The Third Twin (41 page)

“What?” he said.

No! It can’t be!

“You … you … did that thing, with your eyebrow.”

“What thing?”

She sprang up from the couch. “You creep!” she screamed. “How dare you!”

“What the fuck is going on?” he said, but the pretense was thin. She could tell from his face that he knew exactly what was happening.

“Get out of my place!” she screamed.

He tried to keep up the facade. “First you’re all over me, then you pull this!”

“I know who you are, you bastard. You’re Harvey!”

He gave up his act. “How did you know?”

“You touched your eyebrow with your fingertip, just like Berrington.”

“Well, what does it matter?” he said, standing up. “If we’re so alike, you could pretend I’m Steve.”

“Get the fuck out of here!”

He touched the front of his pants, showing her his erection. “Now that we’ve got this far, I’m not leaving here with blue balls.”

Oh, Jesus, I’m in bad trouble now. This guy is an animal.
“Keep away from me!”

He stepped toward her, smiling. “I’m going to take off those tight jeans and see what’s underneath.”

She remembered Mish saying that rapists enjoy the victim’s fear. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, trying to make her voice calm. “But if you touch me, I swear I’ll kill you.”

He moved dreadfully quickly. In a flash he grabbed her, lifted her, and threw her on the floor.

The phone rang.

She screamed: “Help! Mr. Oliver! Help!”

Harvey snatched up the dishcloth from the kitchen counter and stuffed it roughly into her mouth, bruising her lips. She gagged and began to cough. He held her wrists so that she could not use her hands to pull the cloth out of her mouth. She tried to push it out with her tongue, but she could not, it was too big. Had Mr. Oliver heard her scream? He was old and he turned up the volume of his TV very loud.

The phone kept on ringing.

Harvey grabbed the waist of her jeans. She wriggled away from him. He slapped her face so hard she saw stars. While she was dazed, he let go of her wrists and pulled off her jeans and her panties. “Wow, what a hairy one,” he said.

Jeannie snatched the cloth out of her mouth and screamed: “Help me, help!”

Harvey covered her mouth with his big hand, muffling her yells, and fell on her, knocking the wind out of her. For a few moments she was helpless, struggling to breathe. His knuckles bruised her thighs as he fumbled one-handed with his fly. Then he was pushing against her, looking for the way in. She wriggled desperately, trying to throw him off, but he was too heavy.

The phone was still ringing. Then the doorbell rang too.

Harvey did not stop.

Jeannie opened her mouth. Harvey’s fingers slid between her teeth. She bit down hard, as hard as she could, thinking that she did not care if she broke her teeth on his bones. Warm blood spurted into her mouth and she heard him cry out in anguish as he jerked his hand away.

The doorbell rang again, long and insistently.

Jeannie spat out Harvey’s blood and yelled again. “Help!” she screamed. “Help, help, help!”

There was a loud bang from downstairs, then another, then a crash and the sound of wood splintering.

Harvey scrambled to his feet, clutching his wounded hand.

Jeannie rolled over, stood up, and took three steps away from him.

The door flew open. Harvey swung around, turning his back on Jeannie.

Steve burst in.

Steve and Harvey stared at one another in astonishment for a frozen moment.

They were exactly the same. What would happen if they fought? They were equal in height, weight, strength and fitness. A fight could go on forever.

On impulse, Jeannie picked up the omelet pan with both hands. Imagining that she was hitting a cross-court ground shot with her famous double-handed backhand, she shifted her weight to her front foot, locked her wrists, and swung the heavy pan with all her might.

She hit the back of Harvey’s head right on the sweet spot.

There was a sickening thud. Harvey’s legs seemed to go soft. He sank to his knees, swaying.

As if she had run to the net for the volley, Jeannie lifted the pan high with her right hand and brought it down as hard as she could on top of his head.

His eyes rolled up and he went limp and crashed to the floor.

Steve said: “Boy, am I glad you didn’t hit the wrong twin.”

Jeannie started to shake. She dropped the pan and sat on a kitchen stool. Steve put his arms around her. “It’s over,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” she replied. “It’s only just begun.”

The phone was still ringing.

57

“Y
OU LAID HIM OUT, THE BASTARD,”
S
TEVE SAID
. “W
HO
is he?”

‘This is Harvey Jones,” Jeannie answered. “And he’s Berrington Jones’s son.”

Steve was amazed. “Berrington brought up one of the eight as his son? Well, I’ll be damned.”

Jeannie stared at the unconscious figure on the floor. “What are we going to do?”

“For a start, why don’t we answer the phone?”

Automatically, Jeannie picked it up. It was Lisa. “It almost happened to me,” Jeannie said without preamble.

“Oh, no!”

“The same guy.”

“I can’t believe it! Shall I come right over?”

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

Jeannie hung up. She ached all over from having been thrown to the floor, and her mouth hurt where he had forced the gag in. She could still taste Harvey’s blood. She poured a glass of water, rinsed her mouth, and spat into the kitchen sink. Then she said: “We’re in a dangerous place, Steve. The people we’re up against have powerful friends.”

“I know.”

“They might try to kill us.”

“Tell me about it.”

The notion made it hard for Jeannie to think. I must not become paralyzed by fear, she thought. “Do you think if I promise never to tell what I know, they might leave me alone?”

Steve considered that for a moment, then he said: “No, I don’t.”

“Nor do I. So I’ve got no choice but to fight.”

There was a footstep on the stairs and Mr. Oliver put his head around the door. “What the heck happened here?” he said. He looked from the unconscious Harvey on the floor to Steve and back again. “Well, I’ll be.”

Steve picked up Jeannie’s black Levi’s and handed them to her, and she slipped them on quickly, covering her nakedness. If Mr. Oliver noticed, he was too tactful to say anything. Pointing at Harvey, he said: “This must be that guy in Philadelphia. No wonder you thought it was your boyfriend. They got to be twins!”

Steve said: “I’m going to tie him up before he comes round. Do you have any cord, Jeannie?”

Mr. Oliver said: “I have some electric cable. I’ll get my toolbox.” He went out.

Jeannie hugged Steve gratefully. She felt as if she had awakened from a nightmare. “I thought he was you,” she said. “It was just like yesterday, but this time I wasn’t being paranoid, I was right.”

“We said we should make up a code, then we didn’t get around to it.”

“Let’s do it now. When you approached me on the tennis court last Sunday, you said, I play a little tennis myself.’ “

“And you modestly said, ‘If you only play a
little
tennis, you’re probably not in my league.’ ”

“That’s the code. If one of us says the first line, the other has to say the second.”

“Done.”

Mr. Oliver came back with his toolbox. He rolled Harvey over and started to tie his hands in front, binding the palms flat against one another but leaving the pinkie fingers free.

Steve said: “Why not tie his hands behind his back?”

Mr. Oliver looked bashful. “If you’ll excuse me for mentioning it, this way he can hold his own dick when he has to take a piss. I learned that in Europe during the war.” He started to bind Harvey’s feet. “This guy won’t cause you no more trouble. Now what are you planning to do about the front door?”

Jeannie looked at Steve, who said: “I busted it pretty bad.”

“I’d better call a carpenter,” Jeannie said.

Mr. Oliver said: “I got some loose timber in the yard. I could fix it so we can lock the door tonight. Then we could get someone to do a better job tomorrow.”

Jeannie felt profoundly grateful to him. “Thank you, that’s so kind.”

“Don’t mention it. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me since World War Two.”

“I’ll help you,” Steve offered.

Mr. Oliver shook his head. “You two have a lot to discuss, I can see that. Like whether you’re going to call the cops on this guy you have trussed up on your carpet.” Without waiting for an answer he picked up his toolbox and went downstairs.

Jeannie collected her thoughts. “Tomorrow, Genetico will be sold for a hundred and eighty million dollars and Proust will be on the presidential trail. Meanwhile I’ve got no job and my reputation is shot. I’ll never work as a scientist again. But I could turn both situations around, with what I know.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Well … I could issue a press release about the experiments.”

“Wouldn’t you need some kind of proof?”

“You and Harvey together make pretty dramatic evidence. Especially if we could get you on TV together.”

“Yeah—on
Sixty Minutes
or something. I like that.” His face fell again. “But Harvey wouldn’t cooperate.”

“They can film him tied up. Then we call the cops, and they can film that too.”

Steve nodded. “The trouble is, you probably have to act before Landsmann and Genetico finalize the takeover. Once they have the money, they may be able to ride out any bad publicity we generate. But I don’t see how you can get on TV in the next few hours. And their press conference is tomorrow morning, according to
The Wall Street Journal.”

“Maybe we should hold our own press conference.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! We gate-crash
their
press conference.”

“Hell, yes. Then maybe the people from Landsmann will decide not to sign the papers, and the takeover will be canceled.”

“And Berrington won’t make all those millions of dollars.”

“And Jim Proust won’t run for president.”

“We must be crazy,” Steve said. “These are some of the most powerful people in America, and we’re talking about spoiling their party.”

The sound of hammering came from below as Mr. Oliver began to mend the door. Jeannie said: “They hate black people, you know. All this bullshit about good genes and second-rate Americans is just code. They’re white supremacists all dressed up with modern science. They want to make Mr. Oliver a second-class citizen. The hell with them, I’m not going to stand by and watch.”

“We need a plan,” Steve said practically.

“Okay, here goes,” Jeannie said. “First we have to find out where the Genetico press conference is being held.”

“Probably a Baltimore hotel.”

“We’ll call them all, if necessary.”

“We should probably take a room in the hotel.”

“Good idea. Then I sneak into the press conference somehow, and stand up in the middle of it and make a speech to the assembled media.”

‘They’ll shut you up.”

“I should have a press release ready to give out. But then you’ll come in with Harvey. Twins are so photogenic, all the cameras will be on you.”

Steve frowned. “What do you prove by having me and Harvey there?”

“Because you’re identical you’ll have the kind of dramatic impact that should cause the press to start asking questions. It won’t take them long to check that you have different mothers. Once they learn that, they’ll know there’s a mystery to be uncovered, just as I did. And you know how they investigate presidential candidates.”

“Three would be better than two, though,” Steve said. “Do you think we could get one of the others there?”

“We could try. We could invite them all and hope that at least one will show up.”

On the floor, Harvey opened his eyes and groaned.

Jeannie had almost forgotten about him. Looking at him now, she hoped his head hurt. Then she felt guilty about being so vengeful. “After the way I hit him, he probably should see a doctor.”

Harvey came around fast. “Untie me, you fucking bitch,” he said.

“Forget the doctor,” Jeannie said.

“Untie me now, or I swear I’ll slash your tits with a razor as soon as I’m free.”

Jeannie stuffed the dishcloth in his mouth. “Shut up, Harvey,” she said.

Steve said pensively: “It’s going to be interesting trying to sneak him into a hotel tied up.”

Lisa’s voice came from downstairs, greeting Mr. Oliver. A moment later she came in, wearing blue jeans and heavy Doc Marten boots. She looked at Steve and Harvey and said: “My God, it’s true.”

Steve stood up. “I’m the one you picked out of the lineup,” he said. “But he’s the one who attacked you.”

Jeannie explained: “Harvey tried to do to me what he did to you. Steve came by just in time and broke the door down.”

Lisa went over to where Harvey lay. She stared at him for a long moment, then thoughtfully drew back her foot and kicked him in the ribs as hard as she could with a Doc Marten toecap. He groaned and writhed in pain.

She did it again. “Boy,” she said, shaking her head, “that feels good.”

Jeannie swiftly brought Lisa up-to-date with the day’s developments. “A lot happened while I was sleeping,” Lisa said in amazement.

Steve said: “You’ve been at JFU a year, Lisa—I’m surprised you never met Berrington’s son.”

“Berrington never socializes with academic colleagues,” she said. “He’s too much of a celebrity. It’s quite possible
nobody
at JFU has ever met Harvey.”

Jeannie outlined the plan for disrupting the press conference. “We were just saying we could feel more confident if one of the other clones was going to be there.”

“Well, Per Ericson is dead, and Dennis Pinker and Murray Claud are in jail, but that still leaves three possibilities: Henry King in Boston, Wayne Stattner in New York, and George Dassault—he could be in Buffalo, Sacramento, or Houston, we don’t know which, but we could try them all again. I kept all the phone numbers.”

“So did I,” Jeannie said.

Steve said: “Could they get here on time?”

“We could check flights on CompuServe,” Lisa said. “Where’s your computer, Jeannie?”

“Stolen.”

“I have my PowerBook in the trunk, I’ll get it.”

While she was out, Jeannie said: “We’re going to have to think very hard about how to persuade these guys to fly to Baltimore on short notice. And we’ll have to offer to pay their fares. I’m not sure my credit card will stand it.”

“I have an American Express card my mom gave me for emergencies. I know she’ll consider this an emergency.”

“What a great mom,” Jeannie said enviously.

“That’s the truth.”

Lisa came back in and plugged her computer into Jeannie’s modem line.

“Wait a minute,” Jeannie said. “Let’s get organized.”