The list, p.15
The List, page 15
“That’s all I saw.”
Tom reached the door for the stairs and put his back against the wall alongside it.
“You open, I go in. On three. One... two... three.”
Joan yanked open the door and Tom went in, low. He aimed left, right, and up in quick succession. Then he eased his arm over the railing and pointed his gun down the stairwell.
“They’re about two floors below us,” Tom whispered. “Stay quiet, move along the wall.”
Tom kicked off his shoes and began to descend, moving fast. Joan did the same. The stairs were cool under her feet. Echoing up from the lower floors were footsteps. Attila and Vlad. They didn’t seem to be hurrying.
“They’re not expecting us to follow.” Tom’s voice was low, breathy. “Do they both have guns?”
“Just Vlad, I think.”
The footsteps stopped, and Joan could hear a door open one flight down. Tom and Joan sprinted down the remaining stairs, stopping on the ground floor.
“Same as before, but quiet. One... two... three.” Joan eased the door open and Tom went through fast.
Attila and Vlad had their backs to them, heading for the front door. But they weren’t the only ones in the lobby. There were also a young woman with a baby stroller, and two kids waiting for the elevator. Tom spun back around, jamming his gun in his jacket.
“Shoot them,” Joan said. “They’re getting away.”
“Too many civilians.”
Joan tried to push past, bringing up her gun. Tom held her back.
“You start shooting, innocent people will die.”
Joan clenched her jaw, but the tears came anyway. “They killed Marty.”
“We’ll have another chance.”
“Can’t we follow them outside?”
“You’re covered in blood and we don’t have shoes. How far do you think we’d get?”
She stared up at Tom, hate filling her entire being. “So we just let them go?”
“Sorry. Sometimes you have to.”
Her body shook, and then the sobbing started. Joan felt deflated, as if someone had poked her with a pin and all of her strength had seeped out. She cried, and cried, and couldn’t get herself to stop. She barely noticed when Tom took the gun out of her hand.
But she did notice when he put a hand on her shoulder, and then both arms around her. They swayed slowly back and forth, Tom patting her back, and she let all of the pain from the last two days come out in muffled sobs against his chest.
It didn’t take long for Joan to regain control. She pushed out of Tom’s arms, angry, embarrassed, refusing to look at him.
“The police are probably on their way. I have to go.”
“I thought you were a cop.”
“This gun is unlicensed. I get caught with it, I get fired or worse. If you wouldn’t mind leaving me out of your deposition...”
She met his eyes, challenging. “The police—they can’t help me, can they?”
“I caught Attila two days ago in New Mexico. They just let him go. The guy behind all of this has friends in high places.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Just wait around until they come after me again?”
“I don’t know. Leave the country, maybe? Take a long vacation, don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Pay cash, don’t use credit cards.
Keep a low profile...”
“I don’t run away from confrontation.”
“Look, Ms. DeVilliers, I don’t have all the answers. I’m kind of floundering here myself.”
“But you’re going to get these guys.”
“That’s my intention. Yes.”
Joan made her decision. It was more than a question of getting her life back. It was for Marty.
“I want to help.”
Tom didn’t hesitate. “The only way to flush them out is to set ourselves up as bait.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m in.”
“Okay. Then we need to get out of here without being seen.” Tom put a gun in each of his pants pockets, then took off his jacket and draped it over Joan’s shoulders. “That covers most of the blood. Let’s just walk out, acting natural.”
“Your holster.”
Tom glanced at his shoulder rig, no longer hidden. He unstrapped it and tucked it under his arm.
“We’ll take my car. I parked around back. I’m walking behind you to shield the blood on your skirt. Ready?”
Joan wiped away some stray tears and nodded. Tom opened the door and they walked out into the lobby, no one giving them a second look. They exited the building just as two squad cars pulled up, lights flashing.
“Don’t act guilty,” Tom said under his breath. “Act curious.”
Joan was way ahead of him. “What’s going on, Officer?”
“Please keep moving, ma’am.”
They stood and watched for a moment as the police rushed into the apartment building, then Tom steered her around the corner and over to a green sedan parked in front of a fire hydrant.
“What happened to your two friends?”
“They went to Nebraska to warn one of the other clones. Lincoln.”
Again with the clone thing. Joan got into the passenger seat and thought about it.
“So you really believe you’re Thomas Jefferson?”
“Unfortunately, that’s what it looks like.”
“And those guys that just attacked me?”
“Vlad the Impaler and Attila the Hun.”
Vlad had called the short man Attila.
“And that guy who looked like Einstein was really Einstein?”
Tom started the car. “As unbelievable as it all seems.”
He let two more squad cars rocket past, and then pulled into traffic.
“So, have you found all the clones yet?”
“We’re still looking for the last one.”
“Is he number 4? Named William Masterton?”
Tom looked at her. “How did you know?”
“Marty knew him. He works in Santa Monica.”
“Have you actually talked to him? Lately?”
“I called his company today, to see if he still works there. He does.”
“How far away is Santa Monica?”
“Maybe twenty miles.”
“Okay. You need to get changed first. And shoes would probably be a good idea.”
“Do you remember how to get to my place?”
Tom made a U-turn, forcing a car on the other side of the street to slam on its breaks.
“So,” Joan still wasn’t buying this cloning angle, but she found herself willing to play along. “Who is this Masterton guy supposed to be, anyway?”
“William Shakespeare.”
“This should be interesting.”
“More like frustrating. We have to convince a total stranger that he’s a clone of a famous historical figure, and you don’t even believe it yourself.”
“I’m trying to get used to the idea.”
“Join the club.”
She closed her eyes, picturing Jefferson’s profile on a nickel. After getting a good mental image, she looked at Tom. There was a pretty good resemblance.
She also noted that he’d shaved since their earlier meeting in her office, and though he wore the same suit it wasn’t nearly as wrinkled.
Had the effort been for her? Joan wondered how she must look. She resisted the urge to check the vanity mirror. Nothing could be done about it anyway—she’d left her purse in the hallway. Marty’s hallway.
Marty.
Before the grief could build, Joan pushed past it. While much of her wanted to wallow deep into the self-pity pool, it wouldn’t help the task at hand. She could deal with all of that emotion at a later, more private time.
“Maybe if you filled me in on the whole story, I’d be more likely to believe it.”
“It’ll take a while.”
“I’m a captive audience.”
“I also have to warn you. If you do start to believe that it’s true, that you’re really Joan of Arc, it can really play hell with your psyche.”
“My psyche could use a little shaking up.”
“I’m serious, Ms. DeVilliers.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m probably the most stable personality in LA. And call me Joan.”
“Okay, Joan.” Tom glanced at her and flashed a brief smile.
“Here’s how this whole mess started...”
* * *
Chapter 18
Washington DC
“Your conference call is ready on your private line, Mr. Speaker.”
“Thank you, Trixie. Hold my other calls.”
Phillip Stang Jr. pushed aside the speech he’d been reading and reached across his expansive desk to tap the speaker button. His father had warned him that even with a secure line, using the speaker phone was a bad idea. But Dad was always overly cautious. A symptom of living through the Cold War.
“Dad? How are you feeling?”
“Tired, Junior. This doesn’t get any easier as time goes on. At your age, I could transplant both kidneys at once and then go and play eighteen holes. These days, one is my endurance limit.”
Phil could detect the drugs behind his father’s voice, but the old man wasn’t allowing them to muddle his thoughts. Good to know, for future reference.
“Is everyone else on the line?”
Attila said, “Yes.”
Vlad said, “Yes.”
Jack said, “Is everyone else on the line? Yes.”
Stang sighed at Jack’s response. Of all the infamous killers to ever walk the planet, they had to clone one with an annoying speech impediment.
“Updates, gentlemen. What have you got for me in the way of clearing obstacles?”
“Both Joan and Tom are in LA.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
“There’s one for the history books. Am I to assume that your third attempt failed as well?”
“We hadn’t expected them to be together. He was armed.”
“A cop with a gun. Go figure. Why is it, Vlad, that your genetic predecessor was able to kill upwards of one hundred thousand people, and you can’t stick a knife in some bitch without fucking it up?”
Vlad paused before answering. Phil could imagine his teeth clenched in rage at the insult. Of the three, Vlad scared Phil the most.
Jack was a psycho, Attila was a thug, but Vlad was evil distilled.
That’s why he only messed with him over the phone—you can’t get burned if you play with fire long distance.
“It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what I want to hear. Attila, hold his hand if you need to.
We have a schedule here to keep, gentlemen. These loose ends should have been tied up days ago. How are things on your end, Jack?”
“How are things on your end, Jack? Fine. I should finish up later tonight. Albert is coming to Nebraska to visit Abe. I can get both at once.”
“I like to hear this. Enough with the fooling around. I know you guys love that torture shit, but save it for when we have more time.
The keyword here is fast. I’ll consider the topic closed, unless you want to add anything, Dad?”
“If it isn’t done by tonight, it waits until after Sunrise. That’s our main objective.”
Phil nodded along with his father’s words.
“Exactly. Are we all clear on that? Project Sunrise is the brass ring, here. I don’t care if you’ve got one of the clones in your sights and are squeezing the trigger. You drop what you’re doing and get on your planes by ten tonight. Have you all had a chance to practice with the equipment? You can handle the assembly? Yes?”
He’d tagged on the last word so Jack didn’t have to repeat the entire previous sentence, the dumb bastard. All responded positively.
“Good. It’s already been shipped to your destinations, along with your passes and make-up kits. I want your arrival confirmations tomorrow by eight AM. We’re going to show the whole world that the best of the best are made, not born. This is history, gentlemen. I’m proud that you’re all a part of it. Dad?”
“I do have something to add. We’re doing more than altering history. We’re creating a brave, new world. Immortality is within our grasp. We will not be denied!”
Phil grinned. While he shared so many of his father’s traits, he lacked his way with words. The old man was eloquent, that’s for sure.
“Get to it, gentlemen.”
Phil hit the disconnect button and leaned back in his leather chair.
He swiveled and checked out the view. It was raining, cloudy. The Washington Monument stood out, cutting through the weather like a giant exclamation point.
One day I’ll have my own monument, Phil thought. And unlike all those other past suckers, this one would be built while I’m still alive.
Maybe an image on a coin as well. Why revere the dead, when they can’t reap the benefits?
“Mr. Speaker, your father on line one.”
Oh, shit. He’d hung up on the old man.
“Dad? Sorry. Got disconnected. If I wasn’t banging that useless secretary, her ass would be out.”
“I suppose vulgarity is inexorably intertwined with your generation, but you need to show me some respect.”
“Of course.”
“I just watched your speech to the Oversight Subcommittee on National Affairs, International Affairs, and Criminal Justice. Taped it off of C-SPAN.”
“And?”
“You looked fat. What have I told you about keeping that body fit?”
“My schedule has been killer, Dad. I haven’t had time to hit the gym.”
“Bullshit.” The irritation in his father’s voice was pronounced.
“Spare me the busy crap. Cut out the four course lunches and get into shape. We’re going to make the cover of Time Magazine. You’d have us look like a bullfrog.”
Phil took a deep breath before answering. “Government has changed since you’ve been in office, Dad. It’s all about lunches.”
“So eat a goddamn salad. This isn’t a game, Junior. This is my dream. Our dream. Almost forty years in the making.”
“Why don’t you give me a little credit, here? I’ve worked my ass off as much as you have. I’m the youngest Speaker ever elected to the House—”
“Don’t forget how that happened, dear Phillip. Millions of dollars.
My dollars. Sixty percent of Congress financed their campaigns on my money.”
“It was more than that, Dad. As Chairman of the Steering Committee on Bipartisan Relations, I’ve been able to unite Republicans and Democrats on key issues like tax reforms, education—”
His father snorted. “Spare me. That simpering, middle of the road attitude is about to change. This country doesn’t need a social lubricant in office. It needs a strong, determined leader. One who stands by his ideals, without bowing to special interests. Or to voters, for that matter.
The President spends so much time trying to be popular, he forgot how to run the country. Other nations laugh at us, Junior.”
“I know, Dad.” He’d heard the speech, many times. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get started on the Chinese.
“That’s the whole point. To make being an American a source of pride once again. We’re the protector of the free world. During the Cold War, we were feared. Now, every little camel jockey with an oil rig thinks they can flip us the bird without repercussion. Not to mention the biggest threat to humanity ever to exist, the Communist Chinese—”
“Dad, you’re preaching to the converted, here.”
“We can never lose sight of it, Junior. Even with an unlimited supply of kidneys, neither of us will live forever. But our legacy can.”
“I said that. We cannot live forever, but our legacy as Americans—”
“Kudos to your speech writer, Junior. Speaking of which, have you got the speech for Thursday?”
“I have it right in front of me.” Phil picked up the packet and flipped back to the first page. “It is in the times of greatest tragedy that we ourselves must also be great... ”
“I’d prefer to hear it live.”
“It’s a good speech. Nice mix of outrage and strength.”
“For what we’ve paid, it should be.”
“There’s even a spot in it where I get a little choked up.”
“What? Cut that.”
“Why? It’s a great line. I stand here humbled at our loss. But no matter the blows this country takes, we will not be reduced to a nation in mourning...”
“You’re not going to be humbled. Cut the line.”
“But the people love—”
“This isn’t about the people. The popularity contest is over. We’re not out for approval ratings, Junior. Cut out any line that even hints at weakness. I also want you to lose the double chin in the next two days.”
“That’s impossible. Even if I starved myself...”
“Good idea.”
Phil bit back his reply. He didn’t kowtow to the old man, but he knew to pick his battles.
“Consider the double chin gone.”
“Excellent. I’m tired now, but we’ll talk soon.”
“Get some rest, Dad.”
Phil hung up and hit the intercom button.
“Trixie, who am I having dinner with tonight?”
“Those execs from Phillip Morris.”
“Send them a rain check. Then see if the commissary is still open and find me a chef’s salad. Chicken, no dressing.”
“Yes, Mr. Speaker.”
Phil picked up a pencil and began to go through the speech, trimming any signs of weakness.
America had been asleep too long, he thought. It was about to get a serious wake-up call.
* * *
Chapter 19
Los Angeles
“And then I followed you to your assistant’s place, and you know the rest.”
Joan couldn’t get her mind completely around it. Tom had told the story in a truthful, straightforward manner. He obviously believed it, and it did sort of explain their current situation.
But Thomas Jefferson and Joan of Arc?
“This is a lot to swallow.”
