Replica (28 page)

“Would you like another cup of tea before I clear the rest of the service?” he asked, standing at attention.

The footsteps continued past the doorway and faded into the distance, but Dante didn’t relax his posture. It was no doubt best for both of them if he kept up his act at all times anyway. Mosely wouldn’t appreciate him giving comfort to the enemy.

Already missing the precious few minutes of camaraderie they’d just shared, she rose to her feet.

“Thank you, Dante,” she said, taking pleasure in knowing she was addressing him by first name like an equal and no one else would know it, “but I don’t need any more tea right now.”

With a formal half bow, he turned away.

*   *   *

Inside
Paxco Headquarters, life went on as if nothing had happened.

Nate, still badly shaken, reported to the private studio where the commercial was to be shot, and it was every bit as awful as he’d anticipated. The script made him want to gag, and he could only imagine what kind of sappy “inspirational” music they’d be playing in the background. He couldn’t remember his lines to save his life. The crew kept moving him into position like he was a doll—heedless of his bruises, of course, because they didn’t know about them. The lights were hot enough to make him sweat and bright enough to fuel his headache indefinitely. Usually, he was good in front of the camera, but this time he flat-out sucked.

The crew and the director eyed him warily, his ineptness no doubt making him seem very different from the Nate Hayes they thought they knew. He tried not to be snappish with them—the last thing he needed was more people thinking the Replication process created aggressive or even violent tendencies—but he knew he wasn’t exactly being easy to work with.

As soon as he escaped the shoot and holed up in his office, he couldn’t stop himself from looking for updated reports about the riot instead of wisely taking some aspirin and huddling in a dark corner until he felt better. As of five o’clock in the afternoon, there were no reported deaths, although one of the security officers had been severely trampled and was in critical condition. There was no definitive word on how many of the protesters had been injured or how badly, but a total of thirty-two people had been arrested and sent directly to Riker’s Island to await trial on a laundry list of charges that included treason.

The net had plenty of video coverage of the event, but what neither the videos nor the articles ever mentioned was exactly how the riot had started. The videos all showed the angry mob clashing with the security officers—failing to show the people who were desperately trying to flee the pepper spray—and the articles just said the protest “got out of hand.” Nowhere did Nate see it mentioned that the whole mess had started because someone had thrown a completely harmless
egg
.

The knowledge that the protesters were going to be charged with treason, among other things, made Nate sick to his stomach. Despite the ugly things they’d been shouting at him, Nate couldn’t stand the thought of people serving life sentences or even being executed because of a riot they didn’t start, and he arranged a meeting with his father to give the Chairman a clear picture of what really happened.

The meeting was at five o’clock, but of course the Chairman made Nate wait while he finished a phone call that went a half hour long. Nate would have been pissed off, except he was so used to it that he couldn’t muster the energy to be pissed anymore. When he was a kid, Nate had sometimes sensed real paternal affection from his father. He even had a picture of himself as a small child, maybe four years old, riding on his laughing father’s shoulders. But the older he’d gotten, the less his father seemed to like him, and once he hit adolescence, they’d become more like embattled strangers than father and son.

Now that Nate was officially an adult and no longer dependent on his father, he found the best way to keep their relationship civil was to keep it on a strictly business level. His father agreed, which was why he played the make-the-subordinate-wait mind games.

It was just after 5:30 when Nate was finally admitted to the Chairman’s corner office. Even then, his father made him wait just a little longer, scanning over a document he probably wasn’t even reading as Nate helped himself to a tumbler of scotch from the bar.

“Want one?” he asked, holding up the bottle. It was as good a greeting as any.

The Chairman finally looked up from his document, setting it aside. “Please.”

Nate poured a second drink, then laid it on his father’s desk before lowering himself rather gingerly into the plush leather chair. He’d found he could almost forget about his injuries when he was either upright or seated; it was the transition between the two that smarted.

“I heard about your … ordeal this morning,” the Chairman said. “I should have had security disperse the crowd before you arrived. It didn’t occur to me that they’d get so out of hand.”

Nate took a sip of his scotch, forcing himself to slow down and think a moment before he made a surly response. Anything the Chairman had heard about the riot had no doubt been reported to him by security personnel, who had a vested interest in portraying the incident as a crowd turning into a rioting mob.

“Actually,” he said, with what he felt was admirable calm, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been looking at the news coverage. I saw that thirty-two people have been arrested and charged with treason.”

The Chairman’s eyes sharpened, and Nate figured his father sensed where he was going with this.

“Don’t you think that’s a little … extreme?”

His father leaned back in his chair, cradling the scotch in his lap. “They attacked the Chairman Heir. That’s the very definition of treason.”

Nate sipped his scotch again, but if he was going to use scotch as his pressure valve when his temper flared, he’d need the bottle. He gripped the tumbler rather more tightly than necessary, but tried to keep his voice level. The longer he could keep the tension from escalating into something resembling a fight, the better chance he had of convincing his father to be a little more lenient.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told exactly,” he said, “but no one actually
attacked
me. Some idiot in the crowd threw an egg. That’s all that happened. And security went berserk. The crowd didn’t get out of hand at all. It was the security officers. They started in with the pepper spray and batons just because someone threw an egg.”

“Your bodyguard interpreted it as an attack. I hear he wrestled you to the ground.”

Nate waved that off. “He saw someone throw something. For all he knew, it was a rock or a grenade. I’d have ducked myself if I’d seen it coming. But it wasn’t a rock or a grenade. It was an egg. I was not attacked, so there’s no reason to charge those people with treason.”

Nate remembered the sight of the security officer beating the guy who’d thrown the egg. As far as Nate was concerned, the poor bastard had more than paid for his offense already. Assuming he’d survived. Just because the news didn’t mention any fatalities among the demonstrators didn’t mean there weren’t any.

The Chairman swirled his scotch around in his glass, one corner of his mouth tipped up in a patronizing smile. “You’re a good kid, son,” he said in an equally patronizing voice. “You have a good heart and a generous spirit. But I don’t care if they threw
marshmallows
at you. I will not have my son and heir attacked by an unruly mob of idiots who want to throw away the goose that laid the golden egg because it makes them uncomfortable.”

Nate leaned forward in his chair and put the scotch down. It wasn’t helping his temper any, though he was fighting like hell to stay calm and in control of himself. An impassioned, emotional appeal to the Chairman’s better nature had no chance of working. A rational, reasoned one just might.

“You didn’t see what I saw,” he said, wishing he could scrub the sights and sounds out of his memory. “The moment the pepper spray came out, the people at the front of the crowd tried to run away, but they couldn’t because the people behind them didn’t know what was going on. They were trying to run, trying to protect their faces, and the security officers sprayed them anyway, then started whaling on them with their batons. The guy who threw the egg was lying there in fetal position as they beat him, and no one else had done anything worse than yell and wave signs around. They’ve already been beaten and tortured with pepper spray. They don’t deserve to be tried for treason just because they happened to be present when someone threw an egg.” Maybe if he repeated the part about the egg often enough, the Chairman would finally see the ridiculousness of the overreaction.

Nate was proud of himself for managing to stay so calm and reasonable. Nadia would be impressed with his restraint. And she thought he couldn’t contain his temper! If she could see him now, she’d realize how wrong she had been not to trust him.

The Chairman shook his head and sighed. “You’re missing the point, son. There were arrests made after that first demonstration at the Fortress, but most of those people were released without charges, and those who were charged were fined, not jailed. And because we didn’t take a hard enough stance against that kind of behavior, those animals showed up at Headquarters today. They will continue to show up in ever greater numbers unless we forcefully discourage such behavior. Filing treason charges against the rioters will be a powerful deterrent to anyone else who might think about setting up another such demonstration.”

A chill sank into him as Nate stared at his father and a suspicion wormed its way into his mind. His mouth went dry, and he licked his lips as every muscle in his body tensed.

“Why
didn’t
you have the demonstrators dispersed before I arrived?” he asked, his voice strained. He prayed for his father to look puzzled, to not understand what Nate was getting at. If he didn’t understand, that meant Nate’s sickening suspicion was wrong. But the Chairman merely folded his hands on the desk and returned his stare, his face bland as he dared Nate to put voice to what had happened.

“Were you hoping someone would do something stupid when I showed up at the scene?” Nate asked when it was clear his father wasn’t going to answer. “Did you order the security officers to attack the crowd at the slightest provocation?”

Still no answers. And no shifting of the bland expression on the Chairman’s face.

Nate shoved back his chair, barely even feeling the protest of his back and gut muscles as he leapt to his feet, the full horror of what had happened finally dawning on him.

“It was even worse than that, wasn’t it? You ordered the security officers to attack. And you ordered them to wait until I made an appearance, so you could use my presence as an excuse for a treason charge!”

It had all been one massive setup. Thirty-two innocent people were going to lose their liberty and maybe even their lives because Chairman Hayes wanted to discourage protests.

Nate had always known his father was a hard man, that he saw the world through a lens of cold logic. He was probably capable of compassion, but only when it was strategically expedient. But this was an atrocity worse than he’d imagined his father capable of.

The Chairman rose to his feet much more slowly, leaning forward and putting his fists on his desk. “Before you storm out in a cloud of righteous indignation, remember this: my concern is for the well-being of Paxco. The relentless insistence on individual liberties over the needs of society as a whole is what led to the dissolution of the United States. We have to learn from our predecessors’ mistakes. That will mean some individuals are treated unfairly, but that’s the price we have to pay.”

“The price
they
have to pay, you mean,” Nate said, shaking his head in disgust. “Justify yourself all you want. What you did was despicable.”

The Chairman rolled his eyes. “Get out and take your high horse with you. Someday, you’re going to have to grow up and see the world as it really is, but that day obviously hasn’t come yet.”

Nate reached down and grabbed the crystal tumbler he’d been drinking out of. Knowing that he was justifying his father’s view of him as a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum, Nate couldn’t help hurling the tumbler at the wall with all his strength. The spray of shattered glass was not as satisfying as he’d hoped it would be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nadia
sat alone in the den, waiting for Nate to show up for their eight o’clock “date.” They usually tried to make a public appearance together at least once a month, giving the press an opportunity to photograph them and giving the high-society gossips something to talk about, but it was their quiet, private get-togethers that she had always enjoyed most, the nights when they’d stayed in and talked or watched a movie or played games. These were times reminiscent of their childhood together, when they didn’t fully understand what the handshake agreement between their families would mean to them in time.

Tonight was going to be a very different story.

She’d tried to call Nate after hearing about the riot, but she’d gotten his voice mail. She’d left a message, but he hadn’t called back. Late in the afternoon, he’d texted her a terse message assuring her he was all right, but that was it. Apparently, he didn’t want to talk to her. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised, but it still hurt.

She resisted the urge to call him again and took a page from his book, texting him to remind him of their scheduled date. She had a feeling he would conveniently “forget” about it if she didn’t, and she needed him to show up so she could fill him in on her interview with Mosely—and figure out what to do about the new tracker Mosely had ordered her to plant.

Nate hadn’t answered her text, and he was now a half hour late. It wasn’t unusual for him, but Nadia couldn’t help but take it as yet another slap in her face. She kept taking her phone out and looking at it, hoping he’d sent a message that she somehow hadn’t noticed.

Three times, she started to text him to confirm he was coming, and three times she erased what she’d written before she sent it. He would show up when he showed up, and her nagging him about it would just make her seem needy. Of course, she
was
feeling needy, spectacularly so, and she couldn’t stand sitting still in the den any longer. She let Crane know where she was going, then made her way up to the rooftop garden.