Memoria

by Alex Bobl

  "Salem? I'll call you back later." Jessup lowered the radio. At the same time, he slipped the container into his raincoat pocket. "Why haven't they reported it earlier? Who made the statement?"

  "Memoria's Press Secretary." Archer's long face grew even longer as he stared at Floyd's body on the bench. He kept speaking on automatic pilot, looking confused. "They've made a full scan of the killer's memory. The mnemotechs' report has already been posted online."

  "Who killed him?"

  Archer blinked, staring at Floyd's body.

  "Who was it?" Jessup repeated louder.

  "Shelby... Frank Shelby."

  * * *

  "Frank Shelby!" the tall tech shouted. A shove to his back sent him sprawling through the doorway into his co-worker arms.

  Both tumbled onto the surgery floor. Inside, Maggie Douggan lay in her underwear strapped to the tomography bed. Frank lunged inside and slammed the door shut praying that the security guard who watched the hallway through the security cameras had turned away from his screens for a second.

  The tall tech had told him the truth. The team numbered three people. The third tech stood by the equipment stand to Frank's right. Frank stepped closer and took a swing to punch him on the chin when one of the two on the floor grabbed his leg. Instead of a punch, Frank's fingers brushed the tech's nose; he dropped the syringe and came down.

  The team's resistance surprised him. These were supposed to be laboratory wooses, but they reacted with pitbull-like fortitude. Leaning on his elbows, Frank pulled his leg out, turned around and kicked the stranger's face red with excitement. His head jerked, blood pouring out of a smashed nose.

  "Finish him off, Sam!" the tall one shouted as he tried to scramble back onto his feet.

  Sam — apparently the one who'd just escaped the punch on the chin — didn't move. His hesitation gave Frank the chance to get up and an advantage. Jumping up, he punched Sam in the chest and stomach. The tech doubled up, and Frank rabbit-punched him to the neck. One down. Frank turned around. The tall tech had by then forced himself up on one knee. A broken jaw later, the man was back on the floor. His co-worker, though, proved to be difficult: he crawled under the table, kicking and screaming his head off.

  At first, Frank tried to grab him by the foot to drag him out. No luck. Snarling with anger, he tried to lift the heavy steel table and pushed it over the tech. Boxfuls of surgical tools, laid out on the table for an operation, clattered all over the floor. The tech screamed out — then fell silent.

  Agitated by the fight and shouting, Frank stepped back to the door. He breathed fast. His heart beat wildly, unable to slow down. Two men lay unconscious in the middle of the room. The third one, pinned to the floor by the table, wheezed and jerked, his legs twitching.

  Frank didn't check on him. The man's chest could be smashed. A syringe needle could have gone into his eye. Whatever it was, the man was never going to get up. Frank picked up the syringe filled with the opaque greenish liquid and went over to the girl. His fingers shaking with exertion, he started undoing the straps.

  "Mag, you okay? What have they done to you?"

  She started at him, her eyes wide open, as if seeing him for the first time.

  "Mag, do you remember me? I'm Frank Shelby. You're Maggie Douggan, daughter of Barney Douggan. He's somewhere here too. Your dad's here, Mag."

  He finished unstrapping her, gingerly removed the copper band with wires from her head and hurried to the locker in the corner. The furniture here was identical to Bow's surgery that he'd just left. Frank took a lab coat off a hanger. He helped Maggie to sit up and put the coat on.

  "Do you remember me?" he asked again.

  She gave him a weak nod.

  "They must have given you a memory scan," Frank explained. "A selective one, not complete. They must be preparing you for a personality correction session. This is what Bow has just said — Kathleen's researcher."

  "Now I remember," her gaze slid over the room. "They wanted to know where we'd hidden the tape."

  "Maggie," Frank glanced at the tech squashed under the table. He was quiet now. Frank took Maggie's hand. "Are you sure you remember me?"

  "I am... we were in the camp together."

  "And your father, do you remember him?"

  Anguish showed in her eyes. Her gaze focused. With a startle, the girl looked around.

  "What- what happened here?" Her breathing quickened and her gestures became jerky. She stared at Frank.

  He put his arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear,

  "I've taken care of them... they wanted to change you... change us, but I didn't let them. Maggie, we've got to go. We'll find your dad and get out of here. You think you can walk?"

  "I can. Where's Dad?" Not looking at the unconscious men amid the trashed surgery, Maggie sat up and tried to stand. Immediately, she winced and lost her balance.

  Frank caught her.

  "I'm sick... my head just goes round..." Maggie sounded surprised. She tried not to throw up and couldn't, vomiting on the floor.

  Frank let her catch her breath and poured her some water from the water cooler.

  "It'll be over in a minute," he handed her the plastic cup. "Drink it. Try not to make any sudden movements."

  When she emptied the cup, Frank helped her sit back on the bed and buttoned up her lab coat.

  "Take deep breaths," he told her.

  "Where's Dad?"

  "He's in the room next door. There's nobody else there. We'll go there now..."

  "Frank," her eyes glistened but she held back the tears. "You're not telling me everything. What's wrong with Dad?"

  "I'm not sure. It looks like they tried to give him a memory scan, too, or a personality correction, but something went wrong. Barney's in a trance right now."

  Leaning on his shoulder, she forced herself up. "Come on, let's go."

  "Wait," he opened the door a crack and peered out.

  The hallway was empty. At its far end, the red light kept flashing on the wall by the glass panels. The camera on the ceiling focused its black eye on the door.

  "The hallway's under surveillance," Frank explained. "We'll come out and walk naturally, as if we're discussing a job problem. Second door to the right. Got it?"

  Maggie nodded. She smoothed out her hair and, businesslike, shoved her hands into her lab coat pockets. Frank stepped aside, letting her through the door. He left the surgery and closed the door behind him.

  Maggie lingered outside, waiting for him.

  "I've never been here," she turned and walked along the hallway, trying to keep slightly ahead of him.

  They passed Bow's surgery and approached the room where, according to him, his techs kept Barney. Maggie pushed the door but it didn't open.

  "Let me try," Frank motioned her aside.

  Under the door handle, he saw the small rectangle of a scanning device.

  "We should have taken one of their bracelets," Maggie snapped. "You can't get in without one."

  Frank pulled up his sleeve and pressed his bracelet against the scanner. Something clicked inside the door. In less than two seconds, they found themselves inside the intensive care unit.

  It differed a lot from the other two surgeries. No lockers, no steel tables, no tomography equipment. Barney lay on a hard wide bed of thick plastic. His head was entangled in a net of wires. A thick bandage, spotted with red, covered his leg above the knee. Above him shelves hung with equipment and monitors. Machines hummed in large slide-out boxes under the bed. Barney's broad chest heaved with his powerful breathing, as if he just lay down for a nap.

  "Dad," Maggie knelt next to him and touched his face, black and blue from a beating, "Dad, can you hear me? It's me, your teddy bear. Wake up, Dad..."

  Frank peered at the monitors trying to work out their readings and purpose. On one, shiny green graphs rose and fell showing his heart activity. Figures appeared in its right upper corner. They appeared to reflect heart performance.

  Franks s
tudied the other monitors. He hadn't a clue what all those colored diagrams and readings were supposed to mean. He needed Bow or one of the techs. Frank glanced at the door. Maggie rose and pressed a button on one of the monitors. It went out.

  "Are you mad?" Frank recoiled. "What if-"

  "Nothing's gonna happen,'" Maggie said, her voice dry and detached.

  "But-"

  "I've turned the biocurrent off." She pointed at another monitor. "Look at the neurons activity graph. It's moving up."

  Frank stared at the rising graph. "How the hell do you know?"

  Maggie turned her emotionless face to him, her eyes vacant. She blinked, as if coming to.

  "What's wrong with me?" She touched her forehead, her fingers tracing her temple. "It just came up... I've no idea how... What was that button?" She looked up at the monitors looking for it. "What have I done?"

  "You said you'd turned off the biocurrent. I didn't see which button but this monitor went off when you did it," he pointed. "Then you kind of came out of it."

  "Frank," she started to shake, "Frank, I'm scared. I must have hurt Dad! Frank, I don't remember what I was doing! What's wrong with me, Frank?"

  He took her by the hand and led her to the door looking into her face and trying to guess what could have happened.

  "Do you remember what they were doing to you in that room?"

  She shook her head. Frank stared at the wall trying to remember the conversation between Claney, Dickens and Bow.

  "They wanted to submit us to a personality correction." Slowly, he turned back to her. "He said you'd undergone the first phase and they were now prepping you for the second one. Then I came and knocked the techs out..."

  Frank looked into the girl's eyes filled with fear.

  "They wanted to set us up. Claney and the others, I mean. They wanted to install new memories after the personality correction. Their story is, we tried to sabotage the Vaccination. It's already in force. Millions are about to enroll. Claney targets them... and the migrants."

  Frank paused, musing over Claney's every word.

  "Claney doesn't have the tape. It's still in the camp. But he..."

  Frank stopped. Blood pounded in his temples. The back of his head echoed with a dull ache. The painkillers must have stopped working.

  "Claney told Bow to forge a new tape," he said. "The three of us — you, me and Barney — were supposed to give ourselves up and confess to the crimes we hadn't committed. To make it more convincing, we'd have the tape which would show how we'd doctored the mnemocapsule vaccine."

  "What are you talking about?" Maggie's eyes widened. "I don't understand."

  "Don't worry. It's not good for you. We'll take Barney and get the hell out of here. Now try to remember which button we should press to wake him up."

  "I can't!" Maggie clenched her fists in desperation. "I don't remember!"

  She stomped her foot. At that moment, a loud snorting came from behind her. Her eyes opened wider. Frank turned around.

  Barney sat up on the bed dangling his feet. His glazed stare fixed on his daughter.

  "Jeez," Frank said.

  "I am the one who helped you," Barney moved his bloodied lips. He pointed his fat finger at Maggie. "You are the one who changed the program."

  He looked at Frank. "You are the one who killed Kathleen Baker."

  Chapter Twenty-Two. A Friend or a Murderer?

  "He is the one who killed Kathleen Baker," Claney looked into the Mayor's little pig eyes. "Then six hours ago he massacred the camp leaders. Anna Gautier is dead. Even before that, Shelby coerced another Memoria worker, Maggie Douggan, into cooperation. Her father Barney Douggan and his friend Max — both former special-force types — are responsible for the Manhattan shootout. Then they helped Shelby to get inside Memoria's building in order to kill the President. We have casualties among security staff and secret service agents."

  The Mayor tapped his fingers on the desk. He jerked his chin and looked up at Claney. "And you want me to present it as the official version of events?"

  "Exactly," Claney rose and headed for the exit.

  "But this doesn't agree with the already-"

  "Yes it does!" Claney swung round. "Don't forget to let the nation know that Captain Jessup was a panic monger and a double agent. Let the world know the truth about him."

  "But isn't there supposed to be an official investigation first? I'm not an Attorney General. I can't-"

  "You can, and you will," Claney lowered his head. His icy stare pierced the Mayor. "Or you might regret you got involved with the project."

  The Mayor shrank, his eyes on the Congressman. Cold sweat ran down his fat face. He nodded vigorously.

  "Try not to leave your office until it's over," Claney added. "I might need you again."

  He walked out into the reception, glanced at his watch and hurried to the elevator, accompanied by his secretary and bodyguard. Both were bald, just like Claney himself.

  When Claney reached the ground floor, his secretary's phone rang.

  "Who is it?" Claney reached for the phone.

  "Dickens," the secretary whispered placing the mobile into his hand.

  "Speaking. They what?" Claney froze. "You-" The words stuck in his throat. He pulled at his tie, loosening up the knot. "You-" He regained his voice and yelled, "Start now! Don't you dare let them go!"

  * * *

  "Don't you dare let them go!" Kirk Dickens barked into the microphone in his sleeve and ran down a wide gray hallway toward the stairs. Beyond them, lay the roof of Memoria's HQ. "Seal off the elevators and the exits in the building! Block off all levels!"

  He sent the reserve group downstairs and lunged to the narrow doorway. Pressing his bracelet to the scanner lock, he pushed the door open.

  It felt as if he'd crashed into a RV vehicle at full speed. A sledgehammer punch stopped him in his tracks. Dickens almost heard the Kevlar plates of his bulletproof vest crack under his shirt.

  For a moment, his heart and his breathing stopped. He was hurled backward, blood seeping out of his mouth. Paralyzed by the pain in his chest, he tried to scramble back to his feet when a huge human shape loomed out of the dark behind the doorway. A lamp light fell onto a broken nose and a broad face disfigured by torture. Barney Douggan.

  "You-" Dickens gasped. The only way the outlaws could get to the roof before them was by using the VIP elevator. The only person who had the key to it was William Bow. He'd always kept it on a silver chain on his neck.

  Dickens didn't have time to give orders. Barney lunged forward, about to stomp on his stomach. A floor tile crashed with a clatter as Barney's foot rammed into the floor. Dickens rolled off, pulling the gun out of its holster. Before he could shoot, his hand was squashed in a vice-like grip. Dickens cried out as his fingers snapped. His gun smashed against the wall.

  Dickens managed to half-rise and jerked his head to escape another heavy punch. He attempted an uppercut but failed to keep his balance, dragged to the floor in Barney's bear hug. The radio on his belt bleeped and stopped, smashed against the tiles.

  Dickens stuck his remaining good fingers into Barney's face going for his eyes, but missed and hit his nose instead. Barney growled like a wounded bear. His arm shot up to slam Dickens in the face. Once again, Dickens jerked his head aside and Barney's palm brushed his face, his nails grazing Dickens' cheek. Immediately, Dickens' return punch to Barney's throat made the boxer wheeze and let go of his prey. Dickens managed to retrieve his wounded hand; he rolled away and got back to his feet.

  The gun lay between Barney and himself, and the boxer had much better chances of getting to it in time.

  Snorting heavily through his broken nose, Barney rose to one knee and looked up at Dickens. In the lamplight, the remaining eye glistened in his bloodied face smashed to pulp. He reached out to grasp the gun.

  "Total control," Dickens forced out the trigger command as loud as he could.

  Barney froze. His stare glazed over.

  "
Up," Dickens ordered.

  The boxer rose. His powerful shoulders stooped. His gorilla-like arms hung weakly. Dickens waited a few more seconds and reached for the gun.

  * * *

  "There's nothing here, Frank!" Standing at the center of the helipad, Maggie looked about. "Nothing that looks like a transmitter!"

  The cold wind grasped at her words, taking them into the night sky that enveloped the city's illuminated skyline.

  "You hear me? There's nothing here! You must be wrong!" Maggie shouted. "We should have tried to get out of the building instead. We should have gone to the police to tell them about the secret labs."

  Desperate, she sat down on the hard mesh with a large H painted white in the center.

  Frank stood on the pad's edge, several paces away from the girl, and grasped the long handle of a fire axe he'd taken from the fire precautions point by the elevators. Apart from several enormous fan blowers with their blades rotating slowly behind safety grills, sending the air down the building's aircon system, there were no other machines on top of the roof. Nothing that looked like an equipment booth or a satellite dish that could send or receive signals. Only a squat concrete platform in the middle of the roof on top of which the helipad was mounted, flat with slightly raised edges.

  How on earth was Dickens going to transmit the signal? Frank gripped the axe and ran back to the stairs. Now where would the antennas be? Could there be another door they hadn't yet noticed? There were two ways of accessing the roof. Barney was now watching the service exit that faced south on the floor below. The entry by elevator — its cabin still frozen midway to the roof — was now blocked as Frank had broken the little silver key in the exit lock to make sure no one could use it.

  He'd only picked up the axe in case he had to demolish the transmitter or sever the cables. Maggie seemed to be right, though. He could have misunderstood Claney's words in the surgery. Possibly, Dickens had hidden the transmitter somewhere deep below, like the underground labs they'd just escaped from. On their way to the elevators, Frank had discovered that the building was chock full of secret rooms and passages. His head pulsated with the thought that, while he was rushing around the roof like a headless chicken, Claney and Dickens were happily bringing their evil plans to fruition.