The Genesis Code Read online

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?”

  Nine

  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.

  Ten

  Dr. Christian Madison’s Office

  34th Floor, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  “No. Stop it. Stop it.” Quiz frantically rubbed the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left. His fingers curled inward in a contorted muscle spasm.

  “What is it?” asked Grace.

  Beads of sweat popped out on Quiz’s forehead. The color drained from his face.

  “Your pills,” Madison prompted.

  Quiz dug in his pocket for the plastic prescription vial. He struggled to remove the cap, finally wrenching it free and spilling dozens of tiny blue pills to the floor. With a trembling finger, he fished out one caplet and popped it in his mouth, swallowing hard.

  Grace’s eyes grew wide. “What’s happening?”

  “He’s having another seizure,” said Madison.

  “They always start like this,” said Quiz, grimacing in pain. “My hand twists up. God, that hurts…”

  “You need to sit down,” said Madison, rising from his chair. “Grace, can you—”

  Grace took Quiz by the arm, leading him to one of two chairs parked in front of Madison’s desk.

  The memory of Quiz’s first seizure six weeks ago flashed in Madison’s mind. Madison had stopped by Quiz’s office one morning with a sack of onion bagels and cream cheese and found him lying on the floor in the throes of a full grand mal attack. Madison would never forget the look of sheer terror in Quiz’s eyes as he lay helpless on the concrete floor, his limbs jerking and twitching uncontrollably.

  Quiz closed his eyes. Cold sweat trickled down his face. His breath came in short gasps.

  “Breathe, Stefan,” urged Grace.

  “Do you want me to call an ambulance?” asked Madison.

  Quiz shook his head. “No…I think it’s easing up.”

  Slowly his breathing returned to normal and the muscles in his fingers and hand began to relax.

  “Thank God for Depakote,” he said.

  “I didn’t know you had epilepsy,” said Grace.

  “I didn’t either. At least until last month. If Madison hadn’t been there to call 911…”

  “What did the doctors say?”

  “Adult-onset epilepsy. Unknown cause. These pills really seem to help,” he said, shaking the prescription vial. “No driving for at least six months. That’s state law. Other than that, take my meds and try to avoid stress,” said Quiz.

  “Not much chance of that around here,” said Madison, smiling.

  “No,” said Quiz. “No, I suppose not.” He sighed.

  “Grace, I’d rather that people didn’t know about this,” said Quiz. “I don’t feel comfortable with—”

  There was a loud knock at the door.

  Before Madison could respond, his office door swung open. An enormous black man, with a shaved head and barrel chest, filled the doorway. His eyes scanned the room.

  Eleven

  Dr. Christian Madison’s Office

  34th Floor, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  “Pardon the interruption, Dr. Madison,” said Omar Crowe, Triad Genomics’ chief of security. He spoke the Queen’s English with a proper British accent.

  As he scanned the room, his eyes lingered on Quiz.

  “Is everything okay here?” he asked.

  Crowe towered over the office’s occupants. The top of his shaved head barely cleared the door frame. Powerful shoulders and thick musculature strained the seams of his navy-blue blazer, adorned with the Triad Genomics logo on its breast pocket.

  Quiz nodded.

  “Yes,” said Madison. “Everything’s fine. Why?”

  Crowe ignored the question.

  “Dr. Madison, will you come with me, please?”

  An alarm sounded from the intercom speakers mounted in the ceiling of Madison’s office. The three shrill electronic warbles were followed by a voice.

  “Attention, please. May I have your attention. Triad Genomics is now operating under a level-one security lockdown. External communications are now prohibited. Please return to your stations and await further instructions.”

  The computer on Madison’s desk chirped and text began scrolling up the screen.

  << PRIORITY ALERT >>

  << From: TRIAD GENOMICS SECURITY

  << Priority: ALPHA

  << To: ALL

  << Level-one security lockdown in effect. >>

  << External communications suspended. >>

  << All stations directed to implement security protocols. >>

  “Another security drill? We just had one last week,” said Quiz.

  “Quiz, Dr. Nguyen, please return to your offices.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell us what this is about,” said Grace.

  Crowe retrieved what appeared to be a small cell phone from the inside pocket of his blazer. He punched three buttons and spoke into the receiver.

  “Mr. Occam, please report to Dr. Madison’s office to escort Dr. Grace Nguyen to her workstation.”

  Ignoring Grace’s protests, Crowe turned to Quiz.

  “Will you require an escort as well?”

  Quiz shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  Crowe placed the phone back in his pocket.

  “Dr. Madison, will you come with me, please.”

  It was not a request.

  Twelve

  Dr. Christian Madison’s Office

  34th Floor, Millennium Tower

  Manhattan, New York

  “We’re not going to the executive suite?” Madison asked his burly escort.

  “No,” Crowe replied. “Mr. Giovanni is waiting for you at Dr. Ambergris’ office.”

  Dante Giovanni and Joshua Ambergris were the original founding partners of Triad Genomics. Ambergris directed the genetic research that led to the successful completion of the Human Genome Project, but it was Giovanni who brought the financial acumen and business connections to the company, shepherding it from its humble beginnings as a fledgling start-up to a multibillion-dollar IPO. Dante Giovanni was Triad Genomics’ CEO and chairman of the board.

  They rounded a corner in the maze of hallways on the thirty-fourth floor and Madison spotted Giovanni standing in the hallway outside of Dr. Ambergris’ corner office. He spoke in clipped sentences to a young female security officer. She dashed off down the hall to carry out her instructions.

  Dante Giovanni was, as always, an impressive sight. He was perfectly coiffed and manicured, as if he had just come from a press conference. With a full head of graying hair and two rows of pearly white teeth, Giovanni embodied the stereotypical image of the corporate CEO.

  He gripped Madison’s hand in a firm handshake and clasped Madison’s elbow with his other hand in the familiar politician’s gesture.

  “Dr. Madison. Thank you for coming. I’m afraid I have some grave news.”

  Madison waited expectantly.

  “Dr. Ambergris is dead. He was found in his office, at his desk, this morning.”

  Madison stared in stunned silence.

  “What? That can’t be. He was in good health. You must be mistaken.”

  “No. There’s no mistake,” said Giovanni. “Dr. Madison, Joshua Ambergris was murdered.”

  Madison’s brain refused to process the information.

  “What?”

  Gi
ovanni placed a hand against Ambergris’ office door and pushed it open. The room was in complete disarray. Papers and books were scattered everywhere. On the floor beside the massive desk, a white sheet covered Ambergris’ still form.

  “My god,” said Madison. His heart pounded in his ears.

  Crowe displayed no emotional reaction. His expression remained stoic, poker-faced and unrevealing. But Madison noticed that his left hand was tightly clenched in a fist.

  “How did this happen?” asked Madison. “Who did this?”

  “I don’t know,” said Giovanni, placing a hand on Madison’s shoulder. “But we’re going to find out.”

  Thirteen

  63rd Floor, Petronas Towers

  Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

  Until 1996, the world’s tallest skyscraper had always been in the United States. But the completion of Kuala Lumpur’s twin eighty-eight-story buildings, the Petronas Towers, ended America’s claim to that title. On April 15, 1996, the Petronas Towers became the tallest skyscrapers in the world. Surpassing Chicago’s Sears Tower by thirty-six feet, the Petronas Towers were a tribute to Malaysia’s emerging economic might, and to Kuala Lumpur’s prominence as a commercial and cultural capital.

  The uniquely Malaysian architecture of the dual skyscrapers, with their elegant proportions and design, captured the attention of the world. Each tower’s floor plan forms an eight-pointed star created by two intersecting squares, a design that evokes Islamic arabesques and repetitive geometric figures characteristic of Muslim architecture. Curved and pointed bays create a scalloped facade that suggests the form of ancient temple towers.

  The two towers, joined by a skybridge on the forty-second floor, have been described as two cosmic pillars spiraling endlessly toward the heavens. For Malaysian industrialist and billionaire Kai Tanaka, the Petronas Towers were a fitting location to showcase the headquarters of his growing business empire.

  One entire wall of Tanaka’s opulently furnished executive office suite on the sixty-third floor was covered from floor to ceiling with a massive LCD screen divided into a grid of boxes, each displaying the real-time digital image of a participant in the videoconference that was under way.

  Arrayed around the room, museum-quality pieces from ancient human civilizations were illuminated in eerie blue light from xenon spotlights in climate-controlled glass display cases.