The Gemini Experiment

by Brian Pinkerton

  The car reached its destination and parked. The engine shut down. The trunk popped open and Tom sat up. Cooper helped him out. They were inside the gates of Giamatti’s estate, steps away from a stunning mansion that appeared to Tom more like an elegant country club than a home.

  The front door opened and Giamatti quickly ushered them inside, wearing a monogrammed robe and slippers.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked Tom.

  “Pretty bad all around.”

  Limping slightly, Giamatti led them into a large, brightly lit den of elegant furnishings and expensive art. A young, beautiful woman appeared and extended a hand from a long, colorful muumuu.

  “This is my wife, Bella.”

  Tom shook her hand and she said, “Can I get you something to eat? You must be starved.”

  “Yes, please. Anything is fine. I’ve been on the floor of a boat all day.”

  “A little seasick, too, I would imagine,” said Giamatti. “Have a seat.” He gestured to a large, stuffed chair, and Tom lowered himself into it, finding immediate comfort for his weary bones.

  Giamatti sat in his chair, the biggest in the room, and Cooper took a seat on the couch.

  “How is Emily?” Tom asked quickly.

  “Emily is.…” Giamatti chose his words carefully. “Cooperating.”

  “With who?”

  “With the mission, of course.”

  “So she can’t defend me?”

  “She can defend you. She just can’t reveal the experiment.”

  Tom grew angry. “I’m tired of all this secrecy. Why can’t we just explain what’s happening? It’s simple. There’s a man who appears to be me committing crimes—”

  “—who is a robot,” said Giamatti firmly. “How does that sound? This is not the time nor the place to go down that path. This is a very delicate operation. It’s too soon to go public. There’s too much at risk.”

  “But I’m at risk.”

  “You’re safe here. We’ll put you up in one of the guest rooms. It’s just for a while.”

  Cooper spoke up. “We’ll find him. He’s not very bright. He’s reckless. He’ll continue to commit petty crimes.”

  Giamatti said, “Leave everything to us. I have connections in all the right places. We’ll catch Louis Karp.”

  “But we don’t know where he is,” said Tom.

  “I have a pretty good lead,” Giamatti said. “There was a robbery earlier today in Kissimmee, Florida. A man robbed a diner and shot the woman at the cash register.”

  “How do you know it’s me – him?”

  “The description of the man is too general to be useful, but there is one small detail that we found significant.”

  “And that is?”

  “The woman at the diner claimed to shoot first. She said she shot the man squarely in the chest. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t bleed. Naturally the local authorities figure she missed – or perhaps the man was wearing a bulletproof vest under his clothes. I believe there could be another reason he didn’t go down.”

  “It would take a full day of driving to reach Kissimmee,” Cooper said. “So it’s entirely possible he made it that far. We’re looking at other leads as well.”

  Giamatti said, “We just need you to be patient.”

  “Can I talk to Emily?”

  “Not right now. We can’t risk it. The police are probably waiting for you to contact her. But we’ll see that she knows you’re safe. We’ll relay any messages.…”

  Tom lowered his head.

  “She’ll be fine,” said Giamatti. “The police spent the day talking with her. All she said is you left for work this morning and that you were acting perfectly normal. She’s not a suspect.”

  “Not a suspect,” Tom muttered, amazed that this would even be a possibility. He grew angry. “What’s to stop me from exposing all this? My life and family have been upended. I could turn my phone back on, contact the authorities and tell them the truth.”

  “We have a contingency plan for leaks,” said Giamatti. “It’s been in place for a long time. It includes the rapid relocation of the lab to a new site. We would deny everything you said and indeed you would sound crazy.”

  Bella arrived carrying a tray with sandwiches, fruit and a mug of tea. She set it on a small table in front of Tom.

  “Give us a few days,” Cooper said. “We’ll find him.”

  Tom reached for the mug. As he started to pick it up, his hand trembled, and his fingers lost their grip. He quickly set the mug back down before it spilled.

  “You need him back as much as we do,” Giamatti said to Tom, watching him struggle to control his hand movement. “I’d say…even more.”

  * * *

  The Giamattis provided Tom with clean clothes, including a set of pajamas, and led him to a luxurious guest room at least twice as big as Tom and Emily’s own bedroom at home. He showered in a sparkling clean adjacent bathroom, still shedding grass from his ride in the lawn maintenance truck. The pajamas were one size too large, but fresh and very much appreciated. He slipped into them with tired, uncooperative limbs.

  Exhausted, Tom climbed into the big bed. His room included a large flat-screen television, and he almost turned it on before stopping himself. It was entirely possible he would encounter news coverage about himself committing crimes that he did (steal a car, kidnap a baby) and didn’t (shoot people, rob stores) do.

  It had been a very busy day.

  Tom fell asleep in the soft bed, on top of the sheets and surrounded by pillows, missing his wife and daughter.

  A few hours later, he woke up with a start. For a few fleeting seconds, he felt like he was still being chased. For several more seconds, he recalled the previous day’s adventures as some kind of long, crazy dream. Then reality set in and his strange surroundings regained their backstory. Tom came to realize that the past twenty-four hours really happened and could not simply dissipate upon awakening.

  The big mansion was dark and quiet, except for the steady hum of the air-conditioning. Tom’s throat felt dry. He tried to return to sleep but his heart pounded, caught up again in his insane predicament, and he couldn’t lie still. He climbed out of bed, put on a soft robe, and went searching for something to drink.

  He thought he remembered the way to the kitchen but quickly got lost in a maze of corridors. Bella Giamatti had told him to help himself to whatever he wanted in the refrigerator, whenever he wanted, and he was going to take her up on her offer.

  But the kitchen became elusive. He didn’t want to start flipping on lights. And he was kind of enjoying exploring the sprawling mansion without an escort, like being lost in a museum after hours.

  Tom opened a few doors and peeked inside. He found a large library, shelves stacked high with books. He discovered a multimedia room with rows of plush seats and a big movie theater screen. One of the doors revealed a staircase descending to a lower level. Giamatti’s game room? thought Tom. This ought to be good.

  Tom quietly stepped down the stairs, holding the rail for balance. At the bottom, he discovered a corridor of rooms. He pushed open the first door and flipped on the light switch.

  Then he gasped.

  The room was mostly barren, lined with stacks of boxes against the walls. It looked like a typical dull basement storage room except for one shocking element that managed to top the past twenty-four hours’ surreal turn of events. It was something so seriously hallucinatory that Tom placed a hand over his mouth to stop from shouting.

  A man sat in a chair in the center of the room. He sat very still, staring straight ahead, almost pleasantly.

  Tom recognized the man immediately – and indeed most people would.

  It was the president of the United States.

  Chapter Twelve

  Louis examined the rough, lined faces of his captors as they moved a
round the motel room, picking through his meager possessions. They were unusually pale for Florida. Sitting up on the bed, hands cuffed behind his back, Louis demanded, “Who are you pieces of shit? Who sent you?”

  When they didn’t respond, he shouted his words louder.

  “Zatknis,” one of them finally barked back.

  “Zatknis sent you?”

  Another man chortled, the first break from their stone-like demeanor. He was tubby with a thick salt-and-pepper mustache. He looked down at Louis.

  “Zatknis is Russian,” he said in a deep monotone. “It means to shut the hell up.”

  Louis responded with a barrage of profanity. It was met with another round of laughter.

  “Glad you like my standup act,” Louis said, although he wasn’t standing. He remained sitting on the bed, keeping very still except for small movements behind his back that he kept hidden.

  As the intruders collected his belongings, Louis worked to pull one of his hands through the steel cuff. With ordinary hands and strength, it would be impossible. But now he possessed the necessary power to squeeze the thick part of his palm through the opening. He also felt a complete absence of pain to hold him back.

  Louis could sense his robotic hand crunching as it wriggled through the cuff, fingers twisting out of joint, components compressing like scrap metal going through a compactor.

  He wasn’t sure what would emerge but if it could still make a fist, that would be a victory.

  When one of the Russians noticed the squirm of his shoulders and detected an escape attempt, Louis had to speed up the final bit of extraction. His mangled hand slid free, formed a gnarled but potent fist, and the machine man inside took over.

  In a funny kind of unison, they all directed their flashlights at him. Louis excelled in the spotlight. The tubby Russian with the walrus mustache received a hit to the skull that knocked him out and definitely left a mark. The next one landed against the wall with a thundering thud and a third was tossed into the television. Guns began blazing. Louis absorbed a few bullets; several more missed their fast-moving target and punctured the wall.

  Beating back the Russians like weeds, Louis formed a path to the door. When a couple of them persisted on trying to slow him down, he tore the door from its hinges and flattened them with it.

  As Louis reached the outer balcony, several half-awake, disheveled motel guests peeked out of their rooms. “Go back inside!” he snarled, and they quickly obeyed, recognizing a legitimate threat. In the dark of the night, Louis hurried down a set of steps to ground level. When he reached the bottom, a medium-sized man with a beard and bushy eyebrows stood in his way.

  “Better move or you’ll be eating the cement,” Louis said. Then he recognized the individual and stared into his face for an uncertain moment.

  It was one of the scientists from the lab. A member of the nerd team that had plopped his mind into this pretty-boy casing.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Louis said, “but you’re not taking me anywhere.”

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong,” the man responded. “You’re coming with us.”

  Louis had a lot of questions. Like why the Russian circus paid him a room-service visit. But he had no time for Q&A. He could already hear a new commotion coming after him – the few who weren’t busted up or unconscious.

  “I’m leaving,” said Louis. “If you try to stop me, I’ll kill you.”

  “No, you won’t,” the man said with complete confidence. He calmly lifted his hand, clutching what appeared to be a television remote.

  Louis very quickly remembered that this gizmo was set to just one channel – his own.

  “Don’t—” he exclaimed, pouncing toward the scientist.

  Then the mental and physical faculties of Louis shut down, and he became a mannequin with a frozen, desperate expression of panic.

  * * *

  When Louis awoke, it was abrupt, like the flip of a switch. Because, quite literally, that was what happened.

  Now he was strapped down to a table with extra-sturdy clamps, two on each arm and leg, plus one that circled his neck like a dog collar.

  He couldn’t see much – just a low, white metal roof above, interrupted by faces peering over him.

  He stared up at the smarmy bearded scientist and his scruffy band of Russians. One of the Russians had a black eye, another a red, swollen mouth. Louis figured they weren’t too happy with him. Fine, it was mutual. He didn’t care for them and would welcome another opportunity to dish out beatings.

  “Hello, again,” said the scientist.

  “Where am I?” Louis asked.

  “The question,” the scientist said, “is not ‘Where am I?’ It should be ‘Where am I going?’ That’s much more interesting. Where are you? You’re inside a rental truck. This is a private, mobile space where we can conduct our operations undisturbed. We’re parked in a vacant lot in southern Florida. Not much is happening outside, pretty boring by intention. But – where are you going? That is much more interesting. You, my friend, are leaving the United States to be a person – an object – of much admiration in Moscow. We have a team waiting to receive you, examine you, learn from you and unlock your secrets for a brand-new audience.”

  Louis looked at the scientist strangely, mouth open but words unformed.

  “‘Why?’” the scientist said, anticipating his next question. “Allow me to explain. You may remember me by the name Alan. That’s not my real name. You can call me Alex. I joined the Gemini team as a legitimate scientist but also a resource for keeping my country informed on certain advances in science and technology that could interest them. I’m part of a Russian organization known as Technology Systems Research. We pose as US citizens, construct false personas and infiltrate classified experiments that could provide us with value. We live in a global society, there’s no need for proprietary attitudes toward medical breakthroughs that can benefit all of mankind. Am I right?”

  “I want out of here.”

  “No, I’m sorry. That’s not one of the options. It was a big enough nuisance to keep up with your cross-country trip. You move fast, but not out of sight. You see, at the beginning, I inserted a tracking chip into Tom Nolan’s replica. No one else knew. My original plan was to take possession of Tom after he re-entered society as a successful human duplicate. Your escape caught us off guard – it basically accelerated our plans.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be part of your ‘plan’.”

  “Oh, but the Kremlin is very excited to see you. They have been pursuing their own version of human robotics for years and have so much to gain from exploring you from the outside in. I’ve learned a lot on the Gemini team, but your physical acquisition will be invaluable to my country. You will be welcomed like a hero.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Do you really think you’re better off remaining here? I can tell you how that story ends. Sooner or later, you would have been captured by your US friends. Maybe in a week, maybe in a month, but they would have found you. They weren’t going to let a one hundred-million-dollar investment just walk away. And, spoiler alert, they were planning to kill you. You were just a trial run for Tom Nolan. The next phase of that project was to wipe away your mind so that you no longer existed in any way, shape or form. They were going to erase you from that wonderful marvel of technology and give it to Tom Nolan to save the life of a ‘more deserving’ man. You were disposable. A guinea pig. So don’t think of this as a kidnapping. Think of it as a rescue. If you cooperate with us, we keep you alive. If you create trouble and go against us – we’ll stick your electronic brain into a toaster. You can spend the rest of your existence warming bread.”

  “I’m not going to your Goddamned commie country. You can’t make me.”

  “Oh yes we can.”

  Alex lowered out of Louis’s view for a moment. When he retu
rned, he held up a bare foot.

  “Recognize this?” said Alex. “It’s your foot. We’ve already started your disassembly. You see, it’s much easier to smuggle you out of the country in small parts. Gentlemen, start the power tools.”

  Louis could hear the collective whirring of several drills. One of the Russians leaned into view, the tubby one with the mustache, wielding an electric drill with a wicked grin.

  “We will move you out of this country in numerous parcels under the guise of an international technology corporation. In little pieces, with your artificial flesh peeled away, you won’t be recognizable. At the other end, we’ll put you back together again like a giant jigsaw puzzle. It’ll be fun.”

  “Go to hell, you piece of trash.”

  Alex struck Louis across the face with the bare foot in his hand. Louis felt no pain but the sensation of being kicked by his own foot stunned him into a momentary silence.

  “Let’s begin,” said Alex to his Russian cohorts.

  Louis screamed as they crowded around him with their tools and pulled him apart with much whirring, grinding and buzzing. Alex relished holding up various body parts to show Louis the progress being made. The smirk on his lips definitely smacked of sadism.

  “I swear, I’ll kill you,” Louis screamed at him.

  Unperturbed, Alex removed Louis’s digital brain from the robotic head of Tom Nolan, detaching Louis from all his senses, reducing him once more to a terrified mind living in a black abyss without a body.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tom froze, heart seized up in an urge to flee but stalled from flight by a brain working overtime to satisfy the immense curiosity of What the hell is the president doing here?

  Was Tom dreaming?

  “Sir?” he said. “Mr. President?”

  There was no response. He studied the rotund, balding man who stared back with a dour, saggy-cheeked expression. Dressed in a dark suit and red tie, the president sat very still – as in unblinkingly still, no slight shudders of breathing, nothing.