A Treasure Deep (44 page)

Jack answered. “It seems he may have done a
little working out.”

The choking laugh returned. “He has no need
to work out, at least not to get stronger. I’ve fixed that. My good
friend is genetically improved. Like some doctors do gene therapy
to treat certain diseases, I created a way to improve the human
reaction time, energy usage by muscles, and overall strength. It
has caused quite a stir among the military types. My sister, Julia,
is his only competition.”

That explained Alex’s ability to beat a man
taller, younger, and physically superior—except Jack wasn’t
physically superior. It was a wonder he wasn’t dead.

“Do you know what chimeraplasty is, Mr.
Sachs?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Gene
therapy is generally done through an altered vector such as a
virus. A virus is altered so that it cannot hurt its intended host
or replicate. Some of the patient’s cells are removed, injected
with this altered virus, and then the cells are replaced. If things
work right, the cells replicate, and a cure is achieved. That’s the
simple version, but you get the idea.

“The problem is the technique is cumbersome
and slow. That’s where chimeraplasty comes in. A Chimera is a
mythical creature made up of parts of different animals. By taking
short segments of DNA known as oligomers, defective genes in a cell
can be identified, causing the cell to undertake its own
repairs.

“That’s what I want, Mr. Sachs. I want my
body to heal itself, but I need the right catalyst to do that. Soon
we will be able to genetically treat hemophilia and cystic
fibrosis. Closer to my heart, of course, is ALS.”

“And you think you might find it in scraps of
DNA taken from Jesus’ burial linens.” Perry was aghast.

“That’s the idea. If anyone can make it work,
I can.”

Perry looked at the chrysalis and felt a
heavy ache of sadness. No wonder Dr. Henri had been so frightened
about the material falling into the wrong hands. Perry could
understand the emaciated man’s desire to live, to be healed of the
horrible disease, but so far he was responsible for two deaths, two
kidnappings, assaults, and probably more than Perry could know. And
Perry felt sure the number of murders was going to increase by four
in the near future. There seemed little he could do about it.

“That’s a remarkable boy you have there,
madam,” Rutherford said. “Idiot-savant is the term, I believe.”

“Just savant. Thinking people don’t use the
outdated term.”

“Danger has made you grow feisty, I see. He’s
perplexed me some, I must confess. I’ve been a proponent of genetic
treatment. I still am for the most part. Had you gone through the
process, you might have been able to spare yourself the burden of
his life.”

“He’s no burden. And if genetic testing told
your parents that you would have ALS, they might have aborted
you.”

There was a loud slap, and Perry spun to see
Claire holding a hand to her face. Julia had backhanded her.

“Still,” Rutherford continued as if the
assault had not occurred. “He is an enigma. Do you remember that
piece of paper Julia brought to you earlier today?”

“Yes.” Claire sputtered softly. “She gave it
to Joseph.”

“Correct, and he drew a picture based on it.
Most people would have missed the subtle change, but I didn’t. That
paper I sent down was a detailed print of my DNA. Your son not only
copied it, he corrected it. That’s right, he corrected it. How does
he do that?”

“I don’t know. No one knows. He just does
things like that from time to time.”

Rutherford’s head moved, but Perry couldn’t
tell if he was nodding in agreement or had just lost control. “He
is worth studying. The secret is locked in him somewhere.”

“No,” Claire said. “I’d rather die
first.”

“We agree on that,” Rutherford said coldly.
“At least you won’t be alone.”

“We are people of faith; death is not
frightening to us.”

“No? We’ll see. Since you’re a person of
faith, you can do me a favor. When you see Jesus in heaven, ask,
‘What was Your secret to success?’”

It had all played out so badly, Perry
realized. It started with an assault and death and now more were to
die, including himself. And when all was said and done, the madman
Straight would still possess the artifacts.

Perry shook his head slightly, and although
it was barely perceptible, when he turned to Jack, he knew he had
seen it. Jack shrugged then nodded, moving his head less than an
inch. Perry wished there was more he could do, or a wiser course of
action to take, but there was none. Maybe, just maybe, if he and
Jack could restrain Alex and Julia long enough, Claire and Joseph
could escape. The odds were nearly nonexistent, but a slim chance
was still better than none.

Perry took a couple of quick steps toward
Rutherford. Immediately he heard a woman’s voice. “Hold it right
there.” He turned and saw the gun that had been pointed at Claire
now pointed at his head. He also saw Jack’s big hand shoot forward
and grab the woman’s wrist. Jack jerked her arm, redirecting the
gun’s muzzle away from Perry.

There was a curse, a bang, a pop, a crash,
and a scream. Instinctively, Perry ducked and covered his head. The
tempered glass exploded behind him, falling in a sheet of tiny
cubes. Lifting his head, Perry saw Jack raise his other hand to
Julia’s wrist. She was screaming obscenities. Alex, who had been
only a step away, threw a vicious right fist into Jack’s rib cage.
Perry heard the air forced from his friend’s lungs. Despite the
power of the blow, Jack continued to clutch Julia’s wrist.

“No . . . no . . . no . . .” Rutherford
bawled, but his weak voice was barely heard over Julia’s
screeching.

“You’re breaking my wrist,” she bellowed.
Another shot escaped the gun. Perry flinched and charged toward the
struggle.

“Let her go,” Alex said. He threw another
punch, this time at Jack’s head, but the blow glanced off his
shoulder.

Another shot followed by a hissing sound. A
second later the room was filled with a loud blast, like an
electronic horn. It repeated the same note over and over and
over.

Perry lowered his head, aiming it at Alex’s
middle. He knew he couldn’t overpower the genetically strengthened
thug, but even the strongest man couldn’t fight if he couldn’t
breathe. With his head down, he couldn’t see all of Alex, but he
did see enough to know the man had turned toward him at the last
second.

Perry found his mark, his head plowing into
Alex’s torso, just below the sternum. Perry continued to drive
forward until his momentum carried both men into the back wall.

The impact jarred every inch of Perry. His
teeth clashed together, and it felt as if every disk in his spine
compressed. He had hit Alex with every bit of his strength.

“Carmack . . . Carmack . . . get up,”
Rutherford ordered. “You’re ruining everything.”

Perry staggered back, surprised to find
himself still on his feet. Alex was doubled over, but Perry knew
that in seconds the man would be angrier and more motivated than
ever to take Perry apart.

“Get out!” Perry ordered Claire. “Take the
stairs. Go.” Claire grabbed Joseph by the arm and dragged him
through the doorway.

He turned his attention back to Alex just in
time to see him slowly straightening, his face covered with a
demonic scowl. Perry clenched his jaw and kicked for all he was
worth.

He had hoped to catch Alex in the gut again,
preventing him from taking another breath and regaining his
strength. With a speed Perry thought impossible, Alex caught
Perry’s foot by the ankle. In a fluid motion, Alex pulled up, and
Perry was on his way down to the floor. It was the last place he
wanted to be.

Another motion caught Perry’s eye. Julia was
backpedaling for all she was worth. Jack, his viselike grip still
clamped on her wrist, was spinning her around toward Alex, using
her as a human battering ram. It worked—her unbalanced frame
impacted Alex with a discernible thump.

Alex released a chilling scream of rage and
pushed Julia away with such force that it loosened Jack’s footing.
Still holding her wrist, he kept the gun pointed away from himself
and Perry.

Another bang as the gun went off for a fourth
time.

Perry scrambled to his feet, readying himself
for the next onslaught. Alex started forward and launched himself,
hands outstretched, fingers reaching for Perry’s throat.

A heartbeat later, Perry’s feet were off the
ground, his legs kicking wildly.

Perry couldn’t breathe.

He gulped for air that wouldn’t come.

He could feel Alex’s thumbs pressing his
trachea shut. Perry tried everything. He batted at Alex’s arms,
reached for his face, kicked at the man, but nothing prevailed. His
abnormal strength was now fueled by uncontrolled fury.

The lights dimmed, or so Perry thought. His
lungs burned, and his head felt as if it might explode. Then he
dropped to the ground. Air . . . sweet air . . . rushed into his
lungs.

Why had Alex released him?

Righting himself, Perry tried to steel
himself for what would come next, comforting himself that Claire
and Joseph were gone, on their way to the safety of the streets
below.

Nothing happened.

Alex stood, his head lowered, his hands
raised in front of him. Moist, dark red blood spread out in an
ever-growing disk. He had been shot, and the amount of blood made
Perry realize that the wound was serious. An artery or maybe the
heart itself had been punctured.

Alex looked up at Perry, tilted his head to
the side quizzically, dropped to his knees, then to his side. His
eyes remained open but saw nothing.

“Rutherford! Rutherford!”

Perry turned to see Julia. She no longer
fought with Jack. Her eyes were glued on some sight behind Perry.
She went limp and the gun fell from her hand. Racing forward, Perry
picked up the gun, took two steps back, turned, and saw what had
subdued the woman.

Rutherford Straight sat in his chair,
unmoving. His head no longer bobbed. A trickle of blood ran from a
hole behind his left ear.

Julia collapsed in a heap. The shock of what
had happened floored her. In the struggle, she had killed Alex with
a wayward bullet.

And her own brother.

She had shot something else too. Perry now
knew what the electronic horn was. It was the fire alarm, sounding
because one of the undirected rounds had struck a fire sprinkler
head in Carmack’s lab.

Carmack was gone, and so was the
chrysalis.

“Oh, no,” Perry said.

He charged from the observation room, through
the space where the glass partition had been and into the cascading
shower from the sprinkler head. Water flooded the room and
immediately soaked Perry. He took no notice.

Rounding the work counter that dominated the
room, Perry saw the nightmare he expected but prayed wouldn’t be.
Dr. Carmack lay on his back, staring at the ceiling through
sightless eyes. Water rained down from above, washing the blood
from the bullet hole in his forehead. On his chest lay a white mass
of ancient, dissolving linen.

Perry didn’t have to be a homicide detective
to know what happened. Julia’s gun had gone off several times. One
bullet had broken the window. Another had struck Carmack in the
head. It was a small caliber gun without enough power to knock the
man from his feet, but with more than enough deadly force to end
his life. He must have fallen forward, Perry reasoned, landing on
the chrysalis and dragging it to the floor with him.

Over the last two days, Perry had been
beaten, kicked, hit on the head with a stone from the falling wall,
and been in battle with a man more powerful than God ever intended
a man to be, but all he could feel was the deep ache of sorrow in
his soul.

The chrysalis was gone, reduced to a useless,
meaningless paste, dissolved by the unrelenting spray. The world’s
most valuable treasure was being washed down the drain of the
floor, its two-thousand-year-old fiber unable to withstand the
onslaught of the moisture from a sprinkler.

“You okay, buddy?” Perry looked up to see a
battered Jack.

“The woman?”

“After you picked up the gun, I lost my grip.
She ran, and I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to chase her.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sure the alarm is electronically
monitored,” Jack said. “The fire department will be here soon.”

“What happened here?” a voice said. Perry
turned to the laboratory door and saw two uniformed men: building
security.

“You had better call the police,” Perry said
softly. Then he set the gun on the counter, lowered himself to the
floor, raised his hands to his face, bent over, and wept.

PERRY SACHS STOOD in the inner chamber of the room he
and Jack had uncovered two weeks before.

A bank of work lights shone down from metal
stands and

lit the underground area. Crowded into the
space with him were Jack, Anne, Gleason, Brent, Dr. Curtis,
Sergeant Montulli, Claire, and Joseph. Also present were the
owners, Hector Trujillo—in a wheelchair—and his wife, Rose. Joseph
stood, as he always did, with his head resting on Claire’s
shoulder.

The crowded chamber was still off-limits to
the rest of the world, but it had been made safer. Modern shoring
kept the ground outside from crashing in; a new semi-permanent
bridge had been built to replace the makeshift one they’d made
before.

“Thank you all for coming,” Perry said. “I
wanted to thank you each for your great contribution. I also wanted
to make sure everyone had the latest word on things. Dr. Curtis has
some information for us.”

Curtis cleared his throat. “As we guessed,
the archaeological community is still very skeptical about our
preliminary findings. It’s only been two weeks, but we have
received Carbon-14 data that puts the uncovered remains to the
first century. Specialists in Roman history have verified that the
shields, swords, and other items we found associated with the
soldiers are genuine. There remains a great deal of testing to be
done, but for now we can rule out a hoax. Of course we already knew
that.”