Vigor rested in his bed. He had a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He had books piled on his nightstand, crowding his goldfish bowl. He had articles printed out and stacked on the other side of the hospital bed: on angelic script, on Marco Polo, on the history of the Khmers, on the ruins of Angkor.
He was presently rereading for the fourth time the scientific report Gray had sited, an article in Science magazine from 1994, relating the study of human language to DNA code.
Fascinating…
Motion at his open door drew his attention from the paper. He spotted Gray. “Commander Pierce!” he called out.
Gray paused at the door, checked his watch, then leaned in. “Yes, Monsignor.”
Vigor was surprised at the formality. Something had set Gray on edge. He waved the man inside. “Come in for a moment.”
“I have just that…a moment.” He stepped inside. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Vigor waved away such matters. “I read this article. I didn’t realize that only three percent of our genome is active. That a full ninety-seven percent is junk and codes for nothing. Yet, when this junk is run through the cryptography program testing for language, even such random garbage also reveals a language. Amazing.” Vigor took off his glasses. “Gray, what if we could understand that language?”
Gray nodded. “Some things may be forever beyond us.”
Vigor scowled gently. “Now I certainly don’t believe that. God didn’t give us these big brains and not want us to use them. We were born to question, to search, to strive for a fuller understanding of the universe, both external and internal.”
Gray checked his watch again, subtly, a flick of his eyes down to his wrist, not wanting to appear rude.
Vigor decided to quit torturing the young man. He plainly was busy. “I’ll get to my point. Remember back in the barrel vault beneath the Bayon, I mentioned how the angelic script — the possible written form of this unknown genetic language — could be the Word of God mapping out something greater in us, maybe something buried in that ninety-seven percent of our genetic code that is considered junk. What if it’s not junk? Maybe we even caught a glimpse of that greater part of us.”
“How do you mean?”
“The woman Susan. Maybe her transformation was a peek into the true translation of the angelic script?”
Vigor read the disbelief in the commander’s face and held up a hand. “I talked to Lisa earlier this morning. She mentioned how she believed Susan’s brain was fully excited by the energies of the bacteria when exposed to sunlight, awakening those parts of the human brain that are otherwise dormant. I find it interesting that only a tiny fraction of our genetic code is active, and at the same time, we only utilize a small portion of our brain. Don’t you find that odd?”
Gray shrugged, noncommittal. “I suppose.”
Vigor continued. “What if all that angelic script maps out our full potential, that which still remains hidden in all of us, waiting to be awakened? According to the book of Genesis, God made us in his image. What if that image is yet to be fully realized, buried in dormant sections of our brain, hidden within the angelic language of our junk DNA? Maybe all that script written on the walls under the Bayon, glowing in the dark, maybe the ancient writer was attempting to understand that potential, too. You mentioned yourself how it was incomplete, sections missing.”
“That’s true,” Gray conceded. “And you raise some interesting conjectures worth exploring, but I don’t know if we’ll ever know the truth. Susan is back to normal, and I heard from Painter that an excavation team was able to breach the foundation vault beneath the Bayon. Some of the walls were found intact, but Nasser’s acid bomb had stripped the surfaces clean. Nothing remains of the script.”
Vigor felt his heart sink. “A shame. Still, I wonder about something that we never found down in the cavern.”
“What’s that?”
“Your turtle,” Vigor said. “You thought that the vault might contain a deeper mystery, something that represents the incarnation of Vishnu.”
“Maybe it was just the Judas Strain. The glowing pool. Even you mentioned how the ancient Khmer probably stumbled upon the glowing cavern and attributed it to some god’s home. Maybe Vishnu’s.”
Vigor stared at the commander. “Or maybe Susan was a glimpse of that greater mystery, a peek at the godlike or angelic potential hidden inside all of us.”
Gray finally shrugged, plainly ready to dismiss it. But as Vigor had hoped, he noted a slight pinch to the man’s brows. Curiosity. He wanted Gray to keep his mind open.
Still, Vigor also saw that something more urgently pressed upon the man’s mind and attention. He waved Gray out.
Vigor called to him as he stepped out the door. “Give my best to Seichan.”
Gray stumbled a step, frowned a bit, and headed away.
Vigor replaced his reading glasses.
Ah, sweet youth…
Gray handed the cup of coffee to the guard outside Seichan’s door. “Is she awake?”
He shrugged, a young sandy-haired ensign from Peoria. “Don’t know.”
Gray pushed through the door. It was a dull assignment for the ensign. The patient was almost continuously sedated after going through a second operation for her gunshot wound. Seichan had retorn her injury and had been bleeding internally.
All because she had saved Gray’s life.
He remembered Seichan’s arms carrying him, the pain in her blistered face, her swollen eye. But he hadn’t known that by coming back for him she had almost died.
Gray entered her room.
She lay handcuffed to her bed, arms spread to either side.
She wore a hospital gown and was covered with a clean sheet.
The room, built for mental patients, was sterile and cold. The only furniture was the bed and a rolling stand shoved against the wall. A high, narrow window had steel shutters over it.
Seichan stirred as he entered. She turned her head. Her face hardened with a slight downcast to her eyes, ashamed at her immobilization. Then anger flared up and burned all else away. She tugged at one of her handcuffed wrists.
Gray came and sat on the bed.
“Even though my parents are alive,” he started right in, “that doesn’t mean I forgive you. That I’ll ever forgive you. But I do owe you. I won’t let you die. Not this way.”
Gray pulled the handcuff keys from his pocket. He reached out and lifted her wrist. He felt her pulse quicken under his fingertips.
“They’re sending you to Guantánamo Bay in the morning,” he said.
“I know.”
And like Gray, she also knew it was a death sentence. If she wasn’t immediately executed, the Guild would assassinate her to silence her, or one of the other intelligence agencies would. The Israeli Mossad still had an open kill order on her.
He slipped in the key and turned the lock. Her cuff snapped open.
Seichan sat up, still wearing a glint of suspicion.
She held out her palm for the key, testing him.
He gave it to her. As she undid her second cuff, Gray placed the package Kowalski had obtained on the bed.
“I have three sets of clothes: a nurse’s uniform, local attire, and something in camouflage. There’s also local currency. I couldn’t do anything about ID, not on this short notice.”
Seichan’s other handcuff snapped free. Turning, she rubbed her wrists.
The soft sound of a body hitting the floor sounded past the door.
“Oh, and I drugged the guard.”
She glanced to the door, then back to him. Her eyes sparked. Before he could move, she lunged, grabbed his collar, and pulled him to her. She kissed him hard, her mouth parting, tasting sweetly medicinal.