“Even without your Chip?” James appeared skeptical. Flames licked up in the distance, the clouds of smoke glowing orange from the warehouse as they raced away.
“Yes, even without it. A sample of DNA is enough to prove I am a US citizen by checking it against my Chip record. They’ll see that I’ve been missing, my Chip destroyed. I can tell them I was abducted and they’ll have to help us. They’ll have to.”
James pressed harder into the other clone’s leg. “I hope you’re right.”
Thirty-Three
Sara ran a finger over the scab on her wrist. She figured she would get used to her freshly shaved head much sooner than she would the Chip missing from beneath her skin. With the device gone, she felt both free and vulnerable. She could no longer be tracked, but she had also severed her connection to the Net. There would be no more instant communications between her friends and family (as if she had actively kept in touch with them anyway). No instant access to data for her now-likely-former operative position at the CIA nor to the constant news streams that would tick across her AR lenses.
Before she had cut the Chip from her skin and ground it into the sidewalk with the heel of her shoe, she had transferred all the data Palmer had stolen into her receiver. The connection between her receiver and her AR lenses still allowed her to explore the data inscribed in those devices. She often worked in secret, since the Natural community that had offered her housing in Crownsville, Maryland, had done so with the stipulation that she abandon all network and augmentation technologies.
Sara promised the Naturals that she had given these technologies up but she could not break the vow she had made to herself and to Palmer. She had to uncover the secrets hiding in these data. She owed him that.
Despite her determination, it was harder than she’d anticipated. She could no longer access Palmer’s algorithms or insight to help guide her investigations.
But she had found something. And she hoped it would guide her down the right path.
She had discovered an anomaly in the personnel records for the former service members with deactivated Chips. Only one individual had returned to the United States, though his homecoming had come with an enormous price. The man claimed to know nothing about his disappearance. Medical records showed a chronic diagnosis of retrograde amnesia, though doctors found no evidence of past or present neurological trauma. The man’s life before he had reentered the United States had been erased from his mind. Psychological reports documented the man as unstable and aggressive, quick to anger and uncomfortable in virtually all social situations. Through a VA hospital, his Chip had been reimplanted but the man had never gone back to his former job. He lived off a settlement payment offered by his company since his abduction had purportedly occurred while he had been away on business.
Knocking on the door of the man’s one-story house outside of Brunswick, Sara held her breath. She prayed that he would answer the door and that, despite his reported lack of memory, he might hold the right clues to help her unravel this insidious plot.
The wooden door creaked open and an unshaven man with dark hair and a lean, athletic frame answered. With his dark eyes, the man, a former Exo-Specialist, studied her. His muscles tensed and he spoke through tight lips. “What the hell do you want?”
She inhaled slowly. “Are you Nicholas Corrigan?”
Thirty-Four
Sara repeated her question when the man stared at her blankly. “Are you Nicholas Corrigan? The former Exo-Specialist? Went missing about four years ago?”
“I’m not in the mood to entertain guests.”
“But you are Mr. Corrigan, aren’t you?”
He refused to meet her eyes through the cracked door. “I’m not sure what you want, but I’d like to be left alone.”
“Please, I just have a couple of questions and I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. I don’t need to come in or anything, I just want to talk.”
His eyes flashed in anger. “I don’t have time for you.”
Her mind raced. Without any clues from Corrigan, she would be as lost as a shipwrecked sailor in the middle of the ocean. She had spent too much time scouring the data Palmer had given her and she wasn’t any better off for it. All she knew was that there were a couple of tenuous links between Isis and the companies these disappeared veterans had gone to work for. She could not explain why and had no idea what had happened to anyone after their Chips were deactivated. This man was her last lifeline. Palmer’s arrest, cutting the Chip from her own skin, running from her job at the CIA and life as she knew it to go join a neo-hippy commune of Naturals—things couldn’t end here because of an agoraphobic man hiding behind a wooden door. “Please, I’m risking my life to talk to you.”
Something glinted in the man’s brown eyes. Curiosity; intrigue, maybe. But anger burned the glimmer away as it crept back into his dilating pupils. “You’ll be risking your life if you don’t get the hell off my property.”
The man pulled the door closed, but she threw a hand out, wrapping her fingers around the edge of it. A sharp pain coursed through her hand as the door pressed her fingers into the doorjamb. She cursed but did not relent, yanking it back open. “What do you know about Isis? What about the soldiers with deactivated Chips? How did you make it back to the US?”
His expression softening, Corrigan’s eyes narrowed. “Who sent you?”
“No one.”
He relaxed his grip, letting the door drift open wider. “Why are you here?”
She breathed slower, letting the questions simmering in her mind cool. She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth as she debated how far she should go, what she should tell this man to convince him to let her in. Closing her eyes, she figured she had nothing else to lose. “I think members of the CIA—I used to be one—are covering up medical research that Isis is performing in countries all over the world. It’s probably highly illegal and highly unethical, and I want to know what it is.” She pointed at him. “I think you might know, having been a part of it.”
He stared at her for a moment, his expression serious. Sara worried he thought she was insane, a crazy conspiracy theorist daring to confront a man who had already been through his fair share of psychological and physical trauma as he tried to reestablish a semblance of a normal life. He remained silent as the winds tugged at the pine trees around them. “I think you should leave.”
After Corrigan slammed the door, she stood on his porch. She had nothing to show for her visit. No idea of where to go next, no answers to her inquiries. This was the end of the road. She found no clear path forward and no breadcrumb trail to follow back to a normal life. Stuck in purgatory, she would need to live like a Natural until the CIA found her or she died.
Sara plodded down the gravel driveway and back to the road to Brunswick. She would need to catch the autobus there back to Crownsville. Already, she cursed inwardly for being so foolish, for risking it all in such a desperate grab for a piece of evidence to help her take down an esteemed government agency mired in a deep-seated conspiracy. Had she been on a fool’s errand? She feared she had gotten in over her head, facing potential charges for the theft of classified data and treason. McCuller had warned her, too.
And what had she done with that warning, that opportunity to save herself? She had eschewed any chance at regaining a normal life. She paused on the road. Her eyes filled with tears, and she yelled up at the sky. The clouds rolled on above her. She slumped to a crouch, her hands pressed against her cheeks.
A hand grasped her shoulder and Sara jumped up. She took a step backward, her arms flexed in a defensive posture.
“Is it true?” Corrigan’s brown eyes opened wide, his mouth gaping. “You defected from the CIA?”
She relaxed, nodding slowly.
“What is it that you want from me?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. I just want to be able to explain what it is that my supervisors are trying to hide and why all these veterans are going missing.”
She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. “This all started out of a bit of curiosity, and now I’m worried that people are being exploited or being used in illegal medical experiments or—”
“You’re right,” he said, cutting her off. He motioned to the gravel road that wound between the evergreens. “Let’s go for a walk. I’m pretty sure they bugged my house.”
She cocked her head.
“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”
“If you are, you’re no crazier than I am.”
“Good. Because the first thing I’m going to tell you is that, as much as I look like him, I’m not Nicholas Corrigan.”
“Who are you?”
“I guess the closest thing I have for a name is Twelve.”
Thirty-Five
The tang of body odor and sweat saturated the grimy, windowless room. Nick had grown accustomed to the ripe, natural smell of humans enduring the heat since his escape from the cloning facilities. The holding room smelled like a mixture of all the sweat and body odor he had experienced in his journey, concentrated in one room riddled with mold and mildew. Peering down at a holodisplay, a border patrol agent crinkled his nose. His eyes scanned from left to right. “I’m not sure how to make sense of this.” His nose twitched above his mustache. “Your DNA is a perfect match for Nicholas Corrigan, like you said, but you can’t be him.”
“I don’t understand.” Nick’s brow furrowed and he leaned forward in the uncomfortable aluminum chair. “I am Nicholas Corrigan. What else do I need to prove it?”
The agent shrugged and the exhale that escaped his mouth fluttered his bushy whiskers. “I don’t know.” He jabbed his finger at the holodisplay. “Right here, it says you’re already in the United States. You’ve got a Chip implanted and everything.”
“How the hell do you explain that? I’m right here in front of you and I told you, my Chip was taken from me and destroyed. I watched it happen.” Nick slammed his fists on the plastic table and the holodisplay’s image flickered.
“Calm down, Mr. Corrigan. I tell you what. I’m going to sort this all out, but I’ve got to talk to a supervisor.”
“Fine. Do whatever you need to.”
He restrained the frustration boiling inside him. He and James had made it to the border. They’d barely escaped the slaughter at the warehouse and the other clone had been sent to a hospital near the border inside Juarez. James had gone with the injured man, determined to ensure that he would live.
“Besides, how are we going to explain me?” James had said. “You want to start off by telling these people I’m your clone and they should just let us both cross the border?”
He couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t explain James’s identical appearance and virtually identical genes. Even if they asserted that James was his twin, they wouldn’t be able to prove that James was a United States citizen.
Separating, James had promised he would find a way across the border and locate each other in Maryland. They agreed to meet up in the Natural community Nick knew of in Crownsville. Given that James wouldn’t be able to procure a Chip, they figured it would be best to integrate into a group where that appeared normal. And most importantly, it was the closest Natural commune to DC.
The agent entered the room again. Pallor had overcome his face as he inched toward the table. “I, uh, just spoke to my supervisor and he, uh, talked with a couple other people back in Washington. It looks like you are who you said you are, so you can come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Nick stood, hesitating behind the table. “Can’t you just let me go?”
“We’ve got to set you up with a temporary comm card so you’ve got government ID. That’s just going to take a bit.” The agent tugged at his mustache and led Nick to another room with rows of plastic chairs. In one chair, another man sat, his legs splayed out, his hands clasped behind his head. Hands clenched in prayer, a woman sat next to a child who swung her legs as she sat at the edge of her seat.
“Go ahead and sit.”
“Is something going on?”
“No, no.” The agent waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’ve just got to get everything in order before I send you on your way. Make sure you won’t have any trouble once you’re across, okay?”
“Fine.” Nick sat. The woman’s muttered prayers accompanied the hum of the air pushed through ceiling vents into the room.
At the front of the room, the agent conferred with a couple of other uniformed officers at holodisplays. They glanced furtively at Nick.
He straightened in his seat, a tingle shuddering down his spine. He thought about Hector’s stories of what had happened to the clone that the Costa Rican had brought back to the American embassy in San José, mistakenly thinking that the poor gringo tourist would be protected by his government.
Instinctively, Nick mapped out the room in case he had to escape. To his left stretched the hall he had come from, containing holding and interview rooms marked by uniform black doors. To his right, a set of double glass doors led to the United States side of the border, undoubtedly controlled by the woman sitting behind the counter. Another narrower hallway led along the side of the counter toward a set of bathrooms. At the end of that hall, vehicles passed by another secured glass door marked for government officials only.
Tapping his foot on the floor, he debated the three options. None of the employees behind the counter appeared as though they planned to provide a temporary comm card anytime soon. And the longer he waited, the less he thought he would be given a card at all.
He stepped up to the counter and tapped on the glass window to get the guard’s attention. “How long before my comm card’s ready?”
“It’ll be ready when it’s ready,” she said. “Please, go have a seat.”
“Who’s making the card? It doesn’t look like anyone’s working on it.”
The woman ignored him.
“I appreciate your help, but I’ve got urgent business back in DC and I’d like to know when I’ll be taking off.”
Unimpressed, the guard rolled her eyes. “Just go sit down.”
Memories of his short time in the prison camp flitted across his mind’s eye. He thought of the other clones, his clones and the children he had seen, along with the others he had met on his journey north. And now he realized none of them had made it as far as him. He approached the last mile in this deadly marathon toward freedom, and he feared that he would be prevented from crossing the finish line.
The longer he waited, the more paranoia and fear crept into him, sending adrenaline surging through his blood vessels. His pulse quickened and he watched the border security personnel for any hint of suspicious activity.
“Yo, buddy.” The man sitting in front of him turned around. “Lay off with the foot tapping, all right? You’re giving me a migraine.”
Nick stilled his foot. His fingers twitched to release the pent-up anxiety coursing through his body. Claustrophobia gripped him. He needed out before someone came to whisk him away, to take him back to Costa Rica or to kill him. He needed out so he could get to Kelsey.
The agent that had interviewed him stepped out from behind the “Officials Only” counter and sauntered into the bathroom. He counted out thirty seconds in his head before standing up and willing his body to remain calm, to appear inconspicuous as he made his way to the bathroom.
The man stood in front of a urinal, his back toward him. Nick exhaled, causing the man to whip his head around. In response, he lunged, cupping his hand around the agent’s mouth and wrapping an arm around his neck.
“I will kill you right here if you don’t tell me the truth.” Nick backed up against the bathroom door to keep it closed. “Do you understand me?”
Beads of sweat rolled down the man’s forehead. His eyes bulged and he nodded.
“You aren’t making me a comm card, are you?”
The man made no gestures and said nothing.
“Answer me.” His nose scrunched up in a
snarl.
The agent shook his head rapidly.
“I didn’t think so. You’re holding me here until someone comes to pick me up. That’s what’s going on, isn’t it?”
The smell of urine stung his nose as the man wet himself.
“Is it the Costa Ricans?”
Confusion etched across the man’s face in his wrinkled brow and scared, wet eyes.
“Who, then?”
The man’s words came out muffled by Nick’s palm.
“I’m going to let you talk, just this once.” Nick glared at the man and willed every ounce of aggression he could muster into that one look. “If you so much as scream, I will snap your neck. Do you understand?”
The man’s head bobbed up and down. Nick spread his fingers just enough for the man’s lips to move. “I don’t know who they are. My supervisor told me to keep you here, that you were dangerous, and the FBI or CIA or somebody was going to come pick you up, okay? I swear I don’t know anything else.” The words flew out his mouth like machine gun fire.
Nick clasped his hands back over the man’s mouth. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m very sorry about what’s going to happen but I promise—eventually, everything’s going to be okay.”
The man’s eyes bulged again, threatening to pop out of his skull. He tightened the chokehold as the agent kicked and screamed against his palms. In a few seconds, the man blacked out, unconscious but alive. Nick dragged the agent into one of the toilet stalls and took off the man’s uniform. After replacing his own clothes with the khaki Border Security uniform, Nick wrapped his old shirt, soiled with sweat and drops of dried blood, around his hand. He pictured the security door that led outside. The door was obscured from the front desk where the other two agents sat, their eyes glued on their holodisplays. He faced the mirror over the sink and punched it, sending jagged cracks through the glass surface. Again, he punched and fragments of the fractured mirror clattered onto the sink and floor. He examined the pieces until he found a particularly sharp, knife-shaped shard.
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