The Multiple Man

It was a combination of the wine and the moronic speeches droning from the TV that put me to sleep. It was the phone’s insistent buzzing that woke me up.

I blinked. The TV was still on, and both in the panoramic view of the Capitol showing on the screen and through my own living room windows, I could see that it was dark outside. Night, as they say, had fallen.

The TV audio was saying, “And now, the President of the United States.” The view zoomed down to a makeshift podium that had been set up on the Capitol steps. And there he was, James J. Halliday, smiling confidently at the assembled multitudes.

“I don’t have a prepared speech,” he said disarmingly. “I thought I’d come out here and listen to what you have to say.”

They roared their approval. Must be John, I thought. He’s the charmer.

The phone was still buzzing, louder and more insistent. I reached over from my chair and tapped the ON button.

On the phone’s picture screen, the features of James J. Halliday took form.

“Good evening, Meric,” said the President.

I glanced from the phone to the TV, where the President was saying, “I understand that automation has taken many jobs, but that’s just a short-term situation…”

“Good evening,” I said to the phone image. “Your brother’s out there walking on water.”

“That’s Johnny for you,” said the President. “He loves it.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m not much for crowds. I’ve always preferred Hamilton to Jefferson.”

I squinted hard at the phone screen. The wine was making my head thunder.

“It won’t do you any good to try to figure out which one I am. You can’t tell by looking, and I’m not going to spell it out for you”

“Why’d you call?” I asked.

The President said, “I wanted to make one final appeal to you to call off this ridiculous press conference tomorrow afternoon.”

“No deal,” I said.

His face hardened. “You’ll never get to it. You understand that?”

“Doesn’t matter. The story will pop.”

With just a hint of exasperation, “You still don’t seem to understand, Meric, the power in my hands. By tomorrow afternoon those tapes you mailed out will be destroyed. The people who’ve been working with you will be silenced. It won’t work, Meric. It’s doomed.”

“Then why call me?”

“Because I’m not a willful slaughterer. I don’t want to kill anyone…”

“Tell that to your deceased brethren. Tell it to the General, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Meric! Don’t force me to act.”

“Mr. President… this nation has survived an awful lot of stupidity in the White House. We’ve had ignoramuses for Presidents, we’ve had innocent do-gooders and out-and-out crooks. But I’m not going to willingly allow a madman to take the job.”

“You’re a fool, Albano.”

“I know it. And I’m scared shitless. I don’t want to die. But I can’t step away and let you take over. I literally cannot do it! Understand that? Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. What the hell good would it be to live, if I couldn’t live with myself?”

“We’ve already got Ms. Clark,” he said flatly. “And Solomon’s…”

I didn’t hear the rest. I felt as if I’d been quick-frozen into solid ice. From somewhere far away, I heard my own voice, grim and tight, whisper, “No deal. It doesn’t matter. No deal.” And I hated myself for saying it.

I’ve never seen James J. Halliday’s face look so ugly. “All right, Albano. You won’t make it through the night.”

The phone screen went blank. I clicked it off. On the TV, James J. Halliday was saying: “That’s what the Presidency is for—to listen to the problems of the whole nation, not just one section or one state, and then to take actions that will solve those problems.”

They had Vickie. And I wouldn’t, couldn’t, make a trade for her. I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to rationalize it. But the simple truth was that Vickie wasn’t as important to me as nailing the Halliday murderer. And my own skin.

I realized that my apartment was no longer safe. Especially with Hank gone. But where the hell was there safety? My eyes fixed on the TV screen again. That vast crowd. Out there, they’d never be able to get to me. I could blend in and disappear.

And besides, I thought,that’s James John out there. If I can get to him and stick with him for the next eighteen hours, we might both make it out of this alive.

SEVENTEEN

But first I had to get out of my apartment alive.

I peeked through the window shutters and saw people walking along the street outside, and the usual solid line of parked cars. Could be an army of hired assassins out there. And I didn’t have a car; I’d have to get the door guards to call a taxi for me.

I paced the living room fretfully for a few minutes, certain that I couldn’t stay in the apartment, scared at the thought of stepping out into the open, trying not to think about Vickie and what might be happening to her.

Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I went out into the corridor, after a careful peek from my door, took the emergency stairs two flights up, walked all the way across the building to the elevators on that side, and rode down to the laundry room. The garage was one more level down, and if anybody was waiting for me, he’d at least have a scout down there. And out in the lobby.

Tiptoeing back to the delivery ramp behind the laundry room, I looked out into the night-shadowed driveway where the trucks pulled up. There was a gray minibus parked out there, with two men sitting in the cab.

Good Christ, I thought, they really are out there waiting for me!

I hurried down to the laundry room. Alex, one of the night security guards, was whistling down the hall toward the guards’ locker room.

“Hi, Mr. Albano,” he said cheerfully. “Washin’ somebody’s dirty laundry?” He laughed uproariously at his own joke; he knew my job, and knew that I could take a kidding.

“What’re you doing down here?” I asked.

“Gotta take a leak. Hey, you been watchin’ those protesters on TV? That’s a helluva crowd they got out there. Your boss is talkin’ to ’em.”

“I know.” Then the sudden inspiration came. “Alex… do you have a spare uniform in the locker room I could borrow?”

“Huh?”

Thank God he had a sense of humor. I told him it was a joke, and paid him fifty bucks for his extra cap and jacket, and the loan of his car. I promised to leave it at the cab stand three blocks down the avenue.

“Will you take care of the ticket I get when the Pee Dees spot it at the cab stand?”

“Sure.”

He trusted me. And my fifty dollars. So, with my heart hammering, I drove slowly out of the garage, wearing the guard’s cap and jacket.

Sure enough, there was a blocky-looking character at the exit gate.

The lights weren’t all that brilliant down in the garage although the area around the exit gate was lit better than I would have wished for. The man, whoever he was, kept the gate’s bar down so that I couldn’t pass thoroughly. He stared hard at me.