by Ken Follett
Luke's guess was confirmed. "You think it was me," he said.
She nodded. "The patient was given the treatment that causes global amnesia."
"My God." Luke was dismayed and intrigued at the same time. If she was right, this had been done to him deliberately. That explained why he had been followed around--presumably by someone keen to make sure the treatment had worked. "Who did this?"
"My colleague, Dr. Leonard Ross, admitted the patient. Len's a psychiatrist. I'd like to know his rationale for authorizing the treatment. A patient should normally be kept under observation for some time, usually days, before any treatment is given. And I can't imagine the medical justification for discharging the patient immediately afterwards, even with the consent of relatives. This is very irregular."
"Sounds like Ross is in trouble."
Billie sighed. "Probably not. If I complain, people will accuse me of sour grapes. They'll say I'm bitter because Len got the job I wanted, Director of Research here."
"When did that happen?"
"Today."
Luke was startled. "Ross got promoted today?"
"Yes. I guess it's not a coincidence."
"Hell, no! He was bribed. He was promised the promotion in return for doing this irregular treatment."
"I can't believe it. Yes, I can. He's real weak."
"But he's someone else's tool. A superior in the hospital hierarchy must have got him to do it."
"No." Billie shook her head. "The trust that's funding the post, the Sowerby Foundation, insisted on Ross for the job. My boss told me. We couldn't figure out why. Now I know."
"It all fits, but this is almost as baffling as before. Someone in the Foundation wanted me to lose my memory?"
"I can guess who," Billie said. "Anthony Carroll. He's on the board."
The name rang a bell. Luke recalled that Anthony was the CIA man mentioned by Elspeth. "That still leaves the question why."
"But now we have someone to ask," Billie said, and she picked up the phone.
While she dialed, Luke tried to organize his thoughts. The last hour had been a series of shocks. He had been told he was not going to get his memory back. He had learned that he had loved Billie and lost her, and he could not understand how he could have been such a fool. Now he had discovered that his amnesia had been deliberately inflicted on him and that someone in the CIA was responsible. Yet he still had no clue as to why this had been done.
"Let me speak to Anthony Carroll," Billie said into the phone. "This is Dr. Josephson." Her tone was peremptory. "Okay, then tell him I need to speak to him urgently." She looked at her watch. "Have him call me at home in exactly one hour from now." Her face suddenly darkened. "Don't jerk me around, buster, I know you can get a message to him any time of the day or night, wherever he is." She slammed the phone down.
She caught Luke's eye and looked abashed. "Sorry," she said. "The guy said, 'I'll see what I can do,' like he was doing me a darn favor."
Luke remembered Elspeth saying that Anthony Carroll was an old buddy who had been at Harvard with Luke and Bern. "This Anthony," he said. "I thought he was a friend."
"Yeah." Billie nodded, a worried frown on her expressive face. "So did I."
7.30 P.M.
The temperature problem is a key obstacle to manned space flight. To gauge the efficacy of its insulation, the Explorer carriers four thermometers: three in the outer shell, to measure skin temperature, and one inside the instrument compartment, to give the interior temperature. The aim is to keep the level between 40 to 70 degrees Fahrenheit--a comfortable range for human survival.
Bern lived on Massachusetts Avenue, overlooking the picturesque gorge of Rock Creek, in a neighborhood of large homes and foreign embassies. His apartment had an Iberian theme, with ornate Spanish colonial furniture, twisted shapes in dark wood. The stark white walls were hung with paintings of sun-baked landscapes. Luke recalled Billie saying that Bern had fought in the Spanish Civil War.
It was easy to imagine Bern a fighter. His dark hair was receding now, and his waist hung over the belt of his slacks a little, but there was a hard set to his face and a bleak look in his gray eyes. Luke wondered if such a down-to-earth man would credit the strange story he had to tell.
Bern shook Luke's hand warmly and gave him strong coffee in a small cup. On top of the console gramophone was a silver-framed photograph of a middle-aged man in a torn shirt holding a rifle. Luke picked it up. "Largo Benito," Bern explained. "Greatest man I ever knew. I fought with him in Spain. My son is named Largo, but Billie calls him Larry."
Bern probably looked back on the war in Spain as the best time of his life. Luke wondered enviously what had been the best time of his own life. "I guess I must have had great memories of something," he said despondently.
Bern gave him a sharp look. "What the hell is going on, old buddy?"
Luke sat down and related what he and Billie had discovered at the hospital. Then he said, "Here's what I think happened to me. I don't know if you're going to buy it, but I'll tell you anyway, because I'm really hoping you can shed some light on the mystery."
"I'll do what I can."
"I came to Washington on Monday, right before the launch of the rocket, to see an Army general for some mysterious purpose that I wouldn't tell anyone about. My wife was worried about me and called Anthony, to ask him to keep an eye on me. Anthony made a breakfast date with me for Tuesday morning."
"It makes sense. Anthony's your oldest friend. You were roommates already when I met you."
"The next bit is more speculative. I met Anthony for breakfast, before going to the Pentagon. He put something in my coffee to make me fall asleep, then got me into his car and drove me to Georgetown Mind Hospital. He must have gotten Billie out of the way somehow, or maybe waited until she left for the day. Anyway, he made sure she didn't see me, and checked me in under a false name. Then he got hold of Dr. Len Ross, who he knew might be bribed. Using his position as a board member of the Sowerby Foundation, he persuaded Len to give me a treatment which would destroy my memory."
Luke paused, waiting for Bern to say the whole thing was ludicrous, impossible, a figment of an overactive imagination. But he did not. To Luke's surprise, he simply said, "But for God's sake, why?"
Luke began to feel better. If Bern believed him, he might help. He said, "For the moment, let's concentrate on how, rather than why."
"Okay."
"To cover his tracks, he checked me out of the hospital, dressed me in rags--presumably while I was still unconscious from the treatment--and dumped me in Union Station, along with a sidekick whose job was to persuade me that I lived like that, and at the same time to keep an eye on me and make sure the amnesia treatment had worked."
Now Bern did look skeptical. "But he must have known you'd find out the truth sooner or later."
"Not necessarily--not all of it, anyway. Sure, he had to calculate that after a few days or weeks I would figure out who I was. But he thought I'd still believe I had gone on a bender. People do lose their memories after drinking heavily, at least according to legend. If I did find it hard to believe, and asked a few questions, the trail would have gone cold. Billie probably would have forgotten about the mystery patient--and in case she remembered, Ross would have destroyed his records."
Bern nodded thoughtfully. "A risky plan, but one with a good chance of success. In clandestine work, that's generally the best you can hope for."
"I'm surprised you're not more skeptical."
Bern shrugged.
Luke pressed him. "Do you have a reason for accepting the story so readily?"
"We've all been in secret work. These things happen."
Luke felt sure Bern was keeping something back. There was nothing he could do but plead. "Bern, if there's something else you know, for God's sake, tell me. I need all the help I can get."
Bern looked anguished. "There is something--but it's secret, and I don't want to get anyone into trouble."
Luke's heart l
eaped in hope. "Tell me, please. I'm desperate."
Bern looked hard at him. "I guess you are." He took a deep breath. "Okay, then, here goes. Toward the end of the war, Billie and Anthony worked on a special project for OSS, the Truth Drug Committee. You and I didn't know about it at the time, but I found out later, when I was married to Billie. They were looking for drugs that would affect prisoners under interrogation. They tried mescaline, barbiturates, scopolamine, and cannabis. Their test subjects were soldiers suspected of communist sympathies. Billie and Anthony went to military camps in Atlanta, Memphis, and New Orleans. They would win the confidence of the suspect soldier, give him a reefer, and see whether he betrayed secrets."
Luke laughed. "So a lot of grunts got a free high!"
Bern nodded. "At that level, the whole thing was faintly comical. After the war, Billie went back to college and did her doctoral thesis on the effects of various legal drugs such as nicotine on people's mental states. When she finally became a professor, she continued to work on the same area, concentrating on how drugs and other factors affect memory."
"But not for the CIA."
"That's what I thought. But I was wrong."
"Christ."
"In 1950, when Roscoe Hillenkoetter was director, the Agency started a project code-named Bluebird, and Hillenkoetter authorized the use of unvouchered funds, so there was no paper trail. Bluebird was about mind control. They financed a whole series of legitimate research projects in universities, channeling the money through trusts to conceal their true source. And they financed Billie's work."
"How did she feel about that?"
"We fought about it. I said it was wrong, the CIA was planning to brainwash people. She said that all scientific knowledge could be used for good or evil, she was doing invaluable research, and she didn't care who paid the bill."
"Is that why you divorced?"
"Sort of. I was writing a radio show called Detective Story, but I wanted to get into movies. In 1952 I wrote a screenplay about a secret government agency that brainwashed unsuspecting citizens. Jack Warner bought it. But I didn't tell Billie."
"Why not?"
"I knew the CIA would get the film cancelled."
"They can do that?"
"You bet your goddamn life."
"So what happened?"
"The movie came out in 1953. Frank Sinatra played the nightclub singer who witnesses a political murder, then has his memory wiped by a secret process. Joan Crawford played his manager. It was a huge hit. My career was made--I was deluged with big-money offers from the studios."
"And Billie?"
"I took her to the premiere."
"I guess she was angry."
He smiled ruefully. "She went into meltdown. She said I'd used confidential information that I got from her. She was sure the CIA would withdraw her funding, ruin her research. It was the end of our marriage."
"That's what Billie meant when she said you had a conflict of values."
"She's right. She should have married you--I never really understood why she didn't."
Luke's heart missed a beat. He was curious to know why Bern said that. But he postponed the question. "Anyway, to return to 1953, I assume the CIA didn't cut off her funding."
"No." Bern looked bitterly angry. "They destroyed my career instead."
"How?"
"I was subjected to a loyalty investigation. Of course, I had been a communist, right up until the end of the war, so I made an easy target. I was blacklisted in Hollywood, and I couldn't even get back my old job in radio."
"What was Anthony's role in that?"
"He did his best to protect me, Billie said, but he was overruled." Bern frowned. "After what you've just told me, I wonder if that was true."
"What did you do?"
"I had a couple of bad years, then I thought of The Terrible Twins."
Luke raised an eyebrow.
"It's a series of children's books." He pointed to a bookcase. The bright jackets made a splash of color. "You've read them, as it happens--to your sister's kid."
Luke was pleased he had a nephew or niece--or maybe several. He liked the idea of reading aloud to them.
There was so much he had to learn about himself.
He waved a hand at the expensive apartment. "The books must be successful."
Bern nodded. "I wrote the first story under a pseudonym and used an agent who was sympathetic to the victims of the McCarthy witch-hunt. The book was a big bestseller, and I've written two a year ever since."
Luke got up and took a book from the shelf. He read:
Which is stickier, honey or melted chocolate? The twins had to know. That was why they did the experiment that made Mom so mad.
He smiled. He could imagine children loving this stuff. Then he felt sad. "Elspeth and I don't have any kids."
"I don't know why," Bern said. "You always wanted a family so badly."
"We tried, but it didn't happen." Luke closed the book. "Am I happily married?"
Bern sighed. "Since you ask, no."
"Why?
"Something was wrong, but you didn't know what. You called me one time, to ask my advice, but I couldn't help you."
"A few minutes ago, you said Billie should have married me."
"You two used to be nuts about each other."
"So what happened?"
"I don't really know. After the war, you had a big quarrel. I'm not too sure what it was about."
"I'll have to ask Billie."
"I guess."
Luke put the book back on the shelf. "Anyway, now I understand why you didn't react with total incredulity to my story."
"Yes," Bern said. "I believe Anthony did this."
"But can you imagine why?"
"I don't have the least idea."
8 P.M.
If temperature variations are higher than expected, it is possible that the germanium transistors will overheat, the mercury batteries will freeze, and the satellite will fail to transmit data back to earth.
Billie sat at her dressing table, freshening her makeup. She thought her eyes were her best feature, and she always did them carefully, with black eyeliner, gray eye shadow, and a little mascara. She left the bedroom door open, and she could hear television gunfire downstairs: Larry and Becky-Ma were watching Wagon Train.
She did not feel like a date tonight. The events of the day had stirred up strong passions. She was angry about not getting the job she wanted, bewildered by what Anthony had done, and confused and threatened to find that the old chemistry between herself and Luke was as powerful and dangerous as ever. She found herself reviewing her relationships with Anthony, Luke, Bern, and Harold, wondering whether she had made the right decisions in life. After all that had happened, the prospect of spending the evening watching the Kraft Theater on TV with Harold seemed insipid, fond of him though she was.
The phone rang.
She jumped up from her stool and crossed the room to the extension by the bed, but Larry had already picked up in the hallway. She heard Anthony's voice say, "This is the CIA. Washington is about to be invaded by an army of bouncing cabbages."
Larry giggled. "Uncle Anthony, it's you!"
"If you are approached by a cabbage, do not, repeat, do not attempt to reason with it."
"A cabbage can't talk!"
"The only way to deal with them is to beat them to death with sliced bread."
"You're making this up!" Larry laughed.
Billie said, "Anthony, I'm on the extension."
Anthony said, "Get your jammies on, Larry, okay?"
"Okay," said Larry. He hung up.
Anthony's voice changed. "Billie?"
"Here."
"You wanted me to call--urgently. I gather you chewed out the duty officer."
"Yeah. Anthony, what the hell are you up to?"
"You'll have to ask me a more specific question--"
"Don't screw around, for Christ's sake. I could tell you were lying last time we spoke, but I di
dn't know what the truth was then. Now I do. I know what you did to Luke at my hospital last night."
There was a silence.
Billie said, "I want an explanation."
"I can't really talk about this on the phone. If we could meet sometime in the next few days--"
"The hell with that." She was not going to let him procrastinate. "I want your story right now."
"You know I can't--"
"You can do anything you damn well please, so don't pretend otherwise."
Anthony protested, "You ought to trust me. We've been friends for two decades."
"Yeah, and you got me into trouble on our first date."
There was a smile in Anthony's voice as he said, "Are you still mad about that?"
Billie softened. "Hell, no. I want to trust you. You're my son's godfather."
"I'll explain everything if you'll meet me tomorrow."
She almost agreed, then she remembered what he had done. "You didn't trust me last night, did you? You went behind my back, right in my own hospital."
"I told you, I can explain--"
"You should have explained before you deceived me. Tell me the truth or I'll go to the FBI the minute I hang up. You choose."
It was dangerous to threaten men--it often made them obstinate. But she knew how the CIA hated and feared interference from the FBI, especially when the Agency was working on the borderline of legality, which was most of the time. The Feds, who jealously guarded their exclusive right to hunt spies within the U.S.A., would relish the chance to investigate illegitimate acts by the CIA on American soil. If whatever Anthony was doing was strictly on the up and up, then Billie's threat was empty. But if he was overstepping the limits of the law, he would be scared.
He sighed. "Well, I'm on a payphone, and I guess it's unlikely your line is tapped." He paused. "You may find this hard to believe."
"Try me."
"Well, here goes. Luke is a spy, Billie."
For a moment she was dumbstruck. Then she said, "Don't be absurd."
"He's a communist, an agent for Moscow."
"For Christ's sake! If you think I'm going to fall for that--"
"I'm past caring whether you believe it or not." Anthony's tone was suddenly harsh. "He's been passing rocket secrets to the Soviets for years. How do you think they managed to put their Sputnik into orbit while our satellite was still on the laboratory bench? They're not ahead of us scientifically, for God's sake! They have the benefit of all our research as well as their own. And Luke is responsible."