On the way to the institute he called Sheila’s cell. It went straight to voice mail.
Sheila, it’s Sunil. Call me, he said, trying to sound casual — no need to cause any panic.
Good morning, Dr. Singh, the receptionist said as he walked in, a little too cheerfully.
Sunil smiled. Brewster on the warpath?
The receptionist nodded, her smile frozen.
Good, Sunil said.
And it was good. Dealing with Brewster, and the twins, would be a welcome distraction from the events of the past twenty-four hours. He was about to walk away when he remembered Fred was coming.
Listen, Janice, he said to the receptionist. I’m expecting a visitor today. Fred Jacobs. I’ll just fill in this visitor request form with all her information. Please make sure she is shown to my office when she comes.
Of course, Dr. Singh.
Brewster was waiting in Sunil’s office, pacing back and forth, taking deep drags on the oxygen canister stuffed into his lab-coat pocket. Sunil stood on the threshold and watched him, thinking it would be relatively easy to kill Brewster. All one would need to do would be to substitute liquid nitrogen for the oxygen.
Dr. Brewster, Sunil said, shutting the door behind him and crossing to his desk. To what do I owe the honor?
Where have you been?
On my day off?
You have no days off until the twins have been dealt with. I thought I made that clear.
No, no, I don’t remember us agreeing to that. Still, no harm done, eh? They were busy getting an MRI anyway, as I remember.
Your tone is more confrontational than usual, Dr. Singh, Brewster said, sitting down suddenly.
Are you okay, Sunil asked, wanting to, but not saying: You look closer to death than usual.
Tired, Brewster said.
There have been more body dumps. Another teenager among them. Throat slit. Plus twelve men, Sunil said.
I see. Well, we have the MRIs back, Brewster said.
Sunil sat behind his desk and turned his computer on. With a few clicks, he had accessed the images from the MRI. Did you see these yet, Sunil asked.
The MRIs? Of course.
Doesn’t look like they are joined by much. They don’t seem to share any vital organs.
No, they don’t. We could probably separate them very easily.
Not very easily, no, Sunil said. It’s still a risky operation given how long they’ve been conjoined, and at their age, a separation has never been tried. They could die.
I’m just pointing out that we could if our research depended upon it.
I can’t imagine why it would, Sunil said.
Well. It’s worth noting, Brewster said.
Did you notice that although Water’s brain lights up pretty well, Fire’s stays mostly dormant, Sunil asked. That’s very strange. These results are accurate, right?
Yes, they are accurate. I noticed that too and I thought it was strange since Fire is the animated one. Of course, since he is smaller they could have overdosed him with the anesthetic.
That wouldn’t explain why his brain looks dead, like the only things alive are the instinctual circuitry — like respiration.
I told you these twins would be fascinating for our study.
About that, Sunil said. I don’t think I want them in my study. I’m thinking I should just let them go. Let the police and county deal with them. Tomorrow is Tuesday anyway, which is the last day we can keep them without admitting them.
Then admit them.
For what? I don’t need them in my study and I don’t think they are crazy. Odd, eccentric even, but not crazy.
I wasn’t asking.
Sunil looked at Brewster for a minute, sizing him up. We need to talk, he began.
Do we? Think carefully before you speak, Sunil.
I think you’ve started the trials up again.
That’s a serious accusation, Sunil, Brewster said.
And yet you’re not denying it.
You’re right. I have been running live tests again. Your research is taking too long, particularly the control dose. The military contract that funds you moved the timetable up and I knew that I couldn’t depend on you to do the tests. You aren’t the risk taker I had hoped for. You are far too deliberate, even for a scientist.
Are you responsible for the dead homeless men?
No, Sunil, Brewster said, smiling. It’s your research, your doing, so I would say you are responsible.
I can’t believe you would be this irresponsible with my work and my reputation. Do you know this could damage me irrevocably if it gets out, Sunil said, his voice higher than he meant for it to be.
Stop being so excitable. I’ve made you a very rich man. Not bad for a black from the slums of Soweto. The army likes the tests so far. I told them you could have the antidote ready in a month. They’re ready to begin tests on their soldiers.
I need more time, more research. Rage is not just chemical. It might be mimetic, too, do you understand? If we start administering that drug to soldiers, they will go berserk and kill each other. There is no controlling that kind of rage.
Well, the U.S. military is not going to wait.
I am close to a breakthrough. I just need more time and no more distractions. We have everything we need from them. MRIs, DNA, X-rays—
I’m still not convinced.
Well, I will give it one last shot. An interview today and then if you want them to stay, you’ll have to sign the papers, Sunil said.
Brewster got up and walked over to the door. Pausing, he turned. It’s nice to have you back on board, Sunil, he said and closed the door behind him.
Fifty-one
Fred parked her jeep in the visitors’ lot, mentally noting the rental parked two cars down. She could always spot rentals and cop cars. She could also tell that the guy sitting in the front seat was up to no good. That was her true gift in the carnival, besides running everything. An unerring insight into human nature and a true gift for the con: a formidable combination. She lit a cigarette and walked over to the rental.
Hello, she said.
Hello, Eskia said.
She touched the bridge of his glasses. Anyone ever tell you that you look like Superman with those glasses, she asked.
Superman didn’t wear glasses.
Fred smiled. All right, Clark Kent, then.
So who are you?
More important, who the fuck are you? Who do you work for, a rival institute? Are you some kind of industrial spy?
I’m just bird-watching.
I don’t need you fucking up my deal here.
And what is your deal?
That is none of your business. What is your business is not fucking up mine. So what are you anyway, some kind of private eye? I know you’re not a cop. All I want to know is will you be moving on?
When I’m done, Eskia said, smiling. He wanted to ram his fist into Fred’s face. Who did she think she was, coming over to him and talking shit? How did she spot him anyway? That could mean only one thing; she was very well trained. Was she CIA or DOD?
All the time they were talking, Fred was scanning Eskia’s car for clues. She noted the laptop and reached into her bag and switched on the hard-drive copier she always carried. She could tell he was spooked that she had spotted him, which meant that his laptop probably didn’t have any real firewalls or protection. Copying it would be easy.
Eskia reached into the messenger bag next to him on the seat and took out a gun with a silencer on it. Nothing could jeopardize his mission here. Even as he leveled the barrel at her chest as she leaned in, he was scanning the parking lot to see if it was empty. It was.
Clever, Fred said, seeing the gun. Just what every girl needs. A hole in her breast implants.
Well, I guess that’s one way of ending this unpleasant conversation, Eskia said.