The Gene of Life

by Tetsuo Ted Takashima

  “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

  “I already explained to you—you’ve struck the enemy where it hurts. You’re onto something big. And, you made the first move and marched into enemy territory; that is why they were after you, Professor. You are no longer bystanders. You’re neck-deep in a war with this era’s Nazis,” Feldman said. He put a hand to his neck and turned his head; he was trying his hardest to stay calm.

  “What do I know that I shouldn’t?” asked Max.

  “I also want to know.” Feldman sighed and stared at Max. “Please don’t attract their attention like that again. You’re waking a sleeping dragon.”

  “Don’t speak in metaphors. Just spit it out.”

  “I meant what I said, Professor.”

  “How did you know we went to La Cruz?”

  “You contacted a presidential aide. That got the governor, the mayor, and the police chief involved. Anybody would think it was suspicious.”

  “You’re listening in on their calls?”

  “Heavens, no! I have no intention of making an enemy out of America. Wiretapping isn’t the only way to gather information.” Feldman looked at Max. “It’s as I told you, Professor. We are professionals, as is the enemy. But in this, you are an amateur. Just as I can’t understand the work you do, you can’t understand the work we do. Nor is that necessary. It’s better if we stay in our own areas of expertise and cooperate.” Feldman gave him an earnest look.

  “The human mind is tenacious, and yours is particularly so. The flesh, however, is weak. Our bodies can be easily crushed. To kill a person, just pull your trigger finger a millimeter. That’s all it takes to destroy body and mind alike.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m saying they’d kill you as soon as they’d kill a mosquito,” Feldman said without changing his expression.

  “Stop it!” They turned around; Katya was staring at Max and Feldman. “Stop arguing! We were almost killed! In just a single day, so many people died. How many were in that car? Three? Four?!” She shouted as she violently shook her head.

  “I’ve had enough of this! In Domba, all the villagers ended up dead! Children, adults, old people, everyone. They were shot and burned right in front of us! When will the killing end? And yet here you are, fighting. Enough is enough!” Tears ran down Katya’s cheeks.

  Max and Feldman were speechless. Ms. Ryan sat next to Katya and hugged her shoulders.

  “Katya heard them talking about the girl in the lab. Maybe she’s the girl that disappeared from Domba,” Max said.

  Ms. Ryan froze. “A mixed race fourteen- to fifteen-year-old Indigenous girl with Caucasian blood. They called her ‘daughter.’”

  “You know the girl?”

  “Yes. She was at the lab until a few days ago. A vendor guy who comes to the cafeteria told me he saw a girl in a wheelchair.”

  “Why didn’t you report back to me sooner?” The color left Feldman’s face.

  “I only heard about her yesterday morning. And after that, I had to watch him,” Ms. Ryan glared at Max.

  “Where is she now?”

  “I heard they took a boat to Mexico.”

  “You didn’t see it yourself?”

  “The vendor guy did. He said he saw them take her on a cruiser, and that he remembered it because she was the first girl he’d ever seen there.”

  “She’s alive! Aska’s alive!” Katya murmured.

  “Where in Mexico did they take her? She may have all the answers we’re looking for,” Max said.

  “I’ll have them look into it immediately.” Feldman stood up, patted Ms. Ryan on the shoulder, and went to the next room.

  That night, Katya lay in bed, silently facing the wall. Max tried to start a conversation, but she wouldn’t turn to face him. When he put his hand on her shoulder, he could feel her trembling. He had no idea what to do; he stayed for a while, but eventually gave up and went to the next room.

  In the morning, Feldman entered the room where Max was sleeping. It was only six, but it was already bright outside. Max sat up in bed, and Feldman handed him a cup of coffee. The warm scent spread through the room. Feldman’s eyes were bloodshot, and had heavy bags under them. He moved slowly, and it was clear that he hadn’t slept last night. He pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down before taking a sip. “Two days ago, a girl and three men left the airport in Mexico City for Europe.”

  “Where in Europe?” Max asked.

  “Rome.”

  “Rome?”

  “Yes, and they’re most likely headed for the Vatican,” he said with confidence.

  “The Vatican?” Max muttered. He remembered what Feldman had told him when he was at Max’s home: This calls for communing with God.

  “Is this the fruits of Jake’s investigation?”

  Before Feldman could reply, there was a knock on the door, and Ms. Ryan came in. She smiled at Max, but she looked exhausted. She handed Feldman a thick folder of files and left.

  “These are the fruits of his investigation.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Europe. He went from France to Rome. Right now, he’s at the Vatican.”

  The folder contained documents and photos of people and buildings. The photos were grainy, enlarged copies.

  “The Aztec Foundation. Their headquarters is in an old building in the backstreets of Paris, with three staff members. We’re having trouble figuring out what’s behind the organization.”

  “The foundation has provided Aztec Labs with hundreds of millions of dollars in research funding.”

  “The source of funding for the foundation is unknown. It’s just a front. We’ve been tracing the flow of money for two months, and finally found the last cashier this morning. It was the Vatican.” Feldman heaved a sigh.

  The door opened, and Katya walked in. Max nodded to her to sit on the bed. He gave her the coffee cup he’d been holding. Katya inhaled the welcome smell.

  “You mean the Vatican is paying the Labs through the Aztec Foundation?”

  Feldman nodded. “Do you know the history between the Vatican and the Nazis?”

  “I’m not a historian.”

  Feldman paused to collect his thoughts. Slowly, he spoke: “Before World War II, the Vatican’s greatest enemy was communism, which rejected religion, and the Soviet Union was encroaching upon Europe. If left unchecked, the whole of Europe would turn Red. The Vatican thought that the only country that could fight with the Soviet Union was Germany, which was dominated by Hitler and the Nazi party.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “There was also a Nazi-friendly priest within the Vatican.” Feldman took a photo from the file and placed it on the table. “Father Artyom Yunov, a Russian-Croatian priest.” In the photo, a man in vestments was gazing coolly at the camera.

  His wavy hair covered his forehead, his features were well-proportioned, and he had a faint smile. He resembled more the Hollywood stars of yesteryear than a servant of God.

  “He was called ‘der gute Pfarrer,’ or ‘the Good Father,’ and he was the prime example of such priests. At the end of the war, many of the high-ranking Nazi officials and SS executives hunted by the Allies fled to South America with the help of the Vatican. Gehlen and Benchell included.” Feldman put the photo on the table and took out a cigar. He breathed in its aroma, cut the cap end with a guillotine cutter, and lit it. Its rich scent filled the air.

  “After the war, there was a network of Allied and Jewish agencies all over Europe dedicated to hunting Nazis. And many organizations were created to slip through that net. Odessa, Spider, Rock Gates, Brotherhood, HIGA—through those organizations, many Nazis fled to Europe, West Asia, and South America. But the largest organization to lend them a hand was the Vatican. They say thousands of Nazis were hiding inside the Vatican, at one time,” Feldman said matter-of-factly. Max and Katya listened with rapt with attention. “The fleeing Nazis suffered a range of fates. The first thing the US and Soviet troops did when they entered Berlin
was hunt down the scientists. Many Nazi scientists were top-notch. Their rocket technology and missile guidance technology far surpassed both countries’, and that was clear from the V1 and V2 missiles fired at London before the end of the war. They were even on the verge of developing atom bombs. The main scientist behind Germany’s rocket development, Wernher von Braun, was at the top of the list of scientists who were semi-forced to serve the United States and the Soviet Union, on the condition they wouldn’t be charged with war crimes. But the Nazis that the Allies wanted were not all scientists. Then the world entered a new war—the Cold War. Many Nazis took advantage of that state of affairs, and sold information and offered their experience to right-wing governments around the world, especially in South America.” Feldman’s words stabbed deep into Max’s spirit like a sharp blade.

  “It’s like something from out of the dark side of the moon.”

  “For us, it’s just an ongoing fact.”

  “The Vatican, eh. What exactly is God?”

  “He who knows and understands all. He who can do or create anything and everything. A priest is nothing more than a man. God is above man.”

  “So, why did they bring Aska to Rome?”

  “I believe you know why more than we do, Professor,” Feldman said.

  “Is Benchell still hiding in the Vatican?” Max asked.

  “No idea.”

  “Please save Aska,” Katya pleaded, her voice feeble.

  “I’m not interested in Nazi war criminals or the Vatican. I just want to save Aska. I need her in order to survive.”

  “What’s so special about this ‘Aska’ girl?” Feldman asked, frustrated.

  “I’m not a god. I don’t know everything. But I do know that Aska is the daughter of Dona and Gehlen. She has all the answers.”

  “We’re leaving for Rome today. I hope you will join us, Professor. I have some acquaintances in Rome,” Feldman said. “And I don’t know what you’ll get up to if I leave you here,” he added to himself, before getting up.

  “We have to hurry,” Max whispered to Katya. “Aska may not be able to survive for long away from the Amazon.”

  Katya gave Max a worried look.

  ● ● ●

  VI

  * * *

  THE VATICAN

  CHAPTER 22

  They arrived at Leonardo da Vinci Airport around four in the afternoon, and from there took a taxi into Rome. When they entered the city, they were stuck in the typical traffic jam, so it took them more than an hour to reach their hotel near the Pantheon. They gave their names to reception, and Max and Katya ended up in the same room.

  “The reservation was so short-notice, this is how it played out,” Feldman said with a slight grin. “Or maybe Ms. Ryan did you two a little favor?”

  “You and I should be in the same room,” said Max.

  “When you get to be my age, Professor, having to share a room with someone can be taxing. Please, let an old man be alone for a while.” Feldman handed his bag to a bellboy and headed for the elevator.

  “I don’t mind this arrangement,” Katya told Max, who was trying to discuss their options with the desk.

  A bellboy was waiting for them with their bags. Max took the keys and started walking. Their room had the subdued elegance of medieval European décor, with light brown wallpaper, two old-fashioned beds, and a teak writing desk. Out the window, they had a view of the roof of St. Peter’s Basilica across the Tiber. The sun was tilted westward, and the strong light dyed Rome vermilion.

  “A city of stone. I don’t like it. It’s cold,” muttered Max as he soaked in the cityscape.

  “I like it. It’s like a record of the past. It really makes you aware of the passage of time. So much culture was born here, so much history.” Katya got a little closer to him.

  “Slaves, gladiators, early Christians—so many people died against their will here.” Max stepped away from the window.

  Feldman called to tell them he’d be going out, so Max and Katya found a restaurant nearby for dinner. When they returned to their room, they felt awkward. The Italian spoken on TV was too fast for them to follow. They each took a bath, and got into bed a little past ten.

  An August night in Rome. The minutes and hours went by quietly. Max had his eyes closed and his back to Katya. It was so still they could hear each other breathe. It made them think of the night they spent in the jungles of Brazil—the night of Aska’s surgery.

  “Professor . . . ,” Katya whispered.

  A cool breeze was blowing through the half-open window.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “Am I not attractive?”

  In the moonlight, the room’s interior was quite dim.

  “Your charms shattered my shield of rationality a long time ago.”

  “Then why are you refusing to come closer?”

  “I’m a coward, Katya. I’m not confident someone as attractive as you would ever choose me.”

  “I’ve looked up to you for so long. I can’t believe we’re together, just the two of us, like this.”

  “We’ve only known each other for a few weeks.”

  “It’s been five years and six months. Germany was the third time we’d met. When you lectured at Stanford, I was right in the front row. We also shook hands at a conference at Caltech. I guess you didn’t remember me at all.”

  Silence.

  “The reason I took up the offer from the pharmaceutical company is because I wanted to work with you,” she murmured.

  “Admiration and sexual attraction are two different things.”

  “You’re a man and I’m a woman. It’s in our genes to be attracted to one another. You wrote in one of your books that defying that is defying God. Even if it started as admiration, it’s not unthinkable for it to turn into sexual attraction.”

  “I’m afraid of falling in love. I can’t stand the thought of passing my suffering on to the next generation.”

  “Suffering is a sign one’s alive. It’s better than feeling nothing at all, don’t you think?”

  Max turned to face her. Katya sat up in bed and turned toward Max. She lifted her arms and pulled off her T-shirt. Her white skin shone in the moonlight. Her shoulders were smooth, and her breasts were perfect.

  Max got out of bed and fled for the pale shadows.

  The next morning, they awoke to a knock.

  Max opened the door, and there stood Feldman.

  “I’ll be waiting downstairs.” With that, Feldman bowed his head with excessive politeness and walked toward the elevator.

  It was more than an hour after the time they had agreed to meet. The two hurriedly got dressed and went down to the lobby. Upon spotting them, Feldman cleared his throat inconspicuously, but he didn’t say anything.

  After a quick breakfast, the three headed for the Vatican. They strolled through Rome and arrived there in around an hour. They crossed the Sant’Angelo Bridge and entered Via della Conciliazione, which led to St. Peter’s Basilica. It was already teeming with people.

  Feldman was walking in the lead. He turned to face them: “Try not to get separated.”

  Katya linked arms with Max as he frantically tried to keep track of Feldman’s head above the crowd.

  “Is it always like this around here?” Katya asked Feldman as she looked around.

  “It’s Sunday. There’s going to be a papal address.”

  In the distance, Max saw St. Peter’s Basilica, a cathedral held up by huge stone pillars. It was over 445 feet tall, including the cross that topped its dome. The building’s sheer majesty was enough to awe even nonbelievers. Was what they sought somewhere inside? A strange chill went down Max’s spine.

  “We’re at the heart of the Vatican city-state,” Feldman said, his eyes on the basilica. “This place harbors all that has to do with Catholicism. It covers more than 110 acres, and about nine hundred people reside here. They use the euro, but they have their own passports and postage. They even have a courthouse and a radio station
. The pope has dominion over the Vatican, and it’s the smallest sovereign nation in the world. The basilica was built where the first Roman bishop, St. Peter, was said to have been martyred and buried by Nero, upside down on a cross. At first the cathedral was in the middle of nowhere, and was used for burials. There’s a necropolis under the basilica, full of the remains of martyrs. Eventually, a home for the pope was built nearby, and palaces were added. When a wall with a small spire was built to surround the city-state, the Vatican as we know it was complete.”

  “And now it’s a grand and imposing tourist destination,” Max said, scanning the area. There were people from all over the world, and clearly not all of them were devotees.

  “Do you dislike religion?” Feldman asked. “I know you have doubts about God’s existence.”

  “Every religion reeks of blood. Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus . . . countless people have died in the name of God. Even now, blood is being shed all over the world. Can you really call that the work of God?”

  “One can’t measure life by means of death. Some are dead even though they’re still breathing. Sometimes death can inspire life. A death that keeps the will alive is more meaningful to someone than simply persisting. Martyrs died after achieving peace of mind, and victory.”

  “I just find that whole world inconceivable.”

  “To tell the truth, I do too,” Feldman said with an impassive expression.

  The bustle began to subside as tens of thousands of eyes focused on one man, who appeared in the window. It was Pope Benedict XVI. His mic-amplified voice began to reverberate, and a solemn air enveloped the square. As the pope delivered his address, Feldman’s eyes were on their surroundings. To the side of the basilica, the roof of the Apostolic Palace, where the pope lived, could be seen.

  The address ended in about half an hour, and the crowds began moving once again.

  “The Apostolic Palace is closed to the public. Not just anybody can get in,” Feldman told Max, who was watching the palace.

  “Do you think Aska’s in there?”