The DNA Conspiracy

CHAPTER 1

The searing sun burned Bo’s back and the scorching sand blistered his knees. He was nude except for a pair of boxer shorts, his arms were bound behind his back, and his body was bent over and tied to a makeshift wooden frame.

He had watched with horror as his friend’s severed head rolled down the incline and stopped in a depression in the sand. Its open, unseeing eyes stared up at him, as he looked on in shock. The sight of blood spurting from the headless torso made Bo nauseous as it stained the desert sand. Lingering reflexes made the torso jerk and twitch in a reaction to the severed nerves in its spinal column.

The hooded fanatic in a flowing sheet-like garment pointed his long curved sword at Bo from where he stood on the desert sand.

You’re next infidel, the Muslim said, in a raspy voice of broken English. We just killed the last member of that secret bloodline and avenged the Prophet Muhammad. Now Islam will rule the world. Praise Allah!

The surly, evil-eyed killer stepped over and raised the sword to sever Bo’s head, just as he had done with Bo’s friend. Bo held his breath, expecting this to be his last, as time seemed to stand still. He closed his eyes, certain it would be painful, as he waited for the end to come.

It did, with a jolt.

Startled, Boris Bo Samaritan sat up in bed and opened his eyes as the nightmare ended. Fully awake and in a cold sweat, he looked around with fear in his eyes. That horrible, vivid dream experience had scared him almost out of his mind. He breath came in gasps and he was shaking like a leaf fluttering in the wind.

His digital bedside clock read 3:36, but he was wide awake and his pulse was racing as that raspy voice still rang in his ear. What that assassin said in his dream had never occurred to Bo while awake.

He quickly arose and put on a pot of coffee while he considered the implications of that thought. Without thinking about the time, he grabbed his cell and punched in the number for his old roommate, Ken Himlauger.

After eight rings, an angry sleepy voice answered.

Good God, man . . . don’t you ever sleep?

Ken . . . this is important.

Are terrorists at your door shouting death threats?

No . . . but it’s just as important.

It better be or I’ll scream your name in vain and send you a bill for the recording.

Ken, I just had a dream about the DNA we decoded.

Crap Bo . . . MLK had a dream, too, but he didn’t wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me about it.

This is serious, Ken. Those intelligent beings couldn’t have encoded that history in every ancient person’s DNA. That would be an almost impossible task. They would have had to pick one or two specimens for that purpose.

So?

I just realized that the DNA we decoded had to be from a direct descendant of an ancient person who was selected thousands of years ago to carry that message.

You woke me up to tell me that?

Don’t you see . . . we were dealing with DNA from a rare species. There couldn’t be very many of those people in the world today, given man’s history of wars and devastating plagues.

Hmmm . . . okay, you’ve made your point and I’m awake. Where’d you get the DNA?

Our department head picked it from the database in the gene lab. I think it was just a random selection.

Where did our university get it’s database?

I don’t know . . . I’ll have to ask.

Well . . . ole buddy, it’ll keep till morning. Go back to sleep.

Ken, according to my dream, that DNA could be from the last survivor of that family tree? That would give our work a monumental place in history, but no one will ever be able to duplicate our success.

So what . . . very few people are gonna believe it’s the true history of the world anyway.

You’re right . . . but nobody could independently verify our results, either. We could never show that it wasn’t a fluke. That would be really bad news, if I’m correct.

Bo . . . we’re publishing it as a damn novel. Why are you concerned about proof?

I would just like to see us, one day, get credit for discovering the true history of the world.

Dream on, buddy . . . religion is too ingrained in our culture and those radical Muslims would never accept the truth.

Maybe, but we can probably produce some more facts. I read where genealogy researchers, using DNA, can tell what area of the world our ancestors originated. Maybe we can get a trace on the sample we used.

That might be interesting.

Yeah, and I just had another thought. Maybe that sample we used is duplicated in another database. That would permit other researchers to attempt to decode it.

Okay . . . that would solve the independent verification problem, but we know it was no fluke. We worked hard to decode it.

Yeah, but we’re the only ones who know that. I’m gonna call our FBI friend in the morning and ask him to see if a match exists in any of their databases.

That’s a good idea. If you tell him why you need it, I think Hanks might put in an official request for you. In the meantime, I’m going back to sleep. We can talk about this some more in the morning.

Bo looked at the ‘call ended’ message, then poured a cup of coffee. As he took a sip, he replayed the last two weeks in his mind, focusing on the many hours spent using an electron microscope to identify the sequences.

The process was tedious, as he read the information aloud while his old roommate typed the data into their special software. His buddy, Ken, who always seemed to be hungry, protesting frequently at the long hours between breaks. Except for nearly getting killed, it had been a very satisfying research project.

Not once during that decoding ordeal did he consider the possibility that he might be looking at the only DNA sample in existence that contained a true history of the world. There were certainly many fanatics in the world who would willingly die trying to destroy it.

Tehran, Iran (translated)

I don’t like the reports we’re getting from our envoys in America, said Chaimenei Janitti, Supreme Leader. They may be able to develop this DNA coding so that we can’t intercept their messages.

What do you want to do about it? asked Ali Akbar Reza, Chief of Security.

Are our people making any progress with the encoding process?

Our first attempts failed, but we have a man in Europe working with the researchers who pioneered the process. I expect to have men trained to do the encoding in the very near future.

What about this ‘History of the Universe’ rumor we keep hearing?

It seems to be just science fiction, said Ali, but we are continuing to monitor it. Our man in the NSA was detected, but we have moles in other agencies.

Make sure our Ambassador and our operatives stay alert. We can’t allow the Koran to be undermined with false facts from American scientists.

Yes . . . the Great Satan must never be allowed to desecrate the Koran, said Ali. We shall pursue any of their people in those efforts and deal with them without limitation.

Make them suffer before you behead them.

As you wish, said Ali as he turned to go.

Praise Allah.

CHAPTER 2

Chicago 7:45 AM

I thought we were finished with you guys, said Special Agent Herbert Hanks, when he answered his cell.

Well . . . hello to you, too, said Bo. Sorry to bother you, but I have a special request.

No promises, but let’s hear it.

Will you get your lab to run our specimen DNA through your database?

The DNA you guys decoded?

Yes sir . . . I’m hoping they can find a match.

So . . . why do you need a match?

"Then we can find out who’s DNA sample we’ve been working with.

Why do you want to know who’s DNA you’ve been working with?

It finally occurred to me that this person has to be a direct descendent of the ancient persons who were selected to carry the special DNA.

Aren’t we all?

No sir . . . DNA is copied during cell division when an egg is fertilized. The data is transferred only during the reproductive process. Only descendents of those persons would have this encoded information.

So . . . again, why do you want to find this person?

"There are a lot of people in this world, but this person may be the sole survivor with that encoded DNA. There have been so many wars and plagues throughout history, family trees must have been trimmed pretty thin.

Why is that a problem?

I’m hoping that we don’t have the only sample. It would kill our chance of ever being authenticated.

Hmmm . . . I see what you mean. If that DNA sample is in other databases, other researchers would be able to independently confirm your work.

Yes sir.

Okay Bo, we’ll give it a try. Email me a copy of the DNA band pattern and I’ll request a search through our databases.

Great . . . I’ll send it right away.

One thing though . . . I may not be able to reveal who the person is. There are privacy laws, you know.

I understand . . . thanks, he said, touching the ‘end’ icon on his cell phone.

Bo leaned back in his chair and took another sip of coffee wondering what the odds might be that their randomly selected sample was the only one in existence.

He knew that if that were a fact and it became known, the odds were at least 100 to 1 that Muslim fanatics would try to destroy it and kill him in the process. That knowledge would then be lost forever.

His iPhone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose to see who had called.

Is the coffee ready? Ken asked, when he answered.

Yeah, but I need you to meet me over at the MWIT gene lab. I want to send Hanks the DNA band pattern so they can search for a match. We can get some coffee across the street when we finish.

Man . . . you don’t waste any time. So Hanks agreed to do it?

Reluctantly, but yes.

Okay, slave driver . . . I’ll meet you at the lab in about fifteen minutes. You’ll have to buy me breakfast for waking me up in the middle of the night.

Bo smiled as he touch the ‘end’ icon. His red-headed college roommate of four years always had a quick retort with a touch of humor.

Washington – NSA 8:45 AM EST

I just reviewed another call to the Iranian Embassy, said Rollo Ponds, instructing them to monitor any researcher involved with encoding DNA. Our agent over in the international division forwarded it to me.

Who made the call? asked James Jim Othello, his supervisor.

Someone in the Office of National Security in Tehran. And . . . that ain’t all. The caller told them that they had authority to torture and behead anyone working on that ‘encoded history’ theory.

Wow . . . that’s serious stuff. Are you sure it wasn’t a crank call?

Nope . . . it was on their official encrypted channel. Those guys on the phone obviously knew each other.

Then we need to alert the FBI. That kind of threat can’t be ignored.

Will do, said Rollo, as he turned to leave. I know just the man. He did a good job during the last threat.

Walking back to his cubicle, Rollo reviewed in his mind the events of the previous two weeks. All of that furious action had revived his interest in his job. He was actually working instead of just sitting in his cubicle watching porn.

He scrolled through his iPhone contacts, found Hanks number, and touched it.

Well Rollo . . . how’s my favorite snoop? Hanks said, when he answered.

What happened to a simple hello? Rollo asked.

Those formalities got lost when caller ID was invented.

Okay . . . I won’t bore you with small talk. I’m sending you an audio clip that you’ll find very disturbing. I’ll keep you posted if I get anything else.

Rollo touched the ‘end’ icon and emailed the audio attachment to Hanks. As he leaned back in his chair, it occurred to him to check his inbox he had coded with the word ‘DNA’ as a key word.

As he clicked on each audio file, he discovered the phone call between Bo and Ken. Their conversation made him realize that his prompt call to Hanks was timely.

It gave him great satisfaction, as he leaned back in his chair, to know that he probably helped prevent a horrible fate for those two boys.

Chicago 8:15 AM CST

MWIT Biological Research Center

You’re unusually prompt this morning, said Bo. It’s not even your birthday.

Ken got off the elevator just as Bo was unlocking the lab.

Be kind, he replied. You woke me up in the middle of the night, remember?

I’m just glad you’re here. I’ll need help sending a copy of the DNA band pattern to Hanks. I sure hope his people can find a match.

It would help if we knew where our department head got the DNA samples the students have been using.

Let’s get this done and I’ll call him. It’s after eight, so he should be in his office by now.

Ken booted up the laptop and found the DNA band pattern in the lab’s database. He copied it to a special file and attached it to an email to Hanks.

Well . . . that didn’t take long, he said, as he clicked the ‘send’ icon.

Now you know why I keep you around, Bo said, with a chuckle. You’re better with computers than I am.

It’s good to hear you confirm what I already knew. Now make the call, roomy, I’m hungry, Ken said, rubbing his stomach.

Bo punched in the office number he had used many times and listened to ten rings.

The Dean’s not in yet, he said. Let’s go have breakfast and I’ll try him again later.

Chicago FBI Office

Hanks listened with great concern to the audio file he just received from Rollo Ponds. He was accustomed to the hardened criminals of Chicago, but these people were in a class by themselves.

He remembered reading Winston Churchill’s quote from a speech he made in 1899, Individual Muslims may show splendid qualities, but the influence of the religion paralyses the social development of those who follow it. No stronger retrograde force exists in the world.

This phone call made him even more aware of the horror these people could cause if they ever completed the development of their nuclear weapons.

The ping of a new email jogged him out of his thoughts. He saw that it was from Bo’s computer and that it contained an attachment. This would be the DNA band pattern that Bo asked him to match.

Realizing the implications his request carried with that audio still ringing in his ears, he had to quickly measure the risk and make a decision. Should he try to stop this process now or proceed with it, further endangering the boys?

As he thought about it, he knew that Bo would try other avenues if he refused this request. He had learned during the two weeks at the safe house that Bo was as stubborn as his ex-wife. If he helped Bo, at least he might be able to protect him. Using that logic, the answer was obvious.

Having made the decision, he copied the attachment to a file and emailed it with a request, to the FBI research division in Washington. He now hoped they would find a match so Bo wouldn’t pursue the matter any further.

CHAPTER 3

Why do you need to know where our DNA database came from? asked Carlo Janicolo, Dean of the MWIT Science School.

Bo explained his concerns about finding a match in another database.

I thought you were experimenting with gene splicing. He said. That doesn’t sound like what you’re doing.

You’re right, but I found what I think is an anomaly and I want to pursue it.

I see, said Carlo, into the phone, your concern seems legitimate, but I want to hear more about it. Come by my office in about thirty minutes and we’ll discuss this further.

Carlo replaced his phone in its cradle and nuzzled the neck of the young blonde sitting in his lap.

I hate to interrupt our interesting conversation, my dear, but we’ll have to continue this at the end of my afternoon class. I have to meet with this student on an important matter before my 10:00 class. I’m sure, with your cooperation, we can arrange to raise your grade to passing.

"Thank