Enemy Chapter Nine

Enemy Me
Author: J Carrell Jones
Table of Content

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Chapter Nine

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Chapter 9

Rick Pearl held a tablet in his hand. On the screen was a slightly hazy image of Dr. Pete Walker. The image showed him behind some large wooden crates. He was wearing some kind of backpack. Rick squinted and rubbed his forehead. It certainly looked like Dr. Pete Walker, but that was impossible. Dr. Walker died years ago. He should know. He was there. Dr. Walker agreed to an interview, but only in public. They met at the then new outdoor restaurant Slaa’mcho. It was 1:30 pm, the sky was clear, traffic was light. He had just asked Dr. Walker about his recent departure from Forever Life, Inc., when, out of nowhere, a car plowed through the sidewalk crowd. The car struck Walker dead center. Rick suffered a broken arm and leg. Rehab took him nearly a year. Walker lost his life. The driver had been an elderly man in his 80s. His car, unimportant, had been a tenth his age, but he let maintenance lapse. The brakes failed and at that moment, karma was paid by a dozen people. Scores of other’s had been spared the burden of payment.
Barbara Tipper sat at the desk next to Rick’s.
He sighed and sat back.
“The Forrest case?” She asked.
He nodded. “It’s maddening,” he leaned forward, “Pete Walker died almost fifteen years ago, yet here he is . . . again.” He turned the tablet so that Barbara can see the image.
“A clone?” She laughed.
He shrugged. “A clone.” He said more to himself and frowned. “He wouldn’t have been able to do it in this country.”
“You sure about that? Madonna cloned herself. And, so did Michae . . .”
“Rumors and not in this country.” He interrupted.
“Money, power, remember?”
He nodded. “The UK. If he did.”
Barbara said, “Well, are you sure it’s Walker?”
He slowly shook his head. “It looks like him. It’ll be a few more days for Forensics to finish.” He pulled the top drawer open and grabbed a blue and yellow wrapped piece of gum with red writing. He untwirled the ends and slipped out a piece of pink bubblegum. The drawer was full of open wrappers. He fished for several more unopened wrappers, looked at the trashcan, and decided to not throw the empty wrappers away. Not yet. He needed the reminder that he was eating too much gum. It would have been alright if he spat the stuff out after chewing away the flavor, but he just couldn’t. It was a habit he started as a kid. Chew, chew, bite a small piece off, swallow it. Over and over again until it was all gone.
Barbara watched as Rick, her partner, popped a piece of bubblegum in his mouth. Smoking was a bitch. Kicking the habit was bitchier. She marked her desk calendar with a line next to lots of other lines and slashes. She was counting the number of times he chewed gum, which in his case swallowed.
Rick slid his finger across the screen. Another image showed. “Pete” ran through a door way. Several guards had walked out earlier.
“Barbara, anything yet on internal cameras?”
Barbara typed at her desktop computer. The monitor was about 24 inches wide and rested flat on her desk. Rick liked the monitor upright. Barbara liked her’s flat. Several text messages popped up on the screen. “Nothing yet . . .” One text message read, “Retired Keycard used.” She tapped out a command. “Interesting.” She queried the computer further. Absentmindedly she said, “How can an expired keycard still work?”
Rick looked up, “Got something?”
“Maybe.” She scrolled through several images. There. Pete Walker. “No way!”
Rick stretched his neck for a better look. He smiled. “Now you think there’s something hinky going on?”
She sent the images and computer text dialog to her printer. Several 4x6 thin white plastic cards slid out of her printer and slid into a tray. Various QVCs, RUL codes and contact morph bumps covered the surface of each card. She slipped the cards into thin open slots on her tablet.
Rick said, “I think we need to take a trip out to the Forever Life Building.”
She nodded.
Rick reached over to his desk phone. He said, “The Captain.”
Seconds later the small screen lit to a grizzled graying man with thick eyebrows. “Kovik, here.”
Rick faced the small monitor, “Captain. Tip and I need to make a run to the Forever Life Building.”
Kovik scowled. “You do?”
Rick nodded. “Questions, sir. Questions.”
Kovik tapped at something off-screen. A few seconds later, “Approved. Micro Forensics is still there. Tell the guard ‘Code Foxtrot Oscar’. Forrest started leaning on the Commander and City Council about an hour ago. We got another five hours to get what we can.” He gave an intense stare into the screen.
Rick gave him a mocking intense stare back, “Understood, sir.”
Kovik snorted, “Out.”
Rick leaned back and smiled.
Barbara said, “You better cut that out. One day the old man is gonna come down here and kick your ass . . .”
“. . . until that time comes I can continue practicing.” He laughed softly. He checked his ID badge, gun, wallet, and keys.
Barbara said, “My turn to drive.”
“Really?
“Really.”
“Alright. Let me get my helmet and kevlar.”
“Fuck you,” she spat.
Rick smiled, “You keep threatening. Put up or shut up.” He laughed.
Barbara stuck her tongue out.
“Insult or offering?”
She shook her head, “I keep falling for that silly shit of yours,” and walked out the door to the garage.
Rick smiled and followed. Tip was stone gay, which made teasing her all the more fun. Once they did kiss. It was kind of weird. Both tried again, admitted it felt good, but decided partners first was better. Neither mentioned it again.

• • • 
      

Forrest had accepted the message from Captain Kovik. He was tempted to deny further visitation. It would have been all on principle if he had, of course, but to what end? He acknowledged the message and replied with “Granted”. Forever Life was on the verge of making hundreds of billions of dollars. This setback was at best a nuisance. Acting like a legitimate investigation was counterproductive to business as usual would drop share points. He had the stockholders to consider. So, by his grace he allowed the police to do their job. He knew what they would find and the firestorm and maelstrom of rumors, speculation, and acquisitions would begin again. Forever Life stocks would drop . . . for a time and then rebound. That in and of itself was good. He’d sell some of his shares during freefall and buy at the bottom. But the issue was Walker. His clones were bites on his ass that never seemed to fade away. Every few years a bite would break skin and the pain would be sharp. Other times the bite felt more like a nibble and tickled. This bite went deep into the hypodermis and drew blood.

Forrest sat behind his desk while the two detectives were led in. He motioned for them to sit in the only two chairs in front of his massive oak desk. “Would you like something to drink?” Forrest asked.
Rick, not one to pass up an offer to taste good booze said yes. Barbara said water.
“Anything in particular, Detective? Troy is very adept.”
“Cognac?”
Forrest’s assistant, Troy, nodded and walked over to a wet bar at one end of the office. He made Mr. Taylor’s usual – Gin and tonic with one Gaeta olive speared by a tooth pick. He dropped several cubes of ice into a frosted glass and topped it with water. For Rick’s drink he poured a generous amount of Louis the XIII into a short glass. He added a bit of club soda and some bitters. He carried the drinks on a tray and handed them out when he reached Forrest’s desk.
Forrest nodded. “I’ll buzz you when the good detectives are ready to leave.”
Troy nodded and walked out with the tray underneath his arms.
Rick sipped his Cognac mix and savored the smooth burn down his throat.
Forrest sipped at his drink, “So Detectives, how may I be of service?”
Barbara watched Forrest and noted he was almost too cool. His breathing was steady at 10 breaths per minute. She could not tell his pulse but she figured it was low. His bio showed that he ran quarter marathons five days a week and swam Olympic like performances on the weekends in his super-sized pool. He was the fifteenth richest man in the world, but didn’t overly flaunt it. He paid his workers well, gave great bonuses at the end of the year, and seldom threw parties. He lived alone – that is as much alone as a billionaire and a mansion full of servants who fulfilled his needs twenty-four seven. He never married, but dated some of the most famous men and women Hollywood produced.
“Clones.”
Forrest never blinked. “Clones are illegal in this country?”
“Have you seen the video feeds from today?”
“I haven’t, but you have?”
Rick nodded. “It’s very interesting. In one frame there is an image of the suicide bomber. . .”
“Bastard.” Forrest spat.
Barbara wasn’t sure if it was anger toward the bomber or what it cost him in delays. She instinctively knew it wasn’t for loss of life. Barbara pulled a 4x6 plastic sheet from her tablet. She handed it to Forrest. He placed the sheet face down on a spot on his desk. The image lit up on his monitor. Clearly it was an image of Pete Walker. And of himself before he made changes. He passed the sheet back to Barbara. “It looks like Pete, but it is not him.”
Rick said, “How do you know?”
“Because I oversaw Pete’s burial myself. Pete was my brother . . .”
Rick nodded. Twins. Separated at birth, which he never really bought into. Pretty rare to have a twin that was exact in height. There was not one copy number variant. Not one. And that was statistically never going to happen. But everyone played alone. Some in the news media hinted at it, but no one really pushed the issue. The far right didn’t nor did the far left. But everyone knew the Walkers were the reason why Congress had passed a rare bipartisan bill preventing full bodied cloning in America. Parts and organs could be cloned, but not a whole person to full term. “Yes, sir, I understand. But, clearly this individual looks like Pete Walker, he . . .”
“Can’t be explained,” Forrest said.
Rick took a sip from his glass and decided not to push it. “Do you know your enemies personally?”
Forrest paused in mid thought. Of course he did. One can’t be as rich and powerful as he was without having to crush one or two lives. Climbing the ladder involves stepping on rungs. Who’s to say how easy it is to avoid the fingers of others wrapped around said rungs. “Detective, I have plenty of enemies. Rivals, too. Pharmaceutical drugs is a billion annually earned business. Forever Life, Inc. by its very nature survives by the attritions of others. So, the list of people and corporate entities who hate me and the company is probably very long.”
Rick nodded, “Is it possible to get a list of names, addresses, and numbers or companies who may hate you enough to send in a suicide bomber?”
Forrest thought for a moment. He pressed an intercom button on his desk. “Troy, please prepare a PDS sheet from the CiTC folder.”
A few moments later Troy walked in holding a thin white plastic 4x6 card. He handed it to Barbara. She slipped the PDS into her tablet and grunted. “No kidding, very long.”
Rick said, “The keycard that had been used was Pete Walker’s expired keycard.” He let that hang in the air.
Forrest refused to take the bait. “Interesting.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
Forrest nodded, “What would you like me to say?”
Both men remained silent for a time.
Barbara cleared her throat and started getting up, “Mr. Taylor, thank you for your time. If you don’t mind we’d like to make a pass at the damaged floor.”
Forrest slowly broke eye contact with Rick, “Why of course.” He look toward Rick, “I’ll have Troy escort you.”
Rick got up slowly, nodded, and said, “Thank you.”
Forrest gave him a nod and pressed the intercom button. “Troy, please escort the good detectives to the RDC.”
The door opened. Troy waited for Barbara and Rick to reach him.
After the detectives left Forrest swung his chair toward to the large window. He stared at his reflection. “Even after all these years, Brother, you torment me. May you give me rest from sins we both committed?”

Rick and Barbara followed Troy to the elevator that would take them to RDC. Several guards snapped to attention as the three walked passed. “Excuse me, Troy. May I ask you a question?” Rick spoke.
Troy gave him a side glance, but didn’t answer.
Rick smiled. “I’ll take you’re not saying ‘no’ as a ‘yes’.”
Troy continued to walk.
“Do you like working for Mr. Taylor?”
Troy stopped. Turned to face Rick fully. “I am paid extraordinarily well. The benefits are dream like. Mr. Taylor is not a tyrant. What do you think?”
Rick said, “Fair enough. Did you know his brother Pete Walker?”
Troy started walking to the elevator. “Not personally.”
The doors parted and all three entered.
Troy leaned into a retina scanner and said, “RDC”
Several lights on the elevator wall panel flashed green.
Barbara felt the smooth acceleration as the elevator descended the distance to the RDC. She counted 20 seconds. Must be about 80 stories down, which was about right given the visible damage observed from the ground. Forrest’s office was near the top, the damage was about a third from the bottom. The doors opened and Troy lead the two out, down a long corridor to an area that was akin to a warzone. Twisted and mangled metal poles jetted out randomly. Concrete walls with large holes seemed to be on the verge of collapse filled the landscape. Bright yellow Caution tape stretched across an opening to the side. All three stepped underneath the tape and walked toward a small knot of three individuals hunched over a particularly dark spot – there were a dozen scattered throughout the room along the floor and walls. This spot was about twenty feet wide. The Micro Forensics team collectively looked up as Troy, Barbara and Rick approached. Rick flashed his badge. The team went back to work.
One said, “Not flash bang.” His nametag read “Thompson”.
The second one, female, was wearing a helmet of sorts. Her name tag read “Smekhov”. Two large goggle linked lens protruded from the front. Rick thought “Steampunk”, changed his mind. “Animapunk” would had fit better. The third person, male, was holding a tablet out in front of him. His name tag read “Anosov”.
Smekhov said “found it. Spec shows Pent.”
Anosov slid his finger across the tablet screen. He whispered “pent”. The screen brightened then dimmed to show a chart of colored lines. He nodded. “High grade.” The screen changed again. “Res in down to a millapic on that grain.”
Smekhov whispered something into her helmet mike. “It’s pure.”
Anosov nodded, “Surpasses Chi grade.”
Rick frowned, “And that means?”
Thompson looked up, “Means we’re fucked if this stuff can be made at high volume. We’ll have a better estimate later but this one big black spot was caused by a thumbnail sized device.”
Silence hung between them.
Thompson continued, “The walls were ten feet thick, reinforced with high tensile-compression strength composites.”
To underscore his words wind blew in from several gaping holes, at various points along the outside walls, and stirred up loose paperwork that survived the blast. Troy rushed to collect the papers before the wind carried them outside.
“It’s a wonder the main blast hadn’t taken out the floors above and below us.”
Rick said, “Main blast?”
Anosov said, “These black spots are probably caused by those thumbnail grenades. The extreme damage we see around us was caused by one large, final blast.”
Rick thought a bit.
Barbara ventured, “So our bomber gained access into this room, tossed around ‘grenades’ . . .” she spread her hands out and made quotes signs in the air, “. . . and then blew himself up?”
All three shrugged. Smekhov took off her helmet. Blond hair unfolded onto her shoulders. “Don’t know . . . yet. P&R finished mapping a few hours ago. Once a GramVid is created we’ll be able to get a probable sequence of events. Give’em 40 hours, maybe more.”
Rick asked, “And your finds?”
The three looked at one another, faced Rick and Barbara, and said in unison, “24 hours. We need sleep and nourishment.” All three slowly smiled simultaneously.
Rick and Barbara thought that moment a bit creepy. Troy stopped in mid step. A piece of paper with burnt edges flew passed his face, reached the outside and blew off in the distance.
Thompson said, “Well, we do need sleep.”
Rick nodded and took a step back.
Barbara followed and Troy cleared his throat. “Detectives, anything else I may be able to help you with?”
Rick said, “Can you tell us . . .” His voice trailed off as he noticed about a dozen men in dark suits standing throughout the room. He hadn’t noticed them when he first entered, or even when he looked around earlier. “How long have they been here?”
Without looking Troy answered, “They’ve always been here.”
Rick frowned.
Smekhov said, “It is true. It’s Forever Life Security.”
The three looked at one another again and in unison said slowly, “They watch over us.” The identical smiles returned.
Rick and Barbara paused.
Troy said, “If I am not needed I’ll leave you to finish up. One of the Security Units will escort you to the lift when you are done.”
Barbara looked up to where Troy was pointing at. She finally noticed Security. Over a dozen scattered throughout the floor pressed closed to the many shadows across the room. “Now that’s creepy.”
Rick cleared his voice. “Hey, Troy! Wait up. We’re done.” Rick turned and started walking to the door. “I’ll catch up with you guys sometime tomorrow.” He almost bumped into Barbara as both walked a bit too fast.
Thompson and the others faced the retreating group and in unison said, “That would be nice. See you tomorrow.” Their voice combined to hit a resonating discord. He watched as Troy, Rick, and Barbara walked out. All the while a half dozen security units monitored their progress. Once the door closed Thompson let out a laugh. “That was the funniest shit we ever pulled off.”
Anosov and Smekhov joined him.
Smekhov said, “Did you see when Troy stopped and that piece of paper nearly hit him in the face?”
Anosov replied, “I had a hard time NOT laughing. Guys we’re gonna have to make up more of these.”

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