Code to Zero

  Luke nodded. After a moment, he managed to say, "Could we talk?"

  "Sure, sure. There's a little office behind the Wright Brothers display. Professor Larkley used it earlier." They headed for a door to one side. "I organized this lecture, by the way." He led Luke into a small, Spartan room with a couple of chairs, a desk, and a phone. They sat down. "What's going on?" said the man.

  "I've lost my memory."

  "My God!"

  "Autobiographical amnesia. I still remember my science--that's how I found my way to you guys--but I don't know anything about myself."

  Looking shocked, the young man said, "Do you know who I am?"

  Luke shook his head. "Heck, I'm not even sure of my own name."

  "Whew." The man looked bewildered. "I never came across anything like this in real life."

  "I need you to tell me what you know about me."

  "I guess you do. Uh . . . where shall I start?"

  "You called me Luke."

  "Everyone calls you Luke. You're Dr. Claude Lucas, but I guess you never liked 'Claude.' I'm Will McDermot."

  Luke closed his eyes, overwhelmed by relief and gratitude. He knew his name. "Thank you, Will."

  "I don't know anything about your family. I've only met you a couple of times, at scientific conferences."

  "Do you know where I live?"

  "Huntsville, Alabama, I guess. You work for the Army Ballistic Missile Agency. They're based at Redstone Arsenal in Huntsville. You're a civilian, though, not an Army officer. Your boss is Wernher von Braun."

  "I can't tell you how good it is to know this stuff!"

  "I was surprised to see you because your team is about to launch a rocket that will put an American satellite in space for the first time. They're all down in Cape Canaveral, and word is it could be tonight."

  "I read about it in the paper this morning--my God, did I work on that rocket?"

  "Yeah. The Explorer. It's the most important launch in the history of the American space program--especially since the success of the Russian Sputnik and the failure of the Navy's Vanguard."

  Luke was exhilarated. Only hours ago he had imagined himself a drunken bum. Now it turned out he was a scientist at the peak of his career. "But I ought to be there for the launch!"

  "Exactly . . . so do you have any idea why you're not?"

  Luke shook his head. "I woke up this morning in the men's room at Union Station. No idea how I got there."

  Will gave a man-to-man grin. "Sounds like you went to a great party last night!"

  "Let me ask you seriously--is that the kind of thing I do? Get so drunk I pass out?"

  "I don't know you well enough to answer that." Will frowned. "I'd be surprised, though. You know us scientists. Our idea of a party is to sit around drinking coffee and talking about our work."

  That sounded right to Luke. Getting drunk just doesn't seem interesting enough. But he had no other explanation of how he had gotten into this scrape. Who was Pete? Why had people been following him? And who were the two men searching for him at Union Station?

  He thought of talking to Will about all that and decided it sounded too strange. Will might begin to think he was nuts. Instead he said, "I'm going to call Cape Canaveral."

  "Great idea." Will picked up the phone on the desk and dialed zero. "Will McDermot here. Can I make a long-distance call on this phone? Thank you." He handed the phone to Luke.

  Luke got the number from information and dialed. "This is Dr. Lucas." He felt inordinately pleased to be able to give his name: he would not have thought it could be so satisfying. "I'd like to speak to someone on the Explorer launch team."

  "They're in hangars D and R," said the male operator. "Please hold the line."

  A moment later a voice said: "Army security, Colonel Hide speaking."

  "This is Dr. Lucas--"

  "Luke! At last! Where the hell are you?"

  "I'm in Washington."

  "Well, what the bejesus are you doing? We've been going crazy! We got Army Security looking for you, the FBI, even the CIA!"

  That explained the two agents searching in Union Station, Luke thought. "Listen, a strange thing has happened. I lost my memory. I've been wandering around town trying to figure out who I am. Finally I found some physicists who know me."

  "But that's extraordinary. How did it happen, for Christ's sake?"

  "I was hoping you could tell me that, Colonel."

  "You always call me Bill."

  "Bill."

  "Okay, well, I'll tell you what I know. Monday morning you took off, saying you had to go to Washington. You flew from Patrick."

  "Patrick?"

  "Patrick Air Force Base, near Cape Canaveral. Marigold made the reservations--"

  "Who's Marigold?"

  "Your secretary in Huntsville. She also booked your usual suite at the Carlton Hotel in Washington."

  There was a note of envy in the colonel's voice, and Luke wondered briefly about that "usual suite," but he had more important questions. "Did I tell anyone the purpose of the trip?"

  "Marigold made an appointment for you to see General Sherwood at the Pentagon at ten A.M. yesterday--but you didn't keep the appointment."

  "Did I give a reason for wanting to see the general?"

  "Apparently not."

  "What's his area of responsibility?"

  "Army security--but he's also a friend of your family's, so the meeting could have been about anything."

  It must have been something highly important, Luke reflected, to take him away from Cape Canaveral just before his rocket was to take off. "Is the launch going ahead tonight?"

  "No, we've got weather problems. It's been postponed until tomorrow at ten-thirty P.M."

  Luke wondered what the hell he had been doing. "Do I have friends here in Washington?"

  "Sure. One of them's been calling me every hour. Bern Rothsten." Hide read out a phone number.

  Luke scribbled it on a scratch pad. "I'll call him right away."

  "First you should talk to your wife."

  Luke froze. His breath was taken away. Wife, he thought. I have a wife. He wondered what she was like.

  "You still there?" Hide said.

  Luke started to breathe again. "Uh, Bill . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "What's her name?"

  "Elspeth," he said. "Your wife's name is Elspeth. I'll transfer you to her phone. Hold the line."

  Luke had a nervous sensation in his stomach. This was dumb, he thought. She was his wife.

  "Elspeth speaking. Luke, is that you?"

  She had a warm, low voice, with precise diction and no particular accent. He imagined a tall, confident woman. He said, "Yes, this is Luke. I've lost my memory."

  "I've been so worried. Are you okay?"

  He felt pathetically grateful for someone who cared how he was. "I guess I am now," he said.

  "What on earth happened?"

  "I really don't know. I woke up this morning in the men's room at Union Station, and I spent the day trying to find out who I am."

  "Everyone's been looking for you. Where are you now?"

  "At the Smithsonian, in the Aircraft Building."

  "Is someone taking care of you?"

  Luke smiled at Will McDermot. "A fellow scientist has been helping me. And I have a number for Bern Rothsten. But I really don't need taking care of. I'm fine, I just lost my memory."

  Will McDermot stood up, looking embarrassed, and whispered, "I'm going to give you some privacy. I'll wait outside."

  Luke nodded gratefully.

  Elspeth was saying, "So you don't remember why you took off for Washington in such a hurry."

  "No. Obviously I didn't tell you."

  "You said it was better for me not to know. But I was frantic. I called an old friend of ours in Washington, Anthony Carroll. He's in the CIA."

  "Did he do anything?"

  "He called you at the Carlton on Monday night, and you arranged to meet him for breakfast early on Tuesday mornin
g--but you didn't show up. He's been looking for you all day. I'm going to call him now and tell him everything's all right."

  "Obviously something happened to me between Monday evening and Tuesday morning."

  "You ought to see a doctor, get yourself checked out."

  "I feel fine. But there's a lot I want to know. Do we have children?"

  "No."

  Luke felt a sadness that seemed familiar, like the dull ache of an old injury.

  Elspeth went on, "We've been trying for a baby ever since we got married, which is four years ago, but we haven't succeeded."

  "Are my parents alive?"

  "Your mom is. She lives in New York. Your pa died five years ago."

  Luke felt a sudden wave of grief that seemed to come from nowhere. He had lost his memories of his father and would never see him again. It seemed unbearably sad.

  Elspeth went on. "You have two brothers and a sister, all younger. Your baby sister, Emily, is your favorite, she's ten years younger than you, she lives in Baltimore."

  "Do you have phone numbers for them?"

  "Of course. Hold on while I look them up."

  "I'd like to talk to them, I don't know why." He heard a muffled sob at the other end of the line. "Are you crying?"

  Elspeth sniffed. "I'm okay." He imagined her taking a handkerchief out of her handbag. "Suddenly I felt so sorry for you," she said tearfully. "It must have been awful."

  "There were some bad moments."

  "Let me give you those numbers." She read them out.

  "Are we rich?" he said when he had written down the phone numbers.

  "Your father was a very successful banker. He left you a lot of money. Why?"

  "Bill Hide told me I'm staying in my 'usual suite' at the Carlton."

  "Before the war, your pa was an advisor to the Roosevelt administration, and he liked to take his family with him when he went to Washington. You always had a corner suite at the Carlton. I guess you're keeping up the tradition."

  "So you and I don't live on what the Army pays me."

  "No, though in Huntsville we try not to live very much better than your colleagues."

  "I could go on asking you questions all day. But what I really want is to find out how this happened to me. Would you fly up here tonight?"

  There was a moment of silence. "My God, why?"

  "To figure out this mystery with me. I could use some help--and companionship."

  "You should forget about it and come down here."

  That was unthinkable. "I can't forget about this. I have to know what it's all about. It's too strange to ignore."

  "Luke, I can't leave Cape Canaveral now. We're about to launch the first American satellite, for heaven's sake! I can't let the team down at a moment like this."

  "I guess not." He understood, but all the same he was hurt by her refusal. "Who's Bern Rothsten?"

  "He was at Harvard with you and Anthony Carroll. He's a writer now."

  "Apparently he's been trying to reach me. Maybe he knows what this is all about."

  "Call me later, won't you? I'll be at the Starlite Motel tonight."

  "Okay."

  "Take care of yourself, Luke, please," she said earnestly.

  "I will, I promise." He hung up.

  He sat in silence for a moment. He felt emotionally drained. Part of him wanted to go to his hotel and lie down. But he was too curious. He picked up the phone again and called the number Bern Rothsten had left. "This is Luke Lucas," he said when the phone was answered.

  Bern had a gravelly voice and the trace of a New York accent. "Luke, thank God! What the hell happened to you?"

  "Everybody says that. The answer is that I don't really know anything except that I've lost my memory."

  "You lost your memory?"

  "Right."

  "Oh, shit. Do you know how this happened to you?"

  "No. I was hoping you might have a clue."

  "I might."

  "Why have you been trying to reach me?"

  "I was worried. You called me on Monday. You said you were on your way here, you wanted to see me, and you would call me from the Carlton. But you never did."

  "Something happened to me on Monday night."

  "Yeah. Listen, there's someone you have to call. Dr. Billie Josephson is a world expert on memory."

  The name rang a bell. "I think I came across her book in the library."

  "She's also my ex-wife, and an old friend of yours." Bern gave Luke the number.

  "I'm going to call her right away. Bern. . . ."

  "Yeah."

  "I lose my memory, and it turns out that an old friend of mine is a world expert on memory. Isn't that a hell of a coincidence?"

  "Ain't it just," said Bern.

  4.45 P.M.

  The final stage, containing the satellite, is 80 inches long and only 6 inches across, and weighs just over 30 pounds. It is shaped like a stovepipe.

  Billie had scheduled an hour-long interview with a patient, a football player who had been "dinged"--concussed in a collision with an opponent. He was an interesting subject, because he could remember everything up to one hour before the game, and nothing after that until the moment when he found himself standing on the sideline with his back to the play, wondering how he got there.

  She was distracted during the interview, thinking about the Sowerby Foundation and Anthony Carroll. By the time she got through with the football player and called Anthony, she was feeling frustrated and impatient. She was lucky and reached him at his office on the first try. "Anthony," she said abruptly, "what the hell is going on?"

  "A lot," he replied. "Egypt and Syria have agreed to merge, skirts are getting shorter, and Roy Campanella broke his neck in a car wreck and may never catch for the Dodgers again."

  She controlled the impulse to yell at him. "I was passed over for the post of Director of Research here at the hospital," she said with forced calm. "Len Ross got the job. Did you know that?"

  "Yeah, I guess I did."

  "I don't understand it. I thought I might lose to a highly qualified outsider--Sol Weinberg, from Princeton, or someone of that order. But everyone knows I'm better than Len."

  "Do they?"

  "Anthony, come on! You know it yourself. Hell, you encouraged me in this line of research, years ago, at the end of the war, when we--"

  "Okay, okay, I remember," he interrupted. "That stuff is still classified, you know."

  She did not believe that things they did in the war could still be important secrets. But it did not matter. "So why didn't I get the job?"

  "I'm supposed to know?"

  This was humiliating, she felt, but her need to understand overrode her embarrassment. "The Foundation is insisting on Len."

  "I guess they have the right."

  "Anthony, talk to me!"

  "I'm talking."

  "You're part of the Foundation. It's very unusual for a trust to interfere in this kind of decision. They normally leave it to the experts. You must know why they took this exceptional step."

  "Well, I don't. And my guess is the step has not yet been taken. There certainly hasn't been a meeting about it--I'd know about that."

  "Charles was very definite."

  "I don't doubt it's true, unfortunately for you. But it's not the kind of thing that would be decided openly. More likely, the Director and one or two board members had a chat over a drink at the Cosmos Club. One of them has called Charles and given him the word. He can't afford to upset them, so he's gone along. That's how these things work. I'm just surprised Charles was so candid with you."

  "He was shocked, I think. He can't understand why they would do such a thing. I thought you might know."

  "It's probably something dumb. Is Ross a family man?"

  "Married with four children."

  "The Director doesn't really approve of women earning high salaries when there are men trying to support a family."

  "For Christ's sake! I have a child and an elderly mother to ta
ke care of!"

  "I didn't say it was logical. Listen, Billie, I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll call you later."

  "Okay," she said.

  When she had hung up, she stared at the phone, trying to sort out her feelings. The conversation rang false to her, and she asked herself why. It was perfectly plausible that Anthony might not know about machinations among the other board members of the Foundation. So why did she disbelieve him? Thinking back, she realized he had been evasive--which was not like him. In the end, he had told her what little he knew, but reluctantly. It all added up to a very clear impression.

  Anthony was lying.

  5 P.M.

  The fourth-stage rocket is made of lightweight titanium instead of stainless steel. The weight saving permits the missile to carry a crucial extra 2 pounds of scientific equipment.

  When Anthony hung up the phone, it rang again immediately. He picked it up and heard Elspeth, sounding spooked. "For God's sake, I've been on hold for a quarter of an hour!"

  "I was talking to Billie, she--"

  "Never mind. I just spoke with Luke."

  "Jesus, how come?"

  "Shut up and listen! He was at the Smithsonian, in the Aircraft Building, with a bunch of physicists."

  "I'm on my way." Anthony dropped the phone and ran out the door. Pete saw him and ran after him. They went down to the parking lot and jumped into Anthony's car.

  The fact that Luke had spoken with Elspeth dismayed Anthony. It suggested that everything was coming unglued. But maybe if he got to Luke before anyone else, he could hold things together. It took them four minutes to drive to Independence Avenue and Tenth Street. They left the car outside the back entrance to the museum and ran into the old hangar that was the Aircraft Building.

  There was a payphone near the entrance, but no sign of Luke.

  "Split up," Anthony said. "I'll go right, you go left." He walked through the exhibits, scrutinizing the faces of the men as they gazed into the glass cases and stared up at the aircraft suspended from the ceiling. At the far end of the building he met up with Pete, who made an empty-hands gesture.

  There were some restrooms and offices to one side. Pete checked the men's room and Anthony looked in the offices. Luke must have called from one of these phones, but he was not here now.

  Pete came out of the men's room and said, "Nothing."

  Anthony said, "This is a catastrophe."

  Pete frowned. "Is it?" he said. "A catastrophe? Is this guy more important than you've told me?"

  "Yes," Anthony said. "He could be the most dangerous man in America."