Upgrade(12)

The Gene Protection Agency was headquartered in Constitution Center, in the same office space that had once housed the National Endowment for the Arts.

I badged through security and took the elevator up to the suite of offices of the director and deputy director, where I’d been summoned to meet with Edwin Rogers at nine A.M.

I waited outside his secretary’s garrison for a half hour, and then Edwin emerged from his office, saying by way of greeting, “Had coffee yet?”

“Yes, but I could always have more.”

“Walk with me.”

He was an impressive, dominating man.

Six-five, slim with wide shoulders, and dressed in a gorgeously tailored suit.

At sixty, he was still lighter than ever on his feet, and I had to walk fast to keep pace with his long, confident strides.

We rode down to the building’s central park and got in line at the coffee stand. It was a mild morning for late November, and the ten, glass-fa?ade stories of Constitution Center that enclosed the one-acre courtyard kept us protected from the wind coming off the Potomac and the interstate noise just to our south.

We took our coffees to a nearby bench.

“How are those busted ribs?” Edwin asked.

“Still tender. I see my doctor this afternoon.”

Edwin sipped his coffee. “And therapy? If you don’t mind my prying…”

“It’s helping.”

“Good. Important to make sure you’re processing what happened in Denver. Could’ve been so much worse.”

I drank my coffee.

Directly above us, I heard the cannon blast of a hyperjet smashing through the sound barrier on its ascent out of Reagan National.

“Where are we with Soren?” I asked.

“We filed attempted-murder charges. Judge denied bail. He’s still being held in Denver.”

“He doesn’t want to cut a deal?”

“Won’t even talk to us.”

“What do we have on him?”

“Not a lot. His computer was clean.”

“He told us where that house was. Admitted making a delivery to it. Walked us straight into a trap.”

“And after he asked for a lawyer, you responded by threatening him with illegal extradition to China.”

“Sir, I—”

“Logan. I’m on your side here.”

“What if we chipped him and kicked him loose?”

“You mean with one of DARPA’s experimental nano-thingies?”

“Why not? See where he goes.”

“They’re really only useful with cooperative informants. They dissolve after forty-eight hours. Also, you know, bit of a violation of his rights. Again.”

“So what happens next?”

“There’s a preliminary hearing in two weeks. That’ll be our face-the-music moment.” Edwin glanced at his watch and stood. “I have to go up to the Hill. I want you to report to the Intelligence Division. They know you’re coming. You’ll be riding a desk on analyst row until you’re cleared for fieldwork.”

As I watched Edwin walk across the courtyard, a familiar voice called my name. I turned to see my partner, Nadine, moving toward me, breaking into a smile.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, sitting down beside me. “How you feeling?”

“Better. The director put me on desk duty, so…fun times ahead.”

“Oh, come on, this is your dream. You hate fieldwork. It makes you all pukey.”

“True. I also hate being in a cubicle.”

Nadine laughed. “It’s almost like you can’t be made happy.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Lunch plans?” she asked.

“No.”

“There’s a new ramen place across the street. My treat.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know. Can’t I be glad you didn’t die?”

“How long are you in town?” I asked.

“I’m taking the loop out to Minneapolis this evening.” She shrugged. “Apparently, someone set up a gene lab in the basement of an abandoned psychiatric hospital.”

“Sounds like the opening to a great horror film.”

“I’ll swing by analyst row to pick you up a little before noon.” Nadine stood, tapped her coffee cup against mine. “Good to have you back.”

And she set off across the courtyard.



* * *



—

Dr. Jeff Strand—my internist of almost a decade—sat across from me in the patient room, studying my chart.

“So I got your X-rays back.”

“Okay.” I girded myself. We’d been chatting for a few minutes, but this was all I could think about.

“There are some…irregularities.” He pulled two X-rays out of my file and placed them on the cushioned table I was perched on. They looked identical to me. He touched one of them. “This is an image of the right carpal bones and radius and ulna. Wrist and forearm. It’s normal.”

“That’s good, right?”

“This is from another patient of mine.”

“Oh.”

He pointed to the other X-ray. “This is the image of your right wrist and forearm.”