THE 4400® WELCOME TO PROMISE CITY (11 page)

“Just the usual weirdness,” Diana said.

In total, they had found four identical copies of Danny Farrell’s body at the funeral home. All four specimens were now laid out on autopsy tables in the center of the morgue. Clean white sheets partially covered the bodies. If there was any way to tell the cadavers apart, Diana sure couldn’t see it. She could only imagine how disturbing this was for Tom. Suppose these were four identical copies of Maia …

“What’s the story?” he asked gruffly. “Which one is the real Danny?”

“None of the above,” Abigail Hunnicutt replied. The twenty-something blonde had joined Marco’s Theory Room team shortly before fifty/fifty. A graduate of MIT, she stood beside one of the bodies, her ungloved fingers splayed across its chest. The outbreak had turned Abby into a human DNA sequencer who could “read” genetic codes without the aid of artificial equipment. She wiped her hands on a blue lab coat as she reported her findings. “These specimens are almost-but-not-quite genetic duplicates of Danny Farrell. About ninety-nine percent identical to the real thing.”

“Clones?” Marco speculated.

Abby shook her head. “More like Danny’s DNA has been superimposed on someone else’s.” She struggled to put what she was sensing into words. “There’s still an ‘echo’ of the original DNA left in the cells. My guess is
that somebody is trying to turn other people into perfect twins of Danny …”

“Before or after they’re dead?” Diana wondered.

“Good question.” Abby shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t tell from the DNA.”

A preliminary examination had suggested that all four bodies had died from an overdose of promicin, not unlike the real Danny, who had been suffering from a massive buildup of promicin in his system before his brother euthanized him. Perhaps full autopsies would turn up more info, but Diana had her doubts. They were way beyond conventional forensic science here.

“But why would anybody want to do something like this?” Tom asked. Although he was holding it together, his obvious frustration frayed at his voice. He clenched his fists. “Why couldn’t they just let my nephew rest in peace?”

Marco scratched his chin. “You said you found promicin at the mortuary? My guess is that someone is trying to duplicate the process that turned Danny Farrell into the ‘Typhoid Mary’ of promicin, creating a living biological weapon capable of spreading the fifty/fifty effect everywhere he goes.” His eyes widened behind his glasses. “Maybe even an army of carriers …”

A hush fell over the morgue as the ghastly implications of what Marco was saying sunk in. One Danny had nearly destroyed Seattle. A legion of Danny clones could cause untold death and devastation.

“Someone like who?” Diana asked, breaking the silence. “Jordan Collier?”

“Let’s find out,” Tom said.

* * *

The downtown skyscraper that now served as Collier’s new headquarters was the old Haspelcorp Building, an irony that surely amused Collier. A huge canvas portrait of the new messiah, many stories high, adorned the outer façade of the structure. Smaller portraits hung inside the palatial lobby.

Talk about a cult of personality,
Tom thought. The ubiquitous posters reminded him uncomfortably of Maoist China and other authoritarian regimes.
Wonder when the fifty-foot statues start going up?

“Can I help you?” a security guard addressed the agents as they entered the lobby. The elderly sentry, who appeared to be in his sixties, was not very physically imposing, but he didn’t need to be; as a positive, he no doubt had other ways to repel unwanted visitors. He sat behind a high marble desk. A name badge identified him as
HOYT.

More guards were stationed by the elevators, stairwells, and fire exits. Collier was obviously taking no chances with his security. Tom couldn’t blame him. Despite all of the Movement’s philanthropic efforts, plenty of people still blamed Jordan for fifty/fifty and the deaths of their loved ones. He had already survived several assassination attempts.

Diana flashed her badge. “NTAC. We’re here to see Jordan Collier.”

The guard looked unimpressed. Tom and Diana were frequent visitors. He peered at the slender brunette accompanying the two agents. Her dark eyes glinted impishly. A tailored Burberry Prorsum jacket testified
to a generous clothing allowance. Expensive perfume wafted from the petite young woman, who looked to be in her early thirties. A dollar sign was tattooed upon her wrist.

“What about her?” the guard asked.

April Skouris was Diana’s black-sheep younger sister. A former tattoo artist and con woman, April had been one of the first people reckless enough to take a promicin shot when Jordan made them available to the masses. Her newfound ability to compel people to tell the truth had eventually landed her a cushy job working for both NTAC and the FBI. Tom frankly found her a little off-putting, but if she could help them pry some answers out of Collier regarding Danny’s remains, he was willing to borrow her for this visit.

“I’m NTAC, too,” she boasted, proudly displaying her own ID. After growing up in the shadow of her more accomplished older sister, she seemed eager to point out that they had achieved parity at last. “April Skouris, agent-at-large.”

“Uh-huh.” Hoyt lethargically keyed her name into his computer. A frown deepened the heavy creases around his mouth. “Sorry. You’re on the black list. No access allowed.”

“What?” Instant indignation colored her voice. “Who says?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed automatically. He couldn’t have lied if he’d wanted to. “The computer just says so. You’ve been flagged as a security threat.”

“Crap! This is completely unfair!” She looked to Tom
and Diana for support. “Are you going to let them get away with this?”

“I guess so,” he admitted. NTAC operated in Seattle only at Collier’s sufferance. They were in no position to throw their weight around. “Guess you need to wait in the car.”

“Are you serious?” She raised her voice and all but stamped on the floor. “Diana,” she whined, sounding more like a bratty kid sister than a government agent. “Do something!”

Her outbursts attracted the attention of the guard by the elevator, who crossed the lobby to investigate. He was a tall, hatchet-faced man with a light brown brush cut. Besides his unknown abilities, the guard was armed with a pistol and stun gun.
GALLOWAY
, read his name tag. His hand rested ominously on the grip of his sidearm. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Diana insisted. “Just a misunderstanding.” She spoke softly to her sister. “I’m sorry, April, but Collier has blocked us here. And we really need to speak with him today.” Taking the other woman’s arm, she guided her gently toward the exit. “Why don’t you head back to headquarters. Maybe we can talk later.”

“Fine,” April said petulantly. She yanked her arm free and headed for the door. “See if I ever volunteer to help you guys again. Thanks for nothing, sis.”

She stormed out of the building. Part of Tom was relieved to see her go. Despite her occasionally useful ability, she was a real loose cannon. Plus, there was something distinctly unsettling about being around someone who
could make you tell the truth whether you wanted to or not. He still cringed when he remembered the time April had mischievously forced him to reveal a sexual fantasy about his partner, right in front of Diana, no less!

No wonder so many people wanted nothing to do with the 4400 and their successors.

With April gone, the guards backed off a little. Hoyt called upstairs, then put down the phone. “All right. You can go up now. Jordan is expecting you.”

To Tom’s slight annoyance, Galloway accompanied them as they took the elevator to the top floor. He would have liked to confer privately with Diana on the way up, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.
Oh well, the elevator’s probably bugged anyway.

They found Collier in Dennis Ryland’s old digs. A large executive desk dominated the corner office. Magazine covers bearing Jordan’s visage were framed upon the walls, along with the book jacket from his
New York Times
bestselling manifesto. Twenty-foot-high picture windows offered a breathtaking view of Elliott Bay and Harbor Island beyond. Along with a handful of aides and bodyguards, Jordan was busy overseeing holographic 3-D blueprints of Seattle. Shimmering translucent structures rose and fell across the surface of a high-tech conference table, no doubt devised by some nameless technological wizard whose brainpower had been boosted by promicin. He looked up from the laser-generated models as Galloway escorted the agents into the office.

“Ah. Tom. Diana,” he said cordially. He stood a head
taller than either of the two agents. “Good to see you again.”

Tom was disappointed not to find Kyle present. Then again, perhaps that was just as well. This wasn’t a social call.

“Thank you for seeing us,” Diana said. “Hope we’re not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Collier insisted. A sweeping gesture called their attention to the virtual cityscape before him. “Come see what we’re doing here.” He beckoned them over. “It’s a comprehensive plan for rebuilding Seattle. Structures destroyed during the rioting are to be replaced by cold-fusion power plants, addiction treatment centers, vertical farms and gardens, and other revolutionary civic projects made possible by the singular abilities of the city’s promicin-positive population.” He smiled proudly. “We’re even upgrading the Monorail.”

“Looks ambitious,” Tom conceded. As much as he hated to admit it, Collier and his Movement had been in the forefront of the recovery efforts over the last few months. He looked more closely at Jordan’s vision for the city. “Is that a new courthouse down by Pioneer Square?”

“Good eye.” Collier nodded. “State of the art.”

“But whose courts?” Diana challenged. “The state’s or yours?”

Since taking over Seattle, Collier has established his own shadow judicial system, in which positives who were found guilty of abusing their abilities were stripped of their powers by Jordan himself. Diana’s acerbic tone made it clear that she disapproved of Collier running his own private kangaroo courts.

“In time, there will be no difference,” Collier stated confidently. “For now, however, the 4400 can hardly expect fair treatment in the regular courts, which means that we have to police ourselves. I assure you, this is a responsibility I take very seriously.” The ability to erase other positives’ gifts was Collier’s own unique talent. “I wish every individual with an ability could be trusted to use it responsibly, and in the best interests of the Movement, but, alas, that’s not always the case. Some new converts prove unworthy of their precious gifts.”

“Like my sister?” Diana asked.

Collier took a deep breath as he braced himself for the inevitable topic of April. “Ah yes. I heard there was some unpleasantness downstairs. My apologies if that was awkward for you, but I’m afraid that, no offense, your sister’s loyalties and associations are suspect. She is indeed banned from the premises.” His tone edged toward threatening. “In fact, you should inform her that I will personally rid her of her ability if she gets anywhere near me or otherwise attempts to use her gift to undermine the Movement.”

“Why is that?” Tom demanded. “What have you got to hide?”

Collier was unapologetic in his attitude. “Surely you, as a government agent, appreciate the importance of discretion and confidentiality. Loose lips sink ships, and all that. These are dangerous times, and I’m not going to let April Skouris—or anyone else—endanger our security.”

Tom wondered how Jordan had learned about April’s ability in the first place. That was supposed to be classified
information, too. Was there a leak at NTAC or Homeland Security?

Something to think about,
he thought.

“Now then,” Collier said, changing the subject. “What brings you here today? Official NTAC business, I assume.”

“That’s right.” Tom gave Jordan the bare bones of their investigation, mentioning Danny’s missing body, and Grayson & Son’s apparent involvement, but leaving out Dennis Ryland’s accusations regarding Collier’s alleged plans to weaponize promicin. “You know anything about this?”

Collier shook his head. “I wish I could help you. Your nephew is revered as a martyr to the Movement by my people. It’s shocking that someone would desecrate his memory in this fashion. I can’t imagine anyone here having anything to do with it.”

“So you’re denying any connection to Bernard Grayson?” Diana asked.

Collier shrugged. “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but the Movement has been growing by leaps and bounds since the Great Leap Forward. I’m afraid that an encyclopedic knowledge of everyone who supports our cause is not among my gifts.” He smiled wryly. “More’s the pity.”

Tom pressed harder. “So you’d have no interest in trying to replicate the airborne version of promicin that Danny emitted?” He let a touch of sarcasm creep into his voice. “Even though that would bring about your glorious new world a little faster?”

Collier appeared unruffled by the accusation. “I don’t
deny that I want everyone in the world to take promicin. But I’ve never forced the shot on anyone … as you know from personal experience, Tom.”

True enough,
he thought. Jordan had certainly had more than one opportunity to inject Tom against his will, but had always refrained from doing so, despite the prophecy claiming that it was vitally important that Tom take the shot at some point. But was Collier’s restraint due to his ethical standards, or just out of deference to Kyle’s importance to the Movement? Tom was inclined to suspect the latter.

“Fifty/fifty wasn’t exactly voluntary,” Diana pointed out. “None of those people chose to take promicin.”

“But that was not my doing.” He washed his hands of any responsibility for the disaster. “That was simply a monumental twist of Fate. An act of God, if you will.”

Tom doubted that Heaven had anything to do with killing nine thousand innocent people, and shattering the lives of countless more. “I don’t think God stole Danny’s body.”

“Indeed,” Collier said. “And I hope you find whoever is responsible. I give you my sincere promise to look into this matter.”