Darwin's Cipher Read online

  Darwin’s Cipher

  M.A. Rothman

  Copyright © 2019 Michael A. Rothman

  Cover Art by M.S. Corley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Author’s Note

  Addendum

  CENTERS FOR DISEASE CONTROL AND PREVENTION

  CDC 24/7: Saving Lives, Protecting People™

  Expected New Cancer Cases and Deaths in 2030

  Report #A15928

  CONFIDENTIAL FINDINGS

  NOT FOR PUBLIC RELEASE

  Between 2018 and 2030, we expect the number of new cancer cases in the United States to go up about 24% in men, more than 1,000,000 cases per year, and by about 21% in women, to more than 900,000 cases per year.

  The kinds of cancer we expect to increase the most are:

  - melanoma (predominantly in white men and women)

  - prostate, kidney, liver and bladder cancers in men.

  - lung, breast, uterine and thyroid cancers in women.

  Despite the reduction in rates of cigarette-linked cancers, such as lung cancer, we have seen steady increases in other cancer rates due to an aging population, a worsening obesity issue, and other as-of-yet-undetermined factors.

  About two thirds of adults and one third of children are now categorized as either overweight or obese. These weight-related conditions increase risks of female breast, colorectal, esophageal, uterine, pancreas, and kidney cancers. We expect rates of these weight-related cancers (with the exception of breast and colorectal cancers) to increase another 30% to 40% by 2030.

  New cases of liver cancer are expected to increase by more than 50%, as a result of an increase in hepatitis infections. Oral cancers in white men are expected to increase by about 30%, due to a higher incidence of human papillomavirus (HPV) infections.

  Other potential factors for increased cancer rates include shifting racial demographics and other environmental considerations.

  RECOMMENDATION

  It is fair to say that we are on the cusp of a cancer epidemic in our nation. More research funding is needed to focus on treatment and prevention, otherwise the cost of medical care for cancer patients may eventually exceed all other medical expenses combined.

  Paula E. Gruyerre, M.D.

  Director of CDC

  U.S. Department of Health & Human Services

  Chapter One

  Jon LaForce scrambled down the steep path leading into Tikaboo Valley and took a swig from the cheap red wine he’d bought from a nearby gas station. Almost immediately a flush crept up his neck and warmed his cheeks.

  He’d just been fired for the second time this month.

  He wasn’t sure what had brought him out into the middle of nowhere in southeastern Nevada. When he was a kid, his friends used to talk about coming out here to spy on the military planes as they took off and landed. They used to whisper about secret experiments, mysterious clouds in the sky, and of course, UFOs. After all, this was supposed to be where they kept those aliens. Area 51.

  Jon didn’t believe any of that crap, and he doubted any of his friends had ever had the guts to actually sneak onto the grounds or even come out this way. And as he looked around, he had to admit they weren’t missing much. Just acres of thick desert sagebrush.

  Taking another swig from his bottle, Jon felt the buzz from the alcohol as he scrambled down the slope. Suddenly, something broke through the thick sagebrush at the bottom of the hill. Jon drew his Glock from its holster and took a shooter’s stance. Bobcats sometimes prowled this area.

  But it was just a stray dog. Dark brown coat, long tail, floppy ears—might be a chocolate lab.

  Jon holstered his gun and whistled. “Hey, boy, what are you doing out here?”

  The dog wagged its tail furiously and bounded toward him.

  He screwed the top back on the wine bottle and held his hand out for the dog to sniff. As the animal huffed at his hand and ran its nose up and down the legs of his trousers, Jon noticed a bloody wound on its front right leg.

  “Did something take a bite out of you, old boy?”

  The dog whined and glanced back toward the scrub.

  Jon scratched the dog’s head. “Your coat’s nice and shiny, and you look well fed.” He shook his head and patted the dog on its back. “What are you doing out here? Someone’s probably looking for you. Maybe I should get you to a shelter and see if they can find your owner. I sure as hell can’t take care of you. I can barely take care of myself nowadays.”

  A rustle of movement sounded in the sagebrush about fifty yards away. The dog whined, took a few steps up the slope, and turned to Jon as if to say, “Are you coming?”

  Jon drew the Glock once more and took a step toward the sound.

  The lab darted in front of him and gave a low growl.

  “Shh…” Jon stepped around the dog.

  The dog whined, nipped at his pant leg and pulled hard on his jeans, trying to drag him up the slope, away from the sound.

  “What the hell are you doing, mutt?” Jon yanked his leg away and gave the dog a sideways kick, which it easily dodged.

  The dog backed away, whining, then yipped once and raced up the hill.

  At the base of the slope, two dark animals burst through the sagebrush. Two more dogs, both nearly identical in appearance to the chocolate lab.

  But very different in demeanor.

  These dogs had neither wagging tails nor lolling tongues. They eyed Jon menacingly, lowered their heads, and stalked closer.

  Jon aimed his gun and called out in a friendly tone, “Hey, boys, are you missing a friend of yours?”

  As soon as he trained the Glock on the animals, they split, one going to his left, the other to his right.

  His heart thudding, Jon aimed at the dog on his right. The animal immediately darted behind a boulder.

  It was almost as if the animal knew the gun was dangerous.

  Hearing the other dog’s nails scraping on the gravel, Jon wheeled around and fired a warning shot.

  The animal continued to advance, but it used a jerky zigzag pattern, making it difficult to aim.

  A chill raced up Jon’s spine.

  His gun arm shaking, Jon focused on the approaching dog. For a split second his mind flashed back to his time as an artilleryman in Afghanistan. Back then, he’d shot at enemies he could barely see. Now, for the first time in his life, he was within spitting distance of his target as he squeezed the trigger.

  The animal had just begun to leap when the bullet slammed into its shoulder. It fell to the ground with a whimper.

  At almost the same moment, Jon felt over
one hundred pounds of canine smash against his back. The second dog knocked him off his feet and clamped its vise-like jaws on the wrist of his shooting hand.

  Jon struggled with the growling animal. He started to yell when his voice was suddenly trapped in his throat. The dog he’d shot had clamped down tightly on his throat.

  He fell back onto the dirt, his windpipe closing under the crushing force of the animal’s impossibly strong jaws. His vision wavered as he strained for breath.

  His heart pounding with terror, he prayed. My God, there’s so much I could have…

  The world faded to black.

  ###

  Hans Reinhardt stood at the top of the rocky slope and breathed in the acrid smoke of burning sagebrush. A half dozen men in fatigues spewed hellfire from their flamethrowers, and all across the burning landscape, stones cracked in the fierce heat.

  The operation had been going well—until now. Now everything had turned to shit. A complete disaster. Despite the assurances from his bosses in the German Federal Intelligence Service, not to mention the US handlers in Langley, Hans knew it was time to reset. He needed to move the operation to a more remote location. One with less chance of… “incidents.”

  The base commander, an Air Force colonel, walked up and stood beside him. “His name was Jonathan LaForce, Marine artilleryman, ten years out of Afghanistan with an honorable discharge.”

  “What the hell was he doing here? I thought this base was secure.”

  The base commander shifted his weight nervously. “The base is secure. However, we’d underestimated the containment measures needed in the kennel. I reviewed the security tape myself, it seems one of the experiments figured out how to open the latch to its stall. Once it escaped, the others managed to copy its actions. And before anyone could stop them, the animals had dug a hole under the perimeter fence.”

  Hans kicked a stone off the rocky escarpment and ground his teeth with frustration. “A dead Marine is the last thing we need. How big of a problem is this going to be?”

  The colonel’s discomfort increased. “The good news is, he was one of those disaffected types. No family, and it looks like he was out of a job. A wanderer who probably won’t have anyone searching for him, at least not for a while. We’ll deal with his remains.”

  “And the experiments? Have they all been tracked down and decommissioned?”

  “We tracked five of the animals through the signal coming off their PIT tags. We captured and disposed of them.” The colonel blew out a deep breath. “Unfortunately, we have not yet been able to locate the sixth. I’ve sent out the drones. They’re programmed to run grids across the terrain, looking for the animal’s signal. We’ll find it.”

  Hans silently wondered how such an incompetent ass had come to be the base commander at a supposedly high-security location. “We don’t have time for a lengthy search, Colonel. We cannot have one of our experiments encountering civilians.”

  “We’ll track the dog down—”

  “That’s not a fucking dog, you moron!” Hans snapped. “It’s a specially bred nightmare with enough strength and intelligence to escape your so-called ‘secure’ kennel and take out an armed ex-Marine who got in its way.”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened.

  “Listen to me,” Hans continued. “Both my neck and yours are on the line if any of this gets out. We can’t risk our arrangement being exposed. And let’s face it, your government has already proven itself incapable of keeping things out of Wikileaks.”

  “Mr. Reinhardt,” said the colonel, “believe me, I know exactly what’s at stake. You do not need to remind me. This is a black operation, and it’s staying that way. I’m overseeing the cleanup personally.” The colonel pointed toward the nearby slope. “We found some blood that we believe is from the missing animal. It’s wounded, which will limit its ability to elude us. Between the contractors on foot and the drones in the air, we’ll find it.”

  Hans glared. “You damn well better.”

  ###

  Frank O’Reilly poured a few inches of pea gravel into the fence-post hole he’d just dug. He glanced over his shoulder at Johnny, one of the ranch hands he’d recently hired.

  “Make sure you get at least three inches of these rocks into the hole and tamp it down good, like this.” he said, tamping the rocks down with a large wooden pole. “We need a solid footing for the fence posts. Them cattle will rub up against just about anything, so these here posts need to be sturdy, you understand?”

  “Yessir, Mr. O’Reilly. And you need them posts eight feet apart so them sixteen-foot planks can span two openings, right?”

  “That’s right. Make sure them posts are square with the ground and space them evenly.”

  Frank handed Johnny the post-hole digger and smiled. The ranch hand had just turned eighteen, and Frank couldn’t help but remember when his Kathy was that age. Johnny had that same lively spirit and energy that reminded him of Frank’s baby girl when she graduated high school and took off for the world.

  He patted Johnny on the shoulder. “You got this?”

  “Yessir, but if’n you don’t mind my asking, why all of a sudden you taking on help? You fixing to retire?”

  Frank laughed and shook his head. “Johnny, I might be fifty-three, but I’ve still got quite a bit of life left in me. Just get the job done, and you best be minding what I said about doing a quality job. I’m going to check all your work, so don’t take no shortcuts, you hear?”

  “Yessir. Don’t have to worry about that.” Johnny hefted the post-hole digger and walked to the next flagged spot.

  As Frank turned away, he nearly tripped on a dog that was sitting on its haunches right behind him.

  “Damn it, where the heck did you come from?”

  The chocolate lab just sat there with its tongue lolling. A beautiful animal. Shiny coat, heavily muscled body, and obviously well-fed. Not a stray.

  Frank held out his hand. “Are you friendly?”

  The dog stood, and its tail became a blur. It sniffed at Frank’s hand, then lowered its nose and sniffed at his boot and up along his jeans. Finally, it sat back on his haunches, licked its lips, and whined. Its bright brown eyes stared up at him, glanced at his trousers, and then back up at his face. It whined again.

  Frank tilted his head, unsure what the dog was trying to say. Then it hit him, and he laughed. “Ah! I know why you’re so interested in me.” He pulled a folded-up piece of homemade beef jerky from his pocket and tossed it gently to the dog.

  The animal snatched it in midair and chewed contentedly.

  “Well, I best be off, pup. I’ll get a tongue-lashing if I’m not home in time for supper.”

  Frank walked the roughly half a mile to the modest white ranch-style home he’d built almost thirty years ago. As he drew near, he heard paws padding along behind him. Figures. I know better than to feed a strange dog. He purposefully ignored the animal and started up the steps to the front porch.

  The aroma of roasting beef was in the air.

  Megan stepped out onto the porch. “Oh good, you’re back. Dinner is almost ready. Go get washed up.”

  He gave her a peck on the lips. “Smells good.”

  She looked past him with a puzzled expression. “You made a friend?”

  The lab now sat at the bottom of the porch steps, looking hopeful.

  Frank shook his head. “I made the mistake of giving him some of the beef jerky.”

  Megan pushed her shoulder-length auburn hair behind her ears, knelt, and patted the wooden deck of the porch. “Here, boy, did you like the jerky?”

  The dog bounded up the stairs and lay down in front of her, its belly up and its long tail sweeping back and forth over the wooden planks.

  Megan giggled as she rubbed the dog’s belly. “You’re such a good boy.” She looked up at Frank with that sheepish smile he knew so well. “Do you think anyone owns him?”

  “No ide
a. He just wandered up. He’s obviously been cared for, but he’s not wearing a collar or anything.” He hesitated. “I thought after Daisy died, you swore—”

  “Oh, you poor thing!” Megan exclaimed. She was examining the dog’s front right leg. “It looks like he got into a fight or something.”

  The dog whimpered as she fussed over his injury.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Frank said.

  “No.” Megan stood and wiped her hands on her apron. “We’re going to take him to the vet and get him looked at.”

  Frank wondered how much the vet would try to gouge him for. “He’s not even our dog.”

  Megan turned and gave him that look that said her mind was set. “Then we can have the vet check him for one of them chips they put in dogs nowadays.”

  Megan was five feet tall and built like a pixie, but once she set her mind to something, she was immovable. If thirty years of marriage had taught Frank anything, it was that.

  He raised his hands in defeat. “What about dinner?”

  “Dinner will keep.” Megan walked into the house and motioned for the dog to follow, which it did. “I think we still have Daisy’s old bowls. I’ll see if this boy is thirsty while you go call the vet and tell him we’re on our way.”

  ###

  The examination room doors opened and a blue-smocked veterinary assistant with a long black ponytail stepped out. “O’Reilly?” she called.

  Frank waved. “Right here.”

  Her gaze shifted to the chocolate lab lying between Frank’s and Megan’s feet. “And what’s your name, gorgeous?”

  “He doesn’t—”

  “Jasper,” Megan announced, as if that had always been his name.

  Frank groaned inwardly. He hoped she wasn’t getting attached. This animal belonged to someone. No way would a stray look as healthy as he did.

  “Well, let’s get Jasper weighed and see how he’s doing.”

  “Jasper” stood the moment Megan did, and he obediently trotted after her into the examination room. Frank, shaking his head, followed.