Scott’s face settled into an intense grimace.
“Be careful, Mr. Adams,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Well, why don’t you tell me,” Jeremiah said. “Go ahead. We’ve got time. What do they want from all of this? What sort of plans do they have for human clones?”
“I don’t know what their plans are,” Scott said. “And I don’t care. They put up the money for this, for all of it. I’m not being paid to ask questions.”
“Well, then, Dr. Scott. You are a pathetic, selfish bastard, aren’t you? It ought to bother you. You ought to be asking questions. Do you think anyone is interested in saving the world with this technology?”
“What is it that you want?”
“I want my life back,” he said. “What’s left of it. I want my son. And I want your word that Brent Higgins will not be harmed in any way. He walks. Oh, and while you’re at it, I’ll take my money, too—the whole ten million.”
“Your money? You’ve broken the contract, Mr. Adams. We don’t owe you anything.”
“Yeah? Take me to court.”
Scott sat down again in his leather chair and drummed his fingers on the desk as though waiting for something.
“So, you expect to just walk back into your life? And what would you have us do with your clone, Mr. Adams?” he asked. “Do you expect that we’ll simply destroy it?”
“That isn’t my problem,” he said coolly. “Do whatever it was you planned to do with him before. I’m just pushing up your deadline. And speaking of deadlines, tick-tock, Dr. Scott.”
“I need to make some phone calls,” he said. “Wait here.”
Scott opened a hardly visible paneled door in the wall behind his desk and walked into an ancillary room, closing it firmly behind him. He was gone nearly ten minutes, during which Jeremiah checked his watch at about ten-second intervals. He could hear nothing behind the wall, and by the time Scott came back out there was less than fifteen minutes left before Brent would mail the package to the New York Times.
“Well, Dr. Scott?” he asked. “What’s it going to be? Do I make that phone call or do you start packing for federal prison?”
“My partners have suggested a compromise.”
“No compromise,” he said firmly. “I want all of my demands met. I want my son. You have just over ten minutes.”
“You’ll have your son—and your money, Mr. Adams. But we would like the opportunity to salvage at least part of this experiment. Surely you can appreciate that. There is too much at stake. We need to continue it in some capacity.”
“You mean you need to continue it. What’s your idea?”
“You can have your son. We’ll get him out for you. But we’d like the chance to clone your son and place that clone with your own. That way we would at least be able to continue our monitoring, and perhaps even gain additional insight. Keep the funding coming in. Everybody wins.”
“There is no fucking way you are cloning my son! Are you out of your mind? No.”
“Hear me out,” Scott said quickly, “just hear me out.” There was a distinct hint of desperation in his voice. “We would get your son and establish new identities for both of you. There are high-level officials from the CIA and FBI who have a stake in this, Mr. Adams. It could be easily arranged. Totally fresh start—anywhere you wanted—with enough money to do whatever you like for the rest of your life. All we ask in return is the chance to see this thing through to some conclusion. And Higgins—he’ll walk away with a $1 million bonus in hand. You have my word on that.”
Jeremiah glanced at his watch. He had about seven minutes left to make the decision or the package would be sent and everything would be decided for him. If he did nothing, the truth would come out and Scott and the rest of them would certainly go to prison. On some level, he thought, that would be satisfying. It’s what they deserved. But he’d be implicated, too, for his role in the thing. He’d likely get off on some sort of whistle-blower protection, maybe even vindicated as a hero, but that’s not what he wanted. And for once in his life he was going to get what he wanted. He wasn’t going to let anyone decide for him. And he wanted the money. Without that, the last six months—everything he’d been through—would have been essentially for nothing. He felt like he’d more than earned the money. He deserved at least that much. More importantly, though, and the thing that tugged at him now more than anything else, was Brent. If that package was sent, they both knew Brent would be implicated right along with everyone else. He’d go to prison, too. Jeremiah wanted to avoid that. In his mind, Brent was innocent, lured into this thing by a guileless belief in the power of good science, and he had been willing to risk everything to help a friend. He couldn’t let Brent go down with the rest of them. He wouldn’t be responsible for that.
“How would this work exactly?”
“We have people in place that could gather the necessary DNA from your son as quickly as this afternoon. We could expedite the cloning process and then make the switch. You’d have your son back within seventy-two hours.”
“I don’t want him harmed. I don’t want him snatched out of his bed in the middle of the night by some thug on your payroll.”
“Nothing of the sort, Mr. Adams, I assure you. We could arrange it so you could simply collect him from his school tomorrow morning. You would bring him back here yourself, where he’ll undergo the Meld with his clone. We’ll fit you both with new identities. He would need to be told something, Mr. Adams, but we can leave that up to you.”
“And his clone?”
“We would simply return his clone back to the school a few hours later, in time to go home that same afternoon and be none the wiser. We can arrange everything, just as we did with your clone. The transition would be seamless. And you and your son would then be free to go.”
Jeremiah considered the idea for another moment. He would have liked more time to think it through, understand the finer points and implications, but he realized he didn’t have that luxury. The clock was ticking.
“Make the call, Mr. Adams.” Scott was holding out the cell phone Jeremiah had given to him. He took it and dialed Brent’s number.
Brent picked up on the first ring.
“Hold off,” Jeremiah said. “We’re all set.”
Chapter 40
Days 171-172
The locking mechanism on Jeremiah’s door had been taken offline. The door stood partially open now, out to the empty hallway. He could come and go as he pleased, but there was nowhere he wanted to go. For several hours, he had been getting the apartment ready for Parker’s arrival. He’d had the kitchen stocked with frozen pizzas, chips and soda, and had someone procure a new gaming console that was supposed to be impossible to get at the moment. He also made a point of ripping the camera out of Mel’s painting on the wall, smirking directly into it as he did. No one was going to be watching him anymore, he thought, and they certainly weren’t going to be watching Parker. He didn’t know why he was making all these preparations. Parker would only be here for one night. But keeping busy took his mind off the problem of what the hell he was going to tell him.
Brent was grinning ear to ear when he stuck his head around the door late that afternoon.
“I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon,” Jeremiah said.
“I wanted to collect my paycheck in person,” he said. “I wanted to feel it in my hands. I’m a goddamn millionaire! Besides, I have the package here. I wanted to put it in your hands. I’m glad to get rid of it, tell you the truth. It gives me the creeps.”
Jeremiah took the lunch box from Brent and looked around the apartment for a place to stash it. He supposed he ought to hide it somewhere, just in case Scott had any last-minute ideas to double-cross him. Finally, he settled on the freezer, scooping a gallon of Rocky Road into the sink and stuffing the whole thing inside the sticky contai
ner. He shoved it into the back, behind three pizzas and a frozen lasagna, and closed the door.
“You’re not worried they’ll find it in there?” Brent asked. “It’s kind of a lame hiding place for something like this.”
“Scott’s convinced I stashed it somewhere else. I showed him a photo of a storage place. He doesn’t need to know I got that photo off the web.”
“Smooth, Jeremiah.”
“Brent,” he said, “I’m going to need your phone. I need that evidence if we’re going to stop them.”
Brent hesitated for a moment and then handed it over. “Why can’t I just forward the photo to your phone?”
“Scott took my phone as collateral already.”
“I can save it to the cloud.”
“No,” Jeremiah told him. “I want control of this. I don’t want it out there. It’s risky.”
“Fine,” Brent said. “I’m glad to be rid of that, too. I’ve been sleeping with it under my pillow. What are you going to do with it?”
“I’ll get it to Walt Thompson. He’ll know what it means. He’ll figure it out.”
“A lot of people are going to burn for this.”
“Which is why you need to leave, Brent. You and Mel need to get away. I’ll do what I can to make sure you’re protected, but once this hits the fan, it’ll be out of my hands.”
“I’m getting away. Believe me.”
“What are you going to do with the money?”
“I’ll tell you one thing—Mel and I are going to have one hell of a honeymoon!”
“Good,” Jeremiah said, “that’s a good idea.”
“So, I suppose this is goodbye.”
“I suppose it is,” Jeremiah said. “And, as I understand it, I won’t be able to contact you again. They’re setting us up with entirely new lives, new names, everything. Very cloak and dagger.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. Write, maybe, or travel. After I take care of the evidence, I just want to go somewhere with Parker and be a dad. That’s all I really care about right now. That’s all I want to do.”
“I won’t even know your name,” Brent said. “I wouldn’t be able to find you if I tried.”
“Maybe I can get word to you somehow. Maybe, if they ever finally release the update of that damn game, you can look for Clyde.”
“Clyde is a badass. So are you. How’s the hand, by the way?”
Jeremiah shrugged casually and looked at his bandage. Dr. Pike had seen to the wound—made a cleaner cut, this time under heavy anesthesia, sutured it and put him on powerful antibiotics to guard against infection. Brent’s boxing glove bandage had been replaced with something slightly more manageable.
“Sit down, Brent. Let’s have a drink—one for the road.” He got two beers from the fridge and they sat down in the kitchen. “I don’t know how to say thank you,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
“If it weren’t for you, I’d be stuck here another six months. God knows what would have happened to Parker, the way things were going. I might have gone back to nothing. You gave me a second chance. And you risked everything to do it.”
“You gave yourself a second chance,” he said. “I just opened the door for you.”
“Look, Brent, I don’t mean to go all fatherly on you or anything, but can I offer you some advice before I leave?”
“Sure, Pops.”
“I’m serious. This is important. You’ve got to learn something from all of this.”
“I have,” Brent said. “If you think you might have to cut off someone’s finger, don’t eat a breakfast burrito in the morning.”
“As useful as that may be, I hope you learned something from my mistakes. I hope you realize that it doesn’t have to be that way for you. Don’t ever become the kind of asshole I was.”
“C’mon, Jeremiah,” he started.
“I mean it. All of that stuff you said when we were arguing. That’s all true. I know that. And somewhere, you do, too. Or else you wouldn’t have been able to come up with it so quickly. You’re not that good of an actor, pal.” Jeremiah took a breath. “If you ever start to doubt yourself, promise me you’ll take a good hard look at your life and turn it around before it’s too late. You get to decide who you are and who you’re going to be. Don’t let anyone else decide for you.”
Brent raised his beer bottle to Jeremiah’s and smiled.
“Parker’s a lucky kid,” he said.
“Maybe. But I’ve got a lot to make up for. That starts today.”
* * *
Natalie Young knocked on the frame of the open door a half hour later and came into Jeremiah’s rooms without an invitation.
“I wanted to see how you’re coping,” she said. “Make sure you’re okay with all of this, you know, before you leave.”
Jeremiah snickered and shook his head. “How thoughtful of you,” he said.
She came farther into the room and took a seat on the edge of the couch, an unspoken bidding for him to join her, which he ignored.
She sighed heavily and looked at his face for a long moment before she spoke.
“Jeremiah. I thought you and I should have some closure. I thought I might be able to help you prepare for what comes next.”
He almost laughed.
“What comes next? Really, Natalie? What comes next is none of your damn business. I don’t need any help from you. You’ve done quite enough already, I’d say.”
She pursed her lips and said nothing.
“You know what, though?” He moved closer to her but remained standing, enjoying the feeling of looking down on her. “I’m glad you’re here. I think maybe we could use some closure. But not the kind you’re thinking of. There are things you need to hear.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m listening.”
“Do you even realize there’s blood on your hands?”
“Jeremiah...”
“My mother? My wife? Their deaths are on you, Natalie! You, and that godforsaken Meld.”
He saw her swallow hard and avert her gaze for a moment, but he moved himself back into her line of vision and continued. She would face this.
“The things you thought you saw when we took that drug, that wasn’t the truth, was it? They never knew anything. They never knew.”
“I know that now,” she said. “Meld isn’t perfect. Perceptions can be imprecise. But I had to report what I thought I saw. Even unfocused, vague implications had to be reported.” She looked at him with a pleading expression that sat uncomfortably on her face. “You have to believe me, Jeremiah. I had no idea they would... I didn’t know what they’d do.”
He was quiet for a moment and turned away from her. “Meld should be banned,” he said, and then turned back to her to get his next point across. “That drug is dangerous. Maybe people were never meant to peer into each other’s minds and make assumptions. Maybe we were never meant to see into our own minds that way, to see that kind of ugliness. Meld crosses a line we should never have crossed. It’s dangerous, Natalie. You need to know that.”
“I know I saw something,” she said, flustered. “I’m sure I saw something when we took the drug. Someone knew something. I’m certain of it.”
“Maybe you did,” he said. “But it wasn’t them. They were innocent.”
The tears that wet her cheeks surprised him for a moment but didn’t soften him.
“If I could take it back,” she said, “I would. I wish I could make it right somehow. All I can do is tell you I’m sorry. I know that’s not enough.”
“No,” he told her. “It’s not.”
He left her there and went into the kitchen without another word. A minute later he heard her get up and walk out the door.
* * *
Charles Scott came in before nine the n
ext morning, exactly on schedule, with a suit and tie on a hanger. “I thought it best,” he said, “if your son sees you dressed for work as he would expect. Best not to make this any more confusing for him than it already is.”
Jeremiah had hardly slept the night before and had already been up for hours. He had no idea what he was going to say to Parker once he saw him. How could he explain this? How would he make Parker believe any of it? Jeremiah went to change and shave in the bathroom. Scott paced nervously back and forth, grappling, Jeremiah assumed, with his own issues of making this work.
Jeremiah scanned his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He looked more or less exactly as he had six months before, exactly as his clone looked when he’d left for work that morning, down to the same bandaged left hand. It felt odd to look so much like his old self and feel like someone completely different. He never could have imagined, when all of this began, that so much could change in a matter of months. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Breaking out of the lab, confronting the clone, cutting off his finger—all of it felt easy compared to the prospect of facing his own son.
Scott knocked on the bathroom door. “Let’s go,” he said. “The car is waiting.”
They had secured an exact replica of Jeremiah’s car, right down to the coffee stains on the front carpet and the dent on the bumper. He’d be picking Parker up in that. Scott would follow close behind. “Just to be safe,” Scott said, which Jeremiah understood to be a precaution against any sudden decision he might make to flee. He had no such plans, though. They were holding his money, just as he was holding on to the package. They’d agreed to make the swap at the last possible moment. “Just to be safe,” Jeremiah had said.
Since he’d last been to Parker’s high school, a locked-door policy had been implemented. Jeremiah had to press an intercom button and tell a receptionist his business there before the door would be unlocked.
“Jeremiah Adams,” he said into the speaker. “I’m here to pick up my son. He has a doctor’s appointment.” The door buzzed open and he went inside and through to the front office.
The Mirror Man Page 27
