“Do you know that the largest gene turned on by SHEVA, the polyprotein on chromosome 21, differs between simian expressions and human? That it’s one of only three genes in the whole SHEVA cascade that differ in apes and humans?”

Augustine shook his head.

“We’re close to knowing that,” Dicken said, then glanced around in some embarrassment. Cross ignored him.

“What we’re looking at is an archaeological catalog of human disease, going back millions of years,” Cross said. “At least one old damned visionary has seen this already and we’re going to beat CDC to the ultimate description…Leave government research out in the cold, Mark, unless we cooperate. Kaye can help keep the channels open. Together, we can do it a whole lot faster, of course.”

“You’re going to save the world, Marge?” Augustine asked softly.

“No, Mark. I doubt Herod’s is much more than a nasty inconvenience. But it gets us where we live. Down where we make babies. Everyone who watches TV or reads newspapers is scared. Kaye is famous, she’s female, and she’s presentable. She’s just what we both need. That’s why Mr. Dicken here and the surgeon general thought she might be useful, isn’t it? Besides her obvious expertise?”

Augustine aimed his next question at Kaye. “I assume you didn’t approach Ms. Cross yourself, after agreeing to go with us.”

“I didn’t,” Kaye said.

“What do you expect to get out of this arrangement?”

“I think Marge is right,” Kaye said, feeling an almost chilly self-confidence. “We need to cooperate and find out what this is and what we can do about it.” Kaye Lang the corporate item, cool and distanced, knowing no doubt. Saul, you would be proud of me.

“This is an international effort, Marge,” Augustine said. “We’re putting together a coalition of twenty different countries. WHO is a major player here. No prima donnas.”

“I’ve already set up a crack management team to deal with that. Robert Jackson is going to head our vaccine program. Our functions will be transparent. We’ve been doing this on the world scene for twenty-five years. We know how to play ball, Mark.”

Augustine looked at Cross, then at Kaye. He held out his hands as if to embrace Cross. “Darling,” he said, and stood to blow her a kiss.

Cross cackled like an old hen.

32

The University of Washington, Seattle

Wendell Packer told Mitch to meet him in his office in the Magnuson building. The room in the E wing was small and stuffy, windowless, packed with shelves of books and two computers, one of them connected to equipment in Packer’s laboratory. This screen showed a long series of proteins being sequenced, red and blue bands and green columns in pretty disarray, like a skewed staircase.

“I did this one myself,” Packer said, holding up a long folded printout for Mitch. “Not that I don’t trust my students, but I don’t want to ruin their careers, either. And I don’t want my department slammed.”

Mitch took the printout and thumbed through it.

“I doubt it makes a lot of sense at first glance,” Packer said. “The tissues are way too old to get complete sequences, so I looked for small genes unique to SHEVA, and then I looked for products created when SHEVA enters a cell.”

“You found them?” Mitch asked, feeling his throat constrict.

Packer nodded. “Your tissue samples have SHEVA. And they’re not just contaminants from you or the people you were with. But the virus is really degraded. I used antibody probes sent to us from Bethesda that bind to proteins associated with SHEVA. There’s a follicle stimulating hormone that’s unique to SHEVA infection. Sixty-seven percent match, not bad considering the age. Then I relied on a little information theory to design and fabricate better probes, in case SHEVA has mutated slightly, or differs for other reasons. Took me a couple of days, but I got an eighty percent match. To make doubly sure, I did a Southwestern blot test with Herod’s provirus DNA. There are definitely bits of activated SHEVA in your specimens. Tissue from the male is thick with it.”

“You’re sure it’s SHEVA? No doubt, even in a court of law?”

“Considering the source, it wouldn’t survive in a court of law. But is it SHEVA?” Packer smiled. “Yes. I’ve been in this department for seven years. We have some of the best equipment money can buy, and some of the best people that equipment can seduce to join us, thanks to three very rich young folks at Microsoft. But…Sit down, please, Mitch.”

Mitch looked up from the printout. “Why?”

“Just sit.”

Mitch sat.

“I have a bonus. Karel Petrovich in Anthropology asked Maria Konig, just down the hall, the best in our lab, to work on a very old tissue sample. Guess where he got the sample?”

“Innsbruck?”

Packer held out another sheet of paper. “They asked Karel specifically to go to us. Our reputation, what can I say? They wanted us to search for specific markers and combinations of alleles most often used to determine parental relationship. We were given one small tissue sample, about a gram. They wanted very precise work, and they wanted it quick. Mitch, you got to swear to absolute secrecy on this.”

“I swear,” Mitch said.

“Just out of curiosity, I asked one of the analysts about the results. I won’t go into boring details. The tissue comes from a newborn. It’s at least ten thousand years old. We looked for the markers and found them. And I compared several alleles with your tissue samples.”

“They match?” Mitch asked, his voice breaking.

“Yes…and no. I don’t think Innsbruck is going to agree with me, or with what you seem to be implying.”

“I don’t imply. I know .”

“Yes, well, I’m intrigued, but in a courtroom, I could wriggle your male out of responsibility. No prehistoric child support. The female, however, yes. The alleles match.”

“She’s the baby’s mother?”

“Beyond a doubt.”

“But he’s not the father?”

“I just said I could wriggle him out of it in a courtroom. There’s some weird genetics going on here. Real spooky stuff that I’ve never seen before.”

“But the baby is one of us.”

“Mitch, please don’t get me wrong. I’m not going to back you up, I’m not going to help you write any papers. I have a department to protect, and my own career. You of all people should understand that.”

“I know, I know,” Mitch said. “But I can’t go it alone.”

“Let me feed you a few clues. You know that Homo sapiens sapiens is remarkably uniform, genetically speaking.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think Homo sapiens neandertalensis was all that uniform. It’s a real miracle that I can tell you that, Mitch, I hope you understand. Three years ago, it would have taken us eight months to do the analysis.”

Mitch frowned. “I’m losing you.”

“The infant’s genotype is a close match to you and me. She’s close to modern. Mitochondria! DNA in the tissue you gave me matches with samples we have from old Neandertal bone. But I’d say, if you did not look at me too critically, that the male and female that supplied your samples are her parents.”

Mitch felt dizzy. He bent over on the chair and rested his head between his knees. “Christ,” he said, his voice muffled.

“A very late contender to be Eve,” Packer said. He held up his hand. “Look at me. Now I’m trembling.”

“What can you do, Wendell?” Mitch asked, lifting his head to stare up at him. “I’m sitting on the biggest story in modern science. Innsbruck is going to stonewall, I can just smell it.

They’ll deny everything. It’s the easy way out. What do I do? Where do I go?”

Packer wiped his eyes and blew his nose into his handkerchief. “Find some folks who aren’t all that conservative,” he said. “People outside of academics. I know people at the CDC. I talk fairly often with a friend in the labs in Atlanta, a friend of an old girlfriend, actually. We stayed on good terms. She’s done some cadaver tissue analysis for a CDC virus hunter named Dicken, on the Herod’s Taskforce. Not surprisingly, he’s been looking for SHEVA in cadaver tissues.”