Chimera (14 page)

“I blacked out on the way here,” he said.
“Sometimes people say things when they're blacked out that they don't mean to.
Did I say anything that I wouldn't remember?” he asked.

“You kept calling out for somebody named Angel,”
she told him. “And you said one word a couple of times. ‘Chimera.' ”

Chapel nodded. “You don't know what that word
means, do you?”

“I do have a postgraduate degree, Captain,” she
said, a nasty sneer in her voice. “A chimera is a creature with the body of a
lion, a goat head on its back, and—”

“—the tail of a snake, sure,” Chapel said. Enough.
He should just go. There was another target in New York City he had to check on,
and three more detainees out there he had to take down. There was no time for
tiptoeing around this woman's feelings. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Except,” she said, “to a geneticist it means
something completely different.”

“A geneticist? Like your mother?”

“Uh-huh,” she said.

BROOKLYN, NEW
YORK: APRIL 12, T+11:03

“In genetics a chimera is an organism that
has more than one kind of DNA in the same body,” Julia told him.

“What, like a mutant?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, a mutant is an organism
that has the normal DNA for its species except a couple of genes are randomly
changed from what they should be. A chimera is much weirder. Part of its normal
DNA has been replaced by DNA from another source. Sometimes that happens
naturally, when two eggs are fertilized in the same womb but one absorbs the
other. That's one way you get people with two different color eyes, for
instance—that's called chimerism. It can mean something else, though, as well.
It can refer to transgenic organisms.”

“Transgenic?”

“A transgenic creature is a kind of chimera where
the two or more different kinds of DNA come from completely different species. I
don't mean mules or ligers or that sort of thing, where you have two animals so
closely related they can interbreed. Transgenics is when a human being
intentionally adds unrelated DNA to an organism's genetic makeup. Say, adding
firefly genes to a tobacco plant so it glows in the dark. Or growing a human ear
on the back of a mouse.”

Chapel's head reeled, and not from the concussion.
“They can do that? And it doesn't just kill the mouse?”

“Not if it's done right. Only a small number of
genes are switched, normally. And yes, we can do that now. It has been done,
successfully.”

“But why?” Chapel demanded. “Is this some kind of
sick mad scientist thing? Like, crossing a monkey and a shark to get a monkey
with big teeth?”

“It's done for slightly more noble reasons,
usually. Like with spidergoats.”

A vision of eight-legged goats spinning webs across
mountaintops filled Chapel's head. “Now I know you're full of it.”

“No, really. It's been done. They introduced some
spider DNA to a goat ovum, and the result was a spidergoat. It looks just like a
normal goat, but its milk contains threads of spider silk. Spider silk is much,
much stronger than steel, but because of the size of spiders it's tough to
harvest. Spidergoat silk is a lot bigger and longer than the stuff a spider
makes. They use spidergoat silk to make body armor for soldiers. At least,
they're starting to.”

Chapel had good reason to appreciate body armor.
Still— “That sounds ludicrous.”

“It's a field that's just starting out. But the
implications are incredible. They want to breed a kind of tomato chimera that
contains vaccines. You could inoculate children by feeding them their
vegetables. They want to make chimera animals, pigs probably, that have human
organs which can be harvested for transplants.”

“I am starting to feel a little nauseated, now,”
Chapel said. “This is messed-up stuff.”

“I agree,” Julia said. “But I'm willing to accept
that if it means saving lives.”

“Okay, okay, enough with the ethics debate.”

“Why are you asking me about this?” Julia
asked.

He shot a glance at her eyes and saw she was
desperate to know. And for once he could answer—she would find out soon enough
anyway, from the police. “Your mother wrote the word ‘chimera' on her wall.
Probably while she was being killed.”

“Oh my God,” Julia gasped.

He was sorry to have to shock her like this. But it
was important. “Do you know what she was trying to tell us?”

“I have no idea,” Julia said. “She never used the
word ‘chimera' in my presence, not that I remember. But then, she never talked
about her work to me. Ever.”

Chapel rubbed at his eyes with the balls of his
thumbs.
Chimera
had to mean something. Helen Bryant
had died to get the word to him. She must have thought he—or someone—would
understand. But what could it possibly mean?

In his head he saw black eyes. The eyes of the
detainee when blinding light shone on them. They had turned black because an
extra eyelid had slid across the maniac's eyes.

Even at the time, Chapel had thought they looked
like the eyes of a snake or something. Lots of animals had an extra eyelid,
didn't they? He seemed to remember that cats and birds did, too.

No. What he was thinking was crazy. But—

“If you could do that to a goat. If you could have
a pig that grows human organs—you could—you could have a human being with animal
organs as well, you could make them stronger, tougher, even—”

He couldn't finish the thought out loud.

But he had another one. “Julia. What kind of
research does your father do?”

She bit her lip. “He's one of the world's leading
experts on gene therapy,” she said. “He works with human DNA.”

BROOKLYN, NEW
YORK: APRIL 12, T+11:16

It was impossible. It simply couldn't be.

And yet Chapel had seen the evidence with his own
eyes. The detainee in the gutted department store had been far stronger and
faster than any human being had a right to be. And he'd had an extra eyelid, one
that shut down automatically when he was exposed to bright light, protecting his
eyes. Making them as black as eight balls in his head. He had seemed inhuman. A
monster. Chapel had refused to accept that, and so he had thought of the
detainee as human, completely human. He'd been of the same opinion as Julia—that
the guy had to have been full of drugs to make him so inhumanly strong and
resistant to damage.

But if in fact the detainee had been a chimera—a
combination of human and animal genes—it made a kind of crazy sense. Chapel had
seen a documentary on chimpanzees, once, that had startled him. He'd always
thought chimps were just smart apes that could be trained to do circus tricks or
maybe learn some basic sign language. Instead, the chimps in that
documentary—wild chimps—had been incredibly strong and very dangerous. They were
capable of tearing a human being to pieces, and if their territory or their
dominance was threatened, they had no qualms at all about doing it.

If the detainee had possessed chimpanzee genes, or
genes from some other species stronger than a human being—

“You're tough, for a
human,”
the detainee had said to him. Because the maniac
wasn't
human. At least not entirely.

His phone was buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it
out and saw the call was coming from the number (000) 000-0000. That had to mean
it was an encrypted call, from Angel most likely. He hit the end button, and the
phone stopped vibrating.

Before he could even put it in his pocket, it
started ringing out loud. He checked and saw that he'd turned the ringer off,
but apparently Angel could override that.

Probably she was just checking in to make sure he
was all right. It might be something else, though. Something important.

“Oh, for Christ's sake!” Julia said, staring at him
and his phone. “Either take that call or yank the battery out of that
thing.”

Before he could do either, the flatscreen on the
wall flickered and the image there changed. It showed a line drawing of a human
head with one ear highlighted. The screen animated and showed an earpiece like
the one in Chapel's pocket being inserted.

Not exactly subtle.

“What the hell?” Julia asked.

“That screen must be attached to the Internet,”
Chapel said to her while he fished in his pocket. He took out the earpiece and
stared at it. “I have a friend who's . . . good with computers.”

He put the earpiece in and was not surprised to
hear Angel calling his name. “Are you alone, sugar?” she asked.

“Not quite. I—”

He turned to look at Julia, but she was already
storming out of the examining room. “I've got work to do,” she said, and slammed
the door behind her.

“I'm alone now,” he told Angel.

“That's good. I like having you all to myself,” she
told him. “Tell me you're okay. Your vitals look all right, though you seem
tired.”

“It's been a long day. Wait a minute—you can tell
I'm tired from the earpiece?”

“It's got a few sneaky features. It can collect
biometric data. Among other things.”

“And those other things—”

“Sweetie, if you ask me about classified things,
you know I have to lie. And I don't ever want to lie to you.”

“Fair enough. All right, Angel. What's so important
you needed to cut in on me like that?”

“I'm going to put Director Hollingshead on the
line, and he can tell you all about it. Director?”

“I'm here,” the admiral said. “Chapel—it sounded
like you took a pretty good blow to the head, there. Are you recovered?”

“I was dazed for a minute,” Chapel told him. “But
I'll be all right. Dr. Taggart took care of me. She also told me a few
interesting things about chim—”

“Ahem,” Hollingshead broke in. “No need to tell an
old dog anything about digging up bones, son.”

“Ah.” So Hollingshead already knew about chimeras.
And what Chapel was facing. It would have been nice to have some warning, but
Chapel supposed some things were meant to stay secret. Apparently so secret it
couldn't even be discussed over an encrypted line. “Okay, then, sir, I'll tell
you all about it some other time. Maybe in person.”

“You're on the trail, son, and that's all that
matters. What's the status of your, ah, investigation? What's your next
step?”

“There's one more name on the list with a New York
address. She shouldn't be in danger now—the other three are probably hundreds of
miles from here by now. Still, it won't hurt to pay her a visit and make sure
she's safe. After that, it's either Chicago or Atlanta. Any thought on where I
should head first?”

“Angel's looking for clues. Maybe she'll turn
something up. I know you'll make the right choice, Captain Chapel. I have utter
faith in you. Director Banks on the other hand . . .”

“Oh?”

“You've got some competition, let us say. Oh,
nothing you can't handle—and no one you haven't met before. Someone you've seen
around the Pentagon, perhaps.”

Laughing Boy. Hollingshead must be talking about
Laughing Boy. “He's been activated? Maybe that's good news—two of us running
down leads can cover a lot more ground than one,” Chapel pointed out.

“Unfortunately he's not as proactive as you've
shown yourself to be,” Hollingshead said, sounding contrite. “In fact, I fear
he's simply bird-dogging you. After your recent success, I sent a team to pick
up what was left of the . . . fellow in question. Your new shadow got
there first. What he did with the remains is currently unknown.”

Chapel thought about that. If Laughing Boy had
taken the body of the dead detainee, it could simply mean the CIA didn't want
the local authorities claiming the remains of a man who was carrying a dangerous
virus. But why not let Hollingshead's people take care of it? Banks must have
had his reasons. Maybe there was something about the body he didn't want anyone
else to see.

Yet another mystery to add to the already enormous
pile of mysteries in this operation. Chapel shrugged it off. “At least the
. . . specimen is under wraps. Do you think I need to worry about our
civilian friends?”

Hollingshead didn't sound sure when he answered.
“No one has declared war just yet. Chalk this one up to a shot across our bows,
maybe. For now we're all pulling in the same direction,” he said. “Just keep
your eyes open.”

“Will do, sir.”

“All right, then. I'll put Angel back on, and she
can help you coordinate your next move.”

Chapel talked to Angel briefly, arranging to have a
cab waiting when he left the veterinary clinic. Then he opened the door of the
examination room and headed out to the front of the office, where Julia and her
receptionist were talking quietly. Julia had a balled-up tissue in her hand, and
the receptionist was rubbing her back in slow circles. Apparently Julia had
finally gotten a chance to start grieving for her mother.

“I'll be going now,” Chapel told her. “If there's
anything I can do—”

“You already have,” Julia told him.

“I might have some more questions,” he suggested.
“But I'll give you some time, first. I'm . . . I'm so sorry.”

She nodded. She wasn't even looking at him anymore.
“You should get a CT scan at some point. Make sure your brain wasn't injured in
that concussion.”

“If I get a chance, I will,” he told her.