F Paul Wilson - Sims 05 Read online

  He fairly pulled her out of her seat and propelled her ahead of him down the hall.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Where can we talk?”

  “My office is—”

  “Might be bugged.” He saw the elevators ahead. “Back to our mobile conversation pit.”

  He pressed both the UP and DOWN buttons. The upward bound car arrived first, carrying four people. He let it go. The downward was empty. Perfect. He dragged Romy inside, jabbed the button for the lobby. As soon as the doors closed…

  “Remember when we had our little face-to-face in my office with the Manassas Ventures lawyers?” he said, his tongue all but tripping over the words in his rush to get them out before someone else entered the car. “And remember how I followed them downstairs to their limo, hoping to find someone like Mercer Sinclair sitting in the back?”

  She frowned. “Vaguely.”

  “But it turned out to be someone I’d never seen before. Well, I’ve just seen him again. The man in the back seat was Conrad Landon, former Army colonel, and former director of SIRG. Maybe not so former. I’ll bet SIRG never went away and he’s still calling the shots. Find this Conrad Landon and we’ll find SIRG.”

  3

  NEWARK, NJ

  Something’s not right, Zero thought with a pang of unease. We’re missing something.

  He sat next to Tome in the rear seat of the van as it bounced over the rough pavement of Newark’s dark back streets toward the sim quarters Portero had led him to last night. Not quite 6:00P .M. yet but the sun was long gone and icy night had taken command.

  Tome was dressed like the worker sims, but he’d been equipped with a PCA. The plan was to drop him off where he could sneak into the building and mix with the other sims. Zero was confident that Tome’s gentle nature and above-average intelligence would gain him the respect and confidence of the other sims, enough so that one of them would trust him with Meerm’s whereabouts. When he found out, he’d press the preset speed-dial number and they’d pick him up.

  Zero sighed. Not a perfect plan. It hinged entirely on the assumption that the sim laborers knew where Meerm was hiding.

  His face itched under the ski mask; he’d traded tinted glasses for the ultra darks he usually wore, but they still impaired his vision. He wished he could pull everything off and ride along like a normal human being. But then, he wasn’t a normal human being.

  Just ahead of him, Patrick and Romy were a pair of silhouettes in the front seat.

  “You two have done wonderful work,” Zero said. “You make a great team.”

  “We do, don’t we,” Patrick said from behind the wheel.

  Zero watched them glance at each other and smile. He could sense the growing bond between him. And as much as it made him ache to see Romy with Patrick, he knew it was for the best. Despite their surface differences, Zero sensed that they complemented each other on the deeper levels where it really counted.

  He steered his thoughts away from Romy and toward what she and Patrick had uncovered today.

  “We now have an ironclad chain of evidence. It doesn’t take a handwriting expert to decipher the signature on Alice Fredericks’s Manassas Ventures check as ‘Conrad Landon.’ That draws a direct line from the Department of Defense to SimGen.”

  “It’s not something that will hold up in a court of law,” Patrick said. “Off the top of my head I can think of half a dozen grounds for preventing it from being admitted as evidence. But in the court of public opinion, it’s a hydrogen bomb.”

  “Assuming the public gives a damn,” Romy said.

  Patrick nodded. “Oh, they’ll care all right. We lay it out clear and simple for them. We show how SimGen’s early financing was public money: from Manassas Ventures which got it from SIRG which got it from the Department of Defense. The obvious question then is: Why? What did the D-o-D get in return? So we’ll explain how Manassas leases trucks in Idaho that show up on the SimGen campus, transporting cargo back and forth, cargo that no one’s allowed to see. But we’ve seen it, and that’s when we show them Kek. When we reveal that Kek was found in Idaho, they’ll be able to connect the last dots themselves: SimGen is producing hybrid simian soldiers for the Department of Defense to use in black ops or guerrilla operations. When the public learns that SimGen has been turning normally harmless creatures into man-killers, they’ll care. They’ll care like crazy. SimGen’s dirty little secret will finally be out in the open for all to see, and that will be the beginning of the end of SimGen.”

  Zero had been listening to Patrick, but someone else’s words had been echoing through his brain at the same time.

  You have no idea what you’re getting into, the forces you’ll be setting in motion…they’ll crush you.

  “No comment back there?” Patrick said.

  “As I told you: wonderful work.”

  But still that uneasy feeling plagued Zero. Was this the danger Ellis had warned him about? He could see now why the people behind SimGen were so ruthless when it came to protecting the company.

  So he added, “Now we know why SIRG’s funding was cut off: it didn’t need any more. With all the SimGen stock it holds in Manassas Ventures, SIRG is a financially independent organization. Which means we’ve got to be more careful than ever.”

  “Right,” Patrick said. “More than careers and reputations hang in the balance should their little operation be exposed. Billions of bucks are at stake.”

  Romy half turned in her seat. “Which raises a scary question: If SIRG has its own billions to finance its operations, who does it answer to?”

  “No one with a conscience, that’s for sure. Maybe someone high up in the Pentagon, maybe only Conrad Landon himself.”

  “I think we can count on SIRG to do whatever it deems necessary to protect its investment,” Zero told them. “That’s why, if we’re going to bring SimGen down, I’d prefer to find a way that keeps you two out of the spotlight.”

  “Which is why we’re heading to Newark, I assume.”

  “Exactly. I think it will be safer for all concerned if we let Meerm and her baby bring down SimGen.”

  “But that puts the child in jeopardy,” Romy said.

  “No more so than now. Meerm’s baby is just as much a threat to SimGen dead as it is alive. Its half-human, half-sim DNA will tell the whole story, a story that, unlike the money trail you’ve discovered, can’t be denied or stonewalled or spun into something with no resemblance to the truth. That baby is a slam dunk.”

  “Then it’s all on our buddy Tome.”

  “Yes, Mist Sulliman,” Tome said from his seat beside Zero. “Tome ready help.”

  “I know you are,” Zero said softly.

  Now Romy looked back at him from the front seat. “Zero, I’ve been around you long enough to know when you’re holding something back. What aren’t you telling us?”

  So many things…but right now Ellis Sinclair’s words continued to haunt him, especially his warning about the fallout from what they might uncover.

  Things that will hurt me personally, and devastate other, more innocent, parties. Things that no one will want to hear. And don’t think you’ll come through unscathed, either.

  That last part had been particularly unsettling, but not as jarring as his final warning about what they might find.

  Some of it is sensitive. And some of it is…unspeakable.

  Zero couldn’t allow Romy and Patrick even a hint of his connection to Ellis, but perhaps he could hint at the man’s warnings.

  “It’s not so much holding back as a feeling that there’s something more behind all this, something we’re missing.”

  “Like what?” Patrick said. “SIRG is the bastard child SimGen’s been hiding in its basement. That’s enough, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so.”

  But he remained dissatisfied and uneasy. What had they missed?

  Zero shook off the worries as he spotted a street sign.

  “We’re getting close.�
��

  “Another scenic neighborhood,” Patrick said. “The Bronx, East New York, Alphabet City, and now Newark. Where next? Beirut?”

  Zero had to admit that Patrick had a point. Low-rent businesses, abandoned, graffito-crusted buildings, stripped skeletons of cars lining the street…but just the kind of low-rent neighborhood someone would pick to house sim laborers.

  “It’s to the right up ahead,” he told Patrick, “but don’t make the turn. Cruise through the intersection and everyone keep an eye out for surveillance teams.”

  “You think Portero’s watching the place?” Romy said.

  “Count on it.”

  They made a couple of passes through the immediate area, and along the way spotted four occupied sedans. The first, with a pair of men slouched in the front seat, was parked across the street from the front door of the building; a single occupant in each of the other three; two of those were situated on the streets that flanked the sim building, the last sitting opposite a narrow alley that appeared to lead toward the rear of the building.

  Patrick pulled into the curb two blocks away and stopped under a dead streetlight. Ahead and to the right, the light over the front door of the sim crib glowed like a star in the darkness.

  “This looks too risky, Zero,” he said. “Tome’s not going in.”

  “Tome can go,” said the sim.

  “Uh-uh,” Patrick said, shaking his head, and Zero could sense his resolve turning to stone. “I won’t allow it.”

  Zero sighed. “I agree.”

  He couldn’t see any way of slipping Tome past Portero’s surveillance.

  “Damn.” Zero made a fist. “I anticipated two teams, not four.”

  “Might be five—one roving. I swear we passed the same green Taurus twice.”

  Just then a school bus rumbled past and pulled to a stop before the sim building. As Zero watched it disgorge its crew of sim laborers, he had an idea.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s head back.”

  Romy said, “We’re not giving up already, are we?”

  “Not a chance. Just changing tactics. And I promise you, by this time tomorrow night Tome will be safely inside that building, and no one will be the wiser.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Patrick said. “Will the sims be working?”

  “Of course. They work every day. ‘Weekend’ has no meaning for a sim.”

  As they drove back Zero reviewed all they’d learned about SIRG and Manassas. He knew Ellis had been sincere when he’d warned him against digging too deep. Well, they’d dug, and dug deep. They’d discovered a dirty little secret, yes, but nothing “unspeakable.”

  And that worried Zero.

  4

  Meerm ver hungry. Drink rainwater some but no food all day. Ver fraid go out. Stay behind metal door till dark. Still fraid go out. Tummy hurt so ver bad. And belly kick-kick-kick all day.

  Must go out. Push metal door. Goskeek ver loud. But no mans come.

  Meerm go out. Smell food, yum-yum food smell. Drool smell. From other side fence.

  Meerm creep to fence, peek through. See gold arch. Go under fence, cross street, go sticker bush, come other fence. See Mickey-D! Mickey-D! But can’t have. Meerm so sad.

  Meerm see boy-mans come out Mickey-D. Hold black bag, throw in big big metal can. When boy-man go, Meerm squeeze through fence hole and go to can. Top ver high but Meerm climb up and fall inside. Many bag here. Meerm rip one. Yum-yum food smell come out. Meerm reach inside, find much food, half-eat, all mixy-mixy. Meerm not care. Is yum-yum.

  Ouch. Hand hurt. Meerm look. See rats. Rat want food too. Bite Meerm. Meerm throw food at rat. Plenty food here. Food for all.

  Meerm shove food into mouth fast can. Chew-chew-chew. So good. Meerm not sad now. Still hurt but hunger go. Good. For now.

  5

  MINEOLA, NY

  DECEMBER 22

  Romy had called first thing in the morning and told Patrick to pick her up. They had a doctor’s appointment, she said.

  After she’d settled herself in the car she explained that the appointment was with an obstetrician. That had taken him aback until she explained that it was Dr. Cannon, and they were visiting her to discuss Alice Fredericks.

  Betsy Cannon worked out of a small office attached to her home, a modest two-story colonial on a tree-lined street in Mineola. She’d already made her hospital rounds; her office hours didn’t start until 1:00P .M. so they had plenty of time. Looking casual in a loose turtleneck sweater and khaki slacks, she served them coffee and Entenmann’s crumb cake in her roomy kitchen.

  “Is there a Mr. Dr. Cannon?” Patrick whispered as Betsy stepped out of the room to take a call from the hospital.

  Romy shook her head. “No. Never was, and I doubt there ever will be, if you get my drift.”

  “No kidding?” Patrick said. “Never would have guessed.”

  Betsy returned then and seated herself on the far side of the kitchen table. “You wanted to ask me about this Fredericks woman?”

  “Yes,” Romy said. “Her story is such a mishmash of fact and fiction, we were hoping you’d be able to separate the two.”

  Patrick appreciated the “we.” It hadn’t even occurred to him to run the story past Dr. Cannon. And considering that she’d spent years as head of sim obstetrics for SimGen, he was disappointed with himself for not thinking of it first.

  Betsy smiled. “Well, I’ll be glad to try. I can explain parts of her story—especially the ones about being abducted and impregnated by space aliens—with one word: psychosis.”

  Patrick said, “That’s pretty strong, isn’t it?”

  “She’s delusional, she has a persistent break with reality that interferes with her day-to-day functioning. That behavior fits the diagnosis. The sad thing is, she can be easily helped. The right medications could restore her neurochemicals to proper balance and she’d come back to the real world.”

  “Neurochemicals,” Romy murmured. “They’ll get you every time.”

  Patrick shot her a questioning glance but she only shrugged and waved it off.

  “Delusional or not,” he said, getting back on track, “she gave us the check. And unless I’m delusional too, it looks pretty real.”

  Betsy smiled. “I’m sure it is. And you’ll notice I didn’t include the part about her giving birth to a sim as one of her delusions.”

  “You don’t really think…,” Romy said, frowning. She glanced at Patrick. “I mean, how…?”

  “It’s obvious when you think about it,” Betsy told her. “Human surrogate mothers were a necessity in the early stages of the sim breeding process.”

  Romy’s face twisted in revulsion. “Why on earth—?”

  “Because sims are considerably larger than chimps. A small chimpanzee uterus couldn’t carry a sim baby to term, but a human uterus would have no problem.”

  Patrick was dazed. “So part of what she’s saying might be true?”

  “Perhaps not about birthing the very first sim, but…how old is she?”

  “Forty-seven—she says.”

  Betsy nodded. “Then she’s about the right age. Think about the implantation process—flat on her back on a table, bright lights overhead, surrounded by doctors in caps, masks, and goggles as they insert an in-vitro–fertilized ovum into her uterus. You can see how an unbalanced mind might later reinterpret this as an alien abduction.”

  “But to go through all that for five thousand dollars?”

  “I’m sure it was more like fifty thousand: say, five in advance, then five every month until delivery. The process is no different from being a surrogate mother for a human couple.”

  “Except that at the end you don’t deliver a human baby,” Romy said.

  Betsy nodded. “Right. And perhaps that unbalanced an already fragile mind.”

  “Which makes her one more casualty left in SimGen’s wake,” Romy said.

  “But she couldn’t have been the only one,” Patrick said. “How come we haven’t heard
about this before?”

  Betsy shrugged. “I’m sure there were many human surrogate mothers before SimGen developed its breeding stock. I’m also sure they signed non-disclosure agreements with stiff penalties.”

  “Not exactly the sort of thing I’d want to trumpet from the rooftops anyway,” Romy added.

  Patrick leaned back, thinking. He had a sense that something important had slipped past him here, something Betsy had said a moment ago.

  A small chimpanzee uterus couldn’t carry a sim baby to term, but a human uterus would have no problem.

  And then he knew.

  “Oh, Christ! Meerm is carrying a half-human, half-sim baby. Won’t it grow too big—?”

  “Too big for her to carry full term?” Betsy said. “Absolutely. Normal sim gestation is eight months, but we don’t know when Meerm conceived, so we don’t know her due date. That’s why you have to find her. If she goes into premature labor while she’s in hiding, the baby won’t survive. If she’s too far along the baby will be too big for a vaginal delivery, which means she’ll need a cesarean.”

  “And if she doesn’t get one?” Romy asked, and Patrick could tell from her expression that she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “We’ll lose both of them.”

  Romy closed her eyes for a heartbeat or two, then stared at Patrick. “We’ve got to find her.”

  “Tome is set to go tonight.”

  Zero had called Patrick this morning to tell him he’d gone back to Newark before dawn and followed the sim bus into Manhattan. He saw where it dropped off the sims at a Harlem sweatshop. Assuming pick-up would be at the same spot, the new plan was to put Tome on line with the workers as they boarded the bus.

  “If Tome gets the job done tonight, we could be bringing Meerm here tomorrow morning.”

  Betsy smiled and raised her coffee cup in a sort of toast. “I’ll be waiting.”

  6

  NEWARK, NJ

  Meerm hide in cold dark place and hurt. Hurt so ver bad. Tummy go kick-kick-kick. Was food bad? Meerm not think. Not feel sick tummy, just hurt tummy. Hurt-hurt-hurt, then stop. Then hurt-hurt-hurt again, then stop.