Authors: James Barney
Washington, D.C.
P
eter Stonewell leaned forward on his elbows and studied the front page of the
Washington Post
with great interest. In the lower right-hand corner below the fold was a single-column article, which read as follows:
LIFE-EXTENSION GENE A HOAX, COMPANY ADMITS
By
B
RYCE
W
HITTAKER
Washington Post Staff Writer
ROCKVILLE, Md.âAfter a bizarre day that included an explosion at its headquarters in Rockville, Quantum Life Sciences, Inc. admitted late last night that the discovery of a human life-extension gene was a hoax, orchestrated by its president and CEO, Dr. Kathleen Sainsbury.
Carlos Guiterez, a spokesman for QLS, acknowledged that the hoax was carried out by Dr. Sainsbury in an apparent attempt to appease increasingly skeptical investors, some of whom had recently begun to question the validity of the flagging company. “There's no truth to the story about mummified remains containing a human life-extending gene,” Guiterez said. “There never were any such remains, and QLS has not isolated the INDY gene in humans,” he said. The “INDY” gene is a gene that has been identified in fruit flies that appears to affect their life expectancy. Guiterez added that, for the foreseeable future, QLS's research will remain focused solely on fruit-fly genetics, not human DNA.
In the days prior to Dr. Sainsbury's apparent hoax, QLS had received cash callsâvotes of no confidenceâfrom two of its largest investors, Aurora Capital and Cresent Venture Capital, both of New York City. Aurora Capital could not be reached for comment. In a statement released late last night, however, Crescent Capital said it was “deeply disappointed by QLS's apparent attempt to defraud its investors” and that it would investigate these reports promptly and “initiate appropriate civil action and possibly criminal proceedings.”
In an exclusive interview with the
Washington Post
late last night, Dr. Sainsbury acknowledged carrying out the hoax but said she never intended to defraud investors. “It just started out as a joke,” she said, “something I created in my own mind as an interesting theory. It just got out of hand. I never intended for it to go this far, and I deeply regret my actions.”
Dr. Sainsbury resigned as president and CEO of QLS last night and said that she stands ready to take full, personal responsibility for the hoax. “This was my doing entirely,” she said. “Nobody at QLS had any knowledge of what I was doing and should not be held accountable for my actions.”
Editor's Note.
The
Washington Post
reported a story on the so-called “longevity gene” yesterday, having been duped by this apparent hoax. The story is hereby retracted in its entirety. The staff of the
Washington Post
wishes to apologize to its readers for any confusion the erroneous story may have caused.
Stonewell finished reading the article and leaned back with a satisfied smile. He picked up the phone and dialed Bill McCreary's number at DARPA.
“Hello,” answered McCreary.
“Have you read it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don't know how you did it, Bill, and frankly I don't care. All I can say is . . . good work.”
“Thank you, sir,” said McCreary blandly.
“Just out of curiosity, though, how much did this cost us?”
There was a brief pause before McCreary answered, his tone reflecting his own lingering disbelief. “One sailboat.”
One Year Later. Puerto Banús, Spain.
T
he forty-five-foot sloop
Encantado
sliced smoothly through the azure Mediterranean Sea, its beautiful white mainsail neatly trimmed, its jib bowed gracefully against the stiff breeze blowing over the port bow. The sleek, fiberglass hull of the boat was heeled over about ten degrees, with just a bit of whitewater splashing over its starboard gunwale. Directly off the starboard beam of the
Encantado
, two miles north, lay the picturesque hillside village of Puerto Banús, a popular sailing destination on Spain's Costa del Sol.
Kathleen Sainsbury tweaked
Encantado
's helm a few degrees leeward, easing the sleek craft back into its close-haul groove. The boat responded by heeling over another degree, its starboard jib sheet creaking under the additional strain of the wind.
Kathleen loved early mornings on the open waterâthe sun climbing above the horizon, the smell of fresh salt air, and the unique feeling of accomplishment of having safely navigated a tiny speck of sailboat through the vast darkness of the nighttime sea. It had always been her dream to make this run from Palma Majorca to Puerto Banús. Now she was living it. She breathed deeply and relished the unique sounds and cadence of open-ocean sailing: the rush of water beneath the hull; the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the bow; the soft snapping of the jib's leech in the wind.
It had rained most of the night. As the sun rose, Kathleen observed the remnants of the night's storm clouds still hovering low above the water, tall and puffy with ominous splotches of dark gray.
She heard someone coming up from the cabin below.
“Good morning,” said Carlos Guiterez as he poked his head out of the cabin hatchway and climbed clumsily into the boat's cockpit. He was yawning and rubbing his eyes.
“How'd you sleep?” Kathleen asked.
“Are you kidding? It's like a sawmill down there.”
Kathleen laughed knowingly. Indeed, loud snoring could still be heard periodically, wafting up from the cabin below. “Well, you can catch some sleep up here if you want. I'm good on the helm for at least another couple hours.”
“Nah, I'm okay.” Carlos pointed off the starboard side toward Puerto Banúz. “Almost there, huh? I can't wait to see Ana and the girls. They got in yesterday afternoon.”
“Actually, we've been tacking back and forth since about four o'clock this morning. I was just waiting for everyone to wake up before we pulled in.”
“In that case, I'll go put on a pot of coffee. That should wake 'em up.” Carlos disappeared below and reemerged several minutes later with two mugs of fresh coffee.
They sat in silence for a while, each sipping their coffee and enjoying the stunning view of Puerto Banúz. Whitewashed houses clung impossibly to steep hillsides that seemed to rise out of the sea. Narrow hillside streets were just visible from their vantage point, two miles away.
Before long, another head popped out of the hatchway from below.
“Oh, man, what
time
is it?” asked Jeremy Fisher, squinting at the brightening sky. He looked like a train wreck, his long hair tangled and matted, three days' worth of black stubble on his pale face.
“Just after six,” said Kathleen. “We're getting ready to pull in to Puerto Banúz. See it over there?”
“Whoa, awesome!” Jeremy exclaimed, gazing starboard at the seaside village. “Here, hold this.” He handed his coffee mug to Carlos and climbed painstakingly up the teakwood ladder into the cockpit, wincing with discomfort.
“How's your back feeling?” asked Kathleen.
“Stiff as hell,” said Jeremy with a grunt. “But nothing a few
mojitos
won't cure.” He nodded in the direction of Puerto Banúz.
Kathleen watched as Jeremy settled into the cockpit with obvious pain. She was glad he'd been able to make this trip. Seven weeks in the hospital and six months of physical therapy had taken a toll on him. At least he was walking again, which was more than the doctors had predicted just a few months ago. And to see him smiling! It made Kathleen smile, too.
“Well,” said Jeremy, nodding toward shore, “what're we waiting for? Let's pull in.”
“We're waiting for Paul Bunyon to wake up,” said Carlos, pointing down into the cabin.
The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes as
Encantado
swooshed gracefully west along the Costa del Sol.
Finally, Jeremy spoke. “Hey, I've got a question for you, Dr. S.”
“Shoot.”
“I've heard bits and pieces of what happened, but I never actually heard the whole story about the DNA sample that you and Julie recovered from the thermocycler. What exactly happened to it?”
“I told you, it burned to a crisp in the fire, along with everything else.”
“But, then . . . how'd you recreate the INDY sequence?”
Kathleen nodded and smiled at Carlos. “Well, that was all thanks to Carlos, here.”
“How so?” Jeremy asked.
“Before the explosion, Carlos drafted a patent application. And he had the foresight to download the entire sequenceâall eighty thousand base pairsâinto the patent application. So, even after the fire, we had the entire sequence right there on a thumb drive.”
“Ah,” said Jeremy. “So there was no need for the actual sample.”
“Nope. All we needed was the gene sequence. And Carlos saved it!”
Carlos shrugged bashfully. “I thought I'd saved the sample, too. Turns out, though, I grabbed the wrong container from the fridge.”
“Yeah,” said Kathleen with a smirk. “He grabbed a container full of fruit fly embryos. I realized it when I noticed the label started with an E instead of a J. E for embryos.”
“Hey, they all looked the same to me!” Carlos protested.
“No worries,” said Kathleen. “It all turned out in the end. Hey, look who it is!” Kathleen pointed at the hatchway, where another head was just emerging from below. “Good morning, Grandpa!”
“Good morning!” said John Sainsbury cheerfully. He ascended the cabin ladder steadily, coffee mug in hand, and maneuvered deftly into the cockpit. “Whew! How'd everybody sleep?”
At that, Kathleen, Carlos, and Jeremy erupted with laughter as John Sainsbury looked around, confused. “What?”
“You were snoring like a bear down there, Grandpa!” said Kathleen, still laughing heartily.
“I was? Oh, sorry.”
“Don't worry, Mr. Sainsbury,” said Carlos with a wink. “It wasn't really that bad.”
When the laughter died down, Kathleen asked her grandfather, “So, how's our number-one patient doing?”
“Great!” exclaimed John Sainsbury, toasting the air with his coffee mug. “In fact, I feel even better today than I did yesterday. Nothing aches; I've got a good appetite. And, most important, I'm remembering everything.” He thrust a finger at Carlos's chest. “Carlos Filipe Guiterez, born April 14, 1968, in San Antonio, Texas. Graduated from St. Anthony's Catholic High School in 1986. U.S. Marine Corps, 1986 to 2001. Your wife's name is Ana, and you have two daughters, Isabel and, uh . . .” He snapped his fingers several times until it came to him. “
Maria!
”
Everyone on the boat clapped loudly and cheered.
Kathleen beamed with pride. “Wow, you're getting better every day.”
“Kathleen, I feel
great
. . . like I'm thirty years old again! I don't know what's in those injections you've been giving me, but I tell you whatâit's working like a charm.”
“I told you, Grandpa. It's called a gene-replacement vector. It goes into your bloodstream and seeks out a specific chunk of your DNA on chromosome fourteen. When it finds it, it gloms on and expresses certain proteins. We call that chunk of DNA the âINDY' gene, and the injections basically turn that gene on. Like a light switch.”
“Well, whatever you call it, I can't thank you enough for giving it to me. Kathleen, I mean it when I say this, you saved me from a living hell.”
Kathleen frowned. “Was it really like that? A living hell?”
The elder Sainsbury nodded and cast his eyes down. “It was like living in a constant nightmare. I knew something was terribly wrong, but I just couldn't wake up from it. That's the only way I can describe it.”
There was a prolonged silence. Then, suddenly, Jeremy exclaimed, “Hey! Check that out!”
Everyone turned to look at the sky off to the starboard side, where Jeremy was pointing. Above Puerto Banúz, the clouds had temporarily parted, allowing a bright shaft of light to illuminate the gleaming whitewashed houses of the idyllic hillside village. High above the town, a colorful rainbow arched across the sky from east to west, ending somewhere behind the hills of Puerto Banúz.
“It's beautiful!” Kathleen whispered.
“God's bow in the cloud,” said Carlos quietly.
Then, as quickly as the splendid sight had appeared, a dark, gray cloud drifted in front of the sun, casting a dark shadow over the village once again. The colorful rainbow vanished instantly.
“We'd better pull in now,” said John Sainsbury. “We don't want to be out here when it starts to rain.”
I
hope you
enjoyed
The Genesis Key.
Many people helped make this book possible. Thanks
especially to: my lovely wife, Kelley, for her patience and support for the past
nineteen years; my friend and colleague, Dr. M. Andrew Holtman, for his
encouragement and advice on all things biological; Clifford S. Barney for his
early comments and support; Jonathan and Colleen Barney for their kind words of
encouragement; my parents, Cliff and Edna Barney, for everything; my terrific
agent, Mickey Choate, for taking a chance on me; and, last but not least,
Jennifer Brehl and the superb team at HarperCollins for doing everything
necessary to make this book a success.
And, of course, to those who purchased and read
this book: Thank you.
J
AMES
B
ARNEY
is an attorney and former submarine officer
in the U.S. Navy. He lives outside of Washington, D.C., with his wife and two
children.
The Genesis Key
is his first novel.
www.jamesbarney.com
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