Elizabeth Hand - 12 Monkeys

Now it was Jeffrey’s turn to scowl, staring in disbelief at the man standing beside him. “ What are you talking about?” he said loudly. “What friend? I’m not expecting anyone.”

Heads turned to see what the disturbance was. Dr. Goines frowned, irritated at being interrupted. He raised a hand and went on, even louder than before.

“Current genetic engineering as well as my own work with viruses has presented us with powers as terrifying as any—”

With an apologetic look at the woman beside him, Jeffery got up from his seat. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbled. His chair squeaked noisily and he knocked over a dessert spoon. “My father is making a major address .”

He followed the man into a dimly lit hallway leading to the library. “Plus,” Jeffrey went on heatedly, “you Secret Service guys, I thought it was your job to screen people.”

The agent stared resolutely ahead of them. “Normally if we caught a guy sneaking around like this with no ID, we’d bust his ass, excuse the French. But his one said he knows you —” the agent smirked and, since you seem to have had some, uh, unusual, uh — associates — we certainly didn’t want to arrest one of your, uh, closest pals .”

They found the library. Its heavy mahogany doors were open, showing off a man-high arrangement of oriental lilies in glowing shades of orange, crimson, yellow. Only a few ambient lights were on, illuminating a gallery of small Illuminist paintings, a glass case holding rare books. In a leather wingback chair by the fireplace sat James Cole, staring at the floor. His arms and flannel shirt were smeared with dirt and car grease. Behind him another black-suited agent stood guard. Jeffrey crossed the room, absently fiddling with his bow tie. He gave Cole a cursory glance, then turned to go.

“Never saw him before in my life,” he said, stifling a yawn, and shot the two agents a parting look. “Now I’m going back and listen to my father’s very eloquent discourse on the perils of science while you torture this intruder to death — or whatever it is you guys do,” he finished, stepping out the door.

Cole lifted his head. “I’m here about some monkeys.”

Jeffrey froze. For a moment he was silent. Then:

“Excuse me — what did you say?”

“Monkeys,” Cole repeated. He got to his feet. “Twelve of them.”

Jeffrey frowned, studying Cole. Suddenly, with a cry, he ran across the room and embraced him.

“Arnold! Arnold .”

Cole looked at him in astonishment. So did the two Secret Service agents. Jeffrey drew back, his hands still on Cole’s arms, and considered him more carefully. “My God, Arnie, what’s happened to you? You look like shit!”

One of the agents eyed Cole dubiously. “You know this man?”

Jeffrey glared at him. “Of course I know him. What do you think — I act like this to strangers? ” He turned back to Cole. “Christ, Arnie, it’s black tie! I mean, I said ‘drop by,’ but, like, this is Dad’s big ‘do’! VIPs, senators, Secret Service — the whole ball of wax.”

He threw an arm over Cole’s shoulder, nearly sending Cole off balance, and started leading him to the door. The two agents exchanged narrow-eyed looks.

“Arnie?” one repeated.

Jeffrey gave him a fetching smile. “Arnold Pettibone. Old Arnie Pettibone,” he said fondly, punching Cole’s arm. “Used to be my best friend. Still is.” He pinched Cole’s cheek. “What’ve you lost, Arnie? — forty pounds? No wonder I don’t know you. You hungry?”

With a grin Jeffrey steered him into the hall. Cole limped beside him, occasionally putting a hand against the wall to keep himself straight and leaving a trail of dark smudges. “We got all kinds of food,” Jeffrey babbled cheerily. “Lots of dead cow, dead lamb, dead pig. Real killer feast we’re putting on tonight!”

The Secret Service agents watched them go down the hall, disheveled Cole supported by Jeffrey in his new tux.

“These people — all of ‘em — are true weirdos!”

The other agent nodded, unamused. “I’m gonna call in a description of this ‘Pettibone’ character. You go keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t do one of the guests with a fork.”

At the end of the hallway, guests were pouring from the dining hall. Cole stared at them with rising panic, but Jeffrey waved at them gleefully.

“Hey, nice ta see ya! Lookin’ good! Hi there. Yes, it has been a long time…”

He maneuvered Cole adroitly through the crowd toward a grand, sweeping staircase that circled up through the mansion’s three stories. Behind them, moving with great care through the elegant mob, a Secret Service agent observed the two warily.

“…yeah, it’s been a slice! Ta, darling!” Jeffrey wiggled the fingers of his free hand at a departing guest, then turned his megawatt gaze on Cole. “County Hospital, right?” he whispered excitedly. “1990. The ‘Immaculate Escape’… am I right?”

Cole shook his head. “Listen to me. I can’t do anything about what you’re going to do. I can’t change anything. I can’t stop you. I just want some information.”

Jeffrey nodded eagerly. “ We need to talk ,” he said, his voice suddenly ripe with conspiracy. “Come on. Upstairs—”

A passing guest eyed them curiously as Jeffrey led Cole up the grand staircase. Jeffrey stopped, flinging his arms up in a triumphant “V” for victory.

“I am a new person!” he cried. “I’m completely adjusted! Witness the tux—” He tugged proudly at his lapels. “ Designer .” The guest hurried in the opposite direction, and Jeffrey lowered his head beside Cole’s.

“Who chattered?” he whispered. “Bruhns? Weller?”

Cole’s burning eyes were as intense as Jeffrey’s. “I just need to have access to the pure virus, that’s all!” he said desperately. “For the future!”

Jeffrey paused, did a double take. He narrowed his eyes, taking in Cole’s frantic expression, his torn clothes and injured leg.

“Come on, follow me,” he said at last, shaking his head. “You don’t look so good.”

Cole let Jeffrey lead him, but cast frequent looks backward, to where the crowd was thinning out. Near the dining room door the two Secret Service agents stood, staring at Cole with undisguised interest. The took a deep breath and turned back to Jeffrey.

“I need to know where it is and exactly what it is.”

Jeffrey nodded excitedly. “I get it! This is your old plan, right?”

“Plan?” Cole’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Remember? We were in the dayroom, watching TV, and you were all upset about the desecration of the planet. And you said to me, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if there was a germ or a virus that could wipe out mankind and leave the plants and animals just as they are?’ You do remember that, don’t you?”

Cole frowned, swiped at a bead of sweat trickling down his face. “You’re — you’re trying to confuse me.”

Jeffrey moved faster up the stairs, his voice rising. “And that’s when I told you my father was this famous virologist and you said, ‘Hey, he could make a germ and we could steal it!’”

Cole grabbed him, so that Jeffrey thudded into the banister. “The thing mutates!” he said through clenched teeth. “We live underground! The world belongs to the dogs and cats. We’re like moles or worms. All we want to do is study the original—”

A steely grip suddenly locked onto Cole’s shoulder and spun him around.

“Okay, take it easy. We know who you are, Mr. Cole.”