The Mirror Man, стр. 79

Jeremiah took the clone’s finger out of his pocket and handed it to Brent, who, at the sight of it, instantly looked like he was going to get sick again. He took it gingerly and turned his head away as he slipped it quickly into the lunch box with its twin. Jeremiah closed his eyes and put his head against the cool of the window.

“I need to get back to ViMed,” he said. “I need to talk to Scott.”

“You need to rest,” Brent told him. “I think you can afford to take a few minutes.”

“You’ll need to package that lunch box, address it. Have it ready to go. Once I’m in there, give it one hour. If you don’t hear from me by then, you mail the package, get Mel and get out of town. Understand?”

“Yeah, I understand. But let’s try to avoid that, okay? I have enough explaining to do already without telling Mel we have to leave town and go into hiding.”

An hour later Brent pulled the car over as close to the ViMed lab as he dared and turned off the engine. He didn’t want to risk being spotted by the security cameras, so Jeremiah would walk the last quarter mile or so.

“You ready for this?” Brent asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m as okay as I’m going to be,” he said, looking down at his bandaged hand. Brent had wrapped it in so much gauze it looked like he was wearing a boxing glove, which felt appropriate for what he was about to do. Even then, blood was just beginning to seep through on one side. It hurt like hell, but at least it was a dull ache now and had stopped throbbing.

He got out of the car and looked at the building he’d been trapped in for so long. He was struck by the strangeness of looking at it from the outside. He’d been so focused on escaping the place, and here he was about to walk right back in.

He patted his pocket and felt for the phone, which contained photographic evidence of the package that was now in Brent’s care. It had to be enough, he thought. This had to work. If it didn’t, he didn’t know what would happen. Would they simply put him back in the lab and carry on with the experiment? Doubtful. Once they realized he couldn’t be trusted, they’d likely do a lot worse than that, he thought. He turned back to Brent, who had started the car but hadn’t pulled away yet.

“Don’t go too far,” he called. “Wait for my call.”

“One hour.”

Jeremiah took a few uneasy steps in the direction of the lab, his head spinning from blood loss, adrenaline or both, and readied himself for what he had to do. If this was going to work, he knew he had to go in strong. He could show no doubt, no hesitation. He needed to face Charles Scott with confidence and in full control.

About twenty paces before he reached the building, Charles Scott came striding swiftly out the front door, flanked by two serious-looking armed security guards. Scott said nothing as the guards took Jeremiah, one by each arm, and hurried him through the entrance, down the hallway, through the two locked security doors Jeremiah had come through the previous night, past three uninterested secretaries and directly into Scott’s office. When Scott nodded at the guards, they let him go with a shove and swiftly left the room, shutting the door behind them. Scott stood silently, taking Jeremiah in with a venomous glare.

“Mr. Adams,” he said finally, “do you have any idea the resources we’ve wasted trying to locate you?”

“Do you have any idea,” Jeremiah asked, “how much I do not care?”

“What happened to your hand?” Scott said, glancing at the bandage. Jeremiah said nothing, but smiled slightly. “Sit down, Mr. Adams.”

Jeremiah knew he should have remained standing, asserting his confidence, but he was still light-headed. Better to sit than to faint, he decided, and took a seat in front of Scott’s desk. Scott remained standing.

“Would you care to tell me where you’ve been for the past several hours?”

“I have a distinct feeling you already know the answer to that,” Jeremiah said.

“I am assuming you went home. Did he see you?”

Jeremiah just smiled again, enjoying the anxious look creeping over Scott’s face. He’d play this out for a while, he decided, make him squirm for a few minutes.

“Mr. Adams,” Scott said, leaning into Jeremiah’s face. “I need you to tell me, did the clone see you?”

“He certainly did. Saw me. Talked to me. Fell in a heap at my feet. I don’t think he’ll soon forget it. I don’t think he likes me.”

“What did you do?” Scott asked harshly. “What did you tell him?”

Jeremiah went quiet again and Scott straightened up and walked slowly around the desk, stopping and leaning down into Jeremiah with a steady glare.

“All right, Mr. Adams,” he hissed, straining to keep the rising anger out of his voice. “Let me tell you what we know. We know that Brent Higgins is responsible for your escape last night. There is no way you could have managed it without help, and he was the only person there. And rest assured, when we find him, he will answer for it. Dearly. We know you were at your house this morning at 7:43. We know that because that is the precise moment our camera in the garage suddenly went dark. We also know that the clone did not report to his office at ViMed this morning. And that is because he drove himself to the hospital with a serious injury to his left hand. We saw that from our camera in his car. Can you illuminate how the clone came to be so gravely injured? And why you seem to have similarly injured the same hand?”

Jeremiah glanced down at his own bandaged hand with a smirk. “Coincidence?” he said.

“I will ask you again, Mr. Adams,” Scott said, “what did you