The Adults in the Room

by Jeffrey Mechling

  The doctor made his way over to Tim and shone a light in one eye, then the other. He next ran a few simplistic neurological tests on Tim. Tim seemed to pass all of them.

  “Dr. Gray,” Tim began, “Are there any radical treatments for retrograde amnesia?”

  “Radical or experimental treatments?” the doctor repeated. “There’s a whole list of them.”

  “What about stem cell treatments, doctor?”

  “Using embryonic stem cells to treat anything these days would be considered radical, Mr. Hall, and the FDA will only allow for a small amount of any treatment using stem cells. That said, I am not aware of any study where stem cells were used to treat amnesia. The treatment plan I developed for you was designed to help restore your memory. Have you continued to take the medicine I prescribed?”

  Dr. Gray had prescribed several medications for Tim to take every day. One was a compound medication that needed to be filled at a special pharmacy, which Tim found to be a royal pain in the ass.

  “Yes, religiously,” Tim replied. “But what kind of treatment plan?”

  “Well, nothing particularly radical, I assure you. I recommended that you should visit as many places as you can that you were formerly familiar with in the hope that this might stimulate your memory, but I have no follow-up notes to indicate whether any of this was done.”

  Dr. Gray began to look through his notes for the results of Tim’s therapy, but Tim knew he wouldn’t find anything. He wondered if anyone had actually prevented treatment to restore his memory.

  After a thorough search of Tim’s medical folder, Dr. Gray continued speaking. “Well, Mr. Hall, it appears that the treatment plan was never implemented.”

  Tim wondered why the doctor just did not just ask him about this instead of looking for notes, but he guessed that the man didn’t trust Tim’s memory, either.

  “Dr. Gray, who did you give your treatment plan to?” he wondered.

  The doctor was still going through Tim’s folder, so he answered without looking up. “It was given to the two men from your agency.”

  “Agency!” Tim exclaimed, beginning to laugh. “Doc, I’m retired. I have no agency.”

  The doctor seemed truly surprised at Tim’s assertion. “I assure you, these two men had proper identification.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that they were who they claimed to be,” Tim agreed sarcastically.

  The doctor turned and walked over to his desk, inviting Tim to sit down. “Mr. Hall, I have no knowledge of the world which you and others inhabit. I just know that it exists. Over the years, I have had several patients who were employed by the CIA, FBI, NSA, Defense Intelligence. And because our job here is to treat injuries to the brain, the people who you work for have a vested interest in your condition.”

  Tim found himself agreeing with the doctor. After all, you certainly didn’t want your spies running around the hospital giving away sensitive information without realizing it.

  “So, are you telling me that you provided my medical records to my former employer, the Central Intelligence Agency?”

  Tim’s doctor looked perplexed. “I cannot really answer that, Mr. Hall, because I don’t know—but it does appear as if that particular agency is interested in following your recovery.”

  “And you just gave them all of my information?” Tim was becoming indignant.

  “Well, Mr. Hall, they have been paying your medical bills.”

  Tim was shocked, but he’d never really thought about who had paid for all of the treatment he’d received over the years. He’d just assumed it was his insurance.

  “Mr. Hall?” The doctor was speaking again. “Have you had any treatments performed outside of this office?”

  At that point, Tim decided to confess everything about the trip to the Dominican Republic and the supposed stem cell treatment he’d received there. The doctor just shook his head and made some notes as Tim was describing what he could recall. Finally, the doctor put down his pen.

  “Mr. Hall, I would really like to repeat all of the tests we have performed in three months and see where we stand.”

  “Where we stand, doctor?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hall. As of right now, you seem to be fine, but now that you tell me that you may have had some treatments with stem cells, I would like to revisit your scans in three months.”

  This made sense, so Tim decided to ask about something else that was bothering him. “Dr. Gray, will I ever get my memory back?”

  “It is unlikely that your memory will ever be fully restored,” the doctor answered, “but it is possible that enough of your past will return to allow you to live a normal life.”

  Tim nodded to indicate that he understood the doctor, then turned to leave. The doctor called after him. “Remember, I would like to retest you in three months.”

  Tim turned back to the doctor. “Dr. Gray, I would not repeat our conversation today with anyone,” he cautioned. “If someone asks, just tell them my appointment was a routine checkup.”

  Tim left the doctor’s office and didn’t bother to make the follow-up appointment.

  Chapter 11

  Leaving the doctor’s office, Tim began to walk the long hallway to the elevators. The doctor’s office was in an older building on the John Hopkins campus, and the hallways were maze-like.

  Tim had reached one end of the hallway and was trying to decide whether to go right or left when a voice behind him spoke.

  “It doesn’t matter if you turn right or left. Either direction will lead you to the same place.”

  Tim turned around to see the smiling man who looked to be from India with another man. The other man was much taller and larger than the first. Tim wondered why he had not heard either of them approach from behind.

  Before Tim could think of anything to say, the first man spoke again. “Tim, my name is Sebastian Oak, and this is Toby Wheeler. I do believe you have already met Mr. Wheeler.”

  Yes, Tim had met Toby Wheeler. He was the same Nurse Toby who’d stood guard over Tim while he was in the psychiatric ward next door. This Sebastian guy also seemed familiar as well.

  Tim’s fight or flight response was beginning to kick in. Seeing an exit to his right, he thought about making a dash for it—but Sebastian spoke again.

  “Now, calm down, Tim. We really mean you no harm, but we do need to speak with one another.”

  Sebastian gave Toby a silent look that apparently told him to go away, since he turned around and walked in the opposite direction. “Toby can be slightly intimidating, so it would probably be better if he takes a break so the two of us can talk,” the man explained.

  Sebastian reached into his suit jacket pocket and produced a large billfold that contained his identification, which read the United States of America, Central Intelligence Agency and the name Sebastian P. Oak. Below it was Sebastian’s picture. Tim studied the picture, then looked at Sebastian, then down again at the picture. Sebastian was the same person as Amin from the CBSCRC in the Dominican Republic, but Tim was convinced that he had also met him before.

  Tim and Sebastian rode down together in the elevator without saying a word. They entered a coffee shop, where they both ordered black coffee. They found an empty table and sat.

  Tim spoke first. “So, Sebastian—or should I call you Amin? What is this all about?”

  “You don’t remember me at all, do you?” Sebastian replied.

  Tim studied Sebastian’s face. Yes, he did know Sebastian Oak...but, for now, Tim decided to lie. “Other than the guy who lifted $18,000 from me in the Dominican Republic, no, I can’t say that I do.”

  This made Sebastian laugh. “That is the one thing I really miss about you, Tim: your sarcasm. No matter where we were or what we did, you always kept things amusing. Here, let me show you a picture.”

  Sebastian produced an old Polaroid picture of a young Tim Hall sporting long hair with another younger man, also with long hair. The two were seated at a cabana in what looked like someplace south of the US
border.

  “That is, you and me in the mid-seventies in El Salvador. We were just two students on a road trip.”

  “Except we weren’t students, and we weren’t on any road trip,” Tim surmised.

  “Unfortunately, not, my friend. But we accomplished our mission.”

  Tim stared out the window. He did vaguely recall traveling on the Pan American Highway, but when and why was just a blank.

  “So, Sebastian, you and I have been friends?” he asked.

  “I like to think that we were very close friends, Tim,” the other man agreed.

  “Then why don’t you and I cut the shit? If you know me, then tell me why I’ve been hanging out here in fucking Baltimore for the last four years,” Tim demanded. “Can you do that for me, Sebastian?”

  A couple from another table looked over at Tim’s outburst while Sebastian held up his hand, trying to get Tim to lower his voice. “Maybe we should take a walk outside,” Sebastian suggested. He ordered two more cups of coffee and followed Tim out the door.

  Sebastian and Tim walked down Washington Street towards the harbor and then over to Patterson Park without speaking. Tim had just about had enough of people keeping secrets from him. If they knew who he was and what he’d done before his accident, why didn’t they just tell him?

  As the two men walked, Tim did not feel that he was in any immediate danger—with “immediate” being the keyword. He was bigger than Sebastian, but he also figured that Toby was somewhere close by. Toby did worry Tim. Toby was a big guy, like NFL linebacker big. Tim figured Toby to be at least six feet four and 285 lbs. This made Tim and his six-foot, 175 lb. frame feel small in comparison. Toby had not yet spoken a word to Tim, but he got the distinct feeling that the big guy did not like him. Tim figured that Sebastian was most likely unarmed since CIA officers didn’t carry weapons, as a rule—but Toby, who was probably a contractor, would likely be armed.

  Sebastian finally broke the silence. “Tim, ask me anything. What do you want to know?”

  “Well, first, who am I?” Tim knew this was a dumb question since he was pretty sure that he was the same person as it said on his driver’s license, but he had to ask.

  “Your name is Tim Hall, and up until four years and five months ago, you were an officer with the CIA,” Sebastian replied.

  “How did I end up here in Baltimore?” was Tim’s next question.

  “That is a long and somewhat complicated story,” Sebastian replied.

  “I got time,” Tim said as they sat at opposite ends of a park bench.

  Sebastian took a deep breath and started speaking. “You, me, and your wife Pam were on a mission to China. We were employees of a software company located in Silicon Valley. That was our cover. Our real purpose was to sell intellectual property and information to the Chinese government. Our target was a Chinese national named Lilly Lin. Our objective was to turn Lilly Lin and make her an asset using any means necessary to do so. Our information on Ms. Lin was that members of her family were part of the 1966 Cultural Revolution and had been able to maintain a high standing in the Communist Party of China. Therefore, if Ms. Lin could be placed in a highly embarrassing, perhaps sexual situation, that would give us the necessary leverage to make her an asset.”

  “Wow, you guys sure know how to have fun,” Tim remarked sarcastically.

  “I suppose that’s true, since it was your plan,” Sebastian answered.

  He continued. “Apparently, Ms. Lin was known to play around with other women, which was something that your wife Pam had no trouble participating in.”

  Tim felt like saying, “Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking about, pal,” but he let Sebastian keep going.

  “So, you and Pam and Lilly had planned a dinner when all of that was supposed to happen—but then, as you say, things went south.”

  “How did things so south?” Tim wondered.

  “You tell me, Tim.” Sebastian gave him a hard stare. “Your wife shot Lilly Lin, and you and she came racing out of the house. I’m behind the wheel, but you push me aside and drive. We drive, but you crash the car. You are unconscious. I have to get you out and to the contact’s house, and I still don’t know how I managed to do all of that because now we have a murdered Chinese national and the Chinese police are looking for an American. I was able to get you to Hong Kong and on a diplomatic flight out. You ended up in Dover, Delaware and were transported to Baltimore Shock Trauma.”

  At this point, Tim was overloaded with information, but he believed Sebastian. As Sebastian was retelling the China story, Tim was having flashbacks of him driving a car on some winding road and losing control. It seemed to make sense, but Tim now felt remorseful. What kind of person would devise such a plan to entrap a woman so she could do his bidding? Well, apparently, he was that kind of person.

  Tim looked up and saw that Sebastian was glancing at his watch. It was getting late and would be dark soon. Tim thought that they should leave the park before it got dark since it was not the safest place to be.

  But he had one more question to ask—and he wasn’t looking forward to hearing the answer. “Sebastian, what happened to Pam? How did she die?”

  Sebastian looked at Tim, then out to the street. He seemed to be stalling for time.

  “Well, the thing is, Tim...the thing is that your wife Pam is still alive.”

  If Tim had been subject to fainting spells, now would be the time to have one. The China story had been hard enough to hear, and God only knew what details Sebastian had omitted...but to end it with Pam actually being alive, well, that was just too much.

  It was now dark out, so Tim and Sebastian began to walk back over to Washington Street. Tim was still digesting the news of Pam when Sebastian spoke again.

  “Tim, the China operation was extremely messy in so many ways. When we all made it back home, well...let’s just say that management was not very pleased, not to mention that the Chinese’s Embassy in DC was on the phone to the State Department. Take my word for it—it was a mess. The Chinese knew that there was a man-and-woman team involved, so keeping you and Pam apart just made sense, plus the fact that you two were apparently close to a divorce.”

  “If you say so, Sebastian.” Tim knew that he had to take Sebastian’s word for everything, but he was beginning to regain some of his sarcasm. “Did she ever come to visit me here in Baltimore?” he asked.

  “We both did, although Pam did not tell the hospital staff that she was Mrs. Hall. When you finally woke up, you remembered nothing.”

  It was true that Tim recalled very little of those days. Sebastian continued, “At first, we just hoped that your memory would return...but after six months, it appeared that would not happen. The doctors told us that you were most likely suffering from retrograde amnesia and that your full memory would probably never recover.”

  Sebastian and Tim continued to walk until they reached the edge of the John Hopkins campus. Sebastian turned and faced Tim.

  “Look, we did not exactly desert you up here, Tim. Pam and I made sure that you had proper medical care and a place to live. And when you were ready, we found you a job.”

  “Yes, as an auditor for the Social Security Administration. Thanks for that,” Tim deadpanned.

  “It was that or as an inspector in charge of monitoring the air quality in the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel,” Sebastian answered.

  Tim couldn’t help laughing at that. “Okay, Sebastian,” he agreed, “I understand—but the plain and simple truth was that you and Pam were going to leave me up here forever. Except now, you’re here. Why is that? What do you want from me?”

  “We need you, Tim. We need you to come back to help us.”

  Tim was at a loss for words and just stood on the corner, staring at Sebastian. “Come back? Come back to what?”

  Sebastian placed his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “The country needs you to come back and help us.”

  At this point, the black Mercedes SUV drove up and started waiting at the curb. Tim co
uld see that Toby was behind the wheel.

  Sebastian waved at Toby, then turned back to address Tim. “I’m not one to use hyperbole, but the fate of the nation depends on you and your help, Tim.”

  Toby beeped the horn of the Mercedes to remind them that he was waiting.

  “You better go, Sebastian. I don’t think your friend likes me very much.”

  As Sebastian walked toward the SUV, he grinned. “Toby does not like you because you’re dating his girlfriend, Mary Ann. Isn’t that her name?”

  Sebastian entered the SUV and was gone.

  Chapter 12

  As soon as Tim got back to his condo, he sent Mary Ann a text message that said, “Met your boyfriend Toby this afternoon. He’s a real babe.” Maybe that was a little below the belt, but Tim wanted to get her attention.

  He did. Mary Ann began to send him a string of text messages. “HE IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND” was the first. Two minutes later, another text said, “At least not anymore.” Tim shook his head and smiled. He had figured that Mary Ann must have an ex hanging around somewhere but considering all of the new information Tim now had to process, the last thing on his mind was Mary Ann’s previous love life. The one thing that did concern Tim was the fact that if Mary Ann knew Toby, she was most likely aware of Sebastian and was probably involved with this entire plot of “Let’s get Tim back in the CIA.”

  Tim quit reading Mary Ann’s texts after a while. Mary Ann had told him that she would be over after work, so he supposed he would find out all about it then. In the meantime, he needed a drink.

  At exactly 11:45 p.m., Mary Ann slammed open Tim’s front door, which had the effect of waking him up. Despite all of the excitement Tim had experienced earlier in the day, the second vodka tonic had put him right to sleep.

  “Where is he?” was the first thing out of Mary Ann’s mouth.