“And you modestly said, ‘If you only play a
“That’s the code. If one of us says the first line, the other has to say the second.”
“Done.”
Mr. Oliver came back with his toolbox. He rolled Harvey over and started to tie his hands in front, binding the palms flat against one another but leaving the pinkie fingers free.
Steve said: “Why not tie his hands behind his back?”
Mr. Oliver looked bashful. “If you’ll excuse me for mentioning it, this way he can hold his own dick when he has to take a piss. I learned that in Europe during the war.” He started to bind Harvey’s feet. “This guy won’t cause you no more trouble. Now what are you planning to do about the front door?”
Jeannie looked at Steve, who said: “I busted it pretty bad.”
“I’d better call a carpenter,” Jeannie said.
Mr. Oliver said: “I got some loose timber in the yard. I could fix it so we can lock the door tonight. Then we could get someone to do a better job tomorrow.”
Jeannie felt profoundly grateful to him. “Thank you, that’s so kind.”
“Don’t mention it. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me since World War Two.”
“I’ll help you,” Steve offered.
Mr. Oliver shook his head. “You two have a lot to discuss, I can see that. Like whether you’re going to call the cops on this guy you have trussed up on your carpet.” Without waiting for an answer he picked up his toolbox and went downstairs.
Jeannie collected her thoughts. “Tomorrow, Genetico will be sold for a hundred and eighty million dollars and Proust will be on the presidential trail. Meanwhile I’ve got no job and my reputation is shot. I’ll never work as a scientist again. But I could turn both situations around, with what I know.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Well … I could issue a press release about the experiments.”
“Wouldn’t you need some kind of proof?”
“You and Harvey together make pretty dramatic evidence. Especially if we could get you on TV together.”
“Yeah—on
“They can film him tied up. Then we call the cops, and they can film that too.”
Steve nodded. “The trouble is, you probably have to act before Landsmann and Genetico finalize the takeover. Once they have the money, they may be able to ride out any bad publicity we generate. But I don’t see how you can get on TV in the next few hours. And their press conference is tomorrow morning, according to
“Maybe we should hold our own press conference.”
Steve snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! We gate-crash
“Hell, yes. Then maybe the people from Landsmann will decide not to sign the papers, and the takeover will be canceled.”
“And Berrington won’t make all those millions of dollars.”
“And Jim Proust won’t run for president.”
“We must be crazy,” Steve said. “These are some of the most powerful people in America, and we’re talking about spoiling their party.”
The sound of hammering came from below as Mr. Oliver began to mend the door. Jeannie said: “They hate black people, you know. All this bullshit about good genes and second-rate Americans is just code. They’re white supremacists all dressed up with modern science. They want to make Mr. Oliver a second-class citizen. The hell with them, I’m not going to stand by and watch.”
“We need a plan,” Steve said practically.
“Okay, here goes,” Jeannie said. “First we have to find out where the Genetico press conference is being held.”
“Probably a Baltimore hotel.”
“We’ll call them all, if necessary.”
“We should probably take a room in the hotel.”
“Good idea. Then I sneak into the press conference somehow, and stand up in the middle of it and make a speech to the assembled media.”
‘They’ll shut you up.”
“I should have a press release ready to give out. But then you’ll come in with Harvey. Twins are so photogenic, all the cameras will be on you.”
Steve frowned. “What do you prove by having me and Harvey there?”
“Because you’re identical you’ll have the kind of dramatic impact that should cause the press to start asking questions. It won’t take them long to check that you have different mothers. Once they learn that, they’ll know there’s a mystery to be uncovered, just as I did. And you know how they investigate presidential candidates.”
“Three would be better than two, though,” Steve said. “Do you think we could get one of the others there?”
“We could try. We could invite them all and hope that at least one will show up.”
On the floor, Harvey opened his eyes and groaned.
Jeannie had almost forgotten about him. Looking at him now, she hoped his head hurt. Then she felt guilty about being so vengeful. “After the way I hit him, he probably should see a doctor.”
Harvey came around fast. “Untie me, you fucking bitch,” he said.
“Forget the doctor,” Jeannie said.
“Untie me now, or I swear I’ll slash your tits with a razor as soon as I’m free.”
Jeannie stuffed the dishcloth in his mouth. “Shut up, Harvey,” she said.
Steve said pensively: “It’s going to be interesting trying to sneak him into a hotel tied up.”
Lisa’s voice came from downstairs, greeting Mr. Oliver. A moment later she came in, wearing blue jeans and heavy Doc Marten boots. She looked at Steve and Harvey and said: “My God, it’s true.”
Steve stood up. “I’m the one you picked out of the lineup,” he said. “But he’s the one who attacked you.”
Jeannie explained: “Harvey tried to do to me what he did to you. Steve came by just in time and broke the door down.”
Lisa went over to where Harvey lay. She stared at him for a long moment, then thoughtfully drew back her foot and kicked him in the ribs as hard as she could with a Doc Marten toecap. He groaned and writhed in pain.
She did it again. “Boy,” she said, shaking her head, “that feels good.”
Jeannie swiftly brought Lisa up-to-date with the day’s developments. “A lot happened while I was sleeping,” Lisa said in amazement.
Steve said: “You’ve been at JFU a year, Lisa—I’m surprised you never met Berrington’s son.”
“Berrington never socializes with academic colleagues,” she said. “He’s too much of a celebrity. It’s quite possible
Jeannie outlined the plan for disrupting the press conference. “We were just saying we could feel more confident if one of the other clones was going to be there.”
“Well, Per Ericson is dead, and Dennis Pinker and Murray Claud are in jail, but that still leaves three possibilities: Henry King in Boston, Wayne Stattner in New York, and George Dassault—he could be in Buffalo, Sacramento, or Houston, we don’t know which, but we could try them all again. I kept all the phone numbers.”
“So did I,” Jeannie said.
Steve said: “Could they get here on time?”
“We could check flights on CompuServe,” Lisa said. “Where’s your computer, Jeannie?”
“Stolen.”
“I have my PowerBook in the trunk, I’ll get it.”
While she was out, Jeannie said: “We’re going to have to think very hard about how to persuade these guys
