The Genesis Code

by Christopher Forrest

  “Like the mathematics encoded in the architecture of the Egyptian pyramids and the Mayan temples,” said Madison.

  “And the recurring numbers relating to precession and astronomical cycles in ancient mythologies,” added Grace.

  “Yes,” said Ambergris. “But you must ask yourself, why did those who retained this ancient wisdom keep it secret from the rest of humanity?”

  Ninety

  Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  Groups of people began streaming out of the Millennium Tower and spilling into the street. The crowd of protesters, now in their second day of protesting the Biogenetics Conference, stopped chanting and watched the exodus with concern.

  Zoovas and Sergeant Peters climbed up on a concrete planter on the sidewalk, elevating themselves above the crowd. Peters handed Zoovas a bullhorn.

  “Listen up, everyone. I’m Michael Zoovas from Triad Genomics security. This is Sergeant Peters from the NYPD. We have begun an evacuation of the Millennium Tower due to a bomb threat phoned in to 911 just a few minutes ago. For your safety, we are asking that you proceed in a safe and orderly manner away from the area immediately.”

  Protesters began dropping their signs, collecting their friends and family, and walking at a brisk pace away from the Millennium Tower. But a small group of them remained rooted in place.

  Jennifer looked up at Zoovas, considering the possibility of another terrorist attack in Manhattan. Her concerns about stem cell research suddenly seemed trivial. Her eyes were drawn to an American flag flapping in the wind above the entrance to the atrium of the Millennium Tower.

  She dropped her sign to the ground. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  Ninety-one

  Subbasement, Level C

  Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  “Over time, those who preserved this ancient knowledge became a secret society of global elites. They have been among us for thousands of years,” said Ambergris.

  “They call themselves the Order,” said Giovanni. “But they have been known to the rest of the world by many names—the Rosicrucians, the Bildeburgers, the Trilateral Commission, and many others.”

  “The Order has kept the ancient knowledge hidden from the rest of humanity. They are fearful that if the masses learned of the coming cataclysm, and the probable death of human civilization in the next global catastrophe, there would be a complete collapse of the institutions of civilized society. A collapse that would plunge the world back into a state of barbarism and chaos.”

  “But they couldn’t possibly have kept such secrets hidden for so long,” said Grace.

  “To maintain their conspiracy of silence, the Order co-opted or killed those who discovered the truth throughout our history. Many have been killed to keep mankind ignorant of its dark future.”

  Madison thought for a moment. “They were going to kill you too.”

  Ambergris nodded somberly. “Yes.”

  “How did you find out?” asked Grace.

  “There is dissension within the Order. Some of its members oppose the acts of murder and violence that perpetuate the conspiracy. A splinter faction of the Order decided that the threat of societal collapse did not justify a policy of premeditated murder. Secretly, they began to warn those targeted for assassination.”

  Ninety-two

  Street Level

  Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  Thick streams of people surged out of the Millennium Tower onto the sidewalk. Security officers posted on each floor tried to control the flow of evacuees into the stairwells to avoid a panicked mass rush for the exits. Jennifer and the small band of protesters who volunteered to help stood near the entrance to the atrium of the Millennium Tower directing the human traffic.

  “Triad Genomics security has trained for this type of situation,” Zoovas had said to Jennifer and the volunteers. “But things are going to happen quickly. Hopefully, most of the evacuees will stay calm and follow the directions of the security officers in the building.”

  Zoovas was struck by the bravery of the volunteers. They were risking their lives to help.

  “But some of them won’t. Some of the evacuees will be confused, exhausted from climbing down the stairs, or agitated. Some of them may be physically infirm and will need assistance. Here’s what I need from each of you. I need you to help escort those people away from the building as quickly as possible. It is essential that we stop any panic from spreading. Try to keep them calm.”

  Jennifer and the others nodded. Zoovas began handing out orange vests marked with word Security on the front and back.

  “Wear these. Sergeant Peters has informed the NYPD that anyone wearing this vest will be assisting in the evacuation effort. If you take it off, the police may try to forcibly remove you from the area.”

  Jennifer slid the vest over her head and cinched it around her waist. The others followed her example.

  “Questions?” asked Zoovas.

  There were none.

  “Okay,” said Zoovas. “Let’s get to it.”

  Just minutes after the evacuation order was announced, Flavia Veloso began a live broadcast across the street from the Millennium Tower.

  “We have just received word of a bomb threat at the Millennium Tower here in lower Manhattan. Minutes ago, police officers and security personnel began an evacuation of the entire building. Law enforcement sources speculate that the bomb threat was intended to disrupt the International Biogenetics Conference that was scheduled to begin this morning.”

  Panic was beginning to rise as the stream of evacuees became a flood. Caught in the throngs of people that rushed out of the Millennium Tower, a diminutive elderly gentleman struggled to stay on his feet.

  As he was buffeted by shoulders and elbows, his strength was quickly failing after the long descent from the thirty-fourth floor. He started to hyperventilate.

  I’m going to be trampled to death.

  Just as he began to lose all hope, a young man in an orange vest muscled his way through the human exodus and threw his arm around the old man’s waist. He used the bulk of his body to shield the stooped man from the rush of the crowd.

  “Not to worry,” said the young man. “Let’s get you out of this crowd to a safer place.”

  He tried to calm the elderly gentleman, to distract him from the increasingly agitated mob of people rushing out from the building.

  “My name is John. John Vedder. What’s yours?”

  “Edward,” said the old man. “Dr. Edward Sullivan. I’m a geneticist. Here for the Biogenetics Conference.”

  Sullivan noticed a tattoo on Vedder’s forearm. It was a colorful depiction of Jesus Christ.

  “I recognize you,” said Sullivan, suddenly concerned. “I saw you on television. You were part of the protest this morning.” Worry clouded his face.

  Vedder nodded. “Yes, I was. But that’s not important right now.”

  Sullivan searched the young man’s face for signs of malice. He saw only compassion.

  “Thank you,” said Sullivan.

  Vedder smiled as he lifted the elderly scientist in his arms and carried him out of the surging crowd.

  Ninety-three

  Subbasement, Level C

  Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  “I was approached by an agent of this splinter faction of the Order. He warned me that my death had been ordered by the Council, the governing body of the Order,” said Ambergris.

  “And Dr. Ambergris came to me for help,” said Giovanni.

  “There was only one solution,” said Ambergris. “The Order is incredibly powerful. I couldn’t fight them. So I had to make them believe that they had succeeded in murdering me. If the Order thought I had been killed, I could continue on, in hiding, living under an assumed identity.”

  “So you staged your own death,” said Madison.

  “Yes, with the help of an assassin in th
e Order also allied with the splinter faction. He agreed to assist in staging my death.”

  “But why did the finger get pointed at me? I was framed for your murder,” said Grace.

  “We were unaware of that part of the Order’s plan. It was kept from those who warned me of the assassination. The Order took steps to frame you for the murder to divert the suspicions of any law enforcement agencies who might investigate my death.”

  “But that means the Order had another agent inside Triad Genomics,” said Madison. “Someone with the access to plant the false evidence.”

  “Yes. We already suspected that the Order had infiltrated Triad Genomics. It could have been anyone. But it had to be someone close to me. Someone with access to my work. It could have been you, Christian. Or you, Grace. We couldn’t be sure.”

  Grace interrupted. “And that’s the reason for the clues you sent to Christian by e-mail.”

  “Yes,” said Ambergris. “If you or Christian were working for the Order, you certainly wouldn’t need to try and solve the mystery I left behind. You would already know why I had been murdered.”

  He turned to Madison. “It was too late to stop them from framing Grace for my murder. This was the only way we could be sure that you weren’t acting as an agent of the Order. If you tried to solve the puzzle I left behind, then we knew that you could be trusted.”

  Madison nodded, his mind digesting what Ambergris had told them.

  “We don’t have long before the Order carries through on their plan to blow up the Millennium Tower. I gave the police enough time to evacuate the building and search for the bomb,” said Madison.

  “I’m not inclined to rely on the Order’s timetable,” said Giovanni. “We need to get out of here.”

  Suddenly a shot rang out.

  Ninety-four

  63rd Floor, Petronas Towers

  Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

  Tanaka stretched his arms over his head to relieve the tension in his shoulders and neck. He rubbed his eyes, tired from staring at the computer screen. Behind him, he could hear the pop of a cork as his valet opened a bottle of his favorite wine.

  Perhaps I won’t stay late tonight.

  His thoughts turned to a young call girl he had visited twice in the last week. A fine end to a long day.

  Tanaka turned his attention back to the reports he was reading on the computer monitor. He tuned out the sounds of the valet decanting the bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

  The Order’s geneticists were simply moving too slowly. He would have to devise a way to motivate them. Perhaps a “visit” to some of their family members?

  A shadow crossed the computer screen.

  The valet bumped the back of his chair.

  “Dammit! How many times have I told you—”

  Tanaka’s mind exploded in a burst of fiery pain. The valet twisted his wrist violently as he drove the corkscrew into the base of Tanaka’s skull.

  He tried to scream, but the only noise that escaped his lips was a small gurgling sound.

  Then everything went black.

  “Get down!” yelled Madison, shoving Ambergris to the floor.

  Madison turned to see Crowe walking toward them from across the room, his 9mm raised.

  “He shot Giovanni!” screamed Quiz.

  Dante Giovanni toppled over backward, falling to the floor. A bullet wound perforated his forehead.

  As Crowe readjusted his aim, sighting down the barrel of the 9mm at Dr. Ambergris, his torn shirtsleeve fell away from his wrist. Madison could barely make out the faint image of a tattoo of two intertwined serpents on the inside of Crowe’s wrist.

  Ninety-five

  Subbasement, Level C

  Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  “No!” yelled Madison. Not again! I will not allow it!

  He reacted instantly, running across the room and leaping at Crowe. For an instant, Madison thought he might reach Crowe before he could pull the trigger.

  Then he heard the crack of a gunshot.

  The slug from the 9mm caught Madison in the flesh of his right biceps, passing through the muscle and leaving a ragged exit wound in the back of his arm.

  Madison crashed into Crowe, screaming in pain. Crowe’s knees buckled, and he fell to the floor from the impact.

  Across the room, Quiz jammed the heel of his hand against a metal button in a panel on the wall. The lights were instantly snuffed out, plunging the server farm into darkness, illuminated only by the revolving red emergency lights from the alarm system.

  Ninety-six

  Subbasement, Level C

  Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  “Run!” shouted Madison, stumbling across the room, grabbing Grace by the arm, and propelling her forward toward an open door.

  “Quiz, get Ambergris out of here!”

  Quiz sprang into action and yanked Dr. Ambergris by the arm toward a narrow corridor, away from Crowe and his 9mm.

  Crowe slowly rose to his feet.

  Madison turned to face Crowe, planting his feet shoulder-width apart and bending slightly at the knees, lowering his center of gravity.

  You’re not killing anyone else. I won’t allow it.

  Madison took a quick glance toward Grace.

  “Go! Get out of here!” he yelled.

  From just beyond the open doorway, Grace hesitated for a moment. Then she saw the determination and resolve in Madison’s eyes. She held his gaze for another moment, nodded once, then turned and ran.

  Crowe balled his hands into fists, narrowed his eyes, and charged toward Madison. The flashing security beacon sprayed the room with waves of red light, casting long distorted shadows across the bundles of wires and metal conduits running along the narrow ceiling.

  As Madison focused on Crowe’s massive form hurtling toward him, he spotted something in his peripheral vision. Leaning against the wall in a shallow recess, just out of reach, was a four-foot length of metal conduit about two inches in diameter.

  Madison lunged for the metal pipe, but Crowe was remarkably fast.

  Just as Madison’s hand closed around the cool metal conduit, Crowe plowed into him at full speed, knocking him back against the wall. Crowe’s crushing weight forced the air from Madison’s lungs as he smashed against the wall. His head smacked into the concrete with a loud crack as Madison struggled to draw breath. But with iron will, he refused to loosen his grip on the metal pipe.

  With all the strength he could muster, Madison slammed his right knee upward into Crowe’s groin.

  Crowe’s knees buckled, but he didn’t go down.

  Grimacing in pain, he cursed Madison through clenched teeth. Slamming his shoulder into Crowe’s chest, he shoved Crowe backward away from the wall.

  Caught off guard, Crowe stumbled backward several steps, flailing his arms to regain balance. Like a home-run hitter at bat, Madison cocked his elbow, drew back his arms, and stepped forward toward Crowe as he swung the metal pipe.

  Crowe’s reflexes were still unbelievably fast.

  As the pipe arced toward him, Crowe locked his arms in a tae-kwon-do-style block to protect his face and neck, twisting his arms to catch the blow against the meaty muscle of his forearms.

  But as Crowe moved to protect his upper body, Madison changed the arc of his swing, drawing the pipe downward toward Crowe’s legs. Unable to move quickly enough to ward off the blow, Crowe howled in pain and anger as the metal conduit slammed into his left knee, pivoting on the balls of his feet to avoid taking a hit directly on his kneecap.

  The pipe connected with the muscle and ligament just below and to the side of the kneecap. His leg gave out, buckling beneath his weight, and Crowe started to fall.

  Madison’s hands and wrists ached from the force of the impact. A sharp pain lanced through the bones of his left wrist. Madison drew back for a second swing, intent on finishing Crowe with a blow to his head as he fell.

  But Crowe did not make the same mistake t
wice. Even as he fell toward the floor, Crowe locked his focus on the pipe as Madison swung again.

  Crowe’s hands darted out, seizing the end of the conduit and deflecting Madison’s swing. Crowe held tightly to the end of the conduit and yanked hard in the direction of Madison’s swing, yanking the pipe from his hands.

  As Crowe slammed into the floor, taking the brunt of the fall on his left shoulder, the metal conduit flew from his hands and spun across the room, clattering across concrete. Crowe rolled with the impact, avoiding serious injury as he minimized the force of the impact.

  I’m outmatched, Madison realized. Going head to head with this monster is suicide.

  Madison turned and ran.

  Ninety-seven

  Subbasement, Level C

  Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  Grace ran down the narrow hallway, taking one turn after another, searching for an exit sign or a window. Almost every door she encountered was locked. Slowing to a jog to catch her breath, she realized that she was utterly lost, with no idea of how to escape from the subbasement of the Millennium Tower.

  Fighting rising panic, she closed her mind to the images of explosions and collapsing buildings that tried to worm their way into her conscious thought.

  Grace turned another corner and came to a dead stop.

  Crap.

  The hallway ended abruptly twenty feet ahead. A single door at the end of the hall was the only means of egress.

  Grace sprinted up to the door and grasped the doorknob. She could hear the whining hum of some sort of machinery beyond the door. She closed her eyes and turned the knob.