The Genesis Key (24 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

Rockville, Maryland.

“H
ow's everyone holding up?” Kathleen asked as she walked into the QLS conference room. Carlos and Julie were already seated at the table.

“Fine,” said Carlos. He was an ex-Marine. Resilient, unflappable.
Of course he was fine.

Julie Haas, on the other hand, looked disheveled and frazzled. Her clothes were uncharacteristically wrinkled, her lipstick and makeup worn away, and her hair a tangled mess. “I'm okay,” she said unconvincingly.

“Are you sure?” Kathleen prodded.

Julie looked as if she might cry at any moment. “It's just—” She exhaled loudly. “It's just that everything's happening so fast! People are screaming out there . . . Jeremy's in the hospital . . .” Her chin began to quiver as she fixed her eyes on Kathleen's. “And we never really talked about whether this was, you know, the right thing to do
.
”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know. It's just that this is really big, you know . . . much bigger than I realized. And now that it's actually happening, I—” She looked down at her fidgeting hands. “Well . . . I guess I'm having second thoughts.”

“Julie
,
” Kathleen said soothingly. “This treatment could help millions of people. How could you have second thoughts about that?”

“I can't explain it Dr. S. It's just this weird feeling I get when I see all those people out there, arguing and yelling at one another. When I think about Jeremy getting
shot
because of this. It just makes me wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“Whether we're opening up Pandora's box. Like, maybe we weren't supposed to discover this gene in the first place.”

Kathleen mulled those words over in her head. She liked Julie and valued her opinion.
Could she be right? Have we unknowingly violated some sort of natural barrier in the human genome?
It was true they were about to reintroduce a virus that had been eliminated by natural selection thousands of years ago.
Had it been eliminated for a reason?
That thought was still percolating through her mind when Carlos suddenly changed the topic.

“Dr. S, I think we need to talk about some business issues here.”

“Right,” said Kathleen firmly. But her mind was still lingering on Julie's comment about Pandora's box, the same comment Bryce Whittaker had made last week. And another thought had suddenly popped up, something else Whittaker had said. Why would natural selection
eliminate
a gene that increased life expectancy? She still had not arrived at an answer to that riddle.

“Dr. S?” said Carlos impatiently.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, business issues, I'm listening.”

“We need to talk about getting patent protection for this gene sequence.”

Kathleen nodded in agreement.

“In fact, that was the first thing that jerk from Crescent asked me this morning, after he rescinded their cash call. He wanted to know if we'd filed a patent application yet.”

“I guess we need to do that ASAP, huh?” Kathleen's mind was now shifting back to the pragmatic aspects of managing this new discovery.

“Already on it,” Carlos replied. “I started drafting a disclosure this morning using the data Julie gave me.” He pulled a small jump drive from his shirt pocket and slid it across the table to Kathleen. “Can you take a look at what I've got so far and let me know if anything else needs to be added?”

“Sure,” said Kathleen, slipping the jump drive into the pocket of her jeans. “I'll do it this morning.”

“When you're done, I'll forward the disclosure to our patent attorney at Coulter and Meyers. If I recall, I think we also have to deposit a biological sample at the Patent Office along with the application. So let's make sure to preserve the DNA sample that you guys sequenced last night.”

“It's in a neoprene sample container in the fridge,” said Julie, rubbing her eyes. “Second shelf.”

Kathleen looked at Julie empathetically. “You must be exhausted
.
Why don't you go home and get some rest. Carlos and I can hold the fort today.” She nodded toward the parking lot, where the sound of shouting voices made the “fort” analogy seem oddly appropriate.

Julie smiled appreciatively. “Thanks Dr. S.”

Carlos pushed back from the table and stood up. “I'll walk you to your car.”

“Go out the back,” Kathleen instructed. “Walk around casually to your car. If anyone asks you any questions, just say, ‘No comment.' ”

Carlos nodded and left with Julie.

Meanwhile, Kathleen returned to her office. There were a thousand things to do today: the patent application, the agenda for the upcoming shareholders' meeting, a whole new research plan. But her most immediate concern was what to tell the press.
Should she deny the story in the
Post
?
She considered it for a moment, relishing the idea of denying Whittaker's story. That would certainly make him look like an ass—which he deserved. But, in the end, she decided she couldn't do that. The story was basically true, and, besides, there were shareholders to consider. She decided “no comment” was the best approach for now, until they could sort everything out.

She began typing a short press release but was quickly distracted by something outside. The crowd noise had intensified. Something was happening
.
She ran to the conference room and pulled the shade up just enough to peek through the window. She was surprised to see the crowd had grown significantly. There were now at least fifty people outside the door, and they seemed to be forming an unorganized circle around something . . . or someone.

Carlos!
She realized with a start. A crowd of people, about six deep, surrounded him on the walkway, shouting and screaming. Kathleen saw Tina Chang in her bright red dress, pushing her way through the crowd, microphone in hand, cameraman following close behind.

Carlos needed help. Instinctively, Kathleen rushed to the lobby, unlocked the front door, and stepped outside into the cold.

From where Kathleen now stood, the crowd was about thirty feet away, on the walkway connecting the QLS entrance to the sidewalk that ran along the front of the building. Tina Chang was still trying to squeeze her way through the writhing throng of people. The other news reporter, however, was standing at the fringes, and he spotted Kathleen right away. “Dr. Sainsbury!” he called out, jogging toward her, his cameraman in tow.

Someone in the crowd looked up and pointed at Kathleen. Then, suddenly, the entire crowd began stampeding down the walkway toward her.

The reporter from Channel 7 reached her first. “Dr. Sainsbury,” he shouted excitedly. “Can you confirm the report in the
Washington Post
?” He shoved a microphone in her face.

Before she could answer, the crowd swarmed around her, grabbing at her arms and shoulders, everyone trying to get her attention at once. “Please help my wife!
”
an elderly man shouted. “I'm ready to volunteer
,
” said another. A shrill female voice screeched above it all: “Sinner!”

Kathleen made eye contact with Carlos, who was still standing about twenty feet away on the walkway. She mouthed the words, “Where's Julie?”

Carlos pointed toward the edge of the parking lot, where Julie's car was just leaving.

“Can you confirm the story?” the Channel 7 reporter repeated.

Kathleen spoke into the microphone. “We have no comment at this time.”

At that, the crowd went crazy. “Will you be holding a press conference?” the reporter shouted above the frenzy.

“We'll issue a press release later today,” Kathleen replied.

As the crowd activity reached a feverish pitch—more questions, more shouting, more pushing and jostling—a loud crack of thunder boomed overhead, momentarily drowning out the cacophony of voices.

Then it began to rain.

Carlos managed to break through the crowd and position himself next to Kathleen. “That's it, folks,” he shouted above the roar, mainly in the direction of the Channel 7 reporter. He gently nudged Kathleen toward the front doors, pushing several people out of the way. He muscled open one of the boarded doors and pushed Kathleen through the opening. Then he stepped into the building and closed and locked the door behind him.

“This is getting out of control,” Kathleen said breathlessly, dripping and shaking from the rain.

Seconds later, a deafening crack of thunder shook the entire building, and the sky outside turned white. Lightning nearby. Kathleen and Carlos watched nervously as the lights in the QLS lobby flickered several times, then went out completely.

They returned to the darkened conference room and stared through the window at the chaos outside. The crowd was dispersing quickly in the pouring rain. Both news vans were lowering their antennas.

T
he lights came on about five minutes later, accompanied by an unexpected sound.

The fire alarm!

Kathleen and Carlos both jumped at the shrill, pulsating siren and ran immediately to the laboratory. They stopped just short of the door.

“Look!” Kathleen said, pointing to the digital temperature display above the door. It read “99.1
o
C.”

Carlos's eyes grew wide and his Marine Corps instincts took over. “Get back! Get back!” he screamed, grabbing Kathleen's arm and pulling her down the hallway.

“What?” Kathleen shouted.

But Carlos didn't have time to answer. There was a deafening crash behind them as the lab's airtight door blew wide open and fire and smoke exploded into the hallway.

The last thing Kathleen remembered was the sensation of her feet leaving the floor.

Then everything went black.

Part III

He saw the great Mystery, he knew the Hidden:

He recovered the knowledge of all the times before the Flood.

He journeyed beyond the merely distant; he struggled beyond mere exhaustion,

And then he carved his story on stone.

— E
PIC OF
G
ILGAMESH
(T
ABLET
1)

Chapter Forty-Four

Rockville, Maryland.

W
hen Kathleen regained consciousness, everything was dark. The force of the explosion had knocked her off her feet and sent her tumbling down the hallway until she'd hit the back wall—hard. She had no idea how long she'd been out.

Now, struggling to orient herself, she felt nauseated and confused.
Which way was up? Was she standing or lying down?
Within seconds, she realized with a terrifying jolt that she was having trouble breathing; an acrid stench was causing her to choke. Noxious gas stung her windpipe and burned her lungs as she began to cough. Through the darkness, she saw something flickering nearby, just inches away—something bright and orange. It took several seconds before she realized:
it was fire
.

She was lying on her stomach against a wall, flames and smoke swirling all around her. Panicking, she scrambled to her feet and searched frantically for a way out—an open door, a lighted exit sign,
anything!
But the smoke stung her eyes, and she was forced to shut them almost immediately.

Temporarily blinded and still coughing uncontrollably, Kathleen stumbled forward with her arms outstretched, away from the heat of the flames. She felt something snag her arm.
Something was grabbing her tightly, tugging her, dragging her backward!
In a panic, she fought against the unknown force. As she did, she inhaled another breath of thick smoke. Her mind was beginning to go numb from the lack of oxygen. And, still, she was being dragged . . .

Suddenly, she felt the soothing sensation of cold air on her face, filling her lungs, salving her skin. Desperate for oxygen, she sucked in the air greedily, coughing and sputtering as she exhaled. Her eyes were still shut tightly and stinging badly. Soon, she became aware of another sensation: cold rain.

“Dr. Sainsbury, are you okay?” said a man's voice. It was Carlos.

She rubbed her watering eyes and cracked them open slowly, struggling to focus. Everything was blurry at first, but gradually, Carlos's face came into view. She now saw that they were standing just outside the emergency door at the back of the building. Carlos had saved her life! “I . . . I'm fine,” she sputtered between violent coughs. She held up her hands and inspected them—they were black but not burned. She felt her head and face and then checked her hands again, whimpering when she saw a bright smear of blood.

“You've got a nasty cut on your forehead,” Carlos explained. “But I think you'll be okay.”

“What happened?”

“Fire in the lab. Something must have exploded.”

Those words triggered an awful realization. “The sample!” she exclaimed. Without hesitation, she yanked open the emergency door, intending to enter. A thick plume of black smoke billowed out of the open doorway, forcing her backward, coughing.

“No!” Carlos said, grabbing her arm just as she lurched forward again to enter.

She met Carlos's eyes pleadingly.

“I know where it is,” said Carlos after a moment's hesitation. “Wait here.” In an instant, he disappeared through the open doorway and into the swirling darkness.

“Carlos!” Kathleen screamed after him. But he was gone.

Her head was spinning.
This can't be happening.

Moments later, she heard sirens in the distance. They grew closer until finally, they reached the parking lot on the other side of the building.

“Come on, Carlos
,
” she whispered. “Come on . . .” Her heart was beating heavily, her entire body fidgety. She felt helpless waiting by the door, soaked with rain, wondering with each passing second whether Carlos would make it out alive. Black smoke was still pouring out of the open emergency door. As seconds turned into minutes, she could no longer ignore the agonizing realization creeping into her mind.

He isn't going to make it.

C
arlos couldn't hold his breath much longer. It had taken him nearly a minute—much longer than he'd expected—just to make it down the hallway to the lab. The problem was, he couldn't see
anything
. The smoke and intense heat inside the building stung his eyes so badly that he could only keep them open for a split second at a time. And even then—squinting through watery eyes—he could only make out rough shapes.

Finally, he reached the lab, where, thankfully, the smoke was not as intense. A gaping hole in the north wall was allowing most of the smoke to escape to the outside. Carlos drew a quick breath and winced in pain. The air was hot, and it burned painfully as it went down his windpipe and into his lungs. He knew he wouldn't last long in here. Through bleary eyes, he spied the lab's main workstation in the center of the room, engulfed in flames. His heart sank. The refrigerator was directly behind the flames. He wondered how he could get there without being burned to a crisp.

On hands and knees, he crawled toward the back of the lab, away from the north wall, hoping to find a clear pathway around the flames. The fire, however, had already spread to the back of the lab, consuming the computers and monitors, the spectroscopy machine, the micro-injection microscope, a bookshelf crammed with equipment manuals and notebooks, and, most troubling, a storage cabinet full of chemicals. Carlos no sooner realized the danger of the chemical locker when an explosion erupted inside the metal cabinet, blowing its doors clear off their hinges. Carlos ducked low as one of the locker doors flew over his head, banging into the wall behind him. Looking up, he observed with horror that dozens of bulk chemical containers were now directly exposed to the flames.
He had to get out of there!

Scampering backward toward the north wall, he just barely escaped the spray of glass and caustic liquid as one after another of the chemical containers exploded with a series of fiery pops. He shielded his eyes and searched frantically for a clear path to the far side of the lab where the refrigerator was located. Finally, he spotted it: a tunnel of sorts between two soapstone workbenches that looked just wide enough for him to crawl through.

He hadn't gotten very far when he heard a loud, crackling noise above him. He looked up just in time to see that the ceiling was coming down. Instinctively, he tucked himself into a tight ball as a maelstrom of flaming rafters and construction debris fell all around him. When it subsided, he looked up and saw that the tunnel was still clear. Behind him, however, there was a wall of flames where there had once been a doorway.
Only one way to go now.

He crawled forward to the narrow tunnel, flattening himself to the ground as he approached it. Snaking his way on his belly and his elbows, he blocked out of his mind the intense heat that was blistering his exposed skin.
Five more feet . . . three more feet . . . two more feet!
Suddenly, there was a loud crash behind him as another huge section of the roof caved in, nearly crushing him beneath several hundred pounds of burning debris. He ignored it.
One more foot . . . six inches . . . he was out!

He felt woozy, his vision blurry. But his goal was in sight. He saw the refrigerator through the haze of smoke and scrambled toward it. Rising to his feet and staggering to the fridge, he pulled on the handle, barely managing to open it with the remaining strength in his arms. He could hardly make out the objects inside the darkened refrigerator. To his dismay, there were dozens of cylindrical vials, canisters, and flasks.
“
Second shelf,” he recalled Julie saying.
But was that from the top or the bottom?

A loud crackling sound above caught his attention. In the same instant, he spotted a single cylindrical container on the second shelf from the bottom.
That must be it!
He reached for it . . . felt the hard plastic cylinder between his fingers. Then he heard another loud crack above him. Suddenly, everything around him exploded in a barrage of debris and fire as a huge section of the burning roof came crashing down.

His vision dimmed, then went completely dark.

K
athleen couldn't wait by the back door any longer. Ignoring the tight feeling in her lungs, she sprinted along the back of the building, sloshing through wet grass and mud puddles. She rounded the corner to the side of the building, then rounded the corner to the front. As the parking lot came into view, she stopped for a moment and gawked in disbelief.

It was pandemonium.

A hook-and-ladder truck was parked parallel to the curb just in front of the building, with at least half a dozen firefighters in full protective gear scurrying around it. Two hoses were already trained on the blazing building, pumping powerful streams of water into the flames and onto the partially collapsed roof. Two other firefighters were busily stretching a third hose from a smaller pumper truck parked on Gateway Drive, adjacent to the parking lot. At the back of the lot, an unorganized crowd of people stared and pointed, some holding their hands over their mouths in apparent disbelief. A policewoman was trying, with little success, to push the crowd farther back toward the tree line.

“I need help!” Kathleen screamed as she approached the nearest firefighter, a stocky man with a ruddy face and strong Irish features. He wore full protective turnout gear—thick fireproof jacket and pants, gloves, boots, and a yellow fire helmet with a clear Plexiglas visor. “There's someone inside there!” she shouted over the roar of the fire, pointing toward the building.

“Where?”

“I don't know. He went in about five minutes ago to get—”

“Is that him?” shouted the fireman, cutting her off. He was pointing to the front of the building, where two firefighters were just emerging through a curtain of smoke. They were covered with black soot and breathing through masks connected to compressed air tanks. One of them was carrying the limp body of Carlos Guiterez.

“Oh my God!” Kathleen screamed, taking a step in their direction.

“Whoa!” The ruddy-faced fireman held up his arm to restrain her. “You need to wait over th—”

Kathleen ducked under the fireman's arm and raced to Carlos, who was slung like a sack of potatoes over a firefighter's shoulder. “Carlos!” she shouted as she approached him.

“Hey, lady!” yelled the ruddy-faced fireman, catching up to Kathleen and seizing her roughly by the arm. “You can't be here!” He escorted her across the parking lot and Gateway Drive to another parking lot, where two ambulances and several other emergency vehicles were parked, their flashing lights glinting off the wet asphalt in a disorienting collage of blue, yellow, and red. “Stay here!” he instructed sternly.

Kathleen nodded. She waited anxiously for Carlos to arrive, pacing back and forth in front of the two ambulances. Finally, she spotted him being carried across the street on a stretcher by two EMTs. She ran to him and walked beside the stretcher as the EMTs ferried him to the nearest of the two ambulances. He was conscious now—coughing hoarsely and rubbing his eyes. His face was covered with soot, his clothes ripped and burned. Kathleen could see charred, bloody skin through one of the large holes in his shirt.

“Carlos! Are you okay?”

He nodded slightly, still coughing and wheezing loudly.

“You shouldn't have gone in there . . . it's my fault! I'm sorry—”

“Ma'am, I need you to step back,” said one of the EMTs as they prepared to lift Carlos's stretcher into the ambulance.

Carlos managed a weak smile and stretched out a clenched fist, as if to give her something. Instinctively, Kathleen extended her palm, and Carlos dropped a small, cylindrical object into it.

Holding up the object in the rain, Kathleen observed that it was a dark gray plastic sample container—about the size of a film canister—with a screw-on lid sealed with yellow Teflon tape. She smiled and touched his cheek. “Thank you, Carlos . . . Thank you.”

Carlos closed his eyes and seemed to drift off as the EMTs hoisted him into the back of the ambulance. Seconds later, the ambulance doors closed, and Kathleen watched as it pulled out of the parking lot and accelerated down Gateway Drive toward the highway, sirens blaring. The two EMTs turned their attention to Kathleen, who was still bleeding from her forehead. They quickly dressed the wound with a square adhesive bandage and insisted that she let an ambulance take her to the hospital for further treatment. She steadfastly refused. Eventually, they relented.

“Just wait here,” one of the EMTs instructed, wrapping a thermal blanket around her shoulders.

Kathleen nodded, and the two EMTs trotted back across the street to the scene of the fire, leaving her alone in the parking lot, freezing and soaking wet.

She looked across the street at the charred, burning mess that had once been Quantum Life Sciences—her company, her dreams, her . . . everything. It was all gone now.
Except
. . . She glanced down at the small container in her hand and wiped soot and rainwater from the lid. The handwritten label was now an unreadable smudge of black ink. She pursed her lips and shook her head pensively.

“Dr. Sainsbury?” said a deep voice behind her.

Kathleen turned to see a well-dressed man in a khaki raincoat approaching. He was handsome in every respect, except for a long, purplish scar that ran diagonally down the left side of his face. “I'm with the fire department,” he explained in an official tone. “I need to ask you a few questions. Follow me, please.”

Kathleen nodded numbly and followed the man south on Gateway Drive, away from the fire trucks, away from the police cars and ambulances, away from the TV cameras and the gawking crowd. It was beginning to rain harder now, and she was getting thoroughly soaked. She struggled to keep up with the man, who was walking very quickly, several paces ahead of her.

“Where are we going?” she said, as they rounded a corner and began walking toward a cluster of newly constructed suites at the far perimeter of the office park. The vacant units were situated at the very back of a newly cleared parcel of land, which jutted lengthwise several hundred yards into the surrounding forest.