The Eve Genome Read Online Free Page A

Where can I direct you?” she asked.
                  “My daughter’s body has been sent here for autopsy,” Mom said.
                  “And I’ve been referred here by GenMed in Colorado,” I added.
                  The woman peered at us with dark brown eyes, as if she knew precisely who we were. But that was hardly likely, wasn’t it? “Adriana Sinclair? Welcome. The research team is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
                  My belly tightened and my mouth went dry. A research team . Why would a research team be eager to see me? Why, with the massive size of this institute, which probably employed hundreds of people, why would this one woman, clearly a receptionist, know I was coming? Because of the blood typing?
                  “Please, have a seat. I will let the Division Director of Genomic Medicine know you are here.” She motioned for us to take a seat along the wall. We sat down on the row of vinyl chairs beside a dove-grey bare wall, save for one huge, wall-spanning iridescent image of a 3-D double helix. The receptionist was still within earshot. “Adriana Sinclair is here.”
                  A booming voice startled me from my fixation on the dazzling picture on the wall. “Adriana and Carla Sinclair.” The man strode up to us, wearing a navy blue suite that seemed far too small for his tall, approximately six-foot-four frame. He had greying brown hair and a reddish-brown goatee. His John Lennon spectacles emphasized his froggy-round eyes, prominent nose and long two front teeth. “I’m Dr. McGill, Director of the Human Genome Project. I am sorry to hear about Analiese.” He thrust his hand out to mom, his coat sleeve riding up to reveal thick, curly forearm hair.
                  Mom took his hand and shook it, nodding and blinking fiercely, forcing back the tears. I looked away. Then Dr. McGill took my hand and shook it with a gorilla-firm grip. His palm was surprisingly warm.
                  “Thank you. Her loss has been devastating,” Mom said, her voice choked.
                  “I’m sure it has been, Ms. Sinclair,” he said. Somehow, his words and his manner seemed disingenuous. Like he was saying what he thought was appropriate for the situation, pacifying us until he could get to what he really wanted to talk about. “Please, come with me. We need to speak to you about a number of our findings with respect to your daughter’s genetic makeup.”
                  We followed him down a corridor to an elevator that took us up to the sixth floor. There, he led us past several science labs and into a boardroom. Inside was a large oak table with numerous people in lab coats already seated around it. In the middle were x-rays, paper documents and a chart. At one end of the room was a painting that took up two-thirds of the wall. It was four circles filled with concentric rings that looked vaguely like four evenly placed targets. The colours ranged from burgundy on the outer edge to pale pink on the inside. I couldn’t stop staring at it.
                  “Please have a seat,” Dr. McGill said as he took a chair at the head of the table.
    We sat closest to him, though I had no idea why, considering there were numerous chairs open elsewhere around the table. Dr. McGill proceeded to introduce everyone. All of the intros began with doctor and then their particular specialization, Dr. Jones, Genetic and Inherited Diseases; Dr. Bomer, Genetics and Molecular Biology; Dr. Halan, Genome Technology. There were nine scientists altogether, but after the fifth person, I stopped listening. They all sounded the same.
    “There are some significant anomalies about Analiese’s genetics,” Dr. McGill seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Were you aware of this, Ms. Sinclair?”
    Mom shook her head, her eyes wide. “No. What kind of anomalies?”
    “I