Wednesday, July 11
1:23 P.M.
NewYew headquarters boardroom, Manhattan
156 DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD
“The noose is tightening,” said Sunny. “My guy in the FDA says they’re working with the FBI and the military, and planning something big—raiding our manufacturing plant, seizing our records, everything. We have until Friday at the latest. I think it’s time to go now.”
Decker/Lyle looked around the boardroom, a flutter of nerves in his stomach. This was it: he’d stayed with them, he’d helped make the product launch a huge success, and even when Susan turned up outside he’d ignored her, staying true to his NewYew cronies. They trusted him implicitly now. It was time to see what the next phase was.
At the same time, he felt a stab of guilt. The NewYew executives had treated him, in a way, even better than the Ibis ones had. He was making more money now than he ever had before, and had forged what he felt was a real friendship with Sunny. His life here, as Lyle Fontanelle, was working great—what was to stop him from just … slipping into it? Saying goodbye to Ibis and Abraham Decker and everything else, and staying as Lyle forever? It was tempting. Decker/Lyle was torn.
It had become a very familiar feeling.
“They’re never going to let us out of the country,” said Jeffrey.
“That’s why we’re going in my private yacht,” said Cynthia. “Assuming you don’t mind a few weeks at sea, we can be in São Tomé without ever having to cross a border, reveal a face, or show a passport.”
Decker/Lyle smiled. “You guys really did think of everything.” Screw Ibis, he thought. This is what I want—good friends and no worries on a tropical island, with more money than I could possibly know what to do with. Ibis would kill for this information, but … what do I care? He laughed. Live it up.
The executives stood, rolling their chairs in toward the conference table for the last time. Sunny held the door as they walked to the elevator, and Kerry punched the down button.
“I’m kind of jealous,” he said. Kerry was staying behind—the company needed somebody stateside, and Kerry had changed his face so many times he was unrecognizable. He could run things in secret, and the feds would be none the wiser.
Decker/Lyle smiled. “We’ll try not to have too much fun.”
“Oh, I’m going to have fun,” Kerry laughed. “I’m a newly minted billionaire in the greatest city in the world—don’t worry about me. But I won’t have a beach like you guys.”
“You can’t have everything,” said Sunny.
“I’m sure as hell going to try,” said Jeffrey.
The elevator dinged, opened, and they stepped in. Jeffrey pushed the button for the parking garage, and a moment later Kerry punched the button for the thirty-fourth floor. “I almost forgot the cash,” he said. “We made a lump withdrawal for you to take on the boat; three briefcases.”
“You need a hand?” asked Sunny.
“Like, a third one?” asked Jeffrey. “Can ReBirth do that?”
“Shut up, Jeffrey,” said Cynthia. “And no, Sunny, I need you to sign some papers on the way out.” The doors opened on the thirty-fourth floor. “Lyle can help him.”
“Sure thing,” said Lyle. On the thirty-fourth floor he and Kerry stepped out, collected the briefcases, and waited for the next elevator. When they reached the parking garage the others were already in the limo idling softly by the doors. Kerry passed his two cases in, and held the door as Decker/Lyle climbed in after.
“Have fun,” said Kerry, and closed the door.
The limo pulled away, and Jeffrey started tearing the foil from a bottle of champagne. “It’s finally here!” he shouted. “Let’s celebrate!” He popped the cork, and the other executives cheered as they shifted and squirmed out of the way of the spurting foam. Jeffrey poured glasses, nearly spilling one as the limo tipped up, driving out of the garage and into the street.
Cynthia looked at Decker/Lyle. “So where’s this boat?”
Decker/Lyle smiled, confused. “Isn’t it yours?”
“I—yes. Of course. I just wondered if you’d moved it.” She smiled back, a strange mixture of embarrassment and … Is that guilt? Lyle looked at the others, catching the tail end of a disapproving glance from … Jeffrey? Since when does Jeffrey dare to look at Cynthia that way?
“Why would I move your boat?” he asked.
“It was just a slipup,” said Sunny. “Give her a break, it won’t happen again.”
Decker/Lyle looked up sharply. “Wait, what?” Why were they acting so weird?
“I’m just saying,” said Sunny, “we’re all new to this. I mean, sure, we’ve been practicing these characters for weeks, but—”
Lyle’s head seemed to fill with alarms: They’re not acting like themselves because they’re not themselves. “You’re duplicates.”
The other executives looked at each other with confused half smiles, as if he’d just accused the sky of being blue. “Well … yeah,” said Cynthia. “Aren’t you?”
Decker/Lyle didn’t answer, his mind racing with the implications. These were all duplicates. What did that mean?
The fake Jeffrey’s eyes went wide: “He’s real. They stuck us in a car with the real Lyle.”
“Why would they give us the real Lyle?” asked the fake Sunny, stammering. “They … we’re … supposed to go to the Bahamas now, right?”
The fake Cynthia went pale. “They told me Buenos Aires.”
The fake Sunny lunged for the door, but the handle wouldn’t open.
Decker/Lyle looked over his shoulder, scanning the crowded Manhattan street behind them. Is that another limo going the other way? He couldn’t tell. He turned back around, frantic. What’s going on?
The money, he thought, they wouldn’t give us money if they were— He pulled the nearest briefcase onto his lap and snapped it open. It was full of newspaper.
“Oh, shi—”
The limousine exploded.