The Atlantis Gene: A Thriller (The Origin Mystery, Book 1)

by A. G. Riddle

  “I’ll survey the local talent.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  She wandered out of the room without a word.

  Dorian turned to the nervous scientist who had been lurking, following, almost stalking him since he had arrived.

  “Dr. Chang?”

  The man stepped forward. “Yes sir.”

  “What am I looking at here?”

  “That’s the third cohort. We’re working as fast as we can, Mr. Sloane.” When Dorian said nothing, Chang continued. “Will, ah, Dr. Grey be joining us?”

  “No. You’ll communicate with me about this project from here out. Understood?”

  “Ah, yes sir. Is… there—”

  “Dr. Grey is working on a new project. I’d like you to bring me up to speed.”

  Chang opened his mouth to speak.

  “And be brief.” Dorian stared at him impatiently.

  “Of course sir.” Chang rubbed his palms together as if he were warming them by a campfire. “Well, as you know, the project dates back to the 1930s, but we’ve only really made substantial progress in the last few years — and it’s all thanks to a few breakthroughs in genetics, in particular rapid genome sequencing.”

  “I thought they already sequenced the human genome — in the 90s.”

  “Ah, that’s inco—, ah, a misnomer, if you will. There is no one human genome. The first human genome was sequenced in the 90s, and the draft sequence was published in February of 2001 — ah, that was the genome of Dr. Craig Venter. But we each have a genome and each is different. That’s part of the challenge.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Yes, sorry, I don’t often talk about the project.” He chuckled nervously, “Ah, for obvious reasons! And especially not to anyone in your position. Yes, where to start? Maybe a little history. Ah, the 1930s — the research then was… radical, but yielded some interesting results, despite the methods.” Chang looked around, as if wondering if he had offended Dorian. “Ah, well, we spent decades studying what the Bell actually does to its victims. As you know it’s a form of radiation that we don’t fully understand, but the effects are—”

  “Don’t lecture me about its effects, Doctor. No one on this earth knows more about what it does than I do. Tell me what you know. And be quick.”

  Chang looked down. He made several fists with his hands and then tried to dry them on his pants. “Of course you know, I only meant to contrast our past research with.. Yes, today, genetics, we sequence… We… The… breakthrough has been turning the research on its head — instead of studying the effects of the device, we’ve focused on finding a way to survive the machine. We’ve known since the 30s that some subjects fare better than others, but since they all die eventually—” Chang looked up to see Dorian leering at him. The doctor ducked his head and plowed on. “We, our theory is that if we can isolate the genes that impart immunity to the machine, we can develop a gene therapy to protect us from its effects. We would use a retrovirus to deliver this gene, what we’re calling ‘The Atlantis Gene.’”

  “So why haven’t you found it?”

  “We thought we were close a few years ago, but no one person seems to have full immunity. Our premise, as you know, was that there was a group of humans that could have withstood the machine at some point and that their DNA has been scattered across the earth — essentially we were on a global genetic egg hunt. But frankly, after as many experiments as we’ve run, given our sample size, we were beginning to believe that the Atlantis Gene didn’t exist — that it never existed in humans.”

  Dorian held his hand up and the doctor stopped to catch his breath. If what the doctor said was true, it would require a re-examination of everything they believed. And it would vindicate his methods. Or at least come close. But could it be? There were a few problems. “How did the children survive?” Dorian said.

  “Unfortunately we don’t know. We aren’t even sure what they were treated with—”

  “I know that. Tell me what you know.”

  “We know that the therapy they received was something cutting edge. Possibly something so new we don’t have anything to compare it to. But we have some theories. There’s been another recent breakthrough in genetics — what we call Epigenetics — the idea is that our genome is less like a static blueprint and more like a piano. The piano keys represent the genome. We each get different keys, and the keys don’t change throughout our life — we die with the same piano keys — or genome — we’re born with. What changes is the sheet music — the epigenetics — and that sheet of music determines what tune is played — what genes are expressed and those genes determine our traits — everything from IQ to hair color. The idea is that this complex interaction between our genome and the epigenetics that control gene expression really determines who we become. What’s interesting is that we have a hand in writing the music, in controlling our own epigenetics. And so do our parents and even our environment. If a certain gene is expressed in your parents and grandparents, it’s more likely to activate in you. Essentially our actions, those of our parents, and our environment influence what genes could be activated. Our genes might control the possibilities, but epigenitics determines our destiny. It’s an incredible breakthrough. We’ve known something more than pure static genetics was at work for some time. Our twin studies in the 30s and 40s told us that — some twins survived longer in the machine than others, despite having almost exactly the same genome. Epigenetics is the missing link.”

  “What does this have to do with the kids?”

  “My personal theory is that some new kind of therapy inserted new genes into the kids and that those genes had some sort of cascade effect, possibly operating at the Epigenetic level as well. We think surviving the Bell is a matter of having the right genes and turning this ‘Atlantis Gene’ on — that’s the key. It’s strange, the therapy operated almost like a mutation “

  “Mutation?”

  “Yes, a mutation is simply a random change in the genetic code, a genetic dice roll if you will — sometimes it pays off big, imparting a new evolutionary advantage and sometimes… you get six fingers or four! But this one provided immunity to the Bell. It’s so fascinating. I wonder if I could speak with Dr. Warner. It would be incredibly helpf—”

  “Forget Dr. Warner.” Dorian rubbed his temple. Genetics, Epigenetics, mutations. It all added up to the same thing: failed research, no viable therapy for immunity to the Bell, and no time left on the clock. “How many subjects can your bell room hold?”

  “Ah, we usually limit each trial to 50 subjects, but maybe 100, maybe a little more if we pack them in.”

  Dorian gazed at the monitors. A cadre of white-coat-clad egg heads were corralling a new cohort of subjects into the lounge chairs, then hooking them up to clear plastic bags of death. “How long does it take to run?”

  “Not long. Five or ten minutes is about as long as any subject goes.”

  “Five or ten minutes.” His voice was just above a whisper. He leaned back in the chair, turning the idea over in his mind. Then he stood and took a step toward the door. “Start processing all your remaining subjects through the Bell — as quickly as you can.” Dr. Chang stepped forward to protest, but Dorian was already halfway out the door. “Oh, and remember, don’t destroy the bodies. We need them. I’ll be in the nuclear section, Doctor.”

  CHAPTER 51

  Immari Corp. Train

  Outside Burang, China

  Tibet Autonomous Region

  Kate sat in silence, watching the green countryside fly by at 90 miles an hour. Across from her, David shifted a little on his side of the closed train compartment. How could he sleep at a time like this? He would have a crick in his neck from sleeping like that. Kate leaned forward and nudged his head a little.

  Even if her nerves weren’t going crazy, Kate’s legs hurt too much to sleep. David’s brisk pace on their hike from the plane’s “landing site” to the train station had taken its toll. And
so had the sprint inside, to the bank of lockers and #44, which had been their salvation.

  Inside the locker they found two outfits — a security outfit for David and a white coat for Kate. There were ID badges too — Kate was now Dr. Emma West, research associate in ‘Bell Primary - Genetics Division,’ whatever that was. David was Conner Anderson. The pictures on the IDs didn’t match, but they only had to run them through a swipe machine, like a subway or credit card reader, to get on the 10:45 train — apparently the last train of the morning.

  As they boarded the train, Kate had turned to David and said, “What now? What’s the plan?” David turned her back around and said, “Don’t talk, they could be listening. Follow the plan.”

  “The Plan” wasn’t much of one — her goal was to find the children and get back on the train. David would take out the power and join her. It wasn’t even half a plan. They would probably be caught before they got off the train. And he was sleeping.

  But… he probably hadn’t slept much the night before. Had he stayed up to see if the men searching the cottage would find the entrance to the bomb shelter? How long had he laid on that concrete floor? And then the three hour flight in that vibrating antique death trap of a plane. Kate wadded up some of the clothes from her bag and put them between his face and the wall.

  Another thirty minutes passed, and Kate felt the train slowing. In the corridor, people were making a line.

  David grabbed Kate’s arm. When had he woken up? Kate looked at him, panic creeping into her face.

  “Stay calm,” he said. “Remember, you work here. You’re taking the kids for a test. Director’s orders.”

  “What director?” Kate hissed.

  “If they ask that, tell them it’s above their pay grade and keep walking.”

  Kate tried to ask another question, but David yanked the compartment door open and shoved Kate into the moving line. By the time she looked back, he was several people behind her and moving the other way — putting distance between them. She was alone. She whipped her head back around and swallowed a few times. She could do this.

  She moved with the flow of people, trying to act casual. The workers were mostly Asian, but there were quite a few Europeans, possibly Americans. She was a minority, but she didn’t stick out too much. There were several entrances to the giant facility, each with three lines. She spotted the entrance with the most white coats and drifted over to it. She stood in line, waiting to swipe her card, trying to get a glimpse of the badges around her. ‘Bell Auxiliary - Primate Housing.’ She looked in the line beside her. ‘Bell Control — Maintenance and Housekeeping.’ What was she? Bell something. It had genetics in it. She had the overwhelming fear that if she glanced down at her fake badge that someone would point at her and scream “Impostor! Get her!”, like a playground kid calling you out for peeing in your pants.

  Up ahead white coats were marching forward, scanning their badges like automatons. The line was moving quickly — just like the train station. She now saw something else —six armed guards. Three were spread out, one stationed at each line, scrutinizing every face. The other three loitered behind a chain-link fence, drinking coffee and talking quickly, horsing around with each other like officemates the day after the super bowl. Each man had an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder as casually as if it were a messenger bag with inner-office memos.

  She had to focus. The badge. Kate slipped her card out and sneaked a peak — ‘Bell Primary - Genetics Division.’ In the line beside her, she saw a tall blond man, 40ish, holding a card with the same division. He was several people behind her. She would have to wait for him to get through, then follow him.

  “Ma’am—”

  They were talking to her!

  “Ma’am.” The guard pointed to the wide post with the magnetic card reader at the top. Beside her people were swiping and hurrying past.

  Kate fought to steady her hand as she ripped her card across the slot. A different beep. A red light.

  Beside her two more people swiped. Green lights, no beep, they were off.

  The guard cocked his head and took a step toward her.

  Her hands were shaking visibly now. Act casual. She got the card in the slot and ran it through, slowly this time. Red Light. Bad Beep.

  The guards behind the fence had stopped talking. They were looking at her. The guard in her line looked back at the other guards.

  She tried to line up the card for another try, but someone grabbed her hand. “You’re backwards love.”

  Kate looked up. The blonde man. She couldn’t think. What had he said? “I work here,” Kate said quickly, looking around. Everyone was looking at them. They were blocking two of the three lines.

  “I certainly hope so.” The man took her card. “You must be new,” he said as he perused the card. “Haven’t seen you befo—. Hey, this doesn’t look like you.”

  Kate snatched the card. “Don’t— Don’t look at the picture. I’m, uh, new here.” She ran a hand through her hair. She was going to get caught, she knew it. The man was still staring at her. Kate tried to think. “They used an old picture. I’ve lost… some weight.”

  “And apparently dyed your hair,” he said skeptically.

  “Yes, well…” Kate sucked in a breath. “Hopefully you’ll keep my secret. Blondes have more fun.” She tried to smile, but she imagined she looked more scared than confident.

  The man nodded and smiled. “Yes they do.”

  From the back of the line someone shouted, “Hey Casanova, work your mojo on your own time.” Laughs rang out across the line.

  Kate smiled. “How does it go?” She swiped the card again. Red, the beep. She looked up.

  The man grasped her hand, flipped the card, and ran it through. Green. Then he turned to his post and swiped his own card. Green. He glided gingerly past the six scowling guards, and Kate chased after him.

  “Thank you Doctor—”

  “Prendergast. Barnaby Prendergast.” They turned another corner.

  “Barnaby Prendergast. I was actually going to guess that.”

  “Well you’re quite cheeky.” He looked over at her. “Quite quick on your feet for someone who couldn’t operate the card reader.”

  Did he know? Kate tried to seem embarrassed — it wasn’t a stretch. “Guns make me nervous.”

  “Then you’ll truly hate it here. Seems like everyone without a white coat is ‘packin heat,’” he said with an American accent. He swiped his card and pushed open a set of wide doors that might have divided sections of a hospital. “Guess they’ll be ready if the trees ever attack.” He snorted and muttered, “Bloody idiots.”

  Ahead of them, several overweight men pushed rolling metal cages across their path. Kate stared. The cages were filled with chimps. When they had passed, Kate realized she was alone in the hall. She jogged down the corridor and caught sight of Barnabus, or whatever his name was. She rushed to catch up with him.

  He stopped at the swipe terminal to another set of doors. “Where did you say you were going, Dr. West?”

  “I… didn’t.” Kate tried to flutter her eyes at him. She felt like a fool. “Where… are you going?”

  “Uh, to my lab in viral. Who are you working with here?” He looked at her, confused. Or was he scrutinizing her?

  Kate panicked. It was so much more complicated than she had thought on the train. What did she think, she’d just walk in like it was a day care and say, “I’m here to pick up the two Indonesian kids?” David’s advice, “just tell them it’s above their pay grade,” seemed so simplistic, so off-base now. It was obvious now that he had only said it to put her at ease, to get her off the train and in motion. But her mind was blank. “It’s above your pay grade,” she blurted.

  Barnaby was about to swipe his card, but he pulled up short, his card still dangling in the air. “Excuse me?” He looked at her, then glanced around as if trying to figure out which direction a sound was coming from.

  Kate had the urge to run as fast as she
could away from him, but she had no idea which way to go. She needed to figure out where they kept the children. “I’m doing autism research.”

  Barnaby let his card fall to his side as he turned to face Kate. “Really? I’m not aware of any autism research.”

  “With Dr. Grey.”

  “Dr. Grey?” Barnaby’s eyes rolled back as he thought. “Haven’t heard of him…” His skeptical expression slowly faded as he shuffled toward a white phone on the wall beside the door. He reached back for it. “Maybe I should, ah, get you some help finding your way.”

  “No!”

  Kate’s outburst stopped him in his tracks.

  “Don’t. I’m not lost. I’m working… with two children.”

  He drew his hand back to his side. “Oh, so it’s true. We’ve heard some rumors but everyone is so hush-hush about it. So cloak and dagger.”

  He didn’t know about the children. What did it mean? Kate needed to buy more time, needed to think. “Uh, yes. I’m sorry I can’t say more.”

  “Well I’m sure it’s above my pay grade, as you say.” He mumbled something else, maybe ‘as if you know my bloody pay grade.’ “Honestly though, I have to say, what in the hell would you be doing with kids in a place like this? We’re talking about a zero percent survival rate. Zero percent. Guess your ‘pay grade’ justifies it. Is that it?”

  But Kate didn’t hear his last words. A new thought gripped her, a terror she hadn’t considered: zero-percent survival rate. The children could already be dead.

  “Did you hear me?”

  But Kate couldn’t answer. She just stood there, frozen.

  He could see it — the fear in her eyes. He cocked his head to the side. “You know, there is something off about you, something’s not right here.” He reached. He had the phone.

  Kate leapt for him, grabbing the phone from his hand.

  His eyes grew wide, a look of ‘how dare you.’

  Kate looked around. David’s words “they could be listening” echoed in her head. It might already be too late. She hung the phone up and took Barnaby in a hug, whispering in his ear. “Listen to me. Two children are being held here. They’re in danger. I’m here to rescue them.”