The Mirror Man, стр. 57

“Exactly. And we’d know which tie to get for you.”

“I suppose,” Jeremiah said. “Fix yourself some breakfast. I’m still nursing my goddamn mouth.”

Brent got eggs from the refrigerator and put bread in the toaster. “Any idea when we can get some bacon around here?”

“I’ve lost six pounds, I’ll have you know. I got the green light to get a few things back on the menu. One of them, at your request, was beer.”

“I don’t want beer for breakfast.”

For several hours, they watched the clone at the ViMed office, and Jeremiah found himself scrutinizing the space more than he did his double, looking for a place to stash a note, if it came down to that. He studied the desk every time the clone was near it, memorizing the exact location of pens and paper, the precise position of the center drawer. If he got the chance to be in that office, to sit at that desk, seconds would count.

As the clone went about his morning, Jeremiah found himself mesmerized by the windows. Even though they only offered a view of a parking lot and the backs of two other buildings in the compound, he fantasized about the chance to stand there for a moment, maybe open it and feel actual fresh air on his face. He entertained the ridiculous notion of jumping out, risking it all and running back home to protect his wife. But it was a twelve-story drop to the pavement. He wouldn’t get very far on two broken legs.

There was more than the usual level of activity in the clone’s office all day. The place was on hyperdrive. The entire communications team worked to put the finishing touches on the Meld publicity stunt. The broadcast was scheduled for 7:00 p.m. and would take place in a ViMed conference room, where news crews had been busy for several hours setting up lighting and equipment. Before and after he took the drug, there was to be a panel discussion with officials from both ViMed and the FDA. Charles Scott, obviously, had been “selected” to represent the company. Jeremiah figured the FDA official would be someone handpicked by Scott.

The whole event was one big sham.

ViMed executives were buzzing about it. Big guns—people Jeremiah wouldn’t have guessed even knew his name—streamed in and out of the department, offering praise and shaking the clone’s hand.

“This is an A-plus idea, Adams,” a portly VP with glasses told him. “If this little demonstration doesn’t convince people that Meld is safe for the public, I don’t know what will.”

Jeremiah couldn’t stand that the clone looked so smug. Idiot, he thought, you won’t even be there.

Three of the major cable networks had agreed to air the demonstration live, and online streaming sites on both sides of the issue were gearing up for record traffic. Jeremiah understood, with some concern, that much of the hype involved the ghoulish possibility of a live broadcast suicide. He had no doubt that there were people absolutely hoping to see someone freak out and knife himself in front of the cameras as soon as the Meld took effect. They’d be disappointed, though. Because Jeremiah was used to the drug. Sorry, he thought, you sickos will have to get your kicks somewhere else.

Just after six o’clock, Charles Scott entered the lab carrying a garment bag in one hand.

“It’s time to change into your work clothes, Mr. Adams,” he said.

They had to walk up a flight of stairs that was hidden behind a locked door before taking a freight elevator to the twelfth floor of the building. Jeremiah was nervous. As the car made its way up, he could feel his stomach fall. Charles Scott and Dr. Pike stood by without a word. Pike held a syringe securely in his right hand. Scott stared at his shoes. When the car stopped and the doors opened, Scott went out first, holding Jeremiah back with an outstretched arm, and surveyed the back hallway in both directions. Satisfied that there was no one in sight, he motioned for Pike and Jeremiah to follow him out. Some two hundred feet to the right was a door that Jeremiah recognized as a supply room. He’d been there only once or twice in over ten years. Typically, it was Brenda’s domain. Scott opened the door and ushered Jeremiah inside.

“Lock the door,” Scott told him. “Dr. Pike and I will head off the clone and, once we have him secured, I will come back here and make the switch. Do not open this door unless you hear my voice. And be quiet. This should only take a minute or two.”

A minute or two might be all the time he’d need, he thought.

When they left, Jeremiah quickly locked the door and looked around. The room was narrow and stifling, without windows. A long table took up much of the floor space, and the walls were lined with shelves containing reams of printer paper, water jugs and a host of things Jeremiah had always taken for granted. Cardboard boxes were stacked up in one corner of the room. He tore at one and found only old printers and a mountain of ink cartridges. Finally, on a high shelf, he saw what he was looking for—spare telephones. He had to climb to reach one and winced when it fell to the floor in a clattering riot. Scrambling back down he picked the thing up and scanned the room for a phone jack so he could plug it in. He saw none. Damn technology, he thought. Much of what the office used now was wireless. He began pulling boxes away from the walls but still couldn’t find a jack.

He heard footsteps in the hallway, coming to a stop just outside the door. He watched the doorknob wriggle and held his breath. It couldn’t be Pike and Scott, he thought. They wouldn’t have tried the door. And there was no way they could have accomplished their task so quickly.

“Now,