Authors: Allison Maruska
Levin booked a two-star hotel room for five nights, glad to finally accomplish something. Dayla claimed one side of the bed she and Rana would share, set a pillow against the headboard, and cracked open a book about animals native to Asia. She had finished the one featuring African animals in the car while they traveled around the city.
Levin and Rana sat at the table by the window. He pulled the laptop from his backpack, set it on the table, and twisted around to face Dayla. “Rana and I need to work on the computer. We’ll get lunch when we’re done. Okay?”
“Yep.” She quickly immersed herself in the world of the Chinese red panda.
Levin inserted the thumb drive. It stored a single file. He opened the file as his breath caught in his chest.
What if this crashes my system?
Too late now.
The screen displayed an article written in 1991.
“He paid the barista to give us a twenty-two-year-old article?” Rana asked.
“Apparently.”
They read the text silently. It described the research behind genetically modified organisms and how their use could increase the global food supply. A company engineered a tomato with a longer shelf life. Levin skimmed to the end, where the last paragraph caught his attention.
As scientists pave the way for genetically engineered food to enter the country’s–and indeed, the world’s–food supply, it is no great leap to assume that one day, genetically engineered humans will walk among us.
What did any of this have to do with the reason they came? And why the covert operation to give him the file?
Rana interrupted his thoughts. “We debated GMO use at one of our tournaments. It’s so much worse now than when this came out. That part about genetically altered humans is ridiculous, though.”
“Why?”
“Well,” she looked at the ceiling, “in the case of genetic engineering on produce, scientists insert a Bt gene into the crop DNA that kills insects if they eat it. Or they can insert a bacterial gene that makes the crops resistant to herbicides. People ingest the foods with these genes in them, and no one knows the long term health effects of that.”
“Okay.” Levin watched as Rana appeared to make connections in her head.
“And I doubt anyone would combine human DNA with other genes like that. Being genetically resistant to mosquitoes would be nice, though.” She laughed. “I guess someone could
mutate
human genes. I don’t know.” She faced him. “What does this have to do with why we’re here?”
He shrugged. “Let’s see what we can search.”
They both scanned the article.
“How about the author? Patrice Jevon Root,” she said.
“Worth a shot.”
He typed the name into a search engine. Nothing. Strange, considering the vast majority of people had at least
something
about them on the internet. He searched for information on the genetically modified tomato and found only generic facts.
Leaning back in the chair, he put his hands over his face and groaned. “Well, I’m stumped. Let’s go to the zoo. Seems we’ve got nothing better to do. Maybe we’ll think of something while we’re out.”
Dayla leapt off the bed. “Yay!”
****
Dayla skipped ahead of Rana as they walked towards the entrance, rattling off the information she had absorbed from her books since they left home. “Did you know the Nile Crocodile can weigh 11,000 pounds? And you can hear a lion’s roar from five miles away? I read today that a red panda is solitary. I like it because I like to be alone too…” She tended to become a resident expert on any exhibits their mother took them to, which over the years had grown into a significant number.
“That’s great, hon. Which animal do you want to see now?” Rana became overwhelmed at the mass of information Dayla threw at her and needed a distraction. She handed Dayla the map. Levin seemed content to stare into the crowd through his sunglasses.
Dayla pointed to the map. “Let’s see the orangutan. Do you know most people say it wrong? It’s orangu-tan, not orangu-tang. I feel bad for it because no one can say its name. Like you, Rana. It’s Ray-na, not Rah-na. Do you think it knows no one can say its name? I think it does. Hey! The orangutan is a loner too. Just like the red panda…”
Rana semi-quit listening as Dayla skipped along, happy to be a living library of zoo facts. She pitied any docent who presented incorrect information in front of the child.
They spent the following hours visiting the exhibits Dayla chose. She spouted off information at each one and even drew a little crowd.
Rana put her hand on her sister’s shoulder and bent down to meet her eyes. “Look, it’s great you know so much, but tell us your two or three favorite facts for each animal so we don’t attract attention.”
“Okay, I guess.” Dayla sulked and glanced at the sign near the elephant exhibit. “Hey, that’s not right.”
Levin stepped next to her. “What?”
“This map on the sign says African elephants live in northwest Africa. That’s wrong. They live in central and southern Africa. Geez, that’s so easy to learn. Should I tell someone?”
“No, stay here. I’ll mention it on the way out.” Levin leaned towards the sign and picked at it.
“What are you doing?” Rana asked.
“The corner doesn’t line up. Something’s under it.” He continued to pick and tug at it.
Rana moved next to Levin, hoping to block him from anyone else’s view. Dayla wouldn’t appreciate their zoo trip ending with employees kicking them out for vandalizing their sign. Fortunately, no one else seemed interested.
“There.” Levin lifted the sign, revealing another sign with a map showing the correct distribution of African elephants. He examined the fake sign.
“Someone left a note on the back.” He read it and groaned.
“Can I see it?” Rana asked, and Levin handed it to her. She read:
Congratulations on finding a well-buried clue. Perhaps you’d like to search for me again? Meet me at the burger place on the corner of Columbia and Grape Street in thirty minutes.
Patrice Jevon Root
She lowered the sign. Levin was walking towards the fence separating the zoo from the outside world.
She caught up to him. “Do you want to go?”
“No, I want to see who’s watching us. Someone must be close enough to tell whoever left the message that we found it.” He took off his sunglasses and squinted as he studied the landscape.
Rana tried to think of a plan. “Let’s just go to the restaurant. You can find out who left it when we get there.”
He glared at her. “Doesn’t this seem weird to you? Who’s interested enough in our lives to lead us around? Someone’s screwing with us.” He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, then turned and rushed towards the exit.
Rana grabbed Dayla’s hand and followed.
As he drove to the restaurant, Levin rubbed his neck. How long had someone been watching him and his sisters? Since home? Since they arrived in San Diego? His stomach sank again when he mentally reread the note. They knew what he searched on his laptop. He’d been careless to use a public wifi network, and now whoever tracked him had the upper hand.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pressed the accelerator, determined to discover who invaded his privacy.
He found the place with five minutes to spare and faced his sisters. “Stay in the car. If everything inside looks legit, I’ll wave you in.”
They nodded.
As he approached the door, he drummed his fingers on his leg, and when he reached for the handle, he hesitated.
What if these people were dangerous?
This is a public place. Whoever this is won’t try anything here.
He took a reassuring breath and pulled the door open.
Poking his head inside, he took off his sunglasses and looked around. A small bar and several tables and booths filled the interior, and generic pop music played through the speakers. Patrons filled half of the space; he recognized one of them.
He waved the girls to the front door. “Scott’s in a booth near the kitchen. I want you two to sit at a different table.” He scanned the interior again. “Go sit at the empty one by the window so I can see you.” He gave them money for their food. They walked to their table, and he headed towards the booth.
Scott rose to greet him. “Levin. You must have received my note.” He shook Levin’s hand with a firm grip and smiled widely.
“
Your
note? Should I call you Patrice?”
Scott laughed. “Please, take a seat. The girls are welcome to join us. I’m paying for everyone’s meals either way.”
“I can cover our own food.” Levin scowled. “And I prefer to keep our conversation between the two of us.”
“Suit yourself.”
A waitress with frizzy hair and a frown approached, and the men placed their orders. Scott instructed her to include Rana and Dayla on his bill.
Levin’s jaw dropped, and he started to restate his position but sat back. It wasn’t worth the argument, and he had bigger issues at hand.
“Well, Levin, it’s nice to finally meet you. If you don’t mind my asking, how did your mom choose your name? It’s one of the more unusual ones I’ve heard.”
“Oh, well, my mom wanted to name me after her grandpa, but his first name was Otis. She worried I’d get picked on, so she gave me his last name for my first name.”
Scott nodded. “I see. And how do you like it?”
“I still got picked on, but it’s fine now.” He sat back and crossed his arms, ready to cut the small talk. “How long have you been watching us? I don’t appreciate being followed.”
Scott must have realized Levin’s serious tone and responded in kind. “We’ve had our eyes on you since you arrived in San Diego and not before, I assure you.”
“Why? Why all the sneaking around and secret thumb drives and paying off baristas and hidden messages under signs? We could’ve met for breakfast and saved a whole day.”
“That was a bit of a test. We know of the high intelligence of you and your sisters, and we wanted to see how much you could figure out on your own.”
“We didn’t figure out that much. The article meant nothing, and Dayla noticed the map. That’s it. And how would you know about our ‘high intelligence’?”
Scott folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Let me guess: you graduated high school at sixteen or seventeen with half of your college credits already earned, went straight into a Bachelor’s program, and graduated by nineteen. What kind of scholarship did you receive? Sports?”
Levin glared at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right. “Soccer.” He squinted at Scott for another moment. “How do you know all that?”
Scott held solid eye contact with Levin. “I’m not here to answer all of your questions, but to perhaps point you in the right direction. You recall what the article described?”
“Yeah, it was about genetic engineering in produce. So?”
“At the end, it described the possibility of altering DNA in humans. What did you think of that?”
“I don’t know much about genetics. Rana’s studied the topic, and she said it’s ridiculous. I believe her.”
Scott shook his head. “We’ve made greater strides in genetic manipulation than anyone knows about.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? And who is this ‘we’ you keep referring to?” Levin rubbed his forehead and scanned the restaurant for the waitress. Maybe it wasn’t too late to order another coffee.
Scott leaned into the table and clasped his hands in front of him. “My father lives in Greece. I haven’t met him. Scientists chose him as a genetic donor for a government operation called Project Renovatio.”
Levin held up a hand. “Project what-a-who-vio?”
Scott laughed. “Renovatio. That’s Latin for ‘renewal.’ Anyway, the scientists modified the genetic structure of his and my mother’s cells to enhance characteristics in their child that would increase the chance of survival in an . . . unstable environment. One subject to severe effects of climate change or cataclysmic war.” He stopped, as if waiting for a response.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What characteristics?”
“Increased intelligence, high physical endurance, and stronger immunity, for example.”
Levin stared at Scott. “You’re telling me you’re a genetically modified human?”
“Basically, yes. I and those like me would rebuild society and start to renew the human population, if necessary.”
“Okay.” Levin looked towards his sisters and shook his head. What a waste of time.
“I can tell you’re dismissing my claim. That’s fine. But I encourage you to continue looking into the matter yourself. In fact, you should speak to your mother.”
“My mother? What makes you think she knows anything?”
“Don’t you remember the letter I mailed to you? About the secret family? That wasn’t just a lure to get you here.”
“All right, I’m done.” Levin put his palms on the table and lifted himself from the booth. He stood, facing Scott. “Thanks for the dinner. I hope you don’t mind if I spend the rest of the evening with my sisters. I appreciate your time and your . . . information.”
“Of course not. I hope you enjoy your time here.” He stood and shook Levin’s hand. “You won’t hear from us again for the rest of your trip.”
“Good.”
Levin started approaching his sisters, paused, and turned back. “Who is Patrice Jevon Root?”
Scott grinned. “You should ask Dayla that question.”
Levin scrunched his eyebrows and walked to his sisters’ table. He sat next to Rana and looked at Scott’s booth–Scott had left his table and stopped a waitress, apparently to pay for their meals, before he exited the restaurant. At least the guy stuck to his word.
“So? What did he say?” Rana asked.
“He’s a whack job.” Levin told his sisters what Scott said about Project Renovatio, his Greek father, and the modified genes.
Dayla piped in. “Project Renovatio? How do you spell that?”
Levin spelled it, and she used a crayon to write it on her kids’ menu. She drew arrows from the letters and wrote them in different orders.
As they finished eating, the waitress approached their table and pointed to the front door. “Was that guy your twin?”
Levin shook his head.
“You guys should get an act going in Vegas.” She chuckled and held a card displaying a scrawled phone number out to him. “He asked me to give you this. I wondered why you didn’t have your twin’s number.” She laughed again as she walked to another table.
Rana sipped her soda and leaned towards him, studying the card. “Looks like the games continue.”
“Yeah.” He slipped the card into his wallet.
“Aren’t you gonna call?”
“No. I’m tired of people lying to me.”
“What did he say about the picture?”
“I didn’t ask.” He yanked his keys from his pocket. “Let’s go. I’m done dealing with this.”
“Hold on!” Dayla wrote two last letters on her menu and held it up for her siblings to see. “It’s an anagram.” She beamed. Her arrows and letter combinations transformed
Project Renovatio
into
Patrice Jevon Root
.
Okay, so Scott wasn’t completely nuts.
****
Levin’s voice boomed through the bathroom door. “Are you coming or not?”
“Yeah, give me a minute.” Wearing her bathing suit, Rana stood in the middle of the bathroom, ready to go swimming with her siblings. But first, she needed time alone in the hotel room. “Why don’t you take Dayla? I’ll meet you there when I’m ready.”
“Well, are you close?”
“Not really.”
“All right. But try to finish before we drive home in two days.”
“Ha ha.”
The door to their room slammed shut. Rana crept out of the bathroom, found Levin’s shorts draped on the bed, and yanked his wallet from the pocket. She retrieved the card, nervously dialed the numbers into her phone, and waited.
Levin had said he didn’t want to deal with Scott any longer, but if he meant it, why did he keep the phone number? She didn’t have the answers she’d wanted when they arrived in California, and if Levin wouldn’t look for them, she had to.
“Hello?”
“Hi, um, is this Scott?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
She swallowed her anxiety. “Rana Davis. You met with my brother the other night at that burger place.”
“Of course. How is your trip going?”
“Fine. Listen, I don’t have much time. I want to ask you about your dad.”
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“The truth. The man in the picture you sent to Levin isn’t your father, but you suggested he was.”
“Did I? I just sent the picture with the information that my dad had another family.”
Rana stood in silence for a moment. “Okay, so why did you send it?”
“I knew you would make that inference, and I needed you–well, just Levin, really–to come to San Diego to meet me.”
“Why? What did you tell him that you couldn’t say over the phone?”
He sighed. “I appreciate your curiosity, but I can’t give you any more information than I already gave to Levin. As I told him, you should talk to your mother. Thank you for calling me.” The call ended.
Rana looked at the card. Levin hadn’t said anything to her about Scott telling him to talk to their mother. Why would he omit that piece of the conversation?
She replaced the card and Levin’s wallet and left the room.