The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,161
Christ is going on,’ he snarled. ‘How the hell did Gray get away?’
‘I helped him,’ Tony said.
Harper seemed about to explode. ‘What?’
‘Tony just admitted to me that he was passing information to Adam that allowed him to evade capture,’ explained Morgan – the truth, but not in its entirety. Tony gave him a brief look of gratitude on behalf of his three co-conspirators. ‘I put him under arrest just before you arrived.’
Harper stared angrily at Tony. ‘Then why is he still here and not in a cell?’
Morgan picked up the phone. ‘Get security to my office,’ he ordered.
The white-haired man marched up to Tony, almost nose to nose with him. ‘What the fuck are you playing at, Carpenter?’
Tony didn’t blink. ‘Why is it so important that Adam doesn’t remember his past, Admiral?’
Harper’s fury rose at being challenged. ‘That’s not your goddamn concern!’
‘My concern is the people under my command – and Adam is one of them.’
‘And my concern is the security of the United States! By taking that disk, Gray is a direct threat to that security. If it gets into the wrong hands—’
‘It’s in Adam’s hands,’ Tony cut in, raising Harper’s ire still further. ‘They’re his own memories! How can finding out about his past be a threat to national security?’
Before Harper could reply, there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ Morgan barked. Two security officers entered. ‘Take Mr Carpenter to holding and keep him there until further orders.’
‘What did Adam know?’ Tony demanded. ‘What’s on that disk, Admiral?’
‘Get him out of my sight,’ Harper growled.
‘And what about Adam?’ asked Tony as the two men ushered him to the door.
‘We’ll catch him,’ replied Morgan.
‘And if he’s used the PERSONA to re-imprint his own memories?’
Harper said nothing – but the concern clearly visible even through his mask of anger was an answer in itself.
Bianca watched the rush of data on the PERSONA’s screen subside. She checked that the diagnostic readings were in order, then turned to Adam. ‘Are you okay?’
He opened his eyes. ‘Yeah. I think.’
‘I’ll try to do a memory check. What’s your full name?’
‘Adam Peter Gray.’
‘So you are really you, then.’ She remembered something he had said a few days earlier. ‘What was your dog called?’
‘Grover,’ Adam replied, a smile breaking. ‘I did have a dog, I remember him! He was an Irish setter.’
‘Where did you grow up?’
‘Crescent City, Florida.’
‘Your parents’ names?’
‘Steven and Lucia.’ Brief gloom crossed his face. ‘My dad passed away in 2004 – but my mom’s still alive! She’s still in Florida, she moved to Fort Lauderdale.’ His downcast look was completely swept away by delight. ‘My God, I can remember her! I can remember everything, my fam—’
He flinched as if he had taken a physical blow. His exhilaration instantly vanished, replaced by horror. ‘What is it?’ Bianca said, alarmed.
‘I have a brother,’ he mumbled. ‘I – I had a brother, a twin. He looked just like me. The dream, it wasn’t – oh God.’ He fumbled at the door handle, trying to get out of the car. The cord attached to the skullcap pulled tight. He clawed at it, tearing it off. ‘Oh God, no!’
He staggered from the Mustang, almost collapsing against the wall of the loading dock. Now genuinely scared, Bianca jumped out and ran to him. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘The dream’s not a dream,’ he gasped. ‘My brother, Michael – he worked for the State Department, he was one of Secretary Easton’s staff. He was with her in Islamabad when – when al-Qaeda blew up her convoy. I was waiting to meet him, we were going to catch up . . .’ He tried to stand, but reeled again, overpowered by the rush of memories pummelling his mind. ‘I heard the explosion – I ran down the street to help, but I found him, I found him . . .’ He slumped to his knees, retching.
‘Oh God,’ whispered Bianca, a hand covering her mouth in dismay as she realised the truth. Adam’s recurring ‘dream’ had been reality, an image so shocking and traumatic that it had resisted the purge of his memory, searing itself into his subconscious.
But now it had been brought back into the open. And Adam was feeling the pain of that moment all over again.
She crouched beside him, a hand on his back. ‘Adam, I’m here for you. What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing, there’s nothing you can do,’ he replied, stricken. ‘Oh, God! It’s all my fault!’