Altered Genes: Genesis

by Mark Kelly

  “What do you think?” her aunt asked as she tilted the stand-up mirror forward.

  Oh…not too bad after all. The red dot didn't look as silly as she thought it would, but the blue sari trimmed with garish gold thread was another story. It was two sizes too big. I look like I’ve been draped in a giant blue bed sheet.

  As she moved, the gold hoop earrings that hung from her ears glistened in the sunlight. She flipped her long black hair to the side to admire them. The earrings were an arrival gift from her aunt and uncle. I hope they didn’t cost too much.

  She reached over and touched her aunt gently on the arm. "Thank you so much, Tayi.”

  The older woman beamed at her and pulled at the sari’s loose fabric. “It fits perfectly. You look beautiful. Let me get you a purse, the sari has no pockets.”

  As her aunt left, her uncle stepped into the room and spoke. “You look wonderful, but we should go, they'll be waiting for us at the restaurant.”

  She had tried to argue her way out of the dinner, but they had ignored her pleas. Her visit to India was as big an event for them as it was for her.

  “Come, we can’t be late, you’re the guest of honor,” he said, taking her by the arm. She followed him out the front door.

  The suffocating humidity from the late afternoon rain slammed into her like a hot damp blanket. She wrinkled her nose at the unbearable stench that accompanied it.

  “What’s that horrible smell?

  “The garbage dump. They burn it every day. You’ll get used to it.”

  Not likely. It stunk of wet ashes and burning plastic, unlike anything she’d every smelled before. She forced herself to breath through her mouth.

  A flurry of impatient honks came from a red taxi cab.

  “Come, we must hurry before he leaves without us,” her uncle said impatiently. He motioned her and her aunt towards the cab.

  After a short drive on the ring road that surrounded Ahmedabad, they arrived at a nearly empty restaurant to find a handful of guests milling about in the lobby.

  She opened her purse and glanced at her cell phone. They were twenty minutes late. Where is everyone?

  Her uncle saw her and mistook her look for concern. He glanced at his watch and reassured her. “Don’t worry the traffic was light, we're early.”

  She smiled. That's India, twenty minutes late, but still early.

  It didn’t take long for the other guests to arrive and the restaurant filled quickly. Everyone was interested in meeting the young woman from England. A crowd grew around her and she found herself lost in a sea of names she couldn’t remember, overwhelmed by the constant touching. Lightheaded, she gripped the top of a chair with one hand and focused on the elaborately carved backrest to keep from fainting.

  “I don't feel well,” she said with a grimace to her aunt who hovered protectively nearby.

  The older woman extricated her from the crowd and guided her to an empty table where she pulled out a chair and turned it so she could sit.

  “Rest…drink some water.”

  She nodded, afraid to speak, and sat.

  The room began to spin, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. She closed her eyes, but the dizzying sensation got worse. Saliva flooded her mouth.

  I’m going to be sick!

  Panicked by the thought, she placed her hands on the tabletop and pushed herself up. A spasm of pain shot through her stomach. Her knees buckled and she fell forward, hitting her head on the edge of the thick wooden table with a heavy clunk.

  The last thing she saw was the glass of water her aunt had offered, lying broken in pieces on the floor beside her.

  5

  THE AMERICAN

  March 23rd, 12h00 GMT : Beijing, China

  Tao Jiali finished her briefing and stood at attention. The three stars on the sleeve of her uniform signified a rank of importance. She was special, not only the youngest female colonel in the People’s Liberation Army but also the grand-daughter of the elderly man who sat at the end of the table.

  “Questions?” she asked after a deferential pause.

  The ten men who sat around the brightly polished table looked to the elderly man. He wore a plain green tunic and sat below a painting of Mao Zedong. Aside from two Chinese flags on a small pedestal in the middle of the table, the painting was the only decoration in the room.

  “Proceed,” he said with a slight nod and pushed back his chair.

  The generals jumped to their feet and stood at attention as he exited through a private door, flanked by two guards.

  When he was gone and the door firmly closed, the room erupted as they debated the plan the President of the People's Republic of China had just approved.

  Jiali watched them argue over her grandfather’s decision. They were fools—old fools. What had been done was done. Now they all had to deal with the consequences. She collected her papers and placed them neatly in a manila folder before giving the generals one final look and taking her leave.

  “Come along, Captain, we have work to do,” she said as she stepped into the hallway.

  Chen Gong jumped up from his chair and followed her down the corridor. Always running, he thought. It had been like that since her driver had picked him up at the airport. She was his boss now, had been from the moment he handed her the package from London. Even then he knew enough about Colonel Tao Jiali to not argue.

  Some said she was callous, had ice in her veins. Perhaps, he thought, but it ran in her family. Rulers rule, and followers follow.

  “Where are we going, Colonel,” he asked the back of her head.

  “The research facility.”

  He stopped mid-step, his feet rooted to the floor. A brave man in most matters, the thought of visiting the lab made him uneasy. He shook off his apprehension and ran after her.

  A few hours later, they reached their destination, the Shahezhen Army base on the outskirts of Beijing. The car slowed to a crawl as they approached the gate.

  From his position in the back seat, Gong surveyed their surroundings. Bright metal halide lamps on tall masts illuminated the grounds. Security was tight, much more so than the last time he had visited the base. He noted the razor-sharp concertina wire that ran along the top of the electric fence and the armed soldiers positioned every twenty feet.

  There’s more that I don’t see, he thought as two soldiers stepped forward and motioned the driver to halt. If they recognized Colonel Jiali’s car, it didn’t show with their abrupt manner.

  “Identification,” one of them demanded while the other stood watch. Gong noted the soldier watching them had his weapon pointed directly at the car.

  They handed over their identification cards and waited. A few minutes later, their cards were returned and they were waved on with a grunt.

  They drove deeper into the base and stopped in front of a windowless gray concrete building. It looked like a bunker.

  The only entrance Gong could see was a nondescript metal door that opened to a walkway. A pair of surveillance cameras mounted on the wall, panned back and forth.

  “Remain in the car,” Jiali said.

  As she approached the building, the door opened and two soldiers stepped out. One carried a small electronic device, the other, an assault rifle. She stepped towards the soldier with the device and inserted her finger into it. After a moment, she turned towards the car and motioned Gong to advance.

  “Your turn,” she said when he reached her.

  He studied the device, a gray box about the size of two packs of playing cards stacked on top of each other. The small LCD display was lit but showed nothing.

  Fingerprint verification. He inserted his index finger into the opening. The sharp prick came without warning and he yanked his hand from the device.

  The soldier holding the machine scowled while the other stepped back and raised his rifle slightly. Gong held out his hands in a non-threatening manner. “Just surprised, that’s all,” he said with a tight smile.

  “DNA sampl
e,” Jiali explained curtly. “Once you're confirmed, we'll be allowed in.”

  He re-inserted his finger and clenched his teeth as he waited for the inevitable prick. This time, he didn’t flinch. A few seconds later, his named showed on the display and the soldier nodded. He withdrew his finger, expecting to see a drop of blood. There was none.

  The door to the building opened and they went inside. It was large and cavernous, empty except for a small room in the middle. A series of catwalks spanned the ceiling. He looked up to see armed soldiers watching them. Are they there to keep people out or to keep them in, he wondered.

  A man emerged from the inner room and approached them. “Welcome Colonel, Captain. I'm Dr. Zhào. This way please.”

  Their footsteps echoed in the empty space as they followed him across the concrete floor. He swiped an access card through a card reader. The door to the inner room opened with a hiss and a gentle breeze blew across the top of Gong’s head. He rubbed the nape of his neck reflexively.

  “Negative pressure,” Zhào explained, “to keep the lab isolated.”

  Isolated. That one word brought the anxiety he had worked hard to suppress to the surface. He rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants and followed Jiali and Zhào through the door.

  The inner vestibule was brightly lit and constructed of sterile plastic and stainless steel. Lockers lined one wall. Two change-rooms, separated by a floor-to-ceiling barrier, lined the other. Each room had an opaque plastic curtain for privacy.

  Jiali retrieved some articles of clothing from one of the lockers and stepped into a change room. She closed the curtain behind her and Gong looked away as she began to disrobe, but not before catching a brief glimpse of the outline of her body.

  “Get changed, Captain,” she said through the curtain.

  Embarrassed, he quickly stepped away and accepted the white t-shirt and cotton underwear Dr. Zhào handed him. “These should fit you.”

  He raised an eyebrow and looked at the two pieces of clothing. "Where are the rest?"

  “Downstairs,” Zhào said with a smile.

  Downstairs?

  The doctor answered his unasked question by pointing to an elevator at the end of the vestibule. “The lab is six stories below us.”

  Their ride was brief. When the elevator stopped, they stepped out into another room. It was similar to the one above but slightly smaller.

  Bright orange containment suits lined one of the walls and a door, large enough for a single person, was positioned on the other.

  “The lab is on the other side of the airlock,” Zhào explained to him, “but you will need to wear a containment suit.”

  He reached up, carefully pulled one down and handed it to Gong.

  Gong touched the arm of the suit. The material was soft and rubber-like.

  Zhào spoke. “This is a BSL4 clean room. When you put on your containment suit and lock the helmet, you will have a small amount of air available from an internal tank. Once we're inside, you need to connect to the air supply in each room. It is straightforward—take one of the hoses hanging from the ceiling and plug it into the socket on the side of your suit. When it's connected, you'll feel a puff of air and the suit will expand slightly.

  “In the extremely unlikely situation where a tear or breach in your suit occurs, you must immediately enter the nearest decontamination shower. Every room in the facility has one. The showers are airlocks that seal as you enter. They won't unlock until decontamination is complete. They also contain a temporary containment suit that you can put on.

  “Lastly, the suits aren't soundproof but it’s difficult to hear when you’re wearing one. Each suit has a microphone and headset built into the helmet. Above the entrance to each room in the lab, you will see a number. That number is the channel used by the communication system in that room. In the corridor, we use channel zero. To switch from one frequency to another, turn the dial on the suit sleeve. Any questions?”

  Plenty, Gong thought as he watched Jiali take a suit from the rack and step into it with a practiced ease.

  He shook his head.

  “Good, suit up.”

  Twenty minutes later they were all inside the lab. The main corridor was lined with windows that looked into rooms filled with workbenches and scientific equipment. He paused in front of one and watched a scientist removed a rabbit from a wire cage.

  “Virulent Hemorrhagic flu,” Zhào said. He took Gong by the arm and guided him toward an increasingly impatient Colonel Jiali. She waited further down the corridor in front of another door.

  She moved aside when they reached her and Zhào entered a code on the digital keypad. The door opened with a hiss and they stepped into the room. The door closed behind them.

  Jiali and Zhào immediately connected their suits to the hoses that hung from the ceiling. Gong fumbled as he mimicked their steps. When the connector finally sealed, a relieving puff of cool air blew into his suit

  What if it comes loose?

  He decided to not move.

  Zhào and Jiali approached one of the scientists and began to talk. He turned the audio selector dial on his sleeve until he could hear them.

  “—the status?” Jiali asked.

  “The strain has a high mortality rate,” the scientist answered.

  Gong couldn’t see the scientist’s face but he heard the quiver in her voice. He moved closer.

  “How high?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Treatment?” Jiali asked after a long pause.

  Gong watched as she fixed her eyes on the scientist who had spoken.

  “It’s a…It’s a chimera. There are genetic markers from different strains—genes we’ve never seen before…We don’t understand it.”

  “Is there a treatment?” Jiali asked again, more impatient this time. The cold tone in her voice scared him and Gong stared at the scientist, willing her to say yes.

  “We don’t know. Nothing appears to work.”

  “Would the American be of assistance?”

  Zhào and the scientist looked at each other. The scientist gave Jiali a barely perceptible nod.

  She dismissed them with a short wave. “Get back to work. Let me know if anything changes.”

  “Come along, Captain,” she said to Gong as she turned to leave. “You have work to do. I’ll brief you on the way to the airport.”

  He followed her out of the lab, wondering who the American was and what he had to do with the deadly package from London.

  6

  IT’S SOMETHING NEW

  March 23rd, 13h55 GMT : Georgetown University, Washington D.C.

  Professor Tony Simmons stood at the podium and counted the handful of students in the lecture hall. Eighteen, if he included the two guys in the top row, but he wasn't even sure if they were in his class, or asleep and left over from the previous one. He had his answer a few seconds later when they woke and left the hall. Depressed, he looked down at the class list. Sixteen out of thirty-nine. That might just be a new record. Am I that boring?

  Simmons, the youngest Assistant Professor of Biochemistry in Georgetown University’s history, was a world-renowned expert on bacterial genetics but not particularly knowledgeable when it came to sports. He had forgotten that the Hoya’s—Georgetown’s NCAA basketball team—had a pep rally that morning and the entire campus was virtually empty.

  He reached down and pulled a laptop out of his briefcase. “Let’s get started,” he said as he plugged the projector’s cable into the back of his computer. “You won’t have to listen to me drone on today—I have a video for you.”

  A smattering of applause greeted his announcement and he smiled. “I knew you’d like that.”

  He dimmed the lights and fiddled with the computer. A video began to play on the large screen behind him.

  Merlin Pryce followed Alexander Fleming into the room. The two men made their way to a workbench crowded with petri dishes and glassware. A light coating of dust covered those in the furthest co
rner while a handful lay submerged in a tray of Lysol.

  It was September 3rd, 1928.

  In the years to come, Fleming would be elected fellow of the Royal Society and knighted by the Queen of England, but right now, he was just another researcher at St Mary’s Hospital.

  “Was your holiday enjoyable?” Pryce asked Fleming, who had spent the month of August in the countryside.

  “It was, but I’m happy to be back.” He ran a finger across the dust-covered workbench and frowned. “Look at this mess, it will take the entire day to clean up. I’ll tidy the desk, you start with the glassware.”

  Pryce frowned and looked at his pocket watch.

  “Very well…I have two hours before I’m needed in the main wing,” he said and began in the furthest corner of the workbench, scraping the agar and bacterial culture off each petri dish before placing it in the disinfectant.

  The two men worked without talking. Pryce cleaned while Fleming sat at his desk, reading his journals and refreshing his memory on the research he had done prior to summer vacation.

  After an hour, only a handful of petri dishes remained. Pryce grabbed one from the pile, ready to scrub it, but stopped when he noticed the spots of bluish-green mold with no bacterial growth around them. He turned towards Fleming with the petri dish in his hand.

  “Alexander, there's something odd.”

  Fleming looked up. “Bring it here.”

  Pryce placed the dish on the desk next to Fleming’s lab journal. He pointed at the mold.

  “I see it. What's the label?” Fleming asked impatiently.

  “127-A”

  Fleming flipped through his journal until he found the entry. “127-A, Staphylococcus aureus.”

  He slid the petri dish under the microscope that sat on his desk and adjusted the lens while he squinted into the eyepiece. With each turn of the knob, he became more excited.

  “Hmm…there's a halo…as if the bacterial growth was inhibited by the mold.”

  He looked up at Pryce and smiled broadly.