Cookie Cutter Man (18 page)

“Oh Daniel,” she sobbed. The phone dropped to the floor and
she sat there, dismal and alone, working up the nerve for what she knew she was
going to do.

She couldn’t give up, she couldn’t be afraid, and she
would
not
lose him the way she’d lost her baby.

*****

Daniel sat in his car, up the street a ways from the huge
dwelling built into the side of the hill.

You’re not seriously considering this, are you? Killing a
perfect stranger? The man’s just a scientist.

He’s the devil, Daniel thought. He’s Big Brother.

You need to get to a doctor.

He’s the one that’s been watching me.

Daniel drove up the spacious, shady lane, peering at the
grandiose castle between the trees. The tool inside the guard kiosk jerked his
head out of an off-road magazine when Daniel honked his horn.

“Grant Hicks. I have an appointment with Mr. O’Brien.”

The guard checked his list. “He’s expecting you.”

The large iron gate whispered on its track and Daniel drove
up the curved drive, parking his car in front of the house.

The door opened before he reached it and a sallow-faced
butler appeared on the stoop.

“Mr. Hicks?” Jeeves presumed.

Daniel nodded.

“I’ll show you to Mr. O’Brien’s outer chamber, Mr. Hicks.
He’ll buzz you in when he’s ready.”

“Well, I doubt I’ll occupy Mr. O’Brien for very long. I just
have a few questions; I got most of what I needed from the press kit,” Daniel
said.

The butler goose-stepped through the house, yammering on
about having the same closet-case interior decorator as British royalty and
pointing out the 17th-century original who-gives-a-shit on the wall. They went
up a flight of stairs and down another long, over-decorated corridor.

The weight of Daniel’s gun in his shoulder holster was
comforting in a cold way. It laid like a hand above his heart in a way his
mother’s never had.

They reached the outer chamber and the butler seated Daniel
in an antique chair next to double doors of finest mahogany, hand-carved, of
course. A bitter hate bubbled in Daniel’s stomach.

The butler let his master know the reporter was waiting, and
Daniel heard the reply from within.

“Man of the year, Jeffery! Can you believe it? And it’s
about goddamned time!”

“Yes sir,” Jeffery the butler said.

When he’d called yesterday after leaving the safe house,
Jeffery was the last person Daniel had spoken to after being slowly transferred
up the chain of command, repeating his cover story again and again. A true
stroke of luck; that was what Jeffrey had called his timing, as Mr. O’Brien was
due to leave town in a few days for a conference in Geneva.

There was another moment of mumbled conversation from within
the study that Daniel couldn’t catch. He leaned away from the door just as it
opened; the butler showed him in and left.

There he was, the enemy, lounging in his mansion, wearing
tailor-made slacks and a nice jacket, his various machinations coming to a
zenith at this point in time.

“Mr. O’Brien?” Daniel asked with a gushing, subservient
grin. He was enjoying this perhaps a bit too much. “It is a
pleasure
to
finally meet you, sir!” He jabbed his hand out in what he hoped was an
overeager, I’m-your-number-one-fan way, and O’Brien shook it. Daniel forced his
gorge back down at the touch of the cool, powdered hand.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Hicks. Although I expected the
magazine to send someone a little older ...”

Cocksucker, Daniel thought. “Normally they would have, sir,
but I happened to be kind of an expert on you, so—”

“Really? Why an expert on me?” O’Brien’s ego was a rabid,
starving beast.

Daniel fed it.

“Well, sir, because I happen to believe you’re one of the
most fascinating people that ever lived. I mean, no
10 men
have given
half as much to science and society as
you
.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose that’s true. Just doing my duty as a
citizen.”

Daniel felt his eye twitch involuntarily from the hypocrisy
of it all. He set his tape recorder down and took a step back, looking around
the high ceilings of the study. He was near enough to a bookshelf to read a few
of the many titles:
Study of Man; The Art of War
.

“Let me just cue this up ...” Daniel stalled, pretending to
rewind the tape in his recorder, taking another look at the bookshelf.
Another
Evolution: Homo Mechanis
; interesting.
Biomechanical Theory
; very
interesting indeed. Next to the bookshelf was a framed drawing, Michelangelo’s
man/anatomy study.

Daniel stopped the recorder and turned. “I’d like to ask a
few questions, if I may?”

“Of course. Fire away.” O’Brien smiled, superior and benign.

I intend to, Daniel thought, and had to restrain from
pulling his gun. “Great!” he said in lieu of immediate homicide. “Mr. O’Brien,
tell me, how do you feel about evolution?”

“Evolution is the only way a species or even a single
organism can survive.”

“Do you believe there’s a God?” Daniel pushed the small mic
toward O’Brien, having no idea if it was actually recording or not.

“Perhaps there
was
, Mr. Hicks, but I think he may
have retired quite some time ago. And now it’s up to man to pick up where God
left off, so to speak. We must continue to advance ourselves not only as a
society, but as a species as well. If we can speed that up a little, isn’t it
our duty to the human race?”

Unsure if he was expected to answer the man’s question,
Daniel asked another of his own.

“Mr. O’Brien, I’m sure you’ve heard religious extremists say
that science tampers with, or impedes, man’s belief in God ... so at what point
do you feel science crosses the moral line and enters a realm that’s better
left alone?” Daniel could feel his hatred for the man boiling up, like an
itching behind his eyes.

“I’ve heard that quite a lot, actually. But I think the
fanatics have it reversed ... I feel man’s fear of God gets in the way of
science. Science helps us get closer to our creator, allows us to fully realize
the knowledge he blessed us with.”

“But wasn’t knowledge the forbidden fruit?”

O’Brien twitched. “If we all lived according to the Bible we
wouldn’t have made it past the 15th century.”

“Gee, that sounds a tad fanatical too, don’t you think?”
Daniel took his first real jab at the bastard, and damn! Did it feel fine.

“Not at all, Mr. Hicks, and if you wish to continue this
interview, I suggest you keep your own opinions out of it.” O’Brien’s face
flushed a bit, and the look in his eyes was that of a wasp; filled with a
buzzing, pointless fury.

Daniel nodded, never taking his eyes off the natural
predator he was talking to. “Now, we all know you’ve got your fingers in a
whole shitload of pies, no?”

Maxwell O’Brien’s face got even redder. “Wh-what do you
mean?”

“My sources tell me you’ve been growing skin in a dish, is
that right?”

“Uh, well, yes, but for use in skin grafts and regenerative
therapy, such as cases of severe burns and—”

“You ever grafted that skin onto something besides a
person?” Daniel asked. The tension between them was growing into an almost
tangible being.

“I’m afraid I can’t ans—”

“Fair enough. Next question: cloning. I understand you’re
involved in it?”

“Of course I am. I’m a scientist.”

“Some people seem to think you’ve already cloned humans, Mr.
O’Brien. Some people think you’ve been doing it for years.”

“Really? And who thinks that?” They were now circling each
other; perhaps they weren’t even aware of it.

“
I
think that. I
know
it.”

“You do?” O’Brien’s eyes widened, just a touch ... and was
that a glimmer of recognition Daniel saw in his eyes?

“Yes. Now, tell me, Maxi, how’s it feel to be the man that
helped take away the freedom of the average American citizen?”

“
Excuse
me?”

“You heard me. I know about
all
of it. The Company,
the cybernetics ... the goddamn
child
safari—”

“How in the fuck did you come to know about that?” O’Brien’s
voice was like a slug along the edge of a razor blade. His smile collapsed, as
if the muscles had been cut, and his skin went at least three shades paler.

“Oh, somebody left the door open, and the wrong dogs came
home.” Daniel said, and then finally scratched the itch; he dropped the
recorder and pulled the gun. Having it in his hands, he knew he was doing
justice. Daniel leveled the gun and O’Brien’s hands went up a little, but his
eyes were all offense and strategy. He absolutely could not be trusted.

“And your butler showed me the way in, Max. How’s that for
fucking irony?” Daniel cackled and fought to keep control.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” O’Brien sounded almost amused, but
there was hate in his beady industrialist eyes.

“Your ego got you killed. Man of the year. I don’t believe
you swallowed that shit.”

O’Brien grinned, trying to show his cool. “I take it you’re
not really from Time, are you?”

“No, there’s already enough violence in the media.” Daniel
shrugged, the banter making the acid in his stomach bubble. He wasn’t sure if
he wanted to laugh or vomit.

“You
are
him,” O’Brien repeated. “The one
They
were supposed to be keeping an eye on.” O’Brien’s voice was low and deadly
before switching gears. “Did you know him? Simon, I mean?”

“I knew him. I saw your men murder him.”

“What a sad story.” O’Brien laughed and Daniel racked the
slide, leveled the gun, and was about to pull the trigger.

“
Stop
!” O’Brien cried, finally showing real fear.
“What’ll it take? I can give you money. I can give you anything you ask for,
just tell me—”

“You can’t buy this one, Maxi. Today you’re going to die.”

“Work for me! You’re the best we’ve ever seen, a few rough
edges aside ... but that’s just a matter of training.”

“You know I have to kill you.”

“I suppose you do. Too bad. You would have made a hell of a
corporate spy.” O’Brien chuckled.

The voice in Daniel’s head spoke up.
If you pull that
trigger your life is over.

My life is over if I don’t, Daniel thought.

“You can’t kill me!” O’Brien pounded his chest. “I
invented
this technology! You don’t think I took any precautions?”

“Let’s find out.” Daniel pulled the trigger. O’Brien’s head
rocked back; his body collapsed to the floor. The only noise was the hysteric
screams of the help somewhere in the house. Daniel drew his back-up pistol and
kept both guns at the ready.

Maxwell O’Brien stood up, a hole just above his left
eyebrow, a flap of bloody skin hanging forward.

Daniel could see the slug lodged in the silvery Kevlar
skull. “Oh fuck me,” he gasped.

“I intend to.” O’Brien grinned and pulled a gun from his
coat. Daniel fired three more times, grouping his shots into O’Brien’s silicon
heart. The older man staggered back, steadying himself on his thousand-dollar
leather chair. The priceless original painting behind the oversized marble desk
was spattered with blood and whatever other liquids you might find in a non-man
such as this.

The distant screaming in the house was now accompanied with
the butler’s gloved fist pounding the locked door from the hall.

Daniel looked at O’Brien, whose head turned to that of an
insect. He wasn’t a man or a cyborg or anything right now except a massive fly
in slacks and a nice jacket. Daniel emitted a scrawled note of horror as his
brain bled forth these images.

The O’Brien-bug tried to talk and its buzzing voice filled
Daniel’s head. Daniel started shooting, unaware of the screams coming from his
own mouth. The cadence of dual gunfire was deafening in the over-decorated
room, but it was one of the last peaceful moments Daniel had in his head, for
during this terrible thunder the voices were silenced and buried.

How many shots had he fired? He had no idea.

Then Daniel blinked and it was no longer a bug, just a man
covered in blood and punched with holes, finally falling over and not getting
up.

“Told ya,” Daniel said and headed for the huge plate glass
window, putting the guns back in their holsters. Was it just him, or were there
sirens in the distance?

“I’m running out of time.”

He picked up the leather chair behind the desk and with a
grunted effort and heaved it through the window. The glass shattered in slow
motion, bursting out of its frame like a broken firework and fading toward the
well-manicured lawn two stories below.

Two stories. The chair hit the ground and shot off to the
left. Daniel kicked the biggest of the remaining glass shards out of the frame
and backed up about 10 feet. He took a deep breath, a few running steps,
jumped, and the next thing he knew he was pulling himself back up to his feet,
using the handle of his car door for support, but he couldn’t remember getting
there.

You’re running out of time!
The stranger screamed in
his head.

Daniel stood and a savage pain flared in his left foot; he
could almost hear the broken bones grinding together. The world threatened to
abandon him once more, but he caught up to it again and dug the keys out of his
pocket and a piece of glass out of his hand. Somehow he unlocked the door and
dumped himself into the Mustang. He put the car in gear, sparing a glance for
the body of the guard beside the kiosk as he drove by, trying to remember
killing him, and when Daniel came to again he was slamming the door to his
apartment shut and locking it. He recalled little fragments of the drive, like
something from a fever-dream. He heard police sirens from far away, and knew
they were for him. His head was a bonfire of burning secrets that were lies.