The Tomorrow Clone (The Tomorrow Gene Book 3)

by Sean Platt

Papa answered, and they traded pleasantries. Ephraim couldn’t help himself; when Sophie was finished listing the places they’d tried, he voiced his doubts. Papa and Sophie gave their usual, predictable answers.

  “Today was always about sniffing around,” Papa said. “As you said, Ephraim, it was unlikely that you would trip over him, especially if he’s trying to lay low.”

  “But how hard is he trying?” Sophie asked, then mentioned the dead Hannah clone.

  “He’s creating a specific distraction,” Papa said. “That’s different. He wants everyone afraid for Jubilee. Nobody’s going to cancel the parade. They’ll just watch it really, really closely. Think about it. Where is the parade?”

  “Midtown,” said Ephraim. “And Riverbed is in Soho; I get it. But what about—”

  Papa stopped him. “I know what you’re going to say. Riverbed’s security is too tight and he won’t try there. Am I right?”

  Ephraim shrugged at Sophie. “Yes.”

  “I was talking to one of The Change people at GEM last night, and she said the same thing. I guess your influence forced Fiona to make a few changes. So yes, I agree. Ephraim won’t go there. He’d be an open target. They’ve cleared out reception, and it’s now fronted with a giant atrium that he’d have to cross.”

  “So …”

  “Well, at first that bothered me,” Papa said. “I had some secondary ideas, but none felt right. Eden is taking a huge risk by sending Ephraim to the city. I wouldn’t believe it if there wasn’t the Smart Fountain record, down to the genes.”

  “Maybe there’s a third Ephraim clone?” Sophie said, with an apologetic look to Ephraim.

  “There’s not,” Papa said. “I’ve verified in every way that I can. I very seriously doubt even Neven could do it, seeing as he doesn’t have your brain map and that’s what the Domain is supposedly set up for: 2.0 clones, not 1.0s like you. No offense, Ephraim.”

  “Um …”

  “The original Ephraim is there, all right,” Papa said. “They’ve got his genetic fingerprint on the Fountain, and Ava Bloom is getting intel from somewhere. But it’s a big risk for him to be there, Jonathan wouldn’t have sent him without a damn good reason. It does make sense to do something at Riverbed — steal more of their tech, maybe plant evidence to frame Fiona and take some of the heat off Eden. I’ve even heard whispers — just rumors, but they’re out there — that parts of GEM are concerned about rogue cloning labs. Jonathan would want Riverbed to be one of those rogues, assuming they aren’t already.”

  “But you just said it couldn’t be Riverbed.”

  “That’s the thing,” Papa said. “Just this afternoon, my GEM person called. She told me that the entire agency — police included, she thinks — is mobilizing to focus on a different Riverbed location. One nobody knows about.”

  “How does GEM know about it?”

  “She wasn’t sure. But that’s where all of GEM’s focus is going. It’s lower Manhattan. Near WTC1. I poked around, asked some Change people inside Riverbed the right questions. And yes, it looks like they have a second location. Mostly storage and processing, but the right kind of place for Ephraim to do some damage. And compared to Riverbed’s main building, the security is light.”

  “Except that every cop in the city that’s not at the parade in Midtown will be there,” Ephraim said.

  “And GEM,” Sophie added.

  “They’ll lay low if they’re smart,” Papa said. “What good is a trap if the prey can see how closely the hunter guards it? They have to stay out of sight.”

  “If everyone is watching this second Riverbed location,” Sophie said, “then how are we supposed to get the other Ephraim first?”

  Ephraim could practically hear Papa smile on the other end: a pernicious problem finally solved. And Papa said, “I got you a code. My connection had enough clearance to get you inside the Riverbed facility. If you go now, tonight, you can get in before GEM and the others mobilize in the morning. Get him first, then call me. I have plenty of people inside NYPD. I can send a helicopter to extract you all from the roof.”

  Ephraim looked at Sophie. His intuition was a throbbing red light. He wasn’t sure about this. Yes, it all sounded workable — far more than the ‘poke and pray’ strategy they’d employed so far. But he’d had such a strong hunch all day, and now it pressed him like a firm hand. He almost understood what his gut was trying to tell him — almost knew the right thing to do. But now there was this contravening order. Papa was going to tell them to go somewhere else, then spend the night in waiting.

  Before Ephraim could raise his objection, Sophie nodded. “Okay. Sounds good. Any tips on where we should hide?”

  “That’s what’s beautiful. The building sits atop a bunch of repurposed utility corridors.” Then Papa added something that lit up all of Ephraim’s senses, one at a time. “You can hide in the Riverbed facility’s basement easily, down in the tunnels.”

  Chapter 35

  Whatever Clone

  This time Mercer woke to the sound of commotion beyond the hotel room’s window. Great. He’d been in the middle of a dream in which Neven and the Hershel clone had been stalking him. Just before Mercer woke, Neven had pointed at him and said deadpan: There he is.

  He opened his eyes, rolled over, and considered his surprisingly decent night’s sleep. He recalled two things. First, he was in danger. Fiona seemed to have believed some of his story, but not all of it. Second, he’d gotten at least a bit of reprieve. Fiona’s skepticism, if Mercer had to guess, centered on his “being Mercer Fox” and therefore always having some ulterior motive. Not unlike being Fiona Roberson.

  But she must have bought the lie about his other supplier. Real Ephraim wasn’t involved, and he was an oblivious idiot — that part of Mercer’s story had to seem true, or the most important pieces would crumble. If Ephraim was involved, it meant Mercer’s entire tale was bullshit, down to his knowledge of the Quarry, or lack thereof.

  Curiously, after Fiona’s chat with Wood, she hadn’t come back to liquify Mercer. The clone must have kept its shit together and convinced Fiona that it was the original Hershel. And that made sense if the Quarry had gone.

  Mercer looked around. One of the two bodyguards was at the door watching him, but having a babysitter was a lot better than sleeping with a shackle on his leg. Fiona was nowhere in sight, but judging by the low talking, she was probably in the suite’s outer room with Maria and the other meathead. Apparently, this was going to work. His house of cards might stand.

  Good. Because it only had to stay up a little longer. Another change in Fiona’s demeanor, apart from the decision to unshackle Mercer and stop pestering him about the fucking Quarry, had been a decision to head south in the morning, toward lower Manhattan. Why, he didn’t know. Riverbed was in SoHo. But Mercer imagined that they’d go soon, and judging by the racket outside, Jubilee was starting. Things would be crazy in hours. And then, while Fiona’s people were looking for the Ephraim clone, Mercer could slip away.

  Fiona entered the room with a soft, electric purr; Maria immaculately dressed and standing beside her.

  “Your ‘competitor,’” Fiona said. Two words stated as a barely implied question. But Mercer knew she was referring to the lie he’d told yesterday, about the clone dealer Eden worked with in addition to Mercer — the one who might know where the Quarry had gone.

  “What about him?”

  “He’s stopped broadcasting.”

  “Broadcasting what?”

  Fiona’s face was unreadable. Every discussion with this woman was another game of chess. It was exhausting. Right now, she was testing him. Gauging his reactions, and everything he said for truth or deception.

  “The subliminal control burst signal.”

  Mercer didn’t understand. He was still half-asleep. Being awoken in the middle of a dream always left him foggy, his limbs feeling like they each weighed a thousand pounds each.

  “What?”

  “The technology Eden uses to c
ontrol its clones. We talked about it yesterday. Remember? It’s what made you finally tell me the truth about Eden’s second distributor.”

  Adrenaline woke Mercer the rest of the way. Fiona’s tone was dipped in poison. Had she emphasized the word truth just a little?

  “Oh, right,” Mercer said. “Yeah, he’d have access to something like that, if he’s working with Jonathan. He’s stopped broadcasting? Is that bad? Does it mean he’s out of the picture?”

  “It might just mean he’s finished. Maybe he’s given whatever clone he’s trying to control enough of a push because he’s sent it all the subconscious messages for it to do what he wants.”

  Mercer swallowed. She’d definitely stressed the phrase ‘whatever clone.’ Fiona knew exactly which clone she thought was being controlled.

  There was no good response. Less was better. “Okay,” Mercer said.

  “It also probably means things are moving along. So, we need to move along, too.”

  “Okay.”

  Fiona waited for Mercer to hang himself.

  The room was quiet. Beyond the windows, he could see parade floats inflating, hear the bang of illegal fireworks, the shouts and hoots of early revelers. Soon the Midtown streets would be madness.

  Finally, Mercer said, “Where?”

  “South. I told you yesterday.”

  “You said GEM and the police were going south. You said that’s where the Ephraim clone was headed.”

  “Right.”

  Mercer looked helplessly around the room. Even if Fiona had somehow made up with GEM’s director and felt that she and Wood were now copacetic, she couldn’t possibly want to take their little group into the thick of the dragnet being cast for Clone Ephraim.

  The streets would be a zoo, even in the financial district. Fiona acted like she could navigate crowds and blend in, but she was in a fucking wheelchair and couldn’t move.

  “I called for a car to take us there. A van with large one-way windows. And a police escort to get it through barricades.”

  Mercer was at a loss. He was sure they’d take the existing van back to Riverbed, and in the shuffle to get through security, as long as they kept him out of cuffs, he’d be able to bolt. Screw meeting with Wood like Neven wanted. Priorities had changed. He needed to escape.

  “Why?” It was all he could think to say.

  “I want to see him captured,” Fiona said, “so I can see all your stories come true.”

  Chapter 36

  Same as Before

  Ephraim and Sophie had barely slept after breaking into the tunnels. The cool, dank place was an abandoned dungeon that gave them both the creeps. But as the long hours dragged on they started to doze off. They could hear the sounds of Jubilee ramping up, its noise muted and made into slow bass beats as it passed through thick concrete above them.

  Ephraim’s Doodad made a weak noise, as if apologizing. “Papa,” he explained after looking at the screen.

  “I wish he could call. Messages aren’t as reassuring.”

  “We’re lucky messages make it down here. It’s that or nothing.”

  Sophie shrugged. She was strong, but this nightmare had beaten her down. A Halloween decorator couldn’t have made the tunnels any creepier. In any one of those rooms, there might be someone in chains. Moaning. Or monsters dressed in black.

  “I guess the fact that we aren’t talking to Papa makes it easier,” Sophie said.

  “What?”

  “Not doing what he asked us to do.”

  “Sophie,” Ephraim wanted his upbeat companion back. She’d been such a downer over the past hours, as morning dawned unseen.

  “Don’t tell me to knock it off.”

  “Knock it off,” Ephraim said.

  Sophie tried to smile, clearly exhausted.

  “We’ll get the other Ephraim. And we’ll get him first, without GEM or the others being any wiser. That’s why we’re here, and that’s what Papa asked us to do.”

  “I just don’t—”

  “I know what you just don’t. So I guess you have to trust me.”

  Sophie’s feigned smile became half real. She craned up to kiss him.

  “It’s so strange. Before we talked to Papa, I had the strongest feeling. I still do. Even when we were walking around the city all day looking for clone dealers, I had it. I could see this place in my head. Just … the tunnels.” Ephraim shook his head. “I don’t know why, but I’m sure he’ll be here. I know it in my bones.”

  “So now you’re psychic?”

  “Maybe. Does that turn you on?”

  “Sure. But maybe the reason is that you’re somehow connected to the other Ephraim. And that doesn’t turn me on.”

  She was kidding, but Ephraim had thought of that. Neven hadn’t been a great clone father; he’d never sat Ephraim on his knee to explain the genetically engineered birds and bees. Some of what Neven had said — the way he’d been conditioned, for sure — was true. Other things, like the clone self-destruct Neven had threatened before his murder, were lies. Maybe there was a connection between a donor and his clone. It sounded like crap, but stranger things had happened.

  Ephraim’s faith in his hunch wavered. He had been certain that Real Ephraim would show, because there were so many things here he’d want to get, or steal, or obfuscate, check out, or shut down. But now he was less sure. It was the place, the long night trying to sleep on concrete, worrying about rats and worse things.

  The old stone absorbed hope the way it seeps out moisture.

  “What did Papa’s message say?” Sophie asked.

  “He just confirmed that what his person inside GEM said. Agents from GEM and the police are loading up and coming down to lower Manhattan.”

  “Now what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a GEM agent or a cop.”

  “I meant for us.”

  “Waiting, same as before.”

  Sophie looked up. It almost sounded like a band was tuning up topside. Jubilee took over the island, just like Procession always tried to do the day before. The tune-up sounded loud; Ephraim could only imagine how deafening it must be up above. And the tromping feet beneath it made sense; different areas of the city had their own little parades in addition to the main one in Midtown. People were arriving early. They’d be drunk by 9 AM, if they weren’t already.

  Dust was sifting from the ceiling in time with the thrum of a bass guitar.

  “I’m so tired of waiting,” Sophie said. “I feel like this place is going to collapse.”

  Ephraim stood. He extended a hand, and Sophie took it.

  “Agreed. What do you say we blow this joint, and start keeping an eye out for startlingly handsome strangers thataway?” He nodded toward the less-dank section to their right, where it had seemed unsafe to camp overnight in case Ephraim showed early and caught them sleeping. But it was morning now, and their eyes were open. Time to set a stakeout. Time to be ready.

  “Oh,” Sophie purred, gazing beyond the dungeon and toward the finished part of the basement. “I do love you.”

  Chapter 37

  Final Preperations

  Hershel pointed, directing his agents. He wanted to seem busy and useful. But duty wasn’t on his mind. He just needed to establish himself as present before sneaking away.

  With Martinez duly instructed — and on for a double shift that would stretch into the wee hours — Hershel looked around at his group and declared his job here finished enough. They’d all arrived in nondescript vehicles or on foot and were dressed in plain clothes. The cops seemed to have done the same. With luck, all the eyes searching for Ephraim Todd would go unseen themselves. With even more luck, Fiona’s tip about Riverbed’s second location would be dead on.

  Fiona knew how vital her tip’s validity was; she seemed to sincerely believe that GEM had her Quarry and would return it if they snatched the clone. He’d spoken with her a few hours after his arrival, around noon. She’d since taken up station in her big ugly van along the southern parad
e route, a half-block up from the building she’d described.

  The rest of the cops and agents were more spread out. Some had been milling since dawn, and soon the first shift would be going home. Everyone was bored. GEM wasn’t used to stakeouts and was probably shit at them.

  Hershel laughed to himself. Martinez’s double had started. He had hours of mind-numbing surveillance ahead of him, given that it was almost certain that Ephraim wouldn’t show until dark. That’s when Hershel would try, if he were in the clone’s shoes.

  Not that Hershel particularly cared if the clone was caught, despite his effort at the appropriate appearance. Hershel checked his Doodad: almost two o’clock. Time to get the hell out of here.

  He approached the sergeant — a fat man with a mustache that looked like it had to be a joke. He was wearing khakis and looked like it might be the first time he’d ever not worn a uniform.

  “You all set?” Hershel asked.

  “That’s police business,” the sergeant said.

  “My people are set.”

  “So long as they stay out of our way and don’t raise no flags. If one of your GEMmy assholes gets seen or makes it look like anyone is watching the building—”

  “At least we are watching the building.”

  “Yeah?” The word came out in two syllables, thick with implications and a distinct whiff of So whatcha gonna do about it?

  “My office gave you the tip,” Hershel said.

  “Good for you.”

  “I just want to make sure we’re set. I need to run back to GEM.”

  “You can all run, far as I care.”

  The cop had already stopped giving Hershel the courtesy of looking his way. He had a fist on one hip and was looking vaguely toward the Riverbed building, invisible from this far down. The towering shape of WTC1 peeked from beyond the immediate skyline.

  Hershel supposed he was dismissed. He eyed the cop, fixing on the two thick rolls of fat bulging from his collar. Below the fat was muscle. Below the muscle were his cervical vertebrae. Hershel wondered how much harder it would be to break a fat man’s neck.