“It would help if I knew the source of this sample.”
A dead man’s pocket. “Don’t know.” He asked, “If a bacterium has been genetically modified or manipulated, would you be able to tell?”
Katz nodded. “And beyond that, our lab is one of the leading pioneersin genetic engineering attribution. We can detect not only the genetic manipulation, but we can attempt to pinpoint what country or what lab was responsible.”
“How is that possible?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m smarter than I look.”
Katz smiled. “It involves machine-learning algorithms, programmed to understand all of the subtleties that go into the design choices behind genetic modification. What genes are chosen, what enzymes are used, patterns created by different software, et cetera.”
“What if the sample is old? Like, thirty or forty years old?”
Katz furrowed his brow. “Is it?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, genetic engineering was much more primitive back then. Our methodologies would not necessarily be able to be applied to this.”
“If it is that old, what could you learn through a gene sequence?”
“If it is modified, we could see how it was manipulated and deduce the application. Was it made more virulent? Less virulent? More contagious? Immune to antibiotics? Yersinia pestis in particular can have drastically different impacts on an infected organism based only on subtle changes to a single gene of the bacterium. Were engineers attempting to make something more targeted to a particular organ or bodily system, or to a particular species of animal? Gene sequencing might tell us some of that.”
“Anything else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
David Katz had a personality better suited for working with pathogens than with people. Brodie said, “I’m a detective. You just told me you can do the genetic equivalent of lifting prints. And I’m asking, what if the fingerprints are very old?”
Katz nodded, thought a moment. “We have a large database of existing known Yersinia pestis strains. So, if this is one of those, we can likely trace its origins. If it is a novel strain, and if it has been genetically modified, as I said we can determine that, though if the modification was done decades ago using more primitive techniques, our algorithms will likely not be able to trace its specific origins.” He took the slide from the microscope and lookedat it. “It is strange to label a sample like this with just numbers. A research lab wouldn’t do that. You are telling me this could date to the eighties… Is it possible it originated from a state actor?”
Brodie nodded. “Possibly from East Germany’s unconventional-weapons program.” He added, “That is classified information.”
Katz stood and looked at him. “Where did you get this sample, Mr. Brodie?”
“From the pocket of a murder victim.”
Katz did not respond to that.
Brodie wrote his phone number on a notepad on Katz’s desk, then asked, “How quickly can you sequence this?”
Katz appeared disturbed now and looked around the lab at his fellow researchers, a few of whom had become interested in their visitor. He said in a low voice, “Once the equipment is available, it will take two to three hours. But there’s a backlog.”
Brodie looked him in the eyes. “You need to clear the queue, Mr. Katz.”
CHAPTER 41
Brodie walked out of the lab onto the Ku’damm. Next stop, the New Berlin Art Gallery. Anna Albrecht needed to be re-interviewed.
As he looked for a taxi, he thought about plague, and why Harry Vance had a sample of it in his pocket. Was it part of Stefan Richter’s collection? Possibly. The old guy might have been willing or even eager to talk about his exploits to someone—anyone—who cared to ask. When Richter had spoken to Elsa Ziegler twenty-some years ago, he wouldn’t turn over any of his slides. Maybe by the time he spoke with Vance his attitude had changed, or Harry Vance—already going rogue on an unsanctioned investigation—simply stole it. Then Vance was murdered before he could have the sample analyzed to find out if Richter’s stories about Black Harvest were true or bullshit. And then Stefan Richter complicated things further by blowing his brains out.
Brodie’s phone rang, and he was surprised to see the call coming from Maggie Taylor. He picked up. “Flight delayed?”
“Where are you?” She sounded tense.
“Berlin. Where are you?”
