the Third Twin (1996)

“But Genetico went legitimate, like the Mafia. And because they really did find out how to make test-tube babies, the company was profitable. The profits financed the research into genetic engineering that they’ve been doing ever since. I suspect that my own project is probably part of their grand scheme.”

“Which is what?”

“A breed of perfect Americans: intelligent, aggressive, and blond. A master race.” She shrugged. “It’s an old idea, but it’s possible now, with modern genetics.”

“So why would they sell the company? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it does,” Jeannie said thoughtfully. “When they got the takeover bid, perhaps they saw it as an opportunity to move into high gear. The money will finance Proust’s run at the presidency. If they get into the White House they can do all the research they want—and put their ideas into practice.”

Charles nodded. “There’s a piece about Proust’s ideas in today’s Washington Post. I don’t think I want to live in his kind of world. If we’re all aggressive, obedient soldiers, who’s going to write the poems and play the blues and go on antiwar protest marches?”

Jeannie raised her eyebrows. It was a surprising thought to come from a career soldier. “There’s more to it than that,” she said. “Human variation has a purpose. There’s a reason we’re born different from both our parents. Evolution is a trial-and-error business. You can’t prevent nature’s failed experiments without eliminating the successes too.”

Charles sighed. “And all this means I’m not Steve’s father.”

“Don’t say that.”

He opened his billfold and took out a photo. “I have to tell you something, Jeannie. I never suspected any of this stuff about clones, but I’ve often looked at Steve and wondered if there was anything at all of me in him.”

“Can’t you see it?” she said.

“A resemblance?”

“No physical resemblance. But Steve has a profound sense of duty. None of the other clones could give a darn about duty. He got it from you!”

Charles still looked grim. “There’s bad in him. I know it.”

She touched his arm. “Listen to me. Steve was what I call a wild child—disobedient, impulsive, fearless, bursting with energy—wasn’t he?”

Charles smiled ruefully. “That’s the truth.”

“So were Dennis Pinker and Wayne Stattner. Such children are almost impossible to raise right. That’s why Dennis is a murderer and Wayne a sadist. But Steve isn’t like them—and you’re the reason why. Only the most patient, understanding, and dedicated of parents can bring up such children to be normal human beings. But Steve is normal.”

“I pray you’re right.” Charles opened his billfold to replace the photo.

Jeannie forestalled him. “May I see it?”

“Sure.”

Jeannie studied the picture. It had been taken quite recently. Steve was wearing a blue-checked shirt and his hair was a little too long. He was grinning shyly at the camera. “I don’t have a photo of him,” Jeannie said regretfully as she handed it back.

“Have that one.”

“I couldn’t. You keep it next to your heart.”

“I have a million photos of Steve. I’ll put another one in my billfold.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“You seem very fond of him.”

“I love him, Charles.”

“You do?”

Jeannie nodded. “When I think he might be sent to jail for this rape, I want to offer to go instead of him.”

Charles gave a wry smile. “So do I.”

“That’s love, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

Jeannie felt self-conscious. She had not meant to say all this to Steve’s father. She had not really known it herself; it had just come out, and then she had realized it was true.

He said: “How does Steve feel about you?”

She smiled. “I could be modest.…”

“Don’t bother.”

“He’s crazy for me.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Not just because you’re beautiful, though you are. You’re strong too: that’s obvious. He needs someone strong—especially with this accusation over his head.”

Jeannie gave him a calculating look. It was time to ask him. “There is something you could do, you know.”

“Tell me what it is.”

Jeannie had rehearsed this speech in the car all the way to Washington. “If I could search another database, I might find the real rapist. But after the publicity in the New York Times, no government agency or insurance company is going to take the risk of working with me. Unless …”

“What?”

Jeannie leaned forward in her lawn chair. “Genetico experimented on soldiers’ wives who were referred to them by army hospitals. Therefore most or all of the clones were probably born in army hospitals.”

He nodded slowly.

“The babies must have had army medical records, twenty-two years ago. Those records may still exist.”

“I’m sure they do. The army never throws anything away.”

Jeannie’s hopes rose a notch. But there was another problem. “That long ago, they would have been paper files. Might they have been transferred to computer?”

“I’m sure they have. It’s the only way to store everything.”

“Then it is possible,” Jeannie said, controlling her excitement.

He looked thoughtful.

She gave him a hard stare. “Charles, can you get me access?”