Professor K- The Final Quest, page 7
part #4 of Jack Rogan Mystery Series
‘What, like in a supermarket?’ Isis said.
‘Exactly! They used the gene bits as a mechanism to recognise the invaders, and then proceeded to destroy them.’
‘Unbelievable!’ exclaimed Jack.
‘Sure is. They would attack the invaders – the lethal DNA bits – with their magic swords – a genetic sequence – which in essence would disarm or neutralise the invading DNA bits by cutting them out. Game over.’
‘Magic swords, eh?’ said Jack.
‘Something like that.’
‘And this is a game changer?’ asked Isis. ‘How?’
‘It certainly is. Okay, so bacteria have this unique and effective defence mechanism to ward off invading viruses. The real breakthrough came in 2012 when it was discovered that not only bacterial DNA can perform this clever trick, but that any piece of DNA can do it. The implications are truly stupendous.’ Alexandra looked at her watch again. ‘There is a lot more to all this as you can imagine, but—’
‘But Professor K died in 2011,’ interrupted Jack. ‘So, he wouldn’t have known about this discovery?’
‘No, but he was onto it. He was actually looking into this very possibility well before that discovery was made. He was a visionary, ahead of his time, and I would love to take his vision a step further and perhaps turn it into reality and make it his legacy.’
‘How?’ asked Isis.
‘By testing CRISPR on humans.’
‘Is that possible?’ asked Jack.
‘It’s actually surprisingly simple and inexpensive.’
‘So?’
‘It’s very controversial but medical communities around the world are looking into it, frantically. And so are big-time investors, right now. Pouring millions into CRISPR research. In fact, it’s a bit of a race ... Once this genie is out of the pipette, there’s no holding it back.’
‘So, what’s holding you back?’ asked Isis.
‘Red tape and funding; especially funding. This would have to be a privately funded project because official support isn’t forthcoming. Certainly not for a while. Lots of obstacles, mainly ethical and moral. Very frustrating, but not really surprising. We are talking about a technology with the potential to change human evolution; powerful stuff and very dangerous in the wrong hands ...’ For an instant, Alexandra looked quite dejected. ‘But that’s medical research, I’m afraid. I’m sorry; I really must go or I’ll miss my flight.’
‘What kind of funding are we talking about here?’ asked Isis casually, as they walked to the lift.
Alexandra laughed. ‘About twenty million or so would kick it off, I suppose,’ she said, ‘with no guarantee of any return. See what I mean?’
‘If you had that kind of money – personally, I mean – would you put your money into such a venture?’
‘Without hesitation,’ said Alexandra. ‘But I am a scientist, not a businesswoman.’
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil
is for good men to do nothing.”
Edmund Burke
1
St Peter’s Basilica, Rome: Easter Sunday, 2016
St Peter’s Basilica was packed with thousands of worshippers hoping to catch a glimpse of Pope Pius XIII celebrating mass. It was the highlight of the spectacular 2016 Easter celebrations, watched by millions on TV across the globe and in St Peter’s Square outside.
After the sudden death of Pope Julius three years earlier, Cardinal Brandauer – hawkish Dean of the College of Cardinals – had been the frontrunner during the long, divisive conclave that followed. However, to everyone’s surprise, Cardinal Marco Contarini, Patriarch of Venice, was elected and became Pope Pius XIII. He was known as a consummate diplomat and skilful politician who believed in a more proactive role and involvement of the Church in world affairs, especially in the bloody, devastating civil war in Syria that had raged for most of his pontificate and cast a disturbing shadow across the world.
Pope Pius had made it his mission to somehow broker peace in the troubled region, and was determined to build a “bridge” between Islam and the Catholic Church. He believed tolerance and constructive dialogue between faiths were the answer, not misguided world domination. This radical departure from traditional Church policy that believed in the separation of church and state had brought with it great controversy, many admirers, but also many enemies, especially among the cardinals – many of whom did not agree with this approach.
And they were not alone. Several world leaders, especially Russia’s President Putin, didn’t approve either and resented the pope’s meddling in global politics. The whole Muslim world viewed the pope’s peace overtures with suspicion, suspecting a modern-day crusade. However, they all knew that the pope had clout; lots of it. When he spoke, billions listened, and he was not afraid to speak his mind and remind world leaders of the devastation and misery they were causing for political gain, self-interest and naked ambition.
Flanked by two cardinals, Pope Pius walked slowly towards the high altar. The long service was almost over, and the stirring music soaring up into the gigantic dome was reaching an emotional climax. Suddenly, the pope stopped, pressed his right hand against his chest and collapsed. As the TV cameras zoomed in on the pontiff lying in front of the altar, a stunned world held its breath.
Alerted by security staff, four Swiss Guards rushed to the altar and carefully lifted the unconscious pontiff from the floor. As they carried him towards a side entrance, surrounded by cardinals who had formed a protective circle around him, a sudden hush descended on the crowded basilica like a shroud. It began near the altar at the front and quickly rippled to the back as news of what had just happened spread through the ranks of the faithful. Many fell to their knees as the pope was slowly carried past them in what looked like some macabre funeral rite. As the strange procession approached the side entrance, hundreds were on their knees praying for a much-loved pontiff, overwhelmed by what had just happened. Something that should have been an Easter celebration of life and resurrection, had turned into a tragic reminder of mortality and the frailty of life.
By the time Professor Montessori, the pope’s personal physician, arrived at his patient’s bedside, the pope had regained consciousness. Montessori quickly conferred with the ambulance team and two emergency doctors and then examined the pontiff.
Cardinal Borromeo, the new Dean of the College of Cardinals, had taken charge of the situation and took Montessori aside.
‘We have a crisis,’ he said.
‘I can see that.’
‘How is His Holiness?’
‘The illness is progressing. Just as we expected.’
‘We must try to keep this out of the public domain for as long as possible.’
‘I understand, but ...’
‘His Holiness is due to address the United Nations in New York and Congress in Washington in a few weeks. I don’t have to tell you how important that is.’
‘I’m fully aware of that.’
‘Hospital?’
‘No. I think he will recover from this episode rather quickly, for now.’
‘Will he be able to travel?’ asked the cardinal, the anxiety in his voice obvious.
‘I hope so. This disease is very unpredictable ... and we don’t know much about it.’
‘I realise that. We’ll have to make an announcement.’
Montessori nodded. He was familiar with Vatican protocol. He was also familiar with the complex politics of the place and the power play behind the scenes.
‘His Holiness fainted briefly due to exhaustion. Can we say that?’ asked the cardinal.
Montessori shrugged. ‘Like last time?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose so. But we can’t keep this under wraps for much longer. The attacks will become more frequent.’
‘We need time. Please do everything you can. You know what’s at stake here.’
‘I do.’
The pope had been ill for several months. What had begun with sudden episodes of uncontrolled bleeding, had developed into a chronic inflammation of his lungs and bowels, causing other complications and alarming weight loss. However, contrary to medical advice, the pope was determined to conceal his illness from all but his closest inner circle, and keep going. Most importantly, he refused to be hospitalised, which in effect prevented his medical team from properly investigating the disease and severely limited their treatment options. Apart from classifying it as some form of autoimmune disease, medical opinion as to cause and therefore possible treatment that may be available was divided. In short, without further extensive tests and investigation, the doctors were in the dark.
Also perplexing were the bouts of unexpected recovery. For days, even weeks, the inflammation would recede, the pope’s strength would return and he would put on a little weight. This was in part due to his steely resolve to get better and no doubt the effects of some of the powerful drugs used to keep the inflammation under control. Unfortunately, these little windows of brief recovery were only temporary and would disappear without warning, or apparent cause, and the debilitating symptoms would return with a vengeance. Often worse than before. The pope’s condition was gradually deteriorating and, shackled by his stubborn refusal to follow advice, his exasperated medical team didn’t know why.
Pope Pius looked at his friend and confidant sitting by his bedside. ‘How bad was it this time?’ he asked, speaking slowly, his voice weak.
‘Bad, Holiness,’ answered Cardinal Borromeo.
The pope managed a wry smile. ‘We’ll just have to pray a little harder, don’t you think?’
‘I doubt whether that’s possible.’
‘What did Montessori say?’
‘It will pass; this time.’
‘Good.’
Pope Pius realised that a sick pope was an ineffective pope, and any peace initiative would certainly fail if word of his illness got out. His enemies would see to that. However, he firmly believed that making peace in the Middle East was the reason he was elected pope and he was determined to make peace the legacy of his pontificate – if necessary, against all odds – and no illness, however severe, would prevent him from fulfilling his destiny. His unshakable faith, steely resolve and trust in God kept him going.
‘You know what we must do?’ asked the pope.
‘Yes, Holiness.’
‘The United Nations and Congress. Everything depends on that.’
‘I know.’
‘I must be well enough to travel and deliver my speech.’
‘You will, Holiness.’
‘This is too important to fail.’
‘The good Lord will not allow that, Holiness,’ said the cardinal.
The pope looked at him gratefully. ‘No, I don’t believe He will,’ he replied, and exhausted, closed his eyes.
Torn between logic and faith, the cardinal looked at the pontiff drifting into a restless slumber. Logic told him that urgent medical intervention was required if the pope’s condition was to be improved. On the other hand, he admired the pontiff’s faith that seemed to suggest the opposite. After a while, the cardinal’s troubled features relaxed and a smile spread across his face. Who am I to question the views of Saint Peter’s successor? I have to accept that, he thought. Relieved, he stood up, bowed and took his leave, secure in the knowledge that faith had once again carried the day.
2
Aleppo: 28 March, 8:15 am
Dr Amena Algafari looked at her watch; it was time to go and relieve her husband. She was wondering what horrors had occurred during the night, and what would be waiting for her at the operating table. Located in a dangerous, rebel-held neighbourhood in Aleppo, the field hospital was only a short walk away.
Amena reached for her handbag, adjusted her headscarf and watched her son Joram tie his shoelaces. Bringing up an eight-year-old boy in Aleppo surrounded by mayhem and bloodshed wasn’t easy. Joram would come with her to the hospital to meet his dad, who would then take him to school on his way home. It was the only way that two overworked surgeons could manage some kind of family life in a city torn apart by a savage war. ‘Ready?’ asked Amena. Joram nodded and put on his little backpack.
The Reaper, the US Air Force’s most sophisticated drone, had taken off from a base in Turkey. Armed with GBU-12 Paveway II laser-guided bombs, it was on course for Aleppo.
Operating the Reaper was complex. Pilots at the Turkish ground control station would launch and land the aircraft, but most of the flying would be directed from the Creech USAF Base in Nevada, USA, located thousands of kilometres from the combat zone. Sanitised war by remote control. Identifying the targets was also complex and often depended on intelligence obtained from agents and informants on the ground, often at very short notice and without sufficient time to verify the veracity of the information. The enemy was always on the move, and to be effective, strikes had to be swift and accurate, but war is full of uncertainty and risk.
Early that morning, information had been received that an enemy column was on the move leaving the city, and could be hit on the road. The intelligence seemed reliable. Directed from the ground, the pilot in Nevada punched in the coordinates as the Reaper approached its target.
Dr Sayid Algafari left the hospital, stepped outside into the square and, shielding his eyes from the glare with his hand, looked down the street, burnt-out car bodies and debris a stark reminder of the fighting that had erupted again the day before. It was already very hot and the ambulances still kept coming relentlessly, delivering the maimed and the dying after another deadly ambush during the night.
The fifteen-hour shift in the operating theatre had taken its toll. It had been a particularly difficult night, and several of Sayid’s patients had died on the operating table, their horrific injuries beyond hope. Sayid felt exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open. But then, something cheered him up. He could see his son running towards him.
Amena saw her husband standing next to an ambulance, and waved. Sayid embraced his son and waved back. This was how she would remember them, the image of the two people in the world she loved with every fibre of her being etched into the recesses of her mind, never to be erased. Moments later, the laser-guided bombs slammed into the hospital.
Back at the Creech Air Force Base in Nevada, the pilot was looking for confirmation. What he didn’t know at the time was that he had made one small, fatal mistake. He had misread one of the coordinates, which sent the drone slightly off target. Instead of obliterating an armed enemy convoy, it had destroyed a field hospital.
Amena opened her eyes. Darkness. She could hear muffled screams and shouting, but couldn’t move; something heavy was pressing down on her from above. Then slowly, she began to bend, first her toes, then her fingers. But she soon realised she wouldn’t be able to free herself. As an experienced surgeon, she knew the best thing to do was to lie still and hope that help was on its way.
Fine, gritty dust made breathing difficult, and the metal taste in her parched mouth told her she was bleeding, most likely internally. Drifting in and out of consciousness suspended all awareness of time, and it was only the throbbing pain in her head that prevented her from slipping into the welcome cottonwool sanctuary of unconsciousness. Amena knew that could be fatal and was desperately trying to hang on.
Then an image of her husband and her son standing in front of the hospital drifted into her mind’s eye. It only lasted for an instant and was banished by a bright orange flash and flying body parts. A silent scream rose from somewhere deep inside her and almost extinguished the fragile spark of life, becoming fainter by the second. Then, something happened. The heavy weight pressing down on her was lifted away and a shaft of blinding sunlight exploded all around her.
‘This one’s still alive,’ Amena heard a voice call out from above as eager hands began clearing away the debris covering her broken body.
3
Villa Laurentius, just outside Florence: 19 May
Lorenza da Baggio listened to the bells and was counting the hours. Time passes slowly when you are desperately trying to sleep, but can’t. Her amazing victory the day before that had made her a finalist in Top Chef Europe was keeping her awake. Watched by millions, Top Chef Europe was Europe’s most prestigious cooking competition. At twenty, Lorenza was not only the youngest competitor, but her cooking skills had stunned the judges and she had quickly become the darling of the program.
Instead of feeling elated, her unexpected victory against Kemal Bahadir from Istanbul, one of Europe’s most celebrated chefs, filled her with dread. It wasn’t winning that bothered her, but what had come later. When a smiling Bahadir embraced her after the judges had pronounced her the winner, he had whispered something in her ear she couldn’t get out of her mind. What did he mean when he said ‘you will regret this; you are not as good as you may think?’ she asked herself over and over. Perhaps I misunderstood?
Covered in sweat, Lorenza opened her eyes and stared at the open balcony door as the first light of the new day crept hesitantly across the marble floor and began to banish the darkness. Feeling better, she got up, stepped out onto the terrace on the first floor of Villa Laurentius and looked down into Florence shrouded in morning mist. The familiar sight of Santa Maria del Fiore – the Duomo, with Brunelleschi’s spectacular dome – seemed to calm her, bringing back memories of school holidays and lazy shopping afternoons with her grandmother. A smile creased the corners of her mouth as memories of her late mother flooded back with alarming clarity.
Lorenza realised that she had to prepare herself for the biggest challenge of her life: the grand finale in the evening. Now that her dream was within reach, nothing else mattered; she knew that any distraction could be disastrous. With that, she dismissed the disturbing thoughts, closed her eyes, turned her face towards the rising sun and dreamed of victory.
