The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,162

‘You couldn’t have—’

‘But I did!’ He raised his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘I really did sell the information to Qasid. I gave al-Qaeda the Secretary’s route – and I killed my own brother!’

44

A Life Lost

Bianca stared at Adam in disbelief. ‘You mean . . . everything you found out from Qasid’s persona was true?’

He struggled to regain control over his emotions as he answered. ‘Some of it. I was – I was on a CIA-SOCOM joint op. It was meant to be a sting operation. The idea was that I’d pose as a disaffected embassy worker. My grandfather was Syrian, so I looked the part enough for it to be plausible that I’d have local sympathies. They wouldn’t have bought it if I’d been blond-haired and blue-eyed like Tony.’

‘So what happened?’

‘I had to establish myself as a credible source, so I gave them classified information. It was all part of the plan,’ he quickly clarified. ‘It caused some diplomatic blowback, but it did its job.’

‘It got Qasid to trust you.’

‘Yes. So the next stage of the plan was to give him information about the Secretary of State’s secret visit to Pakistan.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You mean your bosses deliberately told al-Qaeda about it?’

‘No! That’s not what happened – not what was supposed to happen,’ he replied, correcting himself. ‘I was supposed to give them misinformation. They wouldn’t get the real itinerary. They’d get a fake route, one we’d be watching. There were only a couple of places along it where they’d be able to carry out an effective attack – and we’d cover them. When they showed themselves, we’d take them out all at once – captured or killed, either way would be a win.’

‘But it didn’t work out like that . . .’

‘No. And I don’t know why.’ The anguish returned. ‘I did everything I was supposed to. I followed my orders to the letter, gave Qasid the fake information – but somehow they saw through it. I wasn’t good enough to convince them. So they found a way to attack the real convoy. And they murdered over a hundred people. They killed the Secretary, and . . . and . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘And Michael. They killed my brother. I killed him – I gave them what they needed to do it!’

He slumped again, head buried in his hands, shaking as he wept uncontrollably. Bianca tried to comfort him. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?’ She looked back at the car. The door was open, the medical case visible inside. ‘I could give you another injection of Neutharsine. It’d wipe the memories, take the pain away—’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want it to go away.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t deserve it to. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault . . .’ He curled into a tighter ball, shuddering.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Bianca insisted. ‘You were on a mission – you did exactly what you were ordered to do. There’s no way you could have known what would happen. And,’ she went on, more forcefully, ‘I’m not going to let you torture yourself over it out of some sort of misplaced guilt. I’m getting the injector.’ She stood.

Adam’s hand snapped up and gripped her wrist. He raised his head. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Please. It hurts, but . . . it’s all I’ve got left of him. If you wipe it, some of the memories will still be there, but . . . none of the feelings.’

‘Then don’t just think about what happened in Pakistan,’ she pleaded. ‘Think about all the other times with him – with your parents. With your dog! Try to remember the good stuff, the times when you were happy.’ His hand was still around her arm; she wrapped her other hand over it as she crouched again. ‘Get all the other memories while you can – and all the feelings that go with them too. Tell me about them.’

Despair returned to his face. ‘I want to, but . . . it’s too hard. All I can see is Michael lying in the street. I can’t – I can’t get back past it.’

‘Then go forward,’ she said. ‘What happened afterwards? How did you join the Persona Project?’

His shivering subsided as he focused on recalling the memories. ‘I was taken back to the US embassy. I . . . I had to identify Michael’s body. But I couldn’t even phone my mom to tell her what had happened, because