The Genesis Code

by Lisa von Biela

  Josh refocused on the immediate problem. If he didn’t solve it, all his work would be wasted. He knew there would be no second shot at using human subjects, and without that, he could just forget about his ultimate vision for the future.

  He accessed Weston’s monitors. Josh frowned at the stress level graphs. Something was upsetting him, and quite badly judging from the wild tracings of the lines marching across the screen.

  Josh checked his pager to make sure it was ready if the full-time monitor threw an alarm message. Then he checked the upload program for signs of uncontrolled looping. None. Still, he didn’t like the stress level the monitor indicated. Weston could be having a simple disagreement with a coworker, but after Harris’ ultimatum, Josh didn’t dare take the chance of overlooking an early warning of trouble.

  He decided to keep vigil at the monitor for no more than twenty minutes, long enough to allow for a transient situation. He made a note of the time and arranged the charts on the screen so he could easily observe all of the different functions in concert.

  Josh sat forward in his chair, shoulders rigid, eyes locked onto the screen, watching for even the slightest sign of escalation. If the stress level increased or went on too long, he’d track Weston down and personally see what was going on.

  CHAPTER 48

  Sheila ran to pick up the kitchen phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi—so what’re you doing tonight for your birthday?” asked Molly.

  Sheila clamped her teeth together to avoid slamming her sister with the first comment that entered her head.

  “Sheila?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “What do you think I mean, Molly?” When she didn’t immediately respond, Sheila continued, “I have no idea what we’re doing because Mark’s made no plans and isn’t home and…” She put her hand to her face and tried to hold back tears.

  “Mark’s never forgotten your birthday before. Are you sure he isn’t trying to surprise you?” Molly sounded like she was reaching and hoping for an explanation.

  “Not likely. It’s the same old shit. Past dinnertime, he’s not home. He hasn’t called to let me know when he’ll bless me with his presence. No, I don’t think there’s going to be any celebration this year.” She wiped a tear from her eye, afraid if she let it linger, it would become a torrent.

  “I thought you guys had worked something out. What happened?”

  “That was the plan. But his partner quit, and they talked him into hanging on a while longer while they look for a replacement. Actually, his partner is dead now, though he almost forgot he even knew him.”

  “What?”

  Sheila relayed the story about Terry from the previous night’s news, as well as Mark’s memory lapse.

  “Oh my God, that’s horrible. All of it. How could he not remember someone he put in that much time with? How much stress is he under that he could forget like that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

  “Sheila, call him. Even if he’s forgotten, remind him it’s your birthday, get him to come home and try to have an evening where he leaves work at the door, just for once.”

  “Nice idea, but I’m not sure I can pull it off.”

  “What’s the worst thing that can happen? It’s got to be better than just sitting there stewing.”

  Sheila thought about it for a moment. “Maybe we can salvage some of the evening together. All right, I’ll try.”

  After Sheila hung up the phone, she stood staring at it for a few minutes, trying to prepare herself for the call. As sick as she was of the whole situation with OneMarket, she really did want to make a good evening of it, as best she could, and try to reconnect with Mark. Maybe a nice, quiet birthday celebration at home would help him get back his sense of priorities.

  Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone again and dialed his work number.

  “Weston here.”

  “Hey, Mark, when’re you planning to come home tonight?” She did her best to sound casual and welcoming, to keep the hard edge of frustration out of her voice.

  “Who is this?”

  “What do you mean? It’s me, Sheila.”

  “Sheila?”

  Her conciliatory mood fast evaporating, she said, “This is not funny. Quit screwing with me. I call you up to try to get you to come home for my birthday, and—”

  “Birthday? Who is this?”

  “Your wife! Who else from outside your damned company would be calling you at this hour? Joke’s over.” Sheila slammed down the phone.

  Mark flinched at the abrupt sound of the line disconnecting. He glanced at the receiver as if it held answers, then set it down when none came to him. Who was that? Must have been a wrong number, but she knew my name…

  He had no idea why someone would mistakenly call him and get so worked up. As if he didn’t have enough going on today. He glanced at the pile of work he’d been too distracted to tackle and sighed, wondering when his concentration would return enough for him to get something done. The whole day had been a waste.

  He checked his watch as he tried to shake off the weird phone call. Dinnertime somewhere. But not for him. He’d just have to try harder to make progress today no matter what it took.

  Mark scrutinized his project plan to calculate how he stood against the schedule. As he did so, he noticed the gold band on his left hand. He lifted his hand and stared at the ring as if he’d never seen it before. He tried to pull it off, but it was snug.

  Snug as if it had been there a while.

  Mark pulled harder. The ring started to budge, then slid off reluctantly. He held it up for closer inspection. Then he noticed the inscription inside.

  With love, Sheila.

  His hand began shaking so violently he nearly dropped the ring. Sheila?

  As if a gate suddenly opened in his mind, he remembered. He quickly slid the ring back on before he dropped it, then laid his head on his desk as a wave of queasiness roiled his stomach. It had happened again, and there would be no denying it or covering it for Sheila. Or himself.

  Was it just stress messing with his memory, or was there something horribly, horribly wrong with him? Mark struggled to think through it logically, but he was consumed with fear.

  He flinched as someone knocked softly on his cube opening, startling him. “Mr. Weston?”

  CHAPTER 49

  Trembling with anger and fear, Sheila steadied herself against the kitchen counter and stared at the phone. Mark had never shown a mean streak. His jokes were never cruel. But if he hadn’t been teasing, then what the hell was wrong with him? How could he forget who she was?

  She twisted the ends of her hair as she bounced between possible explanations. Then she remembered the news story from last night—Mark had forgotten the guy he’d worked with. Now he’d forgotten her! Heart pounding with panic, she forced herself to breathe deeply to stave off the sudden dizziness.

  There has to be an explanation. She repeated the words in her mind, then aloud, trying to convince herself, to work up the nerve to find out what was going on. She reminded herself that Mark had remembered his co-worker shortly after the news story. Maybe it was only a little memory problem. Maybe it was just from all the work and stress, nothing permanent. Maybe this slip was already over, and he was back to normal. She had to make sure.

  Sheila tried Mark’s work number again. She leaned against the counter and wound her fingers in the phone cord while she waited. After several rings, his voicemail picked up. She hung up without leaving a message. Maybe he’d gotten up and walked away.

  Or maybe he saw the incoming number and was avoiding her.

  She dialed his cell. After several rings, its voicemail picked up. Sheila frowned and tried to tell herself there were perfectly benign reasons for Mark to not answer—even though she couldn’t think of any. She hesitated, forcing herself to take a calm, natural tone, then said, “Hi, it’s Sheila. I need
to talk to you right away. Call me at home.” Then she hung up and stood rooted in place, waiting for Mark to return her call.

  She watched the second hand of the kitchen clock make its way around…and around. She’d never noticed before how it hesitated ever so slightly at each second mark, almost as if it were drawing it out, making her wait for extra-long seconds. She rebuked herself for letting her imagination feed her paranoia. Maybe he went to get coffee or go to the bathroom. Surely, he’d call back in a couple of minutes, especially since she’d left the message on his cell. That was the little cue between them that a call was particularly important to return. She twisted her hair and stared at the clock.

  Five minutes and still no callback. Mark wasn’t one to leave his cell phone unattended on his desk; he always kept it on his belt in case of anything urgent. So she had no doubt he had it with him, wherever he was. Maybe he’d headed to the bathroom, then got waylaid in some ad hoc meeting on the way back to his desk. She grudgingly gave it a few more minutes.

  Fifteen minutes, and Sheila’s already thin patience had evaporated. He’d just been at his desk, so why didn’t he return her call by now? Something was wrong, and she couldn’t stand there looking at the clock anymore.

  Sheila stomped out of the kitchen and ran upstairs to Mark’s home office. The room was off-limits to her when he was working; he didn’t want any distractions. She didn’t yet know what she was looking for, but she figured his office was the one place she was likely to find something useful.

  She yanked open the door and approached his desk. Piles of papers covered most of the work surface, leaving only a scant empty section in front of his PC monitor and keyboard. She could see no pattern to the heaps, no logical place to start. So she sat in his chair, pulled the closest pile toward her, and began sorting through it.

  Printouts of code, sections from technical manuals, handwritten notes, all sorts of indecipherable crap. Frustrated, she didn’t take much care in putting everything back exactly as she’d found it. She fought the urge to just sweep everything off the desk in one deliciously destructive movement; it would only render her already aimless search useless.

  She wasn’t sure how much time passed, so she measured her progress by piles. About six piles later, she found what she needed: a phone list. Sheila scanned the names, hoping the right one would jump out at her. She shivered when she saw Terry Simmons’ name. Then she saw the other name that she recalled Mark mentioning: Jeff Reyes. She picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Reyes speaking.”

  “Yes, hello. I’m trying to get hold of Mark Weston, please.”

  “Oh, you have the wrong extension. Let me transfer you.”

  “No!” she said quickly before he could route her. “I know the extension. He’s not answering.”

  A pause. “Well, I’m sure he’ll get back to you if you left a message.”

  Sheila realized she hadn’t explained the situation. “This is his wife. I’ve been trying to get hold of him and he’s not answering, and he’s not returned my call. It’s important.”

  “Well, he’s probably busy. I’m sure he’ll call you as soon as he can.”

  Sheila didn’t appreciate Reyes’ condescending tone. “I’d like you to go check on him. I have reason to be worried about him, and it’s not like him to not return my calls.”

  “Mrs. Weston, I’m in the middle of something myself right now, and—”

  “If you prefer, I’ll just come down there. Now, this is important. Would you please go check on him, and have him call me immediately, or let me know why he can’t?”

  Sheila heard him sigh as he answered and she gritted her teeth in fury. “All right, Mrs. Weston, I’ll check on him. But I’m sure he’s just busy.”

  “Thank you. If I don’t hear from one of you in ten minutes, I’ll call back.” Sheila hung up, checked the clock, and sat back in Mark’s desk chair to wait some more.

  “Dammit!” Jeff shoved aside the report he’d been drafting. He didn’t have enough to do, now he had to go baby-sit Weston, too. He thought about waiting for the wife to call back, then just telling her Weston was busy. She’d never know the difference, and he could keep working in the meantime instead of roaming the halls and getting tied up with something unplanned along the way.

  He reached for the report—then something the wife said replayed in his mind.

  Something about having reason to be worried.

  What prompted that? Was there something going on with Weston, or was it just some marital tiff? After that last meeting with Harris, he didn’t dare take a chance. He pushed back his chair and went to check on him.

  CHAPTER 50

  Weston turned to answer the gentle knock at his cube. Evan didn’t like how he looked. His face was pale; his eyes were rimmed in red. His hair was rumpled as if he’d been compulsively running his hands through it.

  “Yes?” His voice wavered, but at least he looked like he recognized him.

  Evan knew he had to work quickly and carefully. He spoke in a casual tone to set Weston at ease. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. We didn’t get to speak long on the call earlier.”

  “I told you, my stomach’s doing better.” Weston forced a weak smile.

  “Can I have a moment of your time, privately?

  We can chat in a conference room.”

  Weston frowned. “Why?” He glanced at his watch. “Isn’t it after hours for you now?”

  Evan smiled and tried to sound nonchalant. “Oh, a little. I was catching up on some paperwork downstairs and figured you might still be here. I just wanted to run through a couple of things with you, but I’d rather do it in private.”

  “Why not downstairs in the clinic, then?”

  “Just trying to save a little time. This’ll only take a couple of minutes; it would take longer to wait for one of those infernally slow elevators than to just pop into one of the rooms here.” He smiled again, hoping it looked real, not as forced as it truly was.

  Weston glanced at the work on his desk and shrugged. “All right.”

  Evan led him down the hall to one of the smaller conference rooms at the far end—farthest away from the main section of cubicles. As unhealthy as it was, he was grateful now for the heads-down work ethic of the other employees. They didn’t run into anyone loitering in the aisles. He gestured Weston into the room with his best bedside manner, then shut the door behind them.

  Weston flopped into one of the chairs as if he lacked the strength to properly lower himself into it. “All right, so what do you want to talk about?”

  Evan observed him closely for a moment before answering. The sight gave him the strength to follow through with his plan. Weston was a wreck. Just weeks before, he’d been a normal, healthy man in his early 30s. Now he looked on the brink of collapse, thanks to the tyranny of that damned implant. He approached him as he asked, “How quickly did you get relief from your stomach symptoms? And was it complete, or just partial relief?”

  “Right away. What are you doing?”

  “Just checking your pulse.” Evan slid his left middle finger into the hollow beneath Weston’s jaw as he maneuvered behind him, trying to act natural. He reached into his right lab coat pocket, removed the cap one-handed and moved quickly, thrusting the needle into Weston’s right upper arm before he could react.

  “What—”

  Evan covered his mouth so no one outside the room would overhear anything while the Ketamine took effect. “Shhh, it’s all right.” He hated himself for using Tyler’s obscene trick, but Weston wouldn’t believe his explanation anyway, and he’d risk altering Tyler if he was monitoring Weston’s thoughts.

  Once the chemical took effect, Evan worked fast. No time for gloves or other niceties. He leaned his now-pliant patient back in the chair so he could readily access the site. Then he dumped the contents of his lab coat pocket onto the conference room table.

  First he smeared some fast-acting topical over the spot behind Weston’s ear. T
hen he unsheathed his scalpel and made an incision to release the chip from its pocket of flesh. Dropping the scalpel onto the table, he grabbed his tweezers and quickly teased the device out. He slipped it into a small plastic bag. Then he wiped the site with a gauze square and applied skin adhesive.

  Evan re-sheathed the scalpel and stuffed everything, including the used wipes and wrappers, back into his pocket. He checked Weston’s pulse and breathing, then noted the time. He sat down, helpless to do anything else until the Ketamine wore off.

  He reached back into his pocket for the plastic bag containing the chip, then held it up and examined it closely. Such a tiny thing to cause such damage. When Weston came to full consciousness, he’d show it to him as proof of what had been done. And he’d use it as evidence to expose Tyler’s immoral scheme.

  Josh scarcely breathed as he stared at the graph. Weston’s brain activity had simply ceased! Other graphs showed Genesis was still transmitting, but there was absolutely no activity of any kind in Weston’s brain.

  It could still be a problem with the hardware. His hands shaking so badly he could barely hit the right keys, Josh checked the online OneMarket directory to locate Weston’s cube, then bolted from his office, nearly forgetting to shut the door behind him.

  Weston gradually became more alert and attentive as the Ketamine began to wear off. He sat up a little straighter in the chair with a puzzled look on his face. Evan watched him closely for just the right moment. He didn’t dare linger in the conference room any longer than necessary, but he needed to let him know what he’d done and why—at least the bare bones. There was no time to give him the whole story while they remained so easily found.

  Weston looked at him, still a little glassy-eyed. He touched the spot behind his ear and flinched. “What did you do to me?” he slurred.

  Evan held up the plastic bag with the Genesis device in it and waited a moment for Weston’s response.

  He squinted at it, trying to focus. “What is that?”

  “It’s what I just removed from that spot behind your ear. It’s a special device that had been implanted in you.”