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Authors: Christopher Forrest
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Ambergris was absolutely convinced that human DNA hides a coded message. An enciphered text. Hidden in the building blocks of the genome.”
“What kind of message?”
“An intelligent communication. A message we should be able to decode and read. Dr. Ambergris called it the ‘Genesis Code.’ He worked countless hours trying to decipher it.”
“Did he have any success?”
“He thought he was very close. But he wouldn’t even let me help him with the decryption. He worked mostly at night, alone here at the lab, keeping notes on his computer.”
Madison grimaced. “Whoever killed Dr. Ambergris also stole his optical drive. His notes are gone.”
“Maybe not,” said Grace. “He never saved files or data to the mainframe or his hard drive. But I know he was in the habit of hiding his research journal on the Triad security server. To him, that was like hiding a valuable diamond inside the dial of a safe. It was a place no one would think to look.”
Madison thought for a moment.
“We have to find that journal,” he said.
Madison picked up the phone and dialed Quiz’s extension. Quiz answered the phone on the first ring.
“This is Quiz.”
“It’s Christian. I need a favor. It’s important.”
Twenty-two
Dante Giovanni’s Office
Executive Suite, Triad Genomics
Manhattan, New York
Crowe picked up Giovanni’s phone and dialed a three digit extension. “This is Crowe. I—”
The voice on the other end of the line interrupted.
“I don’t care who’s been complaining,” Crowe barked into the receiver. “The lockdown will remain in effect until I tell you otherwise. Are we clear?”
Crowe waited for an affirmation.
“Good. Now, I want you to scan the security logs. The system logs everyone in and everyone out each day. Find out for me who was on the thirty-fourth floor between ten-thirty last night and six A.M. this morning.”
Crowe switched the phone to his other hand and leaned on the edge of Giovanni’s desk.
“No,” he said. “I’ll wait for the results.”
Giovanni, still seated at the conference table, crossed one leg over the other and plucked a small piece of lint from his trousers.
“Put it on speaker,” he instructed.
Crowe punched a button on the base of the telephone and replaced the receiver into its cradle. For almost a minute, only silence emanated from the speakerphone.
Then, a voice.
“Sir, after you left at ten thirty-two P.M. , only three people remained on the thirty-fourth floor—Dr. Ambergris, Dr. D’Amico, and Marilyn Sams.”
Crowe addressed the speakerphone.
“Dr. D’Amico works in the animal labs. I am familiar with her. Who is Marilyn Sams?”
“Technician, sir. In our IT department.”
“And does Ms. Sams generally keep such unorthodox hours?” asked Crowe.
“One minute, sir.”
There was a short, staccato burst of typing.
“I’m showing an IT service ticket for Marilyn Sams for the thirty-fourth floor router,” said the voice. “Service log notes report servicing completed at nine fifty-five P.M. ”
Another burst of typing.
“Sams left the floor at ten-oh-three. Security log shows Dr. D’Amico left the floor at eleven-oh-three. Not unusual for her. D’Amico is a night owl.”
Crowe leaned forward. “So Dr. Ambergris was alone on the floor after about eleven P.M. Did anyone arrive on the floor between eleven P.M. and six A.M. ?”
“One minute.”
More typing.
“Yes,” said the voice. “Just one person entered the floor during that time frame. Dr. Grace Nguyen passed through the security door adjacent to the elevator banks at four-eleven A.M. ”
Twenty-three
Production Studio
WXNY, Channel 10
Queens, New York
“How’s it going?” asked Flavia as she plopped down on the battered sofa in WXNY’s production studio. Randy was seated at a computer workstation, digitally cutting and splicing the footage he had filmed at the Millennium Tower. A half-eaten glazed donut lounged on a paper plate in his lap.
“Not
“What kind of message?”
“An intelligent communication. A message we should be able to decode and read. Dr. Ambergris called it the ‘Genesis Code.’ He worked countless hours trying to decipher it.”
“Did he have any success?”
“He thought he was very close. But he wouldn’t even let me help him with the decryption. He worked mostly at night, alone here at the lab, keeping notes on his computer.”
Madison grimaced. “Whoever killed Dr. Ambergris also stole his optical drive. His notes are gone.”
“Maybe not,” said Grace. “He never saved files or data to the mainframe or his hard drive. But I know he was in the habit of hiding his research journal on the Triad security server. To him, that was like hiding a valuable diamond inside the dial of a safe. It was a place no one would think to look.”
Madison thought for a moment.
“We have to find that journal,” he said.
Madison picked up the phone and dialed Quiz’s extension. Quiz answered the phone on the first ring.
“This is Quiz.”
“It’s Christian. I need a favor. It’s important.”
Twenty-two
Dante Giovanni’s Office
Executive Suite, Triad Genomics
Manhattan, New York
Crowe picked up Giovanni’s phone and dialed a three digit extension. “This is Crowe. I—”
The voice on the other end of the line interrupted.
“I don’t care who’s been complaining,” Crowe barked into the receiver. “The lockdown will remain in effect until I tell you otherwise. Are we clear?”
Crowe waited for an affirmation.
“Good. Now, I want you to scan the security logs. The system logs everyone in and everyone out each day. Find out for me who was on the thirty-fourth floor between ten-thirty last night and six A.M. this morning.”
Crowe switched the phone to his other hand and leaned on the edge of Giovanni’s desk.
“No,” he said. “I’ll wait for the results.”
Giovanni, still seated at the conference table, crossed one leg over the other and plucked a small piece of lint from his trousers.
“Put it on speaker,” he instructed.
Crowe punched a button on the base of the telephone and replaced the receiver into its cradle. For almost a minute, only silence emanated from the speakerphone.
Then, a voice.
“Sir, after you left at ten thirty-two P.M. , only three people remained on the thirty-fourth floor—Dr. Ambergris, Dr. D’Amico, and Marilyn Sams.”
Crowe addressed the speakerphone.
“Dr. D’Amico works in the animal labs. I am familiar with her. Who is Marilyn Sams?”
“Technician, sir. In our IT department.”
“And does Ms. Sams generally keep such unorthodox hours?” asked Crowe.
“One minute, sir.”
There was a short, staccato burst of typing.
“I’m showing an IT service ticket for Marilyn Sams for the thirty-fourth floor router,” said the voice. “Service log notes report servicing completed at nine fifty-five P.M. ”
Another burst of typing.
“Sams left the floor at ten-oh-three. Security log shows Dr. D’Amico left the floor at eleven-oh-three. Not unusual for her. D’Amico is a night owl.”
Crowe leaned forward. “So Dr. Ambergris was alone on the floor after about eleven P.M. Did anyone arrive on the floor between eleven P.M. and six A.M. ?”
“One minute.”
More typing.
“Yes,” said the voice. “Just one person entered the floor during that time frame. Dr. Grace Nguyen passed through the security door adjacent to the elevator banks at four-eleven A.M. ”
Twenty-three
Production Studio
WXNY, Channel 10
Queens, New York
“How’s it going?” asked Flavia as she plopped down on the battered sofa in WXNY’s production studio. Randy was seated at a computer workstation, digitally cutting and splicing the footage he had filmed at the Millennium Tower. A half-eaten glazed donut lounged on a paper plate in his lap.
“Not
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