The Eighth Day

Chapter 36

They crowded into the elevator, and Chad Dodd thumbed the button for the ground floor.

"Gary Reed was one of the scientists assigned to Project Phoenix," he said. "Ran the show with Bernd Hoefler—the guy you met earlier at the lab."

Emma Tyler nodded.

"Reed started going on about how we were playing God. It's like, no shit, Sherlock. That's exactly what we're doing. Our species is fucked, and we're fixing it, upgrading to Mankind 2.0. But that poor naive bastard was convinced we were screwing with the 'natural order,' whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. When no one backed his play, he went dark—completely off the grid. Until New York, that is. Son of a bitch contacted the Delta and tried to blow the op."

Tyler raised an eyebrow. "He told the Delta he was a clone?"

"Nah," Chad said. "Just gave him a vague warning we were watching him or some shit. Guess he planned to tell him the rest later, break it to him easy that he was born and raised in a petri dish. Fortunately, we had eyes on the Delta. Our boys recognized Reed and took him out."

The elevator doors opened, and they spilled out onto a marbled floor in a cavernous lobby. Footfalls and conversations echoed around them as they wove their way toward the front entrance. Granite pillars rose several stories toward the lobby's ceiling, where a holographic projection of corporate's latest propaganda spun in a lazy circle—antibiotics to combat the latest superbugs, artificial organs and tissue engineering upgrades, designer babies, extended lifespans, genetic augmentation.

For Joe Public and the drones at Roman Biogenics, it was all theoretical. Only a select few knew about Project Phoenix, and fewer still were apprised of the details. All these people—a city of millions who lived and died and left behind a legacy of diddly shit. Stories forgotten, a stone cast into a pond, a ripple, and still waters. But Chad and his team, their actions would echo on.

A black four-door Suburban waited for them curbside in the dying twilight. The Alpha clambered into the third row behind a wire mesh partition that separated him from the backseat, where Tyler sat. Chad slid into the passenger seat and swiped at his tablet while Jensen squeezed in behind the wheel and bulled his way into traffic.

"Take the Expressway toward Queens," Chad said, then continued his story. "Sam Harrington was the detective assigned to the investigation. Pain in the ass was what he was, like a goddamn pit bull. Wouldn't let go, even after we wrapped up the op."

"And he's still breathing?" Tyler asked. "Why didn't the company just remove the threat?"

"We tried. A couple times, actually. First time, the Delta saved his ass. The second time was at his house. Son of a bitch had bigger balls than we gave him credit for. He fought off three of our agents, killed one of our best—guy named Randy Carlson.

"I'd known Randy since forever. We grew up together, went to the same college. Served in the Marines together, too. Two tours in Mexico. I probably wouldn't have made it through that shit storm in one piece if it hadn't been for Randy. And when I got out and joined the company, he came with me.

"He was the closest thing I had to family, and Harrington just snuffed him out. I swore to God if I got the chance, I'd pay him back. Instead of killing Harrington, I'd take his family from him and see how he liked them apples. But hey, I'm not completely heartless, and killing his wife and kid wouldn't have solved anything.

"So instead, we set him up. It wasn't hard. Poor bastard was already coming apart at the seams. He spent just about every night in some bar or another, and on this particular occasion, he'd gotten three sheets to the wind with no help from anyone. We slipped him a little Rohypnol and gave him the night of his life. Sex, drugs, rock and roll—good old Detective Harrington partied like a porn star.

"Then we placed an anonymous call to the cops, and they busted him. He lost all credibility, along with his job, his family, pretty much everything."

"So now he's motivated," Tyler said.

Chad shrugged. "He's just one guy."

At the intersection of Bowery and East Houston Street, the holographic traffic signal winked from green to yellow. The car in front of them sped through the intersection, and Jensen brought the Suburban to a stop at the crosswalk as the hologram turned red. A crowd of pedestrians surged across their path.

"They scurry like sedated beetles," the Alpha said with a low chuckle. He sat with his fingers laced through the latticework of the partition, forehead pressed to the wire mesh. His eyes gleamed. "Imagine driving into them, their insectile cries, the crunch of their bones like carapaces beneath the heel of the boot."

Chad tapped at the digital wristband Bernd Hoefler gave him in the lab. The Alpha's graphene choker constricted, and he gagged and fell back in his seat, clawing at his neck.

"Keep your mouth shut," Chad said. "Do as you're told, and we can all live happily ever after when this is over. Capisce?"

The Alpha nodded frantically. His face had turned a curious shade of plum wine. Chad tapped again, the choker loosened, and the Alpha gulped for air like a bass out of water. His eyes burned with fury, but he remained silent.

The light turned green, and Jensen accelerated through the intersection. Chad returned his attention to his tablet and frowned. "Echo-7 is on the move," he said. "Headed in our direction. I'm guessing he's got Harrington in tow. Pull over until I figure out where they're going."

Jensen eased the Suburban to the curb. Chad tracked Echo-7—and, presumably, Harrington—as they took the Expressway and the Queens Midtown Tunnel to Manhattan and turned onto West Forty-Second Street.

"Huh," Chad said.

"What is it?" Tyler asked. She leaned forward and peered over his shoulder at the screen.

"They're headed toward the West Side. Maybe Harrington will do us a solid, pay a visit to his former colleagues at the Midtown North Precinct and end this cat and mouse bullshit. But I doubt it. Probably going to somewhere in Chelsea. Or Hell's Kitchen. Fuck if I know. Could be anywhere. It doesn't matter, though. There's nowhere they can hide that we can't find them. It's only a matter of time before this is over."