450 Golden Gate, San Francisco, CA is a monolithic Federal office building. I work on Floor 13.
To protect the Stanford Grid, I join forces with the San Francisco FBI. They just want me studying electronic surveillance to safeguard the project.
But nothing is simple and we all have our own agendas. The boss thinks I’m a defiant son-of-a-bitch, he doesn’t want me looking into the deaths of my former colleagues and I sense jealousy for my relationship with Special Agent Nathalie Noiret who says I smell different from the other agents who eat and sleep ambition and nerves. Apparently, her fellow feds reek of Mennen deodorant and coffee while I smell of sweat and purpose.
Buried beneath buildings such as the Transamerica Pyramid were the scraps of tall ships from 160 years ago. The 1849ers who had rushed to California to find gold in the Sierra foothills, left everything behind—even their ships. The ships’ graveyards became the Financial District. And those dreams have been passed on to today.
The white Range Rover shadowed me through the densest district in San Francisco: Chinatown. Pedestrians thronged narrow streets. Vendors’ merchandise hung inside low slung shop awnings. Shopkeepers were closing their registers. This was my turf.
Scrolling through pages of the Crimes Against Persons report, Agent Noiret found this – my former Grid colleague, Jurgen Hanssen, shot near CERN. The report says that the firearm used was an FBI-registered Glock 6. It bore an FBI serial number. I hope the bureau can be trusted.
It’s been said that the greatest scientific discovery is the human genome. But it’s useless until we make sense of all that DNA. I just hope my data mining algorithm lives up to expectations: it’s gotta speed up the Stanford Grid and make online diagnosis and treatment work. The most powerful forces in society want me to fail miserably.
Now that I’ve conquored my own ghosts, I’ve got to wonder – will someone sabotage the personalized medical revolution?
But will Niles quit on me if he knows we’re in danger? With our colleagues dying, he’s going to think twice about going on with the Project. After all these years of work, I’m concerned that my best friend might run out.
Extremely powerful players are attacking our Stanford Grid project. They won’t stop at taking out Jurgen Hanssen. It’s a race for survival now, with millions of lives on the line.
There’s backlash to the Grid Project that could end everything. I thought the pieces were in place to genetically diagnose disease over the Internet but on days like today it all looks broken-not unlike the Oakland/San Francisco Bay Bridge.
Nathalie, you’re going to be the death of me. How on earth did I fall for someone I have to keep at arms distance yet see each day at the bureau?
Berkeley students nicknamed me the Picasso of coding for my computer invention. I hate the moniker like Bruce Springsteen hates “the Boss.” Though Niles is right. I was born to run.
Department of Energy Funded the Human Genome Project
Wherever we go, we carry the greatest discovery in scientific history: the genome. The U.S. Government decoded our DNA, believing that it could extend our lives. But this effort was never finished, so its secrets remained locked.
DNA Sequencing Machines at Jude’s Lab
I never wanted to be treated like a math genius or super quant. What bothers me most, though, is the sorry state of healthcare. The World Health Organization ranks the U.S. 37th in the world.
I had never planned to join the FBI. But I’m damn glad I did. My work insures some hacker doesn’t crash the genomic revolution I started at Stanford.
My twin sister, Kate, reminds me why I’m changing medicine. Improving on methods of treatment that killed our mother is my stab at rewriting history. Kate adds the more you do something, the more deeply your brain becomes wired for that activity. She’d argue that I literally turned into a cancer fighting agent.