F Paul Wilson - Sims 05 (12 page)

 
          
SHORT HILLS
,
NJ

 
          
The
late-night wind cut at Luca Portero as he strode across the crowded mall
parking lot toward Lister’s Mercedes. A perfect meeting place. The mall was
staying open late for last-minute Christmas shoppers. Luca had taken advantage
of that, arriving early and picking up a bracelet for Maria. He’d wait until after
the holidays to dump her—no sense in spending New Year’s Eve alone.

 
          
He
wondered why Lister had insisted on a face to face tonight. He guessed it
wouldn’t be a happy meeting. When he opened the SUV’s door and saw the
expression on his old CO’s fleshy face, he was sure of it.

 
          
“Cold
out there,” Luca said as he slipped into the passenger seat and slammed the
door.

 
          
“Cold
everywhere,” Lister said. He sounded tired.

 
          
Not
a good start. Better cut to the chase.

 
          
“What’s
the word on the plan?
How many men they giving us?”

 
          
Lister
shook his head.
“None.”

 
          
Luca
felt as if he’d been slapped.
“None?
How are we going
to—?”

 
          
“We’re
not.” He unbuttoned his camel hair coat. “They think using Strickland’s body as
bait is a waste of time. Why should anyone care about his body when his DNA
fingerprint is on
computer.
”

 
          
“But
it won’t be,” Luca said. “Not after we hack the NYPD system.”

 
          
“But
it’s not on just the NYPD computer. If you remember, Strickland had a rap sheet
that included a couple of sexual assaults—one in Nassau County and one in
Rockland—and a rape in Queens that he pleaded down to simple assault. He got
around. And so did his RFLP. Seems if you’re caught on a sexual assault in one
area, the Special Victims Units in all the surrounding areas check your DNA for
a match in the unsolved cases on their books. Craig Strickland’s DNA is in
dozens and dozens of police computers all over the tri-state area. Even we
can’t hack all those databases. It’s an easy bet that a sharpie lawyer like
Sullivan will figure that out, and have a good laugh at us if we try to use
Strickland as bait.”

 
          
Luca
clenched his teeth. Damn. He should have thought of that.

 
          
“Dumb
idea, Luca,” Lister said. “It had people questioning your suitability for
leading a field operation. Fortunately I was able to defuse that talk with your
other idea. That went over big. The Old Man sent two people from his own office
to help me canvass the
SimGen
Natal
Center
staff. We’ve been at it all day.”

 
          
“We?”
Luca said, glad he’d presented the
Natal
Center
idea as his own.

 
          
Lister
smiled. “I know I’ve become something of a REMF, but with manpower so short, I
had to get personally involved.”

 
          
“Did
anyone mention being approached?”

 
          
Lister
shook his head. “Negative.”

 
          
“One
of them could be lying. That sim’s baby is too valuable to leave the delivery
to chance. They’re going to want experienced help.”

 
          
“I
agree. But then I thought to myself, if I was looking for that kind of
expertise, would I approach a Natal Center OB and ask him or her to jeopardize
career and benefits and pension plan and stock options and take a pass on a
five-million-dollar bounty? I don’t think so. No, if I
were
smart—and these people are reasonably smart—I’d go to a former SimGen Natal
Center OB, preferably a disgruntled one.
One with a grudge or
a score to settle.”

 
          
Luca
found himself nodding. Good thinking.

 
          
“Any
hits?”

 
          
“A
few of them look promising. Most have relocated but one still lives in the
area. Name’s Elizabeth Cannon. Her letter of resignation was a real bridge
burner, calling SimGen a ‘slave factory’ and its board of directors ‘morally
bankrupt.’ She lives on
Long Island
now and needs checking out. I emailed you the particulars. Finding this sim
isn’t just your number-one priority, Luca; it’s the only priority.”

 
          
“I
understand.”

 
          
“Do
you? I hope so. This couldn’t be happening at a worse time. We should be
devoting all our resources to making sure Guillotine comes off letter perfect;
instead, I’m not reporting two dead operatives and praying that damn monkey
doesn’t give birth before you find her. This has got all the makings of a major
clusterfuck.”

 
          
Luca
realized with a start that Lister was scared. Beneath the tough-guy pose, he
was terrified. Not for his future in SIRG, but the future of SIRG itself. They
were all frightened, all the way up to the Old Man.

 
          
Lister
took a deep breath. “I’ll be hunting down the other disgruntled OBs. Cannon’s
yours.” He paused. “You look tired, but I don’t advise sleep. Get on this ASAP.
We don’t know how much time we have.”

 
          
“Roger.”

 
          
The meeting over, Luca stepped out of the SUV and watched Lister
drive away.

 
          
Elizabeth
Cannon…he’d check her out first thing in the morning. But he also wanted to
check out this genomic competition that had so rattled the Sinclairs. He needed
every edge he could get.

 
          
He
headed for his office computer to look up some genetics.

 
          
MINEOLA
,
NY

 
          
DECEMBER
24

 
          
Romy
watched Betsy adjust the IV running into Meerm’s arm. The air seemed close in
the spare, windowless little procedure room. Patrick had walked out—the sim’s
distress had been too much for him—leaving Romy alone with Betsy and Meerm.

 
          
Betsy
looked up at her. “The contractions have subsided.”

 
          
“How
long can this go on?” Romy asked, relieved the sim’s pain had finally eased.

 
          
Betsy
shook her head. “Not too much longer. I was right in the middle of an
ultrasound when she started having contractions. I’d love to give the baby
another week but Meerm’s uterus won’t last that long.”

 
          
“Why
baby hurt Meerm?” the sim said.

 
          
“As
I told you, Meerm,” Betsy said softly, “the baby’s not trying to hurt you. It’s
just that you’re too small and the baby’s too large.” She turned to Romy and
lowered her voice. “I tried to give her an anatomy lesson earlier. I don’t know
how much of it took.”

 
          
“On
the new ultrasound,” Romy said, “did you see what sex it was?”

 
          
Betsy
smiled. “Meerm wanted to know too. Isn’t that something? I didn’t think
sims
differentiated that much between sexes, but she was
very curious. She wants a girl.”

 
          
“And?”

 
          
“Can’t say.
The baby’s packed in too tight. If I had one of
the higher resolution imagers I could tell, but not with this model. I’ll do
another one tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

 
          
“Yes.
It would be nice to be able to call the baby ‘he’ or ‘she’ instead of ‘it.’”

 
          
“Indeed
it would. Oh, by the way, Zero called to see how the night went.”

 
          
“When
will he be here?”

 
          
“He
won’t. He thinks it’s safer for all concerned if I’m the only one seen coming
and going from here.”

 
          
Romy
hoped her disappointment didn’t show. She needed to talk to Zero—not on the
phone, but face to face. Her emotions were still in wild turmoil, but she
needed to know how he felt, and what he wanted. Once she knew that, she could
begin to sort out her own feelings, make some decisions. She didn’t know what
the future held, but she was keeping all options open for now.

 
          
Then
Patrick stuck his head into the little room. “I think the house is being
watched.”

 
          
Romy
felt her shoulders tighten. “You’re sure?”

 
          
“I
haven’t seen men with binoculars trained on us, but someone’s sitting in a car
parked up the street facing this way, and he’s been there for a while.”

 
          
“Show
me.”

 
          
He
led her to the picture window in the living room. It was
midday
but the low gray sky shed little light into
the room. Romy reached for a lamp,
then
thought better
of it.

 
          
“Damn,”
Patrick said. “It’s gone. But I tell you, it was sitting right over there for a
good half hour.”

 
          
Romy
scanned the street and saw a blue sedan parked against the curb at the other
end.

 
          
“Was
that there before?” she asked, pointing.

 
          
“No,”
Patrick said. “I’m sure it wasn’t. And this one’s got—doesn’t that look like
two men inside?”

 
          
“Yes,
it does,” Betsy said, coming up behind them. “I’m calling the police.”

 
          
“Is
that such a good idea?” Patrick said.

 
          
Romy
smiled. “I think it’s a great idea. If they knew something, they’d have done
something. Betsy left SimGen with a roar, so it’s no surprise they’re watching
her. Probably watching a number of ex-Natal-Center people. But why should we
let them have an easy time of it? Let’s make them explain to the local
constabulary what they’re doing out there.”

 
          
“Here’s
what we’ve got on her,” Lowery said, unfolding his notes behind the wheel of
the surveillance car.

 
          
Luca
stared at Dr. Cannon’s two-story colonial from the passenger seat. He’d wanted
a personal look at the lay of the land, and he didn’t like it one bit.

 
          
“Elizabeth
Cannon, age forty-eight, never married, no kids, lives alone.
In solo obstetrics-gynecology practice.
Works
out of a home office, on the staff of
Nassau
County
Community
Hospital
.”

 
          
“Home office?”
Luca said.

 
          
“Yeah.
That extension on the left side
there.”

 
          
“Where
are her patients?”

 
          
“I
called about that. Her answering service said she’d canceled her office hours
from today through next week but would still be seeing her hospital patients
and doing her deliveries.”

 
          
“Odd,
don’t you think?”

 
          
Lowery
shrugged. “Hey, it’s Christmas Eve. And she took Christmas week off. Do the same
if I could.”

 
          
“We
don’t find that sim,” he told Lowery, “you’ll have the longest Christmas
vacation of your life.”

 
          
The
scanner squawked—Lowery was tuned into the local cop frequency.
Something about a fender bender on
Maple Street
.

 
          
“So
far she’s been a good little girl. Made her hospital rounds this morning,
then
went grocery shopping.”

 
          
“Buy
a lot?” Luca asked.

 
          
“Come to think of it, yeah.
Watched her load six bags in the
back of her wagon—a blue Volvo, by the way.”

 
          
Luca
straightened in his seat.
Interesting.
“Six bags for
one woman living alone?”

 
          
“Like
I said, it’s Christmas. Maybe she’s planning a big family dinner.”

 
          
“Read
your own notes—she’s got no family.”

 
          
The
more Luca thought about Dr. Elizabeth Cannon, the more he liked her as a real
possibility. A loner with tons of experience delivering
sims
,
she’d probably jump at the chance to shut down a place she thought of as a
“slave factory.” Now here she was, stocking up on groceries—enough to feed a
sim and the missing Cadman and Sullivan perhaps? Plus she had a home office,
the perfect place to deliver a sim. Was that why she’d canceled her office
hours? Wouldn’t do to have one of her patients spot a pregnant sim, would it.

 
          
He
felt some of his fatigue lifting.

 
          
“All
right,” Lowery said, “let’s just say this sim is in there.
How—?”

 
          
“Sheis
in there,” Luca said. “I feel it in my gut.”

 
          
“Okay.
I’ll go with that, because my gut’s giving me the same message, but does your
gut have any idea how we get her the fuck out of there? Look at this
neighborhood, will you?
It’sLeave It To Beaver -ville.
There’s no room to operate.”

 
          
Luca
had already noticed that. Neat, middle-size houses, most sporting Christmas
decorations, nestled side by side and back to back on quarter-acre lots, with
wide streets that nobody parked on. Sitting here like this, their car looked as
alien as a flying saucer. Only a matter of time before—

 
          
Another
squawk on the scanner, this one about a suspicious car parked on
Cavendish Drive
.

 
          
“Shit!”
Lowery said. “That’s us.”

 
          
Luca
slapped the dashboard.
“Move.
I don’t want any local
heat seeing our faces.”

 
          
“So
what do we do?” Lowery said as he put the car in gear.

 
          
“A raid.
Oh-four-hundred tomorrow
morning.”

 
          
“Are
you kidding?
On Christmas?”

 
          
“Can
you think of a time it’ll be less expected? Six of us hit the place front and
back wearing FBI jackets and full assault gear. If we find the sim we secure
her, terminate everyone else, and take off. If we don’t find her, we apologize
for raiding the wrong address, and disappear.”

 
          
“FBI?”

 
          
“Hey,
it’s not like they never raid private homes and it’s not like they’ve never
fucked up before either. Everybody still remembers
Waco
. It’ll take days, maybe
weeks,
before the feds convince the public they weren’t involved.”

 
          
Lowery
grinned. “And by then we’ll be long gone. I like it.”

 
          
“It’s
win-win,” Luca said. “If I’m right, we’ll have the sim.
If
I’m wrong, no more wasting time watching Cannon.”

 
          
But
I’m not wrong, he told himself. That sim’s in there. I can smell her.