by Dan Brown
Now, as Langdon’s tall frame materialized in the doorway, she barely recognized him. His suit was dirty, his dark hair tousled, and his eyes looked weary and sunken.
“Professor, are you okay?” Sinskey stood up.
Langdon gave her a tired smile. “I’ve had easier nights.”
“Please,” she said, motioning to a chair. “Have a seat.”
“Zobrist’s contagion,” Langdon began without preamble as he sat down. “I think it may have been released a week ago.”
Sinskey gave a patient nod. “Yes, we’ve come to the same conclusion. No symptoms have been reported yet, but we’ve isolated samples and are already gearing up for intensive testing. Unfortunately, it could take days or weeks to get a real grip on what this virus is … and what it might do.”
“It’s a vector virus,” Langdon said.
Sinskey cocked her head in surprise, startled to hear that he even knew the term. “I beg your pardon?”
“Zobrist created an airborne vector virus capable of modifying human DNA.”
A STRAND OF DNA (RED) BEING CARRIED BY A VIRUS (BLUE)
Sinskey rose abruptly, knocking her chair over in the process. That’s not even possible! “What would ever make you claim such a thing?”
“Sienna,” Langdon replied quietly. “She told me. Half an hour ago.”
Sinskey leaned her hands on her desk and stared across at Langdon with sudden distrust. “She didn’t escape?”
“She certainly did,” he replied. “She was free, in a boat speeding out to sea, and she easily could have disappeared forever. But she thought better of it. She came back of her own volition. Sienna wants to help with this crisis.”
A harsh laugh escaped Sinskey’s lips. “Forgive me if I’m not inclined to trust Ms. Brooks, especially when she’s making such a far-fetched claim.”
“I believe her,” Langdon said, his tone unwavering. “And if she claims that this is a vector virus, I think you’d better take her seriously.”
Sinskey felt suddenly exhausted, her mind struggling to analyze Langdon’s words. She moved to the window and stared out. A DNA-altering viral vector? As improbable and horrifying as the prospect sounded, she had to admit there was an eerie logic to it. After all, Zobrist was a genetic engineer and knew firsthand that the smallest mutation in a single gene could have catastrophic effects on the body—cancers, organ failure, and blood disorders. Even a disease as abhorrent as cystic fibrosis—which drowns its victim in mucus—was caused by nothing more than a minuscule hiccup in a regulator gene on chromosome seven.
Specialists had now started treating these genetic conditions with rudimentary vector viruses that were injected directly into the patient. These noncontagious viruses were programmed to travel through the patient’s body and install replacement DNA that fixed the damaged sections. This new science, however, like all sciences, had a dark side. The effects of a vector virus could be either favorable or destructive … depending on the engineer’s intentions. If a virus were maliciously programmed to insert damaged DNA into healthy cells, the results would be devastating. Moreover, if that destructive virus were somehow engineered to be highly contagious and airborne …
The prospect made Sinskey shudder. What genetic horror has Zobrist dreamed up? How does he plan to thin the human herd?
Sinskey knew that finding the answer could take weeks. The human genetic code contained a seemingly infinite labyrinth of chemical permutations. The prospect of searching its entirety in hopes of finding Zobrist’s one specific alteration would be like looking for a needle in a haystack . . . without even knowing on what planet that particular haystack was located.
“Elizabeth?” Langdon’s deep voice pulled her back.
Sinskey turned from the window and looked at him.
“Did you hear me?” he asked, still seated calmly. “Sienna wanted to destroy this virus as much as you did.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
Langdon exhaled, standing now. “I think you should listen to me. Shortly before his death, Zobrist wrote a letter to Sienna, telling her what he had done. He outlined exactly what this virus would do … how it would attack us … how it would achieve his goals.”
Sinskey froze. There’s a letter?!
“When Sienna read Zobrist’s description of what he had created, she was horrified. She wanted to stop him. She considered his virus so dangerous that she didn’t want anybody to gain access to it, including the World Health Organization. Don’t you see? Sienna has been trying to destroy the virus … not release it.”
“There’s a letter?” Sinskey demanded, her focus now singular. “With specifics?”
“That’s what Sienna told me, yes.”
“We need that letter! Having specifics could save us months in understanding what this thing is and knowing how to handle it.”
Langdon shook his head. “You don’t understand. When Sienna read Zobrist’s letter, she was terrified. She burned it immediately. She wanted to be sure nobody—”
Sinskey smacked her hand down on the desk. “She destroyed the one thing that could help us prepare for this crisis? And you want me to trust her?”
“I know it’s asking a lot, in light of her actions, but rather than castigating her, it might be helpful to remember that Sienna has a unique intellect, including a rather startling capacity for recall.” Langdon paused. “What if she can re-create enough of Zobrist’s letter to be helpful to you?”
Sinskey narrowed her gaze, nodding slightly. “Well, Professor, in that case, what do you suggest I do?”
Langdon motioned to her empty coffee cup. “I suggest you order more coffee … and listen to the one condition that Sienna has requested.”
Sinskey’s pulse quickened, and she glanced at the phone. “You know how to reach her?”
“I do.”
“Tell me what she requested.”
Langdon told her, and Sinskey fell silent, considering the proposal.
“I think it’s the right thing to do,” Langdon added. “And what do you have to lose?”
“If everything you’re saying is true, then you have my word.” Sinskey pushed the phone toward him. “Please make the call.”
To Sinskey’s surprise, Langdon ignored the phone. Instead, he stood up and headed out the door, stating that he would be back in a minute. Puzzled, Sinskey walked into the hall and observed him striding through the consulate’s waiting area, pushing open the glass doors, and exiting into the elevator foyer beyond. For a moment, she thought he was leaving, but then, rather than summoning the elevator, he slipped quietly into the women’s restroom.
A few moments later, he emerged with a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. Sinskey needed a long moment to accept the fact that this was truly Sienna Brooks. The pretty ponytailed woman she had seen earlier in the day had been utterly transformed. She was totally bald, as if her scalp had been shaved clean.
When the two entered her office, they silently took seats facing the desk.
“Forgive me,” Sienna said quickly. “I know we have a lot to discuss, but first, I was hoping you would permit me to say something that I really need to say.”
Sinskey noted the sadness in Sienna’s voice. “Of course.”
“Ma’am,” she began, her voice frail, “you are the director of the World Health Organization. You know better than anyone that we are a species on the edge of collapse … a population out of control. For years, Bertrand Zobrist attempted to engage with influential people like yourself to discuss the impending crisis. He visited countless organizations that he believed could effect change—Worldwatch Institute, the Club of Rome, Population Matters, the Council on Foreign Relations—but he never found anyone who dared engage in a meaningful conversation about a real solution. You all responded with plans for better contraceptive education, tax incentives for smaller families, and even talk of colonizing the moon! It’s no wonder Bertrand lost his mind.”
Sinskey stared at her, offering no re
action.
Sienna took a deep breath. “Dr. Sinskey, Bertrand came to you personally. He begged you to acknowledge that we are on the brink . . . begged you to engage in some kind of dialogue. But rather than listening to his ideas, you called him a madman, put him on a watch list, and drove him underground.” Sienna’s voice grew heavy with emotion. “Bertrand died all alone because people like yourself refused to open your minds enough even to admit that our catastrophic circumstances might actually require an uncomfortable solution. All Bertrand ever did was speak the truth . . . and for that, he was ostracized.” Sienna wiped her eyes and gazed across the desk at Sinskey. “Believe me, I know what it’s like to feel all alone . . . the worst kind of loneliness in the world is the isolation that comes from being misunderstood. It can make people lose their grasp on reality.”
Sienna stopped talking, and a strained silence followed.
“That’s all I wanted to say,” she whispered.
Sinskey studied her for a long while and then sat down. “Ms. Brooks,” she said, as calmly as possible, “you’re right. I may not have listened before …” She folded her hands on the desk and looked directly at Sienna. “But I’m listening now.”
The clock in the Swiss Consulate’s lobby had long since chimed 1 A.M.
The notepad on Sinskey’s desk was now a patchwork of handwritten text, questions, and diagrams. The director of the World Health Organization had neither moved nor spoken in more than five minutes. She stood at the window, staring out into the night.
Behind her, Langdon and Sienna waited, seated in silence, cradling the last of their Turkish coffee, the heavy aroma of its pulverized grounds and pistachio grains filling the room.
The only sound was the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.
Sienna could feel her own heart pounding, and she wondered what Sinskey was thinking, having now heard the truth in brutal detail. Bertrand’s virus is a sterility plague. One-third of the human population will be infertile.
Throughout the explanation, Sienna had watched Sinskey’s range of emotions, which, while restrained, had been palpable. First, there was a stunned acceptance of the fact that Zobrist had actually created an airborne vector virus. Next she had displayed fleeting hope when she learned that the virus was not designed to kill people. Then . . . slowly, there had been the spiraling horror as the truth set in, and she realized that vast portions of the earth’s population would be rendered sterile. It was clear that the revelation that the virus attacked human fertility affected Sinskey on a deeply personal level.
In Sienna’s case, the overwhelming emotion was relief. She had shared the complete contents of Bertrand’s letter with the WHO director. I have no more secrets.
“Elizabeth?” Langdon ventured.
Sinskey emerged slowly from her thoughts. When she returned her gaze to them, her face was drawn. “Sienna,” she began, speaking in a flat tone, “the information you have provided will be very helpful in preparing a strategy to deal with this crisis. I appreciate your candor. As you know, pandemic vector viruses have been discussed theoretically as a possible way to immunize large populations, but everyone believed that the technology was still many years away.”
Sinskey returned to her desk, where she sat down.
“Forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. “This all feels like science fiction to me at the moment.”
Not surprising, Sienna thought. Every quantum leap in medicine had always felt this way—penicillin, anesthesia, X-rays, the first time humans looked through a microscope and saw a cell divide.
Dr. Sinskey gazed down at her notepad. “In a few hours, I will arrive in Geneva to a firestorm of questions. I have no doubt that the first question will be whether there is any way to counteract this virus.”
Sienna suspected she was right.
“And,” Sinskey continued, “I imagine the first proposed solution will be to analyze Bertrand’s virus, understand it as best as we can, and then attempt to engineer a second strain of it—a strain that we reprogram in order to change our DNA back to its original form.” Sinskey did not look optimistic as she turned her gaze to Sienna. “Whether a countervirus is even possible remains to be seen, but hypothetically speaking, I’d like to hear your thoughts on that approach.”
MAP OF HUMAN DNA SEQUENCE, PART OF THE HUMAN GENOME PROJECT
My thoughts? Sienna felt herself glance reflexively at Langdon. The professor gave her a nod, sending a very clear message: You’ve come this far. Speak your mind. Tell the truth as you see it.
Sienna cleared her throat, turned to Sinskey, and spoke in a clear, strong voice. “Ma’am, the world of genetic engineering is one I’ve inhabited with Bertrand for many years. As you know, the human genome is an extremely delicate structure . . . a house of cards. The more adjustments we make, the greater the chances we mistakenly alter the wrong card and bring the entire thing crashing down. My personal belief is that there is enormous danger in attempting to undo what has already been done. Bertrand was a genetic engineer of exceptional skill and vision. He was years ahead of his peers. At this point in time, I’m not sure I would trust anyone else to go poking around in the human genome, hoping to get it right. Even if you designed something you thought might work, trying it would involve reinfecting the entire population with something new.”
“Very true,” Sinskey said, seeming unsurprised by what she had just heard. “But of course, there is the bigger issue. We might not even want to counteract it.”
Her words caught Sienna off guard. “I’m sorry?”
“Ms. Brooks, I may disagree with Bertrand’s methods, but his assessment of the state of the world is accurate. This planet is facing a serious overpopulation issue. If we manage to neutralize Bertrand’s virus without a viable alternate plan … we are simply back at square one.”
Sienna’s shock must have been apparent, because Sinskey gave her a tired chuckle and added, “Not a viewpoint you expected to hear from me?”
Sienna shook her head. “I guess I’m not sure what to expect anymore.”
“Then perhaps I can surprise you again,” Sinskey went on. “As I mentioned earlier, leaders from top health agencies around the world will be gathering in Geneva in a matter of hours to discuss this crisis and prepare an action plan. I can’t recall a gathering of greater significance in all my years at the WHO.” She leveled her gaze at the young doctor. “Sienna, I would like you to have a seat at that table.”
“Me?” Sienna recoiled. “I’m not a genetic engineer. I’ve told you everything I know.” She pointed to Sinskey’s notepad. “Everything I have to offer is right there in your notes.”
“Not by a long shot,” Langdon interjected. “Sienna, any meaningful debate about this virus will require context. Dr. Sinskey and her team will need to develop a moral framework to assess their response to this crisis. She obviously believes you are in a unique position to add to that dialogue.”
“My moral framework, I suspect, will not please the WHO.”
“Probably not,” Langdon replied, “which is all the more reason for you to be there. You are a member of a new breed of thinkers. You provide counterpoint. You can help them understand the mind-set of visionaries like Bertrand—brilliant individuals whose convictions are so strong that they take matters into their own hands.”
“Bertrand was hardly the first.”
“No,” Sinskey interjected, “and he won’t be the last. Every month, the WHO uncovers labs where scientists are dabbling in the gray areas of science—everything from manipulating human stem cells to breeding chimeras . . . blended species that don’t exist in nature. It’s disturbing. Science is progressing so fast that nobody knows where the lines are drawn anymore.”
Sienna had to agree. Just recently, two very respected virologists—Fouchier and Kawaoka—had created a highly pathogenic mutant H5N1 virus. Despite the researchers’ purely academic intent, their new creation possessed certain capabilities that had alarmed biosecurity specialists and had
created a firestorm of controversy online.
“I’m afraid it’s only going to get murkier,” Sinskey said. “We’re on the verge of new technologies that we can’t yet even imagine.”
“And new philosophies as well,” Sienna added. “The Transhumanist movement is about to explode from the shadows into the mainstream. One of its fundamental tenets is that we as humans have a moral obligation to participate in our evolutionary process … to use our technologies to advance the species, to create better humans—healthier, stronger, with higher-functioning brains. Everything will soon be possible.”
“And you don’t think that such beliefs are in conflict with the evolutionary process?”
“No,” Sienna responded without hesitation. “Humans have evolved incrementally over millennia, inventing new technologies along the way—rubbing sticks together for warmth, developing agriculture to feed ourselves, inventing vaccines to fight disease, and now, creating genetic tools to help engineer our own bodies so we can survive in a changing world.” She paused. “I believe genetic engineering is just another step in a long line of human advances.”
Sinskey was silent, deep in thought. “So you believe we should embrace these tools with open arms.”
“If we don’t embrace them,” Sienna replied, “then we are as undeserving of life as the caveman who freezes to death because he’s afraid to start a fire.”
Her words seemed to hang in the room for a long time before anyone spoke.
It was Langdon who broke the silence. “Not to sound old-fashioned,” he began, “but I was raised on the theories of Darwin, and I can’t help but question the wisdom of attempting to accelerate the natural process of evolution.”
“Robert,” Sienna said emphatically, “genetic engineering is not an acceleration of the evolutionary process. It is the natural course of events! What you forget is that it was evolution that created Bertrand Zobrist. His superior intellect was the product of the very process Darwin described . . . an evolution over time. Bertrand’s rare insight into genetics did not come as a flash of divine inspiration . . . it was the product of years of human intellectual progress.”
