No Time to Die (12 page)

“I see.” Zoe extended her arm and Natalie dabbed the inside of her elbow with a cotton ball. The scent of rubbing alcohol permeated the air.

“When I find my next lab, I'll begin the process of unveiling your genetic code. Using the slides, I'll run many chemical reactions with colored dye to reveal several hundred of your DNA bases at a time. It's a painstaking task, far too complex to explain on the spot. But in order to look for mutations, I'll compare what I find to the known human genome, which was mapped by scientists in 2003 and is 99.99 percent accurate. I'm especially planning to focus on the certain locations I told you about.”

“Where you think the master regulator gene might be.”

“Yes.” Natalie's green eyes shimmered with intensity. “Finding that gene is the key to my theory about aging.”

“Which is?”

“I had a paper published last year explaining it. In my view, aging is progressive disorganization resulting from postmaturational expression of genes that continue to cause developmental changes after development is complete.”

Zoe raised her eyebrows. “One more time in English.”

Natalie smiled. “In other words, once we're grown up, that master regulatory gene is still telling our bodies to keep changing even after we've matured all the way. That gene causes what I call development inertia—a persistent reorganization of the body's parts. That normally occurs during development but it's coupled with genes that coordinate the complex changes that occur in our bodies. The information in those genes is exhausted when we reach maturity, but developmental inertia continues, progressively disrupting the internal order of our bodies—and that's why we eventually break down and die.”

“So if you can find the gene . . .”

“Then we can silence it in young adulthood—at peak physical health—and become biologically immortal.”

“Like me, but grown up.”

“Exactly. Let me show you my favorite passage from a textbook that sums up my whole life's work—and then you'll have a better idea just how exciting this is for me.” She dashed over to a shelf stacked with thick hardcover books and pulled down one with a black spine that read:
Gerontology Perspectives and Issues,
3rd Edition. She brought it over to Zoe, leaned down for her to see, and opened it to a dog-eared page. “Look here.”

Standing, Zoe read the highlighted passage over her shoulder:

“A treasure hunt,” Zoe breathed. “That's so cool.”

“I know.” Natalie glanced at her watch. “We better hurry, though. I want to get you back home as soon as possible. Why don't you sit down again.” She motioned to the stool next to the counter and Zoe hopped up onto it. “This'll be quick and pretty painless,” she added, as she slipped on latex gloves and went about preparing a needle and tube.

“That's okay, after all the tests I've had, I'm not squeamish.”

She held out her arm again and Natalie instructed her to make a fist. “Such tiny veins!”

“I always get that. Too bad guys aren't impressed,” she blurted, and then flushed. She hadn't meant to say that, but was so at ease.

As Natalie chuckled, they heard an unmistakable rumble. The needle was inches from Zoe's arm.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I don't know.”

“Wait, listen.”

The rumble was getting louder, more measured—footsteps. A group of them, coming closer. Natalie glanced nervously from Zoe to the room's only door.

“There's no way out,” she murmured. “No windows.”

Zoe jumped off the stool. “What do we do?”

Natalie was already running to turn off the lights. “The supply closet, over there,” she said, pointing. “Hurry.”

The lights flickered off as Zoe rushed to the left side of the lab, knocking over a chair in the total darkness. It clattered loudly to the floor.

“Damn it,” she muttered, but it didn't matter. The lab's door was already opening, letting in a stream of light from the hallway. She heard Natalie gasp and whipped around by the force of her own curiosity, despite knowing that she ought to duck.

In the doorway stood two stern-faced policemen—next to her horrified mother and father.

“Oh, Zoe!” her mother cried, rushing to bombard her with a hug. “You're okay!”

Her father charged up to Natalie, who stood helpless in the back of the room. “You're going to be put away for a long time,” he snarled. “No one lays a hand on my daughter.”

Natalie's face had drained to a sickly white. “How did you find us?” she whispered, as the two policemen approached her. She tried to retreat, but found the wall right behind her.

Mr. Kincaid's gaze swung from her to Zoe, who was squirming out of her mother's hold. “You think you're so smart, taking your cell phone. You didn't know I installed a GPS tracker on it just in case. I was worried you would pull a move like this.”

Zoe felt her stomach drop away.

“We heard you sneak out,” he said, “and wanted to see where you were going.”

Her jaw hung open. No words could form.

One of the policemen clicked a pair of handcuffs into place around Natalie's slender wrists, while the other one spoke in a grim voice accustomed to commanding hardened criminals.

“You're under arrest for trespassing and child abduction.”

“But my son!” she choked out, straining against the handcuffs. “What's going to happen to my son?”

“You have the right to remain silent,” he warned her. “Anything you say can—”

“I wasn't abducted!” Zoe screamed, hurtling herself toward Natalie. But her mother's arms locked around her like tentacles and the policeman droned on, barely glancing in their direction. Her father shot her a warning look.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

Natalie gave a dazed nod. The men grabbed hold of her biceps and roughly escorted her toward the door.

“I came here on my own!” Zoe shouted at their backs, ignoring her parents' dismay. “I didn't mean to get her in trouble!” But they paid no attention. Natalie craned her head around, and despite her shell-shocked expression, Zoe caught her lips mouth the words
: It's not your fault.

Then she was yanked out the door.

Washington, D.C.
Friday, June 14, 2:00
P.M.

L
es spoke into the phone, his voice grave. He was in his office ripping up sheets of printer paper, unable to keep his hands still. The white shreds looked as though a blizzard had let loose over his desk.

“Stephen Kincaid?”

“Yes?”

“This is Les Mahler, chief of the Justice Department's Bioethics Committee. I was very concerned to hear about your daughter's abduction last night.”

“Thank you.” There was a long pause. “Sorry, I'm still a bit in shock—what can I do for you?”

“Listen, we've decided on the need to disclose something to you on behalf of the committee and the FBI. You understand that this is extremely confidential and privileged information, requiring your utmost discretion.”

“Absolutely.” His tone took on a nervous edge. “You have my word.”

“We believe your daughter is in great danger. Her condition primes her as the perfect target for a group of wayward scientific activists collectively known as the Network. They prey on individuals who might be suitable for experimentation. Twenty-seven people have already been targeted.”

Kincaid gasped. “How could I not know about this?”

“The President has kept it highly classified so as not to spook the public.”

“Of course. I see. So how can we protect her?”

“Make sure you know where she is at all times, no matter what. Don't let her leave without knowing exactly where she's going.”

A deep sigh came over the line. “But she's very strong willed and doesn't get scared easily. Even if we tell her about this, she might not take it seriously.”

“Try to get her to understand the danger she's in. The Network is viciously efficient: we haven't been able to recover a single victim out of the twenty-seven, except for one they killed and left behind.”

“Jesus.”

“In the meantime, we're working around the clock to infiltrate it. I'll update you if and when I have news to share.”

“Is Natalie Roy . . . Oh my—could she have been recruiting Zoe . . . ?”

“That's what we're working to find out. But either way, we can rest a little easier knowing she's in jail.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much for telling me.”

“No problem. We just want your little girl to stay safe.”

Les didn't add the rest of his thought:
from science
. Not only was Zoe Kincaid
in
danger—she
was
a danger. If Natalie Roy or someone similar from the Network actually did get to plumb the depths of her unique DNA, the result could be disastrous: a fundamental manipulation of the human line that would alter the species forever after. If ageless freaks were to dominate the planet, then what? There'd be a population explosion leading to a catastrophic lack of resources. Natural death was desirable—not only that, it was necessary. Death wasn't up to individuals to control—only to submit to when their time came. God help everyone if some lunatics in the Network tried to change that.

Now that Natalie was out of the way, the extent of her menace to society was a moot point. After Galileo, it was Zoe Kincaid who worried him the most.

 

New York City
2:00
P.M.

 

The Metropolitan Correctional Center was a scab upon downtown New York City, a squat building the color of grime. Inside, the air reeked of hopelessness. Natalie's holding cell was home to a family of cockroaches that scooted around the dirty floor, indifferent to human disgust. In adjacent cells, other women's moans echoed like a howling wind. Natalie sat on a ragged cot hugging her knees to her chest, as if compressing her body would allow her to be less than fully present.

Her booking and arraignment had passed in a blur—in less than twenty-four hours, she'd been photographed and fingerprinted, and had appeared before a judge to enter her plea of not guilty. He was notoriously harsh on any charges involving children, so he set her bail impossibly high for her to post at $250,000. With a smirk, he had announced the date for her preliminary hearing—two months away—and struck his gavel, calling “Next!” without hesitation.

Now she was wearing a brown jumpsuit, devoid of all possessions, identity, and purpose—and of her son. She rocked back and forth on her heels, softly muttering his name, looking up every once in a while as if an escape path might materialize in her seven-by-nine-foot cell. But the walls were solid cement, the black bars as hard as bone. Wan daylight eked through a slight rectangular window. Its glass seemed designed to filter out radiance and warmth.

Her life was ruined. Her dreams of ceaseless toil in the lab, unraveling the mystery of aging one DNA strand at a time, were over. Part of her wondered if this was all just a mistake, if she would be released when the authorities realized Zoe wasn't truly a child. That she and Natalie had the luck to coexist on the same planet was staggering. That they were now being forced apart—it was like finding two halves of a ripped lottery ticket and burning both.

A uniformed guard strode past her and she cried out for his attention. She was cold, hungry, thirsty—and helpless. But he walked past, barely shooting her a glance. Across the way, in a cell facing hers, a stocky female prisoner snickered.

“Help,” the other woman mimicked in a high-pitched tone. “Ain't one gonna help your ass here.”

Natalie turned her face to the wall to avoid eye contact.

Instead of her own plight, she thought of Zoe's. Poor Zoe—to be treated as a second-class citizen, completely denied the voice she thought she had. Natalie wondered how she was coping with the indignity, and with her dashed hopes. As for her own, nothing could salvage them. If she thought she was a pariah after one transient newspaper article, then serving jail time was like a tattoo on her face. When she got out, she would be relegated to the blackest of blacklists. Never again being able to look through a microscope was akin to a musician going deaf overnight. Yet it was a risk she had chosen to take, and she would suffer the consequences, however unfair they were.

But Theo had not chosen his grief. What would happen to him without her? Not just practically and financially, but emotionally? He was staying at a friend's house in the short-term, until a more permanent solution could be found. It was harrowing to accept that there was nothing she could do to help him, the baby she had cradled, the one person for whom she would gladly lay down her life. And she was worse than powerless—she was the perpetrator of his agony.

He had not come to see her yet, and she was both dreading and craving their initial visit. Even if he were enraged, she would be able to drink in the sight of his face. She would preserve his image in her mind with all the care of a fine curator, examining every detail to keep the memory intact. One glance, she felt, could sustain her for a year.

And after that?

Closing her eyes, she lay down on the rigid mattress and tried to make sense of how one bad week could annihilate everything she held dear.

“Dr. Carlyle,” Zoe nearly shouted into the phone. She was sitting alone in her bedroom with the door closed, while outside a gaggle of reporters huddled on the doorstep. News of the previous night's arrest had traveled from the police blotter to the local media, who were salivating for firsthand details of the “abduction.” To the tabloids, Zoe was learning, people fell into only two categories, victims and villains. When both seemed clear-cut, the story fit the template of sensationalism to perfection.

“Dr. Carlyle,” Zoe repeated. “Are you there?”

“Yes, are you okay? I heard—”

“Please, I'm fine. I chose to go. But no one will listen to me, and now Natalie's in jail! What can we do?”

There was a pause. “I'm sorry. There's not much anyone can do at this point.”

She paced over her sheepskin rug. “What if you tell everyone I'm not really a child?”

“I—I can't afford to get in the middle, Zoe. I understand that you feel older, but it's up to the courts to decide whether and when you can become your own guardian.”

“But you know that could take years! You're just going to let Natalie rot in jail for a crime she didn't commit? Plus she's the only person who might be able to help my grandfather!”

“I'm sorry.” He sounded crushed. “I really am.”

“You can't just give up. That's not good enough. I'm telling you, she's innocent. They might listen to you and let her go.”

“I'm afraid the system doesn't work like that. Even if I agreed to testify, the trial could take a long time. And there's no guarantee she'll be exonerated.”

Zoe racked her brain for a galvanizing reply, but realized he was right; they were backed against a corner as tight as Natalie's cell. “So that's it, then. It's just over? No last resort, no nothing?”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Zoe, you're a brave girl, I know that. The question is how brave.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is still one thing that could be done.”

“Well, why didn't you say so!”

He paused. “Have you heard of the Network?”

She stopped midskip across the room. “You mean, the crazy group my dad says is out to kill me?”

“We're not killers,” he said. “Far from it.”