Chapter 13
"What?!"
"My grandfather, Sydney's great grandfather."
Jack rocked back on his heels, trying to understand what she had just told him. "But he lived 600 years ago. How could he be your grandfather?"
"He died 40 years ago. When I was 7. He might have lived for almost 600 years, but he was only married for the last 45 of them."
"You and Sydney...are descendants of Rambaldi? Are there others?"
"Yes we are, and yes there are, but to my knowledge, no others with...his unique genetic makeup."
"So it was your DNA that you put into the genetic database."
"Yes."
Pause. "That has a genetic match to the flower?"
"Yes." Irina had decided to let him work through this at his own pace.
Jack swallowed. "How old are you, really?"
"Forgot my birthday already, Jack?" Irina teased.
"Irina!"
"51." Jack relaxed, then realized there was another question to be asked.
"And...your life expectancy?" asked Jack haltingly.
"That, my dear, is the $64,000 question."
"I think," said Jack running his hand through his hair, "that it would be better if you told me the whole story, rather than my trying to guess it."
Irina nodded, looking out over the water, trying to decide where to start. "Jack, how much do you understand about genetics?"
"I assume this is not a birds and the bees conversation?"
Irina smiled, despite herself. "No, Jack, last time I checked your were working on your doctorate in that. I meant real genetics."
Jack shook his head. "Not much," he admitted.
"Human traits are determined by a set of 23 pairs of chromosomes. Each child receives 23 from one parent, 23 from the other. The 46 combined contain the genetic makeup for each individual."
"And?"
"Rambaldi found a way to add a 47th, linked to the "X" chromosome. The chromosome lies dormant, unless triggered. When activated, the chromosome modifies the body's cell regeneration properties, drastically accelerating the rate of cell growth, preventing deterioration of the body's components. Creating the ability to be - immortal. Although, of course, not immortal. You can still die from severe trauma, but the ability to recover is enhanced."
"Rambaldi experimented on himself," guessed Jack.
"Yes. Obviously, the only way to determine whether it would be successful would be - well to actually live it. And Rambaldi couldn't afford to experiment on someone else and have them outlive him before he could document his findings. Once he had stopped aging, of course, he had a different set of problems to worry about."
"Such as?"
"For starters, he had to move every 5-10 years and assume a new identity. He knew that if he failed to age, that awkward questions would start being asked. His friendships were transitory; he had no family. He led a monastic existence, dedicated to science, supported by a few followers. Eventually he became troubled by the implications of what he had done, and paranoid about his work falling into the wrong hands."
"Be careful what you wish for," murmured Jack.
"Exactly. There's a lot more that I won't bore you with. Suffice it to say that, about 40 years ago, lonely and discouraged, he met my grandmother. I'm supposed to be very much like her."
Unable to pass that by, Jack interjected, "Headstrong and too smart for her own good?"
Irina smiled but continued, "He fell in love, despite himself. He knew that there would be problems, but thought he could work them out. He was, of course, a genius, and this was small potatoes compared to solving the problems of the universe. They married and had children - 4 boys, 2 girls. He was happy - the first time he had been truly happy in his life. My grandmother aged, he didn't. He confessed everything to her, begging her to let him modify her genes so they could live together forever."
"And?"
"She refused. She reportedly sat down at her kitchen table, surrounded by all her children, and said, 'Milo, this is my immortality. This is all I need.' Thereby confounding the greatest thinker of all time."
Jack snorted. Perhaps Irina and her grandmother did have a lot in common.
"They argued, but she was adamant. Seeing an unending future without her, immortality suddenly didn't seem like such a great bargain. In despair, he reversed the gene modification so that they could grow old together. When I was 7, he died peacefully with my grandmother by his side."
"How did you learn all this?"
"Besides my grandmother, Rambaldi had told no one. Remember, he was paranoid. But he recognized that one of his children - my mother - had inherited the same gene, and that she had subsequently passed it on to me. He secretly arranged for documents to be delivered to each of us on our 30th birthdays, describing our heritage, and allowing us to choose our own destinies."
"What did your mother choose?" Jack asked cautiously.
Irina paled slightly, looking back out over the ocean.
"Irina?" prodded Jack, concerned.
Irina sighed. "I was 8 when she turned 30. We were not well off. The lawyer arrived, with the letter from my grandfather. She showed it to my father. He...he viewed it as a business opportunity. The next day he journeyed into the city, and came back with the promise of riches. My mother was appalled. She understood the implications. When he came back from celebrating at the bar that night, he found her placing the last of the manuscripts in the fire. He went crazy...he was drunk...he grabbed the poker from the fireplace and beat her...to death."
"Where were you?" Jack asked gently.
"Hiding under my bed. For years afterward I could hear her screams at night." Jack's arm had come up around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. "I was too young to know why they had argued. I only knew that my father had killed my mother. My sister and I went to live with my aunt, and she raised us. I swore I would never be dependent on any man when I grew up."
"Or trust one?" he suggested.
"Or trust one," she agreed softly.
"But you're telling me now," he pointed out.
"You're not just 'any man'," replied Irina, with a glimmer of a smile.
"I know," he said modestly, and ducked as she aimed a swipe at his head. As he straightened up, his phone rang. He reached into his jacket, pulled out the phone, and let out a sigh of irritation when he saw the number.
"Bristow."
"Director Bristow? Jack?" Jack could hear Vaughn's voice on the other end of the line, cracking from strain.
"Sydney?" he demanded.
"No," he heard. "NSA intercepted a secure transmission a couple of hours ago. From Sloane. To you. Thanking you for the code for the 600 year old flower," Jack could hear Vaughn's voice cracking again, "and setting up another meet."
"How did you find this out?"
"I have a friend over at NSA. He thought I'd be interested. It's going through official channels now. Jack-,"
"Vaughn, listen to me. We did not have this conversation. Any other questions they ask, I want you to answer truthfully. Do you understand?"
"Yes, but-,"
"Goodbye, Vaughn. And...thanks."
He looked at Irina. "I'm afraid I need to go. How can I contact you again?"
Quickly Irina gave him a phone number. "Jack -,"
"Yes?"
"Watch your back. After your last escapade, I think Sloane's written you off as a bad risk. He's looking for a way to take you out of the game."
"I think he's found one," said Jack grimly. His expression lightened as he took in her worried look. Gently brushing her forehead with his lips, he said, "Don't worry, I'll see you again soon. After all, we're going steady." He turned and headed back down the pier.
"What?!"
"My grandfather, Sydney's great grandfather."
Jack rocked back on his heels, trying to understand what she had just told him. "But he lived 600 years ago. How could he be your grandfather?"
"He died 40 years ago. When I was 7. He might have lived for almost 600 years, but he was only married for the last 45 of them."
"You and Sydney...are descendants of Rambaldi? Are there others?"
"Yes we are, and yes there are, but to my knowledge, no others with...his unique genetic makeup."
"So it was your DNA that you put into the genetic database."
"Yes."
Pause. "That has a genetic match to the flower?"
"Yes." Irina had decided to let him work through this at his own pace.
Jack swallowed. "How old are you, really?"
"Forgot my birthday already, Jack?" Irina teased.
"Irina!"
"51." Jack relaxed, then realized there was another question to be asked.
"And...your life expectancy?" asked Jack haltingly.
"That, my dear, is the $64,000 question."
"I think," said Jack running his hand through his hair, "that it would be better if you told me the whole story, rather than my trying to guess it."
Irina nodded, looking out over the water, trying to decide where to start. "Jack, how much do you understand about genetics?"
"I assume this is not a birds and the bees conversation?"
Irina smiled, despite herself. "No, Jack, last time I checked your were working on your doctorate in that. I meant real genetics."
Jack shook his head. "Not much," he admitted.
"Human traits are determined by a set of 23 pairs of chromosomes. Each child receives 23 from one parent, 23 from the other. The 46 combined contain the genetic makeup for each individual."
"And?"
"Rambaldi found a way to add a 47th, linked to the "X" chromosome. The chromosome lies dormant, unless triggered. When activated, the chromosome modifies the body's cell regeneration properties, drastically accelerating the rate of cell growth, preventing deterioration of the body's components. Creating the ability to be - immortal. Although, of course, not immortal. You can still die from severe trauma, but the ability to recover is enhanced."
"Rambaldi experimented on himself," guessed Jack.
"Yes. Obviously, the only way to determine whether it would be successful would be - well to actually live it. And Rambaldi couldn't afford to experiment on someone else and have them outlive him before he could document his findings. Once he had stopped aging, of course, he had a different set of problems to worry about."
"Such as?"
"For starters, he had to move every 5-10 years and assume a new identity. He knew that if he failed to age, that awkward questions would start being asked. His friendships were transitory; he had no family. He led a monastic existence, dedicated to science, supported by a few followers. Eventually he became troubled by the implications of what he had done, and paranoid about his work falling into the wrong hands."
"Be careful what you wish for," murmured Jack.
"Exactly. There's a lot more that I won't bore you with. Suffice it to say that, about 40 years ago, lonely and discouraged, he met my grandmother. I'm supposed to be very much like her."
Unable to pass that by, Jack interjected, "Headstrong and too smart for her own good?"
Irina smiled but continued, "He fell in love, despite himself. He knew that there would be problems, but thought he could work them out. He was, of course, a genius, and this was small potatoes compared to solving the problems of the universe. They married and had children - 4 boys, 2 girls. He was happy - the first time he had been truly happy in his life. My grandmother aged, he didn't. He confessed everything to her, begging her to let him modify her genes so they could live together forever."
"And?"
"She refused. She reportedly sat down at her kitchen table, surrounded by all her children, and said, 'Milo, this is my immortality. This is all I need.' Thereby confounding the greatest thinker of all time."
Jack snorted. Perhaps Irina and her grandmother did have a lot in common.
"They argued, but she was adamant. Seeing an unending future without her, immortality suddenly didn't seem like such a great bargain. In despair, he reversed the gene modification so that they could grow old together. When I was 7, he died peacefully with my grandmother by his side."
"How did you learn all this?"
"Besides my grandmother, Rambaldi had told no one. Remember, he was paranoid. But he recognized that one of his children - my mother - had inherited the same gene, and that she had subsequently passed it on to me. He secretly arranged for documents to be delivered to each of us on our 30th birthdays, describing our heritage, and allowing us to choose our own destinies."
"What did your mother choose?" Jack asked cautiously.
Irina paled slightly, looking back out over the ocean.
"Irina?" prodded Jack, concerned.
Irina sighed. "I was 8 when she turned 30. We were not well off. The lawyer arrived, with the letter from my grandfather. She showed it to my father. He...he viewed it as a business opportunity. The next day he journeyed into the city, and came back with the promise of riches. My mother was appalled. She understood the implications. When he came back from celebrating at the bar that night, he found her placing the last of the manuscripts in the fire. He went crazy...he was drunk...he grabbed the poker from the fireplace and beat her...to death."
"Where were you?" Jack asked gently.
"Hiding under my bed. For years afterward I could hear her screams at night." Jack's arm had come up around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. "I was too young to know why they had argued. I only knew that my father had killed my mother. My sister and I went to live with my aunt, and she raised us. I swore I would never be dependent on any man when I grew up."
"Or trust one?" he suggested.
"Or trust one," she agreed softly.
"But you're telling me now," he pointed out.
"You're not just 'any man'," replied Irina, with a glimmer of a smile.
"I know," he said modestly, and ducked as she aimed a swipe at his head. As he straightened up, his phone rang. He reached into his jacket, pulled out the phone, and let out a sigh of irritation when he saw the number.
"Bristow."
"Director Bristow? Jack?" Jack could hear Vaughn's voice on the other end of the line, cracking from strain.
"Sydney?" he demanded.
"No," he heard. "NSA intercepted a secure transmission a couple of hours ago. From Sloane. To you. Thanking you for the code for the 600 year old flower," Jack could hear Vaughn's voice cracking again, "and setting up another meet."
"How did you find this out?"
"I have a friend over at NSA. He thought I'd be interested. It's going through official channels now. Jack-,"
"Vaughn, listen to me. We did not have this conversation. Any other questions they ask, I want you to answer truthfully. Do you understand?"
"Yes, but-,"
"Goodbye, Vaughn. And...thanks."
He looked at Irina. "I'm afraid I need to go. How can I contact you again?"
Quickly Irina gave him a phone number. "Jack -,"
"Yes?"
"Watch your back. After your last escapade, I think Sloane's written you off as a bad risk. He's looking for a way to take you out of the game."
"I think he's found one," said Jack grimly. His expression lightened as he took in her worried look. Gently brushing her forehead with his lips, he said, "Don't worry, I'll see you again soon. After all, we're going steady." He turned and headed back down the pier.
