They drove around the Lincoln Memorial, then crossed the Potomac by Arlington Bridge. Were they heading for National Airport? They took Washington Boulevard, and Berrington realized their destination must be the Pentagon.
He followed them down the off-ramp into the Pentagon's immense parking lot. He found a slot in the next lane, turned off his engine, and watched. Steve and his father got out of the car and headed for the building.
He checked the Mark VIII. There was no one left inside. Jeannie must have stayed behind at the house in Georgetown. What were Steve and his father up to? And Jeannie?
He walked twenty or thirty yards behind them. He hated this. He dreaded being spotted. What would he say if they confronted him? It would be unbearably humiliating.
Thankfully, neither of them looked back. They went up a flight of steps and entered the building. He stayed with them until they passed through a security barrier and he had to turn back.
He found a pay phone and called Jim Proust. "I'm at the Pentagon. I followed Jeannie to the Logan house, then trailed Steve Logan and his father here. I'm worried, Jim,"
"The colonel works at the Pentagon, doesn't he?"
"Yeah,"
"It could be innocent."
"But why would he go to his office on a Saturday evening?"
"For a poker game in the general's office, if I remember my army days."
"You don't take your kid to a poker game, no matter what age he is."
"What's at the Pentagon that could harm us?" "Records."
"No," Jim said. "The army has no record of what we did. I'm sure of that."
"We have to know what they're doing. Isn't there some way you can find out?"
"I guess. If I don't have friends at the Pentagon, I don't have them anywhere. I'll make some calls. Stay in touch."
Berrington hung up and stood staring at the phone. The frustration was maddening. Everything he had worked for all his life was imperiled, and what was he doing? Following people around like a grubby private eye. But there was nothing else he could do. Seething with helpless impatience, he turned around and went back to his car to wait.
50
STEVE WAITED IN A FEVER OF ANTICIPATION. IF THIS WORKED, it would tell him who raped Lisa Hoxton, and then he would have a chance of proving his innocence. But what if it went wrong? The search might not work, or medical records might have been lost or wiped from the database. Computers were always giving you dumb messages: "Not found" or "Out of memory" or "General protection fault."
The terminal made a doorbell sound. Steve looked at the screen. The search had finished. On the screen was a list of names and addresses in pairs. Jeannie's program had worked. But were the clones on the list?
He controlled his eagerness. The first priority was to make a copy of the list.
He found a box of new diskettes in a drawer and slid one into the disk drive. He copied the list onto the disk, ejected it, and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans.
Only then did he begin to study the names.
He did not recognize any of them. He scrolled down: there seemed to be several pages. It would be easier to scan a piece of paper. He called Lieutenant Gambol. "Can I print from this terminal?"
"Sure," she said. "You can use that laser printer." She came over and showed him how.
Steve stood over the laser printer, watching avidly as the pages came out. He was hoping to see his own name listed alongside three others: Dennis Pinker, Wayne Stattner, and the man who raped Lisa Hoxton. His father watched over his shoulder.
The first page contained only pairs, no groups of three or four.
The name "Steven Logan" appeared halfway down the second page. Dad spotted it at the same time. "There you are," he said with suppressed excitement.
But there was something wrong. There were too many names grouped together. Along with "Steven Logan," "Dennis Pinker," and "Wayne Stattner" were "Henry Irwin King," "Per Ericson," "Murray Claud," "Harvey John Jones," and "George Dassault." Steve's elation turned to bafflement.
Dad frowned. "Who are they all?"
Steve counted. "There are eight names."
"Eight?" Dad said. "Eight?"
Then Steve saw it. "That's how many Genetico made," he said. "Eight of us."
"Eight clones!" Dad said in amazement. "What the hell did they think they were doing?"
"I wonder how the search found them," Steve said. He looked at the last sheet out of the printer. At the foot it said, "Common characteristic: Electrocardiogram."
"That's right, I remember," Dad said. "You had an electrocardiogram when you were a week old. I never knew why."
"We all did. And identical twins have similar hearts."
"I still can't believe it," Dad said. "There are eight boys in the world exactly like you."
"Look at these addresses," Steve said. "All army bases."
"Most of those people won't be at the same address now. Doesn't the program pull out any other information?"
"No. That's how come it doesn't invade people's privacy."
"So how does she track them down?"
"I asked her that. At the university they have every phone book on CD-ROM. If that fails they use driving license registries, credit reference agencies, and other sources."
"The heck with privacy," Dad said. "I'm going to pull these people's full medical histories, see if we get any clues."
"I could use a cup of coffee," Steve said. "Is there any around?"
"No beverages are allowed in the data center. Spilled liquids play havoc with computers. There's a little rest area with a coffee maker and a Coke machine around the corner."
"I'll be right back." Steve left the data center with a nod to the guard at the door. The rest area had a couple of tables and a few chairs, and machines selling soda and candy. He ate two Snickers bars and drank a cup of coffee then headed back to the data center.
He stopped outside the glass doors. Several new people were inside, including a general and two armed military policemen. The general was arguing with Dad, and the colonel with the pencil-line mustache seemed to be speaking at the same time. Their body language made Steve wary. Something bad was happening. He stepped into the room and stood by the door. Instinct told him not to draw attention to himself.
He heard the general say: "I have my orders, Colonel Logan, and you're under arrest."
Steve went cold.
How had this happened? It was not just that they had discovered Dad was peeking at people's medical records. That might be a serious matter, but it was hardly an arresting offense. There was more to this. Somehow Genetico had arranged it.
What should he do?
Dad was saying angrily: "You don't have the right!"
The general shouted back at him: "Don't lecture me about my goddamn rights, Colonel."
There was no point in Steve joining in the argument. He had the floppy disk with the list of names right in his pocket. Dad was in trouble, but he could look after himself. Steve should just get out of there with the information.
He turned and went out through the glass doors.
He walked briskly, trying to look as if he knew where he was going. He felt like a fugitive. He struggled to remember how he had got here through the maze. He turned a couple of corners and walked through a security checkpoint.
"Just a minute, sir!" the guard said.
Steve stopped and turned, heart racing. "Yes?" he said, trying to sound like a busy person impatient to get on with his work.
"I need to log you out on the computer. May I see your identification?"
"Of course." Steve handed over his passport.
The guard checked his picture, then keyed his name into the computer. "Thank you, sir," he said, handing back the passport.
Steve walked away along the corridor. One more checkpoint and he was out.
Behind him he heard the voice of Caroline Gambol. "Mr. Logan! One moment, please!"
He glanced back over his shoulder. She was running along the
corridor behind him, red-faced and puffing.
"Oh, shit," he said.
He darted around a corner and found a staircase. He ran down the steps to the next floor. He had the names that could clear him of the rape charge; he was not going to let anyone stop him getting out of here with the information, not even the U.S. Army.
To leave the building he needed to get to ring E, the outermost. He hurried along a spoke corridor, passing ring C. A golf cart loaded with cleaning materials went by in the opposite direction. When he was halfway to ring D he heard Lieutenant Gambol's voice again. "Mr. Logan!" She was still following him. She shouted down the long, wide corridor. "The general wishes to speak with you!" A man in an air force uniform glanced curiously through an office door. Fortunately there were relatively few people around on a Saturday evening. Steve found a staircase and went up. That ought to slow the pudgy lieutenant.
On the next floor he hurried along the corridor to ring D, followed the ring around two corners, then went down again. There was no further sign of Lieutenant Gambol. He had shaken her off, he thought with relief.
He was pretty sure he was on the exit level. He went clockwise around ring D to the next corridor. It looked familiar: this was the way he had come in. He followed the corridor outward and came to the security checkpoint where he had entered. He was almost free.
Then he saw Lieutenant Gambol.
She was standing at the checkpoint with the guard, flushed and breathless.
Steve cursed. He had not shaken her off after all. She had simply got to the exit ahead of him. He decided to brazen it out.
He walked up to the guard and took off his visitor's badge.
"You can keep that on," Lieutenant Gambol said. "The general would like to speak with you."
Steve put the badge down on the counter. Masking his fear with a show of confidence, he said: "I'm afraid I don't have time. Good-bye, Lieutenant, and thank you for your cooperation."
"I must insist," she said.
Steve pretended to be impatient. "You're not in a position to insist," he said. "I'm a civilian; you can't command me. I've done nothing wrong, so you can't arrest me. I'm not carrying any military property, as you can see." He hoped the floppy disk in his back pocket was not visible. "It would be illegal of you to attempt to detain me."
She spoke to the guard, a man of about thirty who was three or four inches shorter than Steve. "Don't let him leave," she said.
Steve smiled at the guard. "If you touch me, soldier, it will be assault. I'll be justified in punching you out, and believe me, I'll do it."
Lieutenant Gambol looked around for reinforcements, but the only people in sight were two cleaners and an electrician working on a light fixture.
Steve walked toward the entrance.
Lieutenant Gambol cried: "Stop him!"
Behind him he heard the guard shout: "Stop, or I'll shoot!"
Steve turned. The guard had drawn a pistol and was pointing it at him.
The cleaners and the electrician froze, watching.
The guard's hands were shaking as he pointed the gun at Steve.
Steve felt his muscles seize up as he stared down the barrel. With an effort he shook off his paralysis. A Pentagon guard would not fire at an unarmed civilian, he was sure. "You won't shoot me," he said. "It would be murder."
He turned and walked to the door.
It was the longest walk of his life. The distance was only three or four yards, but it felt as if it took years. The skin on his back seemed to burn with anticipation.
As he put his hand on the door, a shot rang out.
Someone screamed.
The thought flashed through Steve's mind He fired over my head, but he did not look back. He flew through the door and ran down the long flight of steps. Night had fallen while he was inside, and the parking lot was lit by street lamps. He heard shouting behind him, then another shot. He reached the bottom of the stairway and veered off the footpath into the bushes.
He emerged onto a road and kept running. He came to a row of bus stops. He slowed to a walk. A bus was pulling up at one of the stops. Two soldiers got off and a woman civilian got on. Steve boarded right behind her.
The bus pulled away.
The bus drove out of the parking lot and onto the expressway, leaving the Pentagon behind.
51
IN A COUPLE OF HOURS JEANNIE HAD COME TO LIKE LORRAINE Logan enormously.
She was much heavier than she seemed in the photograph that appeared at the top of her lonelyhearts column in the newspapers. She smiled a lot, causing her chubby face to crease up. To take Jeannie's mind and her own off their worries, she talked of the problems people wrote to her about: domineering in-laws, violent husbands, impotent boyfriends, bosses with wandering hands, daughters who took drugs. Whatever the subject, Lorraine managed to say something that made Jeannie think, Of course--how come I never saw it that way before?
They sat on the patio as the day cooled, waiting anxiously for Steve and his father to return. Jeannie told Lorraine about the rape of Lisa. "She'll try for as long as she can to act as if it never happened," Lorraine said.
"Yes, that's exactly how she is now."
"That phase can last six months. But sooner or later she'll realize she has to stop denying what happened and come to terms with it. That stage often begins when the woman tries to resume normal sex and finds she doesn't feel the way she used to. That's when they write to me."
"What do you advise?"
"Counseling. There isn't an easy solution. Rape damages a woman's soul, and it has to be mended."
"The detective recommended counseling."
Lorraine raised her eyebrows. "He's a pretty smart cop."
Jeannie smiled. "She."
Lorraine laughed. "We reprove men for making sexist assumptions. I beg you, don't tell anyone what I just did."
"I promise."
There was a short silence, then Lorraine said: "Steve loves you."
Jeannie nodded. "Yeah, I think he really does."
"A mother can tell."
"So he's been in love before."
"You don't miss a trick, do you?" Lorraine smiled. "Yes, he has. But only once."
"Tell me about her--if you think he wouldn't mind."
"Okay. Her name was Fanny Gallaher. She had green eyes and wavy dark red hair. She was vivacious and careless and she was the only girl in high school who wasn't interested in Steve. He pursued her, and she resisted him, for months. But he won her in the end, and they dated for about a year."
"Do you think they slept together?"
"I know they did. They used to spend nights together here. I don't believe in forcing kids to make out in parking lots."
"What about her parents?"
"I talked to Fanny's mother. She felt the same way about it."
"I lost my virginity in the alley behind a punk rock club at the age of fourteen. It was such a depressing experience that I didn't have sexual intercourse again until I was twenty-one. I wish my mother had been more like you."
"I don't think it really matters whether parents are strict or lenient, as long as they're consistent. Kids can live with more or less any set of rules so long as they know what they are. It's arbitrary tyranny that gets them mixed up."
"Why did Steve and Fanny break up?"
"He had a problem....He should probably tell you about it himself."
"Are you talking about the fight with Tip Hendricks?"
Lorraine raised her eyebrows. "He told you! My goodness, he really trusts you."
They heard a car outside. Lorraine got up and went to the corner of the house to look out into the street. "Steve's come home in a taxicab," she said in a puzzled tone.
Jeannie stood up. "How does he look?"
Before Lorraine could answer, he appeared on the patio. "Where's your father?" she asked him.
"Dad got arrested."
Jeannie said: "Oh, God. Why?"
"I'm not sure. I think the Genetico people som
ehow found out, or guessed, what we were up to, and pulled some strings. They sent two military police to grab him. But I got away."
Lorraine said suspiciously: "Stevie, there's something you aren't telling me."
"A guard fired two shots."
Lorraine gave a small scream.
"I think he was aiming over my head. Anyway, I'm fine."
Jeannie's mouth went dry. The thought of bullets being fired at Steve horrified her. He might have died!
"The sweep worked, though." Steve took a diskette from his back pocket. "Here's the list. And wait till you hear what's on it."
Jeannie swallowed hard. "What?" "There aren't four clones." "How come?" "There are eight."
Jeannie's jaw dropped. "Eight of you?"
"We found eight identical electrocardiograms."
Genetico had split the embryo seven times and implanted eight unknowing women with the children of strangers. The arrogance was unbelievable.
But Jeannie's suspicion had been proved. This was what Berrington was so desperate to conceal. When this news was made public, Genetico would be disgraced and Jeannie would be vindicated.
And Steve would be cleared.
"You did it!" she said. She hugged him. Then a snag occurred to her. "But which of the eight committed the rape?"
"We'll have to find out," Steve said. "And that won't be easy. The addresses we have are the places where their parents lived at the time they were born. They're almost certainly out-of-date."
"We can try to track them down. That's Lisa's specialty." Jeannie stood up. "I'd better get back to Baltimore. This is going to take most of the night."
"I'll come with you."
"What about your father? You have to get him out of the hands of the military police."
Lorraine said: "You're needed here, Steve. I'm going to call our lawyer right now--I have his home number--but you'll have to tell him what happened."
"All right," he said reluctantly.
"I should call Lisa before I leave, so she can get ready," Jeannie said. The phone was on the patio table. "May I?"
"Of course."
She dialed Lisa's number. The phone rang four times, then there was the characteristic pause of an answering machine kicking in. "Damn," Jeannie said as she listened to Lisa's message. When it finished she said: "Lisa, please call me. I'm leaving Washington now, I'll be home around ten. Something really important has happened." She hung up.
Steve said: "I'll walk you to your car."
She said good-bye to Lorraine, who hugged her warmly.