The God Gene: A Novel

by F. Paul Wilson

  Excellente!

  The Afrikaner dove back into the water and started stroking toward the Sorcière. Amaury lowered a rope ladder over the side and was waiting with a towel when Jeukens climbed aboard.

  “Strong current,” he panted.

  “I warned you. We’ve found them?”

  Obviously they had, but he wanted to hear it from the lips of the man who had been closest.

  Jeukens nodded as he dried himself. “That was one of them. No question. Its blue eyes looked directly at me before it ran off.”

  Amaury hid his elation. He’d begun the voyage with little hope of success. Chances had been low that the island even existed, and even lower that they could find it. But his strategy of concentrating the search where other ships did not go had paid off.

  Now he had to get back to Maputo, gather up a couple of the experienced men he used on poaching trips, load the Sorcière with traps and cages, and return to this nameless hunk of rock as soon as humanly possible.

  But he wasn’t sure about his passenger. Jeukens might have different ideas.

  “Congratulations,” Amaury said. “What next?”

  Jeukens stared at the island. “I got a close look at that wall. I don’t think it’s climbable.”

  Good. Just what Amaury wanted to hear. He’d feared that Jeukens would want to spend days trying to conquer that wall.

  “But it is not insurmountable, mon ami. Only twenty feet or so high. With a little help we can conquer it. All we need do is return with the right ladder and—”

  Jeukens turned to him. “You want to trap them and sell them, don’t you.”

  What was this? A challenge? He couldn’t tell. He had to tread carefully with this man.

  “Exotics are my business, after all. And these are as exotic as they come. Do you find that a problem?”

  “Not a bit. Take as many as you can carry. It’s of no concern to me.”

  Well, that was a relief. Amaury wasn’t in the mood for a rant on animal rights and ecology and the rest of that nonsense.

  “So, what is your plan?”

  “I wish to study them in their natural habitat.”

  Amaury laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Then we are in accord! I will leave you plenty to study. I am no fool. I will treat this as a preserve where these creatures can be fruitful and multiply. I will take the older ones and leave the younger to breed, creating an endless supply that you can study to your heart’s content.”

  “Obviously you are coming back soon.”

  “As soon as I can gather a crew and load my equipment.”

  “Good. I will return with you.”

  Amaury hadn’t planned on that.

  “Five people, cages, traps … it will be crowded.”

  “That is of no concern. Do not play games with me. You wouldn’t know about this island if I had not chartered you to find it. You’ll become a rich man because of me.”

  Amaury couldn’t argue with that, so he did not try. “No games, monsieur. We head to Toliara immediately. The sooner—”

  Jeukens frowned. “Toliara? That’s—”

  “Madagascar, yes. We don’t have enough fuel to make it back to Maputo. We burned up too much running our search grid. It will add a day but cannot be helped. We will be back in Maputo early Friday.”

  Jeukens looked back at the island. “I can put the extra day to good use. I have preparations to…” His voice trailed off as his expression went slack.

  Amaury followed his gaze.

  Arrayed along the fern-fringed rim, hundreds of blue eyes stared down at them. Amaury stared back until the Afrikaner spoke behind him.

  “Is this thing loaded?”

  Amaury repressed a gasp when he saw Jeukens holding the Marlin.

  “Yes.” Five rounds in the tube. Keeping one stored in the chamber would allow six shots, but Amaury had never been comfortable with that, so he always left the chamber empty. After all, it took but a second to work the lever and make her ready to fire. “What are you doing with that?”

  “I want to see how they react when I kill one of them.”

  “I do not think that is a good idea, monsieur.” He wanted these things alive—all of them.

  “I’ll decide that. Is it ready to fire?”

  “No, you must work the lever,”

  Jeukens did just that, then raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired. Above, the monkeys merely looked curious. He worked the lever, ejected a shell, and fired again. And again. And again. Fortunately he was a terrible shot, missing every time. Amaury did not mention the scope resting in his pocket.

  “Damn!” Jeukens said, wheeling so the rifle pointed at Amaury—whether accidentally or on purpose wasn’t clear. “How many shots left?”

  “Please, monsieur, point that in a safe direction.”

  Jeukens didn’t move it. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Amaury’s mouth went dry. “One … one more.”

  Jeukens worked the lever. Glittering brass tumbled through the air. He turned and fired once more at the island, with as much effect as before. Then, with a smirk, he handed the Marlin to Amaury and headed below.

  * * *

  That night, as the Sorcière sped southward with the current along the moonlit channel, Amaury put aside his deep misgivings about his passenger and broke out the bottle he kept tucked away in one of the galley cabinets. The radar showed clear water ahead, so he poured glasses of the amber fluid for Jeukens and himself. He noticed the Afrikaner wince at the burn accompanying his first swallow.

  “Cognac?”

  “Armagnac, far superior.”

  Not like your awful Pinotage, eh? he thought.

  Earlier, just after they’d got under way, the Afrikaner had made a couple of manic calls on his sat phone—at least they seemed manic—but he was more relaxed now. Not that he ever seemed truly relaxed.

  Amaury had had time to think since they’d left the island. At first the future had looked clear and sunny—so many sets of blue eyes staring at them from the rim. But a cloud had appeared on the figurative horizon. He turned to the source of that cloud.

  “So,” he said to Jeukens, “are you planning on publishing papers about our island?”

  He was careful not to say my island, which was how he was already thinking of it.

  Jeukens shook his head. “Not immediately. I want to keep it and its inhabitants secret for a while—as long as possible, actually—so I can study them without interference.” He tossed back his Armagnac with another grimace and poured himself a healthy second helping without asking. “So I hope you will keep the island’s existence to yourself as well.”

  Amaury was so relieved he almost burst out laughing. “Keep it to myself! Of course I will! I do not want anyone poaching that island. I was worried about you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Worry about the crew you will be bringing back.”

  He finished his second glass and poured a third. Amaury hadn’t finished his first yet.

  “Pace yourself. That is strong stuff. And as for my crew, they are mostly muscle.” He tapped the side of his head. “Not much up here.”

  “But I can hear one of them now, in his cups at a bar, talking about traveling to an uncharted island populated by those strange, blue-eyed monkeys Laffite sells at such a profit.”

  Amaury had already considered this.

  “But he won’t be able to tell anyone more than that, because he will not know the coordinates.”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course. I took a GPS reading before we left.” He’d noticed the Afrikaner doing the same. “My men won’t know where they’re headed until they get there.”

  “Good. I don’t want interference until I’m through.” He took another gulp. Already his eyes were looking glassy. “If the wrong people get a look at those creatures they’ll start ‘missing link’ talk.”

  “‘Missing link’? Is that what it is?”

  Jeukens shook his head. “No. It
’s more. Much, much more.”

  Now this was interesting. Would it increase the monkeys’ price tag?

  “Explain, please.”

  The Afrikaner waved him off and set down his glass. “I’m more used to wine. And I’ve said too much already.”

  “What? About a missing link?”

  The Afrikaner’s face contorted. “Do not mention that again!”

  Why so upset? The man looked ready to fight. Amaury didn’t think he had much to fear from those skinny arms, but a fight would be bad. This odd man might prove useful in the future.

  He raised his hands, palms out. “After tonight I say nothing. But for now, just one more question. Please?”

  Jeukens spoke through his teeth. “What?”

  “Your little primates—they’re so tiny. How can they be the missing link? Missing link to what?”

  “To madness. To more Friar Brunos.”

  “The one who was burned at the stake?”

  “Yes. For merely recognizing that Earth was not the center of the universe. You’ve heard of Galileo?”

  “Of course.”

  “The Inquisition bearded him for the same thinking, threatening torture and death if he didn’t recant. Knowing what happened to Bruno, he complied.”

  This made no sense. Was he already so drunk?

  “What does Galileo have to do with these missing links? Seriously. You must have a better answer than that.”

  “Not for you. I doubt we’ll ever learn what they link to. I, for one, am not sure I want to know.”

  Jeukens turned away and staggered toward the bunks below.

  NOW

  Thursday, May 19

  1

  GREENWICH VILLAGE, NEW YORK

  With only one postmortem scheduled for her at the morgue, Laura had been able to leave a little early and train into the city. During the trip her head had been filled with thoughts of Emilie and the potion she’d sneaked into her. Was it doing any good? Or more important, was it doing any harm?

  All it would take to find out was a simple call. But she’d never called before, and that was just asking for people to connect her to whatever happened overnight. Besides, calling wasn’t enough. She wanted—needed—to see for herself. Assuming the ikhar had worked, of course.

  As they’d arranged, Rick met her at the arch in Washington Square and the two of them walked east on Waverly Place. Keith’s office was in a six-story building near Mercer Street. The glossy black steel and glass of the modernized entrance jarred with the old red stone of the upper stories.

  “The Center for Genomics and Systems Biology,” Rick said, reading the etching on the glass door. “Impressive.”

  The same title was displayed in huge letters along the rear wall of the long foyer that stretched to the right.

  Just so no one forgets, Laura guessed as they stepped inside.

  A low reception desk sat directly opposite the entrance

  “We have an appointment with Doctor Salas,” Rick said when they reached it.

  The young man behind the desk seemed prepared for them. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry. You wanted to talk to him about Doctor Somers, right?”

  Laura had a sudden feeling their meeting wasn’t going to happen.

  “Right.”

  “Well, he was called away unexpectedly and we didn’t have your phone number. But he left word with Doctor Somers’s assistant who’ll be glad to talk to you if you wish.”

  “I guess so,” Rick said. He glanced at Laura. “Okay?”

  “Fine,” she said, thinking this might work out better.

  The receptionist made a quick call and turned to them. “He’ll be right down.”

  Minutes later a twenty-something guy appeared at the far end of the foyer: short reddish beard, glasses with thick black rims, a muddy gray-brown plaid shirt, dark green bow tie, skinny jeans, dirty white bucks, and …

  “Is that a man bun?” Rick muttered as he approached.

  Laura nodded. “A top knot. Total L train.”

  “Top knots should be limited to people with a katana and a first name like Toshiro.”

  They saw the young man stutter-step when he saw them, then continue approaching. Some people reacted to Rick that way.

  “This must be him,” Laura said. “Put on your nice face.”

  “This is my nice face.”

  “Grady Fehr,” the fellow said, extending his hand. “I’m Doctor Somers’s grad student.”

  Rick introduced himself and Laura, then followed him back to an elevator.

  “How long have you been with Doctor Somers?” Laura said.

  “Just going on two years. Have you heard anything from him?”

  “No. That’s why we’re here. We’re hoping someone in the department can shed some light on where he might be.”

  “I can tell you straight up front that no one here’s got a clue. His disappearance was all we talked about for a while, but no one could come up with anything. We were all like, ‘What’s happening?’ First Kahlil, then Keith.’”

  “Who’s Kahlil?” Rick said.

  “One of the genetics profs. Iranian, worked right here in the center. When he returned to Teheran to visit his mother last fall, he was arrested. The Supreme Leader had issued a fatwa against him for blasphemy.”

  “Blasphemy?” Laura said. “What did he say?”

  Grady shrugged. “Published papers on the genetic basis for male homosexuality. He’s been in jail ever since. Your brother was really upset.”

  “Were they close?”

  “No. Just the fact that it could happen in this day and age is enough, don’t you think? Truth is, he wasn’t really close to anyone.”

  “Yeah,” Rick said through a sigh. “Not exactly a warm fuzzy guy.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Grady said. “No one disliked him, it’s just that he kept to himself. He was hard to know. I’ve worked with him steadily for two years and I don’t feel I know Doctor Somers at all.”

  Laura remembered Rick’s assessment of his brother: There’s no there there.

  She said, “Was he always ‘Doctor Somers’?”

  Grady nodded. “Well, not behind his back. Then he was ‘Keith.’ But face-to-face he insisted on ‘Doctor Somers.’”

  A distancing thing … Laura wasn’t surprised.

  “Well, Grady,” Rick said, “we’re interested in anything you can tell us, but we’re particularly interested in the monkey.”

  “Mozi? Well, technically speaking she wasn’t a monkey. I mean, at first we all thought she was a new species of monkey when he brought her back, but evolution-wise she predates monkeys.”

  “It’s that easy to bring an unknown species into the country?” Laura said, frowning. “What about diseases and such?”

  “It’s not easy at all. Easy to get them out—the Mozambicans have all sorts of laws against exporting animals but a little cash passed here and there opens pretty much any door. Not so easy after that. The U.S. has lots of hoops to jump through before letting them in. But we have ways. He housed her at a pharmaceutical company’s primatarium on Long Island for the first week or so.”

  Primatarium … Laura hadn’t heard the term before but the meaning was obvious.

  “Which company?”

  “Schelling, I believe.”

  Rick nodded as if this made some sort of sense. “Okay.”

  “Anyway, he never even mentioned he’d brought a primate back from Africa. He was home about a week or so when out of the blue he shows up with her. Said she didn’t like the accommodations at the primatarium.”

  Rick shook his head. “Heard of ‘Take Your Daughter to Work,’ but ‘Take Your Monkey’?” Grady opened his mouth to speak, but Rick cut him off. “I know, not a monkey. But in the photo I saw she looked like a monkey to me so…”

  Grady smiled. “Gotcha. Anyway, he brought her every day. She became a fixture around here.”

  “How’d that go over?” Laura asked.

  “Not so great at
first, but Mozi was well behaved, stayed in Keith’s office, and won over everybody in no time. It was those eyes, man. People started asking where they could get one like her. And of course, Keith doted on her.”

  Rick was shaking his head. “My brother with a pet … who’da thunk?”

  “Yeah. He’d talk to her like he never talked to people. I mean, you’d go to drop off some papers or something and you’d hear him in conversation on the other side of the door. But when you went in, it was just him and Mozi.”

  Rick said, “Next you’re gonna tell me the monkey answered him.”

  Grady grinned. “Now that would have sent me running. Anyway, we kept trying to classify her but she kept defying expectations. Pretty soon we began to suspect that she might be some sort of an adapiform that had somehow survived—a living transitional fossil—the bridge between the Haplorhini and Strepsirhini.”

  “The what?”

  “Sorry. Evolution-speak. Somewhere around sixty million years ago the primates experienced an evolutionary split into the Haplorhini—who evolved into the higher primates such as monkeys, apes, and humans—and the Strepsirhini who became our modern-day lemurs and lorises and such. Mozi had both lemur and monkey characteristics, but more monkey, including grasping hands with opposable thumbs and nails instead of claws; she had a dry nose but she could still make vitamin C.”

  “Vitamin C?” How odd, Laura thought. “How does that matter?”

  “Yeah,” Rick added, “and what’s a dry nose got to do with anything?”

  “When the primate split occurred, the Haplorhine branch—the one that evolved into us—had dry noses as opposed to the wet noses of the Strepsirhini, and they lost the ability to synthesize ascorbate. Monkeys and humans can’t make vitamin C; lemurs and lorises—who are in the Strepsirhine line—can. The combination of features put Mozi in both camps.”

  “The missing link?” Rick said.

  “We don’t use that term—we prefer ‘transitional species.’ But even if we did use it, there’s no such thing as the missing link. There’s a ton of them along the branches of the various evolutionary trees. But yeah, she could have been one of many missing transitional species in the primate-to-hominid chain.” He sighed. “But she’s gone now and I don’t know if we’ll ever find another.”