Dead?
Or.…
A fake.
Tom felt queasy. Surely this was not a sight meant for his eyes. He did not belong here. Tom turned to retreat to his guest room. He snapped off the lights and climbed back up the stairs, gripping the banister. As he reached the top of the steps, he hooked a turn into a dark corridor and was met with a female scream.
Bella, the wife of Simon Giamatti, stood before him aiming a strange, black-and-yellow gun in his direction.
Tom halted so quickly he nearly fell backward.
“Don’t move!” she shouted.
“I’m not moving! It’s me, don’t shoot!” He raised his hands in swift surrender.
Bella Giamatti relaxed as she realized the midnight prowler was her houseguest. She frowned.
“What are you doing snooping around in the dark?” she asked, blond hair piled high in a bun and curves draped in a silk robe.
“I went for a walk,” he offered weakly.
“I almost zapped you with my rapist stun gun.” She lowered her arm. “You would have been on the floor in a big world of hurt.”
Then Cooper spoke behind her. He emerged from the shadows, also holding a gun – a real one – a 9mm semi-automatic.
“And I almost put some holes in you, which would’ve been an even bigger problem,” he said.
“He was in the basement,” said Bella.
Cooper examined Tom with a stern and suspicious stare. “What were you doing down there?”
“I don’t know,” Tom said, still catching his breath. “I couldn’t sleep. I just went for a walk.… I didn’t mean to.…”
Giamatti entered the scene next, eyelids heavy, moving slowly with a limp in his own long robe. “What on earth is going on?”
Cooper said, “Mrs. Giamatti, you can go back to bed. We’ll take it from here.”
Bella thanked Cooper and left, giving Tom one last glare of disapproval with her pretty blue eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Tom said.
“Stay right where you are,” said Cooper. Tom’s feet stayed planted. Cooper turned to Giamatti and told him, “Everybody’s fine. It’s just Tom. Your wife heard something and went to see what it was, and he startled her.” Then he added, “He was in the basement.”
Giamatti’s eyes opened wider. He asked, “Did he see—?”
Tom answered, “Yes. I did. I was just going to get a snack and I started roaming.…” He stared at two solemn faces, uncertain of his fate. “I won’t tell anybody about this.”
“It’s too late,” Giamatti said with a large sigh that seemed to ripple through his robe. “You’ve seen it. What’s done is done. Gentlemen, let’s go into the study.”
Tom followed Giamatti and Cooper. He had a lot of questions but didn’t want to further stir things up. He just wanted to cooperate and prove he meant no harm. He couldn’t shake the eerie image of the president of the United States sitting immobile with a frozen face.
In the massive study, Giamatti made himself a scotch and water and offered drinks to the others, who declined. He took his drink with him and sat in his favorite chair. Tom sat on a small couch, and Cooper sat in a straight-back chair, facing him, gun put away.
“So you decided to go for a walk?” Giamatti said, almost pleasantly.
Tom spoke carefully, feeling his pajamas cling with sweat. “I couldn’t sleep. It started out I was looking for the kitchen…then I just sort of wandered.”
“Yes, you did,” said Giamatti. “And you made a discovery.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What did you think?” Giamatti asked.
“About what?”
“The replica.”
“Very…lifelike.”
“Good.”
Giamatti took a sip of his drink, then continued. “Tom, you’re part of a top-secret techno-biological experiment. You have behaved admirably in keeping it secret, even under some difficult and extraordinary circumstances. For that, I commend you. Also, I feel I can trust you. I’m going to take you into an even deeper level of secrecy, highly classified information known only to a few, and I expect you to respect and honor what I am about to tell you with absolute confidentiality. The consequences of any leak are bigger than you can imagine. It would pose a threat to national security. Do we have an understanding, Tom Nolan?”
Tom’s throat was dry. His response was tense but authentic. He pushed it out. “Yes.”
Giamatti nodded. He looked over at Cooper, then back to Tom.
“All right then,” said Giamatti. “We’ll begin with what you just saw. That is an artificial reproduction of the president, just like your own duplication. It’s the president’s shell. We scanned him in the same manner we scanned you. He is equipped to receive his own consciousness and memory. It’s my fault you made the discovery. We brought the shell out of the vault for final testing before we conduct the transfer of identity next week.”
“A transfer? Like me?”
“Yes. Like you. This entire project has been laid out in a sequence of tests that build on one another to prove the viability of a breakthrough procedure to save our president. As you know, the digitization of Louis Karp’s brain was our proof of concept to go to the next level with your duplication to rescue you from the ravages of Lowrey’s disease. What you didn’t know is that you, too, are a test to give us the confidence and reassurance we need to proceed with a very delicate transition for the leader of the free world. Louis paved the way for you. And now you are paving the way for President Gus Hartel.”
“But President Hartel is healthy,” Tom said in a hesitant voice. “Isn’t he?”
Giamatti said, “There’s nothing wrong with him…to the outside world. But things are not what they seem. We are in the middle of a significant government crisis. One year ago, I flew to DC to meet with the president and his closest advisers. He had just been diagnosed with advanced leukemia. The decision was made to not disclose this information. As you know, the president is currently campaigning for a second term and heavily favored to win. However, with his current prognosis, it is unlikely he would live through a second term. Acknowledging his illness or pulling out of the race would essentially concede the presidency to the rival party. There is no one else from the president’s party who could win the popular vote.”
Giamatti stood. He slowly limped toward a wall filled with photos of himself with various political leaders and entertainment icons. He smiled and pointed at one picture in particular. “This is me with Gus when he was an Illinois state senator. How young we look. We have been close for many, many years.”
He turned to face Tom. “I helped fund his campaigns. He’s been a friend, an ally, an advocate. When I was among the chosen few to learn about his condition, I knew I had to help him in any way I could. I’ve been blessed to amass a significant fortune through my business endeavors over the past forty years. I started life with nothing, the son of a factory worker, and built a financial empire beyond my wildest dreams. One of the ways I’ve given back is through my contributions and funding to scientific research, with a particular interest in theories of sustainable life. When I made my first millions, my first priority was to take my father out of the factory and place him in a better life, living comfortably and securely, after all the sacrifices he had made for me. As soon as I was able to do that, he became ill, and I realized the one thing my money could not do was protect him, or any of us, from the cruelties of the biological clock. He died at fifty-seven from lung cancer.”
Giamatti advanced down the wall of photos to a black-and-white picture of himself with his father, both of them smiling but the father obviously withered by sickness, hunched and unshaven.
Giamatti turned back to face Tom. “By the time I was informed of President Hartel’s condition, I had a considerable level of confidence that some of the pockets of research I had f
unded – if brought together under a single mission – could produce a real breakthrough to sustain human life through technology. I had access to the best of the best across the fields of robotics and neurological science. This, combined with almost unlimited financial backing, was the key to opening the door to what is truly possible in the twenty-first century.”
Giamatti returned to his chair, slowed by his limp. He sat down. “Tom, there are fewer than forty people in the world who know what you know. You are the thirty-ninth. This list includes members of the president’s most trusted inner circle. Then there are the scientists and technicians who are conducting this work at its most intimate level. This is why I have been so adamant about the secrecy of this endeavor. This is bigger than just you. We have to save the president.”
Giamatti sipped his scotch and said, “Cooper, finish our story. Tell Tom here what’s taking place next week in this very house. It’s the culmination of everything we’ve been working toward.”
Cooper nodded. “Next week, the president is coming to Chicago for a campaign fundraiser. It will be held downtown at the Grand Ballroom of Navy Pier. The night before the fundraiser, the president will be staying here at the mansion as a guest. The president’s closest advisers and trusted Secret Service men will stay with him at the house. During the president’s stay, the lab team will be set up in the basement. The operation will take place that night.”
Tom said, “The operation?”
Giamatti smiled. “Yes, indeed. The operation. The replica you encountered? We will transfer the president’s consciousness into it. That will be his new physical form. The rest of the world won’t know it, but when the president speaks at the fundraiser the next day, he will live in a technically perfect likeness absent of any health impairments. He will be fully healthy, fully functional, and indistinguishable from his previous physical form. It will be a seamless transition without missing a beat in his busy schedule, without arousing any suspicions. My greatest thrill will be watching the president deliver that speech to a full house of supporters and media, without anyone realizing they are in the presence of a human life replicated by science, a man-machine hybrid equipped with the president’s full mental capabilities.”
In the silence that followed, Tom tried to come up with words, but he was overwhelmed. His head was spinning.
“I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted.
“Let it sink in,” said Giamatti. “And know that you are in good company. You and President Hartel are the first beneficiaries of this extraordinary breakthrough. I look forward to my own turn, to Bella’s turn. And Cooper.…” Giamatti turned to face his faithful, longtime business associate. “Cooper, you will have your time. That is my promise to you.”
“Thank you,” said Cooper, allowing a small smile to break through his typically stoic demeanor.
“What about—” Tom started.
“Your missing shell?” Giamatti said.
Tom nodded.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Giamatti firmly. “A two-bit crook has run off with your replica, but I’m confident we’ll get it back. We’ve been following several leads. We have people in high places, inside the CIA, who will make sure it is retrieved and brought back safely. It’s only a matter of time, I assure you.”
“Thank you.” Tom knew his condition wasn’t getting any better. He continued to feel random lapses in muscle coordination. “I want to get my life back together. I miss my family.”
Giamatti smiled. “Of course you do. You have nothing to worry about. We will make you whole again.”
Chapter Fourteen
Giamatti called a meeting to regroup the Gemini Experiment team at the Perking Institute laboratory. They gathered in uncomfortable silence, anxious for an update on the crisis that had disrupted their breakthrough achievement.
Cooper took attendance, checking off names on a clipboard with sharp, quick strokes. When he was done, he scanned the assembled, standing doctors and scientists with a stone face.
“We’re missing one,” he told Giamatti. “Alan Farron.”
“Alan?” muttered Giamatti. “Where the hell is he?”
“I sent him repeated messages. I didn’t hear back.”
Giamatti frowned with impatience, leaned against the edge of a desk to take the weight off his bad leg. “He’s usually punctual. We’ll have to talk to him independently. Let’s get started.”
Cooper addressed the team, “Has anyone heard from Alan Farron?”
He received small shrugs and head shakes.
Giamatti raised his hand to draw everyone’s attention. “Listen. I’ll be brief. Please listen to what I have to say.”
All eyes rested on the large man with a white beard who had led this effort since the beginning. His usual zest and enthusiasm had been replaced by a brittle tone of aggravation.
“I am sorry to say we are suspending operations until further notice,” he said. “As you know, we have security issues requiring our immediate attention. I want to assure you we will bring this matter under control. We do not need to bring in outside authorities. We are not expanding awareness of this project. All of you remain under the same set of confidentiality agreements as before, without change. If you have any questions, please talk to Boyd. At the end of this meeting he will be distributing key messages for you to use as needed with your immediate family. I ask that you sit tight. Do not accept other work. We will resume operations. That is my promise to you.”
Giamatti shifted his stance. He couldn’t stand still for any length of time. It hurt. He privately wished he was already inside his own new shell, the one with perfect joints and a lack of the sensation known as pain.
“I don’t want this setback to take away from the enormity of what we have achieved together,” he said. “We have succeeded. You have seen it with your own eyes. Your hard work and dedication have paid off. We have total confidence we will recover the missing shell. In the meantime, Tom Nolan is safe and isolated for his own good. You do not need to worry about him. Our lab equipment is undamaged and remains fully operational. The human body of Louis Karp has received a proper burial. He is dead to the outside world. The digital components of Mr. Karp will be retired as soon as possible. We will finish this experiment as intended. Consider this a small blip…in a milestone in human history.”
To conclude the meeting, Mel, the facility’s security guard, collected everyone’s electronic security passes with the promise they would be reissued once the lab reopened. As the nearly two dozen doctors and scientists began leaving the building, Mel approached Giamatti with a stricken look on his long, wrinkled face.
“I feel responsible,” he said. “He just walked out…and I let him. I had no idea there was an attack.”
Giamatti spoke in a low tone. “We will recover from this. You were fooled. Everyone who watched him leave was fooled. We forgot we were dealing with a criminal. A man with a devious and clever mind. We were focused on preventing people from breaking in…not breaking out.”
Steven Morris approached Giamatti next. He wore a neck brace, stiffly facing forward. His eyes remained bloodshot. Giamatti immediately asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” said Steven. “It still hurts to swallow.” His voice retained some hoarseness. “I should be out of this collar soon.”
“Good, good. How is…your wife?” His tone was not so much asking after her well-being – he was probing into her acceptance of a carefully crafted story to accompany Steven’s injury and loss of the family Camry. Working closely with Cooper and Boyd, they had concocted an inner-city mugging – a well-rehearsed tale about a carjacker who choked Steven and took his car.
“She’s scared but thankful I’m alive. She bought it. All of it. Thank God, because I’m not a very good liar.”
“Cooper has arranged for your rental car?” said Giamatti.
�
�Yes,” Steven said. “That’s how I got here.”
“Don’t contact your insurance company. We don’t want some Allstate investigator on this. We will handle it.”
Steven nodded. “How’s Tom?”
“Tom is good,” said Giamatti. “He’s staying at my house. Other than the knock he took to the head, he’s unharmed. He’s safe. We need to keep him hidden…because of the confusion.”
“He’s a good man,” Steven said. “I feel guilty about what’s happened. I brought him into this mess.”
“It is not a mess,” said Giamatti firmly. “He’s going to be fine. My God, we’re going to save his life – that’s more than fine.”
“I know. I’m just feeling protective. We go way back. I’ve been his friend since high school. We were on the basketball team together. We were at each other’s weddings. I’m glad we’re saving his life. Let him know I’m thinking about him, and if there’s anything I can do.…”
“Bella and I are taking good care of him,” said Giamatti. “Now you must take care of yourself. We need you. Our work is not done. We have big things ahead.”
Giamatti’s expression and body language clearly indicated he was ready to end the conversation. Steven remained standing in front of the billionnaire, and his voice took on an uncomfortable tone.
“I need to ask you something,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Would it be possible to obtain an advance on my next pay period?”
Giamatti studied him. “Is everything okay?”
“This is embarrassing. I’m only asking because it’s a tough situation. We’re having money issues.”
“You?” Giamatti asked in a skeptical voice.
“I know.”
“What is it? Gambling problem?”
“No,” said Steven. “Nothing like that. We’re helping some family members who’ve hit hard times. It’s my sister and her husband. They have three young kids and put all their money in a bad investment. It’s really crippled them financially and our savings got tied up in it, too.”
The Gemini Experiment Page 10
