“It is,” Bukolov said, his eyes glinting. “But not for much longer. I’m about to change the world.”

20

March 15, 9:50 P.M.

The Volga River, Russia

Tucker turned the conversation from world-changing scientific discoveries to more practical questions. Like why someone was trying to kill them?

“Back to this General Kharzin,” Tucker said.

“Since we are done with the lies,” Bukolov said, “I do know him. Not personally, just by reputation. I’m sorry. I do not trust people easily. It took me many months before I even told Anya about LUCA.”

“What do you know about him? What’s his reputation?”

“In a word. He’s a monster. Back in the eighties, Kharzin was in charge of Arzamas-16, outside of Kazan. After that military weapons research facility was shut down, its archives were transferred to the Institute of Biochemistry and Biophysics in Kazan.”

“And then, years later they were moved into storage vaults at the Kazan Kremlin,” Anya added.

“All along, Kharzin was a true believer in LUCA—though his scientists called it something different back then. But he only saw its destructive potential.”

“Which is?”

“What you must understand, the primordial world was once a much harsher place. In its original habitat, such a life-form would have been highly aggressive. It would have to be to survive. If let loose today, with no defenses against it, I believe—as did Kharzin—that it would be unstoppable.”

Tucker was beginning to see the danger.

Bukolov continued. “LUCA’s primary purpose is to hijack nearby plant cells and modify them to match its own, so it can reproduce—rapidly, much like a virus. It has the potential to be the world’s most deadly and relentless invasive species.”

Tucker understood how this could easily become a weapon. If released upon an enemy, it could wipe out the country’s entire agricultural industry, devastating the land without a single shot being fired.

“So how far along are you with this research?” he asked. “You and Kharzin?”

“In the past, we’ve been running parallel lines of research, trying to reverse-engineer plant life to create LUCA or a LUCA-like organism in the lab. My goal was to better the world. His was to turn LUCA into a weapon. But we both ran into two problems.”

“Which were what?”

“First, neither of us could create a viable specimen that was stable. Second, neither of us could figure out how to control such a life-form if we succeeded.”

Tucker nodded. “For Kharzin, his biological bomb needed an off switch.”

“Without it, he wouldn’t be able to control it. He couldn’t safely use it as a weapon. If it is released without safeguards in place, LUCA runs the risk of spreading globally, wiping out ecosystem after ecosystem. In the end, it could pose as much risk to Russia as Kharzin’s enemies.”

“So what suddenly changed?” Tucker asked. “What set this manhunt in motion? Why do you need to leave Russia so suddenly?”

Clearly the old impasse between the two of them had broken.

“Because I believe I know where to find a sample of LUCA . . . or at least its closest descendant.”

Tucker nodded. “And Kharzin learned of your discovery. He came after you.”

“I could not let him get to it first. You understand that, yes?”

He did. “But where is this sample? How did you learn about it?”

“From Paulos de Klerk. The answer has been under our noses for over a century.”

Tucker remembered Bukolov’s story about the Boer botanist, about his journals being prized throughout the academic world.

“You see, over the years, I’ve managed to collect portions of his diaries and journals. Most of it in secret. Not an easy process as the man created great volumes of papers and accounts, much of it scattered and lost or buried in unprocessed archives. But slowly I was able to start collating the most pertinent sections. Like those last papers Anya smuggled out of the Kremlin.”

Tucker pictured the giant Prada bag clutched to her chest.

“He kept a diary for decades, from the time he was a teenager until he died. Most of it is filled with the mundane details of life, but there was one journal—during the Second Boer War—that described a most fascinating and frightening observation. From the few drawings I could find, from his detailed research notes, I was sure he had discovered either a cluster of living LUCA or something that acted just like the hypothetical life-form.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It wasn’t just me. In one page I found at a museum in Amsterdam, he described his discovery as die oorsprong van die lewe. In Afrikaans, that means the origin of life.”

“So what became of this sample? Where did he find it?”

“Some cave in the Transvaal. Someplace he and his Boer unit retreated to. They were pinned down there by British forces. It was during this siege that De Klerk found the cluster of LUCA. As a botanist and medical doctor, he was understandably intrigued. I don’t have the complete story about what happened in that cave. It’s like reading a novel with half the pages missing. But he hints at some great misery that befell their forces.”

“What happened to him?”

“Sadly, he would die in that cave, killed as the siege broke. The British troops eventually returned his belongings, including his journals and diary, to his widow. But past that we know nothing. I’m still studying the documents Anya found. Perhaps some of the blanks will be filled in.”

“Is there any indication that De Klerk understood what he found?”

“No, not fully,” Anya replied. “But in the papers I was collecting when you came for me in the Kremlin, he finally named his discovery: Die Apokalips Saad.”

“The Apocalypse Seed,” Bukolov translated. “Whatever he found scared him, but he was also intrigued. Which explains his map.”

“What map?”

“To the location of the cave. It’s encrypted in his diary. I suspect De Klerk hoped he’d survive the siege and have a chance to return later to continue his research. Sadly that wasn’t to be.”

“And you have this map?”

“I do.”

“Where?”

Bukolov tapped his skull. “In here. I burned the original.”

Tucker gaped at the doctor.

No wonder everyone is after you.

10:18 P.M.

After the discussion, Tucker needed some fresh air to clear his head.

He and Kane stepped up on deck and waved to Vadim, who continued to man the boat’s wheel. In return, he got a salute with the glowing tip of his cigar.

Settled into the bow, Tucker listened to the waves slap the hull and stared longingly at the pinpricks of lights marking homes and farmsteads, life continuing simply. He considered calling Ruth Harper. But after all that had happened, he was wary. His satellite phone was supposed to be secure, but was any communication truly safe? He decided to err on the side of caution until he got to Volgograd.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Kane stirred, then settled again.

“May I join you?” Anya asked.

Tucker gestured to the deck beside him. She sat down, then scooted away a few inches. “I’m sorry we lied to you,” she said.

“Water under the boat.”

“Don’t you mean under the bridge?”

“Context,” Tucker said, getting a nervous laugh out of the woman. “It’s nice to see that.”

“Me laughing? I’ll have you know, I laugh all the time. You just haven’t seen me at my best as of late.” She hesitated. “And I’m afraid I’m about to make that worse.”

He glanced over to her. “What is it?”

“Do you promise not to shoot me or throw me off the boat?”

“I can’t promise that. But out with it, Anya. I’ve had enough surprises for one day.”

“I’m SVR,” she said.

Tucker blew his breath out slowly, trying to wrap his head around this.

“It stands for—”