“Molecular electronics,” says Harry.
Tucci points at him with a finger as if to say he’s got it.
“Nanorobotics is the other leg. Microscopic robots that can be constructed to carry the newly programmed circuitry inside the organism. This would be the delivery system,” says Tucci. “Instead of injecting a drug and waiting for it to course its way through the bloodstream or to be absorbed into the tissue, you can insert programmed robotics on a microscopic level that will deliver the pre-programmed genetic information to a precise location, perhaps an organ system or an isolated tumor in the body, and deal with it at a genetic level. You can turn chemical switches on and off, enzymes that will allow the human immune system to combat disease. To treat conditions that today are terminal, and to reverse them.”
“They think that’s possible?”
Tucci looks at him and nods soberly. “It’s only a theory, but the science to accomplish it exists.”
“A magic bullet,” I say.
“Right. It has all kinds of implications,” he says, “for good and evil. There are the usual ethical concerns that follow all genetic research. You’re dealing with the basic building blocks of life. There’s the concern that perhaps we’re tapping the fountain of youth.”
Harry looks at him quizzically.
“Issues of overpopulation,” says Tucci, “if in fact we cure major maladies and suddenly life expectancy doubles. What do we do with all the people? How do we feed them? Who gets the new treatments and who doesn’t? Who is given the keys to extended life and who dies? Those are major issues.
“But here there’s one more element of concern that may outweigh all of these. We are talking about the creation of an engineered life form, an organism unto itself. It could have the ability to propagate, to regenerate itself. A virus, for example, coded in a genetic string and carried by molecular electronics and nanotechnology, could reproduce itself inside the body. In fact, that would be part of the design, in order to enhance treatment. But what if its design were to be a weapon instead of a cure? It could be the ultimate doomsday device. Microscopic nanorobotics, engineered to carry a virus capable of replicating billions of times over a short span of time and invading life forms, or stripping the earth of vegetation to produce famine.
“They already have a name for it,” says Tucci. “The GNR threat: genetics, nanotechnology and robotics. According to theorists, it has the capacity to replace the NBCs of the last century-nuclear, biological and chemical. In its own way the potential is much more insidious.
“There’s always a downside,” he says. “The other side of the coin of progress. Some people don’t want to take the chance. You can see why. The question is, How do you stop it? How do you put the genie of knowledge back in the bottle?”
“And you think this is what Crone is working on?” I ask.
“It’s a distinct possibility. Conventional wisdom is that we are five or six years away from a breakthrough. But who knows?” Tucci looks at us with wary little eyes like two olives floating on egg whites.
“One thing is certain. Whoever is first is going to make a fortune. The corporation that controls the process is likely to propel its major shareholders to the top of the Forbes list, overnight. They will become the wealthiest people in the world.” He says this with no question or hint of doubt.
“People will be reciting their names, and the world will be wondering where they came from.”
“And the scientist who develops it?” I ask.
“Is a shoo-in for a Nobel prize,” says Tucci. “He or she will be able to write his or her own ticket. And the breakthrough’s likely to come from some shop like Crone’s.”
“Why’s that?” asks Harry.
“A small operation. Attached to a university for research and support, but sufficiently independent so that no one, except perhaps the director of operations, knows precisely how all the pieces fit. One day there will be a press release, and the floodgates will open-the ones controlling the fountain of youth.”
chapter eight
Dr. Gabriel Warnake is a private consultant under contract to the county crime lab. He is a hired gun, and works almost exclusively for police agencies around the country. He holds a doctorate in chemistry and can do a wicked reading in spectrographic analysis, using heat to break down molecules in evidence, exploiting them like fingerprints. He has burned his share of defense lawyers in his time. Warnake is also expert in forensic microscopy, the use of a microscope to identify and analyze hair, fiber and other trace evidence. This afternoon Tannery has him on the stand working on the white nylon cable tie used to kill Kalista Jordan.
“Can you tell the jury what this cable tie is made of?” Tannery is holding up the cut tie in its plastic bag, little rust-colored splotches still evident for the jury to see. They will no doubt take this as blood. It is, in fact, an indelible marker placed on the tie for purposes of identification at the crime lab.
“It’s a polymer-based resin,” says Warnake. “In the industry, it’s known as nylon sixty-six. It’s an old compound developed by Du Pont back in the thirties.”
“Is it always white in color?”
“Actually, what you have there is clear, sort of an opaque. But you can put dyes or pigments in it. Basically make it any color you want. Some manufacturers color-code their ties for purposes of identification as to tensile strength, or to identify certain electrical cables that are bundled together for later reference.”
“That’s what they’re used for mostly? Tying up electrical cables?”
“They’re used for a lot of things, but that’s a main one. A major market,” says Warnake.
“Can you tell the jury how these cable ties are made?”
“That particular polymer resin is injected into a mold, under heat and high pressure. In that form it will flow, not like water, more like honey, viscous.”
“What kind of heat are we talking about?”
“Nylon sixty-six melts at around four hundred and sixty degrees Fahrenheit. They’ll take it up to around five hundred and thirty degrees. That way, they can get it good and hot in order to work it. The mold temperature is usually lower. Once it starts to flow, it’s injected very quickly under high pressure. Five hundred to fifteen hundred pounds per square inch, depending on the mold and the heat applied.”
“Can you tell us about the molds used for forming the ties, what they are like?”
“They’re made of steel. Capable of containing high pressure, and polished to a very fine finish on the inside.”
Tannery smiles, finally getting to where he wants to be. Harry and I have speculated on this, the two areas where their witness might go. Warnake has rendered no formal written report, so we are left to guess. We are figuring toolmarks, either during manufacture or after. One presents a very real problem; the other may be less problematic, depending on what the good doctor has to say.
“You’ve actually seen these molds?” asks Tannery. “Observed them in production?”
“I have.”
“Have you examined the insides of one?”
“A cross section,” says Warnake. “Yes.”
“And did you bring that cross section with you today?”
Warnake nods and reaches for his briefcase.
“Let the record reflect,” says the judge, “that the witness is producing an item from his briefcase. Let me see that.”
Warnake hands it up to the judge on the bench, where a few seconds later we are holding an impromptu conference off to the side.
I tell Coats we’re seeing this for the first time.
“Why no notice?” asks the judge.
“We’re offering it only as a sample, Your Honor. To demonstrate the process,” says Tannery. “We don’t intend to put it into evidence.”