The Genesis Code

by Christopher Forrest

  Zoovas and Occam burst into the primate lab from the stairwell.

  “Dr. Madison, stop!” yelled Occam.

  Madison grabbed the lab tech by the leg and dragged him out of reach of the furious spider monkeys.

  “Let’s go,” yelled Grace.

  Madison dropped the tech’s foot and ran toward the sound of her voice. Behind him, three small monkeys burst from their cage, the latch broken from the impact when the lab tech’s body crashed into the metal door.

  Zoovas froze in his tracks.

  “Are those things dangerous?”

  Occam sneered.

  “Afraid of three little monkeys?”

  “Not the monkeys,” Zoovas said. “I’m afraid of what might be inside ’em.”

  Occam’s face went white.

  “Shit.”

  He began shouting into his radio.

  They turned and ran back to the stairwell, slamming the door closed behind them. Moments later, a shrill siren began to wail.

  Madison and Grace darted down a narrow hallway connecting the various Triad Genomics animal labs. The bleating sound of the alarm echoed in the corridor.

  “We need to find another stairwell,” said Grace.

  Behind them, a shout rang out.

  “Stop where you are!”

  Three security guards charged around a corner twenty yards behind them, weapons drawn.

  Thirty-four

  Triad Genomics

  32nd Floor, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  “Quick…this way,” yelled Madison, running down a corridor that intersected with the hallway.

  Grace ran after him, trying to put distance between them and the pursuing security officers. Ahead, Madison spotted a doorway marked NE Stairwell. He made a beeline for the door and pulled it open.

  “Down!” yelled Madison when Grace hesitated.

  Madison’s breath came in ragged gasps as they ran down flight after flight of stairs. They could hear the pounding of footfalls above as the guards entered the stairwell and charged down after them.

  “Stop!” yelled Grace, coming to a sudden halt on the landing on the eighteenth floor. Madison came to an abrupt stop behind her, grabbing the railing for support and struggling to catch his breath.

  “Look,” she said, peering over the railing and down the stairwell.

  Three floors below, a pair of Triad security officers had taken positions on either side of the fifteenth-floor landing, weapons drawn and trained on the steps above them.

  Madison grabbed Grace by the hand.

  “Come on. This way. This level is hotel guest rooms.”

  They ran through the door at the landing and entered the hotel. The hallway was wide, with thick carpeting and rich wallpaper. Wall sconces illuminated the hall with indirect light. Lush green plants in Mediterranean clay pots filled alcoves between the numbered doors of the hotel rooms.

  Thirty feet down the hallway, a housekeeping cart piled high with towels and linens was parked outside an open doorway.

  “I have an idea,” said Madison. He led Grace down the hallway. Madison grabbed the handle of the cart and pushed it ahead of them into the open door.

  Inside, a Hispanic maid in a pale blue uniform was startled by the sudden intrusion. “Dios mío!”

  Grace closed and locked the door behind them. Before the maid could protest, Madison grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, wrapping a hand around her mouth to silence her. Outside, the stairwell door banged against the wall as the Triad Genomics security guards entered the hallway.

  Thirty-five

  Room 1856, 18th Floor

  Marriott Hotel, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  Rosa Ortiz struggled against the young man, but his grip was too strong. The plastic clip holding her long black hair snapped and fell to the floor, releasing a tumult of curls across her face and shoulders.

  The man’s voice was warm in her ear.

  “We aren’t going to hurt you. There are some men chasing us. Men who want to hurt us. Just be quiet and nothing bad will happen. This will all be over in a minute.”

  Rosa could hear the sounds of men running in the hallway outside. She looked at the woman leaning against the door of the hotel room. She looked genuinely frightened. Rosa could feel the heaving of the young man’s chest.

  She allowed her body to relax and slowly nodded her head. The grip around her loosened a bit, but still held her fast.

  “Here they come,” whispered the woman at the door.

  A loud voice sounded in the security guard’s earpiece. He recognized it instantly.

  “Where are you?” demanded Crowe.

  The guard raised his right hand to his face and spoke into the mike strapped to his wrist.

  “Eighteenth floor. Hotel corridor. Madison and Nguyen just ran onto this floor from the stairwell.”

  A burst of expletives boomed from the guard’s earpiece. Then a moment of silence.

  “Report immediately to the atrium level. I want officers posted at every exit.”

  “But sir, they’re on this floor. We were right behind them.”

  Another voice broke into the transmission.

  “This is Dante Giovanni. You will break off your pursuit and report immediately to the atrium. There are hotel guests on that floor. The last thing I need is for a guest of the hotel to become alarmed and phone the police.”

  The guard shrugged his shoulders.

  “Yes, sir. We’ll be right there.”

  After the security officers had left the floor, Madison released his grip on the scared maid. She took a step back away from him in fear.

  Madison held up his hands.

  “It’s okay. They’ve gone. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  He reached into a pocket and removed his wallet, fishing out a hundred-dollar bill from the billfold.

  “Can you help us get to the subbasement?” he asked.

  “Why the basement?” asked Grace.

  “We need help. Quiz’s office is on the subbasement,” said Madison. He turned back to the maid.

  “Is there a maintenance elevator you use to take linens and things to the basement?”

  “Sí,” said the woman, taking the crisp bill from Madison’s fingers.

  “The laundry service pick up the linen from the alley behind the storeroom. I take you there.”

  Thirty-six

  Quiz’s Office

  Subbasement, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  Madison and Grace descended to the subbasement in the service elevator. Madison’s shoulder ached and his jaw throbbed with pain.

  “Let’s just go,” said Grace.

  “Not yet. I want to see what Quiz has found.”

  “Are you going to tell him about Crowe?”

  “No. I don’t want to involve Quiz any more than we have to.”

  Quiz was hunched over his keyboard, stuffing a Twinkie into his mouth whole, when Grace and Madison reached his office.

  Madison wiped the sweat from his forehead and slowed his breathing. He ignored the throbbing pain in his shoulder.

  “Hey, Quiz.”

  “Mphgrph,” said Quiz, choking down the Twinkie. He washed it down with a swallow of Diet Coke.

  “What are you guys doing here?” he asked finally.

  “We wanted to check in and see what you’ve found,” said Madison. “Did you locate Ambergris’ journal?”

  “You betcher ass,” said Quiz. “And Christian, the first entry is addressed to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Here, see for yourself.” Quiz turned the flat-panel monitor so that Grace and Madison could read the text on the screen. He scrolled back to the first entry in the journal. Grace and Madison quickly read through the lines of text.

  “Jesus,” said Madison. He turned to Grace. “Did you have any idea?”

  “No, Christian. He was so withdrawn. We never talked about p
ersonal things.”

  “Go to the next one,” said Madison. Quiz scrolled down the page. Together, they continued reading.

  8 March—

  I have spent many hours exploring the thousands of volumes in my father’s library—tomes, texts, and treatises he collected during his travels around the world. The breadth of his knowledge and the range of his interests were truly impressive. His collection is most remarkable. I have found manuscripts and scrolls from ancient Egypt, Mesoamerica, the Fertile Crescent, and the Far East.

  One of his prized acquisitions was the original manuscript of a rare kabbalistic text, the Sefer Yetzirah. It is the oldest book in the Hebrew occult tradition, also known as the Book of Creation. Its fragile pages rest in a leather folio in my father’s study, alongside an English translation written in his handwriting.

  The Sefer Yetzirah describes how Yahweh created the universe and all living things within it using the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet. It explains that God “molded the letters as bits of clay into parallel and complementary strings.”

  Parallel and complementary strings.

  Like the intertwined strands of DNA in the double helix.

  The Sefer Yetzirah tells us that God created all living things using the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet by molding the letters as bits of clay into parallel and complementary strings. The sixty-four unique codons of our genetic alphabet are always found in groups that code for twenty-two specific genetic letters.

  Shall we accept this as mere coincidence? I cannot.

  The codons of DNA are made up of three genetic letters. The Hebrew language is based on root words from which nouns, verbs, adjectives, and all other grammatical variations derive. For reasons no one has been able to explain, these Hebrew root words are made up of three letters.

  Like the three genetic letters in each codon within our DNA.

  My father recorded in his notes that Eliphas Levi, the famous French occultist, wrote that “the Sefer Yetzirah is a ladder formed of truths.” I cannot help but observe that the double helix of our DNA is often described as having the appearance of a twisting ladder.

  Were Hebrew mystics and scholars unknowingly passing along an ancient knowledge which they could not understand?

  Who taught them this knowledge?

  My father once said that books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. What other secrets, hidden by ancient scholars in the writings of humanity’s oldest civilizations, are waiting to be discovered, concealed in dusty volumes, slumbering, untouched, unread?

  Thirty-seven

  Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence

  Uptown Manhattan, New York

  Shafts of sunlight thrust through the windows of the dining room, leaving distorted squares of light on the wood floor as Arakai crept across the dining room to the kitchen. Ambergris’ housekeeper was blissfully ignorant of Arakai’s presence. Her back was turned as she merrily scrubbed the kitchen sink with a sponge, softly whistling the theme music from Jeopardy. The scent of lemons filled the air.

  Arakai crept up behind the middle-aged woman, moving silently, until he was close enough to see the individual gray hairs on the back of her head. He now brandished a Taser, having placed the knife back in its hidden scabbard.

  The impact of the Taser bolt against the housekeeper’s back came just a fraction of a second before the first surge of electricity traveled down the thin wires connecting the bolt to the Taser. She cried out in surprise and her back arched involuntarily.

  The pink sponge fell from her numb fingers and bounced once on the kitchen floor.

  “You simply must stop that whistling,” said Arakai.

  The air crackled and popped with ozone as Arakai held down the trigger on the Taser. Arakai calmly began counting.

  “One, two, three…”

  When he reached five, Arakai released the trigger, terminating the flow of electricity, and took a step to one side.

  The woman’s stiff body swayed forward, then back, before crashing to the tile floor, collapsing in a heap of rubbery limbs as her muscles unlocked. The fingers on her left hand twitched twice, and then were still.

  Arakai stepped over the pile of housekeeper on the floor and turned off the warm water running in the kitchen sink. He inhaled deeply, fond of the fresh scent of lemons.

  Now that we’ve finished that untidy bit of business, Dr. Ambergris, let’s see where you keep your private things.

  Thirty-eight

  Quiz’s Office

  Subbasement, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  Quiz cracked the knuckles on his left hand. He rubbed the fatigue from his eyes and popped open another Diet Coke.

  “Can I have one of those?” asked Grace.

  Reluctantly, Quiz plucked another can from the mini-fridge beneath his desk and handed it to Grace.

  “Keep going,” said Madison, gesturing at the computer screen. The next entry in Dr. Ambergris’ journal was dated March 10.

  10 March—

  As I continue my journey through the mind of my father, reflected and preserved in the treasured volumes of his private library, I am struck now by the vivid recollection of words he often spoke to me when I was a boy, words of simple yet enduring wisdom that, perhaps as a consequence of my limited perspective, failed to make a proper impact on the world of my youth.

  My father often said: “A written word is the choicest of relics, something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself. It may be translated into every language, and not only be read but actually breathed from all human lips; not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself.”

  I find these words of my father to be of particular importance as I contemplate the writings of the Book of Enoch, an ancient, fragile copy of which was preserved in a thin folio in the heart of my father’s library.

  The Book of Enoch is a ancient Hebrew religious text, banned from inclusion in the Christian Bible by those early leaders of the Christian church who took control of Christianity’s doctrinal reins at the Council of Nicea. Why, you may wonder, was it banned? Enoch is a biblical figure, mentioned more than once in the Book of Genesis, one of two men taken up bodily into the presence of God, ascending into Heaven without dying. Because Enoch was enraptured, or translated bodily, into Heaven, he became the center of an apocalyptic tradition among Hebrew cabalists and early Christians.

  As I have written before, I believe that there are, hidden in the ancient writings and myths of man, many cryptic references to scientific concepts far beyond the understanding of their authors, references repeated without comprehension, preserved from their original source now lost in the mists of antiquity. The Book of Enoch contains such references.

  According to the Book of Enoch, the Archangel Gabriel imparted to Enoch knowledge of the secrets of creation and the cycles of events on the earth. Enoch was instructed by God to inscribe this knowledge and give the inscriptions, written in the handwriting of God, to his children so that they would be handed down from generation to generation.

  I can only conclude that the “handwriting of God, inscribed for Enoch’s children to be handed down from generation to generation” is a cryptic reference to the inscription of a message in the human genome, to be passed down through successive generations.

  The Book of Enoch also describes a “chart” that God put on earth and ordered that “it be preserved, and that the handwriting of thy fathers be preserved, and that it not perish in the Deluge which I shall bring upon thy race.”

  If I accept that the term “handwriting of God” is a primitive reference to the human genetic code, then the “handwriting of thy fathers” must refer to the genes of our ancestors.

  Madison’s thoughts raced uncontrollably. His sharp intellect considered the possibilities and ramifications of Ambergris’ rambling journal ent
ries and staggering assertions.

  “So what does Ambergris mean?” asked Quiz.

  “He’s saying that a message to humanity from God is hidden in our DNA.”

  Thirty-nine

  Quiz’s Office

  Subbasement, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  The trio continued reading.

  12 March—

  There are other considerations. The human genome is packaged in twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. The number twenty-three does not appear to have any special significance. It is actually a bit surprising that humans don’t have twenty-four chromosomes. Chimpanzees, orangutans, and gorillas all have twenty-four.

  Geneticists have determined that the reason humans only have twenty-three chromosomes is that two ape chromosomes are fused together in humans. The second biggest human chromosome, chromosome two, is actually a fusion of two medium-sized ape chromosomes.

  Pope John Paul II has argued that between ancestral apes and modern humans, there was an ontological discontinuity, a point at which God injected a human soul into animal evolution. Maybe this divine jump forward was manifested by the fusion of two ape chromosomes.

  Can we see a reflection of the human soul in our DNA?

  If we look with fresh eyes, will we find a gene for the human soul hidden in our genome, perhaps hiding in the winding proteins of chromosome two?

  An alarm on Quiz’s computer chimed and text scrolled up the screen.

  << SECURITY ALERT >>

  << Priority: Alpha >>

  << All security personnel are directed to immediately >>

  << conduct a level-one search of all facilities. >>

  << Lockdown in effect until further notice. >>

  “We’d better go,” said Madison, trying to keep his voice calm. “Quiz, can you keep reading these journal entries? I’ll check in with you as soon as I can.”

  “No problem,” said Quiz. “You better get back to your floor. Don’t want to get Crowe mad at you.”