Gemini Man--The Official Movie Novelization

by Titan Books

  Verris had had enough. “Bullshit.”

  Junior gaped at him. The kid hadn’t seen that coming.

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Junior,” Verris went on while the kid was still off-balance. “I’ve been in battle! I’ve seen soldiers go over the edge because more was asked of them than they had to give. And I promised myself that I would never let that happen to my kid, that I would never let anything in life squeeze the strength and spirit out of my son and toss him aside. And nothing will! That’s not you, that will never be you—I made sure of it. Because you have what Henry Brogan never had—a loving, dedicated, present father who tells you every goddam day that you’re loved, you matter! Jesus, kid, the whole point was to give you all of Henry’s advantages without any of his disadvantages—all of his gifts without his pain! And that’s what I did!”

  The knot in Verris’s stomach loosened as Junior’s expression went from abject and accusing to thoughtful. He had always been able to talk the kid down and smooth him out, and thank God he still could. He got up and went around the desk.

  “Come here,” he said. Junior went to him and he took his son in his arms. He was the good, loving, present father, always ready to give advice, wisdom, and comfort.

  “I love you, son,” he told Junior, hugging him tighter. “Don’t let yourself down.”

  * * *

  At the edge of a remote airfield a few miles away from the Gemini compound, Henry and Danny waited while Baron bid a fond farewell to the Gulfstream. Saying goodbye was one of Baron’s rituals. He had told Henry once that he always tried to part on good terms with any plane he had flown. Because if we should meet again, Baron had said, and it happens to be a life-or-death situation, I want to make sure I’ll be welcome in the cockpit.

  Henry had smiled and nodded politely. Pilots were a superstitious bunch. They all had their own personal rituals. Even Chuck Yeager had had a good-luck routine where he asked one of his ground staff for a stick of gum. Anything that made Baron happy and confident was fine with Henry. (And just to be on the safe side, he hadn’t mentioned breaking the mirror in the abandoned apartment building.)

  “Like so many of my encounters, it was short but sweet.” Baron blew a kiss at the nose of the Gulfstream. “Thanks, darlin’. No matter what happens after this, we’ll always have Budapest.”

  Danny laughed a little but Henry felt a sudden odd chill, brief but intense enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. Goose walked over my grave, his mother would say when it happened to her. It rattled him. Maybe he was getting superstitious in his old age. Or he was entering his second childhood and tomorrow he’d be stepping over cracks in the sidewalk.

  “So, what’s next?” Baron said as he joined him and Danny.

  “Well, we can’t stay in the open,” Henry said, “and we need some ground transportation.”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s a truck around here somewhere,” Baron said. “I never saw an airfield without one.”

  “When we were coming in to land, I saw an open-air barn over there, just past the tree line.” Henry pointed at the other side of the runway. “We can hole up there for a bit while we figure out our next move.”

  He should have been beyond tired, Henry thought as the three of them crossed the airfield together, but somehow he wasn’t. It was as if he was running on a reserve of energy that he’d never known he had until now. Or maybe it was adrenaline afterburn. Whatever was keeping him upright, he was glad to have it. Otherwise he would have been dead on his feet.

  And then just as they reached the barn, he was.

  * * *

  As a Marine, Henry had learned how to override his circadian rhythms and function whenever he had to, day or night. By personal preference, however, he was a night owl. Like most kids he had loved staying up late, but Henry had a special affinity for the nighttime. Nighttime was always the right time—cool stuff happened at night that never happened during the day, and a lot of daytime things vanished after the sun went down, e.g. there was no school, no chores, and best of all, no bees trying to kill him.

  Unfortunately, there were other ways to get stung.

  As soon as Henry felt the dart hit his neck he yanked it out, but it was already too late. He knew what it was and who had done it to him. His own fault—he’d opened his big mouth back in Budapest and told the kid how to kill him.

  Well, he was going to regret that for the rest of his life, which would last for maybe two more minutes before his throat swelled shut. Unless his blood pressure fell too rapidly—then he’d skip suffocation altogether and go straight to cardiac arrest.

  He was barely aware of hitting the ground. Baron and Danny were talking frantically, Baron saying something about an EpiPen and Danny telling him this wasn’t his original burn bag. Their hands ran over him in a quick search in case he had an EpiPen on him but the feel of them was far away, muted and muffled, and their voices seemed to slide away from him.

  Henry’s head rolled to one side. His younger self was marching forward out of the shadows, pistol raised. On his left, he saw Danny kneel to pick something up: the dart.

  “Don’t move!” Junior Hitman said loudly.

  Danny held the dart up. “What was in this?” she demanded just as loudly.

  “Bee venom,” said the clone.

  Even in his semi-conscious state, Henry couldn’t help thinking how smart it was. A dart was like a stealth bee—he couldn’t snap one of those clean out of the air with a cap. Not even with a Phillies cap.

  “You can’t! He’s allergic!” Danny took a step forward and the clone fired—two quick shots, one at her feet, one at Baron’s. Near misses, warning them to stay put.

  Henry’s vision started to brown out as it became more difficult for him to breathe. Apparently he was going to suffocate after all. Not as showy as being killed with a motorcycle but more effective. Once it started, there was no fighting it off, shooting it, or outrunning it. Unless someone interrupted it with an EpiPen, it would continue to its inevitable conclusion. The end. Game over.

  The dark patches in his vision were spreading as Junior stood over him. Damn, the kid looked exactly like him at twenty-three—not just his face but his posture, the way he held his weapon. Henry even recognized the mix of emotions on Junior’s face as he watched the target dying. Clay Verris had literally turned him into his own worst enemy. That was all kinds of wrong.

  His thoughts faded as a new feeling took hold of him, a sensation of loosening, becoming untethered, like a boat that had been untied from a piling and was starting to drift, except the movement was upward.

  This really was it, Henry thought. He was wheels up on his last flight, the one you took without a plane. Junior could finally go home and tell Daddy he’d taken out his old self.

  In the distance, Danny was saying, Please, please don’t do this! And Baron was yelling, Breathe, Henry, breathe! His old friend didn’t know he was already catching an updraft.

  Then somebody stabbed him in the arm.

  The pain pulled him back from the edge of unconsciousness. The floating sensation was gone; he felt the hard ground under him again. He could breathe more easily now. It was a tremendous effort to open his eyes but when he finally forced his lids apart, he saw a face above him, so close it filled his vision. His own face but younger.

  “Epinephrine,” his younger face said with his voice. “And an antihistamine.” Henry felt another sharp pain. “You’re going to be fine.”

  Henry’s breathing was almost back to normal now. On his left, Danny started to cry with relief. He wanted to tell her not to do that, there was no crying in assassination, not even when someone was trying to kill you. You were supposed to suck it up, tough it out, walk it off. But when he rolled his head around to the other side, he saw Baron’s face was wet, too.

  “Hey,” he croaked at Baron.

  Baron nodded at Danny. “What she said.”

  Danny laughed through her tears as she and Baron helped him sit up. A few
feet away, Junior sat on the ground in front of him, long legs folded. Henry had a moment of envy; his own flexibility wasn’t what it had once been. But he was still alive, thanks to his clone’s sudden attack of conscience. The kid looked like a man who had awakened from a troubling dream to find himself in unfamiliar surroundings—unsure, bewildered, and lost. Henry could relate.

  “I’m sorry,” Junior Hitman said after a bit, and Henry knew he wasn’t only apologizing for trying to kill him. He was sorry about being a clone and not knowing it, sorry the world had gotten one over on him, sorry for things he didn’t even know how to articulate yet. Henry had seen the expression before in the mirror.

  “It’s all good,” Henry told him. “All this shit’s been pretty hard to accept.”

  The kid looked up at him, wary.

  “So, you came here to kill me with bee venom,” Henry went on. “But you also brought the antidote with you?”

  The clone gave an awkward shrug. “You said you were allergic; I figured maybe I was, too, and I ought to start carrying an EpiPen, just in case.”

  “You decided that when—tonight?”

  Another awkward shrug.

  “Guys, I hate to break up the kumbaya of it all,” Baron said. “But how the hell did you always know where we were?”

  His younger self hesitated. “Do you trust me?” he asked Henry.

  The question jerked an incredulous laugh out of Henry. “Damn, you’ve got nerve.”

  “Yeah, I wonder where he got that,” Danny said, amused.

  The clone produced a combat knife from an ankle sheath and held it up in a silent question.

  Henry nodded. He did trust the kid. Strangely, he felt like he’d always trusted him.

  Junior Hitman got up on his knees, took hold of Henry’s left bicep and pushed the point of the blade into a spot a couple of inches below the curve of his shoulder.

  “Jesus!” Danny said, flinching; even Baron caught his breath. Henry held still. It didn’t tickle but it wasn’t the most painful bit of impromptu field surgery he had ever endured. It wasn’t even the worst thing that had happened to him tonight. Danny was rummaging around in her burn bag and Henry knew she was looking for something to use as a bandage. Ms. First Aid to the rescue.

  After almost half a minute, Junior sat back and showed Henry a small black square on the tip of his knife. “They chipped you,” he said. “Remember that surgery on your torn bicep, three years ago?”

  Danny was already painting the incision with something cool that stung slightly. “I feel stupid,” she said as she wound a strip of cloth around his arm and tied it. “I should have guessed. It’s so obvious.”

  “ Everything’s obvious if you know,” Henry said darkly. He plucked the chip off the end of the knife and flicked it into the darkness.

  “Verris—” Baron started.

  “You know him, too?” The kid looked at Baron in genuine astonishment.

  “We served in the Marine Corps with him—Panama, Kuwait, Somalia,” replied Baron. “Can you take us to his lab?”

  The kid nodded. “Sure, but why?”

  “We need to shut him down,” Henry said. “You and me, together.”

  Junior Hitman nodded. “I’m parked on the other side of the runway.”

  * * *

  Junior’s heart beat faster as he drove toward the Gemini compound. He glanced at Henry beside him. Henry was so sure of himself, so steady and focused, a man who always knew what he was doing. Clay Verris had raised him to be like that but he could never quite get there, no matter what he did.

  Like now—he knew he was doing the right thing, throwing in with Henry and the other two. He had been lied to and used and it had left him feeling wobbly and precarious. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen when they got to the Gemini lab. What was he going to do? Or maybe the real question was, what would he be able to do?

  Everything had always been so clear when he had trusted his father and believed in him. Any time he was confused, his father would straighten everything out. Not any more. He’d never be able to turn to his father again for answers or clarity or reassurance or anything else. But Henry seemed to have faith in him. He could tell even though Henry had never said so.

  He wanted to ask what Henry expected of him, what they were going to do not just when they got to the lab but afterwards, for the rest of their lives. But what he heard himself say was, “You grew up in Philly, right?”

  Henry raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised by the question. “Hunting Park,” he said. “A place called The Bottom.”

  “‘The Bottom?’” Junior frowned, unsure of what to make of that. Henry’s life was completely beyond his experience. He was quiet for few seconds, then decided he had to know. “Who was my—our—mother?”

  “ Helen Jackson Brogan,” said Henry with pride in his voice. “She was the strongest, most capable woman I’ve ever known. Worked two jobs for forty years.” Pause. “And she spanked the hell out of me.”

  “Did you deserve it?” Junior asked, honestly curious.

  Henry chuckled. “Usually. Does being angry and stupid and never trying at anything mean you deserve it? I don’t know.” His voice turned thoughtful. “My—our—father wasn’t around much. He left when I was five.” Pause. “I could never shake the feeling that when she looked at me, she saw him. So I went off and joined the Marines, grew up, made some friends—real friends, not Badlands punks whose biggest accomplishment when they grew up would be making parole. I found something I was good at and I even got medals for it. By the time I got out with all my shiny medals on my chest, she was gone. And I became… this.”

  Junior didn’t take his eyes off the dark road ahead but he could feel Henry’s gaze on him.

  “You should walk away while you still can,” Henry told him.

  “It’s all I know,” Junior said.

  “No, it’s just all he taught you,” said Henry. “Stop now and you can still be something else.”

  Junior gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “Like what? Doctor? Lawyer?”

  “Husband,” Henry corrected him. “ Father. All the things this job gives you an excuse not to be. I threw all that away, man. You can do better than that.”

  Junior was seized with a sudden intense desire for that to be true, even though he’d never once wondered about having any other kind of life. He had never seen himself doing anything else, never thought he would want to. That was a failure of imagination, he thought; his father had worked very hard to stifle it.

  “And while I’m at it,” Henry said, “what the hell is your name?”

  “Always been Junior. For Clay, Junior,” he added in response to Henry’s incredulous expression. “Only I’m not so sure about that any more.”

  “That’s another reason to quit,” said Henry.

  Junior let out a long breath as he took the turnoff for Glennville. He was going to quit, not just because Henry had told him to, but because after this, he would have no choice. And that would be the easy part.

  * * *

  The lights were on in the Winn-Dixie—the manager always came in extra early to get ready for the day. The public library on the next corner was still dark, as was the high school farther up. But the traffic lights were already in regular service; the one at the first intersection went red as soon as he was in sight of it. He never could beat the lights in Glennville.

  “This is home,” he said.

  Henry looked around. “Nice town.” The other two in the backseat made murmurs of agreement.

  Junior blew out a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. Glennville had been shabby and in decline for as long as he could remember. It was a sad, rundown place that offered no future, only the remnants of an undistinguished past. The town might have already faded out of existence if Gemini hadn’t been around as life support. Gemini kept Glennville alive because it suited Clay Verris to do so. The town made great camouflage.

  “It won’t be easy getting in,” Junior said.

/>   “You’re our ticket, man,” Henry said. “With you, we can walk right in through the front door.”

  Junior gave a short, soundless laugh. “Yeah? Then what?”

  “We talk to him, together,” Henry replied. “You and me. If he has any humanity left in him, he’ll listen.”

  Junior frowned. “What if he doesn’t?”

  Henry shrugged. “Then we both kick his ass. Together. You and me.”

  They were still sitting at the light when the phone in Junior’s shirt pocket rang. He took it out and showed Henry the screen: DAD.

  “Guess who,” Henry said, amused.

  In the backseat, Baron sat forward eagerly. “Ooh, can I answer? Please let me answer. I want to be the one to tell him we’re all BFFs now.”

  For a moment, Junior was tempted; then he put the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you with Brogan?” Verris asked, his voice urgent.

  “Why would I be with him?” Junior said, trying to sound innocently offhand and not at all like the man he was supposed to have killed was sitting next to him. “You sent me to AMF him, didn’t you?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Verris said. “Just run!”

  “Huh?”

  “Run!” Verris yelled. “Get away from him. Now! Please, Junior! I just want you safe!”

  Junior laughed, slightly bewildered. “Why? Because I’m your favorite experiment?” The traffic light changed from red to green and he put the Jeep in gear.

  “No, because I’m your father and I love you, son. Run!” At the same moment, Junior saw a bright white flash ahead of him and knew immediately he was in trouble. They all were.

  Releasing his seatbelt, he opened the door. “Everybody out!” he yelled and jumped.

  * * *

  As soon as Henry saw the flash, he knew even before he heard Junior yell that they were on the wrong end of an RPG.

  “Bail!” Henry shouted. He tumbled out of the Jeep, rolling over and over on the asphalt, coming to rest not far from Danny, who already had her weapon in hand. Before he could look for Baron, the RPG hit.

  The sound of the blast was merciless. Henry covered his ears, felt the ground shake as the shockwave slammed into him; he had a glimpse of Danny sliding backwards on her stomach as the explosion shoved her off the road. He put up an arm to shield himself from chunks of asphalt and dirt flying at him. The blast blew a crater into the street and flipped the Jeep into the air end over end like a flimsy toy; it was completely engulfed in flames. Squinting against the brightness and the heat, Henry saw both doors on the passenger side flapping open but only one on the driver’s side. Then, over the stink of hot metal and burning tires, that smell hit him in the face, forced itself up his nose.