"So you know what they're up to. Why don't you arrest them?"
"It's not so easy. For one thing, you've got to know who they are — all of them. If you screw up and you get only some of them, no good. Then you've just driven them underground and made them even more dangerous."
"For another?"
"Another what?"
"Another thing—you began by saying 'for one thing.'"
"Oh. Well, for another… a lot of what I'm telling you is conjecture. It wouldn't stand up to a clever defense attorney."
"Sounds to me like you've got a lot."
"You haven't seen the file. It's pretty thin. A lot of field reports, some transcripts from phone taps, newspaper clippings. A lot of blank spaces. If I didn't know better, I'd say somebody's been cleaning it out."
Jude didn't need any interpretation. Somebody within the FBI was working the other side of the street.
"These other guys — in the Bureau — they're the ones who almost killed me in the mine and chased me afterward?"
"Check."
"And blew up the rooming house in Washington?"
"Check again."
"Why don't you stop them?"
"Easier said than done. I think they're more of them than there are of us."
"Who do you trust?"
"I trust nobody. Just myself. And my partner, Ed — that's Ed Brantley. I almost brought him, but I figured you'd freak."
"Why not arrest somebody?"
"Who?"
Jude was quiet for a while.
"How about this multimillionaire you talked about? What's his name?"
"Billington. Sam Billington. Yeah. He was critical. He bankrolled them at some point. Got them out of Jerome. Gave them enough money to buy that whole little island you explored. Not a bad setup, is it? Without that, I don't think the whole scheme would have worked."
"Who is he?"
"Who was he. He's dead, remember. He made a lot of money in plastics. Made a good life for himself — didn't want it to end. He became obsessive about it, attended conferences, sponsored research, even advertised. So when he met up with the Lab, it was a natural match. He gave them millions and millions, even on his deathbed. The breakthroughs didn't come in time to do anything for him. But they froze his body, like Disney. So he figured someday science would catch up and they'd thaw out their benefactor. He died happy, from what we understand."
"Let me ask you something else — that web site called W — all about life extension. Did they run that?"
"Maybe. Don't know for sure. I figure they started it, probably as a way to attract clients. But you get too many kooks and freeloaders. It wasn't worth the effort. So they probably dropped it and it just kept going on its own."
"So how did they get clients?"
"Dunno for sure. Maybe super-expensive health clubs. Maybe word of mouth. You get one top guy in there, he's gonna want to tell his friends. They all know each other anyway, these guys who run the world. Like kids in a clubhouse."
"Do you know who they are?"
"Frankly, no. We know one or two. But we need the complete roster. That's why we're hoping to meet your buddy. We wondered if he could identify them for us."
Jude did not want to go down that path, not right now.
"Do they have a name?" he asked.
"Not that I know of. That's why I call them the Group. The way I figure it, there are the original scientists and their kids — that's the Lab. Then there're the rich people they sold their little secret to — that's the Group."
"So the two are separate?"
"Yeah. Probably."
"Did you ever hear of something called the Young Leaders for Science and Technology in the New Millennium?"
"No," replied Raymond. "Quite a mouthful. Who are they?"
"Just a name I heard. Probably doesn't mean anything."
There was a pause as Raymond looked down at the swirling currents below. He seemed suddenly reflective.
"We think there's been some kind of screw-up," he said. It seemed to be bait. Jude took it.
"What do you mean?"
"We're really into conjecture here. But I think something's gone wrong."
"What?"
"Dunno. But maybe they've screwed up something basic."
"Why do you think that?"
"A couple of reasons. One: there's been a flurry of activity lately — phone calls, meetings, that sort of thing. I wouldn't be surprised if they all congregated. Something's going on, some urgent business. We know some of it from the few taps we have. Of course, they don't spell it out; you have to read between the lines. Like I say, we're really into conjecture here.
"And the second reason — that's the Nursery. Yes, we found those kids. They've been transferred to a hospital in Jacksonville. But I can't say the outlook is good."
"What do they have? What's wrong with them?"
"Progeria. Vastly premature aging. Technically, it's called Hutchinson-Guilford syndrome. The key thing about the disease is you take these kids and they're just like somebody who's ninety years old. That's what the doctors say."
"Christ. To die of old age at twelve. Those poor kids."
"It's extremely rare. Those kids on that island are more than all the cases that have been reported worldwide to date. The doctors are stumped."
"You're right — something must have gone wrong."
"Weird things have been happening. Like McNichol's autopsy lab in New Paltz. You went up there. Did he tell you somebody broke in there, actually stole some of the samples? Why would anyone do that?"
"Raisin."
"What the hell is raisin?"
"That's who was killed. He's the clone. He was trying to reach the judge."
"Well, he succeeded. And they killed him for it. And whoever did it suddenly wanted a piece of him back — at least that's my guess. Where'd he get a name like that anyway — Raisin?"
"Doesn't matter. But tell me, the judge—"
"He's been ill lately, hasn't been to work."
"That's not what I was going to ask. Why did you give me his ID? Was it that you wanted me in the game?"
"Yep: I always thought you were a pretty good reporter."
"But why not tell me he was still alive?"
"You may not believe this, but you got to that particular piece of information before I did."
"And why did he freak out when he saw me?"
"Good question. He's about your age, he had a clone, so he was in the Lab. Maybe he recognized you from those happy days back in Jerome, though that's unlikely. Or maybe the whole group knew that your guy Skyler had escaped. Maybe there was an all-points bulletin out for him. Maybe his picture was circulated. Maybe the judge thought you were Skyler. Anything's possible, if you think about it."
Raymond hunched down in his jacket for warmth. The wind had a chilling edge to it. They were almost across the river now.
Jude's mind was churning with questions.
"Those guys who came when we were on the island?"
"They were after you. You were lucky to get away. Otherwise, all I can say is — we wouldn't be talking like this."
"And those other guys who've been following me — the Orderlies — what about them?"
"You know as much as I do. All I can say is I've seen them, and they look like psychopaths to me. I'd stay out of their way. They may be the clones of somebody who is… how shall we put it?… undesirable. You've seen horror flicks, you've read sci fi novels. Once these mad scientists begin brewing things up in the lab, they start thinking about security. If you were in their shoes, you'd probably want a Boris Karloff around — or two or three."
"Tizzie."
"What about her?"
"Whose side is she on? Can I trust her?"
Raymond looked at him hard. "Look," he said. "I'm not a goddamned oracle. You've gotta rely on your own instincts for some of this."