‘Hm ... so?’

  ‘While he was doing time in Camp Bucca, Haddad caught up with the second bodyguard.’

  ‘What!’ Marcus exclaimed. ‘After all these years?’

  ‘Yes. Haddad discovered the man’s identity and his name.’

  ‘Sure about this?’

  ‘Haddad seems to be. He’s an experienced policeman.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Apparently, Ibrahim el-Masri – that was the man’s name – turned informer and began to work for the Americans. That too, was several years ago. Camp Bucca was closed in 2009.’

  ‘What happened to him; do you know?’

  ‘Before Haddad could take action – somehow confront the man, or – he lost him.’

  ‘How?’ asked Jana.

  ‘Just before the camp was closed, the Americans took el-Masri to the US for protection, I suppose, and future use. With that, he just disappeared.’

  ‘All right, Jack. Put us out of our misery and cut to the chase,’ said Marcus, becoming a little impatient. ‘There’s obviously more to all this. Tell us about the phone call.’

  ‘After Camp Bucca was closed, Haddad stayed in Syria, fighting with the rebels. He had given up finding el-Masri again, until now ...’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘He found him again.’

  ‘Where? How?’

  ‘In Istanbul.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  For a while there was stunned silence, as the implications of what Jack had just said began to sink in.

  ‘Can you tell us more?’ asked Jana.

  Jack stood up and headed for the kitchen. ‘I can,’ he said, ‘but if we don’t have dinner now, my cooking will be ruined.’

  Jack, the storyteller, couldn’t help himself. He had left his guests with a cliff-hanger. However, he had done that quite deliberately to give everyone an opportunity to digest what he had just told them and have a discussion about it while he was preparing the meal.

  ‘That was amazing, Jack,’ said Jana. ‘You certainly haven’t lost your touch.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Marcus. He wiped his mouth with a serviette, sat back and looked expectantly at Jack.

  ‘To cut a long story short,’ began Jack, ‘Haddad found out that el-Masri is running a famous restaurant in Istanbul – Sultan’s Table – as a highly successful celebrity chef with his own restaurant chain and TV show. He even featured recently on Top Chef Europe. He goes under the name Kemal Bahadir.’

  ‘Are you sure? How can that be?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘Haddad seemed quite certain, but there are complications ... and that’s where we come in.’

  ‘What kind of complications?’ asked Jana.

  ‘It’s all about espionage, intelligence gathering, terrorism and IS. The Americans have reinvented el-Masri, and have set him up in Istanbul to work for them. “Recreated” would be a better way to put it.’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘They took el-Masri back to the US after Bucca was closed. Apparently, he had valuable information about IS and their operations, and access to the leadership at the highest level ... the Americans used him. They not only reinvented him, but recreated him.’

  ‘What do you mean, recreated?’ asked Jana.

  ‘They changed his appearance.’

  ‘How?’ asked Alexandra.

  ‘They not only gave him a new identity, but a new face as well.’

  ‘Jesus!’ said Marcus. ‘After all these years? Why?’

  ‘They sent him back to Istanbul after grooming him for years in the States, and with the help of the Turkish intelligence agency, set him up as a celebrity chef. He’s an American master spy with direct access to IS. He is running a highly successful operation, smuggling terrorists from the camps on the Syrian border to Istanbul. He puts them up and gives them employment in his restaurant until they can be deployed.’

  ‘And?’ said Marcus.

  ‘He keeps the Americans informed about all this, and they share this intelligence with their Turkish colleagues. Apparently, this arrangement has been highly successful, resulting in many arrests.’

  ‘Something tells me there’s a but,’ said Marcus.

  ‘Spot-on. The details are still a little sketchy, but apparently, something’s gone terribly wrong and the Americans are about to shut him down and take him back to the States. That’s how Haddad found out about el-Masri and his new identity in the first place. Just now.’

  ‘You said he asked for your help,’ Jana cut in. ‘Help him do what?’

  ‘Keep his promise.’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? He wants to hunt down and expose the last surviving terrorist who carried out the atrocities at Luxor; the Aida massacre that killed your wife and daughter.’

  ‘If el-Masri – Bahadir – is in Istanbul and Haddad knows where he is, then why wait?’ asked Marcus, becoming emotional.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ replied Jack. ‘Not only is Bahadir under the protection of the Turkish authorities and the Americans, he’s in the middle of an important operation involving a planned terrorist attack in Paris – huge. Apparently, a number of suicide bombers are in transit through Istanbul right now. Bahadir is too important to be touched. Haddad’s hands are tied. However, he has a plan ...’

  ‘What kind of plan?’ asked Jana.

  ‘He didn’t say. All he said was it’s too risky to discuss over the phone.’

  ‘Then how can we possibly help him?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘Haddad has an unusual request.’ Jack turned to face Jana and Alexandra. ‘And that’s where you two come in.’

  ‘What kind of request?’ asked Alexandra, looking puzzled.

  ‘The question is this: is it possible to reconstruct a face using DNA?’

  Jana looked at Jack, surprised. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said. ‘The whole thing is still in its infancy. Early days. But the Belgians have successfully used this method in several criminal investigations, and secured convictions. I’ve read papers on this and heard about it in seminars – quite recently.’

  Jack looked at Alexandra. ‘Have you come across this over here?’ he asked.

  ‘I have. In fact, we are working on something just like this right now. I have a talented young post-doc from Belgium on my team, would you believe, who’s quite a whizkid in this area. You are right; the Belgians have stolen the march on this. They are quite advanced ...’

  ‘How does it work?’ asked Jack.

  ‘First, you sequence the DNA of the suspect.’

  ‘You can get the DNA from saliva, a drop of blood, or even a hair,’ Jana cut in. ‘Basic crime scene forensics.’

  Alexandra nodded. ‘Correct,’ she said. ‘But then comes the ingenious bit. We have identified specific genes that determine certain facial features. Hair and eye colour, for instance, and of course, a lot more. In fact, it is now possible to reconstruct a human face with thirty-four per cent accuracy, which is surprisingly effective. When you see the reconstruction next to an actual photograph of the subject, the similarities are striking.’

  ‘Enough to convince a jury,’ Jana cut in again, ‘beyond reasonable doubt. Facial recognition has come a long way. Just think of the electronic passport controls at the airport, using facial recognition from your passport photo.’

  ‘Wow!’ said Jack.

  ‘So, why is Haddad so interested in this?’ asked Marcus.

  ‘He wants to reconstruct Bahadir’s face.’

  ‘To show what it looked like before the surgical alteration?’ asked Alexandra.

  ‘Yes, because—’

  ‘Why?’ interrupted Marcus, becoming impatient.

  ‘Apparently, to make sure he has the right man. He doesn’t trust the Americans. The reconstructed face would tell him if Bahadir is in fact el-Masri. Haddad spent several months with him in prison. He knows what he looked like. Etched into his memory, he said.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘He has a plan – to keep the promise he made, Marcus.’

  ‘How, exactly?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘So, where to from here?’ asked Jana.

  ‘Alexandra, if you were given say, a blood sample belonging to Bahadir, could you sequence his DNA and then carry out a facial reconstruction at the Gordon?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Yes, I believe we could.’

  ‘Excellent! I promised Haddad I’d call him tonight about this.’

  ‘Then what?’ asked Alexandra.

  ‘I’m flying to Istanbul. To help him.’

  ‘I thought you were working on the da Baggio chronicles?’ said Alexandra, frowning. ‘The cardinal?’

  ‘I am. But this ...’

  ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘I’m trying to get on a flight to Istanbul tomorrow night. Via Abu Dhabi.’

  ‘Then you’ll have time to come to the Gordon in the morning – yes?’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised. The avatar mouse demonstration – remember? The cardinal asked me specifically if you would be there.’

  ‘Of course I will. Definitely. We can’t disappoint His Eminence, can we?’

  Jana shook her head and turned to Alexandra. ‘This is all classic Jack. I don’t know how he does it,’ she said, laughing, ‘and gets away with it.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Alexandra and lifted her glass. ‘Never a boring moment with this guy! Cheers.’

  59

  Gordon Institute, Sydney: 17 June

  Alexandra was waiting for the cardinal in the foyer, preparing herself for what she knew would be a difficult meeting. It was coming up to nine am as she looked at her watch again, frowning. He’ll be here any moment, she thought, just as the cardinal’s car pulled up outside. As soon as His Eminence opened the car door and their eyes locked, she knew instantly something was wrong. After a brief greeting, Alexandra escorted her illustrious visitor to a conference room on the first floor.

  ‘You look troubled, Eminence,’ said Alexandra when they were alone in the lift.

  ‘I am. I just had a call from Professor Montessori.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘His Holiness almost died a few hours ago. Another turn – a bad one.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You don’t seem surprised.’

  ‘I’m not. If our preliminary diagnosis is correct, well …’

  ‘Could we go over this again? Right now, I mean. I need to know.’

  ‘Certainly. Still no hospital?’ asked Alexandra.

  The cardinal shook his head. ‘His Holiness believes in faith, not science,’ he said sadly, shaking his head. ‘Much to the exasperation of his medical team.’

  ‘Faith can be important.’

  ‘The whole Vatican is praying for him.’

  ‘Do you mind if Jack, Mr Rogan …’

  ‘Not at all,’ said the cardinal. ‘I invited him to come along – remember?’ The more he knows about this, the better. Especially the great urgency and what is at stake here, and the part I believe he’s about to play in all this.’

  ‘I understand, Eminence. Please come and meet my team.’

  Jack, Ayah and Vimal stood up as the cardinal entered the room. Alexandra introduced her two assistants and then walked straight to the whiteboard by the window. They are so young, thought the cardinal as he shook hands with Ayah and Vimal, but they are the future.

  ‘I understand you are leaving today?’ asked the cardinal, turning to Jack.

  ‘I am, Eminence. Something urgent has come up in Istanbul.’

  ‘And the chronicles? Rome?’

  ‘As soon as I can.’

  The cardinal nodded and sat down.

  Alexandra stood in front of the whiteboard, trying to focus. She decided it would be best to approach this delicate subject as a team and with great tact. ‘His Holiness is deteriorating,’ she began quietly, choosing her words carefully. ‘Before we talk about the avatar mice and their function in all this, His Eminence has asked me to go over our preliminary findings.’

  ‘I would appreciate that,’ said the cardinal. ‘I must know what you – that is all of you – think we are dealing with here and what the chances are to … I realise of course that a lot more work has to be done before there can be any semblance of an accurate diagnosis. But time is running out.’

  ‘We understand,’ said Alexandra. ‘So, this is what we’ve come up with so far. However, much of this is still speculation and conjecture, requiring further research and investigation.’

  The cardinal nodded.

  ‘Vimal, would you like to begin?’ said Alexandra.

  Vimal looked at her, surprised, and stood up. He hadn’t quite expected to be singled out like that. ‘As Your Eminence knows, we have successfully sequenced His Holiness’s genome, and that of his dead parents,’ he said. ‘This has been our starting point, and the beginning of our investigation—’

  ‘Yes, Professor Delacroix has already told me about that,’ interrupted the cardinal, the impatience in his voice obvious.

  ‘What we have found,’ continued Vimal, undeterred, ‘appears to suggest that the late onset of His Holiness’s autoimmune disease has resulted from inheriting germline mutations in both copies of his LRBA gene: one from his father and another from his mother.’

  ‘What does this mean, exactly?’ asked the cardinal.

  Alexandra pointed to Ayah. ‘Please explain,’ she said.

  Ayah turned to face the cardinal. ‘Because of these germline mutations, all the cells in His Holiness’s body lack LRBA,’ she said quietly. ‘The importance of LRBA is this: LRBA is needed to protect the CTLA-4 protein from being degraded in T cells. For this reason, since birth, His Holiness’s T cells have had much less CTLA-4 than normal …’

  The cardinal held up his hand. ‘Please, you are losing me,’ he said. ‘You are forgetting I am a man of the cloth, not the lab,’ he added, smiling. Everyone in the room smiled too, and began to relax.

  Alexandra decided to step in. ‘You must forgive the zeal of the young, Eminence,’ she said, further diffusing the tension. ‘CTLA-4 is a critical brake on the immune system. It works like this: it blocks and degrades one of the key “go” signals for T cells, called CD86. We have recently done some groundbreaking work here at the Gordon involving immune diseases of childhood using avatar mice, just as we are planning to do now with His Holiness … both of my assistants have been closely involved in this research. Vimal, could you please tell His Eminence what we discovered?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Loss of CTLA-4 was the primary defect in the young patients’ avatar mice, preceding any overt dysregulations of immunity and autoimmune disease.’

  ‘If I understand you correctly, that was all about immune diseases of childhood,’ said the cardinal. ‘But this is not what we are dealing with here, right?’

  ‘Correct,’ said Alexandra. ‘We are dealing with an immune disease of adulthood.’

  ‘Then, is all this relevant?’ asked the cardinal. She noticed the tips of his fingers dancing on the armrests – the tell-tale sign he was growing impatient.

  ‘It is,’ said Alexandra, slightly raising her voice. ‘Based on our research so far, we have found evidence that in certain cases another, complementary brake on the immune system is working overtime to compensate for the broken CTLA-4 brake. We believe that these backup brakes may explain why some people with inherited LRBA deficiencies – like His Holiness – only develop autoimmunity after many years. The immune system only goes off the rails when the backup brake “wears out”.’

  ‘And you think this is what has happened to His Holiness?’ asked the cardinal, looking intently at Alexandra.

  Alexandra held his gaze and then nodded. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said quietly, ‘but a lot more work needs to be done with the avatar mice to confirm all this.’

  ‘I see. And how long would this take?’

  ‘We have started the process,’ interjected Ayah. ‘It’s quite complex. Twenty days after the oviduct transfer, a litter of newborn mice are born. These become old enough to be weaned from their mother after another twenty days. Once weaned, a tiny skin biopsy is obtained from each young mouse and tested for the desired change in its genome, corresponding to the change in the patient’s genome sequence.’

  ‘And then what happens?’ asked the cardinal.

  ‘The mice with the mutation are then bred with one another to propagate a colony of mouse avatars—’

  ‘In other words,’ the cardinal cut in, ‘these avatar mice would then have the same mutations – the same disease that is – as His Holiness?’

  ‘Correct. This not only gives us a better understanding of the disease, but it allows us to look for ways to manage it.’

  ‘About forty days from now, you say?’ said the cardinal.

  Alexandra nodded. ‘If we are lucky, and all goes well,’ she said, ‘but it could take longer.’

  The cardinal shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t believe we have that much time,’ he said, the sadness in his voice a clear reflection of his deep concern. ‘So, where to from here?’

  Alexandra turned towards the whiteboard, tossed back her red hair and wrote the words interleukin 10 (IL-10) on the board. ‘This could be the answer,’ she said, and pointed to the board.

  ‘What’s interleukin 10?’ asked the cardinal.

  ‘Ayah, could you please tell us about interleukin 10?’ said Alexandra.

  ‘And please keep it simple,’ said Jack, ‘I am a man of the pen, not the pipette,’ said Jack, trying to keep a little levity going.

  Everybody laughed.

  ‘Interleukin 10 is an independent and complementary brake on the immune system,’ began Ayah, giving Jack her best smile. ‘It is a cytokine, a small protein hormone secreted by the same regulatory T cells that make CTLA-4.’

  ‘My team here at the Gordon have shown that IL-10 also degrades the CD86 “go” signal I mentioned before,’ interjected Alexandra. ‘It does that through an independent mechanism from CTLA-4. We are therefore now dealing with two parallel brakes on the immune system: the CTLA-4 brake, and the IL-10 brake.’

 

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