by Shanon Hunt
“Since I’m just a dumb trust fund baby, let me say it in layman’s terms,” Madeline said, provoking laughter from the group. “It’s quite simple, actually.” She surveyed the refined faces around the conference table as proudly as if the idea were her own.
“Stewart’s vision is to reprogram the DNA of the human race.”
Chapter 69
“Well someone’s going to have to explain this to me. I like Star Trek as much as the next guy, but I wasn’t thinking cyborgs were the future of mankind.” Jack Downs laced his fingers behind his head like he was expecting a business unit report from one of his senior VPs.
“I’ll do you one better, Jack,” Hammond said. “I’m going to turn it over to Austin Harris, the geneticist in our group, who’ll tell you about the science behind our idea. Austin?”
Austin sat up proudly as all eyes fell on him. Jack Downs kept his hands behind his head, waiting to be impressed. General Harding frowned with distrust. Others wore looks ranging from curiosity to skepticism. It was the best audience he’d ever had. Nothing bolstered his confidence like a room full of cynics.
Austin smiled and stood up from his chair. “Only a few weeks ago, I listened to this crazy visionary’s radical ideas and wondered if he was a genius or a lunatic. Admittedly, I at least had the benefit of Stewart’s high-quality bourbon to soften the blow.”
He paused for the snickers from the group, moving toward the whiteboard as they resettled.
“Friends, we have the biotechnology now to create just about anything. I’m not going to bore you with a big science lecture, but I’ll drop a couple of important concepts you’ll want to impress your friends with. The first is called CRISPR.”
He wrote the word on the whiteboard like he was lecturing a roomful of students.
“You’ve heard about it. It’s all the rage in the media. I’ll sum it up in one sentence: This technology has given us the ability to edit genes. That’s right. It’s just like editing a movie film back in the old days. You could cut the film tape at any point and splice in some new tape, making the scene different. CRISPR does the same thing, only instead of a reel of tape, we’re editing the strand of DNA, or the genetic code, of a human.”
It sounded like science fiction to many people, so Austin waited for a comment or question, but none came. But their rigid postures and narrow eyes told him he should pick up the pace.
“Let’s take a disease like cancer. Humans often lose the battle against cancer because their immune systems aren’t strong enough to fight it. With CRISPR, we can modify immune system T-cells, making them stronger so they can kill the cancer cells. Every day, we’re finding more ways to cure diseases using CRISPR.”
He turned back to the whiteboard and wrote “DNA nanobots.”
“The second key concept that makes all this possible is DNA nanotechnology, or what we often refer to as nanobots. I was among the first to begin working with a company that not only spliced DNA using CRISPR but actually created entirely new genes that could be delivered into cells. These tiny assembly robots carry sections of the genes into the nucleus of the cell and then splice the sections into the existing DNA strand, building the new gene. Since these new genes aren’t natural to humans, they give us something more. Something different.”
“Like what, special powers?” The question came from a man whose table tent read Richard McNeill, but it didn’t include a title. Austin hadn’t met the man before and couldn’t tell if he was being serious or a smartass. Still, he was grateful for that perfectly worded question.
He nodded. “Exactly. Like special powers.”
The room became so quiet he could almost hear their repressed childhood superheroes crying to be set free. Austin relished the moment and the hungry stares from the group. The inferiority complex of just minutes ago had melted away, and he stood tall and powerful, knowing he could ask any one of them for a billion dollars and they’d write him a check in a heartbeat. He wished he could stop talking entirely just to hear them all beg him to continue. But that wasn’t the plan.
He hid his smugness behind a wide smile and poured on the charm, walking the room, making eye contact with each person as he spoke.
“Of course, humans will never be able to fly like Superman or breathe under water like Aquaman. But what if we could build a gene, or a cocktail of genes, that would help humans develop the characteristics necessary for survival of the species in the twenty-first century and beyond? If we assume what we know to be true, that our genes dictate much of our behavior, what might we want to edit for the betterment of the human species?”
He paused, allowing the group to consider the question. “Intelligence? Aggressiveness? Longevity? What about a gene that prevents humans from becoming ill or suffering pain? Or a gene that increases physical strength?”
“Wait a minute,” Jack Downs protested. “Are you telling me you can do all these things?”
Austin opened his mouth to answer, but Hammond stepped in. He had to turn to hide his irritation.
“We’re very close,” Hammond said. “Close enough to start phase one right here at Austin’s colony and consider getting started at other select colonies. But let’s not spoil the surprise just yet.” He clasped his hands. “Austin, let’s bring in Brad. This guy is a freaking genius.”
Austin gaped at Hammond. He’d prepared an entire presentation drawn from years of genetic development, from his pain cocktail through his latest achievements in episodic memory and wakefulness. Why was Hammond shutting him down now? Spoil what surprise?
“Let’s do this.” Hammond walked to the door and called out. “Brad! Ready?”
Austin’s shoulders slumped. He wouldn’t get their attention back now even if he insisted on continuing. The show must go on. His face burned as he pushed onward, already anticipating the diatribe he would launch into at his first private moment with Hammond.
He glanced at Hammond, who stood by the door. “I’m thrilled to show you our experiment right here in Black Canyon City. You’ve all been staying in our luxurious Vitapura Wellness Center, but the real magic happens just beyond the center walls in our Colony.”
Hammond gave him a cheerful thumbs-up.
“However, our science isn’t the primary reason Stewart selected my colony as the pilot site. The choice hinged on the success of our recruiting and retainment. I’d like to introduce you to the lead administrator of the Colony, Dr. Bradley Elliott. Dr. Elliott has a PhD in sociocultural anthropology, as well as an honorary doctorate in clinical psychology from Stanford for his rehabilitative work of the fifty-eight college students who were mentally and sexually abused in the Wake of God religious cult in California. He’s also widely published, under the pen name B.J. Elliott, in cult societies and behavior.”
“This is the guy running the show?” General Harding asked with a snicker.
Austin bristled at the general’s arrogance. “That’s right. He’s been instrumental in establishing the culture of the Colony, but his real gift is the recruitment of new subjects and an impressive ninety-five percent retention rate. Every member of the Colony is here because they want to be. No one has ever been forced to come to the Colony or stay once they’ve arrived, and this is one aspect that differentiates my colony from other experimental societies. In short, Dr. Elliott is a genius. So without further ado …”
Austin nodded to Hammond, who opened the door and gestured for Brad to enter.
To Austin’s surprise, Brad wasn’t dressed in business attire as he’d instructed. Instead, he’d shown up in a white linen tunic and pants—his Colony uniform. He carried a long bamboo cane in one hand and a riding whip in the other. He glided toward Austin’s seat, laid the cane and whip on the table in front of him so that everyone could get a good look, and settled into Austin’s chair.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke. “With pain comes peace. With gratitude comes the Father’s love.” He opened his eyes and smiled warmly at everyone in the room.
Chapter 70
Malloy stepped out of the Uber, grabbed the shoulder strap of his duffel bag, and took a deep breath of dry desert air. He was happy to be home, but even after the five-hour flight from New Jersey, he couldn’t seem to shake the melancholy of Wang’s loss.
The Uber pulled away, leaving him staring up at his house but for some reason unwilling to move. He’d wake up tomorrow and drive into the office just like he’d done over the last thirty years and pick up where he’d left off before the LXR case turned his life upside down. Wang’s funeral had given him a sense of closure on the LXR case, which he was grateful for, but somehow he didn’t feel like the same cop he used to be. It was like the fire in his belly had gone out. No, that wasn’t it. It was as though he still couldn’t recover from failing this case. Not only had he not solved it and he’d never be able to look Lyle Richmond or any of the families in the eye again, but he’d never see Tyler’s killer pay for what he did.
The storm door slammed as Darcy came out to see what he was doing. “Pete? What’s wrong?”
She was a sight for sore eyes. “Hey Darce, good to be home. I was just taking in the fresh Phoenix air. I’ll take our pollution over that damn humidity any day.” She took his bag, standing on tip-toe to give him a peck on the cheek.
“We have a guest,” she announced, raising her eyebrows toward the house.
He looked at her questioningly.
“Jessica Heffner. That friend of yours who called the other day.”
He shrugged and headed for the living room.
The woman sat on the sofa and took a swig of Heineken just as he entered the room. She was older, probably in her fifties, with long hair dyed platinum blond, a look he thought made middle-aged women look even older. She was quite thin—emaciated, really—with a face leathery from years of sun exposure. He didn’t even have to reach her before he smelled the cigarette smoke from her clothes and hair.
He put out his hand. “Have we met?”
“Pete. It’s me, Jessie.”
He stared, and she spoke before he made the connection. “Jessie Steele.”
Tyler’s mom. His hand connected with hers, but instead of shaking it, he pulled her in for a hug. “Jessie. God. It’s been such a long time. I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
“Well, you know, life has a way …” She pulled away, clearly uncomfortable with the hug, and sat back down.
He took a seat in the chair across from her. “How are you …” He wanted to ask how she was doing after Tyler’s death, but instead he finished, “How have you been?”
“I remarried,” she said almost apologetically. “Changed my last name.”
Tyler had told him his mom was dead. Cancer.
“I’m so sorry about Tyler, Jessie. You know I loved him like a son.” He felt the words catch in his throat.
“Yeah. Anyhoo, just thought I’d come by and say thanks for all you did for him. Never would’ve gone off the needle if y’all hadn’t helped him like you did.”
Malloy found her demeanor odd, but obviously their relationship had been strained. She’d been dead to Tyler. He’d probably been dead to her, as well.
“You knew about the rehab?”
“He called me. Tried to get me to buy his car off him before he left.”
He took a breath to steady his voice and asked as calmly as possible, “Jessie, I understand a few months ago Tyler joined a cult. Do you happen to know …”
She let out a boisterous laugh, showing a mouthful of very yellow teeth. The laugh turned into a coughing fit, and Darcy handed her a box of tissues, but she waved it off.
“A cult?” she asked, like it was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. “Like a religious cult? Don’t you know anything about that kid?” She laughed again, more softly this time to avoid another coughing fit, which got the best of her anyway and continued longer than the last one.
God, he despised smoking.
“Do you know where he went?” Malloy fought to keep his voice calm, but inside he was practically dancing like a kid in line for Space Mountain.
“Sure as hell wasn’t no cult. No sirree Bob, it wasn’t no cult.” Her smile faded into an angry frown. “He went to the goddamn spa.”
“What are you talking about? A spa?” He wasn’t even sure he’d heard her correctly.
“Ya know, Pete, I spend my whole life working like a dog, on my feet every single day, carrying heavy trays of meat loaf and barbecue ribs. I’m fifty-six years old, and I can barely walk when I get out of bed in the morning. If anyone should get a free ride at a pain spa, it should be me! What the hell has that kid done in this life, other than become a junkie and catch the AIDS? Why was he so goddamn deserving of living the good life at a spa?”
She looked conspiratorially at Darcy, as if a man wouldn’t be able to understand the injustice of it all.
Darcy nodded politely but didn’t offer an opinion. “Can I get you another beer? Or maybe some ice water?”
Malloy was grateful for the distraction because he’d visibly recoiled at her rant. Her son had been murdered, and she was resentful?
“Yes, beer please, uh …”
“Darcy.” She smiled.
“Right.” Jessie looked back at Malloy, still frowning. “So he has the nerve to call me and try to pawn off that damn car, and then when I don’t buy it”—she opened her arms, inviting Malloy to have a good look at her—“I mean, do I look like I’m rolling in money? So when I don’t buy it, he says to me, ‘Fine, then. I guess you won’t be able to come and visit me.’ I says, ‘Visit you where?’ And he says, ‘It’s a secret.’ So I told him I don’t care what he does, and he hung up.”
Malloy’s heart sank.
Darcy appeared with three beers and handed one to Malloy and one to Jessie.
“Thank you, uh …” She looked down at her lap.
Malloy rolled his eyes.
“You’re quite welcome,” Darcy said.
“So how do you know he went to a spa?”
Jessie swigged her beer and stared at Malloy, like she’d forgotten what the conversation was about. “Oh, yeah. So guess what the little asshole does? He sends me a text message. It says, ‘Go to hell, because I’m in heaven’ and has this picture attached.”
She scrolled through her phone for what seemed like eternity. Malloy tapped his foot nervously and squeezed his thigh with his free hand.
“Yeah, here it is. He sends me this picture. Here.”
She handed him the phone. The picture was taken from the back seat of a car or maybe a van, through the front windshield. Based on the angle of the shot, it appeared the photographer might have snapped the shot from his lap. The sun was setting behind the building, silhouetting it and obscuring the details or markings around the front. Malloy couldn’t make out a sign. The desert grounds did indeed appear resort quality, with magnificent fountains and palm trees. Arizona alone was home to probably a couple of hundred spas, and he couldn’t even be sure he was looking at Arizona desert.
Maybe Garcia could figure it out.
“Can you just believe that little bastard?” She shook her head. “I was so pissed off that I spent the whole night on the internet looking for the place. Finally found it.”
“And?” Malloy’s eyes widened.
“The goddamn Vitapura, right outside of Black Canyon City.” She took a long swallow from her beer and smiled, looking pleased with her detective skills.
“Jesus. That’s less than an hour from here.”
“Damn straight it is.” She set down her empty beer bottle and stood up to leave. “Anyhoo, he’s never gonna call me again, so I was hoping you’d give him a message the next time you talk to him. A letter came to the house from the car dealer, said the car’s all paid off. I just had to figure out where it was impounded. Cost me two hundred and fifty bucks, but now that sucker’s mine. So next time you see him, tell him the goddamn joke’s
on him!”
Chapter 71
Austin studied Hammond as Brad presented to the group. Hammond appeared transfixed by Brad’s story, and Austin couldn’t help feeling resentful. From the moment Hammond met Brad, he’d seemed less interested in the genetics and more interested in Brad’s operations at the Colony. Sure, the program was provocative, but it was just the means to the end. The genetic experimentation was the true vision.
“So here’s our first group of recruits from Austin and Jonathan’s pain clinics,” Brad said. “We selected them carefully based on certain criteria. We needed the pioneers to be true believers, and there are distinct qualities that correlate with this personality trait. It took us months to get our first group of twelve.”
Brad clicked to a slide Austin had seen many times before: twelve young people in white linen uniforms, smiling happily for a photo shoot. The next slide was a close-up of one of the twelve.
“This is Emelia Antonucci, or as she’s known at the Colony, Sister Mia. She was just like all the others. She had debilitating chronic pain that was untreatable by anything other than morphine. She’s intelligent and educated and had an established career, but she agreed to walk away from her life for the opportunity of purification, which would remove the poison from her and free her from her pain.”
Brad moved to the next slide, and Austin cringed as he always did at this image. In the photo, Brad brandished a whip over an inductee who was strapped over a bench. The cleanse.
“But true believers must be cultivated. I won’t bore you with the psychology behind developing a true believer, but in our case one thing was critically important. We had to convince the subjects that pain is a mental phenomenon they could view as negative or positive. Once they embraced their pain as a pleasurable stimulus—a reward, so to speak—we removed it by genetic modification of their pain genes.”
Stewart jumped in, overexcited as usual. God, he had the maturity of a six-year-old. “But they didn’t know they were getting gene therapy. They believed poison was being removed from their bodies with the help of a mythical figure known as the Father.”
