The God Gene: A Novel

by F. Paul Wilson

  “It could happen,” she said. “With science seemingly legitimizing creationism, voters would maybe start leaning toward candidates who want to combine government with religious teachings.”

  “Bad news if you’re gay or an atheist. Or just someone who sees it as proof that humanity is nothing but an experiment—”

  “I know where you fall.”

  “Just a guy who asks the next question.”

  “Yeah, but your ‘next question’ isn’t like most people’s.”

  Rick was silent a moment, then, “Maybe Keith shouldn’t have accepted the dapi genome at face value.”

  Laura frowned. “I’m not following.”

  “I’m going out on a limb here.”

  “You seem at home there. Shoot.”

  “Okay, what if the dapis are an elaborate hoax? What if the 3998 gene developed within us by the normal evolutionary route? What if ICE created the dapis with an unnaturally clean genome, and then popped 3998 into it?”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Same purpose as the panacea—to screw with our heads and see how we react.”

  “Now you’re trying to screw with my head! That’s too far out, even for you!”

  “Is it? There’s no fossil record of dapis.”

  “But lots of branches on the evolutionary tree are missing fossil records. And besides, the dapis have been isolated on this island for millions of years.”

  “Have they? How do we know how long this island’s really been there?”

  “Oh, come on!”

  Was he serious?

  “It’s a ‘next question.’ Work with me here. It appears on no maps, no satellite photos, ships have been sailing the Mozambique Channel ever since men learned that wood can float and no one’s ever reported it. But Keith comes along and there it is.”

  “What is it? Brigadoon?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea what to believe. I can envision different scenarios but can’t say for sure which one is right.”

  “Don’t you accept anything at face value?”

  “Wish I could. Life would be so much easier.”

  Keith returned then, looking agitated. “We must leave this island. Where’s that helicopter?”

  As if in answer, a low thrum began to reverberate through the trees.

  “Thank god,” Laura said as relief flooded her. “We’re finally going to get off this rock.”

  Laffite must have heard it too. He and the brothers were approaching.

  “I need my phone,” Keith said.

  “You can buy a new one in Madagascar,” Rick told him.

  “No! I need my phone. I can’t leave without it!”

  “You are worried about phones?” Laffite said, stopping beside Laura. “I think maybe you should worry about this!”

  Laura felt something metallic press against her temple. It took her a few seconds to realize Laffite was holding his revolver to her head.

  “Hey, what the—?” Rick said, lunging toward him.

  “Stay where you are, monsieur! I do not wish to hurt this pretty lady, but I will if you force me.”

  Rick backed up, hands raised. “What’s going on?”

  “Bakari is going to bind your wrists with the ties you so thoughtfully brought.”

  Laura’s knees wobbled. For the first time since she’d left New York, she was truly frightened that she might not get home, might never see Marissa again. This didn’t make sense, and that made it all the more frightening.

  “Why?” Laura said, her voice shaking as Bakari moved behind Rick. “Our ride out of here is—”

  “A ride you will not be taking.”

  Bakari pulled Rick’s arms behind him. Laura was sure Rick would have been able to overcome him if Laffite didn’t have a gun against her head. No dummy, Laffite. He’d neutralized Rick through her. Once Rick was removed as a threat, Laura and Keith would be easy to deal with.

  Invisible above the various layers of green, the helo flew directly overhead, filling the caldera with a deafening roar.

  When Rick was securely bound, Laffite lowered the gun.

  “There. That was easy, wasn’t it? Now Razi will bind you two and then stand guard while Bakari and I deal with your helicopter.”

  “Deal?” Laura thought as a queasy feeling roiled her stomach. “What does that mean?”

  Razi pulled her hands behind her, looped a tie in a figure eight around her wrists, and zipped it tight.

  “It means I will tell him you no longer require his services and send him away.”

  “He’ll want his money.”

  Laffite smiled. “I will tell him to send you a bill.”

  Razi finished binding Keith and stepped back.

  “I thought you wanted to be rid of us,” Laura said.

  “What I want right now,” he said, waving his gun at them, “is for the three of you to sit.” When none of them moved, he added, “If I shoot you in the knees you will sit. I do not wish to waste the bullets, but if I must, I will.”

  They sat or knelt in the scrubby brush.

  “Bon. As for wanting to be rid of you, I have changed my mind. I do not want you out in the world, talking to the wrong people while I am here. You will stay until we are ready to leave, then you will sail back to Maputo with us.”

  He said something in Portuguese as he handed the gun to Razi, then gestured to Bakari. The two of them trotted off toward the tents.

  Laura glanced at Rick, but his expression had turned to stone and his eyes had gone flat and unreadable. That couldn’t be good. What was he thinking?

  12

  Amaury led the way to his tent where he grabbed the rifle case.

  “Hurry,” he said. “We don’t want him leaving.”

  He thought it unlikely, but not beyond the realm of possibility. He had heard the doctor woman arguing with the pilot. He seemed a mercenary sort.

  When they reached the ladder against the inner wall, he motioned for the faster Bakari to go first. He slung the Marlin’s case over his shoulder and followed. The ladder allowed them to ascend the first twenty or so feet quickly before engaging the craggy lava of the wall itself where the going was slower.

  What else can possibly go wrong? he wondered as he picked his way upward.

  The traps were useless, Jeukens had turned into a crazy murderer—in fact, Jeukens had turned out to be someone other than Jeukens, someone with a brother who had somehow managed to track him down to this island,

  Amaury’s island.

  That was how he’d come to think of it: my island.

  But even worse, the brother and his lady friend had hired a helicopter to come here. Which meant the pilot knew the location of Amaury’s island. And what would he do with that information? Exploit it, of course. He would soon be flying charters to a “secret mystery island” known only to him.

  Which meant Amaury’s island would remain secret no longer. Madagascar would waste little time claiming it. And once the world learned about the dapis, a virtual fence would rise around it,

  Amaury would not be allowed to set foot on his own island.

  But he’d seen a way to prevent that … or delay it, at least. A way that would have been unthinkable under different circumstances.

  He had to stop this pilot from returning to Morondava.

  He and Bakari were rising through the subcanopy now. Bakari maintained the lead. Amaury was less used to exertion; the extra weight of the Marlin and its case, though less than ten pounds, was taking its toll. He was breathing hard by the time they neared the top.

  “Stop,” he puffed before Bakari broke through the canopy to reach the rim. “Wait here for a second. Don’t let him see you yet.”

  He unzipped the rifle case and pulled out the Marlin 336. He’d reaffixed the Nikon scope. Not a sniper scope by any stretch. Designed for shooting a deer or a bear within 150 yards. Five flat-nosed, 170-grain .30-30 Winchester rounds were lined up in the tubular magazine, waiting for their moment. Five shots at his
disposal.

  He tried to work the lever but his sweaty fingers slipped on the metal. He wiped his shaky hand on his pant leg and tried again.

  Snikt-snikt.

  The rifle was ready. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

  I’m not cut out for this sort of thing.

  But this island was the find of a lifetime and he could feel it slipping away. He had to save it, by whatever means necessary.

  He listened for the helicopter. The noise was less thundering up here, and he could localize it. He remembered how he could double or triple the volume on his iPod simply by placing it in a bowl. The island acted as a bowl with the same effect on the helicopter.

  The noise seemed to be originating on the far side but growing louder. It sounded like the pilot was patrolling the rim in search of his passengers.

  Amaury tapped Bakari’s arm. “He’s coming this way. Get ready!”

  Amaury and Bakari had discussed strategy while setting up the net for the dapis. The brothers knew they stood to make a pretty penny assisting Amaury with the dapi trade, so they were up for anything that would protect it. The plan was to coax the copter as close as possible to the rim. And while the caldera was reverberating with its throbbing roar, Amaury would shoot the pilot.

  No one below would hear the sound of his rifle. He didn’t want Jeukens and the other two to know what was happening up here. That was why he had made a show of giving his revolver to Razi. Only Jeukens knew about the Marlin, but he wouldn’t know that Amaury had brought it ashore. Otherwise they would assume they were next to die, and that would make them difficult to manage—especially that Garrick fellow.

  And they might be right. He might end up killing them too if he did not think they could keep the island a secret. But he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. He was not a killer.

  Really? Then why am I up here with a rifle readying to shoot a man?

  Because I must.

  As the thrum of the copter grew louder, he gave Bakari a shove, sending him up to the rim. There, as planned, he began frantically jumping up and down and waving his arms over his head. Amaury eased into a spray of weeds on the inner edge of the rim and got as comfortable as he could. He settled the Marlin against his shoulder and found a smooth spot in the lava rock to steady his elbow. He sighted through the scope, adjusted the magnification, and waited.

  Not a long wait, as it turned out. The helicopter raced by, made a wide, looping turn over the water, then eased back to hover just off the rim. While Bakari made a show of shouting something and pointing down at the thin strip of beach below, Amaury found the pilot through his scope and centered the crosshair reticle on the his face.

  Now … squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull, just squeeeeeeeze …

  Sweat dripped into his eyes. He quickly wiped it away and found the pilot’s puzzled face again. No way could the man hear what Bakari was trying to say, but if this agitated fellow was suggesting that he land his copter, he was having none of it. As he shook his head and gave a dismissive wave, Amaury again tightened his finger on the trigger and—

  He couldn’t do it. The pilot was just another working man, trying to make his way in a primitive part of the world. A bit of a hustler, maybe, but he might have a wife and a child or two that he was feeding and clothing. Amaury had thought he could do anything to protect his island, but not this. Not cold-blooded murder.

  Bakari was still waving and shouting. He glanced impatiently over his shoulder at Amaury, his expression saying, Shoot! He’s right where you want him! Shoot now!

  Amaury could only shake his head.

  Bakari ran to him and snatched the Marlin from his slick hands. As he turned and aimed at the helicopter, the pilot spotted the rifle and immediately pulled his copter out of its hover and into a roaring turn.

  Bakari fired, quickly worked the lever and fired again, and again, and again, the spinning brass cartridges gleaming in the sun as they spat from the side of the receiver. After five shots he ran dry and still the chopper kept racing away.

  Amaury pressed a hand over his eyes as a sob built in his throat. He’d failed. Failed himself, failed the island, failed Bakari and Razi. Swallowing it back, he looked up to see Bakari stalking toward him, his expression furious. Amaury was suddenly glad the rifle was empty. Bakari still might use it as a club, though.

  As Amaury cringed, he noticed the helicopter was sinking. Two or three hundred yards offshore it was racing toward the water, tilting as it banked to the left, its angle increasing until it was flying sideways.

  “Look!” he cried, pointing.

  Bakari turned in time to see it hit the water at terrific speed. The main rotor tore off and ripped through the fuselage. It must have hit the fuel tank because the copter was torn apart by a huge blast, scattering flaming debris over the surface.

  In no time the heavier pieces sank, leaving only bits of lighter debris floating south in the current toward the trackless Indian Ocean.

  Bakari’s bullets had either hit the pilot or damaged one of the control mechanisms. Either way, the island’s secret was safe. For now.

  He should have felt happy, relieved, but he felt only wrenching guilt. He said a silent prayer for the fallen man. The only bright spot he could see was that the pilot’s life was on Bakari’s soul, not his.

  With a contemptuous look, Bakari shoved the rifle at Amaury and stalked back toward the caldera. Amaury realized he’d lost face with the Shangaan. He might still be his captain on this voyage, but he no longer had his respect.

  Amaury wondered if he’d ever earn it back.

  13

  As Rick sat cross-legged in the weeds and waited for the crack of gunshots from the rim, he watched Razi toy with the revolver, sighting on imaginary foes or prey, jerking it with imaginary recoil. He guessed the native had never owned a handgun, and wondered if he even knew where the safety was.

  If only his hands were free … that .38 would be his right now and the dynamics of their situation would be dramatically different.

  As the roaring, echoing thrum of the chopper eased back a bit, he nudged Keith with his knee.

  “Laffite have any other guns around?” he shouted.

  Keith nodded. “A rifle.”

  “Know what kind?”

  “I think he said it was a Marlin. Can that be right? A Marlin is a fish. Why name a rifle after a fish?”

  Rick didn’t bother explaining that the “fish” in this case was a gunsmith named John Marlin. Nice hunting rifle, but not heavy on fire power. Probably chambered for .30-30s. Good for bringing down a deer, but a chopper? Maybe. Entice a small civilian helo like Antso’s close enough and fire from cover … Yeah, it could work.

  “Did he bring it over?”

  Keith shook his head. “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I damn near broke my back lugging the equipment up to the rim and then down this side. The rifle’s in a distinctive camouflage case. If it had been along, I’d have seen it.”

  He caught Laura giving him a questioning look. “What are you thinking?”

  “Never hurts to know the enemy’s assets.”

  “‘Enemy’ is kind of strong, don’t you think?”

  “Your hands are tied behind your back and that guy over there is holding a gun. In my book, that puts us in the hands of an enemy.”

  She shook her head. “I guess you’re right. I know I’m going to sound naïve, but we’re no threat to him.”

  “We know that. The big question is: Does he know that?”

  The chopper thrum increased in volume again, making conversation difficult at best.

  He didn’t want to frighten her, but he was pretty sure Laffite and Bakari had headed up to the rim to shoot down Antso and his chopper. Maybe that idea was sitting in the back of Laura’s head. Or maybe she’d accepted Laffite’s story of simply sending Antso on his way.

  Ten to one: Bakari had brought over the Marlin—three and a half feet long, top
s—in the big netting bag, and poor Antso was going to be on the receiving end of a .30-30 slug.

  Which brought him to Laura’s we’re-no-threat-to-him position.

  Rick remembered how interested Laffite had seemed when asking if the chopper pilot had the coordinates. When Laura had confirmed that he did, the Frenchman had immediately handed her the phone to call him.

  The only answer: Laffite wanted this island to himself.

  Which left the most pertinent question: Would he risk killing a New York medical examiner to keep the secret? Rick had reinvented himself as a nobody, Keith had already vanished, but Laura was a state official who had left a well-marked travel trail.

  If positions were reversed, Rick saw an easy way he could get away with the triple murder. He could only hope Laffite wouldn’t see it.

  The copter cacophony suddenly dropped in volume and faded away.

  Laura’s shoulders slumped. “There goes our ride.”

  Yeah, Rick thought. Straight into the drink.

  He still hadn’t heard any gunshots. But that didn’t mean anything. The chopper noise could have masked them. So he waited. Maybe one of the pair—either Laffite or Bakari—would give it away.

  “That leaves the boat as the only escape route,” Rick said. “If we can get free, we can find our way to the beach and swim to it. Then it’s bye-bye, Laffite, and hello, Mozambique.”

  “The boat won’t start,” Keith said.

  “What do you mean? How do you know?”

  “I overheard him say he’d pulled the fuel pump fuse and brought it and the spares to the island.”

  Crap. Not that it mattered with his hands secured behind his back.

  Laffite and Bakari reappeared maybe ten minutes later. Bakari’s pockmarked face was as impassive as ever; if anything, the perpetual chip on his shoulder seemed even bigger. But Laffite …

  Rick couldn’t help glaring at him, and it took all he had to keep from leaping up and head-butting him. The fucker had held a gun to Laura’s head. And though he might not have had any serious intention of pulling the trigger, he’d frightened the hell out of her. Nobody got away with that.

  Laffite retrieved his revolver from Razi and tucked it into his belt, then clapped his hands once.