Ancestor (6 page)

Rhumkorrf took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I want you all to think about something.” He put the glasses back on. “It took us an hour to conduct this experiment. In that hour, at least four people died from organ failure. Four people who would have lived if they had a replacement. In twenty-four hours, almost a hundred people will die. Perhaps you should consider that before you start bickering again.”

Jian, Tim and even Erika stared at the floor.

“Whatever it takes,” Rhumkorrf said. “Whatever it takes, we
will
make this happen. We’ve just failed the immune response test for the
sixteenth time. All of you, go work from your rooms. Maybe if we stop sniping at each other, we can find that last obstacle and eliminate it.”

Jian nodded, then walked out of the lab and headed back to her small apartment. Sixteen immune response tests, sixteen failures. She had to find a way to make number seventeen work,
had
to, because millions of lives depended on her and her alone.

DANTÉ PAGLIONE SAT behind his massive white marble desk, watching, waiting. His brother, Magnus, sat on the other side of the desk, reclining in one of the two leather chairs, cell phone pressed to his left ear, eyes narrowed. Magnus’s nostrils flared open, shut. Open, shut. His thumb constantly spun the Grey Cup championship ring on his right hand. The office lights gleamed off of Magnus’s shaved head.

To anyone else in the world, Magnus looked perfectly calm. In truth he
was
. Always. At least on the surface. But Danté had known Magnus all of his life, and he could tell when something chewed at his little brother’s guts.

“Continue,” Magnus said into the phone.

Danté looked to his office wall, taking in the series of original Leonardo da Vinci sketches. Da Vinci’s work was the epitome of control, of calmness, methodical execution of perfection. Things that Danté strived for in all phases of his life.

“Elaborate,” Magnus said into the phone. His nose flared again, just a little. He sat up slowly until his back was perfectly straight. Separated by only a year and a half, Danté and Magnus looked extremely similar—both had violet eyes, a big jaw, both were tall and solid, but Magnus had spent far more time in the weight room and it showed.

Although the two were instantly recognizable as brothers, the youngest had another key differentiator—he just
looked
dangerous. The thin scar running from his left eyebrow down to his left cheek was a big part of that look. And when Magnus focused like he was focusing now, staring off into nothing, that cold brain processing all the information, the truth was that Danté’s kid brother looked creepy as fuck.

Magnus folded the phone, casually slid it into an inside pocket of his tailored sport coat, then sat back slowly and crossed his left leg over his right knee. “The Novozyme facility in Denmark blew up.”

“Blew up? The animal rights activists bombed it?”

“Somewhat bigger than that,” Magnus said. “Our little NSA hacker friend isn’t sure, but she thinks it was a fuel-air explosive.”

Danté let out a slow breath. He didn’t have to ask what that meant. There was only one reason to incinerate a billion-dollar facility: a virus had jumped species. “What about Matal and his staff?”

“Dead,” Magnus said. “He was in the facility. The entire main staff is gone.”

Danté nodded. Novozyme was Genada’s primary competitor. Matal had been their answer to Claus Rhumkorrf. You could always build new facilities, but you couldn’t replace talent like Rhumkorrf or Matal. In the gold rush for viable xenotransplantation, Novozyme was no longer a factor.

“This works for us,” Danté said. “Novozyme is out of the game.”

Magnus smiled, just a little. “I’m afraid the
game
is over. For everyone. The G8 are cooperating to shut all of us down. Farm Girl says Fischer is in charge, and he’s starting with us.”

Farm Girl. The code name for their NSA contact. She would never reveal her real name. Only Magnus spoke with her. Farm Girl’s information was always reliable, and she was right—if Fischer was coming their way, it meant major problems.

Anger, annoyance and anxiety all flared up in Danté’s chest. Fischer had come after Genada when Galina Poriskova tried to blow the whistle on the surrogate mother fetal experiments. Danté had hired P. J. Colding and Tim Feely to clean up the mess and get rid of any evidence. If those two hadn’t succeeded, Fischer would have shut the company down and probably sent Danté and Magnus to jail.

Magnus’s smile faded, his blank expression returned. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“That we get shut down over a virus jumping species, and yet our specific line of work ensures that can’t happen. If only you hadn’t kept that a secret, Danté, the G8 would leave us be.”

“We couldn’t announce our method. If we had, Novozyme and Monsanto and the others would have tried to copy it.”

Magnus shrugged and raised his eyebrows, a gesture that said
oh well
.

It was bad, but perhaps not
that
bad. Danté could find a way to make it work. “What if we tell them now? I can call Fischer. Or better yet, have Colding do it. They have a history.”

Magnus laughed. “They’re not exactly poker buddies. And anyway, it’s too late now. They won’t believe our methods are safe, not after Novozyme’s accident. It’s over.”

Danté took a deep breath. He let it out, slow and controlled. There was
always a way. He hadn’t made Genada one of the world’s largest biotechs by sitting around waiting for something to happen. He succeeded because he always thought ahead.

“We knew it might come to this,” Danté said. “That’s why we have the plane.”

Magnus stared for several seconds. His right hand rubbed at his left forearm, the fabric hissing quietly in the silent room. His nostrils were flaring again.

“Danté, you can’t be serious about actually using that thing.”

“Of course I’m serious. You think we spent fifty million dollars on something so we don’t use it when we need it most? Rhumkorrf is close. They could have an embryo within a few weeks.”

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,” Magnus said. “Funny how I’ve heard the phrase
within a few weeks
for the last six months.”

“Rhumkorrf produces results, Magnus. Venter’s artificial bacteria, bringing the quagga back from extinction … every project he touches ends in success. He’s been producing Nobel-quality work since he was ten years old.”

“Has he also been racking up billion-dollar debts since he was ten years old?”

“Screw the debt,” Danté said. “We’ve invested far too much money to abandon this.”

“Invested?
Is that what you still call it? We’re broke. The well has run dry. Do you have any idea what it costs to actually fly that contraption?”

“I know.”

“And what about Sara Purinam and her crew? That makes four new noses deep in our business. The more people, the more chance for infiltration.”

“Now you sound like Colding.”

The small smile returned. “A rare occurrence, I assure you, but sometimes Colding is right. Every person we add is a risk, or did you already forget about Galina?”

Danté’s face felt hot. He didn’t like to talk about that girl, not with his brother. “No, I haven’t forgotten her. But we have to bring in Purinam and her crew. We just don’t have a choice.”

“Of course we have a choice. We had a choice with Galina.”

It wasn’t what Magnus said, but the way he said it. Danté blinked a few times. “That’s not funny.”

“Odd,” Magnus said. “I’m so well known for my sense of humor.”

Danté shook his head. Surely Magnus couldn’t seriously suggest such a thing. “This is different. These people are loyal to us, so don’t mention it again.”

“Are you
sure?
Colding and Feely, they’re both ex-USAMRIID, same department Fischer works for.”

“We wouldn’t even have a
company
if it wasn’t for Colding.”

Magnus shrugged. “And Feely? How do you know Fischer doesn’t have him on a string?”

Danté rubbed his temples. “What choice do we have? Colding tells me Feely is the only reason Jian and Erika can work together at all.”

“I think we should just end it.”

“And then what? Do you want to tell the Chinese that Jian is gone? That their
money
is gone?”

Magnus looked at the da Vinci sketches. “Speaking of money, the Chinese cut us off even before the Novozyme incident. No more spendy-spendy for you, round-eye. The
whole company
is in the red because of Rhumkorrf’s project, and now we’re
adding
costs with Purinam and the plane? How are we going to pay for this?”

“I have an investor presentation scheduled. Five extremely rich individuals. I just have to ask for more than I originally planned.”

Magnus turned back to look at Danté. Magnus rarely showed emotion, but Danté knew how to spot telltale signs of things like anger, frustration. Magnus had another tell, one he only seemed to express for Danté—the half-raised eyebrows of admiration.

“Five?”
Magnus said. “Think you can get them all?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Magnus smiled again, a genuine one this time. Magnus possessed many skills Danté did not, but what Magnus
couldn’t
do was charm billionaires out of their precious money. Danté could. Every time.

“This project is too important to stop now,” Danté said. “We’re talking about hundreds of thousands of lives.”

“Hundreds of thousands? Being a little grandiose, don’t you think? Maybe you’re really talking about one life, in particular.”

Danté’s face flushed red. “That’s
not
what this is about,” he said, although he knew full well that when you got down to brass tacks, when you got down to the real nitty-gritty, that one life—
his
life—was
exactly
what it was all about. “We’re pushing forward, Magnus. This benefits all of humanity. I don’t care if we go into the red. This project puts Genada on top, that’s what Dad would have wanted.”

Magnus stared, but then his eyes softened, just a little, and he nodded.

“Magnus, these are trying times, but the hardest steel is forged in the hottest fires. Do you have my back, or not?”

Magnus drew a deep breath, then sighed and relaxed. “Of course I do. Always. You know you don’t have to ask. I’m just not going to rubber-stamp everything you say is all.”

“We wouldn’t be much of a team if you did. Please get Purinam and her crew ready, and you go with them. Load up one of the local backup herds before you take off. The move will be faster if we don’t have to load the Baffin Island cattle. When you’re thirty minutes out, call Colding and tell him to gather the staff for an emergency evac. Even if Fischer does pick off those signals, I don’t think he’ll have time to react.”

Magnus stood and walked out of the office. Danté would have to watch him. His brother got things done, no question about that, but in stressful times like these he could make bad decisions.

Like the one he’d made about Galina Poriskova.

“I HATE RUNNING,” Harold Miller said between big breaths.

“Yeah,” said Matt “Cappy” Capistrano, “I fucking hate running.”

Sara Purinam shook her head, then wiped sweat out of her eyes. “Three more laps to go, let’s dig.”

Outside the hangar, winter winds swept across the snowy plains of Manitoba. Inside, however, she kept the temperature nice and warm. The huge plane took up most of the space, but she made sure all equipment was at least six feet away from the hangar walls. That left a nice running track all the way around. Civilians or not, her boys were going to stay in shape.

“Running sucks,” Harold said.

“Yeah,” Cappy said. “Running sucks.”

The Twins
, as Harold and Cappy were known, had elevated looking pitiful to an art form. Both jogged along, heads lolling a little bit, hands swinging loosely more than pumping. They ran the same, wore the same facial expressions, and repeated each other like sycophant parrots. They might have actually passed for twins save for the fact that Cappy was as black as an old Al Jolson caricature and if Miller were any whiter, his skin would have been transparent.

Sara looked up at the far wall. Alonzo Barella, the last member of their crew, had a half-lap lead. “Come on, guys, let’s catch ’Zo.”

“You catch him,” Harold said as his already pathetic pace slowed to a walk.

“Yeah,” Cappy said. “You catch him and shit.”

It was one thing to piss and moan, another thing entirely to quit. Sara felt an automatic diatribe of discipline build up in her head, but she stopped it—they weren’t in the military anymore and she wasn’t their superior officer. They were all partners. Friends.

Instead of yelling, she doubled her pace, leaving the Twins behind. She reached the corner and turned left, keeping the hangar wall always on her right. Maybe this time, she would catch him.

Unlike the Twins, Alonzo Barella loved to run. The skinny man could go all day. Sara pushed her pace even more, cutting his lead in half, then slowed instantly as her cell phone rang. Not with the normal ring, but with Darth Vader’s theme from
Star Wars—
the special ringtone she’d set up for Magnus Paglione.

“’Zo! Hold up!”

Up ahead, Alonzo stopped and turned. Jogging in place. He wasn’t even sweating.

Sara answered. Within seconds she had her orders. After a year and a half of getting paid to do nothing but maintenance, it was time to bust out “Fred” and earn their keep.

And, she had to wonder, if she’d finally see that piece of shit P. J. Colding again.

INSIDE THE VETERINARY medicine lab, Erika Hoel cursed under her breath. Sixteen straight failures of the immune response test. Claus had been mad before, but this time his face had turned so red Erika wondered if her former lover might have a stroke.

Claus. That asshole. Erika hated the scientific failure, but couldn’t help feeling some satisfaction at seeing Claus so angry. So …
frustrated
.