Why aren’t you answering?
Maria lowered her phone, pressing it nervously between her palms as she sat at the desk in her office. For the past two hours, she had repeatedly attempted to contact her sister, without success. Each unanswered call cranked her anxiety up another notch.
She had already reached out to her liaison at DARPA and learned that there was some trouble at the archaeological site in Croatia, but the details remained sketchy. She was instructed to sit tight and to keep trying to raise Lena. In the meantime, an investigative team was en route to Georgia from D.C.—both to interview her about the details of her research and to provide her with additional information about the current status of events out there.
She glanced at her phone to check the time.
They should be arriving at any moment.
She took in a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but unable to forget Baako’s anxiety this morning. She pictured him signing repeatedly: splaying his fingers and driving his open palm across his chest over and over again.
Afraid, afraid, afraid . . .
“So am I,” she whispered to the empty room.
She pictured Lena’s face. Her sister was only minutes older than her, but Lena had always taken on more of a maternal role in their relationship, assuming the mantle of those extra minutes of maturity. It was Lena who microwaved their dinner while their mother was at work. She made sure Maria finished her schoolwork before watching television. Such responsibilities had left Lena more serious, more cautious, while Maria had always been the more carefree of the two, bolder at facing new challenges.
But I’m not feeling bold now, only worried.
After another failed attempt to reach Lena, she heard low voices on the other side of the door. A firm knock sounded. She opened the door and found Leonard Trask standing there. Behind the director of the Yerkes National Primate Research Center stood two strangers and a woman she knew well, Amy Wu. Amy worked for the National Science Foundation and was one of the project managers for the White House’s BRAIN initiative. The woman had personally helped arrange the funding for Lena and Maria’s research. In addition, the three—all the same age, all women in a male-dominated profession—had developed a friendship over the years.
Amy pushed past Trask and gave Maria a firm hug. She smelled of a soft honeysuckle perfume. Her dark hair, trimmed in a boyish cut, tickled her ear. She pulled back to stare into Maria’s eyes.
“How are you holding up?” she asked, her concern genuine.
Maria appreciated the gesture, but at the moment, she wanted news about her sister. “Have you heard anything?”
Amy glanced to the two men who accompanied her; the pair looked like bouncers at a biker bar. They wore suits, but the muscular bulk beneath their clothing was unmistakable. From their shaved heads and stiff demeanor, she guessed they were military. The shorter of the two men nodded at her, offering her a small smile that was reassuring.
Amy made introductions. “These two men are from DARPA. This is Monk Kokkalis. And his partner, Joseph Kowalski.”
“Joe,” the other man corrected as he stepped inside, having to duck his head slightly to enter. He studied the room, his face hard, his manner guarded.
Trask began to follow them inside, but Amy held up a hand and stopped him at the threshold. “I’m afraid this conversation has become a matter of national security. I’m sure you understand, Leonard.”
Amy shut the door in his face, but not before Trask cast a scathing look at Maria.
She knew she’d pay for that later, but for now, nothing else mattered but finding out about Lena. Maria didn’t have to inquire further. As soon as the door was closed, Amy spoke.
“I know you’re concerned about Lena. And we’ll be as honest and forthcoming as we can be, but many variables are up in the air. We’re still trying to discover exactly what happened up in those mountains.”
“What do you know so far?”
“Only that the site was under some form of attack and that we’ve lost communication with the French military team who were running security.”
Maria looked down at the cell still in her hand. Each word felt like a blow to the gut. She found herself dropping heavily into her office chair. “And Lena?”
“Let’s not fear the worst. Like I said, we’ve failed to make any contact. Right now there’s a fierce storm raging in those mountains, and the region has been hit by a series of small quakes. DARPA has dispatched a team to search the area, and hopefully we’ll have additional news soon. But we do have one hopeful sign.”
Amy turned to Monk Kokkalis.
He cleared his throat and explained. “As you can imagine, we’ve been continually attempting to make contact, and just a few minutes ago, while we were on our way here from the airport, we learned that our communication team was able to get a ping off Lena’s cell phone. It was weak, but detected well away from the coordinates of the dig site.”
Amy took Maria’s hand. “Which suggests your sister is on the move, possibly heading out of the mountains.”
Maria felt tears welling, both from relief and a residual measure of fear. “But you don’t know if she’s alone or not? Maybe kidnapped or injured?”
“That’s right,” Monk admitted. “But I know the man who was sent out there. He’ll find her.”
Maria heard the firm certainty in his deep voice and wanted to believe him.
He continued, “If this assault was more than just some group trying to raid the dig site, the best hope for your sister and the rest of the research team is to discover what might have motivated the attack. That’s why we’re here. To gather as much intelligence about the nature of your research as we can.”
“I’ll answer anything I can. But I don’t see how our research would motivate any attack.”
“It may not have,” Monk admitted, “but we’re trying to cover all leads.”
She swallowed hard. “What do you want to know?”
“I’ve been debriefed on the big talking points of your research.” He nodded to Amy. “But I wanted to hear from you personally, if you’ll bear with me.”
Maria nodded.
“I understand that the purpose of your research is to explore the origins of human intelligence. Could you elaborate about your methodology and the hypothesis you are pursuing?”
She sighed loudly, not knowing where to begin or even if this military guy would understand, but she straightened in her chair, wanting to cooperate. “My sister and I have been investigating a moment in mankind’s history known as the Great Leap Forward. That point in cognitive development, some fifty thousand years ago, when there was an inexplicable burst of art and innovation.”
Monk nodded. “The Big Bang of human consciousness.”
She stared harder at him, realizing maybe there was more behind that pugilist exterior. In the glint of his eyes, she read both amusement and a sharp intelligence.
Okay, then let’s step this up a notch.
“Modern man first appeared on the scene some two hundred thousand years ago,” Maria explained. “Back then, our rise from our hominin ancestors happened rapidly. According to recent research done by a trio of geneticists at the University of Chicago, this sudden appearance of Homo sapiens is attributable to the rapid mutation of only seventeen brain-building genes. A scant few, really. But from those few changes, there was a cascade effect—a snowballing, if you will—that resulted in hundreds of changes to thousands of genes in a relatively short period of time.”
Monk furrowed his brow in thought. “And this snowballing gave rise to our modern brain, what set us apart from the chimpanzees and earlier hominins?”
“And also gave us most of our uniquely human traits. Our cognition, our self-awareness, our consciousness.” She stared at the attentive faces around her, glad to keep talking, anything to distract from her fears about Lena. “Which then brings us back to the Great Leap Forward. Prior to the leap, mankind had basically stagnated for a hundred and fifty thousan
d years. Yes, we were certainly chipping away at crude stone tools, but during this time, we created no art, we didn’t adorn our bodies with jewelry, and we didn’t bury our dead with any rituals.”
“And after?” Monk asked.
“A sudden burst. We graduated from stone tools to bone, we developed new tanning techniques, we were heating pigments to create new colors, we were transporting shells to make jewelry. Suddenly we were wearing necklaces and bracelets and burying loved ones with grave goods: food, tools, and other offerings. And most dramatic of all, we began producing magnificent works of art, decorating cave walls with pigmented representations of the natural world. Here was the moment when modern man was truly born.”
A gruff voice spoke from behind the others, rising from Monk’s glum-faced companion. “What caused all of that?”
“That remains a mystery,” she answered. “It is what my sister and I are exploring. Our brains certainly didn’t change in size. We know from the fossil record that we had the same-sized brainpan both before and after this Great Leap. So with no gross anatomical explanation for this advancement, theories abound as to the exact cause of this uptick in ingenuity. Some say it might have been the introduction of a better diet, one richer in omega fatty acids, which helped us think better. Others attributed it to climate change, when environmental pressures forced us to step up our game. And another camp believes it was because early man was beginning to migrate out of Africa during that time, exposing our brains to new stimuli and requiring ingenuity to survive.”
“And your theory?” Monk asked.
She pointed to her diploma on the wall. “I’m a geneticist. If the brain didn’t grossly enlarge, then possibly the source of this change could be found at the genetic level. Remember, it was only a handful of genetic mutations that gave rise to modern man in the first place, so could something equally unique have happened fifty thousand years ago that altered our genome, something significant enough to spark this Great Leap Forward?”
“Like what?” Kowalski asked.
Monk answered, his face thoughtful, “Like the introduction of new genes, from a new species.”
She nodded. “It was around that same time that Homo sapiens encountered the Neanderthal tribes and began interbreeding. Are you familiar with the term heterosis?”
Kowalski shrugged, but Monk simply crossed his arms. She suspected he knew what she meant. In fact, he was likely several steps ahead of her but was letting her take the lead.
“Heterosis is also called hybrid vigor,” she explained. “It’s a biological phenomenon when the mating between two different species produces an offspring—or hybrid—who displays traits that are stronger than either parent alone.”
“And your hypothesis,” Monk said, “is that the interbreeding of Neanderthal and early man produced offspring who were smarter, resulting in this uptick in ingenuity.”
“It’s what Lena and I were exploring. Two to three percent of modern man’s genome is made up of Neanderthal genes—with the exception of most African populations, who never interbred with Neanderthals. Additionally, we don’t each carry the same bit of Neanderthal DNA. If you add those disparate parts together, the total contributes to about twenty percent of all our genes. Certainly enough to significantly alter the path of mankind. Geneticists have already determined that some of those stretches of Neanderthal DNA likely helped our migrating ancestors adjust to the northern climates of Europe, giving us more body hair and less pigmented skin, for example.”
“But as I understand it, there’s no indication that it enhanced intelligence in any way?” Monk asked.
“That’s correct. And my sister and I are disinclined to believe that there’s such a direct correlation.”
Monk frowned. “Why?”
“Because the African population of ancient man also participated in this Great Leap Forward, while having no Neanderthal DNA. Which raises the second mystery concerning this turning point in history. This change was not an isolated phenomenon, but one that occurred almost simultaneously throughout the scattered populations and tribes of the world. Spreading across Europe, Asia, and the African continent.”
“And how do you interpret that?”
“Our hypothesis is this Great Leap Forward was due to a mix of genetics and social engineering. We believe this global change was indeed first sparked by interbreeding, resulting in the sudden appearance of those vigorous hybrids I mentioned—unique individuals who thought and acted differently. They in turn inspired rapid social changes—in art, in rituals, in weapon design—skills that were then taught and spread globally through migration. We know from genetics that the migration patterns of early man were not one way. Not just out of Africa, but some populations—including those carrying Neanderthal genetic markers—also returned to Africa.”
“Let me see if I’m understanding this correctly,” Monk said. “Your hypothesis is that interbreeding triggered an intuitive leap forward in a scattering of unique individuals. Then their new way of thinking and knowledge were spread wide and far.”
“Exactly. And it’s not just our theory, but one we extrapolated from a paper published in 2013 by an Oxford University philosopher, Nick Bostrom. He wrote that it would take only a handful of super-enhanced individuals—those with a superior intelligence—to change the world through their creativity and discoveries, innovations that could be shared globally. He was writing about the future in that paper, but his theories are just as applicable to the past, to explain mankind’s Great Leap Forward fifty thousand years ago.”
“Super-enhanced individuals?” Monk asked. “Like your theoretical hybrids?”
“Possibly. It’s what my sister and I are exploring: what it meant to be that first generation following the union between Homo neanderthalensis and Homo sapiens. To be fifty percent Neanderthal and fifty percent modern man. The truest hybrid. We know that the number of Neanderthal genes quickly diluted out of our genome, eventually winding down to just that two or three percent, too scant to have any stimulating effect on our intellect today.” She glanced around the room. “But what if we could reverse that biological clock and re-create that true hybrid today?”
“And that’s what you and your sister were working toward?” The man sounded equal parts horrified and astounded.
“Not only working toward, we accomplished it.” Maria stood up. “Would you like to meet him?”
11:35 A.M.
You’ve got to be goddamn kidding me . . .
Kowalski stared beyond the glass into what appeared to be a preschool classroom, but one that was clearly built for a very strange student. Ropes were strung from the ceiling. A tire swing hung limply in the corner. Big plastic toy blocks were scattered everywhere.
Amidst the clutter, a small furry figure faced them, leaning on the knuckles of one arm, his flat nose sniffing at the strangers behind the glass.
“His name’s Baako,” Maria introduced.
“He’s a gorilla,” Kowalski said, unable to keep the disdain from his voice, and not really wanting to. He had had some bad experiences with apes in the past.
No wonder Painter kept this under his hat.
“He’s a western lowland gorilla,” Maria explained. “A three-year-old immature male.”
Equally dumbfounded, Monk stared into the space. “This is your hybrid?”
Amy Wu, the National Science Foundation researcher, answered. “We certainly couldn’t authorize this study using human embryos. Not without raising a firestorm of protests. While altering the DNA of humans for experimental purposes is not illegal per se, it is frowned upon. Especially in the realms of creating human hybrids.”
“Not to mention the moral and ethical implications,” Maria added. “It’s why we opted to use the gorilla as a model. The entire genome of Homo neanderthalensis was sequenced six years ago. Using that information and the latest gene-editing techniques, we were able to re-create the Neanderthal genome from scratch. We then used that engineered sample to fertilize
the ovum of a gorilla to produce a viable hybrid embryo, which we carried to term using a female gorilla as a surrogate.”
Maria must have misinterpreted the disgust on Kowalski’s face for disbelief and tried to explain how such a monster could have been created. “Scientists have been producing human-animal hybrids for years. Back in 2003, a group of Chinese scientists successfully fused human cells with rabbit eggs, producing growing embryos. The very next year, the Mayo Clinic here in the States announced they had produced pigs with human blood running through their veins. Since then, there have been mice grown with livers, even brains, that are made up of human cells, along with many similar projects involving other species: cats, sheep, cows, et cetera.”
Amy Wu supported her, motioning to the window and the furry subject of this discussion. “I suspect this fellow is only the first step toward more ambitious endeavors in the near future.”
“So for your research purposes,” Monk said, “I’m guessing you started with a gorilla because of the species’s close proximity to humans.”
“That’s right,” Amy said with a nod.
Monk stared through the window. “But why not choose a chimpanzee instead? Aren’t they supposed to be even closer to us genetically?”
“Yes and no,” Maria answered. “While chimps share more than ninety-eight percent of the same genes as us versus a gorilla’s ninety-six percent, for our study it was more about quality than quantity. When it comes to those sequences involving sensory perception, hearing, and more important, brain development, the gorilla’s genome is significantly closer to ours than that of a chimpanzee’s.”
“This also bears out from past communication studies with chimps versus gorillas,” Amy added. “Washoe and Nim are probably two of the best known sign-language-speaking chimpanzees, but their vocabulary topped off at about two hundred signs, whereas Koko the gorilla learned closer to a thousand.”
Kowalski stared down at his own hands, remembering this was why Painter had sent him. “So why’s signing so important?” he asked.
Maria gave him a small smile, which made his face heat up. She had the same bright blue eyes and the same dash of sun freckles across her cheeks as the photo he had seen earlier of her twin sister; only Maria’s white-blond hair had been cut into an asymmetrical bob, worn longer over her right ear. On that same side, a thumb-sized tattoo on her neck—of a double helix of DNA—peeked above the lab coat’s collar whenever she turned her head.