She entered the twenty-one digit string into Google. Her face took on a serious expression.
“How about a bank account number?” she asked. “An IBAN—International Banking Account Number—issued in Switzerland.”
Tara perked up. Sensing a possible significant development in the case, she discreetly thumbed the voice recorder in her pants pocket.
“A Swiss numbered account!” Lance exclaimed.
“That same exact number comes up?” Dave asked.
“No,” Kristen replied, “but I’m looking at a result that has a breakdown of the different digits and what they mean. The first two are the country code. CH is Switzerland. The next ten characters—always numbers—are collectively known as the control digit, and the next five after that—also always numbers—are the bank clearing number. Then the last twelve characters—they can be numbers or letters—are the account number. It’s consistent with what Dad coded into the DNA,” she finished, fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard to juxtapose windows on the screen.
Lance and Dave stared at the laptop with their mouths open. Especially Lance. Tara walked up to the computer with her digital camera and snapped a picture of the screen, which showed the IBAN number breakdown along with the decoded message.
“Why would Dad code a Swiss account number into the DNA of a bacterial population?” Kristen asked. Without waiting for an answer, she asked Tara if she could use her cell-phone.
“What for?” Tara asked.
“I’m going to leave a message with my Dad’s estate attorney to ask him about this.” Tara handed her the phone.
Lance made a snorting noise. “We already saw a list of assets prepared by his attorneys to be distributed as part of his estate, and there were no international bank accounts on it. I think the better question is what is Dad doing with a Swiss account number in the first place?”
…CGAC65GAAA…
A booted foot kicked Dr. William Archer’s cot, jolting him awake. Panic gripped him as he felt his pants pocket for the test-tube with his latest—and most important—coded message. Still there. The guard was smiling down at him.
“Enough beauty sleep. Get up.”
Archer looked over at the door and saw his science monitor conferring with the lead scientist. The geneticist sat up woozily. The guard joined his colleagues at the door. Then, surprisingly to Archer, his ever-present twin escorts left the lab, leaving him alone with the lead.
Archer started to stand, but the lead held out a hand—the one not holding the gun, Archer noticed. The masked figure spoke.
“Please remain seated. William, I have something very important to tell you.” Archer froze for a moment, perplexed, before allowing himself to fall back into the cot. His captors hadn’t addressed him by his first name before, always Doctor Archer.
“Yes?”
The lead turned around to look at the lab door, as if making sure it was closed. Then, with a last glance around the lab, the lead put a hand on his mask and started to peel it away.
Archer gasped.
“No!”
His most horrible fear was coming alive. The lead removing his mask could mean only one thing: now that he had created GREENBACK, they were going to kill him; the mask was no longer necessary. Maybe the bastard wanted to be able to look him in the eye while he exterminated the life from him, Archer thought—some kind of twisted revenge fantasy for killing his colleague.
Archer saw only one chance for survival. He leapt from the cot. He rushed the lead, knowing he didn’t have time to tackle him before his weapon could be raised.
He saw the lead shaking a mane of long, black hair. He thought, maybe I do have time!
And then Dr. William Archer stopped dead in his tracks.
Stunned beyond comprehension.
He was looking at a woman. And not just any woman, but a woman he knew well. Not Chinese. Caucasian. Russian, in fact.
“I’m sorry, William. But I’ve come to help you now.”
The voice, now freed from the modulator, was mellifluous and smooth, but fraught with a certain tension.
It was a voice he knew well, but had not heard in years; familiar yet distant.
“Marissa?” Marissa...
His ex-wife.
“William, there’s no time. I’m risking my own life to help you. You’ve got to listen to me.”
“O-Okay,” he stammered. The two stood there looking at one another for a moment.
It had been so long ago, Archer thought. The marriage—if one could call it that, he thought bitterly—had ended almost as badly as could be, although it was impossible not to still have some feelings.
They had met in graduate school in the 1980's. He had fallen hard for her, only to find that she was using him to gain access to his genetic sequencing work in order to help Russia produce bioweapons to be used against the United States. Eventually he confronted her with photographic and audio evidence of her communications with Russian handlers. He told her that if she didn’t leave and never come back—never make herself known to the kids—that he would turn her over to the U.S. authorities.
But this...Archer's head swam as he considered the hell he'd been put through during the last three months. This was unfathomable. He forced himself to quell the upwelling of emotions inside him and hear what she had to say.
“They plan to kill you on top of Mauna Kea after you demonstrate GREENBACK.”
Archer’s hand brushed against the pocket with the test-tube. He moved the hand away, not wanting to draw attention to the tube. His wife was clearly no longer the same person he'd known when they'd met—perhaps she was under the influence of some kind of psychoactive drugs the Chinese had given her, he thought. Or maybe she was in a desperate situation, needing money, and she had sold him out? Who knew after so many years? But he would not allow what might have once been to cloud his reasoning.
“Marissa, I know we didn’t leave each other on the best of terms, but I must say, this comes as an utter surprise.”
Marissa nodded, maintaining a firm grip on her pistol. “Several years ago, as China rose to prominence and Russia faded, I switched my allegiance from Moscow to Beijing in order to pursue my research.”
“What's wrong with the U.S.?” Archer interrupted, unable to contain himself. “You could have obtained a visa after all those years.”
“U.S. regulations were too strict, slowing me down. The EPA was threatening me, the NSA...”
Despite the situation, Archer felt his face flush with anger. He raised his voice. “And yet I was able to produce results that you had to steal—even with your relaxed regulations,” he spat.
She nodded slowly. “You are a genius, William. I always told you that.”
“I don’t feel too smart having been duped by you and locked up and tortured for months. And now you say you’re going to kill me?”
“I could never do that. But TYR will have their contracted mercenaries do it. I came to warn you. At first they told me no harm would come to you. But they lied to me. So I’ll help you.”
“What can you do? Can you get me to shore without them knowing?”
She eyed him with pity, as if he were a condemned animal in a city pound unaware of the institutional system guiding its fate. Her silence unnerved Archer.
“I asked you, what the hell can you do?” Archer took a step toward her. She took a step back and raised the semi-automatic rifle slung around her shoulder. “Don’t make me use this, William.” A tear slid out of one eye as she aimed the weapon right at him from waist level. Archer knew that accuracy would not be required from such a weapon at this close range.
He got down on his knees. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m begging you. Get me out of this alive, and I’ll see to it that you get whatever you want—your lab will be well-funded. Anything. Just—”
“I can’t literally take you to safety, William. They’d find out and kill us both. But I might be able to help you arrange to be rescued.”
“How?”
“I need you to promise me one thing first.”
Archer held his hands up, a gesture of defeat. “I guess I’m not in a position to bargain here. What is it?”
“You mustn’t let the kids find out about my existence.”
Archer let his arms drop back to his sides. Slowly, he stood back up again. “Oh, you mean you don’t want me to tell my children that their biological mother is a gun-toting expatriate biopirate who’s been living a life of crime in China? I guess I could live without letting them know that. You drive a hard bargain, but okay.”
“I’m serious, William. It’s best if they think I’m still dead.”
“At the risk of jeopardizing my own escape, Marissa, I’m going to tell you something now, because in case one or both of us dies, I want you to know how I really feel.” He paused for a moment, considering his words, lending them an unintended dramatic effect.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You are dead to me. I don’t know who you are. What you’ve become. But you’re not the woman I married decades ago, I know that. What you've done is positively revolting. And I would never want Lance and Kristen to think anything other than you died of cancer when they were infants. In fact, I suspected some years ago, when I started reading journal articles coming out of China that were uncannily similar to my own work, that you might still be alive. But I made no effort to contact you since I think it’s better that you’re out of my life completely. And clearly I was right,” he finished, sweeping an arm at the lab.
“Then we are in agreement on that issue.”
Archer nodded. “Damn straight we are.”
Marissa paused as they heard voices approaching the lab door. She relaxed after the sound of their footsteps faded down the breezeway. “Then let's move on. TYR knows that Kristen is looking for you.”
“Hundreds of people are looking for me, I imagine.”
She smiled. “Well, Billy, at first there were. But you see, until Kristen came to Hawaii, law enforcement had pretty much given up on you. Kristen is the only one who is close to actually locating you, with the help of an especially tenacious FBI agent. Our genes were a good match, William, even if our souls weren't. She's as gifted as you are.”
Although he concealed his emotions, Archer's spirits lifted upon learning that Kristen had FBI assistance. He didn't want his children coming after him alone. “So how can you help me?”
“I think I can get a message to Kristen that you’ll be on Mauna Kea soon.”
Archer nodded. “How?”
“We know they’re staying in Lahaina. By now they’ve probably decoded the message left for them in the wreck.”
Archer scowled at the mention of the threatening message for his children. He felt the lump in his pocket. He pulled out the test tube. He put the glass tube on the floor and rolled it to her.
Marissa’s eyes widened at the sight of the familiar white-capped lab item. “What’s in it?”
“That’s for Kristen. Get that to her in Lahaina.”
“You coded another message?”
Archer nodded.
“But how—”
“The scientist you left to observe me is sharp, but he’s young and doesn’t know quite as much as he thinks he does.” Archer cocked his head at the tube on the floor. “Take it.”
He backed up a couple of steps so that she wouldn’t be afraid to bend down in front of him. She quickly scooped it from the floor, keeping the gun aimed at Archer.
“What message does the population carry?”
“Mauna Kea.”
Marissa raised her eyebrows. Then she managed a smile while dropping the tube into a pocket of her jumpsuit. “Excellent.”
William Archer’s face fell. “Excellent? Marissa, this situation is anything but excellent. I’ve been tormented and held captive for months. The whole world thinks I’m dead. My company must be in a shambles and my children scared out of their wits. How can you live with yourself, threatening your own kids?”
Marissa used her sleeve to wipe a fresh stream of tears from her face.
“I never thought Kristen would be able to find you, William. Lance had no idea I was connected to TYR when he contacted them, and—”
“Lance?!” Archer’s face went bright red.
Suddenly the boat heaved violently to one side before righting itself. Outside, the vicious rain lashing the yacht increased in intensity. A crewmember was heard shouting a command.
Then an urgent rapping came at the lab door.
Archer noted the genuine fear on his ex-wife’s face as she frantically pulled her mask back on. He wondered how she had been treated the last few years. She spoke rapidly, her voice once again synthesized by the mask.
“If they find out we know each other, they’ll kill us both and use our bodies for chum the next time they go fishing. How do I look?” she said, adjusting the mask straps. Archer shuddered at the question because, during their long-ago marriage, she used to ask him that every time before they went out for dinner.
Chinese voices outside the door pulled him back to the moment. Archer didn’t speak Chinese, but he knew what the men on the other side of the door wanted.
“You’re fine. Open it.”
“Sit at the microscope like you’re working. Go,” she rasped through the mask.
Archer retreated to the lab bench while Marissa opened the lab door. Two Chinese crewmembers stood there, weapons drawn. Their eyes nervously scanned the lab. They spoke to Marissa in rapid Chinese, no doubt asking if everything was alright. Archer watched as she gestured towards him and then nodded, holding up one finger.
The crewmen departed the lab, one of them speaking into a radio as he went. Marissa closed the lab door and turned to face Archer.
“I’ve got a minute more to talk with you, then I have to get back to the command center. The storm is getting worse. The captain wants to wait it out in a safe place before going to the Big Island, so we’re heading for a secluded cove on the east end of Molokai.”
“There’s not much on that island, is there?”
“There is one town on the south shore—Kaunakakai. I can make up an excuse for why I need to go there, and have your message population sent by ferry to Kristen’s hotel in Lahaina.”
“If you’re going to a town, why can’t you just give her a real message—call her, send an e-mail, something faster? You could do it anonymously.”
“There’s no such thing as anonymity when it comes to electronics. The town is very small. If TYR agents investigated how a message got out, they could find out it was me, and then I’m dead. With the test tube—they would know it was created by you, and might think you released it when we were in Lahaina. Especially since you already knew about Mauna Kea,” she added, seeming to make up her own mind.
Before Archer could say anything else, Marissa strode swiftly to the lab door and left. He wasn’t sure what else to say anyway. He heard the door’s lock click into place.
It dawned on him, as he began snapping the cabinet clasps into place to keep them from banging around in the storm, that he had placed a lot of faith in a woman who had kept him prisoner for months. Why should he have trusted her? As he went about the lab securing various loose odds and ends against the increasingly violent movement of the ship, he decided that he really had no other choice. Besides, Archer, mused, settling back into his cot, she didn’t have to come forward at all. If she suspected he was carrying a message, she could have had her goons search him.
He lay back and closed his eyes. He would need to be well rested when he arrived at Mauna Kea.
…TTTG66CGCC…
Halawa Bay, Molokai
8:00 A.M.
It wasn’t every day that a luxury yacht cruised into the cove of Halawa Beach, on the island of Molokai’s remote east end. The island was roughly rectangular in shape, with Halawa occupying the upper, right corner of the rectangle. A single-lane road, unpaved in some sections, led to t
he cove from the center of an island that already supported only a sparse population. The area was backed by a steep valley leading to breathtakingly beautiful but inaccessible mountains. The beach saw at most a handful of visitors per day. The isolation made the cove attractive to squatters, however, who maintained a small tent community on the beach’s far shore.
None of the local people who inhabited these dwellings came out to greet their new arrivals, however, because they were busy taking shelter from the storm which now raged its way across the state. The Nahoa approached the entrance to the small cove, motoring along at a crawl in anticipation of shallow waters. As it prowled further into the bay, a beach became visible on the ship’s right. The vessel was brought as close to the beach as possible. Now protected from the brunt of the storm’s assault, the anchors were dropped, motors silenced.
Marissa scanned the cove from her position next to the captain in the wheel house. Not a soul occupied the long beach. To the left, an empty road switchbacked its way up a mountain before dropping off toward the rest of the island. Fixing high-powered marine binoculars to her eyes, Marissa scoured the tent community for signs of life. A couple of tricycles lay abandoned outside tied-down tarps. A small motorboat had been pulled back into the jungle, well away from the beach.
The Nahoa’s captain, a Chinese man who had been in TYR’s employ for many years, ripped a sheet of paper out of his Furuno weather fax. His faced turned sour after glancing at the report.
“Ugly. We will need to remain here for three more hours at least. The good news is that the main front is moving west—across Molokai, toward Oahu and away from the Big Island.”
Marissa nodded. She had chosen her next words carefully.
“Captain,” she began in her fluent but obviously non-native Chinese, “since we are to be stuck here for some time, I request permission to take a scooter to shore in the launch. There are some supplies I would like to purchase in town.”
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