F Paul Wilson - Sims 04

by Zero (v5. 0)

  An Art Deco marquee directly ahead now, Radio City blazing in red neon, and the damned charter busses vomiting tourists onto the sidewalk blocked his view of the opposite side. No sign of Sinclair here, so he stepped between two buses to check the other side—just in time to spot Sinclair starting down a subway entrance by the Time & Life Building.

  Luca congratulated his instincts. And his luck. But it occurred to him that Sinclair was moving pretty quick for a guy who was supposedly dosed to the eyeballs on antidepressants.

  No time to wonder about that now.

  He sprang forward to follow but a horn blared him back. The light was against him and traffic was moving just fast enough to make crossing impossible. Cursing, he edged to the corner. As soon as the light changed Luca lunged forward, damn near knocking down a few slow movers on his way to the subway. He flew down the steps and raced along the longest, fanciest goddamn subway ramp he’d ever seen—marble tile, brass trim, all part of the Rockefeller Center complex.

  When he reached the token booth, Sinclair was nowhere in sight.

  Uptown or down?

  He saw the ALL TRAINS sign and ducked under the turnstile—no time for a token—and followed the sound of a train pulling in. He reached the platform just in time to see the doors of an F train pincer closed behind Sinclair.

  Luca pelted after the train as it began to move, intending to grab a handle and jump onto the landing between the cars, but it picked up speed too quickly and he was left standing on the platform.

  The lighted sign on the rear car said its last stop was 179th Street in Jamaica. That meant Sinclair could be going across town or to the far side of Queens, or anywhere between.

  He let out a roar and kicked the nearest tiled pillar.

  “Hey, don’t worry, buddy,” said a shabby guy a few feet away. “There’ll be another along soon.”

  Luca wanted to kill him.

  11

  SUFFOLK COUNTY, NY

  Zero stepped into the small, two-story farmhouse in the middle of a fallow potato field, one of many that dotted eastern Long Island.

  Good to be home, even if he had no one to share the place.

  He unwrapped the scarf from his lower face and removed the hat with the pulled-down brim. Masking his features was relatively easy in the colder weather, especially at night. Summer was a problem, forcing him into a wig, a fake beard and nose, oversized sunglasses, and a floppy boonie cap.

  He shrugged out of his coat and turned on the three computers arranged around the sparsely furnished living room. A couch, a recliner, a TV, three folding chairs before the card tables holding the computers. Not exactly the lap of luxury, but it served his purposes.

  As the computers booted up he stepped to the mantle of the cold fireplace where an eight-by-ten black-and-white photo of Romy Cadman leaned against the wall. He loved this close-up, taken with a telefoto lens shortly after a letter to the editor of the Times had brought her to his attention. He felt a familiar ache as he stared at her face.

  Romy…were there other women in the world like her? If so, he’d never met one. But then, really, how many women had he met? Nowhere near enough for a fair comparison.

  He ran a fingertip along her cheek, wishing he could do so in the flesh.

  And what did others matter, anyway? Romy was Romy, his Romy. He knew he shouldn’t think of her as his, for she never would be, never could be. That would require removing his mask for her, letting her see his face. And then she’d reject him, turn away in loathing.

  Well…he didn’t actually know that, but he couldn’t risk it. Better this way. At least he could see her often, be near her, talk to her, hear her voice. But once she rejected him, all that would be lost. And even if by some miracle she, superior woman though she might be, didn’t reject him, the whole relationship would change, and not for the better.

  Tonight’s Romy ritual ended with a knock on the front door. Even though he was expecting it, Zero jumped at the sound. A visitor here was an occasion. Only one person knew where he lived, and his visits were rare.

  He laid the photo face down on the mantle and went to the door. When he opened it he embraced his oldest and dearest friend, the man who was like a father to him.

  “How are you?”

  “Good, Ellis. Very good. How are you?”

  “Getting better every day, thanks to what you and your group have been doing.”

  Ellis Sinclair did look better. Maybe a little grayer, but less gaunt. Perhaps he was eating better.

  “Come in,” Zero said, shutting the door and taking Ellis’s coat.

  He felt a little awkward. He was unpracticed at being a host.

  Ellis did a slow turn, taking in the small living room. “Are you comfortable here?”

  “Yes, thanks to you.”

  He pulled a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet under the TV. He’d never developed a taste for liquor himself, but he knew his guest was something of a hard drinker. But Ellis surprised him by waving it off.

  “Thanks, but I’m taking a breather from the booze.”

  Zero almost said, Glad to hear it, but reconsidered. Wouldn’t be appropriate.

  “Coffee, then?”

  Ellis shook his head. “I can’t stay long. As I told you, the reason I’m here is because I didn’t want to discuss this over the phone. May I sit?”

  “Of course.”

  How strange to acquiesce to a request for a seat from the owner of the house. Since the purchase of real estate would be—to put it mildly—awkward for Zero, Ellis Sinclair had bought the place for him years ago.

  “I gather this is fairly important then,” Zero said as they seated themselves, Ellis on the couch, and Zero in the recliner.

  A vague anxiety had been nibbling at him since Ellis’s call late this afternoon. What was too sensitive to discuss over an encrypted phone?

  “More than fairly. In fact I was followed tonight—by Portero himself, I believe.”

  “But you lost him.” It was a statement. He knew Ellis would have aborted his visit if he thought he was being followed.

  “Yes. Took a subway to Forest Hills and rented a car there.” He shifted in his chair. “But let me cut to the chase here: Someone asked a very disturbing question at the stockholders’ meeting today.”

  Zero nodded. “You mean about ‘surge’?”

  “Exactly. One of your people, I presume?”

  “Yes. Ms. Cadman. It was her idea. We heard the word from a man who tried to assault her, and she thought that would be a way to see if it meant anything.”

  “Just the word?” Ellis said, his eyebrows lifting. “That’s all you have?”

  Too much had been happening lately to allow Zero time to give Ellis one of his irregular briefings, so he filled him in now on the invasion of Romy’s apartment, the Totuus, and Palmer’s resultant aphasia.

  “So you have no idea what this Palmer fellow was referring to,” Ellis said.

  “Not yet. But we know it means something. And I figure you’re the man who can tell us just what.”

  Ellis tapped his fingers on the armrest of the recliner. This went on for an agonizing minute. Then, “No, I’m not.”

  “What?” Zero couldn’t hide his shock. “You’re a founder of SimGen! This goes back to Manassas Ventures. They gave you start-up capital. You’ve got to know!”

  “I do know,” Ellis said. “But I can’t tell you.”

  “Another thing you can’t tell me?” He could feel his blood rising. “When I found Kek you said you couldn’t tell me anything about him or about what was going on in Idaho. ‘Too sensitive,’ you said. Now two men attempt a chemical rape on the minds of Romy Cadman and Patrick Sullivan; we ask one of them who sent him and he tells us ‘surge.’ You know who that is and won’t tell me? Why on earth not? ‘Too sensitive’ again?”

  “No,” Ellis said, his gaze boring into Zero. “Too dangerous.”

  “It’s already dangerous.”

  “But you’ve sampled only a
taste of what’s waiting for you if you push this further.”

  “You’re telling me to back off?”

  “I’m begging you to back off.”

  Zero couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But the emotion in Ellis’s voice—fear, desperation—were real.

  “Isn’t this what you set me up to do?”

  “No, it’s not. Your goal—our goal—is to turn the public against SimGen and the idea of sims as laborers. Stop further cloning of sims —that was the goal, remember?”

  “Of course. And how better to turn the public against SimGen than to find its dirty laundry and wave it in the air for all to see?”

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

  “They have to find us first.”

  “Zero, leave it alone, I beg you. You’re making progress on so many other fronts. You don’t need—”

  “Progress? What progress? SimGen is opening more natal centers all the time!”

  “We may soon have to rethink that with the tide of public opinion turning. Manufacturers, one or two of them major, are starting to advertise their products, their clothes, toys, appliances, and so on, as ‘sim-free.’ Mutual funds specializing in sim-free companies are springing up. The Beacon Ridge poisoning—it’s awful to look at it as anything but an atrocity, but something good did come out of it because it’s accelerated the process.” Ellis leaned forward, his expression intense, alive with hope. “We’re winning , Zero. Leave Manassas Ventures and the rest alone.”

  We’renot winning, damn it, Zero thought, his frustration a fire in his gut.

  “What we’ve been doing until now is like trying to tame a killer carnivore by removing its food supply. Can’t be done. Or if it can, it’ll take a lifetime. But that was all we had, the only way we knew to deal with it. Until now. Now we may have found a weapon, one that can strike at the heart of the beast. And that changes everything.”

  “But you’re forgetting that there’s a pregnant sim somewhere out there. Find her and prove that the father of her child is human and our war is won!”

  “If we find her. That’s a very, very big ‘if,’ Ellis. And if we don’t, and if we neglect this ‘surge’ lead while we hunt for her, then we may miss a crucial opportunity.”

  “I know you’re chafing to end this crusade, but you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

  “They’ve already tried to kill Romy and Patrick. What can be worse?

  “They can succeed . And they will. Keep pushing this and some of your people will die.”

  The words jolted Zero. He’d realized that when Romy and Patrick had been run off the highway, but hearing it said aloud…

  Ellis leaned back and closed his eyes. “You want to strike at the beast. I understand that. But I’ve been living in the belly of that beast for decades and believe me, Zero, it’s dark in there. It’s full of things that should never see the light of day.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Painful things. 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.”

  Zero swallowed. “What do you mean?” He couldn’t suppress a mocking tone. “Or is it ‘too sensitive’ again?”

  Ellis looked away and shook his head. “Some of it is sensitive. And some of it is…unspeakable.”

  The last word lingered in the air between them. Zero’s mouth felt dry, his tongue like old leather. He couldn’t bear the thought of one of the most decent, moral men he had ever known connected to something unspeakable.

  What had Ellis got himself into?

  “So,” Ellis said finally. “Do we understand each other? Will you concentrate on finding Meerm and back away from Manassas?”

  Shaking his head was the hardest thing Zero had ever done in his life.

  How could he turn down this man who’d been so good to him? But he didn’t see any other choice.

  “I can’t do that. Even if I wanted to, I doubt I could call off Romy and Patrick.”

  “Of course you can. You’re they’re leader.”

  “Causes take on a life of their own. Romy and Patrick are off and running like hounds who’ve caught a scent. There’s no whistling them back.”

  Ellis rubbed a hand across his eyes, then dragged it down his face. He looked ten years older than when he’d arrived.

  Zero said, “But I will do this. I will push the search for Meerm as best as I can. If that pans out, then Manassas and ‘surge’ will be moot.”

  “I pray so.”

  Looking exhausted, Ellis rose slowly from the recliner and shrugged into his coat.

  “Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind?”

  “I wish there were, Ellis. You don’t know how much it hurts me to go against you.”

  “Hurt? You don’t know hurt, Zero. Keep on this road, and it will come to a very bad end. A terrible end. And you…you may end up the sorriest of all.”

  Without another word, Ellis Sinclair opened the door, stepped outside, and walked to his car, leaving Zero wondering if he’d just made the worst mistake of his life.

  12

  NEWARK, NJ

  DECEMBER 20

  Benny come and go. Meerm can’t stay hide. Too many kick inside when Meerm squeeze into wall. And must go wee. Meerm go wee so ver much these day. Leave closet now.

  Feel stuff on floor. Look see white powder. Meerm touch taste. Mmmm. Sugar. Why sugar on floor?

  Meerm not know. Must go wee now. Meerm hurry to bathroom. Do wee. When Meerm finish she flush.

  No-no-no! Meerm forget! Must not flush! Nev flush in day when no sim round! Benny hear!

  Benny come now! Meerm hurry to closet. Climb to shelf. So hard, so ver hard climb. Squeeze into hole. Squeeze-squeeze-squeeze.

  “I heard that! Goddamn it I might imagine a creak or a thump, but I know I ain’t imaginin no toilet flush!

  Meerm squeeze into hole, push board back. Wait and listen.

  “Ay! Lookit that! Tracks through my sugar! So I ain’t loco! Someone’s up here, an I know just where you are, man!”

  Meerm hear bang-bang-bang on closet door. Jump with every bang.

  “I don’t know where you was hidin before, but Benny gotcha now! Ain’t no monkey gonna outsmart Benny. Benny out smart you ! So come on out where I can see you!”

  Meerm not come out. Meerm too scare. Meerm stay. Benny nev find Meerm here behind board.

  Bang-bang-bang again. “Hey! You hear me? No sense draggin this out. It’s over! You tagged!” Meerm hear closet door open. “You—what the fuck?” Hear hangers move. “Hey! What’s goin on here?”

  Now Benny start bang closet wall—bang-bang-bang! Ver loud to Meerm behind board. Meerm hold breath and hold ear. Now Benny bang Meerm board. No-no-no! Board move. Meerm see light.

  “Ay, lookit this shit! Damn me, there’s a space back there! Ay, that where you are? That where you been hidin on Benny? Say somethin, will ya? Awright, dammit. That the way you wanna be…”

  Meerm hear Benny go but Meerm stay. Not move. Then hear Benny come back. Hear chair drag across floor. Benny push board and big light shine in Meerm eye.

  “There you are, you lazy monkey. Playin hooky from the job, huh? Wait’ll I tell the boss. Ay, you’re a plump one, aintcha. Whatcha been doin? Eatin all day? You—wait a minute. Wait a fuckin minute. You that sim they lookin for! The pregnant one! The five-million-dollar sim! Holy Christ! Holy Christ! You her! An I gotcha! I gotcha!”

  Light go way, Benny go way, then closet door close. Meerm hear bumps against closet door.

  What Benny say? Meerm pregnant sim. What pregnant? Meerm five-million-dollar sim. What five million? Meerm not understand. Meerm try understand later. Now Meerm must run. Benny find Meerm. Benny will call mans who hurt.

  Meerm climb out on closet shelf and drop to floor. Push on closet door but door not move. Meerm pus
h so ver hard. Push-push-push, but door not move. Door locked. No-no-no!

  Meerm trapped. Meerm ver fraid and ver scare. Meerm shake inside and out, almost hard as kick-kick-kick. Meerm cry. Poor, poor Meerm.

  13

  SUSSEX COUNTY, NJ

  “Mr. Portero,” Nowicki’s voice said through Luca’s office intercom, “I think you’d better take this call.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Calls himself Benny Morales and says he knows you. Says he’s got the pregnant sim.”

  “Sure. Him and half a million others.”

  Luca shook his head. How many times had he heard that since the five megabuck reward hit the news? People were crawling out of the woodwork with crazy stories, some wishful thinking, others outright lies. Meerm, or an equally pregnant sim, had been sighted in Chicago, San Francisco, Buenos Aires, London, Hong Kong. The world was suddenly full of pregnant sims.

  “This Morales says he met you at the Newark crib when you came looking for the pregnant sim; says she’s been hiding there right under his nose all along.”

  Luca remembered Morales now, a quick, jittery little ferret of a man. Remembered that damn crib too. After a weeklong fruitless vigil, he’d yanked surveillance from the place, figuring if the pregnant sim hadn’t returned by then, she wasn’t coming back at all.

  But if she’d never left the building in the first place…

  “Put him though.”

  Luca’s hand darted toward the phone and hovered over the receiver. He let it ring twice before picking up.

  A few minutes later, after listening to Morales’s story, Luca hung up and jabbed the intercom button. “Nowicki. Get Grimes and Alessi. Meet me in the garage. We’re rolling!”

  This was it. Morales’s story hung together too well to be anything but the real thing.