The Genesis Code by Christopher Forrest

end of the room was a battered leather sofa adorned with a beat-up pillow and dingy blue comforter. Quiz often spent several days at a time in his office, taking catnaps when needed and showering in the gym at the hotel.
    Quiz didn’t sleep much. He wasn’t very good at it. Instead, he often stayed up most of the night, prowling the Triad Genomics network, writing code, or challenging online players in the latest computer games.
    An antique trunk served as a coffee table, piled high with copies of technical journals and computer magazines. Several empty pizza boxes were stacked by the door. A blue recycling bin next to the computer workstation was filled with empty Diet Coke cans. An X-Files poster hung on one wall. Across the bottom, it read: I Want to Believe.
    In ten minutes, Quiz compiled the sixty lines of code needed to search the security server and identify the hidden files. A pretty nifty little algorithm, actually, thought Quiz, patting himself on the back.
    He executed the command to start the program. Lines of text began scrolling down the screen as the algorithm evaluated possible targets. The computer chirped each time it found a possible hit.
    Soon it began chirping every ten or fifteen seconds.
    “Houston, we have a problem,” said Quiz.
    The small chihuahua barked in agreement.

Twenty-seven
    Dr. Christian Madison’s Office
34th Floor, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
    “You think this grid of numbers is a message from Dr. Ambergris?” asked Madison. “Why wouldn’t he just write it out?”
    “He must have been afraid that someone else might try to read it,” said Grace. “So he sent it in code.”
    Madison was skeptical. “A code that only you would recognize?”
    Grace examined the printout. “Look, Dr. Ambergris must have anticipated that if something happened to him, I would come to you. The only way this message could be read would be if you and I tried to figure it out together—an additional safeguard to keep his message hidden from others.”
    “That doesn’t make any sense,” said Madison. “Only Triad Genomics personnel would have access to the e-mail server or my computer.”
    Grace chewed on her lower lip. “It makes sense if he was concerned about a traitor inside the company. Someone who works for Triad Genomics.”
    Grace directed Madison’s attention to the eight-by-eight grid of digits, crisply printed in black ink on white paper.
    “Let me show you how this works,” said Grace. “Add up the numbers across the top row.”
    Madison took a moment to make the mental calculation.
    “They total two hundred sixty.”
    “Right. Now pick any other row or column and add the digits.”
    Madison placed a finger on the third row and mentally tabulated the sum.

    “Two hundred sixty,” he said. In quick succession, he added the digits in each of the columns.
    “They all add up to two hundred sixty,” said Madison.
    “That’s a Magic Square. The numbers are arranged so that every row and column adds up to the same number,” said Grace.
    “What’s the significance of two-sixty?”
    She pointed to a small statue resting on Madison’s credenza. The stone figure brandished a feathered staff adorned with two intertwined serpents coiled along its length.
    “A gift from Dr. Ambergris?” she asked.
    “Yes. It’s Mayan—a representation of Chac, the Sky Serpent and Rain God.”
    “Ambergris’ father was a tenured professor at Yale, a respected archaeologist and historian.”
    “I know this,” said Madison.
    “But did you know that the ancient Maya were one of his father’s passions? He spent a lifetime studying the Maya. And he shared this passion with his son. I know that Dr. Ambergris sometimes went with his father on archaeological digs in the Yucatán Peninsula when he was a boy. He even considered a career in archeology, following in his father’s footsteps, before he discovered his passion for science and genetics. But clearly, Dr. Ambergris’ interest in