Tears of a Clone (Easytown Novels Book 2)

by Brian Parker

  I looked at my watch out of habit. It was time to put an end to this mess.

  TWENTY-FIVE: TUESDAY

  We crept down the hallway toward the security room where the Paladin used to work. The building seemed quiet, like it should have been after normal business hours. Everything seemed exactly like it should have—which concerned me.

  The mayor knew I was coming for him. He’d tried to frame me and failed. Then he tried putting a price on my head. So far, that had been a failure as well. Logically, it made sense that I’d go after him. Unless he thinks I’m going to try to take him out at his house, I thought.

  I wished that I still had all of my usual resources at hand, but I still couldn’t risk going in to the department. A drone over his house could have told me if he had more guards than normal. Communications with Andi would have allowed me to scan the email servers for any information. If the Jeep’s nav system were enabled, I could have even sent it over there and gauged the reaction. As it was, I was blind, bumbling along like some detective in my grandfather’s time.

  Given my psychological profile, showing up to the mayor’s house and trying to kill him made more sense than me sneaking around the cloning facility did. I was known as a hothead who dealt with issues head on. However, this case had never truly been about Mayor Cantrell—sure, he was a major part—but this case was about the clones. First, it was about getting to the bottom of the triple homicide that nobody wanted to touch, then stopping the torture tourism insanity and helping Sadie figure out who she was.

  So, in reality, I was living up to my psych profile by going to the heart of the cloning problem. I couldn’t help it if the mayor thought he was more important than I did.

  The Paladin stopped in front of a closed door and gestured that he was going to go in.

  I shook my head violently and pointed at him, then the floor. He shrugged and reached for the handle. Maybe we should have worked out our communications signals beforehand.

  I grabbed his arm and pulled myself close to his helmet. “No killing!” I whispered.

  He nodded and twisted the handle. The servos in his suit snapped the metal like brittle glass with a loud ping.

  “Fuck,” he mumbled and shouldered the door open, quickly slipping inside. I pulled the Sig Sauer from its holster—so much for being quiet.

  I scanned the hallway in the direction of the guard desk while the Paladin was inside the security room. Through the door, I heard a muffled cry of alarm, then a few soft thuds as they struggled inside. I didn’t know how large the room was, or if there was a giant red alarm button like the bad guys always had in action vids, but one thing was certain. The Paladin sucked at being quiet. Probably why he got caught the first time around.

  The noises stopped and I prepared for the alarm to sound or for backup to come running down the hall.

  Thankfully, neither happened and the Paladin’s mask appeared in the door. “Give me one of those zip ties.”

  I dug one out of my duster’s pocket and handed it to him, getting a peek inside the security office as I did so. There was nothing special about it, just a few empty desks with personal computer screens and a wall of monitors, row upon row of them rotating between the views of cameras within the facility. I decided to check out the monitors while Paladin tied up the guard, so I slipped inside and closed the door.

  I watched each one closely for several seconds, beginning with the bottom row labeled appropriately as “first floor.” I cross-referenced the view on the monitors with the large floorplan map on the wall to the right of the screens. From what I could tell, the only other person on this floor was the guard at the front desk.

  The second row, which corresponded with the building’s second floor, showed several rooms with glass walls, reminding me of a racquetball court. People slept on beds in the rooms or read books by the light streaming in from the main hallway.

  “You said the second floor was clone storage?” I asked.

  Paladin looked up from where he’d used the zip tie to secure the guard’s hands behind his back around a metal railing. “Yeah. They go there after they’ve had their memory implant and are waiting to be used.”

  I grunted at his choice of the word “used,” although I didn’t know what else to call it. They stayed in a cell until the person they’d been cloned after needed them for medical reasons—or they were used as a replacement in Mayor Cantrell’s scheme.

  I noticed movement on one of the monitors and saw a pair of guards patrolling together. They walked alongside each other, both equipped with pulse rifles. Shit. I’d figured there would be some type of roving patrol, but had hoped that it would only be a single guard. It would be harder to get the drop on two people.

  Nothing else seemed to be happening on the second floor, so I moved up to the third row of monitors. That’s when things got weird.

  “What the fuck are those people doing?” I asked, pointing at a monitor.

  “Pre-memory implant. They’re basically fully grown infants.”

  The first five monitors showed similar rooms from a high angle, looking down. The rooms were completely bare of any furniture or fixtures and appeared to have padded walls. Each held two or three naked adults and all but one of the rooms showed activity. The clones stumbled around into walls, slapped at one another when they got close and some appeared to be screaming. Shit and piss was everywhere.

  “Well, this is a lovely place,” I mumbled.

  “The clones don’t remember it—I don’t,” he shrugged. “It’s probably a lot cheaper to make sure the clone’s body is healthy before they implant the memories and move them to the second floor.”

  “I guess that makes sense…” I trailed off. I didn’t know what the process was for implanting memories into the clones, but since they were genetically impossible to differentiate between a human and scans didn’t show a memory chip stuck on their brain, there had to be some other way that they did it. How did they get the memories from the original, stored on a computer, into the flesh and blood brain of the clone? Science was scary sometimes.

  And it certainly didn’t sound cheap.

  I did my best to ignore the monitors showing the pre-memory implant clones as I scanned the rest of the floor. Large tanks of fluid held bodies in various stages of growth on the other monitors. Maybe an open vat of fluid was a more appropriate term than a tank since they weren’t covered. Brightly colored tubes ran along the floor and disappeared into the fluid in each vat. I counted four technicians. Two men and a woman played cards while a third male was on his phone.

  “What about these technicians?” I asked.

  He squinted at the screen and then shrugged. “I don’t know those people. They replaced everyone after I stopped working here. The mayor’s goons grabbed me when I tried to free the clones at the other end of the hallway, so I didn’t make it that far.”

  “Fair enough. It looks like they’re technicians to monitor the clones that are growing. I don’t see any guards on that floor, do you?”

  The Paladin watched the screens for a moment before replying. “Not on the third floor—the top floor is ready for a party, though.”

  My eyes drifted up to the fourth row where two men sat near the stairs and another two sat outside the elevator, effectively covering both entrances to the corporate headquarters. I squinted to see if they had weapons and then I saw who the guards were, their heavy jawline prominent in the monitor.

  Of course it would be those guys.

  “Goddammit!” I hissed.

  “Yeah, there’s no easy way onto that floor.”

  “I ran into those guys before—well, copies of those guys. They’re clones, some type of martial arts masters.”

  “You sure we can’t just shoot them?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. We’ll need to subdue them so they can be prosecuted under the law.”

  “Prosecuted? You mean punished,” the Paladin retorted. “I understand that you’re a cop, but clones don’t get the option
of disobeying the people who own the juice. Without that injection, they’re dead, so they’ll do whatever they’re told to do. I’m not against killing them to get them off the street, but at the end of the day, they may be cloned from a good guy.”

  “Or they could be cloned from a maniac. I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t agree with you. They could choose to come forward to the authorities and not do illegal shit.”

  “Really?” he asked, crossing his armored arms awkwardly over his chest. “We have zero protection under the law and these guys know that. Given where they’re at, they also know that the mayor would have them silenced the moment they were in police custody. Plus, there’s the little problem of the serum. Without it, we die.”

  I thought back to the two clones that I’d managed to arrest outside Chris Young’s studio. They were summarily executed after they were out of my sight, before I could interrogate them. They had zero chance at life under the current laws regarding clones.

  “You may be right. Prosecuted or persecuted, it doesn’t really make a difference under the current system—but that’s why we’re here. We’re going to put an end to the corruption.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” the Paladin stated. “You need to see anything else?”

  I gave the monitors a quick onceover and shook my head, then took off my duster and fedora.

  “No,” I replied, setting my jacket and hat on one of the desks. “Stay here and keep an eye on those two guards on the second floor. I’ll be right back.”

  I didn’t wait for the Paladin to acknowledge me before slipping out the door with the baton in my hand. I padded quietly down the hall until I came to the lobby. The guard desk was about thirty feet away in the center of the large, two-story lobby.

  I hadn’t been expecting that.

  A quick peek around the corner showed that the second floor had a balcony overlooking the lobby. I assumed that the hallways I’d seen with the clones in their rooms were on either side of the open space, not that it was open to below.

  The layout was a problem. If the guard made any noise when I hit him, the roving patrol would probably hear. Even if he was quiet and they didn’t hear him, they’d surely notice his absence the next time they walked by the open space. I ducked back into the hallway and went back to the security room.

  “No dice,” I stated once I made it back. “We’re going to have to split up.”

  “We were just split up,” he pointed out.

  “I mean I’m going to have to go upstairs and take out the guards on the second floor while you knock out and tie up the one in the lobby. You could have told me about the balcony that overlooked the guard desk.”

  “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

  “Well, it is.”

  I studied the floorplan once again and then pointed at the monitors on the wall. “When those guards get to the other end of the hallway, I’ll take the stairs to the second floor and find a place to jump them. You take out the guard in the lobby, then bring him back here and tie him up. Any questions?”

  “Why don’t I go to the second floor against the two guards? I’m the one with armor.”

  “Your armor isn’t going to do any good against a pulse rifle. It’ll punch a hole through it like Sha’andre Diggs charging through the D-line.”

  “Huh? Who’s that?”

  “Sha’andre Diggs?” I asked in disbelief. “The number one running back in the country; plays for the Saints? First guy ever to rush for thirty-five hundred yards in a season?”

  “I don’t watch football.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I remarked. “Even with that guy, they didn’t make the playoffs this year.

  “The pulse rifles will kill you,” I continued, dropping the subject of football. “I’ll take the two on the second floor, then you take out the guard at the desk.”

  “Fine.” He held out his hand for another zip tie, which I handed over. “Do you want me to meet you on the second floor after I tie the guard up or do you want to come back down here after you take out your two?”

  I didn’t consider it long before I answered, “Make sure the front doors are locked and then come up to the second floor. I’ll probably need all the help I can get.”

  He pointed at the monitors. “The patrol passed the balcony.”

  I followed his extended finger. The guards had indeed passed the open space that I’d decided would be my trigger point to go up the stairs.

  “I’m going up,” I said.

  “Good luck, Detective.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “Same to you.”

  TWENTY-SIX: TUESDAY

  My heart pounded as I went up the stairs. I felt something that I’d never really felt before while I was on a case. Was it nervousness? Fear? Neither of those seemed right. Finally, I settled on apprehension. I had a good thing going for me with Teagan and I wanted to return to her, to see her lovely face again. I’d never had those feelings about anyone before, so I hadn’t really cared about getting hurt—or worse—on the job. Now I needed to stay safe and it made me question my decisions.

  That was not a good thing.

  I made it to the top of the stairs and stood on the landing for a moment before shoving my feelings deep down inside, where they belonged. The door to the hallway opened quietly, which was a relief since I’d imagined it creaking and the guards shooting me the moment I stepped out onto the second floor.

  Immediately in front of me was a glass-fronted room with an older, thin, blonde clone inside. The room boasted a single bed, couch and a desk, where she sat. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw me come out of the stairwell.

  The clone was Senator McMahon—United States Senator McMahon. They were expanding their network.

  I waived slightly and put my finger to my lips, hoping she would be quiet. She watched me questioningly as I fumbled for my wallet. Once I retrieved it, I showed her my badge and mouthed the words, “I’m a cop.”

  She nodded her chin subtly and went back to reading on the tablet in front of her. If they’d given her the senator’s memory implant, then she should be astute enough to realize that me being here meant things were going to get interesting, but she needed to keep up the appearance of being a simple clone in her education room.

  I peered down the length of the hallway and saw the two guards. They were almost to the other end and would be turning around any moment. Dammit.

  I’d taken too long coming up the stairs, thinking about my feelings. I was supposed to intercept them on the far side of the balcony. The entire length of the hallway held education rooms, most with soft lighting spilling out into the hall. There wasn’t anywhere to hide, so I ducked back inside the stairwell and closed the door.

  My only hope was that Kaine was still in the security room and hadn’t made his move toward the lobby yet, otherwise, we were done for. I considered going back down the stairs, but discarded the idea. I was here; we needed to do this now.

  The building wasn’t exceptionally large, so the two guards were back on this end of the hallway in a few minutes. I heard them talking long before they arrived and it sounded like they stood immediately outside the door. One of them laughed softly at some unheard joke.

  “Hey! What was that?” somebody shouted. The Paladin must have hit his target.

  I jerked the door open with the club raised above my head. Two men stood in front of me, both in the process of turning toward the balcony. The club crashed down onto the temple of the taller guard, dropping him like a sack of potatoes as I backhanded the second with the stubby end of the baton in the nose.

  Blood erupted everywhere, but he was able to swing the pulse rifle toward me. I gripped the end of his rifle and pushed it toward the side. The air sizzled with electricity and a small shockwave of pressure pushed me back slightly as he discharged the weapon. The sound of shattering glass behind me was the only noise while my hand gripped the rifle to keep from falling. The heat from the barrel seared into
it, burning my flesh and causing me to cry out in pain as I released the barrel.

  I swung the baton up, under his chin, hitting the nerve that ran just beneath the skin along the jaw and he fell backward. I advanced, not allowing him the opportunity to recover and delivered a vicious blow to the side of his head.

  A quick glance showed that the pulse rifle had hit the glass of the cloned senator’s room. Then I dragged the two unconscious guards together and zip-tied them to one another in a way that I hoped would make it impossible for them to move.

  I grabbed one of the pulse rifles and looked into the senator’s room. She sat where she’d been when I saw her a few minutes ago, but she was slumped over the desk, her upper body hidden by the monitor. I slid across the hallway for a better angle.

  “Shit.” The pulse rifle had taken her head. There was nothing left of it, except a fine mist of blood along the back wall around the burn mark in the brick.

  I jogged the length of the hall to the balcony. Beside me, clones beat against the glass of their rooms, demanding to know what was happening and to be released. They reminded me of animals at the zoo, which may have been the idea since they were on display for potential customers to see the product.

  The barrel of the rifle clanged loudly as I slammed it against the balcony railing and aimed into the lobby toward the circular guard desk. No one was there.

  I cast about the room, changing my angle along the railing to get a better view. Then an armored head popped up from the middle of the desk. Paladin waved and dragged the guard’s body toward the security room.

  I relaxed and pulled the rifle back. As long as they didn’t hear the shattering glass, there was little to suggest the technicians or the quadruplets upstairs had heard the commotion. The pulse rifles were almost as quiet as a silenced rifle; you could still hear them, but nothing like the unsuppressed version.

  The burn on my hand flared. I’d been able to ignore it up until now, worried about the guards possibly alerting a strike force to come and wipe us out. I winced as I forced my hand open to see the wound. It was an angry, puckered mess, swollen and red around the edges. That wasn’t what concerned me. A two-inch wide strip of white skin ran from the outside of my palm to my thumb. That was a third-degree burn.