Duplicate Effort Part 35

Romey shrugged. "Let them think the case is closed. It's easier for us. We'll spin some story about him being a disgruntled Whitford employee, and Bowles got caught in the cross fire."

"Won't that hurt at trial?"

"You think there's going to be a trial?" Romey asked.

Nyquist closed his eyes. Of course there wouldn't be a trial. Illiyitch would make a deal-not as good a deal as Nyquist offered him, but one all the same-and they'd get the useless contact information. Then they'd keep the file open for decades. Periodically, someone would poke at it and see if they could find anything.

"You can't give up," Romey said.

Nyquist opened his eyes. "I'm not giving up," he said. "I have to remind myself I am having a good day. I arrested Justinian Wagner on kidnapping charges, charges that could stick with some effort on the part of the prosecutors and with the right judge. I've resolved two cases in less than twelve hours, and all that in my first week back. I'm even going to make friends with the press. That's a good day." "That's a stellar day." Romey smiled at him. "You're d.a.m.n good. I don't say that lightly. Any time you want an affair . . ."

He smiled back. "I'll call you."

58.

"You know," Van Alen said, "sometimes taking your mind off things helps your subconscious come up with a solution."

Flint knew that. He also knew he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about Gramming while he ate rich food and talked with his daughter.

His cloned daughter.

Whom he hadn't paid for.

So he knocked on the bathroom door, told her in a loud voice that the food was here, then went to Van Alen's networked computer.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What you wanted me to," he said. "I'm going to look into your power glitch."

And think about something else for a little while.

He settled into the chair behind Van Alen's desk and leaned forward, touching the screen to scroll back through the last few hours.

In a wave of steam and perfume, Talia came out of the bathroom. Flint looked up. She was wearing a long dress, belted at the waist. Grown-up clothing. Her hair was pulled back and her face, freshly scrubbed, looked vibrant.

His heart stopped for just a moment. She looked like an adult.

And he found that he didn't want that yet. He didn't want her to grow up any faster. She had already aged years today. He'd seen that in her eyes.

He had promised her she'd be safe in Armstrong and then the day's events had replayed the horror she'd experienced the day her mother had been kidnapped.

"I'm not that hungry," Talia said.

Van Alen was helping an a.s.sistant put food on the conference table near the window.

"None of us are," Van Alen said. "But food is a great comforter. Let's soothe our bodies and maybe we'll feel better. Right, Miles?"

He didn't want to go over there. He didn't want to have a discussion.

"Just bring me something," he said.

"I can help you," Talia said, looking at the activated screen, which now showed mostly code. "Everything on that computer is confidential," Van Alen said.

So long as no one broke into the network. And someone had. But Flint was wise enough not to correct her.

"So? My dad doesn't work for you," Talia said. "We trade services. He can keep secrets."

"So can I." Talia sounded sullen but she walked to the table, anyway. She grabbed an apple, sat down, and surveyed the feast before her.

Van Alen filled a plate for Flint, mostly finger food. She'd seen him do this before. He decided to ignore both of them. Instead he focused on the screen.

Van Alen's maintenance people had managed to trace some of the information. They'd plugged the leak and done everything that Flint had told them to do.

But they hadn't been able to see where the problem had come from. It didn't take him long to find it.

Whoever had invaded Van Alen's systems had done so rather crudely. They'd used the power glitch to invade, but had isolated the glitch so that it distracted the people in the office while leaving the network up.

That had shown some planning and a knowledge of Van Alen's systems.

Then a search program, not nearly as refined as the one he'd designed to go through Paloma's files, had slid into Van Alen's systems. The maintenance team had managed to disable the search program, so that it didn't send messages back to its host.

But Flint didn't care about that. He wanted to see what the search parameters were. Most of them were simple: anything with Bowles's identification on it, anything to do with WSX, and anything to do with Justinian Wagner.

But there were two other things that caught Flint's attention. The word Gramming Gramming and the word and the word clone clone. His hands were shaking now. He worked faster. He decided to enable part of the host program, to see where the information would go.

The trace was simple because he knew what he was looking for.

It went back to a computer system that had an anonymous identification code. But all computers also had manufacturers codes unless they were rebuilds like Flint's. He looked at the manufacturer's code, then traced it to the buyer.

Gramming Corporation.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," he said.

His daughter and Van Alen both looked at him.

"I think I know who killed Ki Bowles," he said. "And why." "Excellent," Van Alen said. "Let's get the police on it and finish our meal."

Flint shook his head. He needed to think about this. Particularly the families, like the ones raising the other clones, the missing copies of Emmeline.

Yes, they had paid for those girls, but they were also raising them in an existing family, and had done so for years. He'd seen how shattered Talia had been to discover, not just how her mother betrayed her, but also how empty she felt when she realized she was a manufactured person rather than one born the natural way.

She was still coping with it. "It's not quite that simple," he said to Van Alen. He knew he would have to explain it. Then he would need some kind of solution.

He disabled the tracking system, then shut it down, and turned off Van Alen's computer. He picked up his plate and went back to the table.

"Let me explain my dilemma," he said to Van Alen and his daughter. "Maybe you guys can help me figure out exactly what to do."

59.

When her dad finished talking, Talia got up from the table. Van Alen had been wrong. Food didn't soothe. Talia's stomach was queasy from everything she'd eaten.

Or maybe it was what her dad had said-how the other girls would learn that their family wasn't their real family and they weren't real people.

Just like she had.

Only maybe their families-or the people they thought were their families-wouldn't be as accepting of clones as her dad was.

She remembered how it felt: She hadn't felt real after learning that she was a copy of someone else. Sometimes she still didn't feel real. Sometimes she felt like a pale imitation of that baby she'd seen in her dad's arms, the one he still mourned, the one he'd named his s.h.i.+p after.

And he was trying.

Imagine if the other parents didn't.

"It seems straightforward to me," Van Alen said. "If what you found is accurate, then someone at Gramming-probably the CEO-has ordered the death of at least one person. The security guard with Ki Bowles was probably collateral damage."

"He would still be responsible for the guard's death," Talia's dad said.

"Yes," Van Alen said. "And if he knows that we know his secret, then we might be in danger as well. You have to turn him in."

"And destroy countless lives." Talia's dad pushed his plate away. "You said not everybody that went through the adoption process at Gramming was bought," Talia said. "Just a few, right? The rest paid normal fees, right?"

"That's right," her dad said.

"What if we don't turn Gramming in for murder?" Talia said. "What if you turn them in for something else, like-what's it called when you steal money from your own company?"

"Embezzlement," Van Alen said. "The punishment isn't nearly severe enough."

"And there's not enough here without revealing the sales," her dad said. Then he frowned. "But you might be on to something, Talia. There are several crimes here. Including tampering with the power systems in the dome."

"Which is considered an act of terrorism," Van Alen said. She was smiling.

Talia came back to the table. She wasn't exactly sure why that had cheered them both up. "I'll let Noelle know," her dad said.

"Why?" Talia asked. "What does that mean?"

Van Alen picked up her gla.s.s. It was full of wine that Talia's dad wouldn't let her have.

"Ever since the dome bombing," Van Alen said, "acts of terrorism have special status in the United Domes. All of the domes have pa.s.sed laws saying that anyone tampering with dome systems-life-enhancing systems, like the power grid-are attempting ma.s.s murder. They've beefed up not just the punishments, but the liberties the law can take in arrests."

"They can seize everything in a home or an office if someone in those places has committed an act of terrorism," Talia's dad said.

He sounded pleased.

Van Alen's smile faded. "You know, I've been protesting these new laws for years. I think they're harmful."

"But they exist," Talia's dad said. "So we're going to use them. I'll contact Noelle."

Talia still wasn't sure she followed everything. "What will she do?"

"She'll make an arrest in the name of the United Domes," Talia's dad said. "She'll make sure no one ever comes after us."

"And maybe," Van Alen said, "no one will ever know why the CEO of Gramming invaded the public power grid."

Talia's dad nodded. "No one will even care."

"I will," Talia said. "The records will be open to anyone. Do you know how many families will be destroyed?"

"Yeah." Her dad looked serious. "Which is why I'm going to ask to go along on any arrest. I'll make sure the information disappears, Talia. No one will know."

"Except us," Van Alen said.

60.

DeRicci stared at the information in front of her. It made no sense-and she'd already interrogated her techs about it.

The glitches could all be traced back to an adoption agency. One computer inside that agency caused all the problems.

And the techs told her they believed the problems were deliberate.

She cupped her cheeks with her hands and rested her elbows on her desk. Sometimes she felt buried in too much information.

She'd found-on her own-that some of the glitches were tied to crime reports. One happened near the time that Roshdi Whitford was murdered. Another near a break-in at a bank, although all that was stolen were transaction records. Not account numbers, not identifying information, not even pa.s.swords.

Just a few transaction records.

The bank's backups didn't have them, but one of the officers claimed that judging by the size of the whole in the transaction record, the information removed was probably for a sizable deposit or withdrawal.

Or both.

Normally, DeRicci would think that someone was covering his tracks, but so far, it made no sense. Maybe the trail to the adoption agency was a false one.

Or maybe one of the employees had another agenda, one that had nothing to do with children. Her links beeped at her. She had an incoming visual contact.

It was from Miles Flint.

He rarely used visuals. That, more than the urgent tag he'd put on the contact, made her answer.