The Mirror Man, стр. 80

“I did nothing to the clone that I wouldn’t have done to myself, I assure you.”

“This is not a game,” Scott said. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Mr. Adams, but let me make this perfectly clear. Whatever this is, you will not get away with it. Whatever little game you think you’re playing, it won’t work. We have far too much at stake here to allow you to get in our way.”

“Oh, I am quite aware of what’s at stake for you, Dr. Scott.” Jeremiah waited a moment before elaborating. He wanted to savor this. “You’re not feeling too well, are you? What did the doctors tell you—ALS, is it? That’s my guess.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s a nasty disease,” Jeremiah said. “Slow, but thorough. What did they give you? A year? Maybe two? How long before you can’t speak anymore? Or breathe on your own? How long before it starts to eat away at your precious mind?”

Some of the color drained out of Scott’s face, which was answer enough for Jeremiah that all of his suspicions had been correct.

“But it doesn’t really matter, does it? I mean, presumably, you’ve got a clean medical scan and a Meld implant of your mind. Everything nice and tidy to put into a clone of your own.”

Scott remained silent, but Jeremiah could see his face tense up.

“And the Meld,” Jeremiah added. “I know a few people who would be very interested to learn why it was rushed onto the market, where all the profit was funneled. Now that would make a hell of a headline, don’t you think?”

“You can’t prove any of it,” Scott said defiantly. “No one would believe you. It’s your word against the corporation’s.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You think I’m stupid enough to come here without proof?”

“You’ve got no proof,” Scott said, concern now creeping into his features. “There is no proof.”

“Why don’t I just show you,” Jeremiah said. He took the phone out of his pocket, opened up the photos of the package and its contents and handed it over. Scott took it and sat down again behind his desk.

“What is this?” he asked. “You severed the clone’s fingers?”

“Oh, just one of his fingers. The other one is mine.” Jeremiah watched as Scott, looking back at the image on the phone, began to comprehend exactly what he was looking at. His eyes went wide and he pursed his lips. He looked back up at Jeremiah with something approaching apprehension.

“And what, pray tell, are you planning to do with these grisly items, Mr. Adams?”

“Look at the next photo,” he said, “and you’ll see where I plan to send them. And I think Walt Thompson will be very interested in the implications. Have you read his stuff, Dr. Scott? He’s not exactly a champion of big business. And he really has it in for Meld and ViMed.”

“This won’t prove a thing,” Scott said. “It’s just two fingers in a box. It’s nothing but the ravings of a madman.”

“Yes, it is just two fingers in a box. Two left index fingers with the same prints and identical DNA. I think all the information is there. I almost didn’t see the need to include a note. Those fingers, excuse the pun, will point him in the right direction. He’s smart. It won’t take him long to figure it out.”

Scott stood up and came around the desk again, red-faced and serious. He grabbed Jeremiah by the wrist and began to pull at the bandage on his hand. Jeremiah pulled away and carefully unraveled the bandage himself, displaying his mangled hand, and watched as realization came over Scott’s face. As he wrapped his hand back up, wincing with the pain, Scott glared at him and fell silent. He waited for Jeremiah to finish with his hand.

“Have you sent the package?” he asked.

“No. But it will be sent on my behalf in about forty minutes unless I make a phone call to stop it. It’s your choice.”

“You are stepping on some pretty powerful toes here,” he said. “I’m not sure you understand the magnitude of this project—who is involved in this.”

“Oh, I understand more than you think I do,” Jeremiah said. “I’m well aware of the military involvement. What was his name? General McGavin, right? Waffles, Dr. Scott?”

Scott’s face settled into an intense grimace.

“Be careful, Mr. Adams,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Well, why don’t you tell me,” Jeremiah said. “Go ahead. We’ve got time. What do they want from all of this? What sort of plans do they have for human clones?”

“I don’t know what their plans are,” Scott said. “And I don’t care. They put up the money for this, for all of it. I’m not being paid to ask questions.”

“Well, then, Dr. Scott. You are a pathetic, selfish bastard, aren’t you? It ought to bother you. You ought to be asking questions. Do you think anyone is interested in saving the world with this technology?”

“What is it that you want?”

“I want my life back,” he said. “What’s left of it. I want my son. And I want your word that Brent Higgins will not be harmed in any way. He walks. Oh, and while you’re at it, I’ll take my money, too—the whole ten million.”

“Your money? You’ve broken the contract, Mr. Adams. We don’t owe you anything.”

“Yeah? Take me to court.”

Scott sat down again in his leather chair and drummed his fingers on the desk as though waiting for something.

“So, you expect to just walk back into your life? And what would you have us do with your clone, Mr. Adams?” he asked. “Do you expect that we’ll simply destroy it?”

“That isn’t my problem,” he said coolly. “Do whatever it was you planned to do with him before. I’m just pushing up your deadline. And speaking of deadlines, tick-tock, Dr. Scott.”

“I need to make some phone calls,” he said. “Wait here.”

Scott opened a hardly visible paneled door in the wall behind his desk and walked