The small room smelled musty, and held only one queen-sized bed, covered with a threadbare wool blanket and dingy white linens. A boxy air-conditioning unit rattled in the window. Plastic sunflowers in a vase on the nightstand were apparently intended to give Lily’s Motor Lodge that cozy New England “B&B” feel.
The expression on Grace’s face spoke volumes.
“Hey, at least it’s clean,” said Madison.
The word “clean” was still lingering on his tongue when Madison caught a glimpse of something small and black with lots of legs darting across the carpet to seek refuge beneath the battered dresser. Fortunately, Grace failed to notice the presence of their tiny new roommate.
Madison retrieved two threadbare towels from the bathroom, threw one to Grace, and tried in vain with the other to dry his wet clothes and hair.
“We need to call Quiz,” he said, reaching for the rotary-dial phone. “See what’s been happening at Triad Genomics.”
“Go ahead and call him. I’m getting out of these wet clothes,” said Grace, padding across the worn green carpet toward the adjoining bathroom.
Madison watched her as she walked away, then picked up the phone and dialed Quiz’s number. Quiz answered his cell phone on the first ring.
“Yello.”
“Quiz, it’s Christian.”
“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?”
Madison yanked the phone away from his ear.
“Take it easy. It’s a long story. This will take a minute to tell you.”
Madison gave Quiz the condensed version of the confrontation with Crowe, their exploration of Ambergris’ brownstone, and their conversations with Dr. Bowman.
Quiz let out a low whistle.
“I knew something wasn’t right,” said Quiz. “And no one here has mentioned a peep about Dr. Ambergris. Why are they keeping this under wraps?”
“I’m not sure, but I have some suspicions. What happened with the security lockdown?”
“The lockdown was released in the afternoon. Must have been after you and Grace escaped from the building. They told us it was just a security drill.”
Madison thought for a moment.
Grace returned from the bathroom. She had shed her clothes and was wrapped in a white bathrobe. Her dark silky hair was damp. As she sat on the bed beside Madison, her robe parted slightly, revealing an expanse of tanned skin and the round curve of a small breast.
Grace caught his roving eyes. “Eyes on your own paper,” she said.
“Christian, are you there?” asked Quiz.
“Yeah. Sorry.” He forced his thoughts back to the conversation. “There’s something else I haven’t told you.”
Madison told Quiz about the strange phone call and bomb threat.
“Do you think it’s for real?” asked Quiz.
“No way to know for sure. But whoever it was, they got a call through the security lockdown. That makes me believe we have to take it seriously.”
“What are you going to do? We have to do something.”
“I know. We need to find some answers and then go to the police. And if we come up empty, I can call in a bomb threat to the NYPD or the FBI a few hours before the conference is scheduled to begin. I know enough details about the conference and the Millennium Tower that they’ll have to take me seriously.”
“Why don’t we call the cops now? Or the FBI?”
“I thought about that. But they might sweep the building for explosives and come up with nothing. The police might decide it was a hoax. Then there’s nothing to stop these people from smuggling a bomb into the Millennium Tower just before the conference starts.”
“I guess so…”
“Plus, we still have some time before the conference begins. It’s apparent that Giovanni and Crowe haven’t told the authorities about Ambergris’ murder. The last thing we need right now is for the FBI to start hunting us. Not when we still have a chance to find out what’s going on and gather enough evidence to show that Grace had nothing to do with Ambergris’ murder.”
“What should I do?” asked Quiz.
“You need to act like you’re completely in the dark about all this. Don’t give anyone a reason to be suspicious of you.”
“Okay, but I’m not going to like it.”
Grace put a hand on Madison’s arm. “The journal?”
“Quiz, were you able to read through the rest of Dr. Ambergris’ journal?”
Madison tipped the phone away from his ear and gestured to Grace to listen in. She tucked her damp hair behind an ear and leaned in to hear. The soft contours of her left breast pressed against Madison’s arm. He struggled to keep his attention focused on the telephone.
“Yes, most of it. You’re not going to believe this.”
Quiz gave them an abbreviated version of Dr. Ambergris’ journal entries. As he recounted Ambergris’ rambling discourses, pieces of the puzzle began to snap together in Madison’s mind.
“This is unbelievable.”
“Ambergris really found a code hidden in human DNA?” asked Quiz.
“Yes,” said Grace. “His greatest discovery.”
“And tomorrow,” said Madison, “we’re going to find out what it says.”
Sixty
Outside the Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
As the morning sun rose over lower Manhattan, the street in front of the Millennium Tower became a combat zone. They arrived by subway, taxi, bicycle, and bus. They had signs, T-shirts, bullhorns, and flyers.
And they were angry.
Zealots, neocons, right-wingers, and pro-lifers faced off against libertarians, angry college students, fringe advocacy groups, and pro-choicers. Verbal taunts turned into shouting matches. Tempers flared.
“What the hell happens to people when they join together in a group?” Zoovas asked the female NYPD officer standing beside him in the lobby of the Millennium Tower.
Sergeant Lori Peters looked out at the sidewalk where uniformed cops were coralling the two opposing camps behind police barricades and yellow tape on opposite sides of the front entrance to the building.
“Mob mentality. Crowd psychology,” she said. “People think and act differently in a hostile crowd than they would on their own.”
She turned to Zoovas.
“Probably a good thing you called us before this got out of hand. How did you get stuck being the liaison between Triad Genomics and the NYPD for this little party?”
“Liaison? That’s a nice way of putting it. Gofer is more like it. My boss isn’t very pleased with me at the moment.”
Peters made a pouty face. “Don’t care for my company?”
Zoovas grinned. “Take it easy, Officer. I’m a married man.”
“Well, in that case, how about marching your married ass over to Starbucks and getting us some coffee?”
Zoovas chuckled at his former partner. “As I recall, I always got the coffee when we rode together.”
“Tell you what,” she said. “You fetch it and I’ll pay.”
The radio clipped to Zoovas’s belt squawked.
“Mr. Zoovas. Report, please.”
Zoovas rolled his eyes. “Speak of the devil.”
Zoovas hoisted the radio to his face and replied.
“NYPD is setting up police barricades. They’re in the process of cordoning off a section of the sidewalk for the protesters. And another section for the anti-protesters.”
“Anti-protestors?” said Crowe with a snort.
“Well, what would you call them?”
Crowe ignored the question. “Things still tense?”
“They’ve calmed down a little. Policemen with guns tend to have that effect on people.”
“Who’s in charge for NYPD?”
“Sergeant Peters.”
“Peters is the ranking officer on the scene?”
“Yes.”
“How many cops?”
“Five. Six including Peters.”
“Okay. I want y
ou down there with the cops for now. You’re the point person to deal with the NYPD. The lawyers are telling us we can’t have the crowd dispersed if they don’t break any laws. Free speech, freedom of assembly, and all that bullshit.”
“Spoken like a true patriot,” said Zoovas in a whisper to Peters.
“Understood,” he said into the radio.
“Keep me informed, Mr. Zoovas.”
Sixty-one
Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library
Yale University
New Haven, Connecticut
Madison and Grace rounded the corner of the Yale Law School building, heading toward the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. The sun was still low on the horizon. The air was rich with the smell of morning.
Grace yawned, covering her mouth with a small hand. Her back was sore from sleeping on the lumpy mattress at Lily’s Motor Lodge, and the muscles of her legs ached from the physical exertion of the previous day.
Madison and Grace had slept little, lying side by side in the uncomfortable bed discussing the astounding possibilities of the Genesis Code, trading tearful memories of Dr. Ambergris, and each of them for reasons of their own trying to ignore the strong chemistry between them.
Madison had almost succeeded in falling asleep, lying next to Grace on the uncomfortable mattress, when she abruptly broke the dark silence.
“I never even gave her a name,” said Grace in a strained voice.
Madison listened for a moment to the rhythm of her breathing, watching in silhouette the steady rise and fall of Grace’s chest as she stared at the ceiling.
“Never gave who a name?”
“My daughter,” she said.
Madison’s breath caught in his throat.
“When?” asked Madison.
“When I was an undergrad. I had only been dating the guy for a few months. After I told him I was pregnant, I never heard from him again.”
She paused.
“It’s strange to hear myself say that word—daughter. She only lived for a few minutes after she was born,” said Grace.
She began to cry.
“I guess I tried not to think of her as a real, whole person. She should have had a name. I should have given her a name.”
“Grace, it’s okay. You have nothing to feel guilty about. You were coping as best you could.”
She began to weep.
Madison struggled to find the right words to comfort her. His mind was blank. He could think of nothing that didn’t sound trite or hollow. Finally, he just reached out in the darkness, took Grace in his arms, and held her as she cried.
“Something’s wrong,” said Madison, stopping suddenly.
Stripes of red light flickered on the stones, wood carvings, and stained-glass medallion windows of the Sterling Law Building.
“Look,” said Grace, pulling on his sleeve.
In front of the Beinecke Library, an ambulance and police cars were parked at haphazard angles, their sirens spinning silently. A young woman wandered aimlessly around the stone terrace in front of the library.
“Oh, no,” said Grace, covering her mouth.
“Come on,” said Madison, taking her hand.
They quickly covered the distance to the terrace. Grace recognized the young woman—she had manned the reception desk the previous evening.
“What happened, Jessica?” Grace asked, reading her name from the small name tag pinned to Jessica’s denim shirt.
“It’s just awful,” said Jessica. A wave of dark hair highlighted with red streaks nearly covered her red-rimmed eyes. A tiny diamond poked out from the side of her nose.
“Dr. Bowman is dead. The police said it looked like a burglary. Dr. Bowman must have surprised them in the act. They shot her. And looted the gallery. Took everything—the Gutenberg Bible, the Popul Vuh…”
Grace’s face went pale.
Jessica peered closely at Grace.
“Wait a minute. Didn’t I see you on TV last night?”
“What…”
Jessica looked back and forth between Grace and Madison. “And weren’t you two here late last night with Dr. Bowman?”
A beat of silence.
“Well, yes,” said Grace. “But she was fine when we left her.”
Jessica started toward the revolving door. “Wait right here. The police are going to want to talk to you.”
Madison grasped Grace’s arm. “Grace, I have a bad feeling about this…”
She nodded quickly. “Let’s get out of here.”
They turned and began walking quickly away from the library. When they were halfway across the Beinecke Plaza, a shout rang out.
“Hey, you two. Stop right there.”
Madison threw a glance over his shoulder. A beefy cop stumbled out of the revolving door, hitched up his belt, and broke into a jog toward them.
Not again.
“Run!”
Grace and Madison sprinted away from the library toward the law school. Madison’s twisted ankle screamed in protest. The fat cop ran after them, yelling into his radio as he lumbered across the granite plaza.
Sixty-two
O’Hare International Airport
Chicago, Illinois
Grace walked down the jetway connecting Delta Flight 613 to the terminal at O’Hare International Airport. Madison trailed just behind her.
The flight to Chicago had been packed, full of business commuters toting briefcases and laptops, jetting to the Windy City from New York.
Grace checked her watch. It read 10:42 A.M.
After fleeing from the police at the Beinecke Library, Madison and Grace quickly decided that remaining in New Haven was probably not the wisest course of action. Their only other lead was Dr. Bowman’s suggestion that Dr. Alberto Vasquez at the University of Chicago might prove to be a valuable resource.
Dr. Vasquez had reluctantly agreed to a meeting once he learned that Grace and Madison worked with Dr. Ambergris, and that Dr. Bowman had suggested they speak with him. After Vasquez extended an invitation to visit him at the Field Museum of Natural History, Madison booked them on the morning shuttle to Chicago.
Rushing through the terminal, Grace found herself scanning the crowd for threatening faces. The incident at the Beinecke Library had left her more shaken than she’d initally realized. Fear and paranoia haunted her thoughts. A cold lump had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach.
Her eyes welled up with tears.
Madison caught the look in her eyes and saw that Grace was struggling with her emotions. He reached out and took her hand.
“I could use a toothbrush. How about you?”
Grace smiled through her tears, but the tension in her face remained.
“And some deodorant,” said Grace, pinching her nose.
Gripping her hand tightly, Madison led Grace through baggage claim, out the automatic doors, and toward a long line of yellow taxicabs.
Sixty-three
The Field Museum of Natural History
Chicago, Illinois
The African bull elephant, its trunk raised in alert, stood proudly in the center of the Stanley Field Hall in the Field Museum of Natural History. Enormous ivory tusks jutted from its upper jaw, each the length of a man. A leathery gray hide stretched taut over sinewy muscle. With coal-black eyes, it silently surveyed the small knots of tourists meandering across the marble floor toward the museum’s exhibit halls.
In the distance, at the south end of the hall, a pack of wide-eyed schoolchildren craned their necks upward to gaze in fear and awe at the bottomless eye sockets and razor-sharp teeth of an enormous Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton.
“There,” said Grace, pointing toward the east end of the Stanley Field Hall.
Red silk banners, draped across iron grillwork, rippled and flowed from the second-floor balcony to the marble floor of the rotunda. The facade of an ancient Mayan temple, partially obscured by snaking vines and deep green foliage, framed a set of double doors leading to the special e
xhibit area directly across from the museum’s main entrance.
Hand-sculpted from Styrofoam and meticulously painted, the ancient ruin appeared completely authentic. Illuminated by theatrical lighting, a massive sign above the faux temple announced the exhibit’s title:
MYSTERIES OF THE ANCIENTS
Barring entry to the exhibit, a red velvet rope drooped between two metal stanchions in front of the double doors.
“That must be Dr. Vasquez,” said Grace, pointing.
A silver-haired man in a tweed blazer was speaking to a small group of college students assembled near the entrance to the exhibit. He gestured wildly as he spoke, jabbing at the air with a fountain pen.
Madison and Grace skirted around the group and parked themselves against the wall within earshot of Dr. Vasquez’s talk.
“The consensus view of modern anthropology,” said Dr. Vasquez, “is that modern man emerged in Africa approximately one hundred thousand years ago, spread outward into Asia as a primitive hunter-gatherer, and migrated into Europe some thirty-five thousand years ago. He started farming around the end of the last Ice Age, about 8000 BC, and began building cities a few thousand years later. But—”
“There’s always a but,” said a young coed.
Laughter rippled through the group.
Vasquez smiled. “Quite. And the ‘but’ in this case is this: just because scientists have reached a consensus does not necessarily mean that they have reached the truth.”
Vasquez retrieved his leather backpack from the floor at his feet, opened it, and withdrew a white human skull. A ragged hole on the crown of the skull suggested that the life of this particular Homo sapiens had met with an untimely end. He held it up for everyone to see.
“Most college textbooks on anthropology categorically state that the first modern humans appear in the fossil record about a hundred thousand years ago. But this claim, that no anatomically modern humans existed prior to a hundred thousand years ago, is contradicted by numerous finds.”
Dr. Vasquez paused and contemplated the skull.
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