The Genesis Code

by Christopher Forrest

  “Yeah,” said Grace. “No kidding.”

  Forty

  Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence

  Uptown Manhattan, New York

  Arakai located Dr. Ambergris’ study on the second floor of the brownstone. It was large, running the entire width of the residence, and lavishly furnished.

  In one corner stood a large marble sculpture of the Archangel Gabriel by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. In one hand, Gabriel brandished a sword, raised high above his head. In the other, he held a small, delicate flower. Rembrandt’s The Angel and the Prophet Balaam hung in a gilded frame on a mahogany-paneled wall. Next to the Rembrandt, a boyish angel smiled at Arakai from a Caravaggio painting, Amor Victorious.

  Ambergris’ enormous desk occupied a large portion of the far end of the study. Two large windows allowed sunlight to filter into the otherwise darkened room. The contents of the room reflected Ambergris’ eccentric nature. And his father’s, thought Arakai.

  Books lined the shelves of floor-to-ceiling bookcases along two walls of the study in sufficient numbers to seed a small library. Arakai paused to scan the titles of several leather-bound tomes.

  THE BOOK OF ENOCH.

  SEFER YETZIRAH.

  TABULA SMARAGDINA, The Emerald Tablet.

  KITAB SIRR AL-KHALIQA WA SAN’AT AL-TABIÀ, The Book of the Secret of Creation and the Art of Nature.

  Arakai’s eyes were drawn to the oak-paneled wall behind the mahogany desk that once belonged to Ambergris’ grandfather.

  There’s more to this study than meets the eye, isn’t there, Dr. Ambergris?

  A large framed rendering of Mayan bar-and-dot numeric hieroglyphs hung on the wall.

  Ah, yes.

  Arakai focused his attention on the Mayan rendering and removed Ambergris’ electronic key card from his pocket. He ran a finger along the top of the picture frame.

  Here we are.

  The frame pivoted away from the wall, hinged along its left side. Behind it was a metal plate with a small slot, just the right size for an electronic key card.

  Americans and their electronic toys.

  Arakai inserted Ambergris’ electronic key card into the card reader recessed into the wall. There was a faint click. A small panel above the card slot slid open to reveal a numerical keypad.

  Forty-one

  Quiz’s Office

  Subbasement, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  Quiz ripped the plastic wrapper off another Twinkie and continued reading. The next entry in Dr. Ambergris’ research journal was dated March 25.

  25 March—

  A man much smarter than I once said that God does not play dice with the universe. After considerable reflection, I cannot accept the idea that a Supreme Being placed a hidden code within our DNA to convey a message to humanity. Appealing as the notion may be to those seeking solace or comfort in evidence of direct communication from our Creator, my rational mind must ultimately reject such a theory.

  But there is no doubt that the Genesis Code does exist. I have as of yet been unsuccessful in my attempts to decipher the encrypted text built into the chemical structure of our genome. The question remains, who put it there and for what purpose?

  The cryptic references to DNA and genetics in ancient Hebrew texts remain. I believe that Hebrew scholars of old were simply reciting fragments of advanced scientific knowledge that were beyond their ability to understand during the age in which they lived. I am expanding my review of ancient literature to include studies of writings of other ancient cultures. I have already found references in Mayan mythology and Egyptian texts similar to those in the Sefer Yetzirah.

  I predict that the encoding of advanced scientific concepts in primitive ancient narratives will be a common theme among many of our oldest civilizations.

  But if God was not responsible for the Genesis Code, who was? There is another hypothesis that warrants consideration.

  Several decades ago, mathematician Johann von Neumann proposed the idea of a self-reproducing machine that would scour the universe for the existence of life.

  What did von Neumann mean when he said self-reproducing? Imagine an apparatus that takes off from earth and heads for the nearest sun, Proxima Centauri. The apparatus has computers and sensors to detect the existence of planets orbiting around any stars it encounters. It finds a planet and lands, looking for signs of life. Finding none, robotic devices on board the apparatus scavenge metals and chemicals from the planet’s surface.

  It may take centuries, but the von Neumann apparatus builds a complete copy of itself and repairs or replaces any parts damaged during its landing on the planet. Now there are two von Neumann machines. They both take off and search for other planets. Over tens of thousands of years, the machines multiply and spread across the galaxy, searching for life.

  Von Neumann was well ahead of his time, but his ideas are not inconceivable. In the future, nanotechnology could produce a machine capable of performing the functions von Neumann proposed. But why send machines into space when there is a much simpler way of accomplishing the same goal?

  DNA is an organic, self-reproducing apparatus that already exists in nature. There is no need to build a von Neumann machine. The mechanism necessary to accomplish his goal already exists in the form of DNA.

  Each cell in an organism contains the complete DNA necessary for reproducing the entire organism. So why use complex machine technology when microscopic DNA can do the same thing? Strands of engineered DNA could spread throughout the universe in the same fashion as a von Neumann machine. We could sow the galaxy with DNA in the same way a farmer sows his fields with seeds. Some of the DNA would find planets with chemical compounds suitable to allow the DNA to replicate itself.

  Nobel Prize winner Francis Crick proposed that an alien civilization might have launched microorganisms into space hundreds of millions of years ago, spreading them throughout the universe and sowing the cosmos with life. Within the engineered DNA of these organisms, our hypothetical alien civilization could have encoded messages, or even an entire universal language, to pass on their knowledge to other civilizations.

  When these genetic messengers encountered life, they could insert the Genesis Code into its DNA, much in the same way that gene therapy inserts new sequences of genes into the DNA of living patients. The messages hidden in the Genesis Code would be preserved and passed on from generation to generation, awaiting discovery by intelligent life.

  Is this the origin of the Genesis Code? A truly ancient message delivered to us across time and space? A communication from a distant civilization?

  Quiz picked up the phone and dialed Madison’s extension. Five rings passed before Madison’s voice mail picked up.

  “You’ve reached Christian Madison. I’m either on another call or away from my desk…”

  Why isn’t Madison back in his office?

  Quiz waited impatiently for the beep.

  “Christian, it’s Quiz. Call me as soon as you get this message. You’re not going to believe this.”

  Forty-two

  Millennium Tower Subway Station

  Manhattan, New York

  Madison breathed a sigh of relief as the subway car began to pull away from the platform. The subway car was only a quarter full. An assortment of well-dressed businesspeople, teenagers in baggy jeans and T-shirts, and tourists with cameras and fanny packs were spaced in clumps along the hard plastic seats.

  Madison and Grace took a relatively private bench at the rear of the car where they could talk without being overheard. Newspapers littered the aisle. The air in the subway car was warm and stale.

  Madison winced as he rubbed his right shoulder. He removed the printout of Ambergris’ e-mail from his pocket, unfolded it, and spread the page across his lap.

  “Maybe we should go to the police…or the FBI,” said Grace.

  “And tell them what?” asked Madison. “We almost killed the chief security officer of Triad Genomics. Crowe thinks you were
involved in the murder of Dr. Ambergris.”

  “I wasn’t there last night,” said Grace. “I swear I wasn’t there. Either someone made a mistake or evidence was deliberately fabricated implicating me in Ambergris’ murder.”

  Grace tapped a finger on the printout of Ambergris’ e-mail.

  “Dr. Ambergris sent this to you before he was killed. In code, to protect the message from someone inside Triad Genomics who might try and read it. Maybe the same person who planted false evidence about me.”

  Madison was silent.

  “And maybe the same person who plans to detonate a bomb during the Biogenetics Conference,” said Grace. “We can’t just run away from this. We have to tell someone.”

  “Do you want to walk into FBI headquarters and claim that Dr. Ambergris was killed because he discovered an encrypted code hidden in human DNA? And that we got a phone call from some anonymous person telling us that Ambergris’ killers are going to blow up the Millennium Tower?”

  “It does sound absolutely crazy…”

  “No one is ever going to believe us. We’ll be locked up in an interrogation room while Ambergris’ killer is free to cover up his tracks and, God forbid, follow through on his plans to blow up the Millennium Tower.”

  “I suppose you have a better idea?”

  Madison closed his eyes and thought for a moment.

  “We need some tangible proof to take to the authorities.”

  “What about the journal?” asked Grace.

  “That doesn’t prove anything. We need Ambergris’ raw data. His research notes. The genome sequences he was working with. Would Dr. Ambergris have kept any of his research at his residence?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Sooner or later, either Triad Genomics security or Ambergris’ killer is going to search Ambergris’ house.”

  “If they haven’t already,” said Grace. “If there are any documents at his house—”

  “We need to get to them first,” concluded Madison.

  Forty-three

  Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence

  Uptown Manhattan, New York

  The subway station closest to Dr. Ambergris’ brownstone deposited Grace and Madison on a trendy block of newly renovated historic buildings with elegant brick facades and wrought-iron balconies. Shops and restaurants filled the first floor of each building along the street. Small bistro tables spilled out onto the sidewalk from cafés with European names featuring “fusion cuisine.” After the close of business, the cafés and restaurants would begin to fill with small crowds of young professionals mingling and networking—young administrative assistants sipping dirty martinis, flirting with accountants and lawyers drinking imported beer from glass bottles.

  Madison and Grace walked at a brisk clip, avoiding eye contact with the few people they passed on the sidewalk. The second and third floors along the block were filled with offices of accountants, real estate agents, designers, and lawyers. Lofts and condos occupied the upper floors. The neighborhood was typical of the multiuse “new urbanism” developments gentrifying older downtown neighborhoods in cities across America.

  “Down this block,” said Grace.

  She led Madison into a quiet neighborhood still untouched by the rash of urban redevelopment only two blocks away. The small enclave of ancient brownstones was nestled beneath a canopy of tall oaks that lined the narrow street.

  “This is it,” said Grace, stopping in front of an impressive four-story residence.

  “Is there a back door?” asked Madison. “There’s no way I can kick in that front door without drawing attention.”

  “I know where the spare key is hidden,” said Grace.

  Madison raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh, stop. It’s nothing like that. Ambergris sent me here two or three times to pick up books or journal articles he needed at the office.”

  “Sure he did.”

  “Fine. Think what you want.”

  She walked along the wrought-iron fence enclosing the small front yard. At the fourth fence post, she stopped and knelt down on the sidewalk, reaching beneath the bottom railing.

  “It’s still here,” she said, producing a small magnetic box. Inside was a single shiny key.

  Grace removed the key and slipped the magnetic box back into its hiding place.

  “The front gate was never locked,” she said, raising the iron latch. The gate groaned as she pushed it open.

  Madison followed Grace through the gate and closed it behind them. He scanned the street for curious neighbors and saw none.

  “I kept telling him to get an alarm system,” said Grace, inserting the key into the lock on the front door and giving it a clockwise twist.

  “Wait a minute…,” cautioned Madison.

  Grace opened the front door.

  Forty-four

  Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence

  Uptown Manhattan, New York

  A black streak shot out through the doorway as Grace pulled the door open. The overweight black cat darted straight at Madison, who jumped to one side to avoid the feline projectile. Never losing speed, the cat darted through a narrow opening beneath the gate, executed a ninety-degree turn, and dove into the bushes.

  Grace cried out as she lost her balance, falling backward off the top step. Madison stepped forward with his arms outstretched, neatly catching Grace in his arms as she fell.

  “Nice catch,” she said.

  Madison set her down on the brick walkway. “Come on,” he said, walking up the steps to the door. “Let’s get inside before we alert the entire neighborhood.”

  The house was dark and quiet. The faint smell of lemons lingered in the air downstairs. Grace led Madison through the first floor and up the stairs to Dr. Ambergris’ study.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone has been here,” said Grace.

  “Just keep your eyes open,” said Madison.

  The door to the study was ajar. Madison crept up to the doorway and peered inside the study.

  “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Look,” said Grace, pointing.

  On the far wall, a framed picture was swung away from the wall on hidden hinges. Exposed behind the frame was a hidden safe and a small numeric keypad.

  “Have you ever seen that before?” asked Madison.

  “No.”

  “The door to the safe is closed. Maybe Ambergris didn’t swing the picture frame back into place the last time he opened it. Or if someone else was here searching, maybe they weren’t able to get into the safe.”

  They crossed the room and inspected the keypad.

  “Any ideas?” asked Madison.

  Grace considered the possibilities.

  “The total of each row and column in the Magic Square in the e-mail Dr. Ambergris sent you was two hundred sixty,” she said.

  “Give it a shot.”

  Grace punched the three digits into the keypad. There was a small electronic whirr behind the panel.

  “Try it.”

  Grace grasped the handle on the safe and pushed down. With a loud clank, the door swung open. Inside were three leather-bound ledgers and a sheaf of handwritten letters. Grace gingerly removed the stack from the safe and spread out the individual items on Ambergris’ desk.

  “These letters are all addressed to Ambergris’ father. The return address is Dr. Georgia Bowman. Yale University. New Haven, Connecticut.”

  “I know that name,” said Grace. “Dr. Ambergris spent a lot of time with her over the past few months. She’s a history professor at Yale; teaches graduate courses on ancient civilizations. She was a friend and colleague of Ambergris’ father—”

  Grace stopped midsentence and froze. Footsteps echoed from the ground floor.

  “Someone’s coming,” whispered Madison.

  Hidden inside the small closet in Dr. Ambergris’ study, Arakai watched Madison and Grace through the keyhole in the door. Alerted to footsteps on the first floor below, they scrambled to gather the contents of
Dr. Ambergris’ safe.

  Arakai grasped the doorknob and tensed the muscles in his legs, preparing to strike.

  Forty-five

  Dr. Joshua Ambergris’ Residence

  Uptown Manhattan, New York

  In rapid succession, footfalls echoed from the stairway leading to the second floor. Grace struggled to reassemble the pile of letters from the safe.

  “Leave them,” hissed Madison.

  Madison ran to a large window in the west wall of the study. He unlocked the metal latch and strained to lift the window. As it popped free and slid upward, Crowe stormed through the doorway into the study.

  “Christian!” yelled Grace.

  Madison spun around to see Crowe burst into the room with his gun drawn.

  Crowe raised the 9mm and aimed directly at Grace.

  “Get down!” yelled Madison.

  Without warning, the door to the small closet in the study burst open, slamming into Crowe and knocking him backward. As the door crashed into Crowe’s body, the gun discharged, sending a round speeding across the room, narrowly missing Grace and splintering the wall behind her.

  “Grace, come on! Out the window!”

  Grace reached out and took Madison’s hand as they climbed onto the broad windowsill. There was a loud noise behind them. Without looking back, they jumped, falling from the open window and crashing into a tangle of thick shrubbery. Madison cried out in pain as his ankle twisted beneath him.

  Madison extricated himself from the dense foliage and jumped to his feet.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” said Grace, surveying her body. “I don’t think so.”

  Madison pulled her to her feet. Together, they ran across the yard to an adjoining alley. Madison limped as he ran, gritting his teeth against the shooting pain in his ankle.

  Grace looked back over her shoulder at Ambergris’ brownstone. She gasped as a wiry Asian man leapt from the window, landing neatly in a crouch on the green grass below.

  Forty-six