“I think you’ll be pleased with the footage,” said Randy, bringing her back to the present. “Maximum bang for the buck.”
Flavia crossed her legs and leaned back, throwing one arm along the back of the couch. Her short skirt was tight against her tan thighs. She inspected the French manicure on her nails.
“How do I look?”
“Fabulous,” he said. “As always.”
Randy leaned forward until his face was only three inches from the monitor. He squinted at the slow-motion video, and then made some minor adjustments to the digital images with three clicks of his optical mouse.
“You’re going to ruin your eyes if you keep doing that,” said Flavia.
Randy turned and made an outlandish face at her.
“And will my face freeze like this if I don’t stop making faces?”
Flavia rolled her eyes. Randy turned back to the screen and continued editing the footage.
“When do you want me to do the voice-overs?” asked Flavia.
“Give me another hour. I’ll be ready for you then.”
Maximum bang for the buck.
Flavia stood up and walked across the room. She stood behind Randy’s chair, pressing her breasts against his back, and massaged his shoulders.
“Do a good job for me, Randy,” she purred.
Twenty-four
Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence
Uptown Manhattan, New York
Arakai surveyed Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ three-story brownstone, located on a quiet side street in uptown Manhattan. Stately and imposing, the brownstone had been in Ambergris’ family for three generations. A tarnished bronze plaque mounted on the dark red brick to the right of the front door read, simply: Ambergris.
Seeing no one on the street, Arakai moved closer to the front of the building. Ducking behind a row of manicured shrubs, he peered into a window.
The living room was empty.
Arakai circled around to the back of the brownstone through a small alley. Through a rear window, he could see a female figure in a faded apron moving about the kitchen. She was wiping the kitchen counter with a pink sponge.
Ambergris’ housekeeper.
In quick succession, Arakai examined each of the three rear windows on the bottom floor. They were latched, but Arakai could see no evidence of an electronic security system.
Careless, Dr. Ambergris.
Arakai retrieved his knife from its hidden scabbard and slipped the blade between the upper and lower window frames. With a quick flick of his wrist, he disengaged the window’s single, ineffectual lock.
Placing the blade between his teeth, Arakai quietly raised the window and hoisted himself inside.
Quiz cradled the phone against his ear with his shoulder. “What do you need?” he asked, taking a slug from his third Diet Coke of the day.
“There’s a lot going on right now, Quiz. I’ll explain everything later. But right now I need for you to search the Triad security server for a hidden file. Grace and I need to access Dr. Ambergris’ research journal. She tells me that he had it hidden by saving the file on the security server under an innocuous-sounding file name. I need you to find it for me.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to find,” said Quiz. “But why don’t you just ask Dr. Ambergris where it’s located?”
“I can’t do that, Quiz. I’ll fill you in on everything soon, but things are happening fast. Can you do this for me?”
“Sure. What do you want me to do when I find the journal?”
“Don’t do anything with it. And don’t tell anyone what I’ve asked you to do. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Okay, Christian.”
Madison placed the phone back in its cradle. He felt decidedly uneasy.
“Ambergris sent me an e-mail last night. At four-thirty A.M. I didn’t think much about it, but now…”
Madison clicked open the e-mail and spooled it to the laser printer on his desk.
“What did it say?” asked Grace.
Madison retrieved a single sheet of white paper from his printer tray and handed it to Grace.
“That’s just it. No explanations. Just this.”
Beneath the text was a single cryptic sentence: This is the beginning of the ancient word.
“I know what this is,” said Grace, running a finger across the rows of digits. “It’s called a Magic Square.”
“A what?”
“Magic Square. Dr. Ambergris used to talk about these. He called them Chinese number mysteries. They’ve been around for thousands of years.”
Grace thought for a moment. “Christian, I think Ambergris was trying to send you a message.”
Crowe marched down a corridor on the thirty-fourth floor, his jaw set in grim determination. As he rushed down the hallway, Crowe spoke into a handheld radio transmitter.
“Override the security lock on the door to office number 2427,” he instructed a subordinate in the security control room.
Crowe came to a sudden stop in front of a plain office door. Plastic numbers denoted the office as number 2427. Crowe thought he could hear voices inside.
“Yes, sir. Done.”
Crowe heard a small click as the locking mechanism for the door disengaged.
Quietly turning the doorknob, he drew his 9mm from a leather shoulder holster concealed beneath his navy blazer.
Twenty-five
63rd Floor, Petronas Towers
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
“Extreme measures?” asked a man in a three-piece suit, echoing Tanaka’s pronouncement. “I must object. Any use of extreme measures would draw a great deal of attention and scrutiny. A tremendous amount of risk.”
Tanaka appeared to thoughtfully consider the prime minister’s remarks.
“But also great opportunity,” he finally responded.
Tanaka steepled his fingers and spoke forcefully.
“Gentlemen, scientists in two dozen countries are relentlessly pursuing genomic research. Granted, many have been coopted by the Order, or have been sufficiently manipulated to direct the focus of their scientific inquiries away from areas of concern. But how many years will it be before some brilliant young geneticist stumbles upon the same discovery as the dearly departed Dr. Ambergris?”
Tanaka placed his palms on his knees and leaned forward.
“Our scientists are making progress in unlocking the secrets of the Genesis Code, but we must have more time.”
Tanaka’s eyes narrowed.
“Gentlemen, the potential rewards are too great. And the potential risks of inaction are too severe. Who among you would stand idly by while the secrets of God Himself are within our reach? We can only speculate about what rest of the Genesis Code will reveal to us. The ability to dramatically extend the human life-span. The possibility of eliminating all disease. Genetic manipulation taken to its highest and best uses.”
Tanaka slowly shook his head.
“No. We cannot fail to act. We stand at the precipice. We are approaching a paradigm shift that will change the very nature of human existence. It would be foolish…unconscionable…no, immoral, to allow a sin of omission to destroy what we, and those before us, have labored to protect.”
Murmurs of assent rippled through the assembled members of the Council.
“Here is what I propose,” said Tanaka.
Crowe took a deep breath, raised his 9mm, and threw open the office door.
Grace’s office was empty.
Goddammit.
Crowe holstered his weapon and yelled into his handheld radio.
“Listen up. I want you to run the face recognition protocol on all feeds from every security camera in the building for the past hour. All floors. Your target is Dr. Grace Nguyen. I need to know which camera spotted her last, and how long ago.”
“That will take a while,” said the voice crackling over the radio.
“You have three minutes. Call me back when you’re finished. Do not be late.”
&nb
sp; Crowe surveyed the interior of Grace’s office. Her purse was sitting on the credenza. A picture of an elderly Asian couple sat in a metal frame on her desk.
Parents? Grandparents?
Grace’s computer was on, but she had not yet logged in to the network. Triad Genomics’ logo, two intertwined strands of DNA forming a double helix, rotated on the screen.
Grace’s desk was covered with piles of photocopied articles and handwritten notes. One small colorful slip of paper caught his eye. It was a color copy of a Mayan rendering of two intertwined serpents.
A burst of static spewed from Crowe’s radio transmitter, startling him.
“I’ve got her,” said the disembodied voice. “The last camera to spot Dr. Grace Nguyen was on the thirty-fourth floor, in Corridor H. She was heading south.”
Corridor H. Dr. Madison’s office is on Corridor H.
Crowe keyed the transmit button on the radio. “Lock down all of the doors on the thirty-fourth floor. Security access level alpha only. Exits, offices, conference rooms, stairwells…everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crowe rubbed a hand across his bald head, thinking.
“And dispatch two security teams to the thirty-fourth floor. Where is Mr. Occam?”
There was a pause as the security officer consulted his computer.
“In the atrium.”
“Tell Mr. Occam to join me in Dr. Madison’s office. Immediately.”
Twenty-six
Quiz’s Office
Subbasement, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
The maintenance levels of the Millennium Tower possessed none of the restrained elegance on display in the public areas of the Triad Genomics headquarters.
That suited Quiz just fine.
His office overlooked the server farm in the subbasement of the Millennium Tower. Through a large window, Quiz could see the long rows of slender computer servers and squat genetic sequencers that made the work of Traid Genomics’ geneticists possible. Quiz’s job was to ensure that it all functioned. And that it all functioned correctly.
Quiz was a genius with computers, and the management at Triad Genomics gave him wide latitude and significant autonomy, provided that everything ran smoothly.
It usually did.
Finding Ambergris’ hidden journal will be a piece of cake.
One of the first lessons Quiz had learned in the profesional world was to never promise too much. It was a lesson he taught to his favorite techs on the IT staff.
“Figure out how long it will take you to complete a task,” he advised, “and then tell them it will take twenty-five percent longer than your estimate. If you get it done in the time you estimated, you’re a hero. And if you run into problems and it takes you longer, then you’ve covered your arse.”
Ghostly blue light from five flat-screen monitors provided the only illumination in the otherwise darkened office. The plasma screens were arrayed on a metal frame, mounted at various heights in a 180-degree arc around a seated figure.
“Barkley, hold my calls,” he announced to a small chihuahua sleeping on a dog bed under the desk. Barkley cocked his head and snorted.
“He may only weigh four pounds,” Quiz would say to anyone who would listen, “but he thinks he’s a big dog.”
He cracked open a fresh Diet Coke.
“And we’re off,” said Quiz, as he began writing a short program to ferret out Ambergris’ hidden data.
Four custom-built CPUs were vertically tiered in a metal rack against the wall. Cooling fans droned in the background. A riot of wires and cables snaked across the U-shaped computer workstation and spilled onto the floor. Scanners, digital cameras, stylus pads, and an assortment of digital accessories covered the surface of the workstation. At the other end of the room was a battered leather sofa adorned with a beat-up pillow and dingy blue comforter. Quiz often spent several days at a time in his office, taking catnaps when needed and showering in the gym at the hotel.
Quiz didn’t sleep much. He wasn’t very good at it. Instead, he often stayed up most of the night, prowling the Triad Genomics network, writing code, or challenging online players in the latest computer games.
An antique trunk served as a coffee table, piled high with copies of technical journals and computer magazines. Several empty pizza boxes were stacked by the door. A blue recycling bin next to the computer workstation was filled with empty Diet Coke cans. An X-Files poster hung on one wall. Across the bottom, it read: I Want to Believe.
In ten minutes, Quiz compiled the sixty lines of code needed to search the security server and identify the hidden files. A pretty nifty little algorithm, actually, thought Quiz, patting himself on the back.
He executed the command to start the program. Lines of text began scrolling down the screen as the algorithm evaluated possible targets. The computer chirped each time it found a possible hit.
Soon it began chirping every ten or fifteen seconds.
“Houston, we have a problem,” said Quiz.
The small chihuahua barked in agreement.
Twenty-seven
Dr. Christian Madison’s Office
34th Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
“You think this grid of numbers is a message from Dr. Ambergris?” asked Madison. “Why wouldn’t he just write it out?”
“He must have been afraid that someone else might try to read it,” said Grace. “So he sent it in code.”
Madison was skeptical. “A code that only you would recognize?”
Grace examined the printout. “Look, Dr. Ambergris must have anticipated that if something happened to him, I would come to you. The only way this message could be read would be if you and I tried to figure it out together—an additional safeguard to keep his message hidden from others.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Madison. “Only Triad Genomics personnel would have access to the e-mail server or my computer.”
Grace chewed on her lower lip. “It makes sense if he was concerned about a traitor inside the company. Someone who works for Triad Genomics.”
Grace directed Madison’s attention to the eight-by-eight grid of digits, crisply printed in black ink on white paper.
“Let me show you how this works,” said Grace. “Add up the numbers across the top row.”
Madison took a moment to make the mental calculation.
“They total two hundred sixty.”
“Right. Now pick any other row or column and add the digits.”
Madison placed a finger on the third row and mentally tabulated the sum.
“Two hundred sixty,” he said. In quick succession, he added the digits in each of the columns.
“They all add up to two hundred sixty,” said Madison.
“That’s a Magic Square. The numbers are arranged so that every row and column adds up to the same number,” said Grace.
“What’s the significance of two-sixty?”
She pointed to a small statue resting on Madison’s credenza. The stone figure brandished a feathered staff adorned with two intertwined serpents coiled along its length.
“A gift from Dr. Ambergris?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s Mayan—a representation of Chac, the Sky Serpent and Rain God.”
“Ambergris’ father was a tenured professor at Yale, a respected archaeologist and historian.”
“I know this,” said Madison.
“But did you know that the ancient Maya were one of his father’s passions? He spent a lifetime studying the Maya. And he shared this passion with his son. I know that Dr. Ambergris sometimes went with his father on archaeological digs in the Yucatán Peninsula when he was a boy. He even considered a career in archeology, following in his father’s footsteps, before he discovered his passion for science and genetics. But clearly, Dr. Ambergris’ interest in the Maya and other ancient cultures survived as more than just a curious son’s peek into his father’s world.”
“W
hy do you say that?” asked Madison.
“Dr. Ambergris was an only child. When his father died, he was the sole recipient of his father’s inheritance, including his brownstone uptown, the Ambergris family trust, and his father’s extensive library—a collection of books and manuscripts he spent a lifetime assembling.”
“But—”
“Give me a second,” said Grace, raising a finger. “After his father died, Dr. Ambergris renewed his interest in his father’s work. Maybe it was his way of staying connected to his father, even in death. Who knows? But the point is that Dr. Ambergris began studying his father’s research. He spent hours, days, weeks studying his father’s notes and the books in his library.”
Madison drummed his fingers impatiently.
“Sometimes he talked about it. That’s how I recognized the significance of these numbers,” she said, pointing to the eight-by-eight grid. “The root number of this Magic Square, two hundred sixty, is the number of days in one year of the Mayan calendar.”
Madison was exasperated. “But what does any of this have to do with his genetics research?”
Grace shook her head. “I have no idea.”
“And this line of text. This is the beginning of the ancient word?”
Grace shrugged. “Again, no idea.”
Madison studied the cryptic Magic Square.
“Grace, this grid has sixty-four digits,” he said, in a flash of inspiration.
Grace’s eyes grew wide.
“DNA has sixty-four codons. That can’t be a coincidence.”
Twenty-eight
Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence
Uptown Manhattan, New York
Arakai quietly slipped through the window and lowered himself to the floor in the dining room, listening intently for any sign that Ambergris’ housekeeper had detected his illicit entry. From the direction of the kitchen, Arakai could hear the housekeeper humming a game-show tune as she cleaned.
The Genesis Code Page 7