The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,85

the results. But I don’t remember where I was trained, or who trained me.’

‘And it’s the same for everything else about your past?’

‘Yeah. I went to school, but I don’t know where. I must have had a dog, because the other morning I saw a kid having trouble getting one to behave and I knew what he should do to train it, but I don’t remember the breed, or even its name. And I obviously must have had parents, but . . .’ A deep sadness filled his eyes. ‘I don’t remember them.’

She couldn’t help but be affected, and reached across the table to put her hand on his. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need to be. It’s not your fault.’

‘No, but . . .’ Even in her sympathy, part of her mind was still being analytical, scientific. ‘This kind of very specific declarative memory loss is extremely rare, whatever Hollywood might think. Considering that it’s also non-ongoing, because you aren’t having trouble storing new memories . . .’ She broke off, thinking.

‘What is it?’ Adam asked.

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Part of what you do involves giving people drugs to suppress their short-term memories. I think somebody’s done the same to you.’

‘But my short-term memory’s fine. And I’ve never been given Mnemexal.’

‘That you remember.’

Bianca hadn’t intended the comment to be dramatic, but Adam reacted as if an electric charge had run through him. He straightened sharply, eyes wide. ‘You think someone did this to me deliberately? It’s not some PERSONA side effect?’

‘Well – I don’t know,’ she said, flustered by his sudden intensity. ‘I mean, Tony doesn’t have the same symptoms as you.’

‘You make it sound like an illness.’ He considered her wording more carefully. ‘You said symptoms, plural. There’s something else besides the amnesia?’

She blushed, knowing she was about to broach an awkward subject. ‘Um . . . okay, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way and be offended . . .’

He withdrew his hand. ‘After saying that, you’ll have to risk it, won’t you?’

‘Yeah, I suppose I will.’ She tried to think of the best way to phrase it, but all the alternatives seemed equally bad. ‘Okay. When you aren’t using someone else’s persona, your behaviour tends to be . . . unusual.’

‘In what way?’ he asked, eyes narrowing.

She felt more embarrassed than ever. ‘Oh God. How can I put this? You often seem, ah . . . blank.’

He certainly wasn’t blank now. ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? But you asked, and I’m just telling you what I see. When you’re at STS, you almost never show any kind of . . .’ She trailed off.

Adam was not going to let her off the hook. ‘Any kind of what?’

‘Emotion?’ she managed.

‘That’s not what you were about to say. Tell me. I want to know.’ A beseeching look. ‘I need to know.’

Bianca cringed in advance. ‘I was going to say that you don’t show any . . .’ She forced out the word. ‘Personality.’

That produced the expressionless mask she was used to – except this time, it clearly was being used to conceal some very strong feelings. ‘You think I don’t have any personality.’

‘I’m saying that you don’t often show it. That’s not the same thing.’

‘Maybe I’m just a naturally reserved kind of person.’

‘Are you? You tell me.’

‘I can’t discuss . . .’ The mask broke. ‘God damn it! Why can’t I remember?’ His hands clenched into anguished fists. ‘Why can’t I even think about remembering?’

She took hold of his hands again. ‘I’m sorry. Adam, it’s okay. Look, if something was done to you to affect your memory, Roger’ll know about it. He must do – he developed the drugs. I’ll talk to him tomorrow and find out what he knows.’

‘What if he won’t tell you anything?’

‘Then I’ll poke his bullet hole until he does.’

It took him a moment to realise she was joking. ‘You know, you Brits do that whole deadpan thing really well.’

‘We are a nation of experts at hiding our true feelings.’

He smiled slightly. ‘So that’s how you made your assessment of me? It takes one to know one?’

‘Something like that.’ She returned the smile, which seemed to please him, before becoming a little wistful. ‘Although . . . there’s another reason.’

‘What?’

She leaned back in her seat. ‘I, ah . . . I lost two of my grandparents to Alzheimer’s. It was awful, watching their minds – their selves – being eaten away. But one of