onions drifted through the kitchen, Alexandra remembered something in Professor K’s notes she had read the day before: the significance of ‘junk’ DNA. Professor K firmly believed that the huge amount of junk DNA in the human genome contained vital information accumulated over hundreds of millions of years of evolution, which if properly decoded, could provide answers and solutions to many of the fundamental questions taunting medical research. He also believed that the means to defeat the Emperor of Darkness – cancer – was buried somewhere in the junk DNA, and all science had to do was find it and unlock its potent secrets.

  The hunt was on, and Professor K was stalking his elusive prey by carefully analysing certain specific tissue samples he had collected and studied for clues over the years. However, for the first time he had a new, powerful tool at his disposal: genome sequencing. And the amazing machine that could deliver a complete sequence with all of its three billion letters in less than a week was right here, literally under his feet, in the basement of the institute.

  Alexandra reached for a wooden spoon and tasted the thick broth simmering in the pot. Almost ready, she thought, smacking her lips. Then her mind drifted back to Professor K’s notebooks and the curious notations in the margin she had pondered the night before. They reminded her of something, but she hadn’t been able to say exactly what – until now.

  Of course! The Leibniz Notation … ‘That’s it!’ she cried out, and hurried to her bedroom to fetch her handbag. Impatiently, she rummag
ed through the confusing labyrinth littered with female paraphernalia and secrets, searching for a copy of some of Professor K’s notes she had brought home with her.

  Professor K had been a meticulous record-keeper when it came to documenting his work. The official records he kept at the institute followed all the required protocols according to the rules in minute detail. His notes, however, were quite different and even Alexandra, who was familiar with his methods and had worked with him for years, found it difficult to make sense of them and follow the reasoning underpinning the apparent confusion.

  The Leibniz notations scribbled in the margin gave her an important clue. She was confident they somehow identified the samples kept at the institute he had been working on, and referred to the official institute register, linking the two records without disclosing this all-important information to the uninitiated, should his notes fall into the wrong hands. All Alexandra had to do was work her way through the mathematics involved to reach a number, which all being well, would correspond with the number of the target sample in the official institute register. Locating the sample in storage would then be easy. Alexandra was certain she was on the right track and would check the records at work in the morning. Professor K had thrown many a mathematical challenge à la Leibniz at her during the school holidays for her to ponder and solve. She was certain this was just another one of his little games he had loved so much.

  Typical Kasper; exasperatingly ingenious! she thought, furiously working her way through the complex calculations, until a certain number appeared as the solution at the end. Another puzzling comment in Professor K’s letter to her now also made sense … Remember Leibniz when you look for the tissue samples … Professor K was throwing her another challenge, just as he used to do in her grandmother’s garden.

  Alexandra heard the key turn in the lock and looked up. It was Jana. ‘Smells good,’ she said. ‘All is forgiven. Let me introduce you to a very hungry man who’s travelled halfway around the world for a good meal,’ joked Jana, pointing to Carrington struggling with two large suitcases behind her at the door.