Altar of Eden

by James Rollins

  They all piled into the service truck and headed out. Jack placed a quick call to his own brother about the change in plans. Randy still had Burt and had been waiting at the station for them to head back home together.

  “Then I’ll just meet you at that zoo place,” Randy said and hung up before Jack could argue.

  Lowering the phone, Jack glanced sidelong at his passenger. Lorna shared the front seat with him. He could tell she was lost elsewhere. Her eyes had crinkled at the corners, her mind already working on the mysteries surrounding this case, the woman becoming the doctor again.

  Kyle leaned forward, intruding between them. “So what’s up with these damned animals anyway? What’s so special about them?”

  Lorna muttered, still lost to the moment, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  Chapter 25

  An hour later, Lorna sat before a thirty-inch wide-screen LCD computer monitor in the genetics suite. Multiple windows were open on the screen, but she studied the one in the center. A three-dimensional image of an avian brain rotated on the screen, compiled from the Magnetic Resonance Imaging scan done on the African Grey parrot named Igor. A neighboring window showed a photo of the reptilian-looking featherless bird.

  “What are we looking at?” Jack asked behind her.

  Zoë Trent answered him, standing on her other side. “Something remarkable.”

  The neurobiologist shared the small conference room with them off the main lab. Her husband, Paul, was still out there reviewing the DNA analysis on the aberrant chromosome.

  “What’s wrong with this bird?” Kyle asked.

  Her brother sat on a stool beside the small birdcage that held Igor. The parrot sat sullenly, hunched low to the perch. The bird was nothing like the bright and attentive fellow he had been earlier. Also watery droppings covered the bottom of his cage.

  Diarrhea due to stress.

  A knot of annoyance burned in Lorna’s gut. Her colleagues should have waited until she returned to perform those extra tests. The health and well-being of the facility’s animals were her responsibility. And that duty extended to the animals rescued from the trawler. The creatures had already been through enough. They didn’t deserve to be treated like guinea pigs here, too.

  “How come this ugly guy doesn’t have any feathers?” her brother asked.

  Lorna answered without taking her eyes off the screen. “First, he’s not ugly. Second, we think it’s a genetic throwback, a lost trait that’s surfaced again.”

  “Weird.”

  She didn’t argue with that. It was weird. Everything about this was strange. “Just keep him company. He’s spooked. Talk to him.”

  Parrots were social creatures and found solace in companionship.

  Kyle shrugged and leaned closer to the cage. Her brother lowered his voice to a gentle coo. “So who’s an ugly bird? Not you.”

  Igor cocked an eye quizzically at Kyle and responded with a soft clucking, the avian equivalent of a chuckle.

  Like Lorna, her brother always had a way with animals. And despite his quick temper, he had a big heart, which might explain his volatility. He felt things deeply, and she knew how much he loved her, sought to protect her. With their father passing away when they were children, he had always taken on the role of the man of the house—and even more so after their mother had died. She both loved him for this effort and bristled against it, but in the machismo world of the South, it was an all-too-common family dynamic.

  Jack drew her attention back to the computer. He leaned a hip on the desk. “So what’s so remarkable about this MRI scan?” he asked Zoë. “Why insist Lorna see this first?”

  The neurobiologist pointed to the monitor. “It’ll help explain why we didn’t wait before performing the electroencephalograms.” Her voice took on an apologetic tone, but it didn’t appease Lorna.

  She studied the rotating image. The brain looked like most birds’, and in fact it was not that much different from a mammalian brain. On the screen, the spinal cord bloomed into a medulla, a cerebellum, and a cerebrum that was divided into two hemispheres. She noted something strange almost immediately: five distinct darker objects appeared to be embedded between the hyperpallium and mesopallium layers of forebrain, the avian equivalent to the human neocortex. They were crisp and hard-edged, appearing almost crystalline in structure.

  She rotated to get a top view of these odd densities. The five formed a perfect pentagram within the neurological tissue.

  “What are they?” she asked.

  Instead of answering, Zoë reached and tapped a button on the keyboard. The parrot’s brain vanished and was replaced by another. “This is the brain from one of the capuchin monkeys.”

  Lorna pictured the conjoined twins as she leaned closer to the screen. The same strange densities were lodged within the brain tissue of the monkey. She revolved the image. The same number and lodged in the equivalent morphological locations. Even the pattern was the same. A perfectly symmetrical pentagram.

  Despite the warmth of the room, a chill edged through her.

  Zoë shifted closer. “We found these same odd intrusions in all the animals recovered from the trawler. I can show you the other scans.”

  Lorna shook her head, trusting her colleagues’ assessment. “Are they implants?”

  “We don’t think so.” Excitement welled in the neurobiologist’s voice. “We think they might be natural features.”

  “Natural?”

  “That’s right.” Zoë shifted the computer mouse to zoom down on one of the densities. “Look closer. See how there’s no scarring around the intrusions like you’d expect from a surgical implant. Also there’s no granulation tissue walled around it like you’d see from an embedded foreign body.”

  “Then what are they?”

  Zoë shrugged. “That’s what Dr. Metoyer wants to know. Jon Greer over in pathology is attempting to dissect one from the dead cub’s carcass so we can study it. He’s also taking multiple brain biopsies around the intrusion.”

  “Biopsies?” Jack asked. “Why?”

  Zoë circled a finger around the abnormalities on the computer screen. “The neurological tissue appears to be denser within the zone of the intrusions. Dr. Metoyer wanted to confirm a supposition that this region is made up of more densely packed neurons.”

  Lorna wanted to know, too. She remembered the glow from the jaguar’s eyes, its cunningness. Even the parrot’s ability to recite the mathematical equivalent of pi. More neurons translated to a richer synaptic environment, which meant more computing power to be tapped. This discovery could explain why the animals seemed especially hyper-intelligent.

  Zoë straightened and ran a hand through her short black hair. “Now you know why we wanted to perform those EEGs. We were so excited. We couldn’t wait.”

  Lorna slowly nodded. By studying the electrical patterns of the brain, they were looking for any change in functionality associated with these intrusions. “What did you find with the EEGs?”

  “At first nothing. Each animal’s brain-wave patterns seemed normal enough, each as unique as a fingerprint. There seemed to be no common ground.”

  Rather than disappointment, Zoë’s face shone with amazement. Lorna knew there was another shoe still to drop. Zoë glanced over to Igor’s cage.

  Lorna followed her gaze, then back to the neurobiologist. “What?”

  “I’ll show you.” Zoë sidled next to her and tapped rapidly at the keyboard. “I’m going to display the set of four EEGs we took from the parrot, the two monkeys, and Bagheera, the cub. For simplicity’s sake, I’m only going to show a single lead from each animal.”

  The readings appeared on the screen.

  Zoë glanced over to Lorna with one eyebrow cocked. She read her colleague’s question. Can you see anything weird here?

  It took Lorna only a second. She pointed to the two center tracings. “These two runs are nearly identical.” She read the labels and scrunched her brow. Cebus apella. Specimens A
and B. “Those readings came from the conjoined twin monkeys.”

  Zoë nodded. “That’s right. At first we thought it might be a mistake. Perhaps the electrode net placed on one monkey was picking up the electrical pattern from its twin. Or maybe because they were genetic twins, their brain activity also matched. Just to be sure we brought all the animals up here and retested them.”

  She tapped at the keyboard and another four leads were displayed. “This is what we got when all four specimens were in the room at the same time.”

  Lorna leaned closer, running each lead with the tip of a finger. Amazement grew. Impossible.

  Jack spoke next to her. “They all look roughly the same.”

  “We ran the leads for a full ten minutes each. They continued to stay synchronized.”

  Lorna struggled to comprehend what she was seeing.

  “Afterward,” Zoë said, “we took the other animals back to their ward. Except for the parrot here. We tested Igor again with the others gone. His EEG returned to its original unique pattern.”

  Lorna stared over to the parrot and her brother. “Are you saying that when they’re all together, their brain-wave patterns somehow slip into perfect synchronization?”

  “That’s what seems to be happening.”

  How could that be? She had heard of women in dorms who would begin to menstruate in unison when housed together—but that was due to pheromones in the air, triggering a synchronized cycling. What could be causing the neurological equivalent in these animals? If this data were correct, there had to be some sort of stimulus or communication among the animals.

  Lorna pulled up the MRI data on the monitor. Again the three-dimensional model of Igor’s brain appeared. She rotated it to look down upon the five strange densities.

  “Whatever’s going on has to be tied to these intrusions,” Lorna said. “All the specimens share this common structure.”

  She stared at the screen, picturing the net of denser tissue that spanned the pentagram. It reminded her of something. But what? She cupped out her hand, splaying her five fingers wide. Then it dawned on her. She rotated her hand back and forth.

  “A satellite dish,” she mumbled.

  “What?” Zoë asked.

  “The structure in the animal’s brain. What if it’s acting like a small transmitting dish? Emitting an ultralow frequency signal that the others pick up and somehow triggers this synchronization.”

  Zoë frowned, caught between disbelief and possibility.

  “Are you talking about some form of telepathy?” Kyle asked, eye-balling the parrot with suspicion.

  “No.” Lorna spoke faster. “At least not exactly. For the EEGs to match, something has to be triggering it. It can’t be hormonal or pheromonal. They’re different species.”

  “Plus the reaction time is too fast,” Zoë added, her disbelief fading.

  Lorna nodded. “But a weak electrical signal could trigger it. Just enough to flip a switch in the brains of all four animals.”

  “But what could be powering it all?” Jack asked. “I don’t see any battery.”

  Zoë answered him. “No battery is needed. The brain’s an electrical organ, producing energy known as action potentials by pumping chemicals into and out of neurons. The average brain produces a continuous ten to twelve watts of electricity. Morning, noon, and night. Enough to power a flashlight.”

  “And certainly enough to transmit a low-grade signal.” Lorna stared at the MRI model and swallowed.

  A new voice spoke by the doorway. “Which, of course, begs another question, my dear.”

  Lorna turned to find her boss, Carlton Metoyer, leaning in the doorway. How long had he been listening in on their conversation?

  “What question is that?” Zoë asked.

  He stepped into the room, wearing a crisply pressed lab jacket, ever the southern gentleman, even when up all night. “Dr. Polk has just offered us an intriguing solution as to how these brains are linking up. Which raises an even more dynamic question.”

  Lorna understood and asked that question aloud. “Why?”

  Why were these animals linking up?

  Chapter 26

  Duncan sat alone in a truck parked outside the entry road to ACRES. He had the window rolled down and listened to the nighttime chorus of frogs and crickets. Off to the left, the Mississippi River whispered muddily as it swept alongside the levee road. A soft wind stirred the thick humid air, making it almost breathable.

  With his night-vision scope fixed to his face, he studied the facility on the far side of the levee. The place was dark, except for a few lighted windows on the first floor. His earpiece registered the call signs of his team as they reached their various positions around the building. While waiting, Duncan kept watch on the one road into and out of the facility.

  He didn’t want any surprises.

  His second-in-command finally reported the all-ready. “On your signal.”

  “Have you confirmed the number and identity of the civilians?”

  “Seven. One is a Border Patrol agent, and we should assume he’s armed.”

  “Make him a high-priority target. Remember, we need one of the scientists to interrogate off-site.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  They needed to gauge how much the researchers had learned about the Babylon Project—and more important, if any word had spread. After that, the subject would be eliminated and the body disposed of. There were plenty of hungry sharks in the Caribbean.

  Duncan studied the facility one last time. His team had the place surrounded and locked down. Incendiary charges would cover their tracks afterward. At first light, an animal rights terrorist group would e-mail and claim responsibility for the attack. Nothing would be traced back to Ironcreek Industries.

  With everything ready, he lifted the radio to give the order to move in—when suddenly lights flared behind his truck. The flash stung through his night-vision scopes. He tore off the goggles and glanced to the rearview mirror.

  A truck rumbled around a far bend in the river road. Its headlights swept around the corner and speared Duncan’s parked truck. He lowered his radio and waited.

  Suspicion rankled through him.

  At this hour and in these remote parts, he had not expected any traffic.

  While he watched the vehicle approach he popped another Life Savers in his mouth. Pineapple. He grimaced at the flavor. Not his favorite. Still, he sucked on the candy. As he waited he judged the threat level and recalibrated his plans.

  Once the truck was close enough, he saw that it appeared to be a beat-up Chevy, held together mostly with rust and old gray primer. It sidled toward his position.

  Keep moving he willed it.

  As if obeying him, the Chevy swung wide, preparing to pass around, but a flare of crimson bloomed from the rear as the truck began to brake. The vehicle slowed and settled to a stop beside Duncan’s truck with a wheezy sigh of its engine. The driver leaned toward the open passenger window and pushed up the brim of a ball cap. He wore a hunting vest over a stained T-shirt.

  “Need a hand, buddy?” he called out. His accent was thickly Cajun, just a swamp rat out late.

  Duncan shifted the pistol on his lap and inwardly grimaced.

  The jackass just had to stop . . .

  Duncan tilted toward the window. The driver flinched at the sight of his scarred face, one not easy to forget. There could be no witnesses. He lifted his gun to the window—

  —but a black-and-tan hound suddenly lunged up from the truck’s rear bed. It bayed loudly at him, like an angry bullhorn.

  Startled, Duncan jerked back with a strangled gasp. Old terror crackled through his ribs. He flashed back to another time a beast had caught him by surprise.

  The driver turned and hollered at the dog. “Burt, shut your piehole! I can hardly hear myself think.”

  Duncan’s heart pounded in his throat.

  Oblivious of his reaction, the driver swung back toward him. “Mister, you don’t happe
n to know if there’s some zoo place out here, do ya? My fool of a brother was heading over—”

  Terror turned to fury. Angered at being caught off guard, Duncan yanked up his pistol and thrust it through the window. As he pulled the trigger the dog launched out of the truck straight at him.

  He flinched as the gun went off. Blood splattered against the other windshield. The driver grabbed the side of his head, yelling a loud “Fuck!,” and dropped out of view.

  Duncan swung toward the attacking dog, but the hound twisted in midair, struck the side of his truck, and fell between the two vehicles.

  Across the way, the Chevy’s engine suddenly revved and gears popped. The truck bounced away, careening wildly back and forth as the driver drove blindly from his hiding place.

  Duncan shoved the door open, leaped out into a shooter’s stance, and emptied his entire clip at the truck. The Chevy veered sharply to the left, not slowing down. It leaped off the levee road and went airborne over the steep edge.

  He ran after it while ejecting the dead clip and slapping a fresh one into his pistol. He watched the truck’s front end hit the stony embankment below and flip upside down into the storm-swollen Mississippi River. The current spun the vehicle as it quickly sank.

  Duncan kept watch, gun pointed. He waited a full two minutes. No body came thrashing to the surface.

  Screw it.

  With no time for a more thorough search, he swung away. Even if the man survived, Duncan’s team would be long gone before the bastard could alert anyone.

  Red-faced, with his heart still thudding, he returned to his truck. He watched for any sign of the dog, but the hound must have high-tailed it away. At the truck, he grabbed his radio off the front seat. He was done here. He lifted the radio to his lips.

  “All positions. Move in. Take this place down.”