Someone was full of shit, and he wasn’t sure if it was these AgriMed people or some part of the government.
He was going to figure it out.
###
Juan took in a deep breath. The smell in the lab was almost pleasant, not unlike the scent of sawdust—the result of strict air filtration and sanitation protocols. They were necessary in a lab that housed hundreds of rats in open-air enclosures.
He peered in at the rat in cage 153. “Hercules, how are you feeling?”
The brown rat paid him no attention as he nibbled ravenously at one of its feed pellets.
Juan had named this rat Hercules because of his unusual bulk. He carried nearly thirty percent more muscle mass than the normal rat, his fur was somewhat longer, and his metabolism demanded more caloric intake.
He was the first of the rats to be injected with the virus-carrying fragments of the latest algorithmically-generated genome. The modified genes, which had been injected during the beginning stages of Hercules’ development, had turned him into something unusual. The gene-laden virus had made him a living embodiment of the future of his species.
This rat was proof that the miracle Juan had been trying to create was actually possible.
Juan looked into some of the other cages—cages for the control rats. Subcutaneous lumps along these rats’ haunches indicated that the cancerous cells that had been injected into them were growing rapidly.
Hercules had been injected with the same cells, yet he showed no signs of any of the unusual growths.
He truly was a miracle.
One of Juan’s assistants, a gray-haired lab tech named Carol, was working nearby. Juan called to her as she carefully lifted one of the rats from its cage. “Carol, have you done a complete metabolic panel on Hercules yet?”
The fifty-something-year-old turned her gaze from the wriggling rat in her left hand and pushed her glasses high up onto the bridge of her nose. With a sour expression, she said dryly, “Oh, let’s see. I have two hundred fifty lab specimens currently under test, one intern whose only skill seems to be keeping his lab bench in complete disarray, another intern who is afraid of rats—can you believe it—and a third who nearly pees himself whenever I tell him it’s time to do something with the animals. So that leaves just you and me handling the actual lab work.” Carol raised an eyebrow. “And you haven’t been in here much. So… no. I haven’t quite gotten to running a metabolic panel on our wunder-rat.”
Juan felt a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry, Carol. I know I’ve been in meetings for most of the last two weeks. It’s just that ever since we confirmed Hercules’s results, the folks in HQ have been going bonkers, and I’ve got to keep them happy.” He laced his fingers together in a playful show of begging. “Can you please do a metabolic panel on Hercules and then get blood and tissue samples for DNA extraction? I promise you I’ll get some decent help as soon as I can.” With a pang of guilt, Juan admitted, “Winslow’s got me going to DC around noon to meet with him. I’m not one hundred percent sure why, but I think if we line up enough supporting data, we may stand a chance for getting an approval for phase zero clinical trials.”
Carol’s eyes narrowed, then the hint of a smile pushed its way through her grim expression. She put the rat back into the cage and shook her head. “Oh, stop begging. You’re embarrassing yourself.” She cleaned her hands with some gel-based disinfectant and grumbled, “I’ll do the panel and start the extraction, but I won’t do the analysis. Tomorrow’s my birthday, and I am taking it off.”
Juan’s cell phone vibrated, warning him he needed to head to the airport.
“Thank you so much, Carol. I’ll be back late tonight and take over the analysis while you enjoy a well-deserved day off. I’ll get one of the interns to help.”
At that last remark, Carol grumped, “Good luck with that.”
###
It was even later than he had anticipated by the time he returned to the lab. Mike Kim was already at work on the analysis. Mike was a PhD candidate from Stanford, and Juan was pretty sure he was the one Carol said “peed himself” every time something needed to be done with the animals. He was great with computers; with the rats, not so much.
“Dr. Gutierrez,” Mike called out as he entered the lab. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m comparing the DNA profile for specimen 153 to the standard control profiles, and I’m not sure if what I’m seeing is right.”
Juan weaved around cluttered lab benches piled high with handwritten notebooks, centrifuges and magnetic stirrers. The place smelled of rubbing alcohol, and due to it being well past the normal work hours, the lab was deathly quiet. He grabbed a stool and sat next to Mike. “Okay. What’s up?”
Mike pointed at the computer monitor. “Well, when I ran Hercules’s DNA profile through the GeneMark software, it gave me this.”
Juan glanced at the screen, which showed a complex map of the rat genome. He smiled and knew exactly why the intern was perplexed. For a well-documented genome such as Rattus norvegicus, the common brown rat, the screen should have been awash with green squares, indicating identified genes. Instead, the screen was filled with large splotches of red—gene sequences that didn’t match anything in the database.
“Are you sure the genome we’re working from isn’t corrupted?” Mike asked. “I’ve done this before at school and I’ve never seen so much unidentified data.”
Juan couldn’t tell the kid the truth. None of the interns knew that the genome for specimen 153 represented the results of five thousand years of simulated evolution. But he was prepared; he’d told this lie before.
“Mike, I’m sure you’re familiar with hidden Markov models. The software we’re using leverages HMM to identify the location of genes within the genome I supplied to you. It’s not uncommon for mutations to occur in these samples, for reasons I can’t disclose. And even the most extensive gene database in existence would mark these mutations as unidentified. The software is only as good as its database.”
Juan tapped on one of the red boxes on the screen. It zoomed in to show the signature of what the analysis had found. “Still, by flagging the changed sequences, the software had done part of the work. We can tell that this sequence is functional, but not what its function actually is. Our job is to fill in the blanks. We can only do that with in-vivo experimentation.”
The intern glanced at the far wall, which had a large window looking into the neighboring lab. The one filled with the rat’s enclosures. He frowned. “So, do you suggest doing a knockout assay—”
“No.” Juan tapped again on the computer screen, which reverted to the map of green and red boxes. “To understand what these functional sequences do, we’ll need to modify our test subjects. The protocol is simple. You’ll isolate the identified sequences and insert within them the synthesized sections that the program noted as unidentified. We’ll then take those constructs and insert them into the hosts with a modified viral agent.
“Believe me, I know it seems like a lot of work. I’ve been winnowing out the meaningless differences in the genome for a few years. But one or more of these sequences in combination may yield the key to making humanity impervious to some types of cancer. All the puzzle pieces are in front of us. We just need to figure out how they all fit.”
Mike’s eyes widened, and he gulped. “So, we’re going to need to inject the rats with the modified viral agents.” He looked queasy.
Juan patted his shoulder. “It’ll be fine.” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s work in parallel. You do the first flagged sequence, I’ll do the second.”
###
Frank O’Reilly supervised as his two hundred and fifty Angus cattle trailed eagerly into pasture four and Buck, his freckle-faced ranch hand, closed the gate behind them.
But Frank’s thoughts were elsewhere. That morning, he and Megan had dropped Kathy off at the airport, and he still felt like he’d been gut punched. A few days ago, out of the
blue, she’d come home from church and said she was going back to school. He didn’t realize until now how much he’d liked having her home. It was only a few hours and he missed her something fierce.
But he understood. Kathy needed to get her life back on track, and he could think of worse things for his baby to be doing.
His body ached as he climbed off his horse and tossed the reins to the ranch hand.
Buck caught the reins and nodded toward the cattle. “Mr. O’Reilly, the cattle should get pretty fat on this fresh grass.”
Frank winced with pain as he raised his arm and waved toward the now-empty pasture. “Buck, there’s plenty of good manure on pasture three. Make sure the boys till the soil good, and then we’ll plant the alfalfa in a couple weeks. In the meantime, it’s almost time to harvest the hay off pasture two.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get the tiller and start working number three this afternoon.”
Frank worked his arm back and forth, trying to rid himself of the ache he’d been feeling. He noticed Buck watching him. “What?”
Buck shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just thinking about what’s left to do today.”
“Buck, you’ve been working for me since you were twelve, and full-time since you graduated high school. I know you better than you know yourself—and I know your mind is working overtime. I can smell the smoke. What’s going on in your head?”
Scuffing the tip of his right boot into the dirt, Buck took on a worried expression. “Sir, it’s just… you’re not looking so good. I’m just hoping you’re not overworked, making yourself sick.”
Frank scoffed. “Give me a break. I’ve just got things on my mind. My baby girl left me this morning, you know. Back to college.”
“Well, college is good, right? She was always a smart kid.”
Frank snorted. “A whole lot better than what she’d been doing. Anyway, you’ll have to excuse me for a bit if I seem distracted.” He gave the well-meaning ranch hand a lopsided grin. “I’ll go kick your ass later when I have less important things to do.”
Buck laughed and gathered the reins of both his and Frank’s horses. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Kathy. She’s made of some pretty stern stuff.”
“Just like her momma,” Frank agreed. “Now go on and carry on with the chores. I’m going to go check on Megan.”
As he turned to walk toward his truck, he tried not to limp, even though the pain in his knees flared hotly.
###
Frank dropped into his recliner and tried to think of what he’d done differently during the last couple months that suddenly had him aching from head to toe. He should be out there working right now; it was only mid-afternoon. But his body insisted it needed a break.
It’s nothing. You’re giving yourself a damned anxiety attack over nothing.
He grabbed the bottle of aspirin on the coffee table and downed three pills. Frank grimaced as the bitter taste lingered in the back of his throat and willed himself to relax.
The bedroom door opened, and nails scratched the wooden floor. Jasper bounded into the living room and skidded to a halt in front of Frank as Megan followed more slowly, her hair still wet from a midday shower.
Frank rubbed at the dog’s cheek. “Hey, boy, are you keeping watch over your mom?”
Jasper woofed in response.
“What are you doing home so early?” Megan asked.
Shaking the bottle of aspirin, Frank said, “Just have a bad headache and figured some time out of the sun might help. Besides, I’ve got Buck doing what’s needed for now.”
Megan felt Frank’s cheeks and forehead. “Well, you don’t feel warm.” She grabbed her knitting and sat on the sofa. “I’ll keep you company. I’m thinking that now that Kathy’s gone east, she’ll be needing some sweaters.”
Frank sighed. “I sure hope that’s the right move for her. She seemed a bit scared about it all.”
Making a dismissive clicking sound with her tongue, Megan began to knit the sleeve for a red sweater. “That wasn’t scared. I think she’s kind of excited about it all. Anyway, she’s a big girl. You know we can’t have her with us forever.”
“I know. I still miss having her around.”
Megan gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’re just a big softie. And that’s why we love you.”
Jasper sniffed at Frank’s trousers and whined.
“What’s wrong, boy?”
Jasper put his paws on the edge of the recliner and kept sniffing, as if he were hunting for something.
“I don’t have any jerky, you silly dog—Hey!”
Jasper had hopped right up into Frank’s lap. He twisted around to get comfortable, then gently laid his heavy head on Frank’s chest.
Frank stared down at the heavy animal and shook his head. “Well this is new. Aren’t you normally curled up next to your mom?”
“He’s just trying to help you with your headache,” Megan explained, matter-of-factly.
“Well, I got things to do. It’s getting close to dinner time. I should be putting up the steaks.”
Jasper suddenly began to snore, and Megan smiled. “Don’t worry about that. We’ve got leftover stew. I’ll get up in a bit and make some biscuits to go with it. You just relax.”
Leaning his head back on the recliner, Frank rubbed the back of Jasper’s furry neck and closed his eyes. Maybe he could use a little nap. He was feeling particularly tired.
###
“I’m frankly surprised you’ve already managed to go through all that crap I handed you,” Nate said. “That was only a couple weeks ago.”
Hendrickson scoffed as he led Nate through the building. “What the hell do you think I do all day, sit on my ass and look pretty? Though I can’t help but wonder where the hell you got some of this stuff…”
“You know I can’t say.”
“I know. And even if you did,” Hendrickson dramatically stuck his fingers in his ears as he walked through the near-empty lab, “I’d have to pretend I didn’t hear a thing. Anyway, you’re certainly keeping me on my toes.”
“Glad to be of service. Oh, and by the way, I’m sort of sad to see that the green is finally gone out of your hair.”
Hendrickson scowled and shook his head. “That was almost three years ago, man. When are you going to forget about that?”
“Never.” Nate tapped the side of his head. “I’ve got the memory of an elephant.”
Nate liked messing with Hendrickson. But even better, he liked working with him. The man was an excellent analyst. Thorough and dogged, determined to dig into things that didn’t appear to add up.
Hendrickson swiped his badge at the special access room, which was reserved for highly classified material. They walked inside, and he sat down at a terminal and looked over some handwritten notes.
Hendrickson harrumphed as he unlocked the evidence drawer and began sorting through some files.
“So,” Nate remarked. “What’ve you got?”
“Okay,” he said. “The stuff your team provided fell into three categories: chemical analysis, data recovery, and DNA analysis.
“First, let’s deal with the chemical analysis. Pretty much everything you brought back was covered in traces of an accelerant. Specifically, a form of jelled gasoline. The ratios of the constituent ingredients matched what we used to drop in Korea.”
“Yup.” Nate nodded, remembering the stinging fumes of the gasoline and detergent. “Whoever came up with that saying, ‘I love the smell of napalm in the morning’ is a total asshole. I hate that smell.”
Hendrickson continued, “As for data recovery, we weren’t able to retrieve anything from the electronics your team brought back. Whoever torched that place had removed the hard drives. I was able to make out the brand of some of the PCs, but they were just off-the-shelf workstations.”
“So, a dead end.”
The analyst gave Nate a sideways glance and smiled. “I didn’t exactly say that
.” He typed at the terminal and brought up a bill of sale. “I got a serial number off of one of the motherboards, and I tracked it down to this sale of two hundred workstations.”
Nate examined the scanned receipt displayed on the monitor. The buyer had a German name and address. “Bundesnachrichtendienst? Do we have a record on that company?”
Hendrickson’s expression turned serious. “That’s no company. Bundesnachrichtendienst is roughly translated as ‘Federal Intelligence.’ Most people call it the BND. It’s Germany’s equivalent to the CIA.”
“What the… you’re serious?” Nate stared at Hendrickson.
“As a heart attack. Hey, I just serve up the news. It’s up to you what you want to do with it.”
Shaking his head, Nate asked, “Anything else?”
“Yup, but this shit just gets weirder. Remember those busted microscopes you brought back? Those weren’t your everyday scopes. They were epifluorescence microscopes—often used in life-science labs. Super-expensive. And guess what?”
“You found a serial number.”
Hendrickson grinned. “Yup.” He brought up another receipt. “A shipment of ten of these suckers was delivered to an address here in Virginia.” The analyst highlighted the address and executed a few quick keystrokes, which brought up a map. The image zoomed in and showed an ominous-looking structure.
A chill raced through Nate as he recognized the image of the CIA headquarters building. “Really? Are you absolutely sure?”
“All I can tell you is what you see here. I managed to scrape up three different serial numbers off those scopes and they’d all been delivered to some bogus company located in the OHB. I don’t have the clearance to look up procurement records. The intelligence community can be a bit murky sometimes.”
Nate tilted his head to the side and cracked his neck. “The German and American IC working together? There’s not enough here for me to build a case, but maybe this is enough for someone to go to the FISA court and get a subpoena.”
“Hold on, I didn’t even give you the good stuff yet. Let’s talk about the DNA evidence.” He turned back to the terminal and brought up images of several samples. “The stuff was pretty burnt—most of it I couldn’t get anything from. And the few things that I could identify weren’t terribly interesting. A bit of shell from a coconut crab. Ordinary beach chickens—”
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