The Eighth Day

Chapter 41

"What is it?" Sam Harrington asked.

Francis peered at him with mournful eyes. Coupled with his loose jowls, it gave him the countenance of a basset hound. "Sorry, Harrington."

"Lemme see." Sam held out his hand, and Francis pressed the ID into his palm.

It was clear plastic, embedded with microcircuitry and embossed with the seal for the US Department of Commerce. Beneath an unsmiling photo of crew cut was his name—Dodd, Chad Nicholas—and the card identified him as the chief of operations for Roman Biogenics. A yellow stripe with black letters that repeated "Executive Privilege // Corporate Immunity" bordered its edge.

Corporate conglomerates had all but stomped out independent business decades ago. From there, they moved on to co-opting the government, and in time, the majority of the US Congress shifted from Democrats and Republicans to board members. But Thomas Hoyt was the first corporate lackey elected president, and the Executive Incorporation Act was his baby. It authorized the merger of the Department of Commerce and five of the largest corporations in the United States. It also gave their leadership full executive privilege and corporate immunity. Roman Biogenics was one of those five.

In other words, Chad Dodd was operating under the legitimate authority of the United States government and had the clout of the president in his corner.

Dodd blinked at Francis. "So we good?"

"Don't tell me we're gonna let this prick walk," Mooney said.

Francis shook his head. "We got no choice."

"This is some bullshit right here."

"If you don't mind, gentlemen." Dodd nodded toward the door.

"Oh, hell no," Mooney said. "I ain't going nowhere."

Dodd narrowed his eyes. "I can have your badges so fast your heads will spin."

"Forget about it," Sam said. "You guys did your best. I owe you one." He laid the ID on the table and pushed it toward Dodd.

"This ain't right," Mooney said, shaking his head.

Francis put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."

"You know it ain't right."

"I know. Good luck, Sam."

The two detectives made their way toward the exit. Mooney shot a final smoldering look over his shoulder, and the door swung shut behind them.

Sam glanced at the look-alike seated across from Jaffe and turned back to Dodd. "Roman Biogenics," he said.

Dodd shrugged. "Big surprise. You already knew."

Sam blinked and clenched his jaw. "You set me up."

"What'd you expect, a round of applause? You fucked with the wrong hombres, detective."

"We're not twins, are we?" Jaffe asked. His gaze never left his double seated across from him.

"No," Dodd said, "you're not."

"I'd almost convinced myself we were cybernetic. Androids, cyborgs, something like that. It'd explain how I'd survived a bullet to the head. But Roman Biogenics doesn't do robotics. Your forte is pharmaceuticals, medical drugs, genetic augmentation, isn't it?"

Dodd said nothing.

"We're not twins, and we're not androids," Jaffe said. "We're clones."

"Well give the man a cigar," Dodd said, grinning. He jabbed a thumb at Jaffe's double. "This one is the Alpha. Our first success."