The Hidden Genes of Professor K

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Everything we’ve done so far tells us it does, and this crucial test with the Abramowitz twins’ DNA has shown us exactly why, and how.’

  ‘Congratulations! What an extraordinary result! This is a game changer! A new immunotherapy drug with the power to change the way we treat cancer!’

  ‘Early days, Sir Humphrey … But we’ll soon see,’ said Alexandra trying to curb Sir Humphrey’s enthusiasm.

  ‘Where does that leave Isis?’

  ‘I’m working on it. We have already started extracting her DNA for sequencing. After that, we’ll see.’

  ‘Are you confident?’

  ‘I am. Even at this early stage, I believe the drug is virtually ready to go. Isis may well become our first patient …’

  ‘My God; I hope so!’

  Mexico City: one year later

  Jack looked at his watch. ‘Where’s Isis?’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t we get going?’

  ‘She’s visiting Dolores’ grave …’ said Lola.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘This is a big day for her.’

  ‘Sure. Have you seen the crowd outside?’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it. There must be thousands of fans just in front of the gates. Everything’s ready; we’ll leave in a minute.’

  Isis’ ‘Thank You’ concert in Mexico City – her first since her recovery, and the beginning of her Cristal Skull Tour – had been carefully choreographed for maximum impact. Isis would leave the Gonzales residence with The Time Machine, and be driven to the stadium in a fleet of convertible vintage cars. The procession would enter the stadium one hour before the performance was due to begin, and do a lap of honour while local bands were entertaining the huge crowd lucky enough to have scored tickets to the rock concert of the decade. Isis had invited Jack and Lola to ride with her in her car. They would then join the others waiting at the stadium, and watch the performance in reserved seats right in front of the stage.

  ‘Well, what do you think, guys?’ said Isis, strutting into the room, fussed over by Jean-Paul, her ageing French dress designer. He was doing his best to put the finishing touches to her spectacular costume, and tried desperately to keep up with her. It was the same tight-fitting, Aztec-inspired bodysuit she had worn during the aborted concert a year before, which had ended so abruptly with her dramatic collapse on stage.

  ‘Not bad for someone who just a few months ago looked like a dead man walking,’ joked Jack. ‘Beg your pardon; dead girl walking.’

  ‘Thanks, Jack. You certainly know how to pay compliments.’

  ‘It’s true. Seeing you here like this, is nothing short of a bloody miracle.’

  After analysing Isis’ DNA sequence and interrogating the results, Alexandra had refined the Demexilyn compound to switch on the newly discovered KALM 30 gene and sent it into battle to defeat the Emperor of Darkness that was killing Isis. Jack had taken the drug back to France, and Sir Humphrey arranged to have it administered in a private clinic close to the Kuragin Chateau run by an oncologist he knew well. Almost immediately, the results were spectacularly successful. Not only did the tumours stop growing, but they began to retreat at a breathtaking rate. Twelve months later, Isis was cancer free. After the Gordon Institute had registered appropriate patents to protect the discovery, Alexandra – now a professor – published her findings in Nature, which sent the entire medical fraternity into a tailspin, and drug companies clamouring for part of the action, worth billions.

  Lola walked over to Isis and embraced her. ‘I would kiss you, but I don’t want to destroy your make-up,’ she said, tears in her eyes.

  ‘Thank you, Lola,’ whispered Isis, ‘for everything,’ and kissed Lola ever so gently on the forehead. ‘Come on, guys. Let the show begin!’

  The jubilant crowd lining the route from the home Isis had inherited from her grandmother to the stadium was estimated at two hundred thousand, with more gathered in the side streets. TV cameras positioned strategically at every corner transmitted the spectacle to a worldwide audience of millions.

  Isis’ publicity-machine had done a remarkable job in promoting the event. Dead Girl Walking – The Time Machine’s new album based on material Isis had composed during her recovery – had shot to number one in more than thirty countries. Her biography bearing the same name, and completed by Jack during the same period, was due to be released worldwide at the end of the concert. Bookstores around the world were waiting for the signal to open their doors.

  Tristan sat next to Countess Kuragin in one of the front rows reserved for Isis’ guests. He could barely contain his excitement as he watched the procession of cars pass by a few metres in front of him. The crowd was on its feet, chanting ‘Isis’, and Tristan thought he could see his idol waving to him as her car drove slowly past.

  ‘Did you see her waving?’ said Tristan, pointing to the cars. Sarah, the stunning blonde girl sitting in front him – one of Dr Greenberg’s daughters – nodded and continued to scream. Dr Greenberg had brought his wife and two teenage daughters to the concert to celebrate an extraordinary journey in which he had played a crucial part. However, he was still struggling to come to terms with Isis’ recovery.

  Sir Humphrey looked at Greenberg sitting on his left. ‘A little different from the operating theatre?’ he said.

  ‘Not really,’ replied Greenberg. ‘Excitement; chaos; anticipation. Just like one of my ops.’

  ‘What do you think about that, Professor Delacroix?’ asked Sir Charles.

  ‘Sounds about right. Soon, surgeons like him will be obsolete,’ joked Alexandra, winking at Sir Charles.

  ‘Your wonder-drug will make plastic surgeons out of us all, you think? Facelifts instead of tumour removal?’ said Greenberg.

  ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Greenberg, playing along. ‘I’m ready for a new challenge. I suspect, however, that some of those faces could be quite scary …’

  Isis was going through her breathing exercises backstage, just as she had always done before every concert. Hearing a hundred thousand adoring fans chanting her name outside, wasn’t something she had expected to experience ever again just a few months ago. She had been to the edge of her grave and looked inside, only to be pulled back moments before falling in. This had provided some extraordinary inspiration for Dead Girl Walking – which she had composed as her legacy at the Kuragin Chateau, not expecting to live.

  ‘How do you feel?’ asked Lola, watching Isis doing her squats.

  ‘Exhilarated.’

  ‘Now, remember what Sir Humphrey said …’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. No funny moves.’

  ‘This is resurrection, not genuflection – remember?’

  ‘I get it. I won’t be kneeling in front of the Almighty, begging for admittance – yet,’ joked Isis. ‘Now, tell the boys I’m ready to show the world that Isis is very much alive!’

  As soon as the lights went out and the stadium was plunged into darkness, the excited crowd fell silent. Then suddenly, a lonely drum began to beat, and a beam of light moved slowly across the dark stage until it came to rest on a tall man wearing a spectacular helmet made of feathers, and a long ocelot cloak. ‘Let it begin,’ said the man, his deep voice echoing across the stadium.

  Another man, wearing a striking helmet shaped like the beak of a bird of prey stepped out of the shadows, knelt down in front of him and held up a basket. The tall man lifted the lid, looked inside and smiled. Then he reached into the basket and touched the crystal skull with trembling fingers and, holding it with both hands, lifted it carefully out of the basket. Laser lights projected the amplified image onto large screens set up all around the stadium.

  The crowd gasped.

  Followed by a beam of light and looking like an Aztec god, the tall man turned slowly around and, holding the crystal skull above his head, began the steep climb to the top of a pyramid looming large and ominous behind him in the dark, like a stairway to an angry heaven.

  ‘
I’m glad we came, aren’t you?’ said Carrington to Jana sitting next to him. Jana reached for Carrington’s hand.

  ‘You have to pinch yourself, don’t you? So much has happened, yet here we are. This is real!’ Jana sensed that Carrington would be thinking of another fateful performance a few years ago in Luxor – Aida – which had ended in bloodshed and unspeakable horror; the terrorist attack that had killed his wife and daughter. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Jana, squeezing Carrington’s hand. ‘This is a celebration of life, Marcus.’

  ‘I know. Look!’

  Isis, her eyes closed, was lying on a stone altar on top of the pyramid bathed in green light, and was listening to the lonely drumbeat echoing through the stadium below. Never before had she felt so alive, every passing second a precious gift she had not expected. The tall man reached the top of the pyramid, walked over to the stone altar, knelt down and carefully placed the crystal skull next to Isis’ head. The drumbeat stopped, plunging the packed stadium into sudden silence, the tension in the crowd growing with every heartbeat.

  Then suddenly, out of the darkness, The Time Machine’s guitars screamed into life and began to play ‘Resurrection’, Isis’ signature song. First, Isis slowly lifted her right hand and pointed to heaven. Then she sat up and turned towards the crowd who were now chanting ‘Isis, Isis!’ below her, as laser lights came on, casting lifelike jungle images across the pyramid.

  Unable to resist one of her signature moves, Isis somersaulted off the altar and began to sing.

  During the brief interval, Alexandra felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She was about to turn it off, but changed her mind and answered the call.

  ‘Professor Delacroix?’ said a voice, speaking in an unfamiliar accent.

  ‘Yes …’

  Moments later – looking pale and a little shaken – Alexandra slipped the phone back into her pocket and turned to face Jack sitting next to her.

  ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ said Jack. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘A call from Oslo.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I have just been nominated for the Nobel Prize for Medicine,’ whispered Alexandra, barely able to speak. ‘It’s not right; it belongs to Kasper ...’

  Jack threw his arms around Alexandra. ‘Nonsense!’ he said, ‘it belongs to both of you. Congratulations. Not bad for a French Sheila ...’’

  Before Alexandra could reply, the lights went out and the crowd began to cheer again, celebrating a precious life saved by an inspired idea, and the ingenuity of man.

  ***

  A Future To Look Forward To...

  This book was inspired by, and is dedicated to, the many talented scientists who work at the Garvan Institute of Medical Research, in Sydney. In awe of nature, but not seduced by its beauty, or cowed by its terror, they are always on the lookout for inspired ideas to improve the journey of man.

  To find out more about how the brilliant scientists working at Garvan assisted me in writing the book, may I invite you to view the video below.

  https://youtu.be/Z2MdfHbQag4

  If you would like to learn more about this extraordinary institute, what it stands for, and what it does, please visit the Garvan website at www.garvan.org.au

  Gabriel Farago MA., LL.B.

  Director

  Garvan Research Foundation

  www.garvan.org.au

  Secrets of Professor K: Garvan Mystery Challenge

  Now that you’ve read The Hidden Genes of Professor K, I have a little surprise for you I’m sure you will enjoy. What is it? An invitation!

  I would like to invite you to discover the secrets of Professor K by participating in the exciting 'Garvan Mystery Challenge'. Intrigued? I’m sure you are! Just follow the link below and enjoy the ride!

  https://professork.online

  You’re in for quite an adventure with a few lovely surprises to entertain you along the way.

  Gabriel Farago

  Yes! I would like to help The Garvan Institute of Medical

  Research unlock secrets of our genome

  by making a tax-deductible donation.

  Click here to make a donation

  More Books by the Author

  The Empress Holds the Key

  The Disappearance of Anna Popov

  Professor K: The Final Quest (Coming soon)

  In 2013, I released my first adventure thriller–The Empress Holds the Key.

  The Empress Holds the Key

  A disturbing, edge-of-your-seat historical mystery thriller

  Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 1

  Journalist Jack Rogan knows a great story when he finds one. A charred old photograph found in the ruins of a burnt-out Blue Mountains cottage hints at dark secrets, and he unwittingly reignites an ancient and deadly quest for a holy relic mysteriously erased from the pages of history.

  In pursuit of a suspected Nazi war criminal, Federal Police officer Jana Gonski joins forces with Rogan, barrister and amateur archaeologist Marcus Carrington QC, and celebrated composer Benjamin Krakowski. Together they uncover a murky web of intrigue and greed, hoards of Nazi gold, and hidden Swiss bank accounts. All of these implicate wealthy banker Sir Eric Newman. When Newman goes on trial, unexpected clues are discovered that point the way to a mystery that has haunted the Catholic Church for centuries.

  On a dangerous journey to find the relic, Rogan and his companions trace links back as far as the reign of Akhenaten, the heretic pharaoh of ancient Egypt, and King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. What is this dark secret guarded by the Knights Templar, and so feared by the Vatican? Will religious fanatics foil the quest, which could destroy the very foundations of their Church and challenge Christianity itself?

  Download Free Chapters Here

  The Empress Holds the Key is now available on Amazon at this link

  Amazon US, UK, AUS, CA

  Encouraged by the reception of The Empress Holds the Key, I released my next thriller–The Disappearance of Anna Popov—in 2014.

  The Disappearance of Anna Popov

  A dark, page-turning psychological thriller

  Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 2

  When Jack Rogan, celebrated author and journalist, stumbles on a mysterious clue pointing to the tragic disappearance of two girls from Alice Springs, he can’t resist investigating.

  Rogan is joined by three friends: Rebecca Armstrong, his New York literary agent; Andrew Simpson, a retired Aboriginal police officer; and Cassandra, an enigmatic psychic, as he follows the trail of the missing girls into the remote Dreamtime wilderness of outback Australia.

  Soon past the point of no return, they enter a dark web of superstition and are drawn into the upside-down-world of an outlaw bikie gang where the ruler is an evil master, outcasts are heroes, and cruelty and violence is admired and rewarded.

  Cassandra, though, has a secret agenda of her own. Using her occult powers to avenge an old, deep wrong, she sets the scene for an epic showdown where the stakes are high and the loser faces death and oblivion.

  Will Rogan succeed? Will a desperate mother’s prayers be answered? Will a lost daughter be found? Or will the forces of evil crush all their hopes and dreams?

  Download Free Chapters Here

  The Disappearance of Anna Popov is now available on Amazon at this link

  Amazon US, UK, AUS, CA

  The Jack Rogan Mysteries Box Set is now available on Amazon at this link:

  Amazon US, UK, AUS, CA

  Coming soon:

  Professor K: The Final Quest

  An action-packed historical medical mystery

  Jack Rogan Mysteries Book 4

  Author’s Note

  Istanbul. Sparkling gem on the Bosporus, where East and West collide and Europe meets Asia. I can think of no other metropolis where diverse cultures, religions, and thousands of years of history intersect in such a dramatic way. The name alone conjures up images of bloody conquests, fallen empires, armies marching into battle and stupendous bu
ildings reaching to the heavens, where the muezzin’s haunting call echoes through ancient squares, calling the faithful to prayer.

  Our guide—a Turkish archaeologist—had just taken us through the Topkapi Palace and the Hagia Sophia, one the most awe-inspiring edifices on the planet.

  ‘There’s one more thing you have to see,’ he said, pointing to a beautiful small pavilion next to the basilica. ‘It’s a turbe; a tomb. The tomb of Selim II. What I’m about to show you is a reminder of barbaric times, absolute power, and murder. Not just any murder, but the most horrific mass murder imaginable. It’s a sad part of our history that’s often overlooked and rarely talked about. Even the historians here would like to forget all about it.’

  My curiosity aroused, I took off my shoes and followed the professor inside. Designed by Sinan—the famous Ottoman architect—and built in 1577, the stunning building decorated with colourful Iznik tiles and marble that reflected the bright morning sun, hides a dark secret. Expecting to find the tomb of Selim II, son of Suleiman the Magnificent and sultan of the Ottoman Empire from 1566 until his death in 1574, I was surprised to find many additional graves.

  Silently, we followed our guide along the solemn rows of sarcophagi covered in green cloth, some of them quite small. ‘I can see you are a little confused,’ said our guide. ‘If you think this looks more like a cemetery than a tomb, you are right. It is. As you can see, Selim is not alone. There are many others buried in here with him. That may be curious enough, but who they are, and how and why many of them died, is far more intriguing and will shock you.’ Our guide paused, no doubt to let the tension grow.