The Chimera Vector (10 page)

The can bounced into the tray before him. He didn’t take it.

Something different.

He ran back to his office, shoving his chair aside. He checked Sophia’s pseudogene injections and juxtaposed them against Damien’s and Jay’s.

He couldn’t believe it. Hyperproprioception was listed twice for Sophia, with different base pairs. Why would McLoughlin inject the same vector twice?

He knew why. Because she hadn’t.

***

As soon as Benito opened the door to his sleeping quarters, Denton thrust the papers in his face. ‘Translate.’

Benito rubbed his eyes and gathered the papers in his hands. ‘What is this?’ Blinking furiously, he started reading. ‘Right. A list of vector injections.’

‘Tell me why McLoughlin would be injecting the same vector into the same operative twice,’ Denton said.

‘She shouldn’t be.’ Benito scratched his cheek stubble with his thumbnail. ‘If the first injection wasn’t successful, there’d be a notation.’

‘There isn’t one,’ Denton said. ‘But the base pairs are different. Why is that? Was it changed?’

‘No, it wasn’t changed,’ Benito said. ‘But the base pair list is generated automatically. That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘It doesn’t make sense because that last vector doesn’t contain hyperproprioception at all,’ Denton said. ‘It’s a cover-up. McLoughlin injected some of her own DNA into Sophia. Sophia is the key.’

Benito scratched an armpit. ‘But they’re both dead, aren’t they?’

Denton smiled. ‘Are they?’

Chapter 10

The smell of fresh bread and garlic lured Sophia into the small makeshift kitchen. Adamicz was standing in front of the oven. He opened the door and, with a dish towel wrapping one hand, removed a skillet from inside. She could see what looked like a thick, pie-shaped frittata, puffy and golden, with patches of dark green and white.

She had yet to figure out Adamicz’s motives. She’d checked her bedroom for surveillance devices. There were none. She’d checked the bed frame, her clothes, even her own body. Nothing. The situation seemed genuine. Everything added up. There were no alarm bells going off in her head about Adamicz. And that’s what disturbed her.

‘My family weren’t killed in a terrorist attack, were they?’ she said.

Adamicz jolted, surprised to see her. He frowned. ‘No.’

‘Denton told me they—’ She stopped herself. ‘The Fifth Column killed them.’

Adamicz nodded. ‘More or less.’ He cut the frittata in half, and half again. ‘You are hungry, yes?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Yes.’

He served her a quarter on a plate. ‘You like frittata?’

‘It’s OK.’

Adamicz smiled, served himself a slice. ‘I make it with spinach, onion, garlic, Parmesan, goat’s cheese, sun-dried tomato.’

She picked it up from the pastry end. It was so hot it nearly burned her fingers. She dropped it back on her plate.

He handed her a knife and fork. ‘We can eat in Pacciani Room. There is table and my spare heater is there.’

Sophia reluctantly followed Adamicz down the hall, under a low archway and into another room. The ceiling wasn’t as high in here. Sure enough, his little portable heater was humming away quietly. Lining the far wall of the Pacciani Room were glass cabinets. Inside them were centuries-old parchments. In the center of the room was a magnificent antique dining table that catered for six. Adamicz sat at one end, so she sat at the other.

He asked if she wanted tea, then left her alone, returning a moment later with two mugs. He gave her one and began sipping from his own. She didn’t drink hers. It was unlikely to be poisonous, but old habits die hard.

She cut a piece of frittata and shoved it into her mouth. It was actually pretty good. She tried not to look like she was enjoying it too much, but couldn’t help chewing vigorously.

‘Why did you leave the Fifth Column?’

Bits of food flew from her mouth as she spoke. She covered it with one hand.

Adamicz sipped his tea and cleared his throat. ‘I learn how to make monsters out of children. Children like you. Children who were trained to kill people like my family.’

Sophia lowered her fork. ‘Who killed your family?’

She didn’t care how blunt the question sounded. Now was a good time to collect intel.

Adamicz put his mug down, but still held onto it. ‘I know of yours, you should know of mine. My father was put to work by Nazis. Our city, Breslau, was part of Germany. It was the favorite destination for war refugees. My father refused to work for Nazis, so they shoot him. When the Soviets attack, many of us were killed.’ He pronounced ‘killed’ as ‘keeld’. ‘By the time Nazis allow us to evacuate, most of city is on fire. And yet my mother froze to death trying to keep me warm.’

Sophia didn’t know where to look. She stared at the cracked edges of her mug.

‘You didn’t have to tell me that,’ she said.

Adamicz opened his mouth, then closed it again, deciding instead to sip his tea.

‘Why did you join the Fifth Column?’ Sophia said. ‘Did they force you to work for them?’

Adamicz shook his head. ‘No, of course not. It is sad. I wanted to work for them. Government grant was scarce in Prague, but Institute for Advanced Study in America had good prospect. No teacher, no student, no class. Just researchers. Funding was very good. All they needed was talent. Kurt Gödel, Hermann Weyl, John von Neumann, Albert Einstein.’

She only recognized Einstein’s name. ‘They wanted you?’

Adamicz nodded. ‘For my expertise in hypnosis. It is there I was able to hypnotize someone to pull the trigger.’

‘Like me?’

‘Not at that stage. I hypnotized ordinary people. Lee Harvey Oswald, James Earl Ray, Arthur Bremer, Ramírez Sánchez—’

‘Carlos the Jackal,’ Sophia said.

‘Fifth Column teach you some history, yes?’ Adamicz paused to chew on another mouthful of frittata.

Sophia wrapped her fingers around her mug. ‘He was programmed?’

Adamicz nodded. ‘The Jackal caught the attention of Sidney Denton. He make me an offer and, foolishly, I accept. In early eighties, I begin working on project that owes its roots to Nazi research. A project that becomes . . . how do you say . . . precursor to Project GATE, which did not begin until 1991.’

‘Project GATE wasn’t—we weren’t the first?’

Adamicz shook his head.

‘And you had the technology to program people’s minds in 1991?’

He chuckled. ‘Technology has been around since 1930s. It only gets better, and easier, over time.’

‘What about the genetic stuff?’ she said. ‘The pseudogene technology?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, this is quite a bit later. In the seventies, I believe. Fifth Column geneticists insert into test subject a modified IGF-1—a gene we use to repair body. Subject’s muscles become thirty percent stronger.’

Sophia blinked. ‘The Fifth Column had this technology all this time? I had no idea.’

‘Fifth Column does not need funding; it owns almost every government in world. They can take from anywhere and put it where they want. By the time this breakthrough reaches public science forums, it will already be classified for decades. By the time average person is aware that someone like you exist, you will be my age.’

‘So what I thought is cutting edge—’

‘Is outdated by two, three, sometimes four decades,’ he said. ‘If you have seen the technology that exists in black world—and indeed you have seen some of it, which is in you—it comes from the shadows of military–industrial complex. The very crucible of Fifth Column.’

Sophia cut another slice of frittata. ‘Is the pseudogene tech public yet?’

Adamicz nodded. ‘Only in its infancy. In 2005, a university geneticist in America discovered a way to deliver gene through target’s bloodstream using adeno-associated virus serotype 8 as vector. He use it to treat muscular dystrophy in eight-year-old boy—twenty years after we use vector on someone without muscular dystrophy. You,’ Adamicz said. ‘You see what I am telling you, yes? Fifth Column can only let public science progress so far, and only in compartmentalized fragments that can be monitored closely. They cannot let their power over human race slip. Any science that could jeopardize this will be quashed. You see, best scientists will work for Fifth Column only if they are willing to sell their soul. Fifth Column uses dummy corporations to fund science they want and starve the rest out.’

‘Can’t scientists get funding some other way?’

Adamicz’s fist hit the table. ‘No, because we do not know how to do anything except prostitute ourselves for funding and shout down opposing ideas.’ He relaxed his fist. ‘If people outside science know how we really work, they will be disgusted. We are pigs and whores.’

‘Surely you could find an angel investor or something who isn’t working for the Fifth Column?’ Sophia said.

Adamicz nodded. She thought he was agreeing with her at first.

‘That money is small change compared to what Fifth Column can offer,’ he said. ‘They consolidate and maintain their power, and have army of science drones—people like me—to help them. The outsiders, they can be insulted, discredited and blacklisted so they never get funding again. While they want to use their gifts to benefit humanity, we use our gifts to deny them.’

‘How did they get in power—the Fifth Column?’ Sophia said. ‘How did it happen?’

‘That, my friend, is best left for Doctor McLoughlin,’ Adamicz said. ‘You will meet her soon enough. And she can tell you everything.’

‘Doctor, if—’

‘Please do not call me Doctor,’ Adamicz said. ‘It is much too formal. My American name is Leon.’

Sophia drank from her mug. If he wanted to poison her, he’d have done it long ago. As ridiculous as it seemed, the old man appeared to have no interest in harming her.

‘What’s your real name? In your language?’ she said.

He blinked, as though he hadn’t heard her. Then he finally said, ‘My Polish name is Leoncjusz.’ He pronounced it as Leon-
chudge
. ‘Only people I trust know this name and call me by it. You may use it.’

‘Leon, if they find you here, they’ll kill you,’ Sophia said.

‘I am least of their concerns. And I have spent enough time being scared.’

Sophia lowered her mug. ‘Me too.’

***

Sophia had decided she’d play along with Leoncjusz’s deprogramming, at least until she had her first opportunity to escape. She couldn’t trust anyone; she was better off by herself.

He had forbidden her from venturing outside. He said it wasn’t that she couldn’t take care of herself; he knew she most certainly could. But her existence had to remain a secret. For all Denton knew, she was dead. And that was exactly how Leoncjusz wanted it.