Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(65)

The speakers buzz with low feedback and then abruptly go silent. The man onstage leans down to speak with someone below. He nods and raises the microphone again. “I think we’re ready,” he announces.

The crowd claps—out of impatience, I think.

“Who is that man?” I ask Obadiah.

“The one with the mic?” Obadiah asks. I nod. “Lucas Snidd. Executive assistant and press secretary to the President. Also, world’s biggest brown-noser.”

“What’s a brown-noser?” I ask.

“A suck-up.” At my blank look, he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

The clapping dies away and the man onstage, Lucas Snidd, raises his microphone and continues. “I want to thank you all for coming tonight. We’re very excited to share our announcement with you. But first, we’re honored to hear from a very important man. Please welcome the Director of Homeland Security, Mr. David Bruno.”

Everyone claps as the microphone is handed to the second man on stage. He smiles, revealing two front crooked teeth, and raises a hand in acknowledgment of the applause. It dies off faster than before. People are antsy.

“Thank you all and welcome. As Mr. Snidd said, we are excited to share our announcement with you, but first, I’d like to talk to you about the security of your personal identity. It’s an issue that bears a larger look and, at Homeland Security, we’re all about the big picture. Security for the whole of our nation.”

Obadiah snorts.

Mr. Bruno continues, “As many of you know, over the past eighteen months, identity fraud on a person-to-person basis has become one of the most prolific crimes leading up to the financial crash. A trigger, if you will. It became not only more prevalent in those years leading up, but also more high-tech and more complex to circumvent. Our nation, as well as many others, has been a hard-hit target. Even after the crash, identity theft is still a major problem in our society. Some of the culprits are foreign, but more and more often since the crash and subsequent financial rebuild, many of these crimes have been committed domestically.

“We’ve been unable to track many of the perpetrators simply due to their own financial ineptitude. To be frank, most of these perpetrators are homeless to begin with, making it harder to track them down.” His top lip curls slightly when he says this and a ripple of nasty agreement makes its way across the crowd. My mouth tightens and I force my expression to remain blank.

Amid the voices he booms into the microphone, “It has to stop.”

The crowd hushes, waiting to hear what he’ll say next. The thread of worry that has been weaving its way through my organs and deeper into my gut tightens.

“Twenty-six months ago, a group was formed. It was an unofficial meeting of like-minded men. All of whom are in a position and with resources at their disposal to help forward our mission. As a unit and a government, we understand we can’t hope to stamp out any and all threats—at least not yet. The collective mission and immediate goal of the group formed is to eradicate opportunity. By making it more difficult for these perpetrators to successfully steal identities, we increase their chances of mistakes, thereby increasing our opportunities for capture. It is with great satisfaction that I stand before you tonight and tell you, we believe we’ve found a way to do that, thanks to the help of Titus Rogen.”

Mr. Bruno steps back and hands the microphone to Mr. Snidd. The crowd erupts in applause. Through the haze of my own growing dread, I hear a few whistles near the front. Probably the media. The rest of this group is too stiff to whistle.

A few reporters turn and point their camera in my direction. I smile and wave with a dainty twist of my wrist, averting my eyes against the flashes.

Segregation. Is this what Taylor was talking about? Is it happening now?

A hand closes over mine and I smile at Obadiah. “You okay?” he asks for the millionth time.

I nod absently and sip my drink.

Obadiah doesn’t buy it. I didn’t expect him to. He leans closer, his voice hushed. “Look, it’s government. I’ve been neck-deep in it my whole life. If there’s one thing I know about government, it’s that it takes forever,” he says, drawing out the last word. “Stop worrying. We’ll beat them to the punch and they won’t know what hit ‘em.” He pats my hand and slides away before I can argue.

I tell myself he’s right. To calm down. To breathe.

I scan for Linc again—it would be better if I could see him—but I can’t find him anywhere.

On the stage, Mr. Snidd takes his place in the spotlight and speaks into the microphone. “Thank you very much, Mr. Director.” He tosses an approving smile at Mr. Bruno and returns his attention to the group near the base of the stage. “Now, before we reveal our action plan, we’ll open the floor up for just a few questions.”

Dozens of hands shoot into the air and wriggle back and forth. It reminds me of clips of music concerts I saw once on television. Mr. Snidd points at one of them and the hands go down.

“Do you have a name for this group?” the reporter asks.

“Yes,”Mr. Snidd answers, looking pleased someone asked. “It’s called the AIP. The Alliance for Identity Protection. Next question?”

Mr. Snidd moves on to the next reporter with a quick arm and Obadiah snorts.

“What?” I ask.

“They call themselves AIPs? Seriously?” He shakes his head. “They make it way too easy.” At my blank expression he adds, “AIPs … As in, monkeys? Get it?”