Simulation: A Pop Travel Novel Page 11

  What was wrong with him? Was he tainted by the disgusting characters he spied on day in and day out? Same raunchy low-lifes, shiny new location. Maybe he should change jobs. He considered a more positive occupation. He’d never go back to being a lawyer, that wouldn’t be much of a change. Maybe a kindergarten teacher.

  He laughed out loud as he pictured himself surrounded by screaming munchkins. I still got it.

  His business line blinked in a corner of the imager, catching his attention.

  Cooper peered at the name. Lucinda Ramirez. Never heard of her. Usually he would let new clients leave a message and research them before talking to them. Then, he would send them a time and place to meet him in public. Most of the time, his clients were clean. It took one case to make him start screening. A guy called and asked Cooper to find his estranged wife and their son. The sleaze ball turned out to be an ex-con, against whom restraining orders had been filed from the woman he sought. Exactly the kind of person Cooper needed to stop associating the rest of society with.

  Tired of wallowing in the lowliness of his job, he decided to give the human race another blind chance and talk to this stranger.

  “Lucky Lucinda. You caught me in a good mood,” he said to the flashing name, then spoke the voice command that answered the call. “Cooper here, talk to me.”

  His report minimized, and the 3D image of a woman with long, dark hair pulled into a neat ponytail and sienna skin sprang onto the main frame of the imager projected from the compucenter device below. When she spoke, Cooper detected a slight Latin American accent.

  “Hello, Detective Cooper? My name is Lucinda Ramirez and I have a problem.”

  Don’t we all? “Yes, Ms. Ramirez. How can I help you?”

  “Well, let’s see if you can. The last three detectives laughed at me and one had the nerve to suggest I try a psychiatric hotline. I am getting more than a little frustrated.” Her accent thickened as her annoyance flared.

  Uh oh. This ought to be good. Maybe I should’ve let the machine get it after all. “I see. Sounds like they weren’t very professional. I’ll take a listen. Shoot.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Good. Thank you. You see, I need someone to find my boyfriend.”

  Not crazy so far.

  “Well, he’s my ex-boyfriend.”

  Still not unusual.

  “A week ago, he was forced to break up with me, against his will.”

  And here’s where it begins. Cooper nodded sympathetically. “Go on.”

  “I’ve been trying to recover and haven’t left my house much except to go to work. It’s been very painful. Last night, I let a couple of my girlfriends take me out to dinner at Carmina’s Sicily and you’ll never believe it, but we ran into him. I knew it was a sign. I tried to say hello, but he ignored me and acted as if he’d never seen me before. When I called his name, he looked right through me.”

  Just happened to bump into him? Sounds more like someone was stalking him. And of course he ignored her. She’s obviously never been dumped before. Cooper tilted his head with concern in his eyes. He knew loss and felt for her, but this seemed like a simple breakup. He opened his mouth to speak, but she put up a hand and cut him off.

  “Hold on. You must let me finish. Before he turned away, I swear his eyes took my picture. That thing I saw last night was not my boyfriend. I don’t think it was even a real person.”

  Took her picture? She was losing it, all right. He wanted to say something snarky like, You’re right, he’s not your boyfriend. He dumped you. Instead, he questioned her. He would either catch her making a mistake, which would prove his assumption of a false pretense to get Cooper’s help tracking him down so she could harass the guy. Or he’d catch himself an interesting case. Maybe the guy had new spy technology—lenses that recorded data.

  “So he looked like your boyfriend. Could it have been someone who resembled him?”

  “No. It was him, exactly. But only on the outside.”

  Maybe she needs glasses. “Ms. Ramirez, how is that possible? Does he have a twin?”

  She waved her hands at Cooper. “No, no, no. He has no family. This was an exact replica, like a clone. But his responses were stiff and clumsy, like a new android.”

  “What are you saying? Your boyfriend is a robot?” No wonder the other detectives laughed at her.

  “No. I did some research about it. I think he might be a clone android. A genetic copy of my boyfriend with spare parts and a computerized brain.” She sharply pointed to her head.

  He knew what she was saying. But her implication was a ridiculous assumption. “It sounds like you think he might be a simulation. But those have never existed and aren’t supposed to. They’re illegal to even conceptualize because of all the problems they would create.” When some scientists in Japan cloned the first human, it died before opening its eyes. Activists from all over the world, with varying, drastic reasons, united to halt further experimentation. Clones of politicians or celebrities would wreak havoc of epidemic proportions. Religious leaders questioned whether clones would have souls. They considered its immediate death a sign they shouldn’t try again. Governments wanted to know how they would identify clones and tax them. With the same DNA, they’d be impossible to distinguish. The United Nations banned anything to do with cloning across the globe.

  Lucinda raised an eyebrow at him. “Has that ever stopped any criminal from breaking the law?”

  Smart-ass. “Well, it’s still highly unlikely. A simulation would be ridiculously expensive.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem for the man I think commissioned this one.”

  “Just who are we talking about? Who is your boyfriend?”

  “McFarland Wells.”

  That name sounded familiar.

  “And his maker?”

  “Colonel Crews Hamilton.”

  Ding, ding, ding! And that’s when someone told her to call the nut doctor hotline.

  It all came back to him. The Colonel and his big, bad Congressman. Cooper understood why no one wanted to touch her case. That old dog could squash any simple, low-life detective like the flea he was. But Cooper wasn’t simple. He decided to get some more info before turning her down.

  “Ms. Ramirez, how did you meet Mr. Wells?”

  Her eyes sparkled with hope and fond remembrance. Cooper waited for some soothing, background music to start playing while she flashed back and told her story. Once upon a time…

  “A few months ago, the biggest man I’d ever seen stepped out of a coffee shop. Since I couldn’t help staring at him and he was lost in his own thoughts, we bumped into each other. He apologized, but his face was so withdrawn and sad. I had to ask what was wrong. He studied me for a moment, then gave me a lame response he was under a lot of pressure for work. I could tell it was more involved, so I told him he should confide in someone, maybe take some time away from work. He lit up at the suggestion and invited me to hop into a cab and play hooky with him for the rest of the day. Even though I barely knew him, I saw a gentleness in his eyes and went. I’ve never done such a reckless thing before.“ She turned her head and wiped away a tear before continuing.

  “McFarland told me how the Colonel hounded him all the time, constantly looking for opportunities for McFarland to gain influence with other politicians. As often as he could steal away, McFarland would visit me. We had to hide our relationship, never to be seen in public, or it might’ve gotten back to the Colonel.”

  Forbidden love usually ended badly. He felt sorry for her and her boyfriend. “And you say Wells, er, McFarland broke up with you against his will?”

  “Yes. The Colonel sent one of his androids with McFarland to make sure he did it. But he swore to me he would come back some day.”

  McFarland Wells had been stiff and uncomfortable when Cooper met him in Washington, D.C. with Dawson. But that had been a couple of weeks ago. He knew he was a real person. An android couldn’t duplicate those nervous, awkward reactions, no matter how sophisticated the prog
ram. At least he didn’t think one could. A simulation case would be big. Did he want to do another big case? He needed more info.

  “When did you break up?”

  “Last Friday. The twelfth.”

  “So you think this change occurred after that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” This case intrigued Cooper. The prospect of taking on the Colonel, who seemed untouchable, tempted him. Plus, he had a soft spot for helping underdogs. But Cooper’s suspicious ex-lawyer instincts told him to prepare for the worst the Colonel might sling back at him. And her. If the Colonel forced Wells to break up with her, something must be wrong with her, politically speaking.

  “Ms. Ramirez, you know Colonel Hamilton is a powerful man who could easily dig up dirt about you if you became a problem. Is there anything you’d like to tell me I should be aware of?”

  “Well…” she began, then hesitated, biting her lower lip.

  “Better to tell me now, rather than waste my time and your money for me to find out myself.”

  “Yes. Well, my work visa is about to expire. I have to go back to El Salvador in a month.”

  “Did you and Mr. Wells talk about getting married?”

  She shook her head vigorously, ponytail swinging behind her. “No! I never told him a thing about it. I didn’t want him to think that was the reason I was dating him. I was going to leave quietly and contact him after I went home. If our love was true, I hoped he would wait for me to return. I also didn’t want to give anyone a reason to doubt him.”

  “But the Colonel probably knew.”

  “Yes. I’m sure he knew. Probably the whole time. But that doesn’t matter now. I’ve accepted the fact McFarland had to break up with me. After thinking about it for a while, I believe that was inevitable as long as he was loyal to the Colonel. I also believe McFarland wanted to escape the Colonel’s hold on him and would have found me someday. He would’ve quit his job and moved to El Salvador with me, if he knew. He left a previous life behind before; he could do it again. With more to gain this time.” Lucinda paused for a moment before coming back to Cooper and finishing her point.

  “What I fear is the Colonel made this clone android of McFarland to have complete control of it while he hid the real McFarland away somewhere. I know I have to leave soon; I just want to know mi amor is safe. If he’s trapped somewhere like a prisoner, you have to find him. Then he could leave the country with me.”

  What a story. I must be a sucker for desperate clients. A magnet, even. “Before I take your case, I heard you slip McFarland left a previous life behind. What’s that about?”

  She drew in a breath and covered her mouth. “I promised McFarland I would never tell anyone.” She furrowed her brow, no doubt considering if she should tell Cooper about McFarland’s past.

  “Again, I will find out his secrets regardless. You might as well tell me.”

  After a deep breath, she gave over. “Yes. It’s for the best. You see, McFarland Wells isn’t his given name. He wouldn’t tell me his original name because of all the negative associations it has. McFarland worked past a tough childhood, fought to survive, then made an unfortunate mistake. He didn’t give me any details. All he would say is he had his horrible past erased and moved into the Unknown City. When the Colonel found him, he gave him an offer he couldn’t refuse, including a brighter, new history, complete with medical records and background files. It was a chance to start over and make a difference.”

  That explained a lot about the introverted Congressman Wells Cooper met. It also extended the vast reach of the Colonel and his powerful connections further than Cooper originally assumed. Not many people could create a new person legally. To run for office, Wells’ background had to be impeccable. All the more reason Cooper wouldn’t mind bringing the Colonel down. And since Lucinda knew about it, she could be in danger of losing more than her boyfriend.

  “Tell you what, Ms. Ramirez, this is all pretty far-fetched, but I will look into it for you and see what I can come up with. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

  She brightened, getting her hopes up anyway. “That’s wonderful! I understand. I’m sure you will find him. I will feel so much better knowing my McFarland is safe. Thank you, Mr. Cooper.”

  Cooper took her contact information plus a down payment before he disconnected with her. Then he immediately ran a check on her and the rest of the characters in her story.

  Lucinda Ramirez, a paralegal in downtown Atlanta, would indeed be leaving the U.S. in a few weeks. She had a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice and no police record. True to her word and pretty boring.

  McFarland Wells, however, had a shady history, whether the Colonel made it up or not. He’d been bounced around in foster homes, and despite his neglectful guardians, graduated high school with honors. Then, and this part Cooper didn’t buy, McFarland went on to college funded by a state scholarship, earning a degree in Political Science. Cooper didn’t get the college-boy vibe from McFarland, unless he’d gone with a sports scholarship. Wells seemed more like a soldier to Cooper. The giant man’s stance announced his strict discipline. But his records made no mention of sports activities or military service. Cooper could easily believe this biography was a fabricated background, tailor-made for a young, upcoming politician.

  Easier to believe was Lucinda’s story that the Colonel manipulated the humble, guilt-ridden McFarland, promising forgiveness and the ability to brighten the futures of youths like him if the brooding young man did as he was told. Cooper just hoped McFarland hadn’t returned to the Unknown City. That was a trek he didn’t want to take. Some visitors never emerged. Not that he was convinced the Congressman in office was a fake yet. The woman might’ve been delusional and McFarland might’ve legitimately dumped her.

  Then there was the Colonel. Young Crews Hamilton joined the Marines straight out of high school. Once he finished his college education, paid for by the military, he went into active duty, serving in the Tex-Mex War, and was decorated several times. After twenty years of service, he retired and became a Senator in Georgia for three terms. During that time, he made lucrative investments, got married, and had a couple of sons who now had families of their own. Retirement from office didn’t stop the Colonel, now pushing seventy. He made millions playing the stock market and still enjoyed supervising many successful campaigns for a string of politicians.

  What? No golf? No travel? No yacht? That’s the way to retire. Especially with so much money.

  The last candidate the Colonel managed before Wells was Senator Jonas Tucker. Cooper met him through Dawson too. Nice young guy, but cocky. Dawson said when Tucker started out, he wanted to make big changes, but just like every new politician, he learned it took a lot of butt kissing and favor trading to pay his dues if he wanted support from the others. No one worked alone in the government. That was an ancient cobweb of deceit so vast and sticky it would tangle a jet-copter.

  An article on the Colonel’s managing style said he remained a gentleman throughout the campaigns. He never stooped to mudslinging, but spent his money wisely and intimidated the competition with well-written speeches and overall prowess from his overwhelming supply of connections. He knew how to present candidates by giving them the right look and putting them in the right situations. Researching into some of his campaigns, Cooper noticed an interesting pattern of disasters for each candidate to swoop in and save the day. His doubtful nature tried to convince him of the Colonel having a hand in arranging the tragic events.

  Nah. That’s too cynical. Even for me.

  Cooper decided to start in the streets. He had some friends in low places that might know something about illegal simulation production. He shouldn’t complain about his job when it gave him viable, though legally questionable, connections. Information was power, any way he could get it.

  Decatur, GA

  Wednesday, June 17, 2082

  ou sure this is it?” Geri had no idea what Aimee’s primary skill set was, but it wasn�
�t navigation.

  Even with her QV’s map to guide them, the address wasn’t registering exactly. Geri would’ve used the car’s GPS, but the one they picked from the impound lot needed to be an old gas-guzzler to support their story, and all the electronics had been stolen from it. They were really roughing it.

  Rage’s garage was on the south side of Decatur. Though he hadn’t been there long, word on the street said he could do things with machines a mother would be ashamed of. A real sleazy, creative techno-wizard who would do whatever anyone wanted electronically, for a price.

  “This has to be it. It’s the only thing around here. The live satellite image shows a big building in the high brush off to the right. The next closest structures are a couple of old shacks.” Aimee played with the zoom on her imager to be sure.

  “I hope it’s occupied this time.”

  Aimee frowned as Geri turned the old rust boat off the rural highway onto a dirt drive masked by giant weeds. “With no booby-traps.”

  Geri smirked. “But we’ll be ready for anything, right?”

  “Yeah!”

  Good. Keep up the enthusiasm, kid.

  Geri slowly rolled up to the gate. The tall chain-link fence looked dilapidated with rusty hinges and holes in the privacy slats. A charge box sitting at the top of each section told her it was electrified. Apparently the No trespassing sign, though hanging crooked as if unimportant, was extremely serious.

  When Geri stopped, an imager frame projected in front of the windshield.

  A dark, greasy man in what used to be blue coveralls scared them with his pirate-toothed grin. Besides the oil stains on his uniform, all exposed skin had black splotches as well—his face, his hands, and his neck. He wore a red do-rag on his head and chewed on a nic pick. Those nic picks were supposed to help nicotine addicts, but Geri felt they just prolonged the addiction, getting them through the day until they could relax with a smoke at home. While the unsavory character wiped his hands on his chest, he spit off to the side around the pick, then addressed them.