Authors: James Barney
Rockville, Maryland.
“W
hat's going on?” Kathleen asked as she stepped through the boarded-up front doors of QLS's headquarters.
Carlos and Julie were standing in the lobby, and both began speaking at once.
“One at a time,” Kathleen admonished.
Julie started over in an excited, high-pitched voice. “Dr. S., you were right! The thermocycler still had uncontaminated residue from Jeremy's sample. I was able to increase the concentration by running it through, like, three
hundred
cycles. It took all morning, but I consolidated the samples and quenched it and . . .” She stopped to take a deep breath and broke into a broad smile. “Dr. S, we got it!”
“An intact DNA sample?”
Julie nodded.
“My God,” Kathleen said, “that's
great
!” She gave Julie a tight hug. “I knew you could do it.”
“I've already started sequencing it,” Julie continued, “and so far it looks really good. I mean, really clean.”
Kathleen was still beaming over the good news when she turned to Carlos. “And what news do you have?”
Carlos looked down. “Nothing good, I'm afraid.”
The smile faded quickly from Kathleen's lips. “What's wrong? Is it Jeremy?”
“No. I haven't heard anything about Jeremy. I got a call from an attorney at Tillman, Feldstein and Roth. They represent Crescent Venture Group and Aurora Capital, two of our investors.”
“Yeah?”
“Seems they've given us five days' notice for a cash call.”
“A
what?
”
“They're pulling their investments out. We've got five days to buy back all their shares at half par value or they can force us to roll up the company and sell off all the assets.”
“How much do we owe them?”
“At this point, about eight hundred thousand. And that's just for their cash calls.”
“Carlos, that's impossible!” Kathleen's face was flush. “We don't have that kind of money sitting around.”
“I know.”
“How can they do that?”
“It's in the contract. You know, we've missed two milestones . . . it's all completely legit.”
“We have the shareholders' meeting coming up. I thought everyone was going to hold tight 'til then.”
“I did too. But it looks like Crescent and Aurora got cold feet and decided to head us off at the pass.”
“Why
now?
”
Kathleen's question was still hovering in the air when there was a loud knock on the plywood panels covering the front doors. Carlos opened the doors to reveal Bryce Whittaker standing just outside.
“Bryce,” said Kathleen with unchecked surprise. “What're you doing here?”
Whittaker stepped into the lobby and gave Carlos and Julie a perfunctory nod. Then, moving closer to Kathleen, he spoke in a low voice. “I tried to call you a couple times, but you didn't answer your cell phone.”
“Yeah, I turned it off. I thought it might be . . . well, never mind. What's up?”
“I heard what happened and just came by to make sure you're okay.” Whittaker's tone was earnest. “
Are
you okay?”
“I'm fine, Bryce. But, actually, I've got a lot going on right now.” Kathleen tilted her head toward Carlos and Julie. “Can I give you a call later?”
“Sure . . . of course.” There was an awkward pause as Whittaker searched for a graceful exit. “Okay, so . . . just give me a call when you get a chance.”
“I will,” said Kathleen with a nod. “And, Bryce, thanks for coming by. Really. I'll call you later, okay?”
Whittaker made his way to the door but stopped short. “By the way.” He turned to face Kathleen. “Were you ever able to recover anything from that DNA sample? You know, the one we talked about the other night.”
Carlos and Julie shot inquisitorial glances at Kathleen, as if to say, you
told
him about that?
Kathleen avoided their looks. “We're working on it,” she said.
“That's good,” said Whittaker. “I mean, it would be a real shame to lose something that important.”
“Yeah, it sure would. I'll call you later tonight, okay?”
“Sure. Talk to you then.” Whittaker nodded politely to Julie and Carlos. “It was nice seeing everyone.” Then he turned and exited.
Carlos shut the door behind Whittaker and was just about to say something when Kathleen cut him off.
“Julie,” she said urgently, “we don't have much time. How quickly can you finish sequencing that sample?”
“I guess I can work on it tonight. Maybe have it finished by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Okay, I'll help you. Carlos, can you stay here tonight too?”
“Sure, of course.”
“Okay, guys . . . this is it.” Kathleen was doing her best to channel Knute Rockne. “It's do-or-die time. We need to have something big to announce by the end of this week, or I'm afraid we're all going to be looking for new jobs. Julie, I hate to put all this pressure on you, but we need that sample sequenced ASAP. We need to find that INDY gene.”
Julie looked perplexed. “I'll try Dr. S, but . . . what
exactly
am I supposed to be looking for?”
Good question
. “Start with the INDY sequence from
D.
Melanogaster and look for something similar in the sample. If you find a close match, bounce it off the NCBI library and see if it matches any known human sequences. Remember, we're looking something that's
not
supposed to be there. Something that sticks out like a sore thumb. Possibly viral in nature. That's all I can tell you for now. Just use your instincts
.
”
Julie looked unconvinced.
“Julie, the INDY gene is in there.
Trust me.
We just need to find it.”
W
hen Kathleen returned to her office, the phone was already ringing. She raced to pick it up, thinking it might be news about Jeremy. “Hello?” she said.
“Hi Dr. Sainsbury, it's Charles Eskridge. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time.”
“No, it's fine,” she lied.
“Listen, I'm in D.C. today, and I was wondering if I could stop by your office for a few minutes.”
“Uh, sure. What brings you to town?”
“Actually, I came to help settle Dr. Sargon's estate. Seems he named me as the executor of his will.”
“Really?”
“Yep. His attorney called the day after you left Boston. To be honest, it didn't surprise me. Poor guy had no family. He left everything to Harvard University, which I guess makes sense. Given the circumstances.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Kathleen.
“Anyway, my flight doesn't leave for a few hours, and I was hoping I could drop by to give you some things. Would you mind?”
Kathleen told him that would be fine and gave him the address.
D
r. Eskridge arrived at QLS by cab an hour later, looking uncomfortable in a dark blue suit and black wingtip shoes. He carried a leather portfolio under one arm. Kathleen met him at the door and invited him in.
“Sorry I'm overdressed,” said Eskridge, looking genuinely embarrassed. “I was meeting with lawyers downtown.” He rolled his eyes. “You know how
they
are.”
They made their way to the QLS conference room and took seats at the table. For a few minutes, they exchanged small talk, chatting about his trip to D.C., the weather, and Quantum Life Sciences. He asked about the boarded-up front doors, and Kathleen explained about the shooting several nights before. Eskridge was visibly shocked to hear the news and had many questions about what had happened and who might have done it.
Kathleen cut him off. “I'd rather not talk about it,” she said.
Eskridge quickly changed the subject. He opened his portfolio and retrieved a two-inch stack of postcards, letters and photographs bound with a rubber band. “I found these while rummaging through my office last week after you left. I thought you might want to have them.”
Kathleen took the stack, removed the band, and inspected the top item. It was a picture postcard showing a wide river running through an unimpressive cityscape of dilapidated, 1960s-era buildings. The riverbanks were steep and dirty and devoid of trees. To Kathleen, the scene hardly seemed worthy of a souvenir postcard. She flipped it over and read the caption: “The Tigris River in Baghdad, Iraq.”
“Your mother was in the habit of sending me postcards from her travels,” said Eskridge. “This one was from her honeymoon, 1972.”
Kathleen read the handwritten note on the back: “Dear Dr. Eskridge, Iraq is wonderful, and we are really enjoying our honeymoon. Mixing work with pleasure, of course. Still trying to get permission for a dig in Tell-Fara. Hope all is well. Love, Becky.”
Mesmerized, Kathleen inspected and read each of the other postcards and letters in the stack. Like the first, they had all been sent to Dr. Eskridge by Kathleen's mother from places throughout the Middle East.
Near the bottom of the stack was a black-and-white photograph of a group of sixteen archeology graduate students, obviously taken in the early 1970s. In the middle of the group was a tall, muscular man with a handlebar moustache and a cowboy hat, smiling broadly. Kathleen recognized him as a younger version of Dr. Eskridge. On the far right side of the group was a pretty woman in her mid-twenties, wearing a sleeveless blouse and cutoff jeans. “My mother,” she said quietly, pointing to the smiling woman.
“Yes. That was our summer trip to Alexandria in 1971.”
The last item was a faded color photograph of Kathleen's parents, pressed shoulder to shoulder and holding up an infant girl between them. They were smiling proudly.
“Is that me?” Kathleen asked. She flipped the photo over and read the cursive notation: “Kathleen Mary Talbot, age 3 months.”
“That's you,” said Eskridge. “By the way, do you know who you're named after?”
Kathleen searched her memory and came up blank. “No.”
“You were named after Kathleen Mary Kenyon, a famous British archeologist. She was best known for excavations in Jericho and the City of David in Jerusalem in the 1950s. Your mother was a big fan.”
“I didn't know that,” said Kathleen.
“And you can thank
me
for not being named Gertrude.”
“Huh?”
“Your mom wanted to name you after Gertrude Caton-Thompson, another famous female archeologist. I talked her out of it.”
Kathleen laughed. “
Thank you.
”
Eskridge reached into his portfolio and retrieved another object. “Here, I thought you also might enjoy this.” He handed Kathleen a thin book with a soft, glossy cover.
Kathleen studied the dark nineteenth-century painting on the cover of the book.
Fallen Angel
by Alexander Calabral.
“It's an introductory text about the Nephilim,” said Eskridge.
Kathleen was still considering the sepulchral scene on the cover, which depicted a sullen angel sitting awkwardly on the ground, head turned away, wings drooping down, a brooding sky above. “Why such dark imagery?” she asked.
“In most accounts, the Nephilim story is a cautionary tale, a dark chapter in the relationship between God and man. The Nephilim represented a corruption of both. So God responded by destroying nearly every living thing on earth. A do-over, if you will.”
“You mean the flood?”
“Yes. In Genesis, the presence of the Nephilim immediately precedes the Great Flood.”
Kathleen considered that fact for a few moments. “You said folklore usually has some element of truth to it, right?”
“That's right.”
Kathleen looked again at the fallen angel on the book cover. “So if there really were Nephilim in ancient times, why would they be blamed for the flood?”
Eskridge stroked his moustache and smiled. “Well, that's a good question, isn't it?”
Kathleen stared inquisitively.
“What I mean is, we don't really know what these Nephilim were like, do we? Maybe the rest of civilization was glad to see them destroyed because they thought they deserved it. That would certainly explain why Genesis identifies the Nephilim, specifically, as invoking God's wrath.”
That was not the answer Kathleen had expected. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“In fact, other accounts are even less kind to the Nephilim. Have you heard of the Book of Enoch?”
Kathleen shook her head.
“It's an ancient Jewish text, dating back to the time of the Dead Sea Scrolls, probably around three hundred
BC
. It recounts the story of Genesis but with some additional details. It's been highly controversial throughout the history of Judaism and Christianity. May I?” He gently took the book from Kathleen's hands and opened it to a particular page. “The Book of Enoch is broken into five parts. The first is called the Book of Watchers, which is the name given to the group of angels who came to earth to intermingle with humans. Here's a passage from chapter seven.”
Then they took wives, each choosing for himself; whom they began to approach, and with whom they cohabited; teaching them sorcery, incantations, and the dividing of roots and trees.
And the women conceiving brought forth giants, whose stature was each three hundred cubits. These devoured all which the labor of men produced; until it became impossible to feed them;
When they turned themselves against men, in order to devour them;
And began to injure birds, beasts, reptiles, and fishes, to eat their flesh one after another, and to drink their blood.
Then the earth reproved the unrighteous.
Eskridge looked up. “Sounds like the Nephilim weren't very popular with the town folk.”