THURSDAY EVENING
Savich looked around his living room at the agents he and Sherlock had invited to their house for an evening to decompress and chow down pizza and Sherlock’s amazing apple pie. It was still bubbling it was so hot, and the smell of cinnamon filled the air. No one broke the reverent silence as Sherlock carefully cut the slices the same size and divvied up the entire pie, sliding a slice onto each waiting plate. She said, smiling, “This has been quite a wild ride for all of us, guys, so sit back and enjoy. I’ve got to remember to wash the pan and put it away tonight so Sean doesn’t see it. He wouldn’t let up until I made another one.” She lifted her own plate and breathed in the wonderful smell before she settled into her chair.
There were occasional moans of pleasure, and finally, the scraping of forks on empty plates. Cam looked at her empty pie plate, sighed, and set it on the coffee table. She started up again, telling the CARD agents about the melee at Sergei Petrov’s house the previous night, lightly patting Jack’s wounded arm for effect, and waving her own right arm to show she no longer needed a sling. “The boy here was the only casualty. He and I agree we can both handle getting small nicks from time to time.”
Jack said, “That’s right, Wittier. You and I, we’ve covered a lot of territory since Monday, first our memorable hike into the Daniel Boone National Forest and finally that shoot-out on the Potomac with Petrov last night. Quite a ride.” He nodded to Ruth and Ollie, raised his beer bottle and toasted everyone. “Here’s to small nicks.”
Sherlock began stacking the empty plates. “And Eric Hainny, chief of staff to the president, was at the root of it all. I find I feel sorry for him, even though the one time I met him, I wanted to smack him in the chops. He’s had to resign and now he’ll probably be indicted for the bank teller’s murder.”
Ollie said, “And it was all set into motion by Petrov. I wonder if Hainny ever considered killing him.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Savich said, “but the fact is, he’s not a killer, despite what happened at the bank. He did what he did to save his son, the single most important person to him in the world, and the rest of the world be damned.”
Sherlock said, “That’s why I feel sorry for him, Dillon. I know I’d sign over the galaxy to keep Sean safe, as I bet all of you would for your kids.”
There was no disagreement.
Cam poured herself another cup of coffee. “And Sherlock, what you and Connie and Bolt have been through. I understand this Dr. Maddox wanted people with a specific DNA, but I don’t understand what he was looking for.”
Sherlock said, “Near as we understand for now from his records, Maddox looked through the DNA of laboratory mice first, identified the few that could tolerate his drug, discovered how they were genetically different. Then he looked through the thousands of genomes housed at Gen-Core to find the people with the same variant of the human gene, and he found Thomas Denham, his first victim, or as Dr. Maddox would insist, his first test subject. He only lived three months. Dr. Maddox went looking again and found another, more useful, variant, and he kidnapped Dr. Arthur Childers, his second victim, and put him under lock and key. He’s the young man still in a coma at Washington Memorial. Both Enigma One and Enigma Two, as Maddox labeled Denham and Childers, metabolized the drug differently from everyone else, and the metabolites in their blood, and in their plasma, were no longer toxic. So he took plasma regularly from Arthur Childers while giving him the drug, and it’s that plasma he gave to others, and to his father, along with whatever else he thought might be helpful. When he impregnated Kara Moody with Arthur Childers’s sperm, he was trying to combine both those genetic variants in one person, trying to create someone who could tolerate his drug without any toxicity at all.
“And that someone was Alex Moody, or Enigma Three, his wonder source.”
Connie said, “It appalls me to think what he would have done to that baby.” She took Bolt’s hand. “But it didn’t happen.”
Bolt said, “When you think about it, DNA is a big part of what makes each of us unique, right? Scary to think Kara Moody and Arthur Childers were victimized because of their DNA.”
Sherlock said, “It makes me worry for the rest of us. There might not be many lunatics like Lister Maddox out there, but what about all the businesses and governments that might want to make use of our DNA information? The abuses could be endless. We could be denied insurance, a good credit rating, certain jobs, for example. They could even use our DNA to predict how to advertise to us.”
Bolt took a sip of Savich’s sinfully rich coffee and sighed. “Savich, your coffee is as good as Sherlock’s pie. You’re right, Sherlock, and more and more people are getting their DNA tested, to evaluate their health risks or find out where their families are from. It’s getting cheaper and faster all the time. I was tempted myself, but when I picture Lister Maddox in my mind, I’m not so sure anymore.”
Ruth said, “I’m sure they have guidelines, some precautions in place, but we all know computers can be hacked.”
Jack sat forward in his chair, put down his coffee cup, and clasped his hands between his knees. “I find it amazing we might be able to extend life by slowing or reversing aging with some kind of medical procedures, or even a simple pill. To think of living, say, two hundred years, now that’s mind-blowing.”
Savich said, “Sherlock and I were talking about that earlier, about mortality, and what it means, and we find we dis
agree. I guess I come down on the side of things as they are. Most everything we human beings value, everything we call wisdom and experience, is a consequence of our being mortal and knowing it. We are granted a finite number of years and everything we strive for is shaped by the inevitable fact of death.
“Everyone whose words you’ve read who came before us, all those thoughts you’ve shared, all of them lived knowing their lives would end. I wonder what the world would be like where no one died except by accident?” He paused, smiled. “I wonder if after a while, we’d all get bored.”
“Accident or murder,” Ruth said. “We’ve got to keep our jobs.”
Cam said, “I don’t think that would be good news for the planet. We’d all have longer to keep destroying it, and there would be more and more of us to do just that.”
Jack said, “Living as long as, say, vampires. Now there’s a thought.”
Savich said, “Even most of the vampires you read about, they all say they see everything happen over and over, and people being people, or vampires, the same things would drive them, millennium after millennium: Greed, war, love, repeating itself into eternity.”
Jack said, “Yeah, sounds like term limits would be better. But seriously, what about the effects on society? Especially if only the rich could afford the magic pill? What would happen to everyone else? The possible consequences are inconceivable.”
Sherlock said, “Back up, guys. Forget forever, say if we could all live a couple of hundred years. Don’t forget we now live twice as long as people who lived two hundred years ago, and we seem to be managing. I think it would be incredibly exciting. Think of what we could make of ourselves, learn about ourselves and the world, the time we’d have to recognize and right our mistakes, travel new roads, goodness, we could travel the universe, all of this if only our own mortality didn’t hover over our shoulders. I hope, Cam, we’d gain enough wisdom, not to continue trashing the planet. Oh, and I think of the video games Sean could come up with if he had two hundred years.” She grinned. “I asked MAX to tell me about what he thought and he gave me geneticist Francis Collins’s quote that ‘one man’s longevity is another man’s immortality.’?”
Cam said, “If I were a vampire, I’d set Dr. Maddox the noble goal of working on changing my diet.”
Connie grinned, shook her head at Cam. “Whatever way you lean on the mortality versus the immortality issue, one thing makes me very happy. Kara has her baby back.”
Bolt said, “Amen to that.” He looked down at his watch, jumped up. “Speaking of time, I just ran out. I promised my wife I’d be home by ten. Now I’m in trouble. It’s possible I’d need all of Sherlock’s extra years to make it up to her.”