Darren Lemke - Gemini Man

Or wasn’t she naked enough?

A cold rage bloomed inside her. She didn’t know what she would do if he went there. But if she just stood in front of him waiting for it she might begin to tremble, and she was goddamned if she would let him see that.

Danny put one thumb under her bra strap and pulled it away from her shoulder slightly, her expression both questioning and hostile. No, she was wrong—she did know what she’d do. Screw the plan.

Clone-Henry shook his head awkwardly, averting his gaze for a moment before he looked at her again and then away, over and over. It was as if he was trying to look at her without looking at her.

The memory of Henry in her bedroom turning his back while she got dressed popped into her mind and suddenly she understood. This wasn’t a power trip for clone-Henry—he was embarrassed. No, it was more than that—he was ashamed.

Good, she thought at him. Suffer, you bastard. And that was only the truth—clones were bastards. They didn’t exactly have mothers, either, which made them double bastards. Maybe she could find some way to work that into the conversation before the night was over.

“Turn around, please,” he said.

Danny made a snappy about-face and allowed herself a fleeting smile of spiteful triumph. Then he came up close behind her and she wished she hadn’t just snapped to and obeyed him like that. She had already yielded to his authority over her by undressing; obeying his next order so promptly told him she accepted him as being in charge. Lesson learned: the next time somebody ordered her to strip at gunpoint and told her to turn around, she was going to flat out refuse. What were they going to do, kill her? If they planned to do that anyway, she didn’t have to make it easy for them.

And the other lesson learned: she was a cockeyed optimist to posit next time when she didn’t even know if she’d survive this time.

Her optimism dwindled considerably when the clone’s Kevlar vest touched her bare back. She forced herself not to flinch as he ran his hands quickly over her body from neck to thighs. But even as he did it, she could sense he was trying to be impersonal, detached, to touch her without touching her the same way he had tried to look at her without looking. He almost managed it… almost. Being impersonal and detached was impossible when you were ashamed of what you were doing in the first place.

It was only when he ran his fingers through her hair that she actually jumped. “I see you like to be thorough,” she said.

“Caution has kept me alive, ma’am,” he said, and she added another week of suffering to his miserable future. “You can get dressed now.”

As soon as she was decent again, he handed her a phone. “Call him.”

Danny hesitated, then decided there was nothing to be gained by giving him a hard time now. She punched in the number; he took the phone back from her and put it on speaker.

It rang once. “Yes?” said Henry.

“In twelve minutes, I’m going to put two bullets into the back of Agent Zakarewski’s head,” clone-Henry said.

Danny all but heard Henry’s blood pressure jump a hundred points. “ Your orders were to deliver her safely—”

“ My orders were to kill you ,” the clone said, and Danny felt a cold chill run down her spine. Their voices were as identical as their faces; it was like listening to Henry argue with himself in the throes of a dissociative breakdown. “Do you know the Quartz Chamber in the catacombs?”

“Oh, hell no,” Henry replied angrily. “We’re doing this someplace visible. Where I can see you.”

“And now we’re at eleven minutes,” the clone said and hung up on him. For all the tough talk, he looked unsettled. Danny wondered if he’d also heard the similarity of their voices. Then he noticed her watching him and motioned at the gate. “We’re going for a ride.”

She added another week to his slow, painful death, just on general principle.

The taxi had an official-looking strip of black and yellow checks under the windows on either side and a light on the roof that said taxi. But Henry’s clone told her it was a hyena , which was some kind of widespread scam aimed mostly at tourists.

“The scam also works on anyone too drunk to see straight,” he said as he motioned at the driver with the Glock. “Yeah, that’s right, buddy, take the rest of the night off. And tomorrow, find a new line of work,” he called after the fleeing man. “Any cab without a company logo showing on the doors or the hood is a hyena,” he went on to Danny. “That’s how you can tell the honest taxis from the scammers. Now get in, you’re driving.” She did so and he climbed into the back seat directly behind her.

“Okay, buddy, where to?” she said with a nervous laugh.

“You’re not a real cab driver,” he said sourly.

“According to you, neither was the guy you chased off,” Danny said evenly. “Either way, you still have to tell me where we’re going if you actually want to get there.”

“Jaki Chapel,” the clone said in a low voice that was practically a growl.

“Jaki Chapel, huh? Sounds nice. You’ll have to direct me,” she told him.

“I can’t do that unless we’re moving.”

Danny started the car and put it in drive. Hungarian taxis weren’t much different from most other cars, although when she shifted gears, it felt like she was using a crowbar to move thick, heavy chunks of metal. Steering was even more of an effort. Fortunately the Budapest streets were deserted at this hour so she was unlikely to hurt anyone except herself and clone-Henry. Most likely herself; she had a feeling this model hadn’t come with airbags.

“Taking this cab was a smart move,” she said after a bit, adjusting the rearview mirror so she could see him. “Where are you from anyway?” His eyes met hers. “Your formality—it sounds Southern to me.”

Clone-Henry looked annoyed. “No disrespect but I’d prefer not to chat just now.”

“There it was again,” she said, stubbornly cheerful. “Georgia? Texas?”

“It’s better if we just don’t talk.”

Danny didn’t ask him if that was because a butcher never made friends with cattle; there was no need to rile him unnecessarily. But she had no intention of making things easy for him, either. She wasn’t cattle.

“Look, if you’re going to use me as bait and possibly murder me, the least you can do is indulge me with some conversation.” She gave his reflection a brief, pointed stare.

The clone let out a heavy, resigned breath. “I was born just outside Atlanta.”

“I knew it!” Danny hit the steering wheel with one hand in triumph. “You and Henry have a lot in common.”

“I doubt that ,” the clone replied.

“You’d be surprised,” she assured him. “You know, I started out surveilling him, too. Then I got to know him. He’s got a big heart.” Pause. “Like you.”

She practically heard his hackles go up. “What would you know about my heart?”

“I know you have one,” she replied. “And I know it’s telling you that something about this job you’ve been given isn’t right .”

There was an almost imperceptible moment of hesitation before he said, “A job’s a job.”

“This is nice, actually,” Danny said as she parked the taxi in front of a church. “Usually when I travel I don’t get to do much sightseeing.” Clone-Henry yanked her out of the driver’s seat without bothering to close the car door. “And I love old churches,” she went on inanely as they went in through the front entrance. “So this is Jaki Chapel. It’s Romanesque. Beautiful. Ow ,” she added as he poked her in the back with the Glock to make her walk faster down the main aisle.