The Messiah Code (19 page)

"Not again," he muttered, as he felt another cramp in his gut. He leaned over the side and dry-retched before gulping in the cool, salty air.

Jack passed him the infrared binoculars. "Have a look through these. It'll take your mind off the boat."

Tom groaned, put the binoculars to his eyes, and scanned the beach. Through the lenses, the scene appeared to be illuminated by green light. Everything looked clearer and he could now make out a small rubber dinghy on the sand, but there was still no sign of Irish and Dutch.

Wait! What was that?

He could have sworn he saw a reflection of moonlight

on metal, or glass, coming from the right of the beach, by the cliff. Fingers of ice walked down his spine. Were they being watched?

Then he saw the two figures running down the left of the beach toward the dinghy. He patted Jack on the arm. "They're here." The taller man, Dutch, threw a bag into the boat and helped Irish drag the dinghy into the lapping waves. Both men then jumped in and began rowing out toward the fishing boat. Tom panned the binoculars back to the right of the beach, by the rocks. Nothing. He must have imagined whatever he thought he saw there in the eerie green light.

Within a minute the two men arrived at the side of the boat and Tom and Jack helped haul them aboard.

"Any problems?" Jack asked.

Dutch smiled, revealing strong white teeth. "No, it was as quiet as a church."

Irish delved into the large bag on the deck beside his partner. He pulled out an aluminum case and a dog-eared list. "I think you'll find it's all there. Labeled and ordered as you wanted."

Tom checked the list. Every one of the five entries had been crossed off, and when he opened the refrigerated case a crack and peeked inside, he saw that all five slots had been filled with labeled glass vials. He closed the case, clutching it tightly to him. "Well done. You got all of them."

Dutch nodded. "Yeah. We had some trouble with the Santiago sample in Spain. Some smartass had put the blood in a container which was designed to destroy the contents if it was forced open."

"What happened?" asked Jack.

"Don't worry! Irish found a way."

"And the Lanciano sample tonight?" asked Tom. This was the one he was most interested in. The blood in the Lanciano Eucharist had already undergone carbon dating by Oxford scientists over a decade ago and the results had been particularly promising.

"Like I said. Easy. No security at all. And don't worry--in every case no one'll know anything's been taken."

Jack took an envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to Dutch. "Untraceable yen."

"Thanks, Mr. Nichols. Just like old times. Pleasure doing business with you."

Carter watched Dutch take the money and put it in his bag without counting it.

Jack said, "We'll drop you off at Pescara as agreed. Then you're on your own."

When the two men had gone below deck, Tom opened the aluminum case again, and studied the row of five neatly laid out vials. Each one was labeled with a date and an address. The last vial bore the legend:
Eucharist of Lanciano, Italy, March 6, 2003.
Ignoring the others, he took this out of the case and held it up to the moonlight. The rusty powder inside seemed to glow like crushed rubies.

"Is that the one?" asked Jack as the crew weighed anchor.

Tom felt a shiver, which had nothing to do with the cold night breeze blowing over the Adriatic, and as he felt the boat move toward Pescara, he realized that his seasickness was gone.

He turned to Jack and whispered, "According to tests conducted at Oxford, this blood is two thousand years old, male, and human." He paused and smiled. "Certainly narrows down the odds, doesn't it?"

Maria Benariac stood by the rocks on the darkened beach, holding the night-vision camera as she watched the boat leave the shore. Her body felt stiff from the cold, but inside she was burning with a blend of anger and righteous vindication.

It was true then; there could be no more doubt about it. Not only had she seen Dr. Carter studying the stigmata but now she had witnessed the two thieves taking the sample from the Lanciano church. And if that wasn't enough she had actually seen Jack Nichols paying for the stolen property, and Carter openly studying it in the full light of the moon.

It was unbelievable. Not only was Dr. Carter ignoring her threat, but he was taunting her, pushing his blasphemy into still darker territory. The devil was even willing to sacrifice the sacred relics of Christ on his black altar of genetics. If she'd thought Dr. Carter was a threat before, she now knew he was far more than that. Why else would a mortal search for the genes of God? If not to become God himself?

T
he first glial cell refused to obey its genetic instructions at 11:09 on the morning of Friday, March 7, 2003.

At the time Holly was sitting between her best friends, Jennifer and Megan, in the second row of her French class at the South Boston Junior High School. When she eagerly raised her hand to answer Mrs. Brennan's question, "
Comment allez-vous
?" she was a healthy little girl, only weeks away from her birthday. But seconds later, by the time she had answered, "
Je vais bien
, Madame Brennan," and put her hand down, she had cancer, and was only months away from her death day.

In that split second the glial cell in her brain had turned rogue, and the first mutation of clonal evolution that would lead inexorably to cancer had begun. As simply as a switch being flicked the healthy little girl had become terminally ill.

E
very cell in the human body is strictly controlled, its death, renewal, and proliferation all kept in check by the genetic instructions in its DNA. The instant that the
p53
gene was lost in Holly's affected glial cell, that strict control broke down and the cell began to divide--producing more cells with corrupted DNA.

There are four stages of clonal evolution, and in this first stage Holly's affected cell has begun to obey new faulty instructions. These instructions turn off the brakes in the

cell's nucleus so it continues to divide and proliferate indefinitely. The cell seems normal, but by proliferating excessively it clones its own rogue DNA, and creates other rebel cells that in turn crowd out its genetically obedient neighbors. And because the body's antibodies don't recognize these rebel cells as foreign, they are left to multiply unhindered.

The second mutation occurs when the still normal rebel cells begin to proliferate at an accelerated rate, creating pressure on the surrounding area--and in turn on Holly's skull.

The third mutation of clonal evolution sees the cells proliferate still more rapidly with some of the cells undergoing structural change. By the time this occurs a whole cluster of key genes on Holly's chromosome 9 will have been wiped out.

The fourth and fatal mutation usually sees the cells become malignant, cancerous. By now the whole of one copy of chromosome 10 has been lost, and all the genetic instructions contained within it. The cells are now obeying only their own selfish instructions: To survive and to multiply--ignorant of the fact that this will kill their host: that Holly will die.

The ultimate irony is that cancer is about a cell's attempt to become immortal. This selfish search for immortality is what kills the rest of the body. And of course when the body dies, the cancer cells die with it.

H
owever, as Holly sat in class with her friends she knew nothing of this. She was blissfully unaware of the traitor inside, rebelling against her. It could take weeks, or even months, before she felt any discomfort. Her father would be the first to learn of her condition when she underwent her next CAT or PET scan. Then the slightest suggestion of a growth would be revealed. Of course, even then Holly might still be none the wiser. When her dad looked more worried than usual on their next outing to the hospital, Holly would just assume that he was in one of his moods.

She wouldn't even begin to guess what her father would

then know, that the prophecy the Genescope had made three months earlier had finally come to pass. That the dormant enemy within her body had not only awakened, but had already begun its futile and fatal quest for immortality.

T
hree days had elapsed since Maria Benariac had spied on Dr. Carter and Jack Nichols off the coast of Italy. She sat in the splendid foyer of Hotel de la Cigogne, admiring the gleaming wood and elegant marble while she waited to be called. She had been to this discreet Geneva hotel a number of times before. Always to meet with the Father. She knew that Father Ezekiel De La Croix liked it here because the guests were always greeted with impeccable courtesy and understated good taste, but never any questions. He kept a suite here, which he used when he made his regular checks on the Brotherhood's banking interests in the city.

Maria glanced at the ornate clock standing by the reception desk. She had been waiting now for almost twenty minutes. Usually the Father was prompt but then she supposed he had much to decide today. The photographs and notes she had sent to Brother Bernard must have given them a lot to think about. She crossed her legs, smoothed her plain navy skirt, and sipped her mineral water. She was in no particular hurry.

The sound of footsteps on marble made her turn her head in the direction of the elevators. She picked up her small attache case and stood when she saw the obese form of Brother Bernard approaching. He was dressed in a severe

dark suit. His goatee appeared more unkempt than she remembered, but his thick, pouting lips were curled in their familiar sneer.

Dispensing with any greeting, he beckoned her with a curt "Come!" and turned back to the elevators. No words were exchanged on the trip up to third floor, or on the short walk from the elevator along the long wood-paneled corridor to the door marked Suite 310. Maria was tempted to ask him what he had made of the photographs, or what he thought Dr. Carter might be doing. But she kept silent. And as for praise for uncovering the scientist's plan, she had long since given up expecting, or wanting, any from Bernard. Only the Father's approval was worth something.

She followed Bernard into the suite. To her right she saw a large marble bathroom, and to her left a luxurious bedroom. Ahead was a softly lit lounge area with a large cream divan and two matching armchairs. At the end of the divan sat a man. She quickly scanned the rest of the well-appointed room, and when she realized there was no one else there, didn't even try to hide her disappointment.

"Where is the Father?" she asked.

The tall man on the divan stood. He was thin and wore round wire-rimmed glasses. Despite his balding head, he looked considerably younger than Bernard. Maria had met Brother Helix Kirkham twice before a few years ago, and she couldn't understand what he was doing here now. He was the Champion of the Primary Imperative and this was a Secondary Imperative issue.

Brother Helix smiled at her and said, "Operative Nemesis, Father Ezekiel will not be attending the meeting. But he has asked us to pass on his appreciation for your vigilance." He extended his right hand to her. "May he be saved."

She completed the ritual greeting and glanced down at the glass coffee table in front of Helix, seeing her notes and photographs. "Weren't my findings important enough?"

Helix smiled at her. "On the contrary. They were so important that he has been detained putting certain related

plans in place." He gestured to one of the chairs, and reluctantly she sat down.

Brother Bernard sat on the divan next to Helix and asked her, "Do you have the original photographs and negatives with you as we requested?"

She opened her case, took out the plastic file containing all her collected "evidence," and passed it to him.

She said, "This should be enough to convince you that the scientist needs to be stopped as soon as possible. I am prepared to act whenever you need me to."

She watched as Bernard and Helix flicked through her notes and the various photographs. On more than one occasion she caught the two Brothers exchanging a glance and a discreet nod.

It was Helix who finally looked up and asked, "What do you think Dr. Carter is doing?"

"He's trying to tamper with the DNA of God."

"What are his motives?" Helix asked the question as if he already knew the answer.

She shrugged. She had given this some thought and had gone back to her books to second-guess his aims. She had even sat behind Dr. Carter and Jack Nichols on the flight from Italy, trying to overhear their plans. But all she had gleaned was the name: Project Cana. "I don't know exactly what his motives are. Perhaps he wants to discredit religion by proving Jesus was only mortal? Or perhaps he wants to harness Christ's power in some way?" She paused for a moment and crossed herself. "Maybe he's trying to clone Jesus?"

Helix shook his head. "No, that isn't possible yet. Even Dr. Carter would find that too difficult."

She waited then to hear what Helix's thoughts were. It was common knowledge that the relatively young Champion of the Primary Imperative had been steeped in the technology of the age. But the tall Brother volunteered nothing. "So why do
you
think he's doing it?" she prompted eventually.

Helix broke eye contact with her, and his gaze dropped evasively to the table in front of him. "I'm not sure. It probably has something to do with isolating Christ's genes.

He probably believes that if he can find and exploit these genes he can make a miracle drug, a universal panacea for all ills. Commercially that would make him very rich--even richer than he is now. And, more important, it would make him supremely powerful." Helix sighed. "But that needn't concern you anymore."