the Miracle Strain (aka The Messiah Code) (1997)

by Cordy, Michael

  Jasmine had been wrestling with her faith. In the end she told herself that Christ had been unique for spiritual reasons, but by coincidence had also possessed these three genes. She knew this conveniently sidestepped the issue, but she'd intentionally distracted herself by working flat-out on the search to find the identity of the match on the Black Hole database.

  She looked at the computer screen in front of her. So far she'd been able to get back into the Black Hole and access file #6699784, but in the sixty seconds before the Predator system traced her she hadn't had time to pull off the whole genome. She had tried to pull off new sections of the sequence, but each time she had gone back in she had been able to access only the sequence she already possessed. She certainly didn't have enough of the genome to do an appearance analysis, and without the sex chromosomes she couldn't even identify the gender.

  She opened the can and took a drink. Idly, she tapped a few keys and called up IGOR. She hadn't checked the latest entries collected by Big Mother for at least a week. Without thinking, she clicked on the icon containing the Nazareth genes and fed them into the IGOR update window, clicking the on-screen "Match Sequence" button. At the last minute she realized she hadn't imported the Nazareth genes icon at all, but the icon containing the incomplete #6699784 sequence she'd taken from the Black Hole.

  "Jeez." She was even more screen-drunk than she'd thought. She moved the mouse but before she could press the cancel icon, "Match Found" suddenly flashed up on the screen.

  "What?" That shouldn't have happened. #6699784 had been scanned weeks, months, even years ago, whereas the IGOR updates were scans done in the last few days. A cold clammy panic descended, as she realized what might have happened. Immediately she clicked on the Nazareth genes icon and inserted it into the IGOR update window. She crossed her fingers and watched the screen.

  And waited.

  "Match Found" flashed the words again.

  Quickly she selected the matched genome and opened it. Seconds later the screen was filled with three pictures of the subject's face: left profile, full frontal, and right profile. Beneath the pictures was a name and personal details. The database title on the top of the screen told her that this was the exact same subject she'd located in the Black Hole. But this barely registered on her brain as she stared at the face in front of her, a face she knew too well.

  Over in the Hospital Suite Tom didn't know whether to feel elated or depressed. This morning Hank Polanski was leaving the ward, to continue his impressive recovery at home. Tom saw how the other six patients took encouragement from his cure. He just wished that one of them--the newest arrival--wasn't Holly.

  Hank Polanski went to each patient in turn to say goodbye and wish them well. He seemed painfully aware of how lucky he was to be able to leave this exclusive, close-knit club before he was forced to take out life membership.

  "See ya, Holly," said Hank Polanski as he came to Holly's bed. Most of her beautiful blond hair had already fallen out from the first round of chemotherapy and she looked pale. "You'll be okay."

  "Bye, Hank," smiled Holly bravely, returning his offered high five.

  "And when I get stuck with Wrath of Zarg or my old Doom games, I know who to ask for help," said the twenty-three-yearold with a grin.

  "Yeah, right," said Holly, trying to hold her tired smile.

  Finally, Hank came to Tom and there were tears in his eyes. The young man began to say something, then thought better of it. He just reached for Tom's hand and shook it strongly. "Thanks, Doc. Thanks for everything."

  Tom smiled and patted his shoulder. "Hank, this is what it's all about. It's a joy, a genuine joy, to see you well again." He meant it too. And as Hank and his mother left the ward to continue a life they thought had been lost to them, Tom turned his attention back to Holly.

  Karl Lambert, the NIH neurosurgeon based at GENIUS, had advised immediate keyhole laser surgery, but the scan had shown Holly's tumor to be in a particularly inaccessible part of the brain. The risk of paralysis or worse from just one slip of the laser was great. So Tom had elected to try to slow the tumor's growth, buying time till Jasmine identified her match and Project Cana could be used. As well as chemo this stalling strategy involved radiation and some pro-drug therapy.

  Even if these treatments worked they were at best hold ing measures, and he would have to operate eventually. But at least they bought him time to give Cana a chance of coming to the rescue.

  He entered Holly's cubicle and sat on the bed beside her. "How are you feeling, Holly?"

  The brave smile Holly had flashed for Hank suddenly crumpled, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Why can't I go home like Hank, Dad?"

  Tom felt his heart squeeze deep inside him. Holly had reacted particularly badly to the radiation, which had made her nauseated. There were no other kids on the ward to keep her company, and now even the lively Hank had gone.

  "It took time to make Hank well, Holly," he soothed. "And we need to keep you here to observe you, and ensure you get the right treatment."

  "But I hate it here," she said, hurt and frustration flaring in her hazel eyes. As her voice got louder and the pitch higher, large tears rolled down her cheeks. "If Mom was here, she'd let me go home." Holly turned away from him and pushed her face into the pillow. "I don't want to be sick," she shouted into the linen, her small shoulders racked with her sobbing. "I hate it. I hate it. I hate it."

  He leaned forward and put his hand on the back of her neck, stroking her. He sat there in silence for some moments, until gradually her sobbing calmed and her breathing became regular. Leaning forward, he kissed her. "Holly, you will feel better soon. The tablets the nurse gave you earlier will start to work any moment now."

  Standing up, he told Holly he'd see her soon and headed for the atrium. Before he reached the door Jasmine came running into the ward, brandishing a printout in one hand and looking flushed.

  She grabbed Tom by the arm and steered him through the still swinging door into the deserted waiting room. As soon as they were alone she passed him the folded printout and hissed, "I've found out who our match is."

  "What? That's great!"

  "Read it before you say it's great."

  He quickly unfolded the paper, then did a double take when he saw the face.

  Jasmine muttered darkly, "Your Ezekiel fellow's in for a bit of a surprise, isn't he?"

  But Tom didn't say anything. He couldn't. He was so shocked he just stared at the paper in disbelieving silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Three.

  GENIUS Headquarters, Boston

  As the limousine turned into the GENIUS campus, Ezekiel De La Croix twisted the ruby ring on his finger. He felt an uncomfortable blend of heady excitement and nervous apprehension. Were all his prayers going to be answered at last?

  He disliked the pyramid of tinted glass as soon as he saw it. It was everything the Cave of the Sacred Light wasn't: brash, modern, bright, and arrogant. There was no attempt to blend into the surrounding natural world. Unlike the Brotherhood's cave, which had been fashioned over centuries out of an existing space, this was overtly imposed on the green lawns of the GENIUS campus--a symbol of the scientist's insecure and vain need to dominate God's world.

  De La Croix hadn't wanted to come, and Dr. Carter's unusual request that he forward one of his hair follicles in advance had done little to reassure him. However, Dr. Carter had refused to give him any details of the match over the phone, so he had been obliged to make the visit. "It's better we discuss this face to face," the scientist had told him two days ago. "You will understand why, when you come."

  Not only did he feel uncomfortable coming to his enemy's pagan temple, but the thought had also crossed his mind that it might be a trap. If Maria had betrayed him and the Brotherhood, then the best way for the authorities to arrest him would be for Dr. Carter to invite him here on American soil. He had discussed this with the Inner Circle and decided it was highly unlikely. After all, if they had been betrayed, then the authorities wo
uld no doubt have already raided the cave. But being cautious he had asked Brother Helix to brief him on the scientific questions and had come alone. If there was a trap only he would be sacrificed. Brother Helix could then take over the Brotherhood's mission with Brother Bernard by his side.

  He watched as the limousine, which had picked him up at Logan Airport, pulled up outside the main door. Carter was waiting on the gravel drive. Next to him was a young black woman with a fine-featured face and a compact Afro. He guessed this was Dr. Washington.

  On leaving the car, he was greeted by his hosts and escorted briskly into the building. It was a Saturday and the marblefloored atrium was as quiet as a tomb. Despite his dislike of the exterior, he couldn't help but be impressed by its airy grace. He was particularly drawn to the thirty-foot hologram in the middle of the atrium, with its double helix of multicolored DNA spiraling up to the apex of the crystal pyramid. The beauty of its complex, iridescent hues contrasted starkly with the white purity of the Sacred Flame. As the glass elevator took them past the mezzanine level to the next floor, he was struck by the light and space of the interior.

  Coming out of the elevator they came to a glass door bearing the etched legend MENDEL LABORATORY SUITE--AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY, where Ezekiel was introduced to Bob Cooke and Nora Lutz. "Both have helped with analyzing the Nazareth genes," explained Carter. "They wanted to meet you."

  "Is this the whole Cana team?" asked Ezekiel, indicating the four of them.

  "Yes, I decided to keep it as discreet as possible."

  "Very wise," he said with an approving nod. This would make it easier in the future, he thought. "Very wise indeed."

  The scientist and his people then led Ezekiel through the door into an alien landscape of glass tubes, spotless white workbenches, humming apparatus, blinking lights, and alarming messages:

  Warning! Biohazard.

  Danger!--180 degrees--Thermal gloves must be worn at alltimes.

  Ethidium bromide--avoid contact with skin.

  This was a hostile environment, cold and unnatural. A brave new world he wanted no part of. He was relieved when Dr. Carter finally ushered him through another door, marked FRANCIS CRICK CONFERENCE ROOM. Here he found a familiar conference table and chairs, a projection screen, and a bizarre instrument, which sat like a mechanical swan in one corner. Two black circular pads lay on the floor in front of it.

  He took a seat next to Bob Cooke, and accepted the coffee placed in front of him by Dr. Washington.

  "First of all, Mr. De La Croix, thank you for coming," began Carter. "You will understand why I asked you to send the hair follicle in a second. But what we want to do now is take you through what we've found." Jasmine Washington took over then and for the next half hour explained how the black swanlike Genescope worked.

  Ezekiel listened intently. Brother Helix had explained much of the basics already, but it was somehow more powerful hearing it here, in this bright, harsh place under the shadow of the strange swan. He was appalled by the power these people had at their disposal.

  He said nothing when Jasmine finished, only opening his mouth in wonder when the three-dimensional image of a man appeared before his eyes. At first he just marveled at the magic of creating a seemingly solid image in thin air, then to his shock he realized the young man with the small wiry physique was himself sixty-six years ago. He felt a twinge of sadness as he looked at this ghost of his younger self. A man he had known years ago, but who had since disappeared.

  "The hologram will show the subject at the age the cell came from the body. But DAN can extrapolate the data if we want the hologram to show a different age," explained Jasmine. "This is set to just over thirty years."

  "It's incredible," he said quietly, convinced more than ever that Carter was dangerous. "Truly incredible."

  Carter explained how the Genescope had found three new genes in the DNA of Christ's tooth. Ezekiel listened while the scientist outlined the properties of the so-called naz 1 and naz2 genes, and the apparent inscrutability of the third gene. Carter then went on to explain how, because of the difficulty in understanding the genes, he was now committed to finding a match too. But before Ezekiel could probe this, a second figure appeared on the other circular pad. This figure was taller than his hologram, with long brown hair and a narrow intelligent face. The brown eyes were wise, with a stare that haunted Ezekiel.

  Dr. Carter said, "This is Jesus Christ in his early thirties; about the same as your hologram. The age when he was supposed to have been crucified."

  Ezekiel De La Croix stared for a moment in complete silence, unsure what to feel. Disgust that this atheist had re-created Christ's image? Or joy that he was the only Leader of the Brotherhood since the founder to see the face of the original Messiah? "You can do this just from the powder in his tooth?" he asked eventually.

  "Yes," said Carter softly. "As we did with your hair."

  Ezekiel was almost as surprised at how he was able to see what he was seeing, as he was at the content. Carter had exceeded Icarus's flying too close to the sun. He was manipulating the very essence of God. At that moment, although Carter sounded respectful, almost subdued, Ezekiel hated him. He understood why Maria had been so adamant in her need to stop the man's outrageous overreaching. Carter hadn't just picked one of the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge, he had stripped every apple from its boughs.

  Despite these thoughts, Ezekiel De La Croix kept his face impassive, and focused on his reason for being here. "What about the match? You said you had found one."

  A pause as Washington and Carter exchanged a worried look. "We have found one live match," said Carter eventually. "But there's a problem."

  Ezekiel was surprised by the scientist's tone. "A problem? How do you mean? Can't you find him?"

  "No, we know exactly where the person is," said Carter. "But it's not quite as simple as that."

  "Let me explain," volunteered Jasmine Washington, moving her seat nearer a black microphone at the end of the table. "I found the match on Interpol's DNA database. This is a loose relational database situated in Paris. It doesn't contain that much information itself, but it acts as a doorway to affiliated databases around the world. Scotland Yard, the FBI, and all the major international police forces are linked to it. It is highly confidential and very well protected, because once inside it, you can access any individual stored on any police file in the world.

  "To add a further level of security the genomes on this system are each allocated a code number. I actually found the match over three weeks ago, but I couldn't get to the name behind the coded number. Then last week the subject's DNA was scanned again. This time, because I'd asked our central computer to collect every new scan from our licensed Genescopes, the subject's genome was secretly sent to IGOR, as well as the Paris database."

  Ezekiel frowned. "So, you've got the match. What's the problem?"

  "The problem depends on your expectations."

  "What do you mean?"

  "All individuals stored on this database are suspected, or convicted, criminals."

  Silence.

  Ezekiel felt numb for a moment, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made. Hadn't Christ himself been jailed? Hadn't the first Messiah been executed, crucified as a criminal?

  He said, "The first Messiah was so branded, and he was a righteous man."

  Jasmine cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone. "Show the chart!" she ordered the computer.

  Ezekiel was now breathing more calmly again, although his stomach ulcer still ached. He sat back and watched as an image slowly came into focus on the screen.

  "This is our match," said Jasmine quietly.

  "No!" he heard himself exclaim, when the image finally appeared. All he could think, as he stared at the enlarged newspaper clipping unfurling on the screen, was that there must have been some awful mistake. This wasn't possible. He felt the acid boil in his stomach, making him reach for his white pills.

  "I know it's a shock,
" said Carter quickly. "And I'm as horrified about it as you are. But the genes match perfectly, and they offer the only chance we know for developing a cure. We intend to obtain and examine blood samples, and develop viral serums from the subject's genes. We are also going to gain permission to examine the individual thoroughly, to try and determine how the genes work in the body. Naturally, whatever we find out we shall pass on to you. But I hope you now understand why I felt it necessary to invite you over here and present the match to you, face to face."

  Ezekiel could give only a weak nod. He understood better than Dr. Carter could ever know. He felt the scientist looking at him, but he could not, dared not, meet his gaze. Instead his eyes remained locked on the screen, mesmerized by the projected clipping taken from yesterday's Boston Globe. The bold headline read: THE PREACHER'S LAST SERMON? with DEATH SENTENCE NOW A CERTAINTY printed beneath it. Below the words was a grainy picture of a tall, powerfully built woman being pushed into a police car, her intense eyes looking straight into the camera, her once shaved head now covered in fine stubble.

  Ezekiel was suddenly reminded of his Pontius Pilate nightmare, of standing by while the Messiah he had dedicated his life to saving was executed. And an involuntary shudder rippled through his tired, old body.