“I follow you so far.”
“Project Flower was an attempt to speed that process up. A successful attempt, I might add.”
Cruickshank tore his eyes away from Cowper and listened to Monk with growing astonishment.
“All animals harbour what’s called ‘Junk’ DNA◦– that’s genetic material that has been switched off during the evolutionary process and now doesn’t seem to actually do anything. Let me put it in context◦– the function of 97% of human DNA is largely unknown.”
Monk looked down at himself as if annoyed to be part of such a mystery.
“We’ve been playing around with the idea that junk DNA could provide a reservoir from which advantageous new genes could be built.” He cast a glance over the table. “Still with me?”
Dunwoody and Cowper nodded. Monk turned to Cruickshank. “What about you?”
“There are also theories that junk DNA might act as a buffer against harmful mutations,” the boy said. “They obviously have some importance, because animals as diverse as mice and humans have identical strings of the stuff.”
“He’s not stupid, is he?” Monk looked approvingly at the Commander. Cowper gave a heartfelt sigh but said nothing.
“As a matter of fact, we’ve been experimenting on the junk DNA in mice,” Monk continued. “We were interested in taking it apart and putting it together to see if we could improve the creatures. And… eh…we’re fairly sure it worked.”
“In what way?” Lieutenant Dunwoody was keen to get past the science lesson and on to the reason he was here.
“One of the mice seems smarter than normal.”
“You mean it can go through a maze faster than others, that kind of thing?”
“I mean it escaped.”
Lieutenant Dunwoody narrowed his eyes. “You better not be telling me I’ve been brought here to catch a damned mouse.”
“The mouse isn’t the problem,” Major Cowper said coldly. “And you’ll do whatever…”
“It bit someone.” Monk interrupted “A girl called May Rose.”
“May Rose?…” Cruickshank started, but a look from Major Cowper silenced him.
“With all due respect sir,” Dunwoody looked round at the Commander. “I've been bitten by lots of things, including my ex-wife. What exactly is the problem?”
“As the boy pointed out, humans and mice share identical strings of junk DNA. The bite seems to have infected her on a genetic level.”
“Where is she now?” Dunwoody said, still anxious to get at the facts he thought important.
“Under observation in level six. The staff refer to the area as Bunker 10, though I’ve no idea why.”
The Commander opened the door and Cruickshank could see the backs of two armed guards in the corridor. “I’m taking you down there after the briefing so you can see for yourself.”
“Excuse me.” The boy raised his hand tentatively. “Sorry, but you can’t transfer genetic material through a bite. You just can’t.”
“I know,” Monk scowled. “At least, it shouldn’t be possible.”
Cruickshank hesitated, afraid to push it. But why did they ask him here if they didn’t want his input?
“What exactly did you do to this mouse?” he said.
Monk looked at the Commander, his jaw knotting and unknotting. Saunders nodded.
“We don’t know,” the doctor said miserably.
16.40
Sherman studied his team through a two way mirror. There were three of them, sitting at the table in the Colonel’s office. Sherman hadn’t known the mirror was a spying device. He wondered how many times he’d been observed in there.
There were two men and a woman in the room. The Colonel pointed to the female first.
“That’s Madrid”
“Colourful name.”
“It’s probably an alias,” the Colonel said. “She’s been sent to assist us by High Command and arrived this morning.” The Colonel’s sarcastic tone made it clear that he was far from happy with this ‘assistance’. “Not my decision, but there’s nothing I can do.”
Madrid was tall, probably taller than Sherman, with a wiry, athletic body. Her face was tanned and pretty in a healthy farm-girl way and she had shoulder length, honey blonde curls. Sherman nodded appreciatively.
“Don’t let the innocent face fool you,” the Colonel said. “She’s trained in counter intelligence◦– could probably take you apart with her bare hands.”
“What a way to die.”
The Colonel grunted.
“The other two are from my personal team. Used them before to good effect.”
“In virtual games or real life?”
“Both. Tall, thin guy is Darren. Like you he’s not a soldier. He’s a whiz kid with computers and electronics. A gamer. The other guy, the pretty one, is Nulce.”
Sherman studied the youngest team member. Nulce had a baby face and mannerisms to match. He was fidgeting in his seat, seemingly bored, his eyes flitting from Madrid to Darren.
“Nulce. That a code name too?”
“No it’s just a stupid name.”
“What does he do?”
The Colonel raised a greying eyebrow.
“He kills people.”
16.58
Cruickshank was disappointed.
Bunker 10 had more exotic equipment than the higher levels and there was an air of mystery to it, especially the sets of sealed Biohazard rooms, each one covered in warning symbols. But, all in all, the deepest lab wasn’t much different from the workplaces he had been using before.
Six white coated technicians inhabited this particular area. All of them looked exhausted, bent over computers and typing furiously. In the centre of the room were a set of glass containers filled with coloured liquid◦– each with wires leading to a particular terminal. One container was bubbling. Dunwoody was in the corner with Major Cowper talking in low tones. Cruickshank yawned.
A fat technician, his beard dotted with crumbs, looked up from a console,
“Hey kid. How about making us some tea?”
Cruickshank’s eyes widened.
“What’s 1267 times 3657?” he asked.
“Eh?” The technician raised his hands in bewilderment. “I don’t know.”
“Four million, six hundred and thirty three thousand, four hundred and nineteen.” Cruickshank folded his arms. “Why don’t you make the tea and let me sit there? By the time you come back I’ll have solved whatever problem seems to be causing you so much trouble.”
The technician stared at him for a long time, stroking his beard. He glanced across at Monk.
“Kid’s got clearance.” Doctor Monk said neutrally. Cowper tutted again.
“Name’s Olly.” The fat man beckoned the boy over. “See this structure on the screen?”
Cruickshank sat next to him. On the computer console was an intricate spiralling structure labelled MR12.
“Looks like a DNA string. But I’ve never seen one like it before.”
Olly seemed impressed.
“It doesn’t occur naturally. We been mixing up the junk DNA in lab mice.”
“And you’re not sure what it does?”
“It’s made one mouse smarter. But we don’t know how or why.” The bearded technician gave a wry cough and lowered his voice. “We’re not even sure how we did it. We’ve tried repeating the experiment but we never get the same result.”
Cruickshank looked across to where Dunwoody and Cowper were now in a heated whispered discussion. The woman at the next console was staring at her screen as if the answer to life might suddenly appear there. The rest of the assistants were just as intense.