Bill Hammons: Writing and Running in Boulder, Colorado

BILL HAMMONS: WRITING AND RUNNING IN BOULDER, COLORADO
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45


"I thought the plane was full--"

"Nearly full." Bettmann was now at the kitchen sink, washing his hands. "And then I wait for the evil ones to show themselves." Bettmann dried the hands that were not quite clean and returned to the table.

Korsakova rose from the table to make herself a fresh cup of tea. She asked over her right shoulder, with a raised voice, "Won't the 'biometric' scanners be suspicious of a man trying to pose as a woman?"

Bettmann dipped a finger into one of two vials for a contact lens. "No need to worry about that: that's not in their job description. Once I'm past security, I'm nothing more than a hand and an eyeball with the proper clearances." Once the first contact was on his right eyeball, he leaned over to allow a laser beam to make a scan. The retinal scanner emitted the same green glow and pleasant beep as its digital counterpart.

Korsakova retook her seat as she bobbed her tea bag in a second cup of hot water. "One more question to ask, umm, Brad."

"Yes, I suppose you can't address me as 'Agent Bettmann' anymore." A second retinal beep heralded the effective reproduction of Korsakova's identity. "What's the question?"

"If these terrorists have cloned me and plan to hijack my plane tomorrow morning, then won't they want me out of the way?"

Bettmann looked up from Korsakova's makeup mirror with eyes of sudden contemplation the same moment that the apartment and apartment building shook with the force of an explosion. Korsakova half gasped and half screamed, but Bettmann was shoving all of his equipment into a sports bag and snatching up his new glove in an instant. "Out of here! Now! Move!"

Korsakova coughed at the plaster that had fallen from a large crack in the ceiling, but when Bettmann dragged her towards the front door of her apartment by her wrist, she moved of her own volition.





































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