Genesis Code

by Jamie Metzl

  “You know,” Collins says, “you couldn’t tell from looking at this picture, but the world is really a beautiful place. Sure it has flaws, but God created it with the potential to be perfect. We don’t have to change God’s plan, Mr. Azadian, we’ve just got to recognize its beauty. Do you follow me? The Garden of Eden wasn’t only a garden, it’s the space within each of us where pure love for God and his work exists.”

  Why is the US government mentioning the Garden of Eden?

  “God doesn’t want us to meddle with the code of life. That’s his job,” Collins continues, now walking into the bathroom. “At the end of days, God shall overcome,” he adds, leaning his head out of the bathroom to look at me. “You know the words.”

  God shall fucking overcome. The right’s marching orders, Eden’s Army’s fucking credo. I’ve got to keep him talking.

  He peeks his head back from inside the bathroom. “What’s your favorite number, Mr. Azadian?”

  I try to indicate with my eyes that I’m considering the question.

  “Sorry, that was insensitive of me. I know you can’t talk right now. Want to know what mine is?”

  I widen my eyes, trying to be inviting.

  “Forty-six. That’s a really good number. If it was good enough for Mary, it’s good enough for me.”

  My eyes remain calm.

  “Forty-seven,” he says, darkness blanketing his face as he looks toward Maya, “is not God’s lucky number. It’s a bad number. It’s a wrong number.” Collins pauses for a moment. He looks at Maya, then Toni, then me. Then he nods his head slightly as if agreeing with himself. He reaches down and picks up a small plastic case from near the dresser and places it on the table near the door. He opens it deliberately. It’s only when I see the needles coming out that I begin squirming. Now I fully understand the needle mark on MaryLee Stock’s outstretched arm. I start to struggle, but Collins locks me down with his knee.

  “Don’t worry Mr. Azadian, it will only pinch a little. I’m really sorry about this. I hadn’t wanted this at all. Under other circumstances I could have spared you and your friend here. You both have the lucky number. But you’ve really left me no choice.”

  He holds the needle up, flicks it with his index finger, then shoots a tiny amount of potassium cyanide into the air.

  “It’s probably silly of me to worry about air bubbles at a time like this,” he says with a shake of his head, “but I really do want to make this as painless as possible.”

  I twist my head over toward Toni. I love you, I’m so sorry, I try to say with my eyes. All of my emotions—love, regret, fear, anger—roll into one expression that no one, not even Toni, could decipher.

  “Just hold still, Mr. Azadian,” Collins says, taking my left arm in his left hand.

  I stare at him with every ounce of power I have in me, with everything I am as a person, with a life instinct to live and a death instinct to kill. My eyes stay open, sharp, focused . . . desperate.

  His fingers stiffen around the needle he holds just below my shoulder as he leans in. I squirm frantically but the weight of Collins’s body still holds me. My mind shoots out the two conflicting messages of goodbye, my love and fuck you.

  The noise explodes through the room as the door kicks open.

  A hulking body lunges into the room.

  “Stop, Collins. Now!”

  I recognize the commanding shout. Collins drops the needle and puts his hands in front of him at chest height. He pulls back with his elbows and stands in the space between the two beds.

  Gillespie’s gun points at Collins’s heart.

  “Don’t fucking move,” Gillespie shouts furiously.

  Collins’s torso is now erect. He inches his elbows back, away from Gillespie.

  Two streaks catch the corner of my eye. The first is Collins ducking and darting right, pulling his gun from his back belt, and swinging it at Gillespie in one lightning motion.

  The second is Maya, hurling herself in a supernatural gymnastic leap off the other bed and into Collins’s legs as the room fills with a sound like air darts firing.

  Pfoof. Pfoof. Pfoof.

  And then silence.

  And then groans.

  An avalanche of commands flows to my brain as I frantically twist my neck to scan the room. Toni. Toni. Toni.

  She looks at me and I know immediately. She is okay.

  I wiggle toward the side of the bed. Collins is bloody and not moving. Maya under him.

  “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” is the only desperate noise I can make through the cloth and duct tape.

  Maya uses her head to push Collins aside and peers at me from the valley between the two beds. Her first look is pure terror. Her second an almost unbelieving defiance. The third I might almost construe as love.

  I smile at her with my eyes.

  Another groan. Gillespie. I twist around toward the door. He is slumped against the TV stand, his eyes glazing over, his shirt a growing blotch of deep red.

  66

  My body pulls desperately in three directions at once.

  I want to hold Toni to shield her, as if that were possible, from what has already happened.

  Maya is wiggling out from under Collins’s limp body between the beds. I feel the overwhelming drive to pull the body away, to squeeze her by the shoulders, to tell her that it’s okay, it’s over, she’s safe.

  But Gillespie appears to be the one in greatest need. And to help him or anyone I have to free my hands. I flop off the bed and wiggle myself toward him.

  “Mmm,” I mumble, trying to point to my gag with my shoulder.

  His eyes look drugged, but he intuits my intent and limply lifts his right hand. I slink around his body and place my mouth near it. He fumbles with the edge of the duct tape. Then I feel him getting a grip on one end.

  My face feels like it’s ripping as I yank my head backwards. His grip holds. I spit out the washcloth and gasp for air.

  “Are you okay?” I ask stupidly, still not understanding why he just saved me and killed his colleague when a few hours ago I’d been convinced he was my biggest threat. I stare at him with what I know must be a look of dumb incomprehension.

  Gillespie grimaces.

  “Baby,” I say frantically, rolling my head toward Toni, “are you okay?”

  “Mmm,” she mumbles. I read her completely, effortlessly. I’m okay, don’t worry about me, focus on the others.

  “Maya?” I bark, twisting my head toward the space between the two beds.

  Maya has now fully wiggled her torso out from under Collins’s limp body. She lifts her head. Her eyes are still wide and defiant, but they calm when they connect with mine. I smile nervously then turn back toward Gillespie.

  “Can you help get me out of these cuffs?”

  “There’s a jackknife,” he says with effort, gesturing with his chin to his front left pant pocket. He twists his torso trying to drag his right arm across his wounded body. His right hand reaches his left pocket after three tries. He pushes out the knife with his palm in a process that seems to take forever. It drops on the floor.

  I grab it with my bound right hand, open it behind my back, then squirm backwards to hand it to Gillespie. I can’t see him but keep moving my arms behind me until I feel the weight of the knife ease. “Got it?” I say. I pull my hands apart behind me. “Can you cut the cuffs?”

  “Mmm,” I hear Toni mumbling. I look back at her. She focuses her eyes at me and then at Gillespie’s u.D, then back at me and again toward the u.D.

  “Your u.D,” I tell Gillespie.

  “No,” he groans. “No calls.”

  I look at him inquisitively.

  His face contorts. “No calls . . . Not safe.”

  I’m too desperate to get out of my cuffs to argue. “Can you cut?” I repeat.

  “Move closer,” he mumbles.

  I maneuver my hands as close to Gillespie’s knife as possible, then feel him fumbling from behind me.

  Krrr. Krrr. Krrr. The sawing fe
els weak and inconsequential behind my back.

  Toni has now wiggled herself in the opposite direction on the bed, with her head peering over the edge toward me and her feet toward the wall. It’s okay. We’ll get there, she says with her eyes.

  I relax my shoulder muscles. Krrr. Krrr. Krrr.

  I can feel the cuffs beginning to stretch. I strain my arms apart. Nothing.

  I pull with all my strength.

  Nothing.

  I pull again.

  My arms go flying to the sides, the blade grazing my hand as it flies away from my flailing arms. I roll over and leap toward Toni. “Hold on,” I say, taking hold of the edge of her duct tape. She looks at me calmly. I stop for a moment and look at her, taking her in. Then I put one hand behind her head, kiss her on the forehead, and yank the tape.

  “Mmm,” she mumbles, opening her mouth. I grab an edge of the cloth and pull.

  “Baby,” I say, moving to kiss her. Her head turns away from the kiss toward Maya. “Maya, honey,” she says breathlessly, “are you okay?”

  Maya grunts a single syllable. I wiggle toward her.

  “This is going to hurt,” I say. “Are you ready?”

  “Mother fucker.” The words fly from her mouth as the duct tape clears.

  “You all right?” I say.

  She gasps for air. “Think so.” She seems to be trying to play it cool, but my hand absorbs the vibration of her bones.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I say, pulling her head to my chest. “You did an incredible thing.”

  She looks up at me with the wide eyes of a child.

  I let go of her, grab the knife, and begin cutting all of our remaining cuffs.

  “Gillespie,” Toni says in her best caregiving tone from her perch at the edge of the bed, her face level with his, “you hanging in there?”

  “Never better,” he grunts softly.

  “We’ve got to get you some help, right away,” she orders as I finally cut her free. She jumps over and places her hand on Gillespie’s forehead.

  Gillespie hoists his head up from its slump. “No,” he says with surprising force.

  “Look,” Toni says with an even greater intensity as she pulls open Gillespie’s shirt and begins examining the wound, “every minute counts for you right now. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

  “Not yet,” Gillespie mumbles. “The girl . . . you’ve got to protect her.”

  Toni purses her lips, starting to realize that Gillespie is not moving. “We need to put pressure on the wound,” she says, taking charge. “Richie, grab a towel from the floor.”

  I do.

  “Fold it in quarters. Hold it to the wound.”

  Gillespie’s face contorts with pain as I press the epicenter of the red blotch on his shirt.

  Toni glides her hand gently around his back and rubs up and down. “I don’t feel an exit wound. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

  Maya jumps behind Toni and peers over her shoulders.

  Gillespie lifts his head and stares intensely at Maya. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

  “We should be calling 9-1-1,” Toni says, impatience woven through each word.

  Gillespie shifts his head toward hers. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “The girl . . . won’t be safe. You need to get her away.”

  “I don’t understand,” Maya says softly.

  “I didn’t know . . . Collins was Eden’s Army,” Gillespie says softly. “I don’t know . . . who else is. I don’t know who to trust, who wants to harm her. You need to know what you’re up against.” He looks at Toni. “Ten minutes.”

  Toni shakes her head.

  Gillespie focuses his waning strength in a forceful command. “I need ten minutes.”

  Toni looks at him and then at me then drops her shoulders angrily. “Maya honey, bring me all the pillows.”

  Toni places them around Gillespie.

  “Now put the blanket on top,” she tells Maya. “Gently.”

  Toni holds the folded towel on Gillespie’s shoulder and eyes him like a disapproving nun. “Five minutes.”

  Gillespie leans his head back, gathering his strength.

  Then he speaks.

  67

  “A few years ago we learned the Chinese were secretly enhancing the DNA of embryos.”

  Maya’s body stiffens.

  “To breed genius babies and bring glory to the state. Some of our people wanted to stop them . . . but we couldn’t. So we needed to match them. If we didn’t, how could we compete thirty years from now? Our country wouldn’t support a national program, so—” Gillespie pauses—“our front company bought a small chain of fertility clinics.”

  “But you said—”

  Toni digs her nails into my leg. “Bright Horizons?” she asks, bringing Gillespie back to his focus.

  Gillespie focuses his eyes on me for a brief moment. Whatever he said at the Hilton coffee shop doesn’t matter now.

  He turns his heavy eyes toward Toni. “We started acquiring the technology we needed . . . trying to create the . . . extraordinary.”

  “Becker’s technology in exchange for you helping with his own little project,” I interject.

  Toni’s look tells me to shut up so Gillespie can finish.

  “Something like that,” Gillespie mutters. “And his protégée, MaryLee, was close enough to what we were looking for. Nine more women . . . were part of the pilot project. And then . . .” Gillespie’s voice begins to falter. His face betrays surprise as well pain. “They started dying. One by one.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Maya says, her voice hovering between sarcasm and compassion.

  Gillespie lifts his head with a brief flush of momentum. “We didn’t know who, why. We needed to investigate . . . but also keep everything secret.” He looks at me. “And then you bumbled in.”

  I swallow.

  “At first, we thought it was the Chinese. The girl from UMKC. Chinese agents in the other cities. They must have hacked us. When the women started dying, the Chinese agents started . . . slipping out. We were looking at everything, at you.”

  “We?” I ask.

  “NCA Operations. You were . . . sloppy.”

  The words are deflating, but Lord, I know.

  “We were trying to protect the program, find the killer, keep tabs on you and the Chinese, and protect the remaining . . .”

  Gillespie’s voice trails off as he looks at Maya. She is “the remaining.” He takes a deep, gasping breath.

  “I had a man watching you,” he continues, nodding at the heap of a man lying on the floor. The three of us turn to face the body.

  “How did you know?” I ask.

  Toni looks like she’s ready to add us both to the pile.

  “After you called me . . . I tried to reach Collins . . . but no answer. . . . Then her u.D activated.” He looks at Toni. “I traced it to this place.” Gillespie is almost whispering now. “Why hadn’t I heard you were here? And then . . .”

  I nod expectantly.

  “It hit me. I jumped in my car. Tried to call . . .”

  “So why—?” I say.

  “Figured it out as I drove,” he mumbles. “Collins had been against this, but he was a good soldier. . . . I thought.”

  I correct Gillespie. “A good soldier for another army.”

  “When the letter bombs started three years ago—”

  “We don’t need a history lesson. Your five minutes are up. We need to get you to a hospital,” Toni snaps.

  The blood is pooling at Gillespie’s waist. He forces out the words. “After the Eden’s Army arrests . . . we thought it was over.”

  Toni can’t take it anymore. “That’s it,” she says pointedly. “Maya, go grab my phone from the floor.”

  A surprising burst of energy animates Gillespie’s voice. “Wait,” he orders. “You can’t call until she’s safe,” he says, looking at Maya. I don’t know who was involved . . . There are people who’d want to kill her if this gets out.”r />
  He looks pleadingly at Toni and me. “She needs to disappear. If I make it, I’ll try to zap her name from the files. Take her . . . before anyone comes.”

  I look at Toni, then Maya. We are all frozen. I have no idea how even to begin.

  “But—” I say.

  “Figure it out,” Gillespie mutters, his eyelids dropping.

  “What the hell?”

  I turn to see the look of absolute incredulity overcoming Maurice’s face as he jumps inside the broken door. I want to hug him. I stand and place a hand on each of his shoulders and fix my eyes on his. “I’ll explain everything to you later. The three of us have to leave. You need to get Gillespie to the hospital right away. You need to make sure it seems the girl was never here.”

  Maurice looks into my eyes, then nods.

  “Gillespie saved our lives,” I say, glancing down at his crumpled mess of a body. “He’s a good man.”

  Gillespie can hardly move but lifts his eyelids slightly.

  I step toward the door. Toni and Maya follow.

  “Wait,” Maya says. She stops and turns around, then leans down to put her face just in front of Gillespie’s.

  “Thank you,” she says so softly it seems she is only moving her lips.

  Everything in the room stops for a fraction of a second. And then it speeds up as Maya, Toni, and I race out into the darkness.

  68

  It’s only after ten minutes of driving that I realize no one has said a word. We’re all stunned.

  How does the mind, I wonder, absorb shock? I can almost feel new pathways forming in my brain, my mind restructuring itself, recoding.

  I glance at Toni and hold out my hand. She takes it.

  “Maya,” I say, “how are you doing back there?”

  “Now what happens?” she asks a few moments later.

  It’s the thought my conscious mind has been avoiding. The truth is I don’t know. I’m just driving. “For now, we need to get you out of the way for a while and see how things play out.”

  I see her sinking into the back seat through my rearview mirror.