Sims (38 page)

She rolled her eyes. “Not that again.”

“For mutual protection, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Not such a bad idea, actually,” Zero said. “I know I'd rest easier, but I'll leave that up to you two.”

Zero, I think I love you, Patrick thought.

But Romy didn't appear to be buying. “Let's worry about Meerm,” she said. “How do we find her first?”

“Why don't we try thinking like a sim?” Patrick said, hating to leave the subject of cohabitation. “If I were a lost and frightened sim, where would I hide?”

“With other sims,” Zero said. “The trouble is, if she's hiding from humans she's not exactly going to come out and announce herself.”

Patrick had a thought. “How about my roomie? Is there some way Tome can help sniff her out? You know, set a sim to find a sim?”

Zero pointed at him. “Now that's an idea.”

“As long as it doesn't put him in any danger,” Patrick added. He'd grown fond of that old sim, and the possibility of anything happening to him put a twist in his gut. “I don't want him hurt.”

“None of us do,” Zero said. “Let's sit down and see where we can take that. Meanwhile, I've appealed to a higher power for help.”

“You've been praying?” Romy said.

“No, I meant that in a more literal sense. I was speaking of the Reverend's satellite.”

SUSSEX COUNTY, NJ

“Watch this,” Sinclair-1 said the moment Luca stepped into the darkened office. The sun was down but only a corner floor lamp was lit.

Luca glanced around. No one else present. “Watch what?”

“
This
, goddamn it. I just recorded it off the dish.”

Sinclair poked his desktop and the plasma TV screen on the wall flickered, then lit with the face of the Reverend Eckert.

“My dear brothers and sisters. I had an entirely different sermon prepared for this broadcast, but just moments ago I experienced an epiphany, a revelation of such staggering importance that I felt it my duty to you and to my ministry to discard my prepared sermon and immediately address this matter.

“Do you know what an ‘urban legend' is? I'm sure you do, but in case some of you don't, let me explain. Urban legends are stories that are told and retold so many times that they take on a patina—or should I say, the appearance—of truth. We never get the story firsthand; usually we're told that somebody's uncle or aunt, or that a friend's grandmother knows someone who personally experienced the incident.

“You might have been warned against bringing home a large cactus because somebody knows someone whose cactus burst open to let out a torrent of deadly tarantulas.

“Or you heard about the burned corpse of a frogman found in the ashes of a forest fire, the story going that he was SCUBA diving when he was scooped up by a firefighting helicopter as it filled its bucket from the lake near the fire.

“Or the ‘documented facts' that eelskin wallets erase magnetic cards and giant alligators infest New York City sewers, and on and on.

“Brothers and sisters, I could spend the whole program cataloguing these tales, but that's not why I'm speaking to you today. I pray you've caught my meaning, because I want you to believe that what I am about to say is not an urban legend.

“As I told you earlier, I've had a revelation from On High. But some people, for their own selfish reasons, will want to deny its truth. My words, as they spread,
will be written off by these professional doubters as just the latest in a long line of urban legends. But don't listen to them, friends. I have it on excellent authority, not from a friend of a friend, but from the ultimate Unimpeachable Source that what I am about to tell you is God's Truth.

“That Truth concerns a sim, a female sim, lost, alone, frightened, hiding somewhere in New York City. Yes, I'm talking about the same sim that Satan's own corporation, SinGen, has offered five million dollars for. But have you asked yourselves why SinGen is offering so much for one lowly sim? They'll tell you it's to help bring murderers to justice, but is that really the case? The humans these murderers killed were criminals themselves. And sims are killed every day without SinGen offering so much as a dime to find the culprits.

“So there I was today, sitting alone in my home chapel, spending quiet time in communion with the Lord, wondering what was so special about this particular sim to make the devil's company squander so much of its tainted lucre to find her.

“And then it came to me. In a blaze of inspiration that could only be the result of the touch of the Lord his own self, I knew!

“This lost sim is pregnant!

“Now, now, I know we've all been told that sims can't procreate, but think about who's been telling us that: the devil corporation run by Satan, the Father of Lies. Only God is perfect. Satan makes mistakes—that's why he rules in Hell after all, instead of in Heaven. And Satan made a real whopper of a mistake this time.

“What's that? Yes, I hear you. I hear what you're saying. You're saying, ‘A pregnant sim, Reverend Eckert? How can that be? Who is the father?'

“And that, brothers and sisters, is the worst part. This was no immaculate conception. No, this is an abomination. This sim pregnancy is the result of un-plumbed wickedness and moral decrepitude. For the father, I say to you, the father of this sim's baby is
human!

“Of course, I use the term loosely, for what sort of human would defile himself so by doing such a thing to a helpless animal? But yes, you heard correctly, the father is human!

“Now, I know what you're saying in your hearts, if you're not crying it out loud, ‘Why, Reverend Eckert? Why would God allow such an unspeakable thing to occur?' And I must tell you, friends, that I asked myself the same question. I wondered if this could be a sign of the End Times: Could the child of this unholy union be the Antichrist?

“But the Lord his own self was guiding my thoughts because I suddenly realized that this unborn child is just the opposite of the Antichrist. For it will not
be born to establish Satan's rule on earth, but to dislodge his foul foothold, destroy the satanic beachhead we know as SinGen!

“That is the
real
reason the company is offering so much to find this poor, mistreated, pregnant sim.

“So I say to you, my brothers and sisters, do not listen when you are told that this can't be true, that it's just another urban legend. It is
not!
If you live in the Northeast, live anywhere in or around New York City, I beg you, as soon as I am finished here: Leave your homes and hie into the streets to look for this unfortunate creature.

“And if you find her, do not call SinGen, no matter how much money it is offering. Do not allow yourselves to be tempted by the devil's offer. Sell this sim and you are selling your soul. Instead, call the number flashing at the bottom of your screen and I will personally see to it that this sim and its child are protected from Satan's forces.

“And when the child is born, I shall bring it to the halls of Congress and display it to the leaders of our nation. And then the scales shall fall from their eyes and they will see that they have allowed an abomination to move into their house; and the shackles shall loosen from their limbs and they will act, casting SinGen into the outer darkness whence it came, where there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

“Go now, my brothers and sisters. Fill the streets. Waste not another moment. Find—”

The screen went blank. Another touch on the desktop and the lights came up.

Luca blinked, momentarily mute with shock. He opened his mouth to speak but Sinclair voiced his thoughts.

“He knows! How the
hell
did he find out?”

“A leak,” Luca said. “I've suspected one for some time now.”

“You think the room is bugged? By someone other than you, I mean.”

Luca was taken aback by the casualness of the remark.

“What?” Sinclair said, a tiny smile twisting his lips. “You think I don't know your people have this office bugged? Probably the whole campus as well, am I right?”

He was. Offices, labs, even rest rooms—all bugged. Luca shrugged it off.

“We sweep this office regularly. No listening devices of any sort.” Other than ours.

“
I
found out yesterday,” Sinclair said, then pointed to the blank TV screen. “
He
knows today. How else but a bug?”

“A person. I've long suspected your brother. This confirms it.”

“It confirms nothing of the sort. Ellis? Ridiculous!”

“Really? Until yesterday, only a select few of our people knew. Even the men I've had combing the city don't know; they think we want this sim because she's got a rare immune globulin in her blood. Weeks of searching without a hint of a leak. But yesterday afternoon I tell you and your brother, and today, just twenty-four hours later, the Reverend Eckert is telling the world. If it's not your brother, then it's you.”

Sinclair sat down and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, it's not me. And I can't believe it's Ellis, not after the way your people threatened his children.”

“I'm not aware of any threat.”

“No? Well, I guess it was before your time.”

That part was true. But Luca knew perfectly well what the CEO was talking about. A brilliant little op, involving nothing overt, but it had kept Ellis Sinclair in line ever since.

Sinclair looked at him. “Maybe Eckert did have a revelation.”

“You don't really expect—”

“I don't mean from God.”

“Then—”

“Hear me out. Here's this guy who's got a hard-on for SimGen. He hears we're offering five million to find this lost sim, so he figures out the worst-case scenario for us, and broadcasts it. It's just a coincidence that he happens to hit on the truth.”

Luca snorted. “You don't believe that any more than I do.”

Sinclair sighed. “No. No, I don't.”

“However Eckert came to it, we can count on a lot of his people on the streets looking for that sim, trying to find her first.”

“Does that worry you, Mr. Portero? Don't let it. The more the merrier. Eckert's people merely increase our chances. They may believe in God, but when it comes down to five million dollars' worth of cold hard cash, they'll believe in that even more.”

“We'll see.” Luca wasn't so sure about that, but saw no point in arguing. He had another point to press. “In the meantime, my people will expect you to do something about your brother.”

“Very well. From now on, any meetings concerning matters of a sensitive nature will be conducted without him.” His eyes narrowed. “But you don't have any hard evidence against Ellis, do you. Otherwise you wouldn't have looked so shocked when I played you that tape. I'd be surprised if you weren't monitoring his calls. Have you been following him as well?”

“No. But we will.”

Truth was, he'd set tails on Sinclair-2 a number of times but they always lost him. Looked like he'd have to tail him personally.

I can spread myself only so thin, damn it.

“Starting when? Tonight?”

“No, not tonight. But soon.”

He had a more pressing matter to attend to. He and Lister had spent much of the day setting up an op for tonight. The target, Romy Cadman, knew Luca's face so he could not be directly involved, but he'd be on standby, eagerly awaiting the results. By the end of the night he'd have established a solid link of money and information between Cadman and Ellis Sinclair.

And then there'd be no need to follow anyone anywhere.

MANHATTAN

“Really,” Romy said as their cab climbed the on-ramp to the Brooklyn Bridge, “this is unnecessary. I'm more than capable of finding my own way home.”

“You heard what our friend said this afternoon,” Patrick replied. “ ‘Be careful.' And that's what we're doing.”

Beside him, in the darkness of the rear seat, he saw her shake her head. “An awfully long trip.”

“Not if I'm with you.”

Light from a passing car reflected off her smile. “What a nice thing to say. But perhaps I should have phrased it a little differently: This is going to be an awfully long
round
trip.”

As the bejeweled towers of Lower Manhattan dwindled behind them, Patrick thought about the day. A good day. Any day with more ups than downs was a good day. After the shock of learning who was behind the SLA and the globulin farm murders had worn off, and Patrick had settled down from his initial elation over the news of the pregnant sim, they'd brainstormed ways to find Meerm. Reverend Eckert's exhortation to his followers to track her down for him instead of for SimGen—a message he'd be hammering into
his viewers day after day—would help, but they still hadn't figured out a way to fit Tome into the equation.

As darkness fell they'd called it a day, Zero taking off in the van, and Romy accepting Patrick's invitation to dinner. They'd walked downtown and found a bistro in Chelsea that looked inviting. A pair of Rob Roys before and a shared bottle of pinot noir during a meal of various pastas and sauces had left Patrick in a genial mood. He figured Romy, who'd matched his Rob Roys with Cosmopolitans, had to be feeling mellow herself.

“Am I that bad?”

“No,” she said. “Not bad at all.” He felt her take his hand, interlace her fingers with his, and give it a little squeeze. “In fact, you're good. Taking Tome in like you did is, well, I don't think I've ever heard of anyone doing that for a sim.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. The scent of her hair and the wave of warmth seeping up from where their hands coupled enveloped Patrick, making him feel as if he were riding a cloud.