I meet Lorenzo’s eyes, my own filled with questions mixed with fear mixed with defeat, as the door slides open. He puts a hand on the small of my back, steadying me, and we follow Morgan out the door, the soldier still and quiet, but very definitely present, behind us.

Chapter Sixty-four

SIXTY-FOUR

If our own lab and office floors were lonely tombs, the sub-basement is a buzzing hive of activity. Cubicles housing two men each sit crammed side by side, their flimsy shoulder-height walls allowing no privacy, only constant observation by the uniformed guards patrolling the corridors. I count twelve of them, each as devoid of any outward signs of jocularity as the man now walking behind me, close enough for me to get a whiff of some sickeningly sweet aftershave, tobacco, and burnt coffee. Not a single cubicle occupant raises his head as we move by; their heads are down, poring over stacks of Excel charts and handwritten formulas, or staring blankly at computer screens.

There must be fifty people in this windowless, airless room. Some of them—most of them—are young, barely out of college.

I pause and peer into one of the cubicles, thinking I recognize Lin’s handwriting. Morgan snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Eyes ahead, Jean.”

The aftershave, tobacco, and coffee mixture is hot on the back of my neck. Lorenzo’s hand brushes against mine, lingering, reminding me I’m not alone in this.

We pass through the bank of cubicles and reach the far end of the hive. Morgan inserts his key card into another slot, and double doors open to a room not different from the rodent and rabbit den one floor above us. Here, instead of squeaking mice and sniffing cottontails, the cages house primates. Great apes, to be specific. Three rows of wire doors line the walls to my right and left, each labeled with an identification number and four rows of data: age, species, date of experiment, overseeing technician. The hoots and grunts of chimpanzees as we enter are deafening.

But this isn’t what bothers me.

Three-quarters of the cages are empty. Labels remain on their doors: BONOBO, GORILLA, ORANGUTAN—three of the five great apes. The screeching chimpanzees make four, and half of them are already gone.

I swallow drily and look over at Lorenzo, who is pale enough to blend in with the lab’s white walls. Of course he is; he’s thinking the same thought I am.

They’re working their way through the apes, one species at a time, and they’ve saved the chimps, the closest human relative, for last.

Or next to last. There’s a fifth great ape not in the cages, not yet, one they haven’t gotten around to. All the blood in my veins chills to ice.

The fifth species of great ape is us. Human.