The Tomorrow Clone (The Tomorrow Gene Book 3)

by Sean Platt

Hallways.

  Doors, both closed and open.

  And then a large foyer, fronted by windows, probably those that the GEM agents mentioned.

  Right there, plain as day, was the crouched form of Ephraim Todd, obvious, no matter his shoddy disguise. He seemed to be waiting for … for what?

  The camera moved closer. Very close. Mercer expected Ephraim to turn around and swat it like a fly. But the thing must have been as Riverbed-discrete as Mercer guessed because Fiona didn’t flinch, steering it around to position the camera facing Ephraim.

  He’d grown a thick beard to bury his face, but it wasn’t enough to hide his nervously working mouth. His eyes were clearly terrified.

  But as the others moved to plot locations — maybe to finally reach out to give GEM its final push — Mercer couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen.

  From Ephraim Todd’s bearded face.

  And what was higher up on that face, near Ephraim’s hairline.

  Seeing it, Mercer felt his situation turn to eggshells. He was walking on a barely-frozen lake. He’d built a tall house of cards these past few days, and that video of Ephraim was, right now, blowing softly at its shaky base.

  Maybe there was time to fix it. Time to get away, at least, while the streets were still somewhat quiet.

  But then a whistle sounded. A high-pitched bleat that sent shivers down Mercer’s spine.

  The grand marshal’s whistle. Jubilee had begun.

  “Fuck,” Mercer muttered.

  Chapter 41

  Lively the Last Time

  Instinct told him to stand with the whistle, to peek out the windows and watch the parade begin.

  But a stronger force — Sophie’s restraining hand — held him in place.

  “Stay down, dammit.” She’d run out of playful ways to ask Ephraim not to get them busted a long time ago. Even Ephraim was annoyed at himself.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Why couldn’t Ephraim focus? His thoughts were their own Jubilee.

  Sophie turned to face him. She put a hand on his cheek, abrasive with two days’ stubble. She planted her lips on his and said, “It’s okay. It has to be over soon.”

  They waited, both irrationally sure Original Ephraim would appear at the gong. But minutes passed, and nothing.

  Ephraim looked around the room. It was so quiet, despite the volume outside. The tables were draped with dust cloths, still with the burgundy beneath. The place had been lively the last time, both upstairs and below. What had once been elegant was now only ghosts.

  Sophie stood, low enough to be discrete. “Where is he?”

  “He could come anytime. It might be hours.” But that didn’t feel true. If he were Ephraim Todd, he’d have come right as the parade began, at the height of the frenzy. Ordinarily, a hunch like that might mean nothing. Except that Ephraim, in this case, was Ephraim Todd.

  His Doodad vibrated. This time, Ephraim noticed it. He didn’t get to say hello before Papa started speaking.

  “Do you see him?”

  “Who?”

  Papa was uncharacteristically frazzled. Or manic. Or something. His smooth demeanor was gone. This was a new Papa, his words seeming desperate for time.

  “He’s right up front. Where are you?”

  Ephraim mumbled, stalling. Sophie was looking at him, but he didn’t want to meet her eyes or tell her that she’d been right. He’d been wrong to disobey Papa.

  “You have to grab him, Ephraim,” Papa said, not waiting for an answer. “Forget about trying to be discreet — the cops and GEM and everyone else already knows he’s there. They’re arguing about who gets to go in first. You can’t wait any longer. Both of you run at him. Spectators will see you, but do it anyway. Use the Dart.”

  Ephraim ran a finger along his inside pocket. The Dart device was inside, filled with Papa’s drug. Ephraim didn’t know much about it, or care to. He believed Papa. If you shot the Dart at a near-close range, it would inject a person with stupefying venom. They’d become incredibly suggestible. Darting Real Ephraim would be simple if they were near him.

  “My guy in the NYPD says he’s alone. Crouching in the lobby. You two can take him. Are you moving toward him? Hurry, Ephraim!”

  “Papa, we’re …”

  Sophie could hear Papa’s half of the conversation. She took Ephraim’s Doodad and stabbed the speaker button. Papa’s voice filled the empty restaurant.

  “We tried something different, Papa.” To Sophie’s credit, she didn’t glare at Ephraim with I told you so eyes. “We aren’t at Riverbed.”

  “You’re not …” Words failed Papa Friesh, the most rock-solid man Ephraim had ever met.

  “We had a hunch. Ephraim was sure he’d come here because it’s what he would do.”

  It was a strange thing to say, but true. If Ephraim were Ephraim, he’d have gone to Mercer’s old restaurant, not to the hornet’s nest of Riverbed. Sophie’s reasoning had made plenty of sense. Real Ephraim wasn’t operating on his compass; he was on an errand for Jonathan. It didn’t matter if Mercer’s place on 114 Burkhouser made sense to visit, or that the heart of New York’s illicit sex trade had, until recently, been in the abandoned sex dungeon beneath them now. Ephraim argued that he was Ephraim and that in this case, Ephraim’s intuition knew best. And if he was wrong? No big deal; they could go where Papa suggested afterward.

  But he hadn’t seen this urgency coming.

  He hadn’t anticipated this sudden out-of-control tone to Papa’s voice.

  “Where?” Papa demanded.

  “We’re at the restaurant. Above the Den. The place where …”

  … where Mercer sold me to Ephraim, Sophie didn’t say, though her sympathetic eyes did.

  “It’s three blocks down,” Ephraim said. “We can be at Riverbed in …”

  Ephraim stopped, hearing the way Papa was trying to control himself, and not entirely succeeding. They had to hurry. Whatever this was, it had inexplicably become a hundred times more urgent. But before they ran, Ephraim had to know.

  “What’s going on, Papa? What happened?”

  Papa’s voice was almost desperate. Almost sad, as if they’d already lost.

  “The missing betas,” Papa said. “The differentiation hormone. It didn’t make sense. I knew Neven wanted to hack the Gene Crypt, but there had to be more to it. Because Neven wanted to test the world like I told you. To expand his experiment. He needed GEM’s database to do it. Then he could make 2.0 clones of anyone he wanted. Square off the clone against the original, the way Wallace pitted Neven against the brother who died. That’s what Neven wants, to see what’s better. To see if clones, in the end, truly are superior. But imagine the chaos in the meantime. If indistinguishable clones can be made from anyone, identity theft would be simple. Banks would have to freeze everything. The whole world would be suspect since anyone could be replaced. People wouldn’t have any idea who to trust.”

  Time was ticking. This part, they knew. They should be running; there was still time to stop it from happening.

  But Ephraim wouldn’t run. Not yet. He could sense Papa had figured out the missing piece to this story.

  “But why was Neven so eager to connect to the Gene Crypt?” Papa continued. “I didn’t understand why that would be, seeing as he’d need at least a week, after sucking the first genome maps from the database, for his clones to mature. A week isn’t much time, but it’d be enough. You get the other Ephraim, we make him talk, we get into the Wallace Connolly AI, and the AI helps us find the Domain. The Change is everywhere. Not just the police, but the Army. The government. Wherever we need them, to serve the mission.”

  Ephraim swallowed. Papa was talking about the type of power that only a religion could muster. Good thing the leader was on their side.

  “A week would be enough time to find the Domain and stop him,” Papa said. “I could make calls right now and get jets in the air if I wanted it enough — and if I knew where to tell them to go.”

  Ephraim realized h
is mouth was hanging open. He looked at Sophie, whose jaw was agape as well.

  “What’s the missing piece, Papa?” Sophie asked.

  “I have few deprogrammed dromes on Eden,” Papa said. “They give me some level of insight into what’s happening there. When I got this hunch, I had them check something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Activity logs. To see if Neven had made copies of any Eden files before he was ‘killed.’ Files that could be sent to the Domain, along with Neven’s mind on the Hopper.”

  Ephraim said to Sophie, “You’re talking about Eden’s other clients. The clones they already had.”

  Through the Doodad’s speaker, Papa said, “That’s right. Every one of them. Every client who ever came to Eden. Everyone they ever made slaves of. Like you, Sophie. And that means that Neven doesn’t have to wait for access to the database.” Papa swallowed. “He may not have GEM’s database yet, but he already has Eden’s — and it contains some of the world’s best-known, most high-profile people. The Domain could be stuffed with already finished clones, wherever it is.”

  “Already finished?”

  “Well, maybe 99.9 percent. Genes change a little over time, so the genomes of Eden’s live clients have slight differences versus those for the same people, as recorded by GEM. Neven needs to match the Crypt copy to prove his concept. That’s all he needs to bring those nearly-complete clones to 100% fidelity. There won’t be any way to tell them apart after that.”

  Ephraim sensed there was more. “And …?”

  “He’s going to release them, Ephraim. The minute Neven connects to GEM’s database and makes the last-minute changes to his new 2.0 clones, he’ll unleash them into the world. It’s what his father would have done. If Wallace was afraid to cross a bridge, Neven will run across and burn it. Releasing his first round of clones is opening Pandora’s box. Once the world sees those clones, there’ll be no turning back. In the chaos after their release, Neven will have plenty of time to grow more clones for his grand experiment.”

  Ephraim ended the call. A moment later he and Sophie were running through the front door. Then they were in the street, and Sophie’s hand was in his. But the crowd outside was like drunken molasses, parting too slowly as Ephraim punched and kicked.

  The guilt made this all so much worse.

  If only he’d listened to Papa instead of his hunches, they’d be at Riverbed now, ready to grab Real Ephraim and run. Maybe they’d be able to find Neven in time. Maybe not. Probably not, if Neven’s clones were as complete as Papa thought, and if he had them ready to ship like living, breathing bombs.

  But maybe so. And Ephraim had blown it.

  This was his fault.

  Ephraim’s thoughts turned and swirled, like a Jubilee inside his mind.

  Chapter 42

  The Wrong Ephraim

  Just below Ephraim’s hairline, as Mercer watched him on Fiona’s tablet, there was a thick coffee-colored line, noticeably lighter than the surrounding skin. Eden, despite its rejuvenation marvels, was 101 when it came to emergency medicine. The center had stitched Ephraim up after Neven had “accidentally” hit him with the bat, but they’d done so with little grace. Ephraim’s bleeding had stopped, and his brains stayed in his head, but he’d always have that scar, wider than mainland surgeons ever would have left it.

  Mercer’s eyes darted around the van. The space felt too small. He might be starting to sweat, and that was something from a master of evasion.

  Mercer had been in his share of sticky spots, but this was a doozy. Fiona wasn’t merely angry with Mercer, or suspicious. She was distinctly annoyed.

  The only thing keeping him alive, he’d calculated days ago, was the illusion that he had information Fiona needed and more that he’d help her get later. Even that was scant; she’d mined better information from Wood and now had the target of this manhunt in sight, or so she thought. Mercer was a scab waiting to flake off. When the boat rocked, he’d sleep with the fishes.

  Fiona wouldn’t respond well if she realized that most of what he’d told her was bullshit. Mercer thought that was unlikely given the timeframe until he saw the scar.

  Until he’d realized that they were watching the wrong Ephraim Todd. Because the Ephraim clone had never been struck by Neven’s bat. And Original Ephraim, by Mercer’s firm account, wasn’t involved in this.

  Mercer leaned forward. Fiona had turned her chair away. All attention was in the front of the van: Fiona, Maria, and their two henchmen were listening to GEM’s chatter on the radio gadget, scrolling through digital information on a second tablet.

  The first tablet was where Maria had placed it — leaning on its stand atop a fold-out shelf along the tricked-out van’s right wall. It showed Ephraim, with Jubilee’s racket in the background. Scared shitless. Paralyzed. Sitting there in full view like a sucker, his scar obnoxiously obvious.

  Mercer’s eyes went to his captors. Fiona had met Clone Ephraim many times. The scar onscreen was obvious enough to draw her attention; if she took a second to process his face, then she’d know something was amiss.

  And motherfucker, Mercer remembered; he’d told her the story about Neven and the bat. Had he mentioned that it left a scar? Had he said where Real Ephraim had been struck?

  Mercer couldn’t remember.

  He glared at Ephraim onscreen.

  Are you just going to sit there like a coward? Or will you at least turn your head so it’s not so obvious that—

  “Mercer?”

  Maria’s voice.

  Mercer looked up, sure he must look like a kid with his hand buried in the cookie jar. It took all of his will not to look at the tablet. Here’s a riddle for ya: How many Riverbed idiots does it take to tell a real Ephraim from a clone? Answer: At least two more than it took to screw in that fucking light bulb, ha-ha.

  “Yes?” Mercer answered.

  Pause. “You feeling okay?”

  “I’m super.”

  Behind Maria, Ephraim heard someone in the surveilled GEM room giving the command to move in. Worse, whoever it was gave the command only because someone else in the room had noticed that the police were already doing so.

  Is that good? Mercer wasn’t sure. The faster shit went down the faster this uncertain bubble would pop. Unless GEM or the cops would know Real Ephraim when they saw him. Or unless Real Ephraim, in an attempt to establish himself as a non-terrorist, had the guts to tell them that Eden did have clones, and his double was one.

  He wouldn’t say anything about clones. He’s giving Eden up if he does.

  He’s giving himself up if he doesn’t.

  Maria’s eyes flicked to the tablet — then thankfully past it, to the heavily tinted window. An enormous balloon passed before she looked back at Mercer. “You know this clone well, right?”

  “Not ‘well.’”

  “I understand Neven gave you his full set of conditioned triggers. For when you were negotiating to sell him the Sophie.”

  “I didn’t get any triggers from Neven.”

  “Yes, you did.” Fiona didn’t have the wand and could neither steer to face him or turn her head. “We’ve had a lot of time to study Eden’s conditioning, and we know he was heavily conditioned. We also know that Neven sent the Sophie clone to you and that you gave him a whole speech before he bought the clone, with my money. Considering that Neven was clearly steering him through his MyLife implant back then — trying to get Ephraim to hand-deliver my property to him on Eden — you’d obviously have had to say specific things about the clone he was buying to set off his triggers, or it wouldn’t work.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “What were the triggers, Mercer? What sets him off?”

  “Try insulting his mother?”

  “The police and GEM are both preparing to go in,” Maria said. “Fiona is going to call Hershel Wood. She needs to know what to tell him.”

  “Tell him he’s a handsome guy.” Mercer was sweating too much for a smile.

  “J
ust let me know the key words Neven gave you,” Maria said patiently, “so we can tell the GEM people what to say to calm the clone long enough to grab him. Or, conversely, what not to say, so we don’t make him panic.”

  Key words? Mercer remembered some of what Neven had offered him for his verbal battle with the clone, but that had been months ago. Still, he knew a few triggers that might help if the cavalry was about to nab a clone.

  “Um …”

  What was he supposed to say? Giving Fiona broken triggers would only make things worse.

  “Stand by,” said a voice on the radio.

  All heads turned back to front as if the answer were in the radio’s speakers. Mercer was off the hook for now.

  But then there was commotion on the street, and every head turned to see a black man kicking his way through the crowd with a young white woman in tow. A woman who looked a lot like a young Sophie Norris.

  Then the heads turned, this time toward Mercer.

  Chapter 43

  Bang-Bang

  The original Ephraim Todd rubbed his scar, like he always did when nervous. If he were a character in a buddy cop movie, he would’ve told his partner at this point that he was getting too old for this shit. But he wasn’t in a movie, and he didn’t have a partner. He did have a clone, though – the clone that Jonathan had sent to New York to entrap Fiona. Was that close enough?

  He watched the commotion of Jubilee through the Riverbed building’s big front windows from his position in the lobby, beginning soon enough to notice that the movement wasn’t random. There was too much coordination among some of the folks outside. They were too well choreographed to be ordinary pedestrians.

  And that probably meant they were cops. Or a riot squad. Or GEM. Or anyone at all who might be looking to capture the notorious Ephraim Todd.

  He’d been surrounded.

  Damn you, Jonathan, Real Ephraim thought.

  The doubts Fiona had raised when she’d called – doubts in which Jonathan was maybe playing both sides, using his own flesh-and-blood brother as a scapegoat – came screaming back into Ephraim’s mind. Maybe Fiona had been right. Maybe Jonathan had actively been working against Ephraim, only pretending that they were on the same side.