by C M Dancha
"Are you okay? Were you having a bad dream?"
Rollie lifted onto his elbows and looked around the bedroom letting the cobwebs in his mind clear.
"Yeah, I was with my grandmother on her porch in Macon. I don't think it was a bad dream but something she said made me very sad."
"What did she say?"
"I don't remember exactly. It was something about Heaven." Rollie paused for a minute. "Man, I could really go for a glass of her lemonade. Gretchen, I have a favor to ask."
"Anything, my dear."
"If anything happens to me, I want you to tell Raul the following. Tell him, ‘Jefferson, my great grandfather.’
"That's all?"
"That's it. Just those four words. Can I count on you?"
"Sure." Gretchen thought for a moment and then asked, "Are you afraid that something is going to happen to you?"
Rollie didn't know whether to answer truthfully or not. He was very afraid for his safety in the next day or two but didn't want to get his girlfriend worked into a frenzy over what could be nothing. "No, nothing is going to happen. I only want to make sure all my bases are covered. Besides, if something happened to me who would take care of your cute little ass?"
"You're damn right, Mr. Sweats." Gretchen rolled on top of Rollie and began the foreplay which would last for an hour.
9
A TIGER LOOSE IN ZURICH
As Rollie and Gretchen ended their lovemaking, Raul was answering an incoming communication. It was early in the morning and he was in a foul mood after being awakened from one of his few upbeat and happy dreams.
"Mr. Hakala, you don't know me, but my name is Mr. Sun."
Great, exactly what I need. A crank caller at three in the morning. This guy couldn't even come up with a believable name, Hakala thought
"Okay, Mr. Sun or Moon, or whatever your name is. How did you get my UCN number?"
Krieger ignored Raul's question and launched into his reason for calling. "Mr. Hakala, I need your help finding a former Phoenvartis employee. Her name is Ms. Groetschow… Sophia Groetschow. She also goes by the name of Catherine."
"Listen, buddy, I'm not running a lost and found. Why are you contacting me?"
"Because you and I both know she’s still alive. The contract put on her head wasn't successful."
"Well, then you know more than I do."
"Mr. Hakala, please don't lie. If my sources know she is still alive then your sources know the same thing."
"If she's still alive, why are you looking for her?"
"She was supposed to do a job for me. She reneged on that commitment and stole money from me. I want the money back, but most important, I want her dead and the job done."
"Listen, Mr. Sun, I don't know where she is; that's the truth."
"Okay, I'll accept that answer. But that still leaves me with the problem of getting the job done, which is the most important thing."
Raul detected a slight German accent in the caller's speech. He understood why the right and left-wing radicals hid behind fraudulent names, but he didn't understand why the anarchists always chose an Asian moniker. Raul was tempted to laugh and disconnect the communication but there was something intriguing about this caller. For one thing, the tone of his voice and attitude seemed suited to an older person. He wasn't the run of the mill, twenty-something revolutionary fresh out of university who was out to save the world. If Raul had to guess, he would say this guy had been running and fighting for quite some time. He had to be Sophia's contact person at the Black Cross.
Other than the small misdirection of using a fake name, this guy was upfront with what he wanted. Recover his money, kill Sophia and find a way to complete his mission. Even though he hadn't stated what his mission was, Raul knew it had something to do with Phoenvartis and most likely, the ReLife project. He didn't need Raul to help find Sophia; his sources about her whereabouts were more than adequate. The first person Raul thought of was Mr. Todd. It wasn't beyond Todd to sell his information and services to whoever could meet the price.
With Sophia on the run, Mr. Sun needed someone inside Phoenvartis who could do his bidding. This conversation was nothing more than an interview to determine if Raul was willing and able to do what Sophia had been hired to do.
"What do you need done?"
"I want access to the CR47 for at least five hours."
Raul was stunned. He didn't expect this guy to be so forthcoming. There was no effort to be cagey or conceal a hidden agenda. Mr. Sun and the Black Cross wanted to clone someone.
"Wow, you don't want much, do you? Do you mind me asking who you plan to clone and why?"
"I can't answer those questions, Mr. Hakala. I don't know who it is or why. I don't make those decisions. I do only what I'm told to do."
This was the first lie out of Mr. Sun. Raul refused to believe that Sun didn't know something about who the clone would be and why he or she was chosen. Raul listened carefully as Sun continued to dance around the identity and motive for their clone.
"If we can reach an agreement, Mr. Hakala, your fee includes no information about who or why."
"You do realize that I’m not a scientist?"
"Yes, I know that. Before Sophia disappeared, she filled me in on all the ReLife personnel. It seems like you are the best person to help me because you know the security, safety, and operational systems at Phoenvartis. You can move with stealth throughout the campus without drawing attention and leaving a trail. Those things are more important to me than having an intimate knowledge of how the CR47 works. We've had the CR47 operational manual for some time, so we know how it works. I need a person who is capable of ensuring our access, safety, and successful cloning."
"What is that person worth to you, Mr. Sun?"
"Mr. Hakala, you don't have to make a decision tonight. Take some time to consider what we've talked about and think about a number which you consider fair."
"How can I get a hold of you, Mr. Sun?"
"I'll contact you every twenty-four hours until you’ve made a decision. Fair enough?"
"That's fine."
Both men disconnected the communication without any type of sign off. As was his practice, Raul replayed the entire conversation in his head several times, making sure he didn't miss anything. From there, it was a matter of taking each bit of information and putting it into his own deductive reasoning formula. The end results would be all possible consequences of Sun's offer. Any questions he needed to ask Sun were stored away in his memory for the next communication.
Krieger spent his after-communication time calculating the odds of Raul accepting his offer. He figured there was a seventy to seventy-five percent chance of Raul taking on the task. He would never have approached Hakala without the information he’d learned from Mr. Todd. Per Todd, Slice was on his way to Phoenvartis to run the company. It was Todd's opinion that Slice would get rid of anyone he’d had a tough time with in the past and anyone who delayed or sabotaged the ReLife project. Raul might not have been at the top of Slice's hit list, but he was likely in the top three. Slice considered Hakala an adversary who could not be trusted.
The only thing which Krieger disliked about making an offer to Raul was the impossibility of cheating him out of his fee. Hakala was much too conniving to allow himself to be short-changed in return for access to the CR47. Hakala's military background taught him how to establish fail-safe contingency plans. Anything Krieger could think of to outwit Hakala would be anticipated and prepared for. Hopefully, Hakala would ask for a reasonable fee that wasn't beyond the Black Cross budget.
10
FIRST DAY ON THE JOB
"Come in, Claude. Good to see you again. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"
"I'm fine, Mr. Slice." It was six in the morning and Claude wanted to ask for an energy drink but was afraid to do so. It didn't matter how hospitable Slice tried to be with a guest, his unspoken greeting said ‘sit down, shut up and listen.’
Slice walked ov
er and got himself a hot drink before sitting behind the large wood desk in Klaus Ekstrom's former office. He wanted supervising Phoenvartis to be a temporary assignment, but if it lasted more than a month, he would change the decor and furniture in this office to be in line with his tastes.
Claude had never met Sedgewick Slice, so he was surprised by his grandfatherly appearance. What set him apart from other elderly gentlemen was the clothes he wore. Everything on Slice was the best available in the world. Claude didn't consider himself a fashion expert, but he knew a well-tailored, expensive suit when he saw one. Claude estimated the cost of the suit alone to be as much as his salary for two months. The shirt, shoes, socks and silk handkerchief were coordinated and adorned the suit perfectly. If Claude hadn’t remembered Slice's voice from their prior communications, he would have guessed this man's position as a top-tier fashion designer and not a member of world government.
"Let's get down to work, Claude. What have you got to report?" Slice loved to lead off with an open-ended question when meeting people for the first time. By allowing the subordinate to answer any way he wanted, Slice generally got a clear idea of the person's beliefs and desires. And at times, the things people said when they didn't know what Slice wanted to hear were comical or amazing.
The one thing Slice always tried to determine quickly was the price at which a person would sell himself. Slice preferred dealing with people who admitted to having a sellout price. These people were at least honest enough to proclaim their dishonesty. Those who claimed righteous indignation at the idea of being bought at any price were damn liars and couldn’t be trusted.
Claude didn't know what to say. He needed to be very selective with his words. The man across the table held more power and influence than anyone else in the world. One wrong move or slip of the tongue could land Claude on the streets of Zurich, groveling for pitiful handouts. Or he could occupy a slab at the morgue, courtesy of Mr. Slice.
"Did you get the images of the clone I sent you, Mr. Slice?"
Slice stared coldly at Claude and didn't say a word. One minute of Slice's piercing stare was all Claude could take. He looked away. "I mean…. you did want images of the clone, didn't you? Were the images bad or…"
Slice loved watching Claude squirm and trying to figure out what was wrong. He was reacting exactly as Slice expected. Claude was a spineless jellyfish, ready to buckle under to anyone who had power and influence. He would have to be reminded often of the supreme position Slice held with the World Council. That would be the only way Claude could be counted on to be loyal, one hundred percent of the time.
"Yes, Claude, I did get the images."
Claude sat back in his chair and relaxed a bit.
"Claude, don't ever answer one of my questions with a question. It makes me very suspicious when you sidestep my question. Do you understand, Claude?"
Claude's bottom lip quivered, and he sat up straight again in his chair. "Yes… yes sir."
"Good. Very good. So, once again, I ask for your report."
"Per your request, I’ve tried to stay close to Rollie Sweats and find out what he's been doing. Unfortunately, my contact with him has been limited. There haven't been any ReLife meetings since the clone was made. Anytime I requested a meeting, he was busy, and when I unexpectedly went to his office he was gone. The couple of times I ran into him, he was with someone and I couldn't interrupt or overhear their conversation. I don't know if he's been exceptionally busy or if he’s trying to intentionally avoid me."
"Who has he been meeting with?"
"Several times I've seen him with Raul Hakala. In fact, one time they were in the cafeteria and a government investigator joined them. I think his name is Milk… Milk something-or-other."
"Milkweed, Claude. And by the way, I want you to stay away from Milkweed. He is highly intelligent and crafty. If he corners you, play dumb and don't answer his questions directly. Report to me immediately afterward with what he asked and had to say."
"I can do that, sir."
"Do you think Rollie Sweats knows who the replicant is?"
Claude furrowed his brow and puckered his lips, making it look as if he was in deep thought. He needed time to remember anything he’d observed or heard which might indicate that Sweats knew the identity of the clone. He couldn't think of a single thing. In fact, he was sure that on the day he’d observed Rollie with the clone through the one-way window, the two of them acted like strangers. Since then, rumors about the clone had fizzled out to nothing. If Sweats had established the identity of the clone, he was keeping it to himself.
"I don't know, Mr. Slice. If he does, he's not saying. I have no idea who that thing in the primate lab might be."
"How much time have you spent with the clone?"
"Only a few hours on the first day. Rollie introduced the entire ReLife staff to the clone."
Slice wanted to chew Claude a new one. The idiot was unable to provide any information about Rollie Sweats' activities. He obviously didn't know where Rollie hid the World Council host samples. He hadn’t bothered to spend any more time with the clone to learn who he might be or what Rollie had revealed to him. What had Claude been doing for the past week? It was obvious that Slice would have to lead him around by the ear if he wanted to use him to gain information or do his bidding. Then again, Claude's lack of initiative might be a good thing. Slice would be able to mold him into whatever type of lackey he wanted.
"That's understandable, Claude. I'm sure you’ve been quite upset by the passing of your uncle and haven't been able to think about anything else."
Claude wanted to burst out laughing, but bit his tongue hard to prevent any type of humorous response spilling out. Other than reading about his uncle's death in the Beobachter, Claude hadn't given one iota of thought to his departed uncle. The asshole had gotten exactly what he deserved, and Claude hoped his last day on Earth had been a total misery. Even his father had responded with ‘good riddance’ when he heard about his brother's death. Claude wouldn't be surprised if the Ekstrom family started an annual reunion to celebrate Klaus's departure.
Claude had been in mourning, but not for his uncle. He’d been heartbroken when he learned of Claudette's death. The two of them had been constant companions and lovers for years, they were made for each other. Nerdy, they’d both been uncomfortable in groups and exhibited odd behaviors which made others go out of their way to avoid them. The only close friends they had were each other.
They’d kept their relationship hidden from the outside world, especially the clique at Phoenvartis. Often, they wore disguises when venturing out in public. It was fun to dress up and become someone else for an evening. As they got better at using theatrical makeup and assuming roles made for the stage, they intentionally went to places where Phoenvartis employees gathered. They would get as close as possible to these people and eavesdrop. From this information, they stayed well ahead of the curve, knowing the latest gossip and rumors within the company. Not once had their true identities been suspected or uncovered.
Now, Claude had to figure out how to maneuver through life without his devoted friend. He couldn't help wondering why Claudette had been at Sophia Groetschow's apartment the night of the explosion. He’d had no idea Claudette knew Sophia – she’d never spoken about her and never referred to Sophia as a girlfriend. Why had she been there? Did Sophia lure her to the apartment as a decoy? Or was it simply bad luck? She wouldn't be the first person killed by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Claude considered going to the morgue to identify her body. Claudette didn't have family so viewing her body would be a civic duty as well as paying his last respects. After hours of debating with himself, he decided against it. He wanted to remember her as a lively and energetic young lady who shared herself and love with him. Seeing her body ripped apart and burned beyond recognition would do nothing more than destroy his memories.
"Claude, it's 6:45 am, the employees will start to arrive soon. Why don't you and I
take a walk down to the primate lab? I want to get a good look at this new addition to the human race."
Fifteen minutes later, Claude and Slice moved into the observation room with the one-way window. At the far end of the lab, they could see someone fast asleep in bed. Slice was growing impatient waiting for something to happen, so he switched on the voice intercom system and said, "Sir? Wake up… sir. I'd like to talk with you."
Whoever was asleep in the lab didn't move an inch. Slice was ready to use the intercom system again when he spotted about three dozen empty wine bottles, abandoned helter-skelter around the lab. "Sir, I have a case of wine for you. I need your signature on the bill of lading."
The bed sheets were tossed aside and a tall gentleman with shoulder-length hair swung into a sitting position on the side of the bed. He held his head up for a couple of minutes and then found a burst of energy to walk over to the kitchen sink and hold his head under a flow of water for a minute or two. He dried his hair and face as he walked over to the interlocking door.
The replicant was either hung over or still inebriated from the previous night's drinking. Either way, he felt, looked and smelled terrible. Even in such a state, Slice had to admit the clone still presented and carried himself with an air of importance.
"Mr. Slice, turn your micromic to early English translation, otherwise, you won't be able to understand him."
As Sedgewick adjusted his micromic he stared at Claude in disbelief. The goofball had just revealed an important clue about the identity of the clone. How many other clues did Claude know? Did he even realize the importance of the information he possessed?
"Sir, my name is Sedgewick Slice. I don't have a case of wine for you. I need to talk with you and couldn't think of a better way to wake you."