The Genesis Code (4 page)

34th Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York

Madison’s office at Triad Genomics was one hundred and ninety-four paces from the security station in the thirty-fourth-floor lobby. He unconsciously counted them off in his head as he walked through the tangle of sterile hallways and plain doors toward his assigned environs.

As he neared his office, the Triad Genomics security system detected the RFID tag embedded in the ID card clipped to Madison’s shirt pocket, confirmed his identity, and courteously unlocked the office door. The computer system also increased the ambient lighting and temperature in Madison’s office to suit his personal preferences, and began piping in soft classical music through hidden speakers.

Madison tossed his battered leather shoulder bag onto the credenza. As he sat down at his desk, Triad Genomics’ computer system unlocked his workstation and opened a secure socket to the central server. Then, as if on cue, his phone rang.

“Christian Madison,” he answered.

“Hi, Christian, it’s Kate.”

Madison felt like he had been kicked in the stomach.

“Kate,” he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Christian, I just wanted to see if you were okay. I mean, today has been really hard for me, and I know it must be hard on you too.”

“Did my mother call you?”

Silence.

“Umm, yeah. She did. Don’t be upset with her. She’s just worried about you.”

“So this phone call wasn’t your idea.”

“Christian, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like that? Give me a break. We haven’t talked in weeks. And now you decide to call me and see how I’m feeling?”

A diminutive twenty-something in wire-rimmed glasses strolled into Madison’s office, slurping from a can of Diet Coke. He looked like the young CEO of a dot-com start-up from the nineties. He wore pleated khaki pants and a black T-shirt. His dark brown hair was longish and stylishly unkempt.

“Bad time?” asked Stefan “Quiz” Goertz, Triad Genomics’ systems engineer and resident computer guru.

“No, I’m finished,” said Madison. He turned his attention back to the phone.

“So, as I was saying, thanks for calling. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Christian, wait—”

Madison hung up the phone.

“You’re late again,” said Quiz, deliberately ignoring the tension in the room.

“Your point being?”

Quiz smiled. “Big conference got you off your game?”

“Piece of cake,” said Madison. “Dr. Ambergris is giving the big speech for Triad Genomics. I’ve just got the breakout session, a discussion group on the Ark Project.”

“How many species are you up to?” asked Quiz.

“Just over eleven thousand. Noah may have assembled two of every animal in the days before the Great Flood, but he had divine assistance.”

Madison sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Quiz pointed to a framed
Time
magazine cover on the wall. The cover story featured Triad Genomics, the first biotech company to sequence the entire human genome. Beneath a photo of Madison and his mentor, Dr. Joshua Ambergris, the title read, “The DNA Codebreakers.”

“You and Dr. Ambergris. Always playing God.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Mapping the human genome wasn’t enough,” said Quiz. “Now you want to play Darwin and reinvent the origin of species.”

“We can’t all be genius computer gods like you,” replied Madison. “Besides, Ambergris hasn’t been involved in the Ark Project for at least six months. He’s keeping his current research all to himself.”

“Yes, but—”

“Look,” interrupted Madison. “I have no idea what he’s working on.”

“You two used to be thick as thieves.”

“Not anymore. Grace Nguyen is his new pet. She works with him on his new projects.”

“And the Biogenetics Conference?”

“He’s giving the keynote speech. The rumor mill has it that he plans to announce some new groundbreaking discovery.”

“Ambergris is an odd bird,” said Quiz. “Great taste in assistants, though,” he said, reflecting for a moment on the attractive geneticist with whom Dr. Ambergris currently shared his secrets.

“But enough about the enterprising, young Dr. Grace Nguyen,” said Madison, casting a disapproving look at Quiz as he turned toward his computer.

Madison’s workstation loaded the documents and data he had been working on the previous day. On his computer monitor, a three-dimensional double helix revolved slowly in cyberspace.

A synthesized chime alerted Madison to the presence of new e-mail messages. He clicked on the mail icon. The first entry on the list of unread e-mail was dated June 11, 4:40
A.M
. The sender of the e-mail was identified as Dr. Joshua Ambergris.

An e-mail from Dr. Ambergris.

At 4:40
A.M
.?

Madison clicked open the e-mail. A puzzled look dashed across his face. Curious, Quiz leaned over the desk to view Madison’s computer monitor.

<<<

Priority: Urgent

This message is not flagged]

Beneath the grid was a single line of text:
This is the beginning of the ancient word.

“What’s that?” asked Quiz.

“I have no idea.”

34th Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York

Grace Nguyen stepped off the elevator into the thirty-fourth-floor lobby of Triad Genomics. She was still seething from her confrontation with the protesters on the street, and her eyes glinted with anger. Security officer Michael Zoovas looked up as she approached.

“Mornin’, Dr. Nguyen.”

“Good morning. Mr. Zoovas, would you kindly phone the NYPD and inform them that a group of protesters has assembled on the street in front of the building? They have apparently chosen the Biogenetics Conference as a venue to air their opposition to stem cell research. And probably to science and progress in general.”

Zoovas tried not to smile.

“I was harassed by one of them when I entered the building.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll inform the police. I’ll alert Mr. Crowe as well.”

“Thank you,” she said, rapping her knuckles on the countertop as she passed.

Zoovas picked up the phone at his desk and dialed a number he knew by heart from his years on the force. “John? Michael Zoovas here…I’m doing well, and yourself? Listen, we have a bit of a problem over here at the Millennium Tower…”

Four minutes later, after alerting the NYPD to the presence of the protesters downstairs and dispatching a brief e-mail report to Omar Crowe, Zoovas turned his attention back to the security monitors arrayed behind the security desk.

Several black and white displays showed images from security cameras located throughout the thirty-fourth floor. Zoovas also kept an eye on the small color television set he had placed unobtrusively beneath the security monitors. On the TV screen, a BBC reporter was doing the lead-in for an interview with a distinguished-looking woman in a crisp white lab coat.

“…Dr. Bancroft has found a way to use the information-carrying capacity of DNA to transmit and receive secret messages. Espionage has embraced biotechnology with Dr. Bancroft’s creation of the microdot, which conceals secret messages in the immense complexity of human DNA.”

Zoovas turned the volume on the TV set up a notch.

“In a recent experiment, Dr. Bancroft’s team of researchers proved that the DNA microdot technique works. An account of this remarkable experiment was published this month in the highly respected scientific journal
Nature.
With us today is Dr. Catherine Bancroft, of the Mount Sinai School of Medicine in New York. Dr. Bancroft, can you explain to us what you’ve achieved in this experiment?”

“Hey, Occam, check this out,” said Zoovas.

Occam stepped over and peered at the small TV over Zoovas’s shoulder. On the screen, Dr. Bancroft folded her hands and gathered her thoughts.

“What we’ve done is encode a short, four-word secret message using the natural properties of human DNA. We’ve created a way to transmit a coded message in DNA that is completely undetectable,” she replied.

The reporter leaned forward.

“And how was this accomplished, in layman’s terms, Dr. Bancroft?”

“Well, the first step of the technique is to use a simple code to convert the letters of the alphabet into combinations of the chemical bases which make up DNA.”

The reporter looked puzzled.

“And how is the coded message inserted into a strand of DNA?”

“Once the message is encoded, a piece of DNA spelling out the message is synthetically created. It contains the secret message in the middle, plus short marker sequences at each end. This is slipped into a normal piece of human DNA.”

“Remarkable,” said the reporter. “And how would the message be decoded by the person who receives it?”

“The key to unraveling the message is knowing what the markers at each end of the DNA message are. The markers allow the message recipient to use a standard biotechnology technique, the polymerase chain reaction, or PCR, to multiply only the DNA that contains the message.”

“I’m afraid that’s way above my head, Dr. Bancroft.”

“Let me put it this way. If the recipient of the message knows where to look for the message in the strand of DNA, that portion of the DNA can then be sequenced and the coded message can be read.”

“And have you been approached by the government about your experiment?” asked the reporter.

“No, there haven’t been any inquiries yet. But I did wonder if I would get the security clearance to publish the paper in the first place. This is very cutting-edge science,” said Dr. Bancroft.

Zoovas scratched his head and chuckled.

“Amazing,” he said, turning to Occam. “What will they think of next?”

Dr. Christian Madison’s Office
34th Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York

Madison glared at the strange e-mail.

“I really don’t have time for this,” he said, irritation flaring in his voice. He reached for the phone, intending to dial Dr. Ambergris’ extension. He halted midreach when Grace Nguyen appeared in his doorway.

“Good morning, Christian. Quiz.”

Her usual poise was rough at the edges. Madison noted the furrows that stress etched between Grace’s eyebrows when she was upset.

“Good morning,” said Madison.

“Hello, Dr. Nguyen,” said Quiz, tipping an imaginary hat.

She smiled at Quiz. “Enough already. My name is Grace. Stop calling me Dr. Nguyen.”

“My mother always told me it was impolite to address my elders by their first name.” He suppressed a mischievous grin.

She raised one eyebrow.

“Do I look ‘elder’ to you?”

He looked her up and down. “Elder than me.”

“Don’t make me come over there and give you a spanking, Stefan.”

Quiz groaned. As Grace was well aware, he hated his given name. He held up his hands in mock surrender.

Madison leaned back in his chair. “What brings you to the wrong side of the tracks?” His words had a sharp edge.

Grace raised her deep blue eyes to meet Madison’s. Her azure irises were a genetic gift from her British father, a striking splash of color on a canvas of Asian features.

Grace stifled a retort. Unvoiced, it was bitter on her tongue.

“Christian, I need to talk to you,” she said.

“Everything okay?” asked Christian.

A pause.

“No,” she said.

Another pause.

Madison took his cue to inquire. “What is it?”

Grace shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other. “I think I made a mistake.”

“How so?”

“When I came to work this morning, there was a group of protesters outside the building. Maybe twenty or so. One of them really got under my skin. She baited me and I fell for it. I think I really overreacted.”

“Overreacted how?” asked Madison.

“Wait a minute,” said Quiz. “Protesters?”

“They’re demonstrating against stem cell research,” said Grace.

“Do we even do that?” asked Quiz.

“No,” said Madison. “We don’t.

“But the Biogenetics Conference is going to get a lot of press,” said Grace. “They’re probably looking for media exposure.”

“Overreacted how?” repeated Madison.

“I said some things I shouldn’t have.” She briefly related the encounter.

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” said Quiz.

“Ordinarily, I might agree, but I think we were filmed. There was a reporter and cameraman down the street.”

Madison shook his head slowly. The corporate suits that steered the financial course of Triad Genomics were very sensitive to bad publicity. A negative news report could have adverse effects on the stock price. Triad Genomics paid millions of dollars each year to Madison Avenue wizards to wage a public relations war against its critics and to paint a positive image of the company in the public mind.

“If that gets aired, the board of directors will want your head. On a platter,” said Madison.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said. “What do you think I should do?”

“Why don’t you ask Dr. Ambergris?”

“I’m asking you.”

“You want to know what I think? I think you opened your mouth again without thinking.”

“Christian, of all people, I thought you would understand.”

“Look, I don’t know why you—”

Quiz interjected. “Hey, guys?”

“Quiz, she always does this,” said Madison. “She never stops to consider—”

When he saw the alarmed expression on Quiz’s face, Madison stopped abruptly, midsentence.