“No! I’m not completely opposed to telling him most of the story, he already knows who he is and where he’s from, but bringing Kate into the picture is not going to happen, and now you have the girls back, there is no need. She is my agent, and I have no doubt she would be professional, but first of all, she is still in a fragile state. I want her completely recovered before she resumes active duty. Secondly, he is the key to a potentially lethal product, and I want him focused on diverting a possible tragedy, not wasting his time and energy rekindling his love life.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Elizabeth shook her head at him. “He may relate to her, connect with her, it may bring him back to reality and help you find the missing notes for the antidote.”
“Maybe it will and maybe it won’t, but we will get what we need to stop the shit heads, excuse me Elizabeth, from killing an enormous amount of people without using Kate. You have no idea what it took to get him over here in one piece. Every agency in Europe wanted him. I was seriously afraid if we didn’t get him back here soon, he would have been tortured to death. Not everyone believes he hasn’t regained at least some semblance of his memory. I have to admit it sure is convenient for him to just blank out his role in an international crisis.”
“But he doesn’t even know about the crisis, does he?” she argued. “How would he know about anything going on? He’s been in Wales with me and out of touch with the world for several weeks. There’s no way he could have any part of a plot, directly or indirectly.”
“I am sure of one thing, Elizabeth; our friends in London told him a lot, probably a lot more than they should have and a whole lot more than he needed to know. Of course, with the threat of being involved in some horrible terrorist attack hanging over his head, and the thought of spending the rest of his life in a British prison, he’s not going to remember anything he doesn’t have to or want to. He’s got you and the staff of the Welsh hospital ready to testify he has no memory. If he does have anything to hide, he certainly has no reason to ‘suddenly remember everything,’ does he? Let me handle Matt; I’ve even had to fight off my superiors over him. I’ll find out what he knows, and then we’ll talk about giving him all his information back. I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I don’t mean to be harsh, but it is my job, and it’s my call.”
“I know you have to do your job, but take it easy on the guy please,” she begged Ben. “You can’t know him the same way I do.”
“He’ll be fine in my care,” Ben assured her. “You go back to the girls. Take them home to Michigan for a rest. I’ll be in touch.” Ben watched her walk out of his office and felt torn between doing his job and wanting to promise her what she wanted to hear. “Sorry, Elizabeth,” he said quietly after she closed the door behind her. He hoped, unlike his wife, who had resented every nuance of his career; Elizabeth would be more tolerant and understanding. Duty came first.
“PLEASE COME IN MR. Errington, how good of you to join us.” Ben’s warm smile never touched his eyes and belied the circumstances of their meeting. The irony was not lost on Matt.
“Like I had a choice,” Matt wanted to reply but held his tongue.
“I’m Ben Madison, and this is my colleague Gino Genetti. Please have a seat. I know it’s early in the morning, have you had anything to eat, or would you like some coffee?” Ben motioned toward a chair up close to his massive desk where he wanted Matt to land.
“Yeah, great. I only had a bite to eat on the plane, and I would like some coffee, black.”
Ben pulled up the second chair for Gino and walked around to his own worn black leather chair. “Marcy, be a doll,” he spoke into the phone on his desk, “and bring us some coffee on your way in, will you? I don’t normally ask ladies for such services,” he winked a conspiratorial wink at the men, “you know how touchy people get over being asked to do menial duties, but Marcy is a rare find. She won’t mind at all.”
A minute later, the door opened, and the most, muscularly built, manly looking, black woman, Matt had ever seen walked through it. Given the need, Matt was quite certain she could do laps around the room, carrying him as easily as she balanced the scuffed wooden tray, which she set down none too gently on the desk. Walking around to where Ben was sitting, she poked her finger up close to his nose.
“Now Ben Madison, you and I know I would do practically anything for you, but don’t push your luck so early in the morning.” She good-naturedly laughed and slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him out of the chair. “It’s a good thing you got company, or I might have had a few comments on your request.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would have, Marcy, and colorful they would have been too,” Ben shot back at her with a smile matching hers.
Matt had the strangest feeling the stage was being set, and the actors were all doing their bit for his sake. Maybe they were trying to make him feel at ease; help him regroup from the past forty-eight hours. It could just be his imagination, after all, he had been through a lot since he left the cottage, but his senses told him they were nervous about him too, and just like Interpol, they wanted something important from him. It surprised him, however, when Marcy pulled forward another chair and sat down right next to him. He didn’t expect her to stay in the room.
“Hi,” Marcy said to him, extending her hand as Mary Kathryn had on the plane. “I’m Dr. Marcy Owens, and I’ll be your psychiatrist for the day.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I’m sorry, Mr. Zand, but the flight has been delayed coming out of Boston, due to the severe weather. If you have a seat with the other guests, we will notify you when it arrives.”
“I don’t want to take a seat. I have already waited nearly six hours, and I want to know what time you expect the plane to get here. I have important business and must be in England by early tomorrow.”
“Mr. Zand, all of our guests would like the same answer, but we are waiting for the weather to clear. There is nothing we can do to speed things up. Please have a seat.” The attendant walked away from the desk before he could argue any further.
Rashid’s plans had been made cautiously, allowing for unforeseen delays, but this was too much. First, it’s my passport; there was something wrong with it; he was told by the security guard who made him wait while they verified his information. It’s insufferable. I know they target me because I’m middle-eastern. Their rudeness caused me to miss my scheduled flight. Now, this flight is delayed by the storms along the east coast. Is there no end to the insults from this hostile country? How I wish I could make them all pay for the disgraceful way they have treated me. It would give him great joy to smash them all. But Allah is wise. He will not let these insults go forever without retribution.
Remembering this made Rashid Zand feel better. He prayed for patience. But patience was one thing, and timing was another. He knew his contact in London would be concerned when he did not arrive as planned. Would they go ahead without him? He knew it was dangerous to call his brothers.
Many times, he had been wisely instructed by Khourmy to refrain from anything but the most urgent communication to not draw attention to themselves or their upcoming events. They must be told, however, that he had been delayed and to wait for his arrival in London. He had waited and prayed so long for this time of glory to come. Allah was counting on him, and he could not disappoint Him. He could not miss Allah’s punishment of the infidels because of stupid airline people getting in his way. It was his plan. His work led them to this moment. He found the scientist willing to sell human lives for a handful of gold. He had been the instrument that created the ‘Breath of God.’ It was to be his moment of glory. It was insufferable. He would get to London if he had to walk across the ocean. Allah be praised.
EARLIER IN THE MORNING, a CIA agent working in the airport placed a call to his boss, Ben Madison. “Yes, sir. I inserted the transmitting strip into the fold of his passport. It was a perfect job if I must say so. He’ll never notice it.”
“I hope not, a lot is riding on us track
ing him all the way to London and beyond, and if we are right about his cell being the group planning an attack, we might get lucky and stop them in their tracks. I’m always amazed at the new technology you guys come up with, you know. That strip couldn’t be any bigger than a sliver.”
“Yeah, that’s why I wanted to go into the tech side of the agency business. It sure makes my job more fun.” Agent Williams laughed. “Always some new toy to play with.”
“Thanks, Glen, good job.” Within minutes Ben was giving his intelligence department the GPS coordinates for the satellite to lock onto Zand. The bird was loaded. The bird dog was ready to hunt.
“WELL, MATT, ARE YOU getting used to your name yet?” Ben was working hard to break the ice and make Matt feel more comfortable before the real questioning began.
“I guess so, although I can’t say anything feels normal yet. Being back on this side of the ocean seems right, but since I haven’t been allowed to go home, I don’t have a complete answer for you.”
“Yeah, well, Matt I don’t want to sound like an alarmist, but you were headed for some pretty uncomfortable days if we had not used considerable clout to get you sprung and back here in one piece. I’m not going to pull any punches with you, you have gotten yourself into a pretty mess, and whether you remember it or not, might not have saved your hide over there. It seems the Brits, Interpol and most of the agencies in Europe are convinced you are hiding a duplicitous role in a rather nasty bit of business with the Iranians behind a curtain of amnesia.”
“Well, I’m not. At least I am pretty damn sure I’m not. I know that’s not my personality at all!” Matt jumped to his feet, red-faced at the mere insinuation of his involvement.
“Hey, not so fast.” Ben patted the air in an appeasing manner. “We didn’t say we share their opinion, but the intelligence we have captured indicates the target is in Britain, not the good old U. S. of A. Maybe if we had the bulls-eye on us, Homeland Security would be up my behind, and we would be taking a different tack too. We do believe you don’t remember the whole affair. But, more to the point, we know you work at a laboratory and were the principal investigator with some toxic agents ... which we’re pretty sure the head of a terrorist cell, an Iranian named Kaleehad Khourmy, has gotten his hands on. Your work is impressive, I must say. You tweaked a viral component to create instant paralysis, and eventual death if not treated immediately with an antidote ... which you also created. The bad guys are calling it ‘Breath of God,’ and we’re well aware of its potency. Unfortunately, we also think it has been duplicated already. Our scientists are working on it as well with the partial data you left with your boss at Marsh. They are desperately trying to formulate an antidote, which we also believe you already finished. Several government labs have been working on this ... just in case it’s needed. However, since we have managed to save your butt from torture, we know you are more than eager to return the favor and help us in any way you can. Isn’t that right, Matt?” Ben nodded in Matt’s direction but didn’t pause long enough for an answer.
“We need you to retrieve your final reports and data from whatever secure place you put it.” The air in the room became uncomfortable and crackled with unstated urgency.
Vestiges of his nightmares and Franny’s dire predictions swam before his eyes. Franny called him death, a title of which he had no memory to either comprehend its precision or deny its validity. But there was some truth in Ben’s words, as there were in Franny’s. His doubts played havoc with his deepest insecurities. I’m responsible. Something I created is going to harm and possibly kill a lot of people. He couldn’t remember it, and he did not know how to stop it.
“Where do you think I should start?” Matt wasn't sure what he could do, but without a doubt, he had better give them something.
Ben was up and motioned for Gino to give him a large red folder. From it, Ben handed Matt a new driver’s license and passport.
“Since these were never found ... I thought you might need replacements. I was able to pull a few strings to get them for you quickly,” Ben said, noting Matt’s surprised look. “Kind of a welcome home gift. Okay, let’s go. Are you ready?” Ben asked, opening up Matt’s file. He urged Matt to move closer. “This is your life, Matt Errington.”
“How do you know so much about me?” Matt asked at one point in the lesson, totally impressed with the depth of the details Ben unfolded before him.
“We were able to piece together a great deal of your life from your employer, and easily traceable records.” Considering the power Ben wielded through various government departments, Matt never doubted the answer, and Ben was spared from naming Kate as the real source of information.
OPENING THE DOOR TO his apartment seemed like entering a foreign land. He had no memory of what would be inside. Matt felt his stomach roll over, and his guts turned to water. For hours Ben went over the details of Matt's life with him; from his birth to his mother's death, from his childhood to a stellar career at Marsh Laboratories. Feelings, more than memory, engulfed him. Throughout the history lesson on who he was, Matt sat silent and still, only occasionally asking a question when some detail of Ben's story caused him pain for which he had no explanation. His questions were unemotional and centered mostly on the loss of his mother. He had a hard time getting past that part of his life. Everything else Ben painted could be true or false, it all meant little, but learning he caused his own mother’s death, shook him to the core.
The door to his apartment swung open, and Matt was face to face with his past. A past that only hinted at a real life. The room was neat, sparsely decorated but looked like furnishings Matt would choose. Simple, functional, no, clinical would be a better word. The word struck him, and without a better explanation for it, he tucked it away for future exploration.
Agent Jim Jensen, assigned to Matt by Ben, followed closely on his heels and closed the door behind them. “Well, Matt, does it look like home?”
“I don't know, I guess so. It doesn’t feel right, but your Ben Madison's friend, Dr. Owens, says being here will speed up the process. I sure hope so; this is getting old, you know?”
Agent Jensen nodded. “I guess it must feel weird,” he agreed.
“I can't believe I was so neat. Even with limited knowledge of who I am.” For the first time in days, Matt laughed at himself. “Dr. Owens didn't have me pegged right. She called me unpretentious and casual. I would loosely translate that to slob. But this place is clean as a whistle and almost antiseptically clean.”
The quiet shadow behind him nodded in agreement. “Uh, yeah, I guess so. And, pretty boring,” he added with a grin. “Of course, it was put back together by agency staff, you know, a lot of your things were destroyed, and the agency replaced them with as close to duplicates as possible.”
Matt absently nodded, inspecting his home. “Yeah, that’s what I have been told. But I would have thought I would at least recognize something here as mine.” Matt slowly toured the rooms. He ran his fingers over the edge of each piece of furniture and across the back of the couch. My stuff. Or mostly, my stuff. It’s my home anyway. My life. Well almost. He belonged here. But nothing reached out to him. He felt no oneness with the rooms. No blink of the mind’s eye followed by a hint of a memory. Nothing felt right. That was the problem he knew instinctively. Nothing feels right.
“Are you sure this is my place?” he turned to the agent. “I don’t know what it is, but this isn’t me.”
Agent Jensen nodded, “yeah, it’s your place all right. Give it some time. Anyway, Mr. Madison wants you to look closely at what’s here, try and feel your way back to the days before you took off for Europe. Try to piece your actions together. Maybe we can figure out where you put your notes.”
“Right! That’s the game plan, I know. Hard to do when I don’t even feel like I belong here, you know? Why is everyone so sure I hid my work here anyway? After all, I worked in a lab. If I had notes, wouldn’t I have left them there? Someplace safe.”
�
��Our point precisely, Matt. We aren’t sure where you left anything. Your boss, Dr. Nowak, went over your lab with a fine-tooth comb. He swore you finished the project before you left; he spoke so highly of your dedication; he was convinced you wouldn’t have left it undone. But, if you did, you cleaned out your work, and our guess is you took it home. What you did with it is anyone’s guess.”
“Ben thinks I was protecting it from someone there. Couldn’t that person have taken it just as well as me? What if I did finish the research, lock it up, and leave? Who’s to say someone else didn’t get to it and make it look like I cleaned out my computer files?”
Matt wasn’t convinced with Ben’s story of his past and his potential role in the whole mess unfolding across the ocean. And, he still had no logical reason for going to Great Britain. Ben contrived to blend reality with a simpler suggestion of why Matt was in England, leaving out Kate and the search for her mother. The trip was suggested to be a spur of the moment vacation to relieve a stressed mind.
Dr. Owen helped Matt ‘remember’ through the power of hypnosis, his need to get away from the potentially deadly substance he created. With his job pressing on him and the upcoming move to a more responsible position, it could easily explain a sudden flight out of the country, right? She cited similar experiences of WWII researchers who worked on the atom bomb. They too refused to acknowledge the devastation they wrought even as they celebrated their success, and many of them suffered for the rest of their lives for their roles in the Manhattan Project. Dr. Owen assured Matt finding the antidote would help clear his deeply submerged guilt and free his memory.
Death & Other Lies Page 21