by Kira Peikoff
She wasn’t sure how to react. Wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? What she had been fantasizing about before falling asleep at night? So why did she feel so anxious?
“What’s wrong?” he asked, a hint of alarm in his voice.
“Nothing.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s not that. It’s just . . . How can you be into me?” she blurted. “I mean, isn’t this crazy? I’m like fourteen or twenty-one, who the hell knows—and you’re eighteen, and next year, you’ll be nineteen, and one day you’ll be twenty-five and then thirty and then forty. How can we ever be together?”
“Aren’t you thinking a bit far ahead?”
“No!” she shouted, choking up. “How can I ever be with anyone? I’m going to spend my whole life alone! I’m always going to be some weird half-child freak.”
“I don’t care how old you are.”
“Well, I do!”
She was sobbing now, her face in her hands, past the point of embarrassment. He reached for her, but she stiffened. “No. We can’t.”
“But everything’s going to turn out fine. My mom is probably the smartest person here. She’s going to figure this out. You won’t be stuck like this forever.”
Easy for you to say, she thought, standing up. What would happen to her in five, ten, twenty years, if Natalie didn’t get anywhere? What would happen to Gramps?
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Back. To find your mom.”
The lab section of the circle reminded Zoe of an ant farm, with all the underground tunnels and pathways leading to different rooms. With no windows, it was disorienting to find her way around, but she made it down the three flights to the floor devoted to the aging team. Natalie’s lab was in a corner, its door partly open.
As Zoe had guessed, she was inside, clad in a white coat and hunched over a microscope, turning its knob back and forth.
“Hi,” she announced, not even bothering to keep the desperation out of her voice. The reassurance she needed couldn’t come from Theo, Galileo, Gramps, or her parents. It could only come from one person.
Natalie whirled around on her stool with a look of surprise.
“Zoe! Are you okay? Theo promised he would make sure. I thought the birthday thing might not be the best idea, but—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “I just want to know what’s going on. Did you test my parents’ DNA yet?”
Natalie pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. “Well—yes. I was just checking the slide again, making sure the report got it right.”
Zoe felt her heart rev up like a motor. “And?”
“Unfortunately your weird mutation showed up in both of them. Just a familial variant you must have inherited.”
“So it’s not meaningful? It’s not the aging gene?”
“No. I’m so sorry.”
“So what do you do now?”
“Now . . .” Natalie grimaced, avoiding her gaze. “Now we go back to square one.”
CHAPTER 29
In dismay, Les Mahler surveyed the gaggle of reporters seated before him. The press conference was going live in sixty seconds. To his right on the podium stood Benjamin Barrow, patting his brow with a checkered handkerchief. Both were sweating under the hot bright lights in the White House briefing room. When Les caught his eye, a glance of mutual agony passed between them.
After their failure in recent weeks to find a lead from Julian Hernandez’s disclosure about the secret signs, and the murder of the prison guard—which was ascribed to Galileo without a blink—the President had insisted that it was time to go public with the Network. His administration felt that Galileo was too dangerous and out of control for his actions to be kept classified.
Les knew that this move would spark a backlash of hysteria and rumors, an endless string of sensational media, and critical commentary from pundits of all stripes. Worst of all, he feared it would cause Galileo to lie low indefinitely, thwarting all attempts at detection. Surely there would be no further outrageous stunts like tricking Zoe’s parents—stunts that Les could have prepared for. But he also understood that the President saw an opportunity to politicize the case, demonstrating how seriously he cracked down on bio-crimes. It was a vote grab, and Les had no choice but to go along with it.
“Live in ten, nine, eight . . .” came a voice in his earpiece. The reporters, about fifty representatives of the country’s biggest news outlets, were holding out black mini recorders and getting poised to scribble on their rectangular flip pads or type on laptops. Along the back of the cramped, windowless room, a multitude of sleek black cameras were trained on him and Barrow, blinking green. The beady glowing lights reminded Les of staring into the eyes of a cat in the dark, the moment before it pounces.
“Four . . . three . . .”
He took a deep breath, ignoring the sweat pooling at his hairline. He thought of himself being broadcast onto every TV screen in America, interrupting afternoon talk shows and soap operas and weather reports. As much as he despised the reason for his spotlight, the sudden attention—and power—energized him. This debut was going to catapult him into the public eye as much as it would Galileo—but with a crucial difference: He was the hero, and everyone was going to know it.
“Two . . . one . . . And we’re live!”
Shoulders down, back straight, head tall. The hot lights from the low ceiling beat down like a dozen suns. He opened his mouth to begin.
“Good afternoon.” His voice boomed out of the room’s speakers, deep and resonant. He indulged a pause as if to tell the crowd, I set the pace. You can’t rush me. “My name is Les Mahler, and I’m the chief of the Executive Office for the Committee of Bioethics Enforcement. This is Benjamin Barrow, my second-in-command. We’ve called you here today to alert you to an important national security matter—one classified until now, but so grave, we’ve concluded the public has a right to know.”
The reporters’ pens hovered above pads, their fingers above keys. They stared at him. No one made a peep. Les exchanged a look with Barrow, who gave him a grim smile, then he cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, together with the FBI, we have been working for two years to find and uproot an illicit, well-funded criminal organization known as the Network that conducts illegal, unrestricted scientific experimentation somewhere within the U.S. As I’m sure you’re aware, all human experiments in the United States must answer to my committee or face federal charges of recklessness and noncompliance. Otherwise, vulnerable subjects stand to be abused and dehumanized—hence our urgency to find the Network and dismantle it as soon as possible. The location of their headquarters is unknown. To date, they have abducted or coerced at least twenty-nine people—scientists, doctors, and critically ill patients—who have vanished into their secret ring.”
Hands shot up all over the room. Barrow was about to call on someone when Les pulled the mic closer. It was imperative that he show who was in control.
“The most recent abduction,” he said, “was Zoe Kincaid, the little girl who was recently discovered to have stopped aging. As you know, she was kidnapped from her home in Manhattan on June 18 and has vanished . We didn’t release it then, but all along we’ve known that the Network is responsible. We think that her strange condition primed her as the perfect target for exploitation.”
A few gasps were heard as the reporters copied down his words.
“Our top priority,” Les went on, “is to root out the man we believe is the leader. He calls himself Galileo and communicates responsibility for the Network’s abductions by mailing a certain postcard of the solar system to my office. For further details, please see the picture in the press release.
“Like any convincing cult leader, he has managed to recruit a number of susceptible Americans whose homes the Network uses as safe houses. It’s possible, though we’re not sure, that these members communicate their sympathie
s by painting a certain sign on their mailboxes—a picture of the sun.”
Les slowed down his next words. “It is of the utmost importance that the public be on the alert for these signs and report anyone with suspected involvement. An 800 hotline is now up and running 24/7. No charges will be brought against those who have been suckered into participating, as long as they give us their full cooperation.”
“Please,” Benjamin Barrow chimed in, “we urge everyone who has any information to come forward. Your fellow citizens’ lives are on the line.”
“We will now take questions,” Les announced.
A cacophony of competing voices broke out. He and Barrow took turns answering as best they could.
“Have any bodies been found?”
“Yes. Two. But we’re not at liberty to disclose further details, due to the ongoing investigations.”
“What does the leader look like?”
“If we knew that, so would you.”
“How many members are there?”
“Unclear.”
“What’s their motivation?”
“Maybe financial, selling whatever half-baked drugs they develop on the black market. We can only speculate.”
“Where does their funding come from?”
“Venture capitalists? Overseas donors? Again, speculation.”
Then came the comment that stung Les to the core, from the mouth of a crotchety female reporter who was known for her pointed criticism of every administration since Reagan.
“If this President had any brains, he’d fire all you goddamn bureaucrats and put a real leader in charge. Mr. Mahler, tell us one thing you’ve accomplished since you started this manhunt.”
Les narrowed his eyes. If only you knew, he thought. The other reporters ceased shouting. Everyone was awaiting his response. Would he chastise her? Be diplomatic? Divert with sarcasm?
Before he could get his thoughts together, a scornful voice to his right spoke into the microphone. “That would be Dr. Mahler. And with his double PhDs, FDA and FBI experience, I assure you the committee could have no stronger leader. Next.”
Les stared at Benjamin Barrow in surprise. It was true that their rivalry had cooled since their trip to Ohio, but he hadn’t expected anything like loyalty to take its place—especially not such a public display.
The rest of the press conference was short. They answered several more questions, thanked everyone for coming, and hurried into the back room away from the glare of lights and judgment.
Les thanked him as soon as they stepped out of sight.
“No problem,” he replied. “We need the country to know we’re a united front. Public image rule one, never appear to lack confidence.”
But do you? Les wondered. Then he thought of the rule. “Of course. Doubt is weakness.”
“That’s right. Now we just have to follow through.”
Somehow, somewhere, they had to show Galileo what it meant to mess with the U.S. government on its own turf.
Before their credibility expired with a scandalized public.
Before Zoe Kincaid’s DNA reached any scientists hell-bent on creating a superspecies out of the human race.
Before his own impatience dangerously spiraled.
From the worried look on Barrow’s face, Les could tell what he was thinking. They desperately needed a new lead. And fast.
CHAPTER 30
At 3:30 A.M., holed up in the windowless cavern of her lab, Natalie could not have said whether it was morning or night, a weekend or weekday. Such distinctions had receded from her consciousness, along with other pestering concerns like hunger and sleep. Her world existed solely on the microscopic level. She couldn’t hear, smell, taste, or touch her surroundings—the forest of Zoe’s genes that she was hacking through, one clearing at a time.
In the silence, her own breathing became a sound track, acquiring musical qualities of pitch and rhythm. Its steadiness lulled her into a deep concentration, beyond recognition of her time and place. She was so “in the zone” that when she heard a sudden loud crack behind her, it sounded like a gunshot.
Without thinking, she dove off her stool, hands over her ears.
An urgent voice shouted at her, “Natalie!”
Crouching under the counter, she turned around to see that her open door had smacked the wall. In her disoriented state, it was difficult to comprehend what else she was seeing. Nina Hernandez, her normally aloof colleague, was running—no, charging—toward her with a wild look on her face.
We’re being invaded, she thought. Find Theo.
“I knew you’d be here!” Nina cried, nearly crashing into the counter. She gripped its edge, panting, her frizzy black hair falling into her eyes. Her lab coat was coming untied and one white string dangled across her chest, rising and falling with her breath.
“What’s going on?” Natalie leaped to her side. “Are we evacuating?”
“What? No, I hope not.” Her lips spread into a grin. “I think I figured out a new approach for Zoe.”
Natalie groaned. “Jesus, Nina. You can’t shout like that here.”
“Sorry, I’m just excited.”
“But you do viruses.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been studying her samples after hours, ever since that weird mutation turned out to be nothing. Think how many more times that could happen! Sifting through her entire genome could take years, even if you have a hunch about where to look.”
Natalie grimaced. It was the truth. “So?”
“So I thought, rather than spend all that time looking for some random spontaneous mutation, why don’t we look instead for an epigenetic cause? Some external factor that triggered her genes to change when they did?”
“You mean, like a virus?”
“Exactly. Once you have one, its RNA is in your cells forever. And get this—I’ve just found a viral strand in her DNA that I don’t recognize. I wonder if it’s possible she caught some kind of mutated virus around age fourteen that altered the expression of the aging genes?”
Natalie cocked her head, thinking. “If so, we could isolate it and use it to infect mice. Then we examine their genomes and see where the viral RNA shows up. Maybe it could lead us to the right location.”
“But in her, the viral RNA shows up across several regions of her genome—not just in one place.”
“Okay, we could do knockouts. Silence the different genes in different mice to tease out which ones—if any—make them stop aging.”
Nina beamed and held up her hand for a high five. “It’s brilliant.”
Natalie demurred, raising her own hand to signal caution. “Maybe. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t even know if she had this virus around the right time. What if it was something she caught last year?”
“What time is it?”
Natalie glanced at her computer. “Three forty-five a.m.”
“Too early to wake her, you think?”
They traded smiles and dashed to the door. Natalie led the way to the staircase, up three flights, and through the maze of hallways that took them to the residential complex. Outside, through the hall window, the quad was dark and still. It seemed they were the only people awake on the whole compound. Their sneakers scuffed the concrete as they ran past identical door after door. Natalie slowed when they passed Galileo’s, but then she remembered he was away again.
Right next to Theo’s apartment, they stopped at Zoe’s.
“You do the honors,” Nina whispered.
Natalie recalled that Zoe was a light sleeper, prone to restlessness and insomnia. She knocked softly so as not to startle her too much.
Almost right away, they heard footsteps padding toward them.
“Who’s there?” came her high-pitched voice.
They chorused their names.
She opened the door and gazed at them bleary-eyed, her blond hair mussed on one side. A large cotton T-shirt hung down to her bare thighs.
“Do you guys know what time it is? I was fina
lly falling asleep.”
“Sorry,” Natalie said. “But we might have a new way to approach your case.”
Alertness flashed into her eyes. “Really?”
“We just have to ask you a question.”
“A really important question,” Nina added. “Your answer could change everything.”
Zoe glanced between them, wide-awake now. “Okay . . . ?”
Natalie hesitated. She was startled to realize how much hope she had already built up, against her cautious instincts.
“Did you—do you remember if you got sick around the time you stopped aging?”
Zoe stared at her. “That was seven years ago.”
“I know, but try to think back. Does anything stand out—not just a cold, but maybe something worse?”
“Something antibiotics wouldn’t have helped with,” Nina said. “You might have felt really tired and weak?”
Zoe closed her eyes, frowning. “That would have been around eighth grade. Oh, that was the year I missed graduation, which really sucked. There was a cute guy who was going to a different high school, and I never got to say good-bye ’cause I was stuck at home with a fever.”
Nina’s eyes widened. “A fever? Did you have any other symptoms?”
“Yeah, I was sick for like three weeks straight. Now I remember. I had a cough. And my fingers tingled. That’s when the doctor said it wasn’t just the flu.”
“So what was it?”
She shrugged. “No idea. It just went away on its own.”
“How old were you exactly?”
“That was June, so—”
She broke off, and Natalie watched a jolt of astonishment cross her face. “I was just about to turn fourteen.”
CHAPTER 31
Returning to a certain slum in Southeast was a mission Les dreaded, but as he hurried past a group of slouched teenagers, clutching his backpack under his arm, he was spurred on by the thought of that bitchy old White House reporter. Tell us one thing you’ve accomplished since you started this manhunt.