The God Organ

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  “You’ve got to keep that quiet.”

  “I know. I plan on keeping my job.” Whitney grinned. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll keep it all quiet if you come to my play this weekend.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Whitney rolled her eyes. “Obviously. But, really, if you aren’t too busy and want to bring someone along this weekend, it’s opening night for The Pirates of Penzance at the Michigan Avenue Players. I’m playing Ruth.”

  He toyed with the idea of inviting Jacqueline to the play, but dismissed the thought. What the hell would he tell Whitney when she saw them together? He certainly had no desire to invite Audrey. “We’ll see. I might be busy with work, anyway.”

  “Figures.” Whitney shrugged. “Everyone around here’s too busy.” She turned back to her holoscreen.

  ***

  Matthew headed back upstairs. The halls had a rather sterile, practically blank smell today. Once Nayak had taken his role as CEO, it seemed that the office environment had lost the touches that Joel called Morale Boosters.

  Jacqueline had told Matthew that Preston Carter had kept those positions, presumably preserving the pampered environment that LyfeGenners were accustomed to. Nayak, with the Board and investors breathing down his neck, had begun to eliminate positions and luxuries within the company that were, in his eyes, extravagant and superfluous. It was just another reminder of one of the many knives sticking out of LyfeGen’s sides as the company bled out.

  Matthew’s thoughts drifted back to Audrey. He had no idea where she had gone or who she was with. His calls and messages had been met with utter silence.

  He actually missed her.

  His stomach began to churn as he tried to disentangle himself from the emotional mess that he had created.

  “How’s it going, Matt?”

  He stopped and nodded at Thomas Williams. “Uh, all right, how about you?”

  “All right,” Thomas said. “Although, I’m having a hard time concentrating today.”

  Thomas always had a hard time concentrating. More often than not, he sat by someone’s desk or stopped them in the hall to talk. Very rarely did Matthew ever see the man actually at his desk working.

  Just another company man who had risen to the top by talking rather than doing.

  In a time when jobs were scarce, Matthew hated that bloated companies like LyfeGen could allow such parasites to float their way through the company simply by being overly friendly.

  Still, he figured it wouldn’t be helpful to be rude. Brushing Thomas off meant that the man would go off and tell twenty other people how rude and inconsiderate Matthew had been, spreading and embellishing the story until the entire company viewed him as a hot-tempered asshole. “Really? Why’s that?”

  “Just this kind of throbbing in my head,” Thomas said, almost cheerfully. “I never get headaches, but today is just one of those days.” He wore an overly exuberant smile. The man’s expression seemed incongruous with his claims.

  “Yeah, me, too,” Matthew said.

  “Weird! So many people have been feeling off-kilter today. Must be something in the weather. Anyway, it looks like you’re in a hurry.” Thomas emphatically patted Matthew on the back. “You have a great day.”

  “Thanks,” Matthew said, already walking away. “You, too.”

  Thomas’ words bothered him. Maybe the stress in the company inspired the headaches. Or maybe there was something in the air.

  Then again, it could have simply been one of Thomas’ attempts to connect. It might have meant nothing.

  Either way, he had more pressing concerns than an annoying headache. He needed to extract the DNA from the cell samples he had obtained and confirm his suspicions of the same stroke cocktail, as he’d been calling it, present in these two new victims.

  Arriving back in his lab, he switched on the music via his comm card, letting a stream of classic rock from the early 2000s wash through the room. He closed the door to the lab to prevent the music from escaping into the hall, then sat in front of the flow hood to withdraw his first samples from Henry Lockwood and James Kim’s dead Sustain tissues.

  As he tried to remove some of the DNA lysate from a sample, he broke a glass pipette tip. He fumed for a moment, his head pounding harder and his jaw clenching tighter. Frustrated, he backed away from the hood, exhaling and imagining all the stress and emotional turmoil escaping with each released breath.

  His headache seemed to lessen as he worked with the samples.

  He was thankful for the filtered, clean air pumped into each laboratory to minimize the risk of airborne bacterial, viral, and fungal contaminants.

  Usually, straining his eyes through microscopes and the smudged glass windows of the flow hoods made his headaches worse, but today was different. He felt reinvigorated, working on the samples and setting up the PCR machines and DNA informatics samplers. He deposited half-a-microliter samples in each of the sensitive machines.

  The dull throbbing in his head had finally lessened. He figured a cup of coffee could scatter the remnants of the headache and headed out into the hallway toward the floor’s kitchenette.

  The hall was eerily silent as he passed by cubicles and offices. Most people’s faces shared a similar look. Eyes were strained or glassy. One man, his tie loose, appeared almost green.

  As Matthew wandered closer to the kitchenette, he peeked into Thomas’ office. The man sat at his desk, looking decidedly unsocial. Certainly, something was amiss.

  Matthew proceeded to the kitchenette and selected his usual dark roast with one cream and a sugar. As the invigorating aroma of the brewing coffee filled the air, footsteps on the tiled floor caused him to turn around.

  “Hey, Matt.” Stacy Chang took a deep breath. “Smells delicious in here. How’s it going?”

  “Good. How about you?”

  “Oh, you know.” Stacy selected her own coffee pod. “Just another day of pipetting colored liquids from one plastic dish into another. Isn’t science glamorous?”

  Matthew laughed. “That it is. How are you feeling?”

  “My eyes are strained and I’m pretty sure I’m getting more nearsighted every day from this work, but, otherwise, I can’t complain.”

  “Interesting,” Matthew said.

  “I guess you could call it that. But every day blending into the next, spending it at the same lab bench, running the same analyses and dealing with the same damn cells isn’t what I’d call interesting.”

  “No, no, that’s not quite what I meant. I meant that it was interesting you were doing fine.”

  Stacy laughed as she shook her head. “You’re a weird cat.”

  “Haven’t you noticed everyone else, I mean?”

  “Did you miss the part where I told you I’m going nearsighted from sitting in my lab all day, at the same bench under the same boring hood?”

  “Makes sense,” Matthew said.

  “What makes sense?”

  “The air in our labs is controlled and filtered separately from the air in the rest of the building.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Stacy said, “since it’s all based on EPA, FDA, whatever regulations. Every lab’s different, though.”

  “I know, but take a look at the people who haven’t been in a lab like us. They all look miserable. Hell, even Thomas told me everyone was complaining about headaches or something. My head hurt until I spent a while in the lab with the door closed.”

  “Shit.” Stacy furrowed her brow. “You don’t think...”

  Matthew saw the gears behind her eyes.

  She dropped her coffee pod. “But the carbon monoxide detectors never went off.”

  “I know, but something has to be up. We’ve got to get everyone out of here.”

  “It’s already halfway through the work day...that’s too long.” Stacy started to sprint out of the kitchenette, but turned to Matthew. “Wait. Who should we tell?”

  He took a second, trying to figure out the most effective way to t
ell everyone about the suspected gas leak. Convincing everyone to leave, especially when the alarm hadn’t gone off, could take far too long. “Just go pull a fire alarm.”

  “But that—”

  “We have to.”

  Stacy sprinted down the walkway toward the nearest fire alarm lever. Matthew went in the other direction, trying to round up people who weren’t moving.

  He saw a look of pained skepticism on one man’s face as the alarms sounded. Others huffed and rolled their heads, pushing out of office seats and grumbling toward the exits. Thomas was quick to join the throngs of people shuffling outdoors, probing everyone he could about who might be responsible for the alarm and why.

  Matthew joined the crowds heading toward the exits.

  His eyes adjusted to the blinding sunlight as he exited the building, following his coworkers outside. There were plenty of people taking in fresh breaths, asking when they could return to the building, some peeved, some bored, and others happy to take a break.

  The LyfeGen employees had exited into an outdoor space specially manicured as a break area. A spattering of evergreen trees gave the small patch splashes of green, although the rest of the grass and foliage lay brown and dead, waiting to be awakened in the spring. All the benches and tables in this area were already filled and Matthew was getting anxious in the burgeoning crowd. Instead of waiting around, he walked along the sidewalk pathway that led to the front of the LyfeGen building, where crowds of people milled about rows of plastic chairs in front of a stage.

  He had forgotten about the annual product highlights press conference that Anil Nayak had announced. Breaking from tradition, Anil decided to host the conference outdoors. No one was allowed to dial in. Instead, everyone had to attend in person, according to a recent announcement.

  The chilly air still stung but maybe that was part of Nayak’s strategy. Make the press uncomfortable, make them want to keep the questions short.

  Matthew crossed the street, distancing himself from the growing masses of bloggers, news streamers, and journalists gathering for the event. He thought about getting a coffee, since he had abandoned his cup in the kitchenette before Stacy set off the alarm.

  A flash of red hair gracing someone with a purple coat caught his eye. Audrey was just twenty yards away, but didn’t acknowledge him. She joined the rest of the reporters in front of LyfeGen.

  He felt almost nervous seeing her again. He wanted to talk to her, but he still couldn’t be sure whether he wanted to salvage their relationship or just let it go.

  He’d always admired Audrey’s audacity for her own work and had been proud to tell others how she thrived in a field increasingly dominated by computer-program-manufactured news. They shared a fervor for excellence in their chosen fields and he enjoyed their conversations on clichéd subjects like hopes and dreams. He never felt silly telling her about his vision of leading a biotech firm one day.

  And she had always shared an interest in his field. They could spend long hours over dinner and drinks sharing their predictions for the biological sciences, gossip about prominent researchers and business leaders, and general speculations on future technology.

  Audrey had almost always supported him and celebrated his achievements.

  She had been a consistent factor in his life and his success.

  But he had abandoned that consistency, that trust he had had in her as soon as she had begun investigating LyfeGen’s Sustain products. He knew it was her job and had seen her conduct similar investigations of other companies, but it now felt exceedingly personal.

  It was as if she was publicizing his most intimate secrets.

  He knew it was illogical to take her assignment so personally, but it was impossible not to feel slighted.

  Sirens wailing, a convoy of fire trucks and precautionary ambulances descended upon LyfeGen. All Matthew’s coworkers would now be undergoing medical assessments by the personnel in the ambulances as the firemen checked to confirm the presence of whatever gas, dangerous or benign, had compromised the building.

  A man with a cup in hand stood beside Matthew. “Is there a fire or something?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Just a gas leak.”

  “That’s good. Although I suppose that might mean there’s going to be a fire, huh?”

  As the man nonchalantly sipped his drink, Matthew realized that every sample, all the data, everything that could be used to determine the existence and origin of the suspected genetic sabotage was in that building filling with gas.

  If something sparked, if a burner or oven was turned on anywhere, a cigarette was neglected, or static discharged from any of the machinery, it could set off a chain reaction, destroying everything. Destroying the building. Destroying the chances of finding out who or what was responsible for the systematic murders of Joel Cobb, Jonathan Grieves, and everyone else.

  For the second time that day, Matthew abandoned a hot cup of coffee.

  Dodging through the now-merging crowds of LyfeGen employees, journalists with a new scoop, and emergency crew members, Matthew jogged to the front entrance of the LyfeGen building.

  “You can’t go in there!”

  He ignored the command as a hand grabbed his shoulder. He brushed off the person’s arm and ran in. His feet pounded against the floor of the relatively empty lobby.

  The two firemen who were acting as bouncers to the building stared at him, yelling for him to stop, but they didn’t move from their post. A trickle of employees who hadn’t yet left the building passed, coming down the stairs to the main lobby.

  As Matthew darted up the stairs to the next floor, a hand grabbed his arm. He yanked it away, but turned back to see Jacqueline.

  Her blue eyes were wide with worry. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to get back to the lab.”

  “Why the hell are you doing that?”

  “The samples are in the lab.”

  Jacqueline nodded in recognition. “Anil told me about them.”

  Matthew hesitated for a moment. “I’ve got to get them out of here.”

  “I’m going with you.” Her face was set in determination. There was no reason to waste time arguing.

  Matthew bounded up the stairs with Jacqueline at his heels and sprinted into the lab. The PCR machine still hummed dutifully.

  “Get the mini-transport ready.”

  “Okay.” Jacqueline scrambled to the back shelves of the lab. She pulled down a small white container with a touchscreen for temperature, humidity, and CO2 controls. “Do we need a liquid nitrogen container for the frozen samples, too?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Can you prep that?”

  “Sure thing.”

  He retrieved Lockwood’s and Kim’s samples from the larger liquid nitrogen vat. In the small cooler Jacqueline had prepared, he submerged the tiny plastic vials. He then grabbed the live tissue cultures from the 37oC incubator and placed them in the portable incubator.

  “It’s not completely warmed up yet,” Jacqueline said.

  “The cells should be fine for a couple minutes. Better than them being toasted in a freak fire.” He placed a couple of tissue cultures into the miniature incubator. “Do you think it’s carbon monoxide?”

  Jacqueline stared at him for a moment. “What?”

  “The gas. Do you think it’s carbon monoxide?”

  “Or methane from the gas lines,” Jacqueline said. “Who knows?” She shrugged, hoisting up the portable incubator.

  “It seems odd that none of the carbon monoxide detectors or gas line sensors set off any alarm.”

  They exited the lab, jogging at a brisk pace, careful not to jostle their delicate cargo too much.

  Matthew led them back down the hall. “You’d think maintenance would be on top of something like that. Aren’t they supposed to check safety equipment like that a couple of times a day?”

  “I don’t know,” Jacqueline said, her voice short. “I’m not in maintenance. Let’s just focus on gettin
g out of here.”

  The remainder of their escape was silent. They exited the building as a couple of firemen gave them bewildered looks.

  Once they got outside, Matthew set the cooler on one of the tables in the outdoor break area. As he was about to peek into the container, they were ushered by the firemen to join the rest of the LyfeGen employees in front of the building. The emergency personnel had set up a safe zone for them.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Matthew asked a fireman.

  “Methane leak.”

  “Shit. And none of the sensors caught it?”

  “My guess is someone’s been tampering with your company’s gas lines.”

  Matthew turned to Jacqueline, expecting to share a look of surprise with her, but she shrugged and shook her head. They trudged along the pavement and behind the empty chairs that had been set out for the press conference. Instead of having an orderly news conference, reporters were milling around Nayak, clamoring for his attention.

  “Let’s get away from all this.” Jacqueline tilted her head, motioning to the other side of the street.

  Matthew followed her away from the crowd and away from where curious onlookers now mingled with LyfeGen employees. As they walked past Five O’Clock Coffee, he saw his cup of coffee still sitting on the counter by the front window. He hesitated for a moment, a tugging instinct urging him to retrieve the cup.

  A sudden explosion ripped through the air.

  It knocked him to the ground. A shockwave demolished the glass windows of nearby shops and offices. Shards flew and fell around them.

  The entire world went black and disappeared for a painful moment.

  Matthew opened his eyes again, sprawled across the sidewalk. His ears rang as he struggled to get to his knees and look around. Warm blood trickled from his nose, the coppery taste pungent on his tongue as his vision swam. He subdued a powerful urge to vomit on the cold cement and the glass shards on the ground around him, leaning hard on one knee.

  The explosion hadn’t come from within LyfeGen, as he had first thought. It had erupted from the center of the crowd, right where Anil Nayak was supposed to lead the press conference. Lingering flames marked the center of the blast.