“Damn!” Sinclair-1 glared at Luca. “You’ve got to get her back!”

“We’re working on it.”

Sinclair-2 finally spoke. “Give it up, Merce. Can’t you see it’s gone too far? It’s past the point of no return now.”

“Not yet! Not until they produce that baby!”

“And even if they do,” said Voss, “we can call it a hoax, can’t we? Some cheap publicity stunt, a twenty-first century version of the Piltdown man or Barnum’s Cardiff Giant. We get our PR boys to crank up their bullshit machines and start poundin away at every news outlet they know: A hoax, that’s all it is. Just a hoax. Those boys are so good, before you know it, we’ll be believin it ourselfs.”

Sinclair-1 was shaking his head. “That won’t fly in this case. They have a real live sim mother. They can identify the human father—what was his name?”

“Craig Strickland,” Luca said. “The security guard at the globulin farm.”

“Who’s dead, right? But that doesn’t preclude fingerprinting his DNA. Plus they can put the sim mother and human father together for months in the same building in the Bronx. And most important, they’ll have the baby. With all that, it’s a simple everyday process to establish paternity.”

Luca could have cheered. He’d been looking for an opening to bait his trap, and this was it.

“I’ve taken care of that,” he said. “Because of his connection to a crime, Strickland’s body has been in cold storage in the New York City Morgue since it was pulled out of the ashes in the Bronx. A real crispy critter.”

“So?” Voss said.

“So yesterday it was released. Since Strickland’s got no family—at least none that’s come forward—I had one of my men present himself as Strickland’s cousin and claim his body. We’re going to have it cremated as soon as possible.”

He hadn’t done any of this yet. The idea had occurred to him less than an hour ago, and he had to clear it with Lister first. But Sinclair-2 didn’t know that.

“That still doesn’t help us,” Sinclair-1 said. “If indeed his corpse was, as you so elegantly put it, a ‘crispy critter,’ the NYPD would have had to look into his DNA in the course of identifying the body. Even after he’s reduced to ash, his RFLP profile will remain in the department’s database.”

Voss frowned. “What’s R-F—”

“Restriction fragment length polymorphisms,” Sinclair-1 said. “A way of testing for the differences in the banding pattern of DNA fragments from different individuals. DNA fingerprinting, in other words.”

“We know all about his RFLP in the database,” Luca said. “Ever hear of hacking a computer? Hardly anyone’s better at it than my people. We’ll have someone else’s RFLP—yours, if you want it—in that computer before sunrise.”

“I get it,” Voss said, nodding. “I’m not hearin a word of this talk of illegalities, of course. Matter of fact, I ain’t even in this here room right now. But if I were, even a genetics cretin like myself can see what’ll happen: They’ll hold up this Strickland boy as the father for all the world to see, but when it comes time for matchin up the DNA, there’ll come a cropper. They’ll go to the NYPD computer and—Lordy, Lordy, will you look at that—no match. And when they look to exhume the body—”

“—they’ll be nowhere,” Luca interrupted. “Because Craig Strickland will be nothing but a pile of dust. A pile I will personally scatter over the Hudson River.”

“And without DNA backup,” Voss cried, slapping his thighs, “the hoax angle from our flacks will start lookin mighty acceptable to the Great Unwashed. I like it! I like it very much!”

Luca had been watching Sinclair-2. His sunny disposition appeared to be fading. Rapidly. Good. He’d taken the bait.

“So,” Luca said, clapping his hands. “That leaves one more matter to discuss: Who’s delivering the sim’s baby?”

“Deliverin?” Voss said. “Deliverin how?”

“This sim, this Meerm or whatever she’s called, is going to be giving birth. Who’s going to handle that?”

Sinclair-1 slapped his palm on the table. “Excellent point.” He jumped to his feet. “If, as you say, this OPRR woman and that lawyer Sullivan have the sim, they’re not going to handle the delivery on their own. The baby is too important. They’re going to seek out expert help.”

“You mean some sort of obstetrician?” Voss said.

“Not just any OB. They’ll want one experienced with sim births. And if I was looking for a sim OB, there’s only one place on earth with a staff that fits the qualifications.”

“The Natal Center!” Luca said. Damn it! He should have thought of that himself. “They could be approaching someone on the staff right now.”

Sinclair-1 pointed to Luca. “Send a notice to the entire Natal Center staff—MDs and assistants alike—warning them that they might be approached, and to report any feelers that might come their way.”

Voss said, “And you might want to remind those folks that they’re eligible for the five-million reward.”

“Excellent point,” Sinclair-1 said.

“We’ll check out any Natal employees who’re out sick or taking an unplanned vacation,” Luca added.

But all this was going to require more manpower. He’d have to go to Lister for it. But that was okay. Canvassing the Natal Center was a good tactical move, and Luca would present it as his own idea.

Sinclair-2 suddenly shot from his seat and began pacing. He looked jittery. I do believe we’ve hit a nerve, Luca thought.

The CEO stared at his brother. “What is it, Ellis? You have something to add?”

Sinclair-2 stopped at the window and stared out at the hills. “I just thought of something. Something terrible.”

“Oh?” Sinclair-1 smiled. “Finally realized what that baby will do to our stock?”

“I’m not worried about the stock,” he said. “I’m far more worried about what this baby will do tous , Merce—you and me. Personally, not financially.”

“I’m not following.”

“What if Meerm’s baby is a girl?”

The CEO looked puzzled. “Girl, boy, what difference does it make? Its very existence is the threat.”

“Competition, Merce.” Sinclair-2 turned from the window and stared at his brother. His eyes looked haunted. “Inter- and intragenomic competition. Think about it.”

It’s finally happened, Luca thought. Sinclair-2 has completely lost it. Even his brother can’t figure out what he’s talking about.

He glanced at the CEO then and was struck by the change in his expression. His King-of-the-World look was fading—the perpetually raised eyebrows had sagged, the condescending half smile had fallen into a frown. But his eyes…his eyes told the whole story, narrowing and then widening into what Luca could only describe as abject horror. His mouth opened, his jaw worked, he took a step backward, almost lost his balance, and fell into his chair where he sat staring at his brother. His gray complexion made him look more dead than alive.

“What’s wrong?” Voss said, upset as well, but only by his boss’s reaction. He seemed as much in the dark as Luca. “What did he say? What’s wrong with it being a girl?”

The CEO was incapable of speech. Sinclair-2 answered for him.

“Not your concern, Abel. This is a personal matter between us.”

“Itis his concern!” Sinclair-1 blurted, getting some of his color back. “It’sall our concern!” He turned to his brother. “Ellis, for the love of God, if you’re involved in any way with the people who have the sim, do something! Stop them!”

Sinclair-2 shook his head. “I can’t stop anything. I don’t know Meerm’s whereabouts. It’s beyond you, it’s beyond me. It’s up to Zero now.”

Sinclair-1’s brow furrowed. “Zero? What’s zero?”

“Not what. Who.”

“You don’t mean…?” Sinclair-1 blinked. “ThatZero? But he’s dead.”

Sinclair-2 stared at his younger brother. “Not quite.”

The two words seemed to hang in the air between them. Portero caught Voss’s eye and the big man shrugged, obviously as confused as he.