Chapter 1
excerpt...December 2020
Students filled every seat in the University of Oregon’s biology lecture hall. Latecomers were sitting on steps, and a few students in T-shirts and jeans were standing behind the last row. The usual low murmur of conversation died away when the lights dimmed and a strange image appeared on the screen above the stage. Enthusiastic clapping erupted as the speaker emerged from behind the curtain and strode confidently to the podium. She stepped onto a 6 in. wooden box put there for her, and gripped both sides of the podium as if to steady it. She stood quietly, smiling at the audience until the applause quieted. Then she released the podium and directed a laser toward the images behind her.
“You see four faces on the screen. The first is obviously a baboon. The second you might know is a bonobo, but the third you will have to guess—it’s Homo erectus, one of our primate ancestors.” The speaker then used the laser beam to circle the fourth image, an illustration from National Geographic showing a nude female holding an infant. She was obviously human, but had dark skin and fine fur on her arms and legs. “This is your mother, and mine. We’ll call her Ma.”
A twitter of laughter rose in a wave of sound that crested and gradually spent itself in the darkened auditorium. The faces faded from the screen and a spotlight circled the small, trim figure in a white pants suit, her face framed by a neat helmet of black hair. Michelle Murphy at 36 did not stand out in a crowd or a classroom. She looked younger than her age—large dark eyes beneath dark eyebrows and black hair, sturdy but not stout. Her anthropologist colleague, Don Koskin, once suggested that her hair color and eyes reflected genes from ancient Ierne, the land Romans called Hibernia, today’s Ireland. Michelle, who knew even more about genes, told him he was right; her father had the R1b-S-4 markers, the so-called Irish clade. She was given to wearing dark clothes or light clothes but not bright clothes. Overall she projected to students and colleagues a person both private and confident.
Referring to the slide, Professor Murphy said, “I have several reasons for calling her Ma, and I will explain them. First, I must tell you how we found your mother and mine. I owe this to a young woman who is in the audience today—Julie Flanagan. When I met Julie four years ago on a primate fossil dig in northern Ethiopia, the crew called her The Cooler.”
“The Cooler”, sitting in the first row grinned with pride and affection. Beside her, holding The Cooler’s hand lightly, sat a skinny, nut brown 12 year old with long jet black hair. Michelle smiled at her daughter, Avalon, who was a pleasure in her heart, a reminder of her missing husband, and a constant puzzle for her brain.
Students filled every seat in the University of Oregon’s biology lecture hall. Latecomers were sitting on steps, and a few students in T-shirts and jeans were standing behind the last row. The usual low murmur of conversation died away when the lights dimmed and a strange image appeared on the screen above the stage. Enthusiastic clapping erupted as the speaker emerged from behind the curtain and strode confidently to the podium. She stepped onto a 6 in. wooden box put there for her, and gripped both sides of the podium as if to steady it. She stood quietly, smiling at the audience until the applause quieted. Then she released the podium and directed a laser toward the images behind her.
“You see four faces on the screen. The first is obviously a baboon. The second you might know is a bonobo, but the third you will have to guess—it’s Homo erectus, one of our primate ancestors.” The speaker then used the laser beam to circle the fourth image, an illustration from National Geographic showing a nude female holding an infant. She was obviously human, but had dark skin and fine fur on her arms and legs. “This is your mother, and mine. We’ll call her Ma.”
A twitter of laughter rose in a wave of sound that crested and gradually spent itself in the darkened auditorium. The faces faded from the screen and a spotlight circled the small, trim figure in a white pants suit, her face framed by a neat helmet of black hair. Michelle Murphy at 36 did not stand out in a crowd or a classroom. She looked younger than her age—large dark eyes beneath dark eyebrows and black hair, sturdy but not stout. Her anthropologist colleague, Don Koskin, once suggested that her hair color and eyes reflected genes from ancient Ierne, the land Romans called Hibernia, today’s Ireland. Michelle, who knew even more about genes, told him he was right; her father had the R1b-S-4 markers, the so-called Irish clade. She was given to wearing dark clothes or light clothes but not bright clothes. Overall she projected to students and colleagues a person both private and confident.
Referring to the slide, Professor Murphy said, “I have several reasons for calling her Ma, and I will explain them. First, I must tell you how we found your mother and mine. I owe this to a young woman who is in the audience today—Julie Flanagan. When I met Julie four years ago on a primate fossil dig in northern Ethiopia, the crew called her The Cooler.”
“The Cooler”, sitting in the first row grinned with pride and affection. Beside her, holding The Cooler’s hand lightly, sat a skinny, nut brown 12 year old with long jet black hair. Michelle smiled at her daughter, Avalon, who was a pleasure in her heart, a reminder of her missing husband, and a constant puzzle for her brain.
Chapter 4
The two strangers in the back of the room joined the applause as Michelle waited for the overhead lights to come on. She took a long drink of water and thanked the audience for their applause. She had not expected the strangers to leave, and when she looked at them, the woman had nodded slightly in acknowledgement and with the clear message, We’ll wait. Michelle shrugged inwardly. Since they made no move to go, she assumed they had something to say to her, and she’d find out who they were and what they wanted.
Meanwhile, she took pleasure in knowing that her talk had been well received by an audience of knowledgeable students and professors who were keenly interested in the science. A few faculty members might know that this was her first public lecture since the death of her husband Hank 6 years before in Indiana. He had been a rising star in archeology and ancient art. Even fewer knew that Michelle had once been an astrobiologist dedicated to tracing the elements of the first living cells to their origins in other parts of the universe. Only Michelle and one colleague in the audience knew why she had left astrobiology for genetics, and only he knew that she had chosen the subject and the timing of this lecture to honor Hank’s memory and to resolve a disagreement that had stood between them for months before his death.
That disagreement had begun a year before Hank’s death and it was about Avalon, who now stood in the front row looking up at her intently, on the verge of asking a question. Michelle thought she knew what it would be and was not ready for it. She called down to her daughter and Julie, “See you two later.”
Avalon paused for a second, then nodded acceptance but a nod angled to one shoulder in skepticism. She followed Julie up the aisle to the exit.
Meanwhile, she took pleasure in knowing that her talk had been well received by an audience of knowledgeable students and professors who were keenly interested in the science. A few faculty members might know that this was her first public lecture since the death of her husband Hank 6 years before in Indiana. He had been a rising star in archeology and ancient art. Even fewer knew that Michelle had once been an astrobiologist dedicated to tracing the elements of the first living cells to their origins in other parts of the universe. Only Michelle and one colleague in the audience knew why she had left astrobiology for genetics, and only he knew that she had chosen the subject and the timing of this lecture to honor Hank’s memory and to resolve a disagreement that had stood between them for months before his death.
That disagreement had begun a year before Hank’s death and it was about Avalon, who now stood in the front row looking up at her intently, on the verge of asking a question. Michelle thought she knew what it would be and was not ready for it. She called down to her daughter and Julie, “See you two later.”
Avalon paused for a second, then nodded acceptance but a nod angled to one shoulder in skepticism. She followed Julie up the aisle to the exit.
Lipkovich drew a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “I hope you will sign. Then I can explain why we’re here.” The declaration was simple—as an American citizen, she would be required to keep everything she would say and hear to herself, including the identity or affiliation of Evan Lipkovich.
“I’m a scientist,” Michelle said. “I try to discover and publish new knowledge, not keep it secret.”
Grable smiled slightly, sympathetically, or at least Michelle thought so. Lipkovich waited. She read the paper once more quickly before signing and handing it back. Lipkovich thanked her and put the paper back in a folder in his briefcase. Michelle realized she had just agreed to keep secret something that she knew nothing about.
Grable nodded at Evan and said, “Go ahead.”
The agent looked at Michelle for a brief moment of assessment, then continued when he had her full attention. “Let’s start with what must be on your mind, why the CIA is involved. In Central Asia my official role is with the State Department as a roving scientific and cultural attaché for all our embassies in the stans. The stans …”
“Six stans,” Michelle said to save him the trouble and time of explaining.
“Yes, but Kazakhstan, not Afghanistan or Turkmenistan. The next thing I’m going to tell you will seem a bit silly, but bear with me.” He looked at Michelle, making sure she was listening. “Your invitation will come from Arman Akenov, the director of the Asfendiayarov Institute.”
Michelle searched her memory but nothing came up. “Never heard of him.”
“If you followed international horse racing, you would have. Akenov doesn’t just race horses, he is regarded as a genius in the arena of horse breeding. His horses are winning races in Europe with times that set world records, not just by a nose but by several lengths. He is a national hero in Kazakhstan, and has a position in government as science advisor to the president.”
Michelle shrugged. “I know nothing about racing or breeding horses. I don’t see what this has to do with me, or why he would invite me to give a talk.” Her mind, however, was already making associations—breeding, genetics—and she did know something about genetics.
“That’s an interesting question,” Lipkovich said. “Let me tell you why.”
Michelle sat up straighter in her chair, indicating that she was ready to listen.
Lipkovich leaned forward and lowered his voice, almost as though he assumed someone outside the room was listening. “Homeland Security means we not only need to know about existing threats and weapons, but to anticipate new ones.”
Michelle couldn’t help smiling. “A Kazakh horse breeder is a threat? I assume Akenov is not a mad scientist.”
Grable said, “Angry scientist, maybe, and they are more dangerous, particularly in the former Soviet Union. They will work for the wrong people.”
“I’m a scientist,” Michelle said. “I try to discover and publish new knowledge, not keep it secret.”
Grable smiled slightly, sympathetically, or at least Michelle thought so. Lipkovich waited. She read the paper once more quickly before signing and handing it back. Lipkovich thanked her and put the paper back in a folder in his briefcase. Michelle realized she had just agreed to keep secret something that she knew nothing about.
Grable nodded at Evan and said, “Go ahead.”
The agent looked at Michelle for a brief moment of assessment, then continued when he had her full attention. “Let’s start with what must be on your mind, why the CIA is involved. In Central Asia my official role is with the State Department as a roving scientific and cultural attaché for all our embassies in the stans. The stans …”
“Six stans,” Michelle said to save him the trouble and time of explaining.
“Yes, but Kazakhstan, not Afghanistan or Turkmenistan. The next thing I’m going to tell you will seem a bit silly, but bear with me.” He looked at Michelle, making sure she was listening. “Your invitation will come from Arman Akenov, the director of the Asfendiayarov Institute.”
Michelle searched her memory but nothing came up. “Never heard of him.”
“If you followed international horse racing, you would have. Akenov doesn’t just race horses, he is regarded as a genius in the arena of horse breeding. His horses are winning races in Europe with times that set world records, not just by a nose but by several lengths. He is a national hero in Kazakhstan, and has a position in government as science advisor to the president.”
Michelle shrugged. “I know nothing about racing or breeding horses. I don’t see what this has to do with me, or why he would invite me to give a talk.” Her mind, however, was already making associations—breeding, genetics—and she did know something about genetics.
“That’s an interesting question,” Lipkovich said. “Let me tell you why.”
Michelle sat up straighter in her chair, indicating that she was ready to listen.
Lipkovich leaned forward and lowered his voice, almost as though he assumed someone outside the room was listening. “Homeland Security means we not only need to know about existing threats and weapons, but to anticipate new ones.”
Michelle couldn’t help smiling. “A Kazakh horse breeder is a threat? I assume Akenov is not a mad scientist.”
Grable said, “Angry scientist, maybe, and they are more dangerous, particularly in the former Soviet Union. They will work for the wrong people.”