by James Moore
Then the big bruiser he’d knocked flat came off the ground like a freshly launched rocket and slammed Declan into the side of the house they’d been approaching.
“Shit!” Evelyn shook her head. Cocky. Declan was getting too cocky again. He had to watch that.
“Let’s move. They need us.” Rafael spoke softly. Evelyn resisted the urge to make comments of her own; this was an observational situation and she needed to know what the Strike Team could do without help.
They came from behind the house and charged at the backs of the remaining targets. Sean didn’t hesitate. The behemoth who’d half broken him against the van was standing up and reaching for Tori, but Sean got there first, using two of the riot sticks to defend himself and attack at the same time.
The big boy never had a chance. Declan had already hurt him, and that was enough to give Sean the edge. He slapped one of the sticks against the ape’s left knee—the one holding all of his weight at that instant—and as he fell forward, Sean used the other wooden club to strike him in his throat. The bruiser fell down, gasping, unable to catch his breath.
At the same time, Tori attacked the girl who’d been defending their leader.
Evelyn felt her pulse increase. Their leader. Subject Seven. The monster himself. They hesitated. Her Strikers slowed for just a moment. They weren’t supposed to be impressed by him, but maybe they couldn’t help being in awe of the one that got away. Subject Seven was the one the rest of them were patterned after. He’d been tested and studied until they knew his weaknesses and strengths, until they could determine that he was the best of the previous generation of Doppelgangers. Strong, fast, intelligent.
And then he’d disappeared. Either taken by force or escaping on his own, he’d disappeared. Evelyn knew what happened, of course, but the Strike Teams were not told that he’d forced his way from the compound. Best not to give them any ideas. And now they could get him back for her. They could see exactly how he had changed, what had happened to the best of the previous model.
Rafael moved carefully, observing his enemy. Subject Seven looked back at him, that same half smile playing around his mouth. He was hard. He carried himself with unsettling confidence and looked at Rafael the same way a parent looks at a toddler, like he wasn’t even close to being a threat.
“I remember you.” Subject Seven ignored all of the fighters around them and focused on Rafael. He returned the favor. His people would win. He knew that.
Evelyn watched her Strike Team moving, fighting, winning. Even Declan was getting back up, too tough to be easily knocked out.
Rafael’s voice came over the radio. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Subject Seven bared his teeth in a smile and gestured for him to come forward. “Bring it.”
There was a gun in the belt of Rafael’s target. Subject Seven didn’t reach for it. Instead he waited for Rafael to come to him.
Rafael did not disappoint. He charged, already assessing exactly where and how he would hit his enemy. Subject Seven had left an opening. His left side was begging to get hit, and so Rafael swung a hard jab toward his ribs and then staggered back as Seven’s fist smashed into his face like a sledgehammer.
Evelyn flinched as surely as if she’d felt the blow herself. Her son was being stupid and cocky, and before he could recover from the first punch, Seven hit him again, driving him back toward the street. He stumbled as he backed up and almost lost his balance. And as he compensated, Subject Seven brought his foot up and kicked him square in the family jewels.
Rafael went down. He groaned and caught himself on his hands before his face crashed into the lawn, his eyes looking around hastily, taking in the situation. The numbers were in their favor and the Strike Team had taken down their enemies. He could see the biggest of the lot still trying to breathe, the other male on the ground unconscious and one of the girls flattened as well.
And then Subject Seven kicked him in the head and he fell backward, overcome by excruciating pain.
Subject Seven looked down at him; that half smile had returned.
Rafael smiled back. He still had the upper hand. Subject Seven was cocky too.
“The king is in his court; the gates are closed and winter comes too soon to us.” Rafael said the words exactly as he’d been taught them and Subject Seven stared at him with wide, wild eyes.
“What did you—?” Then Seven fell backward, his hands moving to clutch at the sides of his head.
The brute, the violent monster who had once upon a time gone on a killing spree as he freed himself from a hidden compound—the stuff of nightmares—went down then, unable to scream as his body convulsed.
By the time Rafael climbed to his feet, Subject Seven was gone, replaced by a thinner boy—still muscular, still athletic, but so much smaller than Seven—who looked at him with confusion.
Before the boy could so much as ask a question, Rafael’s Taser darts punched into his stomach. He screamed when Rafael triggered the charge.
Evelyn closed her eyes against the sound of Bobby’s pain.
Her team bagged their enemies with ease, tying their wrists with heavy nylon zip ties and binding their ankles as well. And as they finished, Rafael spoke through their radio connection, smiling as he told her that their quarry had been captured and would soon be brought in.
Then Mary told him that one of the girls was missing and Evelyn felt her blood pressure rise slightly.
One of them had gotten away.
They fanned out quickly, looking for the one who’d fled the fight, but had no success.
One of the five they’d been sent to retrieve was missing.
The good news was that Subject Seven was secured. In the long run, that was the part that mattered the most to Evelyn Hope. And what she wanted, she got.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Not-Tina
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A day makes.
The Failures were captured, it was true, with only one exception. That single individual made her way back to the hotel as soon as she’d lost the helmet and the jacket. Without them, she was just a girl in the eyes of most people. Her jeans, shoes, and baby doll tee were nondescript enough to let her make it to safety without any of the Strikers recognizing her. That was good, because she thought she saw one of the males giving her the eye at one point, though he was too far away to be certain. Despite the temptation to confront him, she kept her cool and kept going.
That’s the spirit. It’s up to you now. You have to get us free. The voice in her head was still there, and she took an odd comfort from that fact. She hated running, would have preferred to stay and break a few heads, but the voice told her it was best to have someone in backup and that she was the best choice. She was the most likely to get away and then come back to fix everything.
She dug into the pocket of her jeans and found her hotel room key. A moment later she was inside the room and could relax. She looked at the snake tattoo on her arm. In hindsight it might have been a mistake. It was a damned large identifying mark and at least one of the enemies had seen her, had taken in the colorful markings.
Not-Tina looked at herself in the mirror as she flopped on the bed. “Guess I’ll just have to kill him the next time I see him.”
They’d hit her hard and fast and she’d landed in the shrubs as the combat started in earnest. Not-Tina was just starting to get back up when Joe’s voice suggested that she hide away and see what happened. She’d listened, because so far Joe had never let her down.
It’d been easy to get away. Her Other was skilled at moving quietly, at not being seen when she wanted to hide, a necessary talent when your dear mother liked to hit.
Despite everything, she smiled at the thought of Tina’s mom being pulled out of the water, dead and bloated. Tina had loved the woman. Not-Tina was not as forgiving of anyone that struck at her or at her Other.
She turned on the TV to have some background noise while she thought about what to do next. She was waiting for Joe, really, because s
he had no idea where the others were, where they had been taken, and she needed to know that before she could help them. And she would help them, of course, because she needed them. She wanted to have them around. Tina might think she could get through the world without anyone else, but Not-Tina wanted someone to watch her back. She’d made enemies and she’d need a little help to finish what she had started.
The news was on. Good old Hunter liked to keep up on the current events. She was just toying with the idea of changing channels when Gene’s face showed up on the screen. In the picture he was smiling, which was a pretty alien expression on his face from what little she’d seen of him.
She turned up the volume and listened. The story was just starting.
The woman on the TV was prattling on about state-of-the-art technologies, and as she spoke, the image changed to a still shot of Gene wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday—Not-Tina paused for a second, wondering how the woman could know that, and then pushed the thought away. It wasn’t important, not really. Next to him was Kyrie, and the two of them were carrying bags of food.
“Little late on that. Not gonna find them with that picture.”
Restless. She couldn’t sit still. It didn’t matter that she was tired or hungry—she was always hungry—she was feeling confined in the room.
Of course if she left the room, she would have to take money and a few weapons. Also, she’d need a place to go.
The announcer was talking about the video confirmation again, stating that as of yesterday Eugene Rothstein was definitely in Chicago and reminding the viewers that the Rothstein family had offered a huge reward for his safe return.
Under different circumstances she might have been tempted to get the reward—she had a lot of money, yes, but most of it was still stashed wherever Joe had hidden it in Boston—but currently Gene was unavailable for delivery.
“Oh well. Guess I’ll just have to earn it the old-fashioned way if I need more.” She was thinking of Paulo Scarabelli when she said it, remembering that she’d already taken a fortune from him and that she had every intention of ruining him. Remembering his anger made her feel better. But it was remembering Tony Parmiatti that made her smile and kill the TV. Tony hurt her Other in ways no one else ever had. Making him suffer was her pleasure.
It took a minute, because it always took her a little time to access Tina’s memories. She sorted through a lifetime of nonsense that meant nothing to her, the people and memories that made up Tina’s sum. It was like speed reading an entire encyclopedia for the right vague clues to get what she wanted, but she finally managed to recall the times cute little Tony bragged about his business trips and his contacts all around the country.
It was amazing that he even had a job. He’d talked enough in front of a little fifteen-year-old kid to get him and half the mob convicted if Tina had ever offered information to the Feds. Guys would do anything if they thought they were going to get lucky.
Tina, she never understood that. Not-Tina was a different story. She knew about power. She respected the process.
A slow, sadistic smile spread across her face and she quickly changed her clothes as she started planning. Long sleeves this time, because that ink needed to not be seen.
Tony talked a lot. Way more than he should have.
She didn’t have all the details, but with just a little work she was sure she could get what she needed from the local mobsters—there were always people who had information—and, more importantly, people who could get her weapons. Even if she had to break a few heads to get it.
And then there was that guy who’d sent the letter to Evelyn Hope. The others had talked about him, how maybe he was a link. What was the name? Ah, Joshua Warburton. That was it.
“Hey, Josh. Wanna show me where your friends like to hide?” She didn’t expect him to answer, as she was talking only to hear herself speak and they hadn’t met yet. But they would, just as soon as she had what she needed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Evelyn Hope
“SO TELL ME WHAT you have so far, gentlemen.” Evelyn stared at the wall without seeing any of the diplomas or certificates that adorned it. She didn’t need to study any of that nonsense. She already knew that Josh was a supergenius. He was almost her equal, which said a lot, really.
George opened his mouth and then closed it. Josh was in charge here, and George would let him speak.
Josh took his meerschaum pipe from his mouth and set it on the desk. He’d quit smoking years earlier, but now and then he still gnawed on the thing when he had a strong desire for a smoke or when he was wound up. He was currently wound as tightly as a precision watch spring.
“Where to start.” Josh looked at the notepad in his left hand and nodded. “First, we have four of them. That means it’s possible one of them got away. Not sure about that, but by your earlier reports there were possibly as many as five, and there were certainly five bikes on the scene of their capture.”
Evelyn held up a hand. “My insider told me there were five. We’ll work under the assumption that we might have one still out there and keep our ears to the ground. What else is going on?”
Josh moved on. “First, one of them is likely going to die within the next week. I’ve never seen this, but you have. Remember when we first started having successes, there were a few of the subjects that had such gross differences in size that the changes caused them permanent damage?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Well, one of them is showing all the same symptoms. High fever, delirium, no sign of actual infection but a lot of the side effects that would indicate a severe case of influenza or pneumonia.”
Evelyn nodded again, interested now. She’d never seen the changes in any Doppelganger beyond the age of two. “Film it. I want to see every stage of this, please. I want to know what to expect if it should happen to one of ours.”
Josh made a note. George stared at her with an unreadable expression for a moment and then made himself look away as she returned the gaze. He tended to forget that she was a scientist first. Was it cruel to watch a teenager die and suffer? Yes, but she needed to know if there was any way to stop the destructive changes that occurred in some of the early Doppelgangers. There was only one way to find out, and the first stage of that learning was observation.
Because the look he’d cast her way made her feel just a bit defensive—a sensation she hated—Evelyn turned to George and explained. “Back in the very early stages of the Doppelganger program there were at least a dozen of the first successes that simply rejected the changes. Near as we have been able to figure it out, it’s like a body rejecting an organ transplant, but on a whole-body scale. The changes are simply too significant, and the shifting genetic codes that allow two bodies to exist in one place go sour. We still haven’t figured out exactly why it happens or how to stop it, but by observing this case, we might finally get a few breaks to avoid the problem in the future.” George gave her a tentative smile.
She went back to ignoring him.
“What about the rest of them?” She directed the question to Josh.
“We already did the surgeries. Everything went well and there probably won’t even be any noticeable scars for them to run across. Subject Seven has been isolated. We’ve given him a very heavy dose of the blanket drugs. They seem to be working, but we won’t know for certain until he changes back into Subject Seven. Just to be safe, we’ll dose him again before he wakes completely.”
“Which form is he currently in?” She thought she understood, but wanted to make sure. She didn’t want to get stressed more than she had to.
Josh didn’t look at her. “Bobby.”
Evelyn kept her face neutral. Bobby. Her son. She didn’t dare get her hopes up.
“Evelyn . . .”
“Tell me.”
“We don’t know all of the details, but there was an accident at some time in the past. A bad one. There was serious head trauma.”
“What?” Her ears we
re ringing. There had been a time when she could count on Bobby’s phone calls. When he stopped, she’d assumed the worse, but maybe the head trauma would explain a few things.
“Evelyn, there’s a very real chance that Bobby doesn’t even exist anymore. We just don’t know for certain.”
She directed her gaze back toward the wall.
Josh put a hand on her shoulder. “That doesn’t mean anything, not yet. You have to meet him and see.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hunter Harrison
HUNTER’S HEAD FELT two sizes too big, and if he had to guess, it weighed just a little less than an aircraft carrier. His mouth was too dry and his eyes were stinging like he’d been in a dust storm. He moved to wipe at his eyes and was stopped by the handcuffs locking him into a metal hospital bed.
That woke him right up. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a white room with white furniture and fluorescent lights that were bright enough to make his eyes water. At least that helped with the dusty feeling.
To his left and above his head he could hear the steady sounds of a heart monitor letting him know that he was still alive. Despite the belief that he had never been near a heart monitor, he had a strong sense of déjà vu. Must be Joe’s memories, he mused. Joe’s the one they used to check on all the time, isn’t he?
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that things had gone down the wrong way. He slowly turned his head and looked at the room in greater detail. One door, metal with a heavy lock. One mirrored window. He could look at it and tell it was a two-way mirror. It was built into the wall instead of just hanging, and the tint was wrong. It didn’t give back a light enough reflection. Once again, he had to guess it was Joe’s memories helping him understand. That thought bothered the hell out of him.
