The Miracle Strain (31 page)

He took a seat next to Bob Cooke, and accepted the coffee placed in front of him by Dr. Washington.

"First of all, Mr. De La Croix, thank you for coming," began Carter. "You will understand why I asked you to send the hair follicle in a second. But what we want to do now is take you through what we've found." Jasmine Washington took over then and for the next half hour explained how the black swanlike Genescope worked.

Ezekiel listened intently. Brother Helix had explained much of the basics already, but it was somehow more powerful hearing it here, in this bright, harsh place under the shadow of the strange swan. He was appalled by the power these people had at their disposal.

He said nothing when Jasmine finished, only opening his mouth in wonder when the three-dimensional image of a man appeared before his eyes. At first he just marveled at the magic of creating a seemingly solid image in thin air, then to his shock he realized the young man with the small wiry physique was himself sixty-six years ago. He felt a twinge of sadness as he looked at this ghost of his younger self. A man he had known years ago, but who had since disappeared.

"The hologram will show the subject at the age the cell came from the body. But DAN can extrapolate the data if we want the hologram to show a different age," explained Jasmine. "This is set to just over thirty years."

"It's incredible," he said quietly, convinced more than ever that Carter was dangerous. "Truly incredible."

Carter explained how the Genescope had found three new genes in the DNA of Christ's tooth. Ezekiel listened while the scientist outlined the properties of the so-called naz 1 and naz2 genes, and the apparent inscrutability of the third gene. Carter then went on to explain how, because of the difficulty in understanding the genes, he was now committed to finding a match too. But before Ezekiel could probe this, a second figure appeared on the other circular pad. This figure was taller than his hologram, with long brown hair and a narrow intelligent face. The brown eyes were wise, with a stare that haunted Ezekiel.

Dr. Carter said, "This is Jesus Christ in his early thirties; about the same as your hologram. The age when he was supposed to have been crucified."

Ezekiel De La Croix stared for a moment in complete silence, unsure what to feel. Disgust that this atheist had re-created Christ's image? Or joy that he was the only Leader of the Brotherhood since the founder to see the face of the original Messiah? "You can do this just from the powder in his tooth?" he asked eventually.

"Yes," said Carter softly. "As we did with your hair."

Ezekiel was almost as surprised at how he was able to see what he was seeing, as he was at the content. Carter had exceeded Icarus's flying too close to the sun. He was manipulating the very essence of God. At that moment, although Carter sounded respectful, almost subdued, Ezekiel hated him. He understood why Maria had been so adamant in her need to stop the man's outrageous overreaching. Carter hadn't just picked one of the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge, he had stripped every apple from its boughs.

Despite these thoughts, Ezekiel De La Croix kept his face impassive, and focused on his reason for being here. "What about the match? You said you had found one."

A pause as Washington and Carter exchanged a worried look. "We have found one live match," said Carter eventually. "But there's a problem."

Ezekiel was surprised by the scientist's tone. "A problem? How do you mean? Can't you find him?"

"No, we know exactly where the person is," said Carter. "But it's not quite as simple as that."

"Let me explain," volunteered Jasmine Washington, moving her seat nearer a black microphone at the end of the table. "I found the match on Interpol's DNA database. This is a loose relational database situated in Paris. It doesn't contain that much information itself, but it acts as a doorway to affiliated databases around the world. Scotland Yard, the FBI, and all the major international police forces are linked to it. It is highly confidential and very well protected, because once inside it, you can access any individual stored on any police file in the world.

"To add a further level of security the genomes on this system are each allocated a code number. I actually found the match over three weeks ago, but I couldn't get to the name behind the coded number. Then last week the subject's DNA was scanned again. This time, because I'd asked our central computer to collect every new scan from our licensed Genescopes, the subject's genome was secretly sent to IGOR, as well as the Paris database."

Ezekiel frowned. "So, you've got the match. What's the problem?"

"The problem depends on your expectations."

"What do you mean?"

"All individuals stored on this database are suspected, or convicted, criminals."

Silence.

Ezekiel felt numb for a moment, but the more he thought about it the more sense it made. Hadn't Christ himself been jailed? Hadn't the first Messiah been executed, crucified as a criminal?

He said, "The first Messiah was so branded, and he was a righteous man."

Jasmine cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone. "Show the chart!" she ordered the computer.

Ezekiel was now breathing more calmly again, although his stomach ulcer still ached. He sat back and watched as an image slowly came into focus on the screen.

"This is our match," said Jasmine quietly.

"No!" he heard himself exclaim, when the image finally appeared. All he could think, as he stared at the enlarged newspaper clipping unfurling on the screen, was that there must have been some awful mistake. This wasn't possible. He felt the acid boil in his stomach, making him reach for his white pills.

"I know it's a shock," said Carter quickly. "And I'm as horrified about it as you are. But the genes match perfectly, and they offer the only chance we know for developing a cure. We intend to obtain and examine blood samples, and develop viral serums from the subject's genes. We are also going to gain permission to examine the individual thoroughly, to try and determine how the genes work in the body. Naturally, whatever we find out we shall pass on to you. But I hope you now understand why I felt it necessary to invite you over here and present the match to you, face to face."

Ezekiel could give only a weak nod. He understood better than Dr. Carter could ever know. He felt the scientist looking at him, but he could not, dared not, meet his gaze. Instead his eyes remained locked on the screen, mesmerized by the projected clipping taken from yesterday's Boston Globe. The bold headline read: THE PREACHER'S LAST SERMON? with DEATH SENTENCE NOW A CERTAINTY printed beneath it. Below the words was a grainy picture of a tall, powerfully built woman being pushed into a police car, her intense eyes looking straight into the camera, her once shaved head now covered in fine stubble.

Ezekiel was suddenly reminded of his Pontius Pilate nightmare, of standing by while the Messiah he had dedicated his life to saving was executed. And an involuntary shudder rippled through his tired, old body.

Three days later, Courthouse

Boston

"Will the defendant please rise for the verdict," said Justice Sancha Hernandez, turning from the jury to Maria Benariac. Maria didn't like the justice. She reminded her of the toad back at the orphanage in Corsica. Like Mother Clemenza, Justice Hernandez was a big-bosomed, deep-voiced woman with large spectacles. And like the Mother Superior the justice had hard, flinty eyes that now bored right into hers.

Justice Hernandez had consistently prevented Hugo Myers's attempts to open up the trial and explore the conspiracy theory of Maria being in the pay of some government agency. The media may have bought and sold the story of the vigilante in the pay of the CIA, but not Justice Hernandez. And she had made sure that the jury didn't buy it either. She had stuck rigorously to the core issue and not a day had gone by without her bashing out her guidance with self-righteous zeal:

"This trial is to determine the defendant's guilt or innocence of the forty-two alleged homicides on U. S. soil. It is not to speculate on what may, or may not, have motivated those who may, or may not, have paid the defendant to perform these said murders. That is a subject for another investigation and another trial. Is that clear?"

It had become so crystal clear that the justice had not only eased the District Attorney's job, but made it virtually redundant. As Hugo Myers had warned Maria, the evidence was damning. The match from the DNA found on the roses at Fontana's apartment had been irrefutable. The weapons and folders in her apartment, along with her telltale biblical messages written in the victims' blood, had linked her to the other deaths in the United States. But the real clincher had been the killing of the GENIUS guards, and the testimony from Dr. Carter and Dr. Washington. The argument from the prosecution was barely required. Keeping the excellent, but beleaguered, Hugo Myers to the facts had sufficed to condemn Maria.

When Maria saw the small Oriental-looking man stand in front of his fellow jurors, nervously brandishing a piece of paper, she already knew what verdict the foreman would give.

"On the count of first-degree murder for the killing of Sly Fontana, the jury finds Maria Benariac... Guilty as charged," the foreman said, echoing the words in Maria's own head. Then, one by one, like a rogues' gallery of evil, the names of the other victims were read out: Helmut Kroger, the arms dealer; Santino Luca, the mobster; Bobby Dooley, the corrupt evangelist.

When the foreman reached Olivia Carter's name Maria turned to the gallery and caught the scientist's eye. Carter was sitting between his partner, Jack Nichols, and Dr. Washington. They had been in the court only once before, to testify. Expecting Dr. Carter to gloat, she smiled defiantly at him, but was surprised to see his face tired and gaunt, his blue eyes dulled. It was bizarre how now, when she was about to be sentenced to death, he looked defeated. When she had held a gun to his head, he had been strong and unbowed.

As the verdict was given, a brief stirring raced like wildfire around the reporters and spectators, but it soon burned out. This verdict was no surprise. Hugo Myers, professional to the end, put a hand on Maria's shoulder in a show of support, as if there was something he could have done. But Maria ignored him and said loudly to judge and jury, "I am innocent in the eyes of God."

There was another excited murmur from the spectators before the justice gaveled them into silence and proceeded to read Maria's sentence.

Maria didn't register all of Justice Hernandez's long speech, but key phrases---sadistic killer... Menace to society... Set an example... Crime 2000... Fast-track death penalty--rang out clearly. The only detail she heeded was the time frame. Myers had explained how the Crime 2000 initiative had put an end to the costly and "inhumane" appeal procedures which could see a prisoner languishing on death row for ten to twenty years. But she hoped her execution wouldn't be too soon. She still had God's work to do. She still had to stop Carter and his Project Cana.

When the justice announced the date of execution, it took Maria a second to realize its proximity. And as the two guards stepped forward to return her to her cell, she looked back at Carter.

Flashing her most defiant smile, she raised both manacled arms and pointed at him. "Those that escaped his vengeance have only delayed the inevitable," she shouted through the noise of the crowd, "for they have already been judged in a higher court than this." She wanted him to know that it wasn't over, that she would still be coming for him. But to her genuine surprise Dr. Carter's expression remained impassive: no triumph, no fear, no anger--nothing. She couldn't understand it. He had just heard his wife's killer sentenced to death, with the execution set for less than four weeks' time. But he just stared at her, not a trace of satisfaction showing on his stony face.

At that moment, Maria thought he looked more like the condemned prisoner than she did.

Tom watched Maria's stubbly head as she was led away. Oblivious to the noise and bustle of everyone around him standing to leave, he sat back on the hard wooden chair, two rows behind in the spectators' gallery, and tried to figure it all out.

Over the last week, ever since Jasmine had told him the identity of the match, Tom had been trying to understand what it all meant. And as he thought about it again he ended with the same questions: How the hell am I supposed to understand thatmy wife's killer might be my daughter's savior? Where's the senseor meaning in that? Why couldn't it have been the Indian, or someother obviously good person?

They had searched the world for a person who possessed three of the rarest genes in existence--genes originally found two thousand years ago in a man of unquestionable goodness. Now these genes, which promised to save count less lives, hadn't been found in a person of similar vision and greatness, but in a ruthless killer.

Tom had always accepted the lottery of Nature, but this was too much even by his standards. This looked more like mischievous intent. No wonder the old man, Ezekiel De La Croix, had been so shocked. The Messiah he had devoted his life to finding had been unveiled as a mad fanatic who believed she was put on this earth to kill--not to save.

What was it that Maria had said to him when she was captured? "God tests us all."

He bent his head and stared at the scuff marks on the polished wooden floor: He failed to think of something positive in all this. He had acquired blood samples from Maria's medical examination, and even read her detailed doctor's report, but no clues had been yielded from her genes. And without her cooperation he wasn't going to find any either.

Of course there was still a chance that IGOR would eventually pick up one of the other eighteen or so people in the world who possessed all three Nazareth genes. But the odds of one of them being scanned and picked up in the next few weeks were infinitesimal. Tom had to face facts. As far as helping Holly was concerned, Maria was in effect unique.

"Let's go, Tom," said Jasmine softly beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Jack's arranged for us to go out through the chambers to avoid the press."

He stood and allowed her to lead him to the front of the courtroom. He thought again of the mysterious, but apparently useless serum developed from the combined Nazareth genes, and the risks of the inevitable brain surgery for Holly. The bitter taste of nausea caught in his throat. Short of begging Maria to try to heal his daughter, these were the only options open to him now.

As they passed the witness chair Jack appeared on his left.

"Tom, it's not over yet."

He turned to his friend and shook his head. "Isn't it, Jack?"

Without the distracting glimmer of hope the future seemed clear to him. Project Cana was dead, and soon, surely, Holly would be too.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

GENIUS Hospital Suite, Boston

Holly lost all feeling down her left side on May 12, four days after Maria was sentenced. The seizure lasted over two hours. Tom could see it frightened her more than all the pain and sickness she had endured till then. The pro-drug and radiotherapy had slowed the tumor's growth but it was still growing at a rate that unnerved him. The pressure it exerted on her brain was now affecting some of her motor functions. Steroids reduced the swelling and seizures, but he knew its effects would only worsen.

The tumor was entering the fourth and final stage of clonal evolution; the key genes on chromosome 9 had long since been lost, as had a whole copy of chromosome 10. The rebel cells were growing unchecked. The pace of growth had been almost three times faster than DAN's most optimistic estimate of one year, and more or less in line with its most pessimistic. Tom had originally ignored the gloomiest prognosis, telling himself he would find a way to buy the maximum time, but now when he considered the breaks he'd been getting it seemed bitterly appropriate that this should have happened.

He was fighting the old enemy, cancer, and it was winning. And this time the battleground was his daughter. He had to consider Holly's comfort above everything, even fighting the disease. The treatment he was giving her now made her feel weak and sick, and it wasn't even going to save her.

The conflict between Tom as her father and as a surgeon had become agonizingly simple. He had to either help her to live or help her to die, and forget everything in between.

"Yuch. Great graphics." Jasmine leaned from her chair next to Holly's bed to look at the computer on her god-daughter's lap. The warrior queen on screen was being eaten by a twoheaded troll. "So you can't get beyond level six, eh?"

Two days had passed since the last seizure and Holly was sitting up in bed, enjoying one of her rare good days. "I can get into the castle, kill all the orcs and the blue dragon. But when I come out again I always get got by the troll or the huge sea snake in the moat. Every time."

"Have you picked up all medical creds in the secret compartments?"

"I think so. And the hidden weapons and the extra armor. But what I need is invulnerability. And there's no magic potion in the castle."

"You've looked everywhere?"

"Everywhere."

"And you've tried everything?"

"Yup."

Jasmine smiled. "How about cheating?"

Holly gave a resigned shrug. "Impossible. Everyone knows that Wrath of Zarg is the one computer game with no cheat codes."

"You mean no published cheat codes." Jasmine knew that every games programmer put in shortcuts that allowed him to have unlimited firepower, lives, or invulnerability at the press of a particular combination of keys. With most games like Doom or Dark Forces these cheat codes were discovered by hardened gamers and passed around on the Internet. But according to Holly no one had yet been able to crack the Wrath of Zarg cheat codes. "Hey, move up, will you? And pass the laptop."

Holly scooted up on the bed and Jasmine sat next to her. Holly smiled when she gave her the computer. "You think you can find 'em?"

"Uh-huh. I might not be a fairy godmother, but I'm the next best thing: a cyber godmother."

Holly giggled. "Okay, bet you can't find them in an hour."

Razor Buzz's fingers were already dancing on the keys. "Hey, don't insult me. We're talking minutes here."

Holly cocked her head to one side for a moment, as if thinking. "Okay. How about ten minutes? Bet you can't find them in ten minutes."

Jasmine's fingers stopped their tapping. "Right, what do you want?"

Holly looked at her and then at the screen. Her eyes were round with disbelief. "You've done it already?"

Jasmine gave a modest shrug and handed back the laptop. "Sure, no big deal. For invulnerability you need to press N-starPAIN. Try it."

Holly entered the code and found that her warrior queen was indeed troll-proof. "Wow. Awesome." Within three minutes she was looking up with a triumphant grin on her face. "Level seven. Wait till Jennifer and Megan hear about this."

Jasmine laughed. "Just don't use it all the time; otherwise it'll get boring. To turn it off just press control P. Okay?"

"Yeah, thanks, Jazz. This is great. But how did you do it?"