“You okay?”

  “Wrong pipe. The woman, in that car behind us that we thought was following, she cruised past.”

  “So she wasn’t really tailing us?”

  Sara shrugged. “She might have been. My car is parked behind the building. She might think we’re still on the road.”

  “Or…” Frank drew out the word as he splashed booze into Bert’s cup, “she might have had nothing to do with us. It was just a coincidence. And speaking of coincidences, Bert’s friend Tom is Tom Mankowski.”

  Sara lit up. “Tom? It’ll be great to see him again. Did Tom tell you about Butler House?”

  “A little bit. I didn’t really pry.”

  Because I don’t like being reminded of serial killers and torture and mutilation.

  “Butler House was was was a nightmare.”

  “One of several,” Sara added. “Rock Island in Michigan was worse.”

  “So was Samhain,” Frank added. “But we survived all of that.”

  Sara raised her cup. “To survival.”

  Bert tapped her brim with his and somberly drank to that.

  I’m coming for you, Weejy. Hang in there.

  Sara seemed to read Bert’s mind. “I’m sure your friends are okay.”

  “It makes sense for the Beige Boys to keep them alive.” Frank took another sip.

  Bert frowned. “Right. To find out what they know.”

  “Exactly.” Frank grinned, and then his face fell. “Oh. I know know know what you’re thinking. That your friends will be harmed. But we’ll rescue them soon. And the cavalry is coming. Tom Mankowski is exactly the person we need at this moment. Plus you you you said he’s bringing help.”

  “Some mercs. Armed to the gills. And a few more clones. And friends.”

  “Good good good.”

  Bert didn’t feel good. He felt scared.

  So did Sara, apparently, because she’d wandered over to the window, splitting the curtains with her fingers and peeking outside.

  Frank refilled Bert’s cup without being asked. Bert gulped it down.

  “So we’ve all gone through some crazy shit in the past.” Bert sighed. “And now we’re going through it again.”

  Frank made a face. “Human beings are doomed to repeat history. It’s our nature.”

  “We’re all just characters in an episodic television show.” Sara reached for Frank’s cup, and he handed it over. “Each week, just a slight variation on the same theme. Similar conflicts, routine plot structure, same shit different day.”

  Bert didn’t like that. “Sounds fatalistic.”

  Sara shrugged. “Life is inevitable. Death is inevitable. The rest is just filler to pad out the runtime.”

  “We found each other, Sara. Is that just filler?”

  “Of course it is, Frank. But it’s wonderful filler. I don’t want to say we were destined to be together, but it sure is a good fit.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  The married couple shared a look, making Bert confront what he’d been missing all of his life.

  A long-term, committed relationship.

  Again he thought of Weejy.

  Again he despaired.

  The lovey-dovey gaze ended when Sara glanced through the curtains again, her hand immediately going to the back of her jeans and finding the handgun.

  “That woman. The one who was following us.” Sara raised her weapon. “She just pulled into the parking lot.”

  ZIGGY

  Area 57 – New Mexico

  Abagail the turkey still lived.

  It infuriated Ziggy.

  Her feathers were smoking. But the fowl didn’t appear bothered by the fact, or by the lightning storm of electricity that had filled the room moments before.

  As if the bird is purposely mocking my failure.

  He mashed his finger on the intercom button. “What went wrong?”

  Nick shrugged. “Tesla didn’t complete the schematic. Maybe he didn’t want to be burdened with regret. I’m thinking he purposely left out the solution so no one else could figure it out.”

  “But you have Tesla’s brain. You should be able to solve this.”

  He checked the other monitors, found the escapees in the elevator. Ziggy reflexively rubbed the bandage on his wrist.

  I didn’t expect to get injured.

  It doesn’t matter. I’ll get the answers I want.

  But next time, I won’t underestimate Weejy.

  Weejy. Weejy Weejy Weejy…

  A formidable human being. And an interesting name. It had to be the informal version of something longer.

  I wonder if…

  “Get off my back, Sigmund.” Nick trampled all over Ziggy’s train of thought. “I don’t have Tesla’s experience. His frame of reference. I didn’t live his life, do the things he did.”

  “Your mind is his mind. His genius is your genius.”

  “And your ego is Freud’s ego, with ambition to match.”

  “You’ve come this far.”

  “Maybe this is as far as I can go.”

  “Intellectually?” Ziggy stroked his goatee. “Or is this a moral issue?”

  “I’m not keen to replicate Oppenheimer.”

  Is that the problem? Nick doesn’t want to be responsible for genocide?

  Curious. And misguided.

  The method of killing does not equal the will to kill. A gun, by itself, poses no danger without a person to shoot it.

  If Nick is worried about becoming Death, the Destroyer of Worlds, he shouldn’t.

  That’s my job.

  “Oppenheimer didn’t drop the bomb. If he hadn’t helped create it, someone else would have. Nuclear weapons were inevitable. The world was lucky the Allies discovered it before the Axis did.”

  “That’s your excuse for bringing a weapon of mass destruction into the world? If we don’t do it, someone worse will?”

  Not someone worse. I’m as bad as they come.

  I’m such a bad boy.

  Ziggy smiled a secret smile.

  Isn’t that right, Mommy?

  “Leave the morality to someone above your pay grade, Nicky.”

  “We can make a fortune using a Tesla cloud to power devices without cords. The tech is almost there. We can make cheap, plentiful electricity available to everyone on the planet. Why are you so stuck on creating a weapon?”

  “My priorities aren’t your concern.”

  “Does it have to do with Room 33?”

  Clever of him. But then, he is a clone of Tesla. “That isn’t our project, Nicky.”

  “I keep telling you my name isn’t Nicky. It’s Nick. You do that on purpose.”

  Of course I do. I do everything on purpose.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “There are a lot of things I’d like to talk about, Sigmund.”

  “Such as?”

  “Why did you have the guards bring that creepy old guy here?”

  He doesn’t miss much.

  “I sent for him. He’s part of a back-up plan. I want to make sure we cover all the bases.”

  “Do you know who he is? I took a pic and did an image search to look him up.”

  “Of course I know who he is.”

  “He’s a lunatic.”

  “You’re focusing on things that aren’t your concern, Nicky.”

  “It’ll be my concern if he goes on a torture-murder spree down here.”

  “We’re perfectly safe. A fellow as observant as you are may have noticed there are armed guards everywhere.”

  “Have you done a head count lately? He may be killing them one by one. Did you look up the history of that guy?”

  How do I persuade Nick to stay on task and do what needs to be done?

  Maybe money and ego aren’t good enough motivators.

  Less carrot. More stick.

  “How is your daughter, Nadia, adjusting to boarding school? Must be hard to be away from Daddy.”

  Nick stared up into the camera. “I can’t tell if that’s another of your attempts to feign concern while getting details about my life, or a thinly veiled threat.”

  Can’t it be both?

  “I’d be foolish to threaten someone with the intelligence to create a death ray,” Ziggy answered.

  “Yes, you would. And we’ve been through this. It isn’t a death ray. It’s a charged particle beam that projects concentrated non-dispersive energy through air.”

  Tomato, tomahto.

  “I’m just inquiring about her. Not for me. Mr. Tork wanted to know.”

  On the monitor, Nicky shook with obvious rage. “You keep that psychopath away from my daughter, Sigmund.”

  “Of course I’ll keep him away. I’m fully aware of Tork’s unique… appetites. He has no idea that she’s attending the Brodnant School in New Hampshire, and since their register is private, there’s no way he could ever know.”

  Unless I tell him.

  “You think you’re being coy, Sigmund. All you’re doing is pissing me off. I could leave.”

  “You could. But I know how expensive boarding school is for a single parent. And we both know your resume… it has some holes. And your time in prison is the first thing that comes up in a Google search.”

  “If you Googled me, you know why I went to prison.”

  “Now who’s threating whom, Nick? Am I to be the next employer that you assault?”

  “Maybe I won’t stop at assault. Maybe I need to remove both you and Tork from my life.”

  “That is certainly an option. But the password to access Tesla’s notebooks would die with me.”

  “I could get you to tell me.”

  You can’t even roast a turkey, you sad little man.

  “I could have Mr. Tork bring your dear Nadia here to help keep you focused.”

  “Sigmund—”

  “Or,” Ziggy quickly interrupted, “if you give me what I need in the next 72 hours, I’ll double your bonus.”

  “Ten million?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to test this in Shackleton, Iowa.”

  “Yes.”

  “The town you grew up in. Population 693.”

  “Yes.” Apparently Nick has done a bit of research on my past. Interesting.

  “And your definition of a successful test?”

  “Total mortality within a one mile radius. Not even a goldfish should survive.”

  The idea of a goldfish being molecularly dissected in its bowl secretly delighted Ziggy.

  “I want half the money now.”

  What is it with everyone wanting half up front? “Impossible. I won’t have it until I sell the machine,” Ziggy lied.

  “I could sell it myself.”

  “Nicky… I’m the one with the Tesla notebooks. I’m the one who got you the lawyer that freed you from the James T. Vaughn Correctional Center. I’m the one who explained the tattoo on your foot and who you are. And I’m the one with the contacts to sell a death ray, unless you think you can find arms dealers in Belarus with the same Google skills you used to find my childhood town.”

  Nick didn’t answer.

  Ziggy checked the monitors again.

  My prisoners are on the move.

  Rats in my maze.

  And rats should never trust other rats.

  Ziggy’s cell phone buzzed with a text message.

  “I’ll get your teleforce,” Nick replied.

  “Glad we could reach an agreement, Nick.”

  Smiling, Ziggy checked the text.

  Mary.

  600

  Losing his smile, he quickly tapped out, Did the price go up because you haven’t been paid yet? It’s the government. Everything takes a while.

  Her response surprised Ziggy.

  I found two more.

  Two more? Tell me.

  I can do better than tell you. I’ll show you.

  When?

  Half the money first.

  I’ll put in the request for 300, Ziggy texted. Expect a wire transfer soon.

  This is getting interesting…

  TOM

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  “I knew it would end up like this.” The normally dignified Roy wore a flustered expression. “Running around on top of a twelve hundred foot goddamn tower being chased by guys named Tony.”

  “You should have warned me.” Tom checked his six and saw two of the Tonys weaving through the crowd, heading toward them.

  The other two Tonys must be circling to get in front of us.

  Coming up here really was the mother of all bad ideas.

  “Trade shirts with me,” Abe clung to Tom’s shoulder. “Then they’ll think I’m you and shoot you instead.”

  “First of all; no.”

  “I’d do it for you.”

  “You won’t even do it for yourself.”

  “I would, if I wasn’t being the one chased.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  The wind kicked up, giving Tom a nudge that made his testicles retreat up into his body cavity.

  “How about we flip a coin?” Abe suggested. “Heads I get your shirt. Tails you get my shirt.”

  “No. Plus, it wouldn’t work, Abe. You’ve got a beard.”

  “I have a Sharpie in my pocket. We could draw a beard on you.”

  The wind gusted stronger, fierce enough to blow off hats. Some unfortunate tourist’s ballcap took flight, and it shot out into open air and then fluttered over the edge of oblivion and abruptly disappeared.

  That exactly how my stomach feels.

  “You know, Tommy, they ain’t chasing us. Just him. We could just leave.”

  Abe gave Roy an expression of pure shock. “How can you say that? You’re the ones that lured me up here.”

  “You know that ain’t true. And what’s the worst they do to you?”

  “It depends if Tony Ballsander is working tonight.”

  Roy stopped walking and raised his hands in submission. “I’m out. My balls are my two favorite things.”

  Tom considered their limited options.

  This is the wrong spot for a showdown. We don’t have guns. There are too many civilians who can get hurt.

  And, same as Roy, I also like my balls. A lot.

  Plus it’s too damn high up.

  But we can’t just leave Abe at the mercy of the Tony Mafia.

  If there was only a way to get him off the tower other than the elevator…

  Tom’s eyes flitted to the edge of the platform, even though he didn’t want to look. There, with a small line of people, was the SkyTop ThrillDrop attraction.

  He grabbed Abe’s elbow and steered him toward the ride.

  Abe resisted. “Tom? What are you doing?”

  “You’re jumping off the tower.”

  Abe shook his head. “The hell I am.”

  “It’s that or Tony Ball Torture.”

  “It’s Tony Ballsander. He’s the terrifying titan of testicle torture. And I don’t want my presidential privates painfully pulverized.”

  “Did you practice saying that?” Roy asked.

  “I’m always adept at alliteration.”

  “Absolute antisocial assclown,” Roy countered.

  “Spreading superhuman semantic skills,” Abe countered.

  “Sucking sheep scrotums.”

  “Only with consent.”

  Tom clapped the dead president’s shoulder. “You need to jump, Abe.”

  “My superhuman abilities don’t include flying.”

  Roy gave Abe a shove. “It’s a zip line. They put you in a harness and lower you down on a thin string. It’s perfectly safe. Probably.”

  “Hell, no.”

  Tom checked his six. One of the Tonys was pushing through the crowd, quickly closing in, a hand inside his jacket.

  Obviously gripping a gun.

  “Hell, yes.” Tom assisted Roy in the shoving.

  “Can’t you guys kung-fu them or something? You were cops.”

  “We weren’t kung-fu cops, jackass,” Roy told him. “Get your bony butt on that zip line or we’re leaving you here.”

  “It’s seventy-five dollars.”

  “My treat,” Tom generously offered.

  “There’s a line.”

  “Do your orating thing and cut ahead. You do that all the time.”

  “Another guy on our nine,” Roy said.

  Tom chanced a glance.

  Where’d the third one go? Covering the elevators?

  “I don’t like heights.” Abe tried to turn back. “They make me feel like I’m going to fall and die. I’m weird that way.”

  “I give up. I’m out,” Roy stopped abruptly and again lifted his hands in surrender. “Good luck with the Tonys, Abe. You coming, Tom?”

  Is Roy bluffing?

  Does it matter at this point? I have to back my partner up. Cop Rules 101.

  “I’m with you, Roy. Sorry, Abe.” Tom clapped his shoulder and began to walk away.

  “Wait!” Abe squeaked. “I need the seventy-five bones!”

  Tom turned back and fished out his wallet, handing Abe a hundred dollar bill, which Abe quickly snatched.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Honest Abe raised his hands and his voice, commanding the attention of the crowd. “All eyes on me, please. I request a moment of your time.”

  Several people looked at him. Abe spoke louder, practically yelling. “Yes, it is I. Your sixteenth president, Abraham Lincoln. The man who abolished slavery with the Emancipation Proclamation, paving the way for Blacks to vote, as long as they weren’t women. The man who gave the Gettysburg Address almost four score and seven years ago. The man who signed the Revenue Act of 1861, creating the first federal income tax.” Abe coughed into his hand. “Sorry about that last one.”

  A dozen people laughed. Abe had almost everyone’s attention by then.

  Guy sure knows how to hold court.

  “Many of you gazing upon my famous countenance are no doubt thinking the same thing as that brilliant sage of the 1980s, Janet Jackson. What have I done for you lately?”

  More titters. Most of the crowd had stopped moving around, with the exception of two Tonys, who closed to within ten meters of Abe.

  “In conjunction with the generous benefactors of the Heaven Hotel, Casino, and SkyTower, I have consented to jump from the edge of this magnificently tall building, for your entertainment and picture-op pleasure.”