But the first order of business for Marty and Megan Orr was to restore Julian's lost memories. Or try.
There was nothing complicated about it. Once Julian was under, the procedure was totally automated and only took forty-five minutes. It was also totally safe, in terms of the patient's physical and mental health. Julian knew that.
What he didn't know was that it only worked about three quarters of the time. About one in four patients lost something.
Julian lost a world.
I felt refreshed and elated when I woke up. I could remember the mind-numbed state I'd been in for the past four days, and could also remember all the detail that had been taken away from me – odd to feel happiness at being able to remember a suicide attempt and the imminent danger of the world coming to an end – but in my case it was a matter of providing actual reasons for the sense of unease that had pervaded my world.
I was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at a silly Norman Rockwell print of soldiers reporting for duty, remembering furiously, when Marty walked in looking grim.
'Something's wrong,' I said.
He nodded. From a black box on the bed table he unreeled two jack cables and handed one to me, wordlessly.
We plugged in and I opened up, and there was nothing. I checked the jack connection and it was secure. 'Are you getting anything?'
'No. I didn't in post-op either.' He fed his cable back in, and then mine.
'What is it?'
'Sometimes people permanently lose the memories we removed–'
'But I've got it all back! I'm certain!'
'–and sometimes they lose the ability to jack.'
I felt cold sweat prickling on my palms and forehead and under my arms. 'It's temporary?'
'No. No more than it is with Blaze. It's what happened to General Roser.'
'You knew.' The sick feeling of loss was turning into rage. I stood up and towered over him.
'I told you you might lose … something.'
'But you meant memory. I was willing to give up memory!'
'That's an advantage to jacking one-way, Julian. Two-way, you can't lie by omission. If you had asked me, "Could I lose the power to jack?" I would have told you. Fortunately, you didn't ask.'
'You're an MD, Marty. How does the first part of that oath go?'
'"Do no harm." But I was a lot of things before I got that piece of paper. A lot of things afterward.'
'Maybe you better get out of here before you start explaining.'
He stood his ground. 'You're a soldier in a war. Now you're a casualty. But the part of you that died – only a part – died to shield your unit, to get it safely into position.'
Rather than hit him, I sat back down on the bed, out of range. 'You sound like a goddamned warboy. A warboy for peace.'
'Maybe so. You must know how badly I feel about this. I knew I was betraying your trust.'
'Yeah, well, I feel pretty bad about it, too. Why don't you just leave?'
'I'd rather stay and talk to you.'
'I think I have it figured out. Go on. You have dozens of people to operate on. Before the world has the slightest chance of being saved.'
'You do still believe that.'
'I haven't had time to think about it, but yes, if the stuff you put back in my mind about the Jupiter Project is true, and if the Hammer of God is real, then something has to be done. You're doing something.'
'You're all right about it?'
'That's like being "all right" about losing an arm. I'm fine. I'll learn to shave with the other hand.'
'I don't want to leave you like this.'
'Like what? Just get out of my sight. I can think about it without your help.'
He looked at his watch. 'They are waiting for me. I have Colonel Owens on the table.'
I waved him away. 'So go do it. I'll be all right.'
He looked at me for a moment and then got up and left without a word.
I fished around in my breast pocket. The pill was still there.
Back in Guadalajara that morning, Jefferson had warned Blaze to stay out of sight. That was no problem; she was holed up with Ellie Morgan several blocks away, working on the various versions of the paper that would warn the world about the Jupiter Project.
Then Jefferson and Cameron sat for a few hours in the cantina, a small camera on the table between them, watching the elevator doors.
They almost missed her. When she came back down, her silky blond hair was tucked under a wig of black ringlets. She was dressed conservatively and had toned her visible skin to a typical Mexican olive hue. But she hadn't disguised her perfect figure or the way she walked.
Jefferson froze in mid-conversation and surreptitiously slid the camera around with his forefinger.
They had both idly watched her exit the elevator. 'What?' Cameron whispered.
'That's her. Made up like a Mexican.'
Cameron craned around in time to see her glide through the revolving door. 'Good God, you're right.'
Jefferson took the camera upstairs and called Ray, who, along with Mendez, was coordinating things in Marty's absence.
Ray was at the Clinic. He downloaded the pictures of her and studied them. No problem. We'll keep an eye out for her.'
Less than a minute later, she walked into the Clinic. The metal detectors didn't catch either of her weapons.
But she didn't pull out a picture of Amelia and ask whether anyone had seen her; Gavrila knew that Amelia had been in this building, and assumed it was enemy territory.
She told the receptionist she wanted to talk about a jack installation, but she refused to talk to anyone but the top man.
'Dr Spencer's in surgery,' she said. 'It will be at least two hours, maybe three. There are plenty of other people–'
'I'll wait.' Gavrila sat down on a couch with a clear view of the entrance.
In another room, Dr Spencer joined Ray looking at a monitor watching the woman watching the entrance.
'They say she's dangerous,' Ray said: 'some sort of spy or assassin. She's looking for Blaze.'
'I don't want any trouble with your government.'
'Did I say she was government? If she was official, wouldn't she produce credentials?'
'Not if she was an assassin.'
'The government doesn't have assassins!'
'Oh, really. Do you also believe in your Santa Claus?'
'I mean, no, not for us. There's a crackpot religious group that's after Marty and his people. She's either one of them or she was hired by them.' He explained about her suspicious activity at the hotel.
Spencer stared at her image. 'I believe you are correct. I have studied thousands of faces. Hers is Scandinavian, not Mexican. She probably has dyed her blond hair – or no, she's wearing a wig. But what do you expect me to do about her?'
'I don't suppose you could just lock her up and throw away the key.'
'Please. This is not the United States.'
'Well … I want to talk to her. But she may be really dangerous.'
'She has no knife or gun. That would have registered as she walked through the door.'
Don't suppose I could borrow a guy with a gun to watch over her while we talked?'
'As I said–'
"'This is not the United States." What about that old hombre downstairs with the machine gun?'
'He does not work for me. He works for the garage. How dangerous could this woman be, if she has no weapon?'
'More dangerous than me. My education was sadly neglected in the mayhem category. Do you at least have a room where I could talk to her and have somebody watching, in case she decides to tear off my head and beat me to death with it?'
'That's not difficult. Take her to room 1.' He aimed a remote and clicked. The screen showed an interview room. 'It's a special room for seguridad. Take her in there and I will watch. For ten or fifteen minutes; then I will ask someone else to watch.
'These ultimodiadores – you call them Enders – is that what this is all ab
out?'
'There's a relation.'
'But they are harmless. Silly people, and what, blaspheming? But harmless, except to their own souls.'
'Not these, Dr Spencer. If we could jack, you'd understand how scared I am of her.' For Spencer's protection, no one who knew the whole plan could jack with him two-way. He accepted the condition as typical American paranoia.
'I have a male nurse who is very fat … no, very large – and who knows, who grasps, a black belt in karate. He will be watching along with me.'
'No. By the time he got down the stairs, she could kill me.'
Spencer nodded and thought. 'I'll put him in the room next door, with a beeper.' He held up the remote and pushed a button. 'Like now. This will call him.'
Ray excused himself and went to the bathroom, where he was unable to do anything but catalogue his weapons: a key ring and a Swiss Army knife. Back in the observation room he met Lalo, who had arms the size of Ray's thighs. He spoke no English and moved with the nervous delicacy of a man who knows how easily things break. They walked downstairs together. Lalo slipped into room 2, and Ray went into the lobby.
'Madame?' She looked up at him, targeting. 'I'm Dr Spencer. And you?'
'Jane Smith. Can we go someplace and talk?'
He led her to room 1, which was larger than it had seemed in the camera. He motioned her to the couch and pulled over a chair. He straddled it, the chair back a protective shield between them.
'How may I help you?'
'You have a patient named Blaze Harding. Professor Blaze Harding. It is absolutely imperative that I speak to her.'
'In the first place, we don't give out the names of our clients. In the second place, our clients don't always give us their real names. Ms Smith.'
'Who are you, really?'
'What?'
'My sources said Dr Spencer was Mexican. I never met a Mexican with a Boston accent.'
'I assure you that I am–'
'No.' She reached into her waistband and pulled out a pistol apparently made of glass. 'I don't have time for this.' Her face became grim, set; totally mad. 'You are going to quietly take me from room to room until we find Professor Harding.'
Ray paused. 'And if she's not here?'
'Then we'll go to a quiet place where I will cut your fingers off, one by one, until you tell me where she is.'
Lalo eased the door open and swung in with a large black pistol coming up to aim. She gave him an annoyed look and shot him once in the eye. The glass pistol was almost completely silent.
He dropped the gun and fell to one knee, both hands over his face. He began a girlish keening but her second shot sheared off the top of his head. He toppled forward silently in a flood of blood and brain and cerebrospinal fluid.
Her tone of voice was unchanged: earnest and flat. 'You see, the only way you're going to live to see the night is to cooperate with me.'
Ray was struck dumb, staring at the corpse.
'Get up. Let's go.'
'I … I don't think she's here.'
'Then where–' She was interrupted by the rattling sound of metal shutters rolling down over the door and window.
Ray heard a faint hissing sound, and remembered Marty's story about the interrogation room at St Bart's. maybe they had the same architect.
She evidently didn't hear it – too many hours on the firing range – but she looked around and did see the television camera, like a stub of pencil pointed at them from an upper corner of the room. She jerked him around to face the camera and put the pistol to his head. 'You have three seconds to open that door, or I kill him. Two.'
'Señora Smith!' A voice came from everywhere. 'To open that door, it requires a, el gato … a jack. It will take two minutes, or three.'
'You have two minutes.' She looked at her watch. 'Starting now.'
Ray slumped and suddenly collapsed, rolling out on his back. His head hit the floor with a solid whack.
She made a disgusted noise. 'Coward.' Then a few seconds later, she herself staggered, and then sat down hard on the floor. Wavering, she held the pistol with both hands and shot Ray in the chest four times.
My place in the BOQ had two rooms – a bedroom and an 'office,' a gray cubicle with just enough room for a cooler, two hard chairs, and a small table in front of a simple comm console.
On the table, a glass of wine and my last meal: a gray pill. I had a yellow legal tablet and a pen, but couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't obvious.
The phone rang. I let it go three times, and said hello.
It was Jefferson – my psychiatric nemesis, come to save me in the eleventh hour. The instant he hangs up, I resolved, I'm taking the pill.
But like the room and the pill, Jefferson was gray, more gray than black. I hadn't seen anybody that color since my mother had called to tell me Aunt Franci had died. 'What's wrong?' I said.
'Ray's dead. He was killed by an assassin they sent after Blaze.'
"'They"? The Hammer of God?' The wavering silver bar at the top of the screen meant the encryption was working; we could say anything. 'We assume she's one of them. Spencer's drilling her out now for a jack.'
'How do you know she was after Amelia?'
'She had her picture; was nosing around the hotel here – Julian, she killed Ray just for the hell of it, after she'd killed another man. She walked right through the security screen at the clinic, with a gun and a knife of some plastic. We're scared shitless that she's not here alone.' 'God. They tracked us to Mexico?'
'Can you get up here? Blaze needs your protection – we all need you!'
I actually felt my jaw drop. 'You need me to come up and be a soldier?' All those professional snipers and convicted murderers.
Spencer unplugged his jack and walked to the window. He raised the blinds and squinted at the rising sun, yawning. He turned to the woman who was bound to a wheelchair with locked restraints.
'Señora,' he said, 'you are crazy nuts.'
Jefferson had unjacked a minute before. 'That would be my professional opinion, too.'
'What you've done is completely illegal and immoral,' she said. 'Violating a person's soul.'
'Gavrila,' Jefferson said, 'if you have a soul, I couldn't find it in there.' She jerked at her bonds and the wheelchair rocked toward him.
'She does have a point, though,' he said to Spencer. 'We can't very well turn her over to the police.'
'I will, as you Americans say, keep her under observation indefinitely. Once she's well, she's free to go.' He scratched the stubble on his chin. 'At least until the middle of September. You believe that, too?'
'I can't do the math. But Julian and Blaze can, and they don't have any doubts.'
'It's the Hammer of God coming down,' Gavrila said. 'Nothing you can do will stop it.'
'Oh, shut up. Can we put her someplace?'
'I have what you would call a "rubber room." No lunatic has ever escaped from it.' He went to the intercom and arranged for a man named Luis to take her there.
He sat down and looked at her. 'Poor Lalo; poor Ray. They didn't suspect what a monster you were.'
'Of course not. Men just see me as a receptacle for their lust. Why should they fear a cunt?'
'You're going to find out a lot about that,' Jefferson said.
'Go ahead and threaten me. I'm not afraid of rape.'
'This is more intimate than rape. We're going to introduce you to some friends. If you do have a soul, they'll find it.'
She didn't say anything. She knew what he meant; she knew about the Twenty from being jacked with him. For the first time, she looked a little frightened.
There was a knock on the door, but it wasn't Luis. 'Julian,' Jefferson said, and gestured. 'Here she is.'
Julian studied her. 'She's the same woman we saw in the monitor at St Bart's? Hard to believe.' She was staring at him with an odd expression. 'What?'
'She recognizes you,' Jefferson said. 'When Ingram tried to kidnap Blaze off the train, you followed them. She
thought you were with Ingram.'
Julian walked over to her. 'Take a good look. I want you to dream about me.'
'I'm so frightened,' she said.
'You came here to kill my lover, and instead killed an old friend. And another man. They say you didn't blink.' He reached slowly toward her. She tried to dodge, but he grabbed her throat.
'Julian…'
'Oh, don't worry.' The wheels on the chair were locked. He pushed slowly on her throat and she tipped back. He held her at the balance point. 'You're going to find everyone here so nice. They just want to help you.' He let go, and the wheelchair fell over with a jarring crash. She grunted.
'I'm not one of them, though.' He got down on his hands and knees, his face directly over hers. 'I'm not nice, and I don't want to help you.'
'That's not going to work with her, Julian.'
'It's not for her. It's for me.' She tried to spit at him, but missed. He stood up and casually flipped the wheelchair into an upright position.
'This isn't like you.'
'I'm not like me. Marty didn't say anything about my losing the ability to jack!'
'You didn't know that could happen with the memory manipulation?'
'No. Because I didn't ask.'
Jefferson nodded. 'That's why you and I haven't been scheduled together lately. You might have asked me about it.'
Luis came into the room and they didn't say anything while Spencer instructed him and he rolled Gavrila out.
'I think it's more sinister than that, more manipulative,' Julian said. 'I think Marty needed somebody who'd been a mechanic, knows soldiering, but is immune to being humanized.' He gestured with a thumb at Spencer. 'He knows everything now?'
'The essentials.'
'I think Marty wants me this way in case there's a need for violence. Just like you – when you called me to come protect Blaze, you implied the same.'
'Well, it's just that–'
'And you're right, too! I'm so fucking mad that I could kill someone. Isn't that crazy?'
'Julian…?'