the Third Twin (1996)

He stopped outside the glass doors. Several new people were inside, including a general and two armed military policemen. The general was arguing with Dad, and the colonel with the pencil-line mustache seemed to be speaking at the same time. Their body language made Steve wary. Something bad was happening. He stepped into the room and stood by the door. Instinct told him not to draw attention to himself.

He heard the general say: “I have my orders, Colonel Logan, and you’re under arrest.”

Steve went cold.

How had this happened? It was not just that they had discovered Dad was peeking at people’s medical records. That might be a serious matter, but it was hardly an arresting offense. There was more to this. Somehow Genetico had arranged it.

What should he do?

Dad was saying angrily: “You don’t have the right!”

The general shouted back at him: “Don’t lecture me about my goddamn rights, Colonel.”

There was no point in Steve joining in the argument. He had the floppy disk with the list of names right in his pocket. Dad was in trouble, but he could look after himself. Steve should just get out of there with the information.

He turned and went out through the glass doors.

He walked briskly, trying to look as if he knew where he was going. He felt like a fugitive. He struggled to remember how he had got here through the maze. He turned a couple of corners and walked through a security checkpoint.

“Just a minute, sir!” the guard said.

Steve stopped and turned, heart racing. “Yes?” he said, trying to sound like a busy person impatient to get on with his work.

“I need to log you out on the computer. May I see your identification?”

“Of course.” Steve handed over his passport.

The guard checked his picture, then keyed his name into the computer. “Thank you, sir,” he said, handing back the passport.

Steve walked away along the corridor. One more checkpoint and he was out.

Behind him he heard the voice of Caroline Gambol. “Mr. Logan! One moment, please!”

He glanced back over his shoulder. She was running along the corridor behind him, red-faced and puffing.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

He darted around a corner and found a staircase. He ran down the steps to the next floor. He had the names that could clear him of the rape charge; he was not going to let anyone stop him getting out of here with the information, not even the U.S. Army.

To leave the building he needed to get to ring E, the outermost. He hurried along a spoke corridor, passing ring C. A golf cart loaded with cleaning materials went by in the opposite direction. When he was halfway to ring D he heard Lieutenant Gambol’s voice again. “Mr. Logan!” She was still following him. She shouted down the long, wide corridor. “The general wishes to speak with you!” A man in an air force uniform glanced curiously through an office door. Fortunately there were relatively few people around on a Saturday evening. Steve found a staircase and went up. That ought to slow the pudgy lieutenant.

On the next floor he hurried along the corridor to ring D, followed the ring around two corners, then went down again. There was no further sign of Lieutenant Gambol. He had shaken her off, he thought with relief.

He was pretty sure he was on the exit level. He went clockwise around ring D to the next corridor. It looked familiar: this was the way he had come in. He followed the corridor outward and came to the security checkpoint where he had entered. He was almost free.

Then he saw Lieutenant Gambol.

She was standing at the checkpoint with the guard, flushed and breathless.

Steve cursed. He had not shaken her off after all. She had simply got to the exit ahead of him. He decided to brazen it out.

He walked up to the guard and took off his visitor’s badge.

“You can keep that on,” Lieutenant Gambol said. “The general would like to speak with you.”

Steve put the badge down on the counter. Masking his fear with a show of confidence, he said: “I’m afraid I don’t have time. Good-bye, Lieutenant, and thank you for your cooperation.”

“I must insist,” she said.

Steve pretended to be impatient. “You’re not in a position to insist,” he said. “I’m a civilian; you can’t command me. I’ve done nothing wrong, so you can’t arrest me. I’m not carrying any military property, as you can see.” He hoped the floppy disk in his back pocket was not visible. “It would be illegal of you to attempt to detain me.”

She spoke to the guard, a man of about thirty who was three or four inches shorter than Steve. “Don’t let him leave,” she said.

Steve smiled at the guard. “If you touch me, soldier, it will be assault. I’ll be justified in punching you out, and believe me, I’ll do it.”

Lieutenant Gambol looked around for reinforcements, but the only people in sight were two cleaners and an electrician working on a light fixture.

Steve walked toward the entrance.

Lieutenant Gambol cried: “Stop him!”

Behind him he heard the guard shout: “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

Steve turned. The guard had drawn a pistol and was pointing it at him.