He got out of the car and looked at the building he’d been trapped in for so long. He was struck by the strangeness of looking at it from the outside. He’d been so focused on escaping the place, and here he was about to walk right back in.

He patted his pocket and felt for the phone, which contained photographic evidence of the package that was now in Brent’s care. It had to be enough, he thought. This had to work. If it didn’t, he didn’t know what would happen. Would they simply put him back in the lab and carry on with the experiment? Doubtful. Once they realized he couldn’t be trusted, they’d likely do a lot worse than that, he thought. He turned back to Brent, who had started the car but hadn’t pulled away yet.

“Don’t go too far,” he called. “Wait for my call.”

“One hour.”

Jeremiah took a few uneasy steps in the direction of the lab, his head spinning from blood loss, adrenaline or both, and readied himself for what he had to do. If this was going to work, he knew he had to go in strong. He could show no doubt, no hesitation. He needed to face Charles Scott with confidence and in full control.

About twenty paces before he reached the building, Charles Scott came striding swiftly out the front door, flanked by two serious-looking armed security guards. Scott said nothing as the guards took Jeremiah, one by each arm, and hurried him through the entrance, down the hallway, through the two locked security doors Jeremiah had come through the previous night, past three uninterested secretaries and directly into Scott’s office. When Scott nodded at the guards, they let him go with a shove and swiftly left the room, shutting the door behind them. Scott stood silently, taking Jeremiah in with a venomous glare.

“Mr. Adams,” he said finally, “do you have any idea the resources we’ve wasted trying to locate you?”

“Do you have any idea,” Jeremiah asked, “how much I do not care?”

“What happened to your hand?” Scott said, glancing at the bandage. Jeremiah said nothing, but smiled slightly. “Sit down, Mr. Adams.”

Jeremiah knew he should have remained standing, asserting his confidence, but he was still light-headed. Better to sit than to faint, he decided, and took a seat in front of Scott’s desk. Scott remained standing.

“Would you care to tell me where you’ve been for the past several hours?”

“I have a distinct feeling you already know the answer to that,” Jeremiah said.

“I am assuming you went home. Did he see you?”

Jeremiah just smiled again, enjoying the anxious look creeping over Scott’s face. He’d play this out for a while, he decided, make him squirm for a few minutes.

“Mr. Adams,” Scott said, leaning into Jeremiah’s face. “I need you to tell me, did the clone see you?”

“He certainly did. Saw me. Talked to me. Fell in a heap at my feet. I don’t think he’ll soon forget it. I don’t think he likes me.”