Origin in Death

18

Eve rose, walked to the bar, programmed coffee for herself and Peabody. They were speaking one at a time now, but with the same unity. One pick­ing up the recitation where the other left off. «Want anything?» she asked them.

«We'd like water. Thank you.»

«How'd you find out they'd broken their promise?»

«We knew our husband, and knew something was wrong. While he was out of the house, we checked the logs in his private office, and found the records on the children. We wanted to take them, take our babies and run.»

«But it wouldn't protect the ones they'd create. Create, then alter and perfect. Test and evaluate.»

«They grew inside us, warm inside us, and they'd take that and make replicas in the cold lab. In his notes Will said it was a precaution only, in case something happened to the children. But they aren't things to be replaced. In all our years, it was the only thing we asked, and he couldn't honor his promise.»

«We told Deena, and we knew it had to be stopped. They'd never stop, as long as they lived. We'd never learn all we needed to learn un­til they were dead and we had more control.»

«So you killed them both. You and Deena.»

«Yes. We planted the weapon for her. We believed she wouldn't be identified. Or if she was, we'd get to all the records first; we'd be able to shut down the project. And we took the children away, safely away, then came back for Will.»

Eve worked with their rhythm, and in a strange way found it effi­cient. «You drove Deena to the school to kill Samuels.»

«She was like us, taken from Eva Samuels's DNA, and designed to continue the work. She's Eva, replicated. You know that.»

«Eva helped kill us and Deena when we weren't perfect enough. She terminated others. Many others. Do you see us? We're not allowed a flaw, no physical or biological flaw. This is the father's directive. Our children have flaws, as any child does, should. We knew they would take what they were and alter it.»

«They gave us no choice, not from the moment they made us. There are hundreds who had no choice, who were trained every day for up to twenty-two years to become. Our children will have a choice.»

«Which one of you killed Wilfred Icove, Jr.?»

«We're the same. We killed our husband.»

«It was one hand that held the knife.»

Each held up an identical right hand. «We're one.»

«Bullshit. You've each got a set of lungs, a heart, kidneys.» Eve tipped a water glass so drops fell on the left hand on the one nearest her. «Only one of you has a wet hand. One of you walked into that house, into the kitchen, prepared a nice, healthy snack for the man you in­tended to kill. One of you sat down beside him where he lay on the sofa. Then stuck a knife in his heart.»

«We were one to them. One of us would live in the house, mother to our children, wife to our husband. One would live in Italy, in the Tus­can countryside. The villa's large, the estate beautiful. As is the chateau in France where one of us would live. Every year, on the day of our be­coming, we would be switched. And the other of us would be given a year with our children. We thought we had no choice.»

Tears glimmered now in three pairs of eyes. «We did what we were told to do. Always, always. One year of every three to be who we were made to be. Two years to wait. Because we were what Will wanted and what the father deemed he could have. He made us to love, and we loved. But if we can love, we can hate.»

«Where's Deena?»

«We don't know. We contacted her when we agreed to cooperate with you. We told her what we intended, what had to be done, and that she should disappear again. She's good at it.»

«The school has a second generation.»

«Of many. Not us. This was what Will requested of his father. But we know there are more of our cells preserved somewhere. In case.»

«Some have been sold.»

«Placement. He called it placement, yes. Made-to-order generated a great deal of money. It required a great deal of money to continue the project.»

«Were all the… the base for the project… all from the wars? Eve asked.

«Children, some adults who were mortally injured. Other doctors, scientists, technicians, LCs, teachers.»

«All female.»

«That we know of.»

«Did you ever ask to leave? The school?»

«To go where, and do what? We were taught and trained and tested every day, all of our lives. We were given a purpose. Every minute was regimented and monitored. Even what was called our free time. We're imprinted to be, to do, to know, to act, to think.»

«If so, how do you kill that which made you?»

«Because we were imprinted to love our children. We would have lived as they'd wanted us to live, if they'd left our children alone. Do you want a sacrifice, Lieutenant Dallas? Choose any one of us, and that one will confess to it all.»

They linked hands again. «That one will go to prison for the rest of our lives, if the other two are free to go, to take the children away where they'll never be touched or observed. Where they'll never have to be stared at, pointed out. Be objects of fear or fascination. Aren't you afraid of us, of what we are?»

«No.» Eve got to her feet. «And I'm not looking for sacrifices, either. We're breaking from interview at this time. Please remain here. Peabody, with me.»

She went through the door, secured it, then went straight into the observation area. Reo was already on the 'link, having an avid conver­sation in undertones.

«They'd know Deena Flavia's location,» Whitney said.

«Yes, sir. They know where she is, or how to find her. Certainly they have contact information. I can separate them again, go at them indi­vidually. With the confession on record, I can get a warrant to have them tested, find out which, if any, is pregnant. If so, that one would be the most vulnerable. Peabody could soft-pedal with them, one on one. She's good at it. Next hit is to push on locations for the labs specifically used for the project, where they've put whatever data they've already taken, and who, if anyone, is on Deena's termination list. They're not done. They haven't accomplished everything they were after, and they're oriented to succeed.»

She glanced at Mira for confirmation.

«I agree. At this point they're giving you what they want you to have. They want your help in shutting this down, and your sympathy. They want you to know why they did what they did, and why they're willing to sacrifice themselves for it. You won't break them.»

Eve lifted her eyebrows. «Want to put money on it?»

«It has nothing to do with your interview skills. They are the same person. Their life experiences are so minutely different it barely regis­ters. They were created to be the same, then trained and given a rou­tine that ensured they would be the same.»

«One hand held the knife.»

«You're being literal,» Mira said impatiently. «In a very real sense, that one hand belonged to all of them.»

«They can all be charged,» Tibble pointed out. «Conspiracy to mur­der. First degree.»

«Never get to trial.» Reo shut her 'link. «My boss and I are in agree­ment on this. With what we just heard in there, what we know, we'd never get this to stick. Any defense would whoop our asses long before we got to a murder trail. Frankly, I'd like to defend them myself. Not only a slam dunk, but I'd be rich and famous by the end of it.»

«So they walk?» Eve demanded.

«You try to charge them, the media's going to chew it bloody. Hu­man rights groups are going to get in on it, and in five short minutes, we'll have the newly formed Clone Rights organizations. You get them to lead you to Deena, that's chummy, Dallas. I'd like to hear her story. And maybe, if there's only one of her, we manage to cut some deal. But with these?»

She gestured toward the glass, and the three women at the table. «You've got enforced imprisonment, brainwashing, diminished capac­ity, child endangerment. And if I were going to bat for them, pure old self-defense. I'd make it work, too. There's no way to win this.»

«Three people are dead.»

«Three people,» Reo reminded her, «who conspired to break inter­national laws, and who broke said laws for decades. Who, if you're get­ting the truth in there, created life, then terminated those lives if they didn't meet certain standards. Who created that which killed them. They're smart.»

She walked closer to the glass. «Did you hear what they said? 'We were imprinted to be, do, feel,' and so on. That's a strong, impenetra­ble line of defense. Because they were created and engineered and imprinted. They acted as they'd been programmed to react. They defended their children against what many will see as a nightmare.'

«Get what you can out of them,» Tibble ordered. «Get Deena Flavia, get locations. Get details.»

«And then?» Eve asked.

«House arrest. We'll keep them under wraps until we get this closed down. They wear bracelets. Guards—droids—twenty-four/seven. We're going to have to pass this up, Jack.»

«Yes, sir, we are.»

«Get details,» Tibble repeated. «We're going to verify every one of them, cross every T. Twenty-four hours, max, and we're passing this ball. Let's make sure it doesn't bounce up and smash into our faces.»

«I've got to head in, start strategizing what we do when and if we do it.» Reo picked up her briefcase. «You get anything I can use, I need to know. Day or night.»

«I'll show you all out.» Roarke stepped to the door.

«I need to speak with the lieutenant.» Mira stayed where she was. «Privately, if you don't mind.»

«Peabody, go in. Give them each a bathroom break, offer them food, drink. Then pick one. Take her out and start working her. Soft sell.»

When she was alone with Mira, Eve walked to the large coffeepot Roarke must have put on a table. She poured a cup.

«I'm not going to apologize for my comments and reactions of ear­lier today,» Mira began.

«Fine. Me, neither. If that's it—«

«Sometimes you seem so hard it's difficult to believe anything gets through. I know that's not true, and still… If Wilfred and his son did the things they—she—claims, it's reprehensible.»

«Look through the glass. See them? I think that goes a long way toward corroboration of the statements given.»

«I know what I see.» Her voice trembled a little, then strengthened. «That he used children—not consenting, informed adult volunteers, but innocents, minors, the injured, the dying. Whatever his motives, whatever his goals, that alone condemns him. It's difficult, Eve, to con­demn someone you considered a hero.»

«We've been around that lap already.»

«Damn it, have some respect.»

«For who? Him? Forget it. For you, okay, fine. I do, which is why you're pissing me off. You got any dregs of respect left for him, then—«

«I don't. What he did was against every code. Maybe, maybe I could forgive what he started to do, out of grief. But he didn't stop. He per­petuated it. He played God with lives, not just in the creating of them, but in the manipulation of them. Of her, and all the rest. He gave her to his son as if she were a prize.»

«That's right, he did.»

«His grandchildren.» Mira pressed her lips together. «He would have used his own grandchildren.»

«And himself.»

Mira let out a long, unsteady breath. «Yes. I wondered if you'd real­ized that yet.»

«A man has the power to create life, why bow to mortality? He's got cells preserved somewhere, with orders to activate on his death. Or he's already got a younger version of himself working somewhere.»

«If so, you have to find him. Stop him.»

«She's already thought of that.» Eve gestured toward the glass. «She and Deena. And they've got a big jump on me. She'd like the trial.»

Eve moved to the glass, studied the two women still in the meeting room. «Yeah, if the kids were away, protected, she'd fucking love to face trial, and spill all this out. She'd spend her life in prison without batting an eye to make sure what was done is in the open. She knows she'll never spend a day in a cage, but she'd do it if she had to.»

«You admire her.»

«I give her an A for balls. I admire balls. He put her in a mold, and imprint or no, she broke it. She broke him.»

She knew what it took to kill your jailer. Your father. «You should go home. You're going to have to spend time with them tomorrow if we're going to cross all Tibble's T's. It's too late to start that tonight.»

«All right.» Mira started for the door, paused. «I'm entitled to some degree of upset,» she said. «To my irrational outbursts earlier, to anger and hurt feelings.»

«I'm entitled to expect you to be perfect, because that's how I see you. So if you go around acting flawed and human like the rest of us lower beings, it's going to throw me off.»

«That's so completely unfair. And touching. Do you know there's no one in this world who can annoy me so much as you, other than Dennis and my own children?»

Eve slid her hands into her pockets. «I guess that's supposed to be touching, too, but it sounds like a slap.»

A smile whispered around Mira's lips. «That's a mother's trick, and one of my favorites. Good night, Eve.»

Eve stood at the glass, watched the two women. They nibbled on what looked to her like a grilled chicken salad, sipped water.

They spoke little, then only about the innocuous. The food, the weather, the house. Eve continued to study them when the door opened and Roarke stepped in.

«Does having a conversation with your clone constitute talking to yourself?»

«One of the many questions and satirical remarks that will be made if and when this becomes public knowledge.» He moved to her, behind her, laid his hands on her shoulders. And found exactly the spot where the worst of the tension knotted.

«Relax a bit, Lieutenant.»

«Gotta stay up. I'm giving it about ten more minutes, then we'll jug­gle them around again.»

«I take it you and Mira have made up.»

«I don't know what we did. I guess we're down to irritated rather than supremely pissed.»

«Progress. Did you discuss the fact that Reo told you what you'd hoped to hear?»

She let out a sigh. «No. I guess she was irritated enough that one got by her.» She glanced over her shoulder, met his eyes. «Not you, though.»

«I'm not irritated with you, which is approaching a term record, I believe. You don't want them punished. Charged and tried and judged.»

«No. I don't want them punished. Not my call, but it's not what I want. It's not justice to lock them up. They've been locked up all their lives. It has to stop. What's being done, what they're doing.»

He leaned over, kissed the top of her head.

«They've got a place to go already. Got a place to run already set up. Deena would have that nailed down. I could probably find it, sooner or later.»

«Given enough time, I imagine so.» Now he stroked her hair. «Is that what you want?»

«No.» She reached back to take his hand. «Once they get sprung, I don't want to know where they are. Then I don't have to lie about it. I've got to get back to this.»

He turned her, kissed her. «Let me know if you need me.»

She worked them. Took them as a group, separated them. She tag-teamed them with Peabody. She let them sit alone, then hit them once more.

She was going by the book, right down the line. No one studying the record of the interview could claim it wasn't thorough or correct.

They never demanded a lawyer, not even when she fit them with homing bracelets. When she took them back to the Icove residence in the early hours of the morning, they showed considerable fatigue, but that same unruffled calm.

«Peabody, wait for the droids, will you? Get that set up.» She left her partner in the foyer, moved the three women into the living area.

«You're not permitted to leave the premises. If you attempt to do so, your bracelets will send out a signal, and you'll be picked up and—due to the violation—brought into Central holding. Believe me, you'll be more comfortable here.»

«How long do we have to stay?»

«Until such time as you're released from this restriction by the NYPSD or another authority.» She glanced back to make certain Peabody was out of earshot, and still kept her voice low. «The record's off. Tell me where Deena is. If she kills again, it's not going to help any­one. You want this stopped, and I can help stop it. You want this pub­lic, and I've got a line on that.»

«Your superiors, and any government authority that gets involved, won't want this public.»

«I'm telling you I've got a line on it, but you're squeezing me. They'll block me out. They'll block me and my team and the depart­ment out. They'll scoop you up like hamsters, you and anyone else like you they can find, and put you in a fucking habitrail so they can study you. You'll be back to where you started.»

«Why would you care what happens to us? We've killed.»

So had she, Eve thought. To save herself, to escape the life someone else planned for her. To live her own.

«And you could've gotten out of this without taking lives. You could've gotten your kids and poofed. But you chose this way.»

«It wasn't revenge.» The one who spoke closed those strange and lovely lavender eyes. «It was liberty. For us, for our children, for all the others.»

«They would never have stopped. They'd have made us again, repli­cated the children.»

«I know. It's not my job to say whether or not you were justified, and I'm already going outside the lines. If you won't give me Deena, find a way to contact her. Tell her to stop, tell her to run. You're going to get most of what you're after. You've got my word.»

«What of all the others, the students, the babies?»

Eve's eyes went flat and blank. «I can't save them all. Neither can you. But you can save more if you tell me where she is. If you tell me where the Icoves have their base of operations.»

«We don't know. But…« The one who spoke looked at her twins, waited for their nod. «We'll find a way to contact her, and do what we can.»

«You don't have much time,» Eve told them, and left them alone.

Outside, the air was cold on her face, her hands. It made her think of winter, the long, dark months coming.

«I'll drive you home.»

Peabody's tired face brightened. «Really? All the way downtown?»

«I need to think anyway.»

«Think all you want.» Peabody climbed into the car. «Gotta get ahold of my parents in the morning. Let them know we'll be delayed if we make it out there at all.»

«When were you going?»

«Tomorrow afternoon.» Peabody yawned, enormously. «Maybe beat the most insane of the holiday shuttle traffic.»

«Go.»

«Go where?»

«Go as planned.»

Peabody stopped rubbing her exhausted eyes to blink. «Dallas, I can't just take off to go eat pie at this point of the investigation.»

«I'm telling you that you can.» Traffic was blissfully light. She avoided Broadway and its endless party, and drove through the canyons of her city nearly as alone as a lunar tech on the far side of the moon. «You've got plans, you're entitled to keep them. I'm stalling this,» she said when Peabody opened her mouth again.

Peabody shut it, smiled smugly. «Yeah, I know. Just wanted you to say it. How much time you figure we can buy?»

«Not that much. But my partner's off with her face in the family pie. I got Roarke's relations zeroing in on us. People start scattering with turkey on the brain, they're harder to get in touch with, get balls rolling.»

«Most federal offices are closed tomorrow, and through to Monday. Tibble knew that.»

«Yeah. So maybe it slows things another few hours, maybe another day if God is good. He wants the same thing, so he'll make noises, but he'll stall, too.»

«What about the school, the kids, the staff?»

«I'm still thinking.»

«I asked Avril, well one of them, what they were going to do about the kids. How they were going to explain that there were three mom­mies. She said they'd be told they were sisters who'd found each other after a long separation. They don't want them to know, not about them. Not about what their father was doing. They're going to go un­der, Dallas, first opportunity.»

«No question.»

«We're going to give them one.»

Eve kept her eyes straight ahead. «As police officers we won't, in any way, facilitate the escape of material witnesses.»

«Right. I want to talk to my parents. Funny how when something really twists up your thinking—the order of things for you—you want to talk to Mom and Dad.»

«Wouldn't know.»

Peabody winced. «Sorry. Shit, I get stupid when I'm this tired.»

«No problem. I'm saying I wouldn't know because I didn't have any—not normal ones. Neither did they. If that's what makes them ar­tificial, then so am I.»

«I want to talk to my parents,» Peabody repeated after a long mo­ment. «I know I'm lucky to have them, and my brothers, my sisters, all the rest. I know they'll listen, that's the thing. But not having that, hav­ing to make yourself out of what gets dumped on you, creating your life out of that… it's not artificial. It's as real as it gets.»

The streets and sky were nearly empty. Occasionally an animated board bloomed out color and light. Dreams of pleasure and beauty and happiness. Bargain prices.

«Do you know why I came to New York?» Eve said.

«No, not really.»

«Because it's a place where you can be alone. You can step out on the street with thousands of other people and be completely alone. Besides being a cop, that's what I thought I wanted most.»

«Was it?»

«For a while, yeah. For a long while it was what I wanted. I'd gone from being anonymous to being monitored constantly through the fos­ter program and state schools. I wanted to be anonymous again, on my terms. To be a badge, period. I don't know, if I'd caught this case ten years ago—five years ago—if I'd have handled it the way I'm doing now. Maybe I'd just have taken them down. Black and white. It's not just the job, the years on it that bring in all the gray. It's the people, dead and alive, you end up connected to who paint it in.»

«I go with the last part. But no matter when you'd caught this, you go this way. Because it's right. And that's what counts, that's what do. Avril Icove's a victim. Somebody needs to be on her side.»

Eve smiled a little. «She has each other.»

«Good one. A little bit of a cheap shot, but good nonetheless.»

«Get some sleep.» Eve pulled up in front of Peabody's building, tag you if I need you to come in, but for now plan to catch some sleep, pack, and go.»

«Thanks for the lift.» Peabody yawned again as she got out. «Happy Thanksgiving, if I don't see you before.»

Eve eased from the curve, and saw in the rearview that McNab had left a light on in the apartment for Peabody.

There'd be a light on for her, too, she thought. And someone who'd listen.

But not yet.

She put her vehicle on autopilot, pulled out her personal 'link.

«Blah,» Nadine said, and Eve could see the faintest of silhouettes on screen.

«Meet me at the Down and Dirty.»

«Huh? What? Now ?»

«Now. Bring a notebook—paper not electronic. No record Nadine, no cams. Just you, old-fashioned paper and pencils. I'll be waiting.»

«But—«

Eve just clicked off, and kept driving.

The bouncer on the door of the sex club was big as a sequoia, black as onyx. He wore gold. A skin-shirt stretched across his massive chest, boots molded their way up the leather pants that coated his legs, and the trio of chains around his neck she imagined could be used as a weapon.

There was a tattoo of a snake slithering over his left cheek.

He was rousting two mopes as she walked up. One white, maybe two-fifty of hard fat, the other mixed race, heavy on the Asian, who looked like a contender for the sumo arena.

He had them both by the scruff of the neck and was quick-stepping them toward the curb.

«Next time you try to stiff one of my em-ploy-ees, I'm gonna twist your cocks clean off before you get a chance to use 'em.»

He knocked their heads together—a technically illegal action— then let them fall in the gutter.

He turned, spotted Eve. «Hey there, white girl.»

«Hey, Crack, how's it going?»

«Oh, can't bitch much.» He slapped his palms together in a drying motion, twice. «What you doing down here? Somebody dead I ain't heard about?»

«I need a privacy room. I've got a meet,» she said when his eyebrows rose up into his wide forehead. «Nadine's on her way. We were never here.»

«Since I figure you two don't want one of my rooms so you can roll around naked together—and ain't that a shame—this must be official. I don't know nothing about official. Come on in.»

She stepped into the blast of noise, of smells that included stale brew, Zoner—and a variety of illegals that could be smoked or otherwise in­gested—fresh sex, sweat, and other bodily fluids she didn't choose to identify.

The stage at the front was jammed with naked dancers and a live band outfitted in neon loincloths. Table dancers wearing feathers, glitter, or nothing at all jiggled or wiggled to the obvious delight of the paying patrons.

The bar was jammed, most of the occupants well drunk or stoned.

It was perfect.

«Business is good,» she said at a conversational shout as he blazed a path through the packs of people.

«Holiday time. We be slammed from now 'til January, then we be slammed 'cause it's too fucking cold to party outside. Life's good. How 'bout you, skinny white cop girl.»

«Good enough.»

He led the way upstairs to the privacy rooms. «Your man treating you right?»

«Yeah. Yeah, he mostly has that down cold.»

They backed up when a couple stumbled out of one of the rooms, half-dressed, laughing wildly, and smelling very ripe.

«I don't want their room.»

Crack just grinned, uncoded another. «This here is our deluxe ac­commodations. Crowd tonight, mostly they're going for economy. She be clean. Make yourself at home, sweet buns, and I'll bring that sexy Nadine right on up when she shows.

«Don't you think about paying me,» he said when Eve dug into her pocket. «I went to the park this morning, had a talk with my baby girl by the tree you and your man had planted for her. Don't ever think about paying me for a favor.»

«Okay.» She thought about Crack's younger sister, and how he'd wept in Eve's arms beside her body in the morgue. «Ah, you got any plans for Thursday?»

She'd been his family. His only family.

«Gobble Day. I got me a fine-looking female. Figure we might fit some turkey-eating in between other festivities.»

«Well, if you want the full spread, without certain areas of festivi­ties, we're having a dinner thing. You can bring your fine-looking female.»

His eyes softened, and the street jive vanished from his voice. «I ap­preciate that. I'd be pleased to come and bring my lady friend.» He laid the slab of his hand on Eve's shoulder. «I'll go keep watch for Nadine, even though I haven't seen either of you.»

«Thanks.»

She stepped into the room, gave it a quick study. Apparently «deluxe» meant the room had an actual bed rather than a cot or pallet. The ceil­ing was mirrored, which was a little intimidating. But there was a menu screen and an order slot, along with a very small table and two chairs.

She looked at the bed, and a long, liquid longing rose up in her. She'd have given up food for the next forty-eight hours for twenty minutes horizontal. Rather than risk it, she went to the menu screen and ordered a pot of coffee, two cups.

It would be hideous. Soy products and chemicals married together to, inexplicably, resemble rancid tar. But there'd be enough caffeine juiced through it to keep her awake.

She sat, tried to focus her mind on the business at hand while she waited. Her eyes drooped, her head nodded. She felt the dream crawl­ing into her, a monster with sharp, slick claws that snatched and bit at her mind.

A white room, blazing white. Dozens upon dozens of glass coffins. She was in all of them, the child she'd been, bloody and bruised from the last beating, weeping and pleading as she tried to fight her way out.

And he stood there, the man who'd made her, grinning.

Made to order, he said, and laughed. Laughed. One doesn't work right, you just throw it away and try the next. Never going to be done with you, little girl. Never going to be finished.

She jolted out, fumbled for her weapon. And saw the pot and cups on the table, with the menu slot still closing.

For a moment, she put her head in her hands, just to get her breath back. It was okay, she'd pulled out. She'd keep pulling out.

She wondered what dreams bit at Avril's mind when they were too tired to beat them off.

When the door opened, she was pouring coffee.

«Thanks, Crack.»

«Anytime, sugar tits.» He winked, shut the door.

«Lock it,» Eve ordered. «Engage privacy mode.»

«This better be good.» Nadine complied, then dropped into the sec­ond chair. «It's past three in the morning.»

«And yet you look lovely, and apparently your tits are sugar.»

«Give me some of that poison.»

«Empty your bag on the bed,» Eve said as she poured a second cup.

«Up yours, Dallas.»

«I mean it. Empty the bag, then I'm going to scan you for elec­tronics. This is the majors, Nadine.»

«You should be able to trust me.»

«You wouldn't be here if I didn't. But I've got to go the route.»

With obvious ill humor, Nadine opened her enormous handbag, stomped to the bed, and upended it.

Eve rose, passed her a cup of coffee, and began going through the contents. Wallet, ID, credits and debits, two herbal cigarettes in a pro­tective case, two notepads—paper—six pencils, sharpened. One elec­tronic notepad—disengaged—two 'links, one PPC—also disengaged. Two small mirrors, three packs of breath fresheners, a little silver box holding blockers, four tubes of lip dye, brushes—face and hair—and eleven other tubes, pots, sticks, and cakes of facial enhancers.

«Jesus. You carry all this gunk and put it on your face? Is it worth it?»

«I'll point out that it's three in the morning, and I look lovely. You, on the other hand, have shadows under your eyes a pack of psychotic killers could hide in.»

«NYPSD. We never sleep.»

«Neither do the defenders of the Fourth Estate, apparently. Did you catch my interview with Avril Icove today?»

«No, heard about it.»

«Exclusive.»

«What did you think of her?»

«Quiet, dignified elegance. Lovely in grief. A devoted mother. I liked her. Couldn't get much going on her personally as she insisted this interview deal with her father-in-law and husband, out of respect. But I'll dig down the next layers. I've got a three-part deal.»

The last two of which she would never collect, Eve thought. But there would be compensation. Big-time.

She ran a scanner over Nadine. «Believe it or not, I did all that to protect you as much as me. I'm about to break Code Blue.»

«Icove.»

«You're going to want to sit while I outline my conditions— nonnegotiable. First, we never had this conversation. You're going to go home and get rid of the 'link you used to take my transmission. You never received the transmission.»

«I know how to protect myself and a source.»

«Just listen. You've already done extensive research on the Icoves— and connected them, independently, to Jonah Wilson and Eva Hannson Samuels, and from there to Brookhollow. Your police sources would not confirm or deny any of your research. You're going to make a trip to Brookhollow. You'll need that on your logs. You're going to connect the murder of Evelyn Samuels to those of the Icoves.»

Nadine started scribbling. «That's the Academy's president. When was she murdered?»

«Find out. You're going to be curious and smart enough to run ID checks on the students and cross them with same on former students. In fact, you've already done that.» Eve drew a sealed disc out of her pocket. «Get this in your log. Get your prints, only your prints on the disc.»

«What's on it?»

«More than fifty student IDs that match—exactly match—former students' IDs. Falsified data. Make another copy, put it wherever you put data you want to protect from confiscation.»

«What were the Icoves doing that required falsifying data on students?»

«Cloning them.»

Nadine broke the tip of her pencil as her head snapped up. «You're serious.»

«Since the Urban Wars.»

«Sweet little Baby Jesus. Tell me you have proof.»

«I not only have proof, I have three clones known as Avril Icove un­der house restriction.»

Nadine goggled. «Well, fuck me sideways.»

«I've had a long day, I'm too tired for sex games. Start writing, Na­dine. When we're finished you go home, you make an electronic trail that'll verify you found this information. You burn those notes and make new ones. Get to Brookhollow and dig. You can contact me, and probably should, demanding confirmation or denial. I'll give you nei­ther, and that's on record. I'll go to my superiors with the fact that you're sniffing this out. I have to. So sniff fast.»

«I've already done a lot of the legwork, put some of this together. I didn't jump this far. I figured gene manipulation, designer babies, black-market fees.»

«That's in there, too. Get it all. I've got a day, maybe a few hours more, before the whistle's blown and the government steps in. They'll cover it. Spin what they can't bury. So get it all, get it fast. I'm going to give you everything I can, then I'm walking out. I won't give you any more. I'm not doing you a favor,» Eve added. «If you go out with this, you're going to take a lot of heat.»

«I know how to handle heat.» Nadine's eyes were razor sharp as she continued to write. «I'll be soaking in the rays while I blow this open.»

It took an hour, another pot of the vicious coffee, and both of Na­dine's notebooks.

When she left, Eve didn't trust her reflexes and put her vehicle back on auto. But she didn't sleep, didn't close her eyes. Once home, she moved from the car to the house like a sleepwalker.

Summerset was waiting for her. «God. Even vampires sleep some­time.»

«There's been no sanctioned or unsanctioned hit on either Icove.»

«Yeah, fine.»

«But you knew that. Are you also aware there is purportedly a fee-based operation that offers young women, educated through Brookhollow College in New Hampshire, to clients for purposes of marriage, employment, or sexual demands?»

She struggled to focus her exhausted brain. «How did you get that?»

«There are sources still available to me that aren't available to you, and due to his relationship with you, that are less forthcoming with Roarke.»

«And did these sources give proof of these purported activities?»

«No, but I consider them to be very reliable. Icove was associated with Brookhollow. One of Roarke Enterprises' jet-copters logged a route to that location today, where, it seems, the president of the insti­tution was murdered. In the same manner both Icoves were murdered.»

«You're a fount of information.»

«I know how to do my job. I believe you know how to do yours. Peo­ple aren't commodities. To use education as a mask, to use them as such is despicable. Your pursuit of the woman who, in all likelihood, struck back at that, is wrongheaded.»

«Thanks for the tip.»

«You of all people should know.» His words stopped her as she turned for the stairs. «You know what it is to be a child, trapped in a box, made to perform. You know what it is to be driven to strike back.»

Her hand tightened on the newel post. She looked back at him. «You think that's all this is? As vicious and ugly as that is, it doesn't even scratch it. Yeah, I know how to do my job. And I know murder doesn't stop the vicious and the ugly. It just keeps re-forming, and coming back at you.»

«Then what stops it? A badge?»

«The badge slows it down. Nothing stops it. Not a damn thing.»

She turned away, drifted up the stairs feeling as insubstantial as a ghost.

The light in the bedroom was on dim. It was that simple thing that broke her enough to have tired tears sliding down her cheeks.

She shrugged off her weapon, took out her badge, and laid both on her dresser. Roarke had once called them her symbols. He was right, yes, he was right, but those symbols had helped save her. Helped make her real, given her purpose.

They slowed it down, she thought again. That was all that could be done. It was never quite enough.

She undressed, climbed the platform, and slid into bed beside him.

She wrapped herself around him, and because she could, with him, let the tears fall on his shoulder.

«You're so tired,» he murmured. «Baby, you're so tired.»

«I'm afraid to sleep. The dreams are right there.»

«I'm here. I'll be right here.»

«Not close enough.» She lifted her head, found his mouth with hers. «I need you closer. I need to feel who I am.»

«Eve.» He said her name quietly, repeatedly, while he touched her in the dark.

Gentle, he thought, gentle now that she was fragile and needed him to remind her of all that she was. Needed him to show her she was loved, for all that she was.

Warm, he thought, warm because he knew how cold she could get inside. Her tears were damp on her cheeks, her eyes still gleaming with them.

He'd known she would suffer, and still her pain, wrapped so tight in courage, tore at his heart.

«I love you,» he told her. «I love everything you are.»

She sighed under him. Yes, this was what she needed. His weight on her, his scent, his flesh. His knowledge of her, mind and body and heart.

No one knew her as he did. No one loved her as he did. For all of her life before him, there'd been no one who could touch her, not all the way down to the tormented child who still lived in her.

When he slid inside her, all those shadows were pushed back. She had light in the dark.

When morning was blooming through the night, she could close her eyes. She could rest her mind. His arm came around her, and anchored her home.

The light was still dim when she woke. It confused her, as she felt rea­sonably rested. A little hungover from overworking her brain and body, but better than she should have with just a snatch of predawn sleep.

Obviously, she'd underrated the restorative powers of sex.

It made her feel sentimental, and grateful. But when she slid her hand across the sheet, just to touch him, she found him gone.

She started to sulk, then called for time.

The time is nine thirty-six A.M.

That news had her bolting straight up in bed. He'd darkened the windows, and the skylight.

«Disengage sleep mode, all windows. Shit!» She had to slap her hands over her eyes as the sudden blast of sun blinded her.

She cursed and squinted her way out of bed and into the shower.

Five minutes later, she let out a muffled scream when she blinked water out of her eyes and saw Roarke. He stood, wearing a casual white shirt and dark jeans—and held an oversized mug in his hand.

«Bet you'd like this.»

She peered avariciously at the coffee. «You can't set the bedroom on sleep mode without telling me.»

«We were sleeping.»

«We never set it on sleep mode.»

«Seemed like the perfect time to change our habits.»

She shoved her wet hair back, and walked, dripping, to the drying tube. She glared at him while warm air swirled around her.

«I've got stuff to do, people to see.»

«Just a suggestion, but you'll probably want to dress first.»

«Why aren't you?»

«Aren't I?»

«Why aren't you wearing one of your six million suits?»

«I'm sure I have no more than five million, three hundred suits. And I'm not wearing one of them because it seemed overly formal consid­ering we have people arriving today.»

«You're not working.» She stepped out, grabbed the coffee. «Has the stock market obliterated overnight?»

«On the contrary, it's up. I can afford to buy another suit. Here you are.» He handed her a robe. «You can wear that while you have some breakfast. I'll have another cup of coffee myself.»

«I have to contact Feeney, the commander, and check in with the droids on Avril. I have to write a report, check the forensics on Samuels.»

«Busy, busy, busy.» He strolled out and toward the AutoChef. And back, he thought with some relief. The exhausted woman had regen­erated into the cop. «What you want's a nice bowl of oatmeal.»

«No sane person wants a bowl of oatmeal.»

«Fortified.»

She wouldn't laugh. «Let's go back to the beginning. You can't set sleep mode without telling me.»

«When my wife comes home weeping from exhaustion and stress, I'm going to see that she gets some rest.» He glanced back, and there was that steel in his eyes. The kind that warned her arguing would end in a fight. «And she's lucky I did nothing more than darken the room to see she got some.» He crossed to the seating area with a bowl, set down on the table.

«Now, you'd better sit down and eat that, or we're going to start day with one hell of a fight.»

«Figured that already,» she grumbled.

«And your schedule's already so full.»

She came as close as she ever did to pouting when she studied oatmeal. «It's got disgusting lumps.»

«It certainly doesn't. What it's got is apples and blueberries.»

«Blueberries?»

«Sit down and eat them like a good girl.»

«Soon as there's room in my schedule, I'm going to punch you for that.» But she sat, contemplated the bowl. It looked to her as if per­fectly good fruit had been buried in mush. «Technically, I've been on shift since eight. But I'm entitled by regs, unless requested otherwise by a superior, to take eight hours between duty. It was after two when I left the Icove place.»

«Have you decided to become a clock watcher?»

«Peabody and McNab had put in for vacation time, starting today. I told her to go.»

«Depleting your team by two.» He nodded, sat. «All within the con­fines of regulations, all perfectly aboveboard. The pace will slow. Add the holiday and it slows more. What do you intend to do with the time?»

«I already started doing it. I broke Code Blue. I met with Nadine and gave her everything.» She poked a spoon into the oatmeal, lifted it, let the goop dribble out again. «I disobeyed a direct order, a priority or­der, and am prepared to lie through my teeth about it. I'm dragging my heels to give Avril Icove time to figure out how to disengage the bracelets, get the kids, and poof. And hoping they'll give me Deena's location, or at least the location or locations of operations.»

«If you continue to beat yourself up over it, we're going to start the day with a fight after all.»

«I've got no right to make decisions based on emotion, to circum­vent orders, ignore my duty.»

«You're wrong, Eve, on so many counts. First, you're not making this decision based on emotion, or not solely. You're basing it on in­stinct, experience, and your bone-deep sense of justice.»

«Cops don't make the rules.»

«Bollocks. You may not write them, but you edit them every day, to suit the situation. You have to because if the law, the rules, the spirit of them doesn't adjust and flex, it dies.»

She'd told herself essentially the same a dozen times already. «I didn't tell Peabody all of this, but some. And I said I didn't think I'd have been able to play this the way I am, even five years ago. She said I would have.»

«Our Peabody is astute. Do you remember the day I met you?» He reached in his pocket, took out the gray button that had come off the only suit she'd owned before he'd blasted into her life. He rubbed it be­tween his fingers as he watched her.

«You struggled then, with procedure, the book of it. But you had then, and always had, I think, a clear sense of justice. Those two things will always be true. You'll struggle, and you'll see. It's what makes you as much as that badge makes you. Never in my life have I known any­one who has such a basic dislike of people, yet has such unstinting and bottomless compassion for them. Eat your oatmeal.»

She took a bite. «It could be worse.»

«I've got a 'link conference shortly, and there's a list of messages on your desk.»

«Messages?»

«Three from Nadine, with increasing impatience. She demands you contact her regarding confirmation of information she had on Icove— plural—his connection with Brookhollow, and a further connection to Evelyn Samuels's murder in New Hampshire.»

«She's right on schedule.»

«There's another from Feeney. He's back from New Hampshire and has a report for you. He was circumspect, as I assume your Code Blue demands.»

«Good.»

«Commander Whitney wants your report, oral and written, by noon.»

«You in the market to make admin?»

He smiled, rose. «Some of Ireland will be arriving around two, which, I'm annoyed to admit, makes me nervous. If you're delayed, I'll explain.»

She ate, she dressed. Then she picked up her badge and got to work.

She met with Feeney first. In her office, with the door shut. She filled him in on everything, excluding her meeting with Nadine. Should she get busted for that, she'd go down alone.

«Three of them. Doesn't even seem that weird anymore.» Feeney munched nuts. «Plays right in with what we found at the schools. Got the records.»

He tapped the discs he'd already dumped on Eve's desk. «They ran two systems. One neat and tidy for your audits and checks. Had it fronting the second. Every student given a code number, and the code labeling the testing, the adjustments—«

«Adjustments? Such as?»

«Surgeries. Sculpting. They did some of that crap on eight-year-olds. Sons of bitches. Your basic eye fixes, hearing checks, disease con­trol, that's all on the front, but you got the other on the coded. 'Enhanced intelligence training,' they called some of it. Subliminal in­struction, visual and audio. Students earmarked for LC status or what they called 'partnerships' got their advanced sex education. And here's a kicker.»

He paused to slurp down coffee. «Deena isn't the only one who ran.»

«There are others who got out, the ones who dropped off the data screens?»

«Yeah. Files on their rogues. Got more than a dozen who poofed, af­ter graduation, after 'placement' She's the only one who got out of the school, but she's not the only one they lost track of. They started implanting the new ones, at birth, with an internal homer. That's after Deena slipped the knot. They've implanted all the current students, too. That was Samuels's brainstorm, and from her notes and records, it was an addition she didn't share with the Icoves.»

«Why?»

«She figured they were too close—having one in the family, allow­ing her too much freedom. They'd lost their objective distance to the project, and to its mission statement. Which was to create a race of Superiors—their term—taking the next logical evolutionary leap through technology: eliminate imperfections and genetic flaws, and eventually mortality. Natural conception, with its inherent risks and questionable success rate, could, and should, be replaced by Quiet Birth.»

«Just cut out the middleman, or –woman, so to speak. Then you do made-to-order in a lab. But to pull it off, you need more than technol­ogy, you need political punch. You'd have to get laws changed, bans overturned. You have to seed legislatures, state rooms.»

«They're working on it. They've got some graduates in key govern­ment positions already. In the medical field, in research, in the media.»

«That blond bitch on Straight Scoop'? I bet, I just bet she's one of them. She's got those teeth, you know what I'm saying? Those really big, really white teeth.» She caught herself at Feeney's bland stare. «Anyway.»

«The estimate was another fifteen years, outside, to have the bans rescinded internationally. Another century to implement others that would ban natural conception.»

«They wanted to outlaw sex?»

«No, just conception outside 'controlled environments.' Natural conception means natural flaws. Quiet Birth, they never refer to it as artificial, or cloning—«

«Already got a spin started.»

«You got that.» He took another hit of coffee. «Quiet Birth ensures human perfection, eliminates defects. It also ensures those who are deemed acceptable parents—«

«Yeah, acceptable. Had to go there.»

«Right. Acceptable parents are guaranteed the child will meet their specific requirements.»

Eve pursed her lips. «How long does the warranty hold up? What's the return policy?»

He grinned despite himself. «That's a kicker, isn't it? Women will no longer be subjected to the indignities of gestation or child birth.»

«Maybe they're on to something.»

«Their projections indicate sterilization laws will be in place in an­other seventy-five years.»

Enforced sterilization, Quiet Birth, humanity created and tuned in labs. It was like one of Roarke's science fiction vids. «They think ahead.»

«Yeah, but you know, time isn't a real problem for them.»

«I can see the hype.» She scooped up some nuts. «Want a kid with­out the hassle? Pick from our designer selection. Meet a sudden and tragic death? Sign up now for our second chance program. We'll pre­serve your cells and get you going again. Long for a mate who'll fulfill your every fantasy? Have we got a girl for you—restricted to adults only.»

«Why be one when you can be three?» Feeney added. «Watch your­self grow up, in triplicate. Gives a whole new meaning to the term 'You're just like your mother.'»

Eve let out a half-laugh. «But no line on the base?»

«Lots of references to the 'nurseries,' but no location or locations given. I've got a lot to go through yet.»

«I've got to meet with Whitney, take him what we've got. The schools are secure?»

«Droids on that. Droids guarding clones. It's a fucked-up world. We got legal guardians starting to push. We're not going to be able to keep a net over it for long.»

«Oh yeah, we are.» She picked up the discs. «Holidays just bog everything up. By the time they get debogged, international law's com­ing into it. Those 'legal guardians' are in for a world of hurt.»

«You got that. Thing is, you got close to two hundred minors be­tween the two schools. So far, only six guardians have made contact. Most are going to turn out to be ghosts.»

Eve nodded, added her report disc to the carry file. «How are they going to mix in the mainstream, Feeney? Who's going to take them?»

«That's a problem for a bigger brain than mine.»

«You got plans for tomorrow?» she asked him when he rose.

«Whole family's heading over to my son's new house. Did I tell you he upped and moved to New Jersey?» Feeney shook his head. «What're you gonna do. You gotta let them live their lives.»

She hit Whitney's office at precisely noon. Her carefully written re­port was put into his hands, and she gave her oral rundown standing.

«The information on the schools, and all updates pertaining to them, were just given to me by Captain Feeney and are not included in my written, to date. I have his report, sir, and copies of discs containing the data he extracted from Brookhollow's records.»

She laid those on his desk.

«There's no progress on locating Deena?»

«None, sir. With the records Feeney located, we'll be able to identify and locate all graduates, excluding those who've left their positions.»

«And these nurseries referred to are not, to our knowledge, located on Brookhollow's ground.»

«There was no evidence of artificial twinning areas, cell preserva­tion, or the equipment needed found in that location. Sir, by law, the implants carried inside any minor must be removed.»

He sat back, folded his hands. «Getting ahead of yourself, Lieu­tenant.»

«I don't think so, Commander.» And she'd thought it through very carefully. «Internal implants are in direct violation of privacy laws. In addition, with the evidence in our hands, the law demands that any and all legal guardians or any and all students be investigated and ver­ified. We cannot, legally, turn over any minor to what evidence clearly indicates are individuals who are—or have participated in—falsifying identification records in order to claim false guardianship over said minor or minors.»

«You've thought this through.»

«They're entitled to protection. Brookhollow can be shut down. Ev­idence that purports violations of RICO and tax evasion gives local au­thorities this right until such time as federal authorities review. Sir, when that happens some of those involved in this are going to scatter, and some are going to circle the wagons. Those students are caught in the cross fire, particularly when the government moves into it.»

«The government is going to want this handled quietly. The stu­dents will be debriefed, and…«

And, Eve thought. It was the and that worried her. «Quiet may not be an option, sir. I've had multiple contacts from Nadine Furst. She's asking me to confirm or deny several aspects of this investigation, which include the connection of the school, the murder of Evelyn Samuels. To this point, I've refused, given her the standard line about compromising an ongoing investigation, but she's got her ear to the ground.»

Whitney kept his eyes level on hers. «How much does she have?»

«Sir, she's already looked hard at the school, from what I can ascer­tain. She's accessed student records. She's putting it together. Previously, she had done extensive research on Wilfred Icove, Sr., as part of her as­signment to cover his death and memorial. At that time she made the connection to Jonah Wilson and Eva Samuels. In fact, sir, she made it before I did. She has resources, and she's got her teeth into this.»

He steepled his fingers, tapped them together. «We know that cir­cumspectly leaking information to media sources can and does aid an investigation, preserve public relations, and has its rewards.»

«Yes, sir. But Code Blue expressly forbids any and all such leaks.»

«Yes, it does. And if any member of this department should violate Code Blue status, for any reason, I would have to assume this individ­ual would be smart enough to cover his or her ass.»

«I couldn't say, sir.»

«Best you don't. I note, Lieutenant, you did not elect to rescind De­tective Peabody's holiday leave.»

«No, sir, I did not. Nor did Captain Feeney elect to rescind Detective McNab's. We have Avril Icove on house restriction. The trail is cur­rently cold as pertains to Deena Flavia. Brookhollow is secured, and this investigation is on the point of being passed to federal jurisdiction. It may not be feasible to make that pass comprehensively before Monday. What can be done from this point to that, sir, I can handle myself. It seemed unnecessary and unfair to cancel Peabody's leave.»

She waited a moment, but he didn't speak. «Do you want me to have her and McNab called in, Commander?»

«No. As you point out, the government's damn near shut down for the holiday already. We're moving to a skeleton staff administratively this afternoon at Central. You've identified the perpetrators of the homicides under your investigation, and have ascertained the method and the motive. The PA has chosen not to charge one of these perpe­trators. And in all likelihood will choose the same if and when Deena Flavia is apprehended. Essentially, Lieutenant, your case is closed.»

«Yes, sir.»

«I suggest you go home, enjoy the holiday.»

«Thank you, sir.»

«Dallas,» he said as she started out. «If you had to take a wild guess, off the record, just a guess, when would you say Nadine Furst is going to break the story?»

«If I had to guess, sir, off the record, I'd say that Channel 75's going to have a hotter story than the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.»

«That would be my guess, too. Dismissed.»