Робин Кук - Intervention

“Because mitochondrial DNA is passed on from generation to generation matrilineally. Males are genetic dead ends, mitochondrially speaking. Sperm don’t have much mitochondria, and what they do have dies off after conception, whereas ova are loaded with them. If Mary had a daughter who had a daughter, et cetera, until current day, there might be someone alive today with the same mitochondrial sequence. By coincidence, the mitochondrial DNA has a two-thousand-year mutational half-life, meaning that after two thousand years, statistically speaking, there’d be a fifty percent chance the DNA sequence would be unchanged.”

“Actually, there’s a very good chance Mary had a daughter — in fact, not one but three of them.”

“Truly?” Sana questioned. “I recall she had only one child, Jesus. That’s what I learned in Sunday school.”

“One son is Catholic dogma, Eastern Orthodox creed, and even the belief of some Protestant denominations, but there are many people who think otherwise. Even the New Testament in the Bible suggests she at least had other sons, although some people think the term ‘brother of Jesus’ means another close relative, like a cousin, a debate that arose during translation from Aramaic and Hebrew to Greek and Latin. But I, for one, think a brother is a brother. Besides, it makes sense to me that she had more children. She was a married woman, and having a bunch of kids the normal way certainly wouldn’t have taken away from having the first one mystically, if that’s what happened. And I’m not making this up. There’s an awful lot of early Christian apocrypha, which didn’t get chosen to be canonical by being included in the New Testament but which state she had up to eleven children, including Jesus, three of whom were daughters. So there might be someone out there with the same DNA.”

“Now, that would put my field of mitochondrial DNA on the map,” Sana said, while imagining writing the paper for Nature or Science with such a suggestion. In the next instant, she was mocking herself. She was getting as bad as Shawn by jumping the gun and entertaining far-fetched delusions of grandeur. Maybe she was even worse, since Shawn was already much more famous in his field than she was in hers.

“Getting back to reality,” Shawn said, “our Egyptair flight leaves Cairo at ten a.m. tomorrow and arrives in Rome at half past twelve. We’re staying at the Hassler. Why not celebrate this coup in style. So, what do you think? Are you coming with me? If all goes well, it’s just an extra day, and the payoff will be immense. I’m truly excited about it. As my last hurrah at fieldwork it will seriously aid my fund-raising.”

“Do you really need me or am I window dressing to prop you up and keep you company?” Sana asked for reassurance but then inwardly winced the moment the unguarded words spilled from her mouth. It was the first time she’d actually voiced the idea, which she had lately been questioning due to his general behavior plus his lagging interest in intimacy, that Shawn had married her more as a young trophy wife than a true partner. It was an issue that had been progressively bothering her over the previous year and which seemed to be worsening with her own modest professional successes. Although she was planning on bringing the subject up at some point, the last thing she wanted to do was get into a serious row there in Egypt.

“I need you!” Shawn said definitively. If he’d actually heard what she had said, he didn’t let on. “I won’t be able to do this myself. I imagine the ossuary will weigh ten to fifteen kilograms, depending on its size and thickness, and I’m not going to want it to literally drop out of the ceiling. I suppose I could hire someone, but I’d much prefer not to. I don’t want to be beholden to someone for their silence until I publish.”

Relieved that her verbal slip had gone over his head, Sana fired off another question: “What are the chances that we could get into serious trouble by sneaking into the crypt under Saint Peter’s?”

“We won’t be sneaking in! We’ll have to get past the Swiss Guards before we even get into the Vatican, and I’ll need to show my all-hours-access permit from the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology. So we’ll be perfectly legal.”

“So, you can look me in the eye and promise me we’re not going to be forced to spend the night in an Italian jail?”

Shawn made a point of leaning over and with his cerulean eyes stared unblinkingly into the depths of Sana’s brown ones. “You will not have to spend an evening in an Italian jail, guaranteed! In fact, when we’re done, we’ll have a late supper with a bottle of the best Prosecco the Hassler can produce.”

“All right, I’ll come!” Sana said with resolve. She was suddenly enamored with the idea that they were embarking on an adventurous quest together. Maybe it would have a positive effect on their relationship. “But now I want to go down to the pool and get the last bit of sun before we head back to winter.”

“I’m with you,” Shawn said eagerly. He was pleased. He’d worried she’d turn him down. Although he’d suggested he could hire someone to help get the ossuary from beneath Saint Peter’s, he knew he couldn’t. The risk of the news getting out would be too great. After all, what he was planning to do was, despite what he’d just said to Sana, totally illegal. At the same time he was convinced it was to be his most brilliant coup.

11:23 A.M., MONDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2008

NEW YORK CITY

(6:23 P.M., CAIRO, EGYPT)

Make sure you disinfect the outside of all the culture tubes and the histology specimen bottles,” Jack said to Vinnie at the conclusion of the meningitis case. “I’m serious. I don’t want to find out later that it didn’t happen and you saying you forgot, understand?”

“I got it,” Vinnie complained. “You already told me the same thing two minutes ago. What do you think I am, stupid?”

Vinnie caught Jack’s expression through the plastic face mask of his hood and quickly added: “Don’t answer that.”

Jack hadn’t planned on using a hood with a HEPA filter, but he could tell that Vinnie was uncomfortable without one, and his pride wouldn’t let him use one unless Jack did. So at the last minute Jack relented for Vinnie’s sake. As a rule, Jack didn’t like using a hood and the moon suit because they were cumbersome and hard to work in. But as the case proceeded, he was glad he’d changed his mind. The virulence of this particular strain of menin gococcus was impressive by dint of the damage it had done to the meninges and the brain itself.

Since they’d done the case in the decomposed room and there were no other mortuary techs around, Jack helped Vinnie get the body into a body bag and onto a gurney. After reminding Vinnie to inform the receiving funeral home that it was an infectious case, Jack removed the moon suit and hood, stripped off and disposed of the Tyvek coverall, and headed up to his office.

His first call was to the deceased teen’s private school. Although it was an OCME rule that the public relations office handled all official communication, Jack often took it upon himself to buck protocol. He wanted to be absolutely sure certain things got done, and alerting the school in this instance was one of them. With the evidence of the bacteria’s destructive power fresh in his mind, Jack spoke frankly to the headmaster, who assured him that the institution was taking the tragedy to heart. The city epidemiologist had already been there, and extensive decontamination and quarantine had begun. He was appreciative of Jack’s concern and effort, and said as much.

Jack’s next call was to Robert Farrell, one of Keara’s friends. After more than half a dozen rings, the man finally answered, apologizing for the delay. But his tone changed when Jack identified himself as a medical examiner.