Altered Genes: Genesis

by Mark Kelly

  “Edward Gore speaking, please leave a message at the tone”

  Surprised, he grabbed the phone. “Edward, hello this is Tony Simmons. I don't know what's going on over there but give me a call please, thanks.”

  “Who’s Edward?” Emma asked after he’d hung up.

  “A researcher at the Cambridge Institute in the UK. I’ve been trying to reach him, but he’s not in the office.”

  But maybe someone else from the Institute is? He jumped to his feet and rushed to the large bookshelf that filled one wall. He pulled down his copy of the proceedings from the infectious disease symposium in Budapest and ran back to his desk with it.

  He flipped through the pages until he found Gore's name. Below it was the name of one of Gore’s colleagues. He called the number beside it. With each ring, he grew more anxious.

  “Owen Albertson, speaking.”

  “Hello, this is Tony Simmons at Georgetown University. I've been working with Edward Gore on a research project. I haven't been able to reach him, is he in the office today?”

  Albertson didn’t speak immediately.

  He was about to repeat himself when the other man finally spoke.

  “No…I’m sorry. Didn’t you hear?” he said in an uneasy voice. “I have dreadful news…Edward is dead.”

  Simmons felt his chest tightened. “H-h-how?”

  “A car accident. Horrible really—the road conditions were good, he must have fallen asleep.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, of course. It was on the telly. I’m so sorry.”

  “Was anyone else hurt?” Simmons asked, remembering the strange voices and argument from the night before.”

  “No, just Edward. He was on his way home from work. He’d been in the lab all night and must have been exhausted.”

  Edward Gore—dead. It didn’t make any sense.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said to Albertson. ”It’s very sad news.”

  He disconnected the call and placed his phone on top of the conference proceedings.

  “Professor Simmons, what’s wrong?” Emma asked.

  Before he could answer, a series of knocks sounded and an older woman’s voice came through his office door.

  “Professor Simmons...Professors Simmons, are you there?" It was Mary, the department’s secretary.

  Probably looking for my monthly status report. Thompson must have sent her. What a pain in the ass that man was.

  Annoyed, he stood and walked to the door, prepared to tell her he didn’t have it.

  He heard her speak to someone. “He often works from home if he doesn’t have a lecture to teach—Professor Simmons are you there?”

  He stopped and listened.

  “I told you, it’s important that we talk to him,” a man said in pushy voice.

  “About what?” Mary asked.

  A second man spoke. “None of your business, Do you have a key to his office?”

  “No, I’m sorry I do not,” Mary replied in a prissy voice.

  Simmons smiled. He’d been on the receiving end of that voice himself.

  “Some of the professors are very peculiar about that type of thing,” she continued. “Building maintenance has keys—would you like me to tell them you’re coming?”

  “Yes—And his home address, do you have it?”

  “Of course, but it will take me a while to find it.”

  Simmons smiled again. Next to Mei, Mary was the most organized person he had ever met. Everything was always at her fingertips.

  He listened as their footsteps faded down the hallway.

  “Who was that, Professor Simmons?” Emma asked, her eyes wide.

  “I don’t know, but I can’t stay here…and I can’t go home. I need somewhere to think.”

  12

  ARRIVAL

  March 26th, 15h45 GMT : Washington Dulles Airport

  Chen Gong stood in the immigration line at Washington's Dulles airport passing his counterfeit documents from one hand to the other. He wasn’t nervous so much as anxious to find his target and get the job done.

  "You must be a ghost," Colonel Jiali had told him before he left China. “Invisible to the Americans. Once you've found and secured the Professor, an extraction team will be sent to retrieve you both.”

  He knew that if the scientists were unable to stop the bacteria from spreading, the government would implement Colonel Jiali’s plan. Entire cities would be quarantined. Tens of millions would die—possibly his daughter.

  The line moved forward. He stepped towards an open immigration station. The agent, an older man in his fifties looked down from his perch, a slight frown on his face. Gong placed his passport and forms on the counter.

  “How long are you staying in the United States?" the agent asked brusquely as he flipped through Gong’s passport.

  "Just one week.”

  He slid Gong’s passport through a reader. “When were you last in the USA?”

  “In March.”

  Gong had never been to the United States, but his passport had and he knew that information was displayed on the agent’s screen.

  “Purpose of your visit?” the agent asked with a scowl.

  “I am looking into a boarding school for my daughter.”

  The agent stared at him. “What school?”

  “St. Timothy’s”

  The game of cat and mouse continued. With each successive question, the agent's tone grew more derisive. Gong kept his cool, his cover was perfect. It was more than just a set of documents, it was an entire existence painstakingly crafted by the experts at the Ministry of State Security.

  “What’s your daughter’s name?”

  "Chao-xing.”

  "How old?"

  "Fifteen."

  The agent smirked as if he had caught Gong in a lie. “A little young to be away from home, isn’t she?”

  Tired of the game, Gong decided to try a different tactic. "Yes, she is a little young,” he answered in a fawning voice, “but USA schools are the best…best schools in the world. So much better than China’s. My wife is very worried. She thinks our daughter is too young—“

  The agent held up his hand to silence Gong. “Enjoy your visit.” He stamped the paperwork and handed it back to him.

  Gong smiled and headed towards the baggage claim. So predictable.

  He still had to locate the American, but first he needed to collect his weapon. Thanks to a contact at the embassy, he’d find a gun hidden in a locker at the National Air and Space Museum. It was a short ride away from the airport. From there he would go to the university.

  A little over ninety minutes later, he reached Georgetown University. The backpack from the museum locker was in the trunk of his rental car. He didn’t know if he would find the American in his office at Regent's Hall, but it was a good first stop.

  The campus was brimming with students enjoying the abnormally warm spring day. Even with his mind focused on the mission, Gong appreciated the beauty of the light pink cherry blossoms.

  He had seen them once before at Yuyuantan Park in Beijing when his daughter, Chao-xing, was five. He had taken her to the park on her birthday. They’d eaten ice cream as they walked along the water. It was a good day, he remembered fondly. For her sake and the sake of the people of China, the mission must be a success.

  As he approached Regent's Hall, he found a small crowd blocked his path to the building. "What’s going on?” he asked a student who brushed by him.

  "Campus security closed the building. They're stopping everyone and checking ID,” the kid said excitedly.

  Gong thanked him and casually moved the backpack from his shoulders to his hand. It contained his gun, a Glock 19 with a fifteen-round clip, a vial of Etorphine, and a syringe. The Etorphine, a powerful opioid, would knock the American out. The gun was just in case.

  He scanned the grounds and debated his options. The police who stood at the doors were only searching people entering and exiting the building. He didn'
t know if Simmons was inside or not, but the professor would probably go home at some point. He decided to drive there and wait.

  On the way back to his car, he spotted a man and a woman scurrying down one of the many paths that wove through the campus. They walked as if they were running from something.

  He caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Fortune has smiled on me today. It was Simmons. He recognized the American from the photographs he had studied.

  He didn't know what they were running from but guessed it had something to do with the police. He followed them off campus and down an empty residential street. He watched the woman fish a key out of her pocket and open the door to a small two-story house. When they disappeared inside, he looked around for somewhere to wait. The restaurant on the corner offered the best vantage point. He crossed the street to it.

  March 26th, 18h40 GMT : 31st Street, Washington D.C.

  Simmons stood at the window with his back to the wall and watched the man cross the street.

  "I'm pretty sure that Asian guy was following us,” he said to Emma as she walked out of the kitchen with a glass of water in her hand.

  Unsure who he was talking about, she walked to the window and yanked the curtains open.

  "Get back…he’ll see you,” Simmons hissed. He frantically motioned her away.

  She dropped to her knees with the glass in her hand and crawled away on all fours. Water splashed on the floor. When she was well away from the window, she climbed back to her feet and looked at the spilled water. “Geez, Professor Simmons, you startled me,” she said with a frown.

  He ignored her and peered out the window. He closed the curtains and looked at the mess on the floor. “Sorry about that. I’m positive he followed us from the university.”

  She gave him a doubting look.

  “I’m certain of it,” he said defensively.

  “What’s he doing now?” she asked

  He stole a glance out the window. “He just went into the Italian restaurant on the corner.”

  "Maybe, he was just hungry.”

  He rolled his eyes. "Yeah…with a craving for pasta—I don’t think so. I saw him when we left the campus and then again when we turned onto your street. I’m certain of it. He was following us.”

  “Hmm…okay, if you say so,” she said skeptically.

  He left his spot by the side of the window and took a seat on her couch. “By the way, thank you. I won’t stay long. I don’t know who was trying to find me but Mary didn’t appear too fond of them. She’s a pretty good judge of character. I’ll give her a call later and see who it was.”

  Emma smiled at him. “No problem, Professor Simmons. You can stay as long as you need to.” She walked to the kitchen and returned with a roll of paper towels to wipe up the mess.

  “Do you want a hand?”

  “Nah, I’m fine. The floor needed to be cleaned anyway. It was pretty dirty.”

  He couldn’t tell if she was serious or not and decided to let it be. “Okay, where's your remote?”

  She pointed at the coffee table in front of him.

  He turned the television on and flipped through the channels until he saw the familiar yellow and black 'breaking news' logo.

  The anchor, an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, spoke with a sense of urgency and an exaggerated lilt. “Good afternoon, British health authorities have confirmed today that an outbreak of infectious bacteria has closed three hospitals in Glasgow and one in London. Authorities are reassuring the public that there is no danger.

  Our own medical correspondent, Dr. Sally Mason, is reporting from Glasgow. ‘Good evening, Sally—“

  ”Professor Simmons, are they talking about the bacteria?”

  “Shhhh…” He motioned to her to be quiet as the television picture switched to a woman standing outside a building that had been cordoned off with yellow tape. A line of police officers in neon green jackets stood behind her.

  “Thank you, Becky,” the woman on the screen said to the now unseen anchor. “I’m standing outside of BurnsHouse General Hospital. It’s one of the four hospitals that NHS authorities closed today due to an outbreak of Clostridium difficile bacteria. C. diff, as it is sometimes called, is a common bacterium that causes mild to severe diarrhea.

  “It is the most frequent cause of infectious diarrhea in hospitals and long-term care facilities. In 2008, an outbreak at this very same hospital resulted in thirty-four deaths and nearly caused the collapse of the ruling Labour party. That same party is in crisis today, clearly their efforts to improve the National Health Service have failed.”

  The television picture split in half. The correspondent was on the right. The anchor on the left.

  “Are we in any danger here in the United States?” the anchor asked. “What about the recent outbreak at Bellevue Hospital in New York?”

  The medical correspondent pursed her lips and nodded with faux gravity. “I wasn’t able to reach officials at Bellevue but contacts at the CDC have assured me the situation in New York is unrelated and contained.”

  The anchor beamed brightly into the camera. “Well, that’s certainly good news. Is there any advice you would give our viewers?”

  “Wash your hands, just like your mother always—“

  Simmons flipped the television off in disgust. Emma was standing beside him, a puzzled look on her face.

  “They don’t seem very worried, Professor Simmons. How come?”

  “They don’t know the entire story.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “I imagine both governments are keeping things under wraps. They don’t want people to panic.”

  “Should we?” She looked worried.

  He took a long breath and exhaled. “Not yet, but I’m concerned. From what I saw on the CDC website, this is extremely serious. It’s just a matter of time before there are more cases.”

  “How does it spread?”

  Such a simple question with such a long answer.

  He decided to try and explain.

  “It starts with the spores. Think of them as little seeds that are hard to kill and easily spread. When the bacteria is stressed because its environment isn’t hospitable enough, it creates spores. Conversely, when the spores find a fertile environment—in this case, a nice shiny large intestine, they germinate and create bacteria which then reproduce like crazy.

  “Don’t worry about the math but here’s a simple example. If each infected person, infects one person every day. On the first day, one person is infected. On the second day, two people are infected—the first person and the new one. On the third day, four people are infected. On the fourth day, eight people…and so on. The number of infected people gets large fairly quickly.”

  She didn’t appear to be impressed by the numbers.

  “Think about it like this, if I change the infection rate so each infected person infects five new people per day, on the fifth day more than twelve hundred people would be infected—and so on. It grows exponentially. That’s what happens. Once an outbreak starts, it builds momentum until something stops it…thousands, even millions of people can become infected in a relatively short period.”

  “What can stop it?” she asked.

  “Drugs—antibiotics, if it’s a bacteria. Antivirals, if it’s a virus. A mutation that somehow limits its ability to spread might also stop it.”

  “Anything else?”

  He frowned. “Death—if there aren’t any more hosts to infect, that would stop it.”

  The scared look on her face told him she got his point.

  He reached into his pocket for his phone. “I’m going to try Mei again.” The display was dark. “Damn, my battery is dead. Do you have a charger?”

  She looked at his phone. “Not for that type of phone. It looks pretty old. Maybe you should get a new one.”

  Sure, but not right now. “Can I borrow yours?”

  She handed it to him. He dialed Mei’s number from memory, surprised he still remembered it.


  Nothing. The call didn’t even connect. Damn it.

  “No luck?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why don’t you try sending her an email?”

  “I don’t know her address.”

  “I’ll bet it’s on the hospital’s website.”

  She was right and five minutes later showed him how to send an email from her phone. “Why don’t you give her my phone number. If she gets the email while you’re still here, she can call.” He added her phone number at the bottom of the email.

  He was about to press send when he stopped and scrolled to the bottom of the message and typed:

  Please be careful. Miss you—love, Tony.

  His finger hovered over the delete key. Love was too strong. He deleted it.

  Please be careful. Miss you—xoxo, Tony.

  He pressed send before he got cold feet and handed the phone back to Emma.

  “What are you going to do now, Professor Simmons?”

  “Call Mary at the university.” He held his hand out and chuckled. “Can I borrow your phone again?”

  She rolled her eyes and handed it back to him. “I’ll get the charger. Somehow I think you’re going to use up all my battery.”

  13

  SURPRISE

  March 26th, 20h25 GMT : 31st Street, Washington D.C.

  Gong entered the restaurant, a small Italian bistro, and looked around. It seated about forty people and was half-full. A table by the window was empty. He asked to be seated at it.

  “Go right ahead,” the woman who stood by the cash replied. “Theresa’s your server. She’ll be right with you.”

  He thanked her and placed his backpack under the table before sitting with his back to the wall. If he leaned all the way to the right, he had a clear view down the street to the house the Professor had entered.

  A television, its volume turned off, was perched high in the corner of two walls. He stole a quick glance at it. He could tell from the text that scrolled across the bottom of the screen the news anchor was talking about the infections in the United Kingdom.