“Beach chickens?”
Hendrickson snorted. “Sorry, seagulls. Anyway, those all died of benzene poisoning, by the way. Makes sense if they ate stuff laced with gasoline.”
Nate made a rolling motion with his hand. “Just get to the good stuff.”
“Okay. There was one item that came back with utterly bizarre results. That fluffy bit of red feather you found. From its morphology, I managed to narrow it down to a few species, and when I did a DNA analysis, that’s when things went south. I’m not one hundred percent sure what kind of bird it was, but it looks a lot like a Gouldian finch—same basic feather structure, coloring, and size—but if so, there’s something way wrong with the DNA results. It reminds me of that case you brought me three years ago. Remember the one with the dog hair?”
Nate remembered. That case remained unsolved to this day. “You’re saying you couldn’t get a DNA match to the feather?”
Hendrickson shook his head. “Nope. And the pisser is, the DNA would suggest this creature is closer to a crocodile than to anything having wings and feathers. Granted, we’re only talking a six percent difference in the genetic makeup between a croc and your common bird. They’re not that unrelated. So all I can tell you is that the bit of fluff came from something feathery, but otherwise off-the-scale unidentified.”
Nate frowned. “So you’re telling me it’s not just some unidentified species of bird.”
“No.” The analyst turned to Nate with a grim expression. “It’s feathery, but it’s no bird. I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s not another fucking bird out there with anything close to that genome. Which means… I don’t think it’s natural. No amount of mutations could cause such a massive genetic drift.”
“So… what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I think someone’s been playing God.”
Chapter Eight
Juan studied Winslow’s facial expressions as the head of AgriMed’s R&D division skimmed the thick clinical report, which documented the progress he’d made with his current experiments on the rats.
The room felt warm and Juan breathed deeply of the earthy scent of the leather chair he sat on.
If all went well, he would get permission to move on to human trials. Except that Juan had been at this stage a dozen times before. Every time he thought he’d crossed every ‘t’ and dotted every ‘i’, Winslow raised questions that he didn’t yet have answers to. The director was a stickler for protocol when it came to human trials.
It had been a grueling few years, but Juan knew he was on the brink of something huge.
Without looking up from the papers, Winslow said in a gravelly tone, “So, specimen 153 has continued to exhibit tumor resistance, but this metabolic panel shows an elevated core temperature. Have you figured out the cause?”
“Not yet, sir. We’ve identified the function of most of the changed genes and are finally in the process of doing a gene knockout assay. Hopefully in the next couple months we’ll have narrowed down the changes to the key genetic fragments we need.”
Winslow leaned forward and stared directly at Juan as he drummed his fingers on his desk. “And how would you propose using that knowledge to treat a human patient?”
A tingle raced up Juan’s neck and his pulse quickened. It was the first time anyone in his management chain had even talked about a next step involving a human patient.
“Sir, we’ve already been using viral agents to treat the specimens. Lately we’ve been successfully inducing sporulation so that the viruses are able to be ingested, the spores burst in the animal’s gut, and only then do they distribute the genetic material.”
To Juan’s surprise, Winslow gave him a warm smile. “Young man, if this all works out, you’re going to revolutionize gene therapy and oncology.”
Juan’s face flushed.
“Yes,” Winslow continued, “I like where you’re going with all of this, and frankly, the results you’ve gotten are miraculous. To you, it must seem like we’ve been real hardasses on you. And I suppose we have. But for a reason. I knew that if by some miracle you could make something of this, we’d have a lot of people in the FDA and other government agencies to convince before we could move forward.”
He jabbed a finger at Juan. “Now it is up to you to take it home. Finish the knockout assay. And when you think you’re at a stage where you’ve isolated the genetic updates to their key constituent parts, then I’ll help you walk it through the ECRB for phase zero human trials.”
Juan’s mind raced as he considered what he had to do next. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”
Winslow walked around his desk and wrapped an arm around Juan’s shoulders. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
###
A dense crowd of travelers raced past Juan on their way to their gates. Reagan National Airport was busier than normal—but Juan was in no rush. His flight home to Rochester had been delayed two hours. He’d taken up residence in an airport lounge, where he’d been nursing a single beer the entire time.
Still, he could hardly suppress a smile as he indulged in the realization that he was almost there. He might actually be taking what had been a crazy long-shot idea and turning it into something that would save millions of lives. He took a sip of his beer and said to nobody in particular, “Maybe in just a couple months, I’ll be treating my first human patient.”
Juan’s phone vibrated in his pocket, and he checked the screen. “Miguel? What’s wrong?” His kid brother rarely called during the middle of the day.
“Juan! You won’t believe the letter I just got.”
With his body tensed, Juan barked, “Don’t play games, what’s going on?”
“I just received an acceptance letter for med school!”
The tension bled out of Juan as he leaned back against the cheap vinyl lounge chair.
His brother’s voice was jubilant as he continued, “You’ll never believe from where.”
Juan knew that his brother had applied to a bunch of schools. “I don’t know. Uh, University of Miami? They’ve got a good—”
“Yale Medical School! Effin’ Yale, bro. Can you imagine? A kid from the barrio attending the Ivy League?”
“Miguel, that’s awesome!” Juan beamed as he listened to his brother read to him the exact wording of the acceptance letter.
Juan knew the moment would be coming when he couldn’t maintain the façade of Mom’s “insurance” being able to pay for school. And when it came to medical school, especially an Ivy League one, he didn’t have a spare fifty thousand dollars a year to just toss around. He and his brother had had that talk when he started applying at the end of his junior year at Georgia Tech.
“Oh, and don’t worry about the cost. I’m covering it. I’ve identified a ton of scholarships I can apply for. Some strictly for Latinos, some other promising ones—I only wish we were Jewish, then there’d be a boatload more. And of course, there’s always loans. I don’t want you to worry about a thing, bro.”
Juan nodded with his cell phone to his ear. “Hey, I’m really proud of you. And I’m sure Mom is smiling down on you right now. Keep me posted on how the scholarships work out. I appreciate you applying, but I’ll still do what I can to help—”
“No you won’t. I’m already pretty sure you were full of shit about Mom’s insurance. I’m not letting you take on any more of my burden.”
A warm feeling of pride swelled within Juan. Miguel had always been incredibly smart.
“I’m able to do this, bro, trust me. I won’t be stupid about this chance.”
“I know it. I love you hermano. Keep in touch.”
“Love you too, bro.”
Just as he hung up, a voice came over the PA.
“Good afternoon passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for American Airlines flight 4359 to Rochester. We are now inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boardin
g at this time.”
Finally.
Juan downed the little that was left of his warm beer, gathered his things, and started down the terminal toward the gate. On the way, he passed a newsstand and decided to grab a bottle of water for the flight. He opened the glass-front refrigerator containing the plastic bottles, reached inside—and spied a woman’s billfold lying right there on the shelf. Clearly someone had accidentally set it down and then forgotten it. He looked around to see if the owner was nearby, but saw no one.
Buoyed by his recent good news—and Miguel’s—he decided to be a good Samaritan and take it to the Lost and Found. Wherever that was. His flight had only just begun pre-boarding; he had time.
The wallet lay open, and the driver’s license was visible. It seemed the wallet’s owner was a beautiful woman with red hair and bright green eyes.
Juan felt a pang of sadness for the wallet’s owner. She would probably be frantic once she realized it was missing.
He looked around once more and gasped as he spied a woman with bright red hair striding through the terminal, her gaze panning back and forth.
Juan glanced again at the driver’s license, caught the name, and yelled, “Hey, Katherine!”
The girl stopped and turned.
Juan held up the wallet.
“Oh my God!” She hurried over. “Thank you so much. I can’t believe I was that stupid. Now I remember. I was going to buy a water, then changed my mind and I just…”
She took the wallet and flipped through it, then looked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time. Her eyes were the most intense shade of green that Juan had ever seen. And she was breathtakingly beautiful.
Juan suddenly felt awkward.
She held out a twenty-dollar bill. “Thank you so much for being honest. Take this for—”
“There’s no need.” Juan waved her off. “I’m just glad I saw you race by. Otherwise I would have had to track down the Lost and Found.”
“Well… not everyone would be that honest.”
She smiled, and for a moment Juan felt the world stand still.
“Well,” she said. “I have someone waiting to pick me up.” She put her hands together as if to pray, one of her hands still clutching her wallet. “Bless you. Thanks again.” And she turned and raced away, past the security entrance, and out of Juan’s sight.
“American Airlines flight 4359 to Rochester is now boarding at gate 3.”
Juan stared at where the redheaded girl had gone, then turned away, feeling a sudden sense of loss. Get a grip, Juan. It’s just some nice-looking ditzy chick who forgot her wallet.
As he retrieved his boarding pass from his shirt pocket and handed it to the attendant at the gate, the green-eyed girl’s face was vividly etched in Juan’s mind.
Moments later, as he sat in his window seat, the jet pulling away from the gate, that green-eyed girl’s face still loomed in his mind’s eye. He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He had a history of having trouble remembering his girlfriend’s last names, but for some reason, he felt he’d never forget this stranger’s name.
“Katherine O’Reilly,” he muttered, “get out of my head.”
###
Kathy sat at her desk and looked over at her roommate’s messy bed. From somewhere down the hall came the sound of girls laughing.
It felt almost surreal to be a student again. Like stepping back in time.
It had been only three weeks since Kathy had confessed to Father Carson about everything that had happened. Three weeks since he’d assigned to her a rather unusual act of penance.
He had tasked her with going back to school. Had told her to take the money that was a seed of her guilt and use it to restart her life.
It sounded impossible. You don’t just decide to go back to school and then end up there three weeks later. But Father Carson had pulled off a minor miracle. Apparently one of his closest friends was on the Board of Directors at Georgetown University, a well-known Catholic university. And somehow, before she knew what was happening, she was admitted and enrolled. And though she was seven years older than all the other first-year students in Darnall Hall, they’d all made her feel welcome.
Turning to the pile of textbooks on her desk, she grabbed the one with a purple cover that had Genetics printed on its spine. She wouldn’t be taking the class until next semester, but it was a subject that she wanted to familiarize herself with… for personal reasons.
She pulled out the printouts she’d tucked into the textbook and looked them over for the hundredth time.
Other than the pink scars all over her body, this data—all two hundred pages of it—was her only solid proof that what happened to her on that island was real.
The printouts, of course, came from the USB flash drive she’d smuggled out of that strange lab. She’d printed it all out at the earliest opportunity, and had, at a minimum, skimmed every last page. Unfortunately, it made little sense. It didn’t help that half of it was in German.
All she could discern was that the scientists on that island were doing some kind of genetic research. And that it was secret. This was made clear by the fact that every page had COSMIC TOP SECRET #53823 printed diagonally in large red cross-hatched letters. The pages written in English typically also had ominous markings like TOP Secret//SI-G DRWN//TK. Internet research told her that these were either NATO or US government classified markings.
Which meant it was probably illegal for her to have even seen any of this. Even if she hadn’t stolen it.
She looked once more at the first page.
Darwin File #390AE202D80E
Summary: Using the Darwin Algorithm V3.4, we have found that the Gen + 15,000 results on Erythrura gouldiae (Gouldian finch) produced specimens with higher-than-normal resistance to fibrosarcoma. Morphology has remained somewhat true to the species, but flocking behavior changes have been noted. Per protocol, the computers are processing the algorithm for the next stage while further analysis on the current population is being done.
Team Leader:
Deidrick Müller, PhD.
Consultants:
Hans Reinhardt, Bundesnachrichtendienst
Ian Wexler, DARPA - BTO
“Kathy!”
Kathy’s roommate, an energetic blonde named Jennifer, barged into the dorm room, rifled through a dresser drawer, and pulled out a one-piece bathing suit. “A bunch of us are going to the pool. Did you want to join us?”
Kathy shook her head. “I can’t right now, Jen. Maybe later.”
“You sure? If you need a bathing suit, I can let you borrow one of mine.”
Kathy imagined wearing a bathing suit in public, displaying the splotchy pink scars that still covered her body from head to toe. “I appreciate it, but I’m kind of nervous about some of my classes, and I really want to get in the habit of studying again. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this.”
Jennifer gave Kathy a dramatic pout as she changed into her suit. “Maybe when I get back, we can help each other study?”
“I’d love that.”
Jennifer wrapped a thick white terry-cloth robe around herself and headed toward the door. “Well, have fun. I know I will!”
###
Professor Wilkinson’s booming voice reverberated throughout the auditorium. “That’s it for today. You have your study assignments. Let me remind you that in this week’s lab, you’ll be executing experiments that demonstrate substrate-level phosphorylation as part of our chapter on glycolysis and the Krebs cycle. As always, I hope you will have reviewed the material in advance so that you’re prepared to dive right in.”
After a few months in his class, Kathy knew that when Professor Wilkinson said “hope,” he was stating a firm requirement. Everyone said he was one of the toughest profs at the school and that his class was the epitome of the freshman “weed-out” class.
With only two minutes left in class, some of the students in
the auditorium began packing up their things when the professor raised his voice, this time using his microphone to combat the din of the students. “Oh—one more thing. For those of you who are considering taking genetics next semester, tonight there’ll be a guest speaker at the University Conference Center talking about how genetics research advances today’s and tomorrow’s medicine. The talk begins at six, but you may want to get there early.”
With Kathy’s interest piqued, she packed her laptop into her backpack and glanced at the wall clock.
She had an appointment for a follow-up visit with the nurse at the on-campus clinic at five. But as long as the clinic wasn’t running behind schedule, she should be able to make it to the talk.
###
Kathy felt as if she were carrying fifty pounds on her back as she followed the gray-haired nurse into the rear of the clinic. The dull fatigue she’d been feeling hadn’t improved in months. At first, she figured it was depression, but it didn’t feel like she was in a mental funk, at least not anymore. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time she was more optimistic about her future; school had been the right move for her. No, it was something else. She just felt… drained. Physically exhausted all the time.
The nurse stopped at a scale. “Let’s get your vitals. Climb up on the scale.”
Kathy frowned as she saw the digital numbers creep up. She was about ten pounds heavier than she’d normally like.
“Good,” the nurse said. “At five foot four, you’re in a healthy range. That’s good.”
The nurse’s grandmotherly voice made Kathy feel a little less self-conscious, especially knowing she’d not exercised at all since the incident at the island and had gained at least five pounds. Kathy really didn’t want to hear about exercise or having to lose weight right now.
Kathy sat patiently as the nurse took her blood pressure and oxygen levels, looked at her throat, and tested her reflexes.
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