by M. G. Harris
“This blue-and-pink thing; that’s the best match the computer program came up with. The most likely of all the millions of structures it tested, to bind to the phoenix protein. That’s why PJ sent me this recording of the experiment. He’s telling me that the DNA he’s given me can be used to make this binding peptide.”
“Look, I can see it’s an interesting find for you and everything. Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff? How can this be worth killing someone over?”
Shrugging, Jackson said, “The way I hear it, life can be very cheap in Mexico. You got these gangsters who’ll kidnap people for a ten thousand peso ransom. Imagine what people would do for a valuable bit of biotechnology. PJ must have had some inkling about what this protein could do, in maize. Maybe it’s the key to some incredibly salt-resistant strain of corn. Imagine what that could be worth to countries with soil salinity problems from salty river deposits?”
“Millions?”
“Billions,” Jackson said. “Well, I’m guessing that I’m PJ’s secret backup. PJ had reason to believe that he was in danger. For some reason he couldn’t trust, or didn’t want to endanger his own research team. So, he passed on the BELTRAN sequence and his key experimental results to me.”
A note of disappointment entered Jackson’s voice. “It’s kind of upsetting to see how far PJ got on this, without saying a word to me about it. He’s way ahead of me. I’ve only just worked out a 3D model for the joust protein. I think PJ would have been prepared to go all the way to publishing this. I always knew he was a competitive bastard! But something scared him off, Marie-Carmen.”
An imperceptible shiver ran through both as they regarded, with wonder, the glowing images on the screen.
“Well, PJ, now you’re dead,” Jackson muttered. “Why didn’t you trust me sooner?”
He picked up his cell phone and checked his voicemail. He listened with astonishment to the long message from his boss’s personal assistant. “This is kind of unexpected,” he told Marie-Carmen, who was opening two bottles of Dos Equis lager. He took a sip from the bottle she offered; the beer was ice-cold and salty. “I’ve just been invited to a meeting in Switzerland with a group of neuroscientists who are working on a joust-like protein in the human brain.”
“And you sound so surprised because . . .?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of anything like joust in the human genome. They must know that I’m working on the structure of the joust protein, because I keep talking about it in scientific conferences. But I’ve searched all the human gene banks and never found anything like joust. Also, get this; it’s not just any group of neuroscientists; it’s Melissa DiCanio’s team.”
“Is she famous?”
“She’s one of those super-successful scientists; a Cambridge University professor, head of one of the best neuroscience research groups in the world, not to mention something pretty major at Chaldexx BioPharmaceuticals. The only thing she’s missing is a Nobel Prize. And from the rumors, it’s just a matter of time before she bags that too.”
Marie-Carmen smiled slowly. “Sounds like you’re keen to meet this famous DiCanio.”
Jackson feigned disinterest. “I don’t even think the meeting is with her. It’s with one of her groups at Chaldexx. Anyway, I already met her, a few years back. Although I doubt she remembers. I was thinking of going to work with her, but in the end I stayed in San Francisco.”
“She’s British?”
“Actually, no. She’s a good ol’ gal from Texas.”
“Beautiful?” asked Marie-Carmen , mischievously.
“Not bad-looking, for her age. I’d guess she’s mid-forties.”
“Some guys like older women.”
“Some guys like all women,” he countered. “DiCanio’s attractive in a WASP-ish, Martha’s Vineyard kind of way.”
“I have no clue what you just said.”
“You wouldn’t think she’s from the American South,” he explained, taking another slug of beer. “She’s like a typical East Coast intellectual. I’m not surprised she left Baylor, in Houston. I’d guess that Cambridge couldn’t believe their luck when they recruited her. After Tripoxan, she could have taken her pick of positions at Harvard, Princeton, Stanford. It must have been quite some package to tempt her.”
“You want to ‘get into bed with her’, don’t you?” Marie-Carmen said with a sly smile.
“What?” Jackson seemed genuinely taken aback.
“Don’t you use that phrase for scientific collaboration? Like in business?”
He laughed. “DiCanio’s name on my papers could not hurt one bit.”
“What’s her big achievement?”
Jackson frowned slightly. “You must have heard of Tripoxan? The wonder-drug?”
“The anti-depressant?”
“It started out as an anti-depressant. But often-times a drug’s secondary effects become more significant. Like Viagra – that was meant to be a drug for hypertension. With Tripoxan, it turned out that there was a significant effect on people with OCD – Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. You know, that thing where people have to do all these rituals or they go nuts with frustration?”
Marie-Carmen said, “The hand-washing thing?”
Jackson nodded, took a second to bite into his cheese taco. “It can be hand-washing, or counting elements of a pattern in a wall, or a carpet, or a floor; each patient chooses their own personal purgatory. Anyway, the existing treatments are all some kind of anti-depressant, like Prozac and stuff. So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when Tripoxan had an effect on OCD. What was really lucky for DiCanio was that not only did Tripoxan have a good effect, but it worked at much lower doses. It had fewer side effects than the existing drugs. Even better, she managed to get a handle on how it works. Which, to be honest, was a big black box as far as it goes for all the other drugs.”
He remembered hearing the news of DiCanio’s discoveries, exactly six months after he’d turned down a chance to work with her. It had been hard to avoid the odd pang of ‘what if?’ Jackson was a victim of this torturous game, like most scientists he knew. He’d been more annoyed with himself that he was letting on, that he hadn’t after all gone to work with DiCanio. This invitation felt like a second chance.
A Second Chance
Marie-Carmen dangled the green beer bottle by the neck, between her thumb and forefinger. She stared at the shiny red-and-silver label, momentarily lost in thought. “OK,” she said, slowly. “Melissa DiCanio discovered Tripoxan, then what?”
“Tripoxan was a big deal, something which could begin to dissect the molecular basis of the brain-mind connection. That’s kind of a holy grail for the neuroscience community.”
“Did it make her rich? Famous? Both?”
“It made DiCanio’s name at the university where she had her first lab. As I remember it, a few years ago she was headhunted to a biotech company in Switzerland; Chaldexx BioPharmaceuticals. Cambridge University offered her a chair, in return for which Chaldexx funded a whole new floor in the Department of Neuroscience and the Chair of Neuroscience.
“By then she was calling the shots. See, her name was on the patent for Tripoxan. DiCanio sold the patent to Chaldexx. She raised around $250 million for the clinical trials; not bad for a new biotech company. They wanted to do all the clinical trials themselves. Huge risk; if the drug hadn’t worked, they’d have been in deep, deep shit. It’s pretty common too, for a young company to blow that kind of cash on a drug candidate, only to have it tank. It was a long shot. For once, it paid off.”
Marie-Carmen shook her head in wonder. “Wow. This kind of thing doesn’t really happen in the world of archaeology.”
“Are you kidding? You guys discover lost cities and ancient scrolls!”
“I was talking about the money side of things. No-one’s getting rich out of archaeology. At least not legitimately. For that you have to get into the illegal antiquities trade.”
“Oh, lucrative?”
Marie-Carmen shook her head
, wrinkling her nose. “They make for scary company, the customers for that kind of business. Jackson, when’s this meeting? And where, exactly?”
“Two days from now, in Interlaken, Switzerland. That’s the headquarters of Chaldexx. Actually, they were supposed to be meeting PJ. PJ was also collaborating with Chaldexx, something to do with the three-dimensional structure of phoenix. DiCanio got word that PJ’s been murdered. She called my boss to ask if he had someone who could take over the seminar slot.”
“The show must go on,” Marie-Carmen remarked, sadly.
“Hey, it’s a listed company. Don’t expect sentiment.”
“I guess.”
“So anyway, the meeting is two days from now.”
Marie-Carmen looked askance. “Two days? How are you going to get out of here in time? You can’t risk the airport; the Ford Explorer guys found you there in the first place; they’re sure to be watching the flight departures.”
Jackson hadn’t even thought of that. “Jeez, you’re right! And if they really are connected to Customs . . .” He stood, took a couple of paces around the room. “I’m gonna make a couple of calls, OK?”
He disappeared into the kitchen, where Marie-Carmen heard an occasional excited exchange as he discussed, first with his own lab, then someone from Chaldexx, the arrangements for his transport. Five minutes later he emerged, grinning with satisfaction.
“No problemo. It’s all fixed; they have someone flying the private jet from Chetumal tomorrow; they’ll swing over to in Mexico City, pick me up around 8am in the airport and take it from there.”
Marie-Carmen frowned. “Chetumal? What is their private jet doing in Chetumal?”
“I don’t know, is there something wrong with that?”
“It’s kind of a nowhere town.”
“Where is Chetumal?”
“Right at the south of Quintana Roo state. The same state as Cancun,” she said, when Jackson merely looked at her blankly.
“Maybe someone went to the beach?”
“Not in Chetumal.”
“You think it sounds weird?”
Marie-Carmen hesitated. “Not necessarily. I just can’t think of a good reason for a biotech company to be dropping in.”
“You want me to ask them?”
“Yes. Maybe. Oh, wait. It could be the Si’an Ka’an bioreserve, just north of Chetumal. Maybe they’re doing some research there.”
“I guess that’s it. So, you think I should go?”
“It gets you away from the guys in the Ford Explorer. Also, the police.”
“You mean the Customs guys?”
“No.” Marie-Carmen lowered her eyes. “I didn’t want to mention it. But the murder of my cousin is getting some coverage in the papers. The police are looking for you.”
Jackson gaped. This was a total curve ball. When he recovered his breath he said, “Unreal.”
“Do you think your friends at Chaldexx can get you out of the country on a false passport? Because that’s probably what it’s going to take.”
“What the fuck! Am I a suspect?”
“I don’t think so, not yet. But they’ve found out that you were meeting PJ. They know you’re in the country.”
“I guess they’ve spoken to PJ’s lab.” Jackson thought of Simon Reyes. The poor kid was almost certainly dead. When they found his body, things would turn very nasty indeed for Jackson. Chaldexx would probably want to wash their hands of him.
“Jackson . . . I think maybe you should leave right away.” She stared at him with an intensity that made him catch his breath.
“I guess I have to.” He hesitated. “Is it OK if I take a shower? I should probably leave, like around six tomorrow morning. If I’m gonna get to the airport.”
“Make yourself at home.” Marie-Carmen leaned back on her elbows and gave him a long, appraising look. Jackson held her gaze for a moment and then turned away, confused.
Was it possible that she was flirting with him, that he’d missed her cues all evening?
He thought back over their conversation as he made his way to the bathroom. He stared with hostility at his reflection in the mirror. Some things – like women and his family – should be more important than work. Intellectually, he knew that. Why did he keep remembering when it was already too late?
When he emerged from the shower dressed in jersey boxer shorts and a T-shirt, Marie-Carmen was sitting on the sofa. It was obvious that she wanted to talk.
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that this invitation should come out of the blue?”
“Yeah. I already said it was unexpected.”
“I mean, with all that’s going on here. In case you’ve forgotten, people are looking for you, with a view to ending your life. Now it seems likely that in a few hours if not already, you’re going to be a suspect in a murder case.”
Darkly he added, “Or two. Yes, I have been thinking about that. But what choice do I have?”
Marie-Carmen appeared unconvinced. “Something feels wrong about this. Believe me. Call it a woman’s intuition, if you have to be macho about it.”
He was both touched and disturbed by her unease. His own instincts were also sounding a quietly insistent note of caution; at this stage he was putting it down to paranoia.
Maybe she’s as disappointed as me that I have to leave?
Marie-Carmen disappeared into her bedroom for a moment. When she returned, she presented him with a small, black-and-orange sports bag. “You should pack.”
“It’ll take me all of five minutes.” He watched as she departed, into her bedroom, shutting the door. And although he desperately wanted to say something before the moment passed, he couldn’t. “Bennett,” he muttered, “you dumb fuck.”
Jackson was packed and already making up the sofa bed when he heard Marie-Carmen's bedroom door open. He stood up straight as she entered the room. She stopped by the door. She was dressed for bed, in red, plaid shorts and a white camisole top.
“You arrived so unexpectedly; now it seems you have to leave just the same way.”
There was no doubt. Her was voice tinged with regret. Jackson knew that this was his final chance. “If you asked me to stay, I’d stay.”
To his relief, Marie-Carmen displayed no surprise, saying only “But I know you have to go to this meeting. This is your big opportunity. The private jets leave from a different part of the airport, if you’re worried that those guys are still looking for you.”
“Even so, Marie-Carmen; if you asked me . . .”
She interrupted, speaking very softly. “How about if I just asked you to spend the night . . . with me?”
Jackson swallowed, once. In that instant he felt the dull ache in his leg vanish. His eyes lowered slowly, from the secretive smile that touched Marie-Carmen’s mouth, down to her shoulders, then to the clinging fabric of her camisole which revealed the shape of her breasts. Quite suddenly he forgot how to breathe.
Unsteadily, he walked over to the door, took her hands in his. “I was afraid you’d never ask.”
Eventually, they moved to the bedroom. Marie-Carmen was the first to relax into sleep. Her fingers curled provocatively near his hip. Jackson pulled away, watching her.
He was dazed, bewildered by the unexpected release. A peculiar combination of feelings assailed him. It would be so easy to seriously fall for this woman. But the heady delirium of that sensation was almost swamped by a new fear.
What if, because of him, Marie-Carmen was now in danger? How could he protect her?
IP Traced
As the night wore on, Jackson lay restless. Until only hours ago his thoughts of Marie-Carmen were a barely coherent mixture of respect, gratitude, lust. But these had crystallized into a recognizable bombardment of feelings; feelings he hadn’t felt for many months, hadn’t thought he’d feel again since his last serious girlfriend had thrown him aside in favor of his more-successful, former best friend. It was a memory he tried very hard to suppress.
Although devastated, Ja
ckson had tried to move on. He’d had hated what it had done to him, the time it had taken out of his personal and professional life. It was as though a shard of ice had become lodged inside him and instead of melting, was freezing him from within.
Marie-Carmen had done more in one hour to erase that memory than he’d managed in almost a year. He turned to look at her as she lay peacefully beside him and felt a pang of longing. For the briefest moment, a terrifying clarity overtook him: he very badly didn’t want it to be over with Marie-Carmen.
Jackson made his decision quite suddenly. He checked his watch; it was early morning in England. There was still time to change his plans with Chaldexx. He would email them right now so that they received the message first thing.
Stealthily, he maneuvered out of the bed to avoid disturbing her and went directly to her computer. On top of the desktop, the browser was still open at Google.
He pasted some text into Google’s search box, assuming it was still the text containing DiCanio’s name which he’d used to investigate her before. But evidently, Marie-Carmen had been looking over the sequence code again, because what he pasted in was in fact the amino acid code for Pedro Juan’s peptide – the BELTRAN sequence.
Although he had searched across all manner of databases, Jackson realized that he had not actually searched for the occurrence of the sequence openly available on the Web.
Google returned just one result: a website which encompassed the entire amino acid sequence – and nothing else – into the domain name:
www.agylihrppreikgr.com
With a sense of disbelief, Jackson clicked on the link. The browser window went instantly black and then a smooth transition as a Flash animation began to play. A low sound crackled through the speakers. The hairs on his neck prickled. A series of strange, flame-colored hieroglyphs began to appear. The sound grew louder and more ominous, until it was a steady humming buzz – almost white noise but with an unsettling quality; that of a crowd, whispering.
A box resembling a chat window appeared. A series of numbers flashed past, beneath the box. Jackson watched for a few seconds. The sequence was counting down. In the white space for text, a cursor flashed, invitingly.
