by S L Shelton
I dropped back into my chair as my eyes closed involuntarily and my hands flew to my ears to cover them.
“What’s that?” I yelled over the roar.
“A memory,” Wolf replied plainly. “Relax.”
I tried to do as instructed. Just as the pain pressed my threshold to the limit, a memory popped into my head of my dad’s workshop back at the farm. It was a memory from childhood.
“What is that?” I asked loudly, assuming the noise was filling the whole room, not just my head.
“The night your father died,” Wolf replied.
The memory played out in my mind, beginning with me and Dad in the shop and then—
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
Wolf just nodded. I remembered Roger Gallow coming into the shop. The flood of detail spilled out of some deep recess in my brain, dropping data into my consciousness: Ambux, Dad was cured, Mike was killed in an accident. Holy shit! “Gallow knew I had been exposed!”
Wolf nodded.
I glared at him. “You’ve known this all along.”
He nodded again. “You were in no place to know it,” Wolf said, standing and walking toward me. “In the emotional state you were in, you would have charged in and confronted him for answers.”
“I’m not that stupid,” I replied coldly.
“No…but you are prone to act on impulse,” he said simply. “No good would have come from that confrontation then.”
“Why now?” I asked. “Why are you showing me now when I’m hundreds of miles away and can’t do anything about it?”
“That’s why…because you’re hundreds of miles away and can’t do anything about it.”
“What else?” I asked angrily. “What else are you keeping from me?”
Wolf dropped his head as if he were debating the question within himself, but I got a sudden flash of a new memory…it was of a young girl, sitting in my lap.
“Wait…that’s not me.” I said.
“No. It’s not.”
“Why is it in my head?” I asked.
“That has been the biggest puzzle I’ve dealt with in the last seventeen years,” Wolf replied. “That’s one of my few memories.”
“Yours?!” I asked incredulously. “One of your memories?”
He nodded sadly. “On the day I first became aware inside of you, that and a handful of other memories were already there…in me.”
I shook my head sharply as the squeal began to subside. “I don’t—”I lost my words.
“I don’t know how or why, but I suspect the recumbent matter that the Ambux virus was replicating in you was from brain matter belonging to someone else,” Wolf said quietly. “That’s the only explanation I’ve been able to come to.”
“For seventeen years—”
“No. Not for seventeen,” he interrupted abruptly. “At age ten, on the night your father died, the injection you received sent you into vegetative state. I spent the next fifteen years holding your mind together and rebuilding your pathways. I had no conscious function except to hold you together.”
A shiver worked its way up my spine. How did I know if I was even me? For all I knew, Wolf had manufactured my entire personality to his specifications.
He shook his head. “I held YOU together,” he repeated. “I replicated nearly every pathway you had, cluster by cluster, every aspect of you. It became my only function—my only purpose for being—until Majmun tortured you.”
I nodded slowly as the enormity of the situation began to fill my head. “Who are you?” I asked. “I mean the brain matter.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied quietly. “But make no mistake. I am you. I am a part of you. No one else. If any foreign DNA was introduced through the virus, it was simply a matrix to build from. Any memories that came with the infection were extraneous and have no personality of their own.”
I nodded at his explanation. “What now?”
Wolf shrugged.
“Get more information from Patricia?” I asked.
“That seems the only safe course forward,” he said. “The DIA is already aware of your search. For some reason, Gallow is not revealing to them that he knows you were infected with the Ambux…or rather, the second generation of Ambux.”
“Cup,” I muttered, remembering that Nick had said “ambux” was Greek for cup.
We stood there in silence for several beats before I looked up at him suddenly.
“Are you going to be able to repair the damage from the Tase to my head?”
He shrugged again. “Everything I’ve done so far has failed. It’s quite unlike the chemical damage from the injection you got. The electric shock appears to have scarred every pathway I built…perhaps because of the differing structure. They are far more efficient at transmitting impulses than normal neural pathways,” he said softly. “Ideally, we should ask someone familiar with the program for guidance. Unfortunately, the only one we know of is Roger Gallow himself—and we can’t trust him.”
I nodded my agreement.
“Okay,” I replied. “But I can’t do much from here.”
“You’ll have a week at Christmas. Use that time to follow up with Patricia.”
I sighed with exhaustion.
“I forgot to mention earlier…you aren’t in REM sleep when you are here,” he continued. “You aren’t getting any rest at the moment.”
“Great,” I responded sarcastically.
“I don’t have anything else for you right now,” he said as he sat back down on the couch and picked up his coffee cup. “But this has been pleasant, if not exhausting.”
“Right. It’s been a pleasure to meet you face-to-face,” I replied with a crooked grin. “I have to say, you’re a good-looking fellow.”
He laughed.
“Go now,” he said through a chuckle.
I nodded, but before I could do anything else, I slipped into darkness. There, the tension melted out of my body, and I breathed.
**
When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that I was refreshed. For the first time since the abduction at A.P. Hill, I woke and felt as though I had actually received a solid night of sleep. I had been missing my Glock under my pillow at night and the sound sleep it seemed to give me. But today…today was different. I didn’t feel like I was facing the world on my own anymore.
It suddenly occurred to me as I stretched into the soreness of my body that the pistol under my pillow had been my way of dealing with so many people trying to kill me. Before, my voice seemed just like another “person” that wanted a piece of me—a piece of my brain, to be specific.
But after last night, I felt like I had a partner in my troubles. Someone with a face—albeit my face—who was struggling on their own to try to help me.
I decided I would return the favor. I dropped my legs over the edge of my bed and snatched the phone from the night table to send an e-mail.
“Patricia,
I’ll be coming back to Fairfax for a short holiday break between Christmas and New Year’s. If you’re available and interested, I’d like to take you out on a proper date…maybe a movie and dinner?
I’m also excited to find out if you’ve uncovered any more information about my father.
I look forward to your response.
Very best regards,
Scott”
I smiled at my gesture and felt like I was moving forward again rather than just going through the motions.
“Okay, Wolf,” I muttered as I stood to prepare for another day of HALO jump instruction. “Let’s go learn something new.”
**
It wasn’t until later in the evening that I received Patricia’s reply.
“Scott,
I wondered if I’d hear from you. A date sounds interesting. Will you be providing dessert?
Yes…have found a good deal of new information. I can’t make heads or tails of most of it, but I’m certain a smart guy like you could figure it out.
&nb
sp; Looking forward to the holidays more than ever, now.
XO
Patty”
I smiled before filing it away with a reminder to send a confirmation note as we got closer to vacation. The sudden memory of Patricia in my bed made me sad with longing…oddly, though, not for Patricia, but for Kathrin.
**
7:30 a.m. on November 20th (three days later)—The Farm, Camp Peary, Virginia
Nick had summoned me to the gym before I had a chance to get any breakfast.
“What’s up?” I asked as I walked through the back doors and noticed Marcus, Bailey, Ray, and Penny standing along the back wall with several other instructors. Marcus and Bailey were in sweats with their headgear on.
“Come on over here and get your hands taped,” Nick said.
I dropped my head and walked over to him, extending my hands as if I were about to be handcuffed.
“Why is everyone one else here?” I asked quietly.
Nick nodded his head toward the other side of the gym in response. A smug grin slipped onto his face. When I looked, I saw a large man with a combination of Asian and European features who appeared to be in his fifties.
I looked back at Nick casually. “Who’s that?” I asked in a quiet voice.
He smiled again as he finished taping the thick sparing gloves over my hands before looking up at Bailey and Marcus. “Okay, guys. Let’s get started.”
They both walked to the center of the fighting floor, cracking their necks to the side and flexing their arms over the heads, warming up.
“What’s the lesson?” I asked, needing some direction since Nick had been limiting my menu of options through fighting styles.
“Go ahead and freestyle it this morning,” Nick said, hanging on to that smug grin like he had a surprise for me. I looked back at Bailey and Marcus trying to see if I noticed anything different about them—I didn’t.
“Okay,” I replied as I hopped up and smashed my gloves together. “Freestyle it is.”
As I stepped into the center of the fighting mat, Marcus and Bailey both charged me at the same time. Marcus was going for the high kick and Bailey was looking for the sweep on my legs.
I charged, hopping over Bailey’s low kick while letting myself fall to the side to avoid Marcus’s high thrust. As Marcus slid through the air above me, I hooked my arm over his leg and brought him down on top of Bailey before I hit the ground and rolled back up to my feet.
They both hopped up quickly and rushed at me from opposite sides, Marcus with a spin kick aimed at my head and Bailey with a punch to the ribs. I blocked the punch as I hooked my leg up, high into the air, wrapping Marcus’s kick and absorbing it in the crook of my own. As I brought my leg down, I left it entangled in his, sending him to the ground.
He reached up and tried to grab my leg as he fell, but as soon as his back hit the ground, I stepped out of the mess and backed away.
Bailey came at me before Marcus regained his footing. I sidestepped a high punch, letting his attack slide past my shoulder before trapping his arm with my own. As Marcus stepped toward me again, I used Bailey as the pivot point to throw a combo kick, hitting Marcus solidly in his padded headgear before tumbling over and sending Bailey to the ground in an arm bar.
He tapped out before Marcus was able to shake the cobwebs from his skull.
“Stop,” I heard Nick say and looked behind me to see that the bald man had raised his hand.
This is an interview! I thought. I would have tried impressing him more if I had known that.
Marcus and Bailey slowly got themselves to their feet and stood there, waiting for direction. The bald man stood and motioned my sparring partners off the mat with a simple tilt of his head. As they walked stiffly off the fighting mat, the bald man stepped toward me.
“Take the gloves off,” he said as he approached. As he got closer, I realized he was older than I had first thought.
“Kobe, we put those on to—” Nick began, but the bald man raised his hand without looking, silencing him.
Shit! This is the famous Kobe!
When he arrived in front of me, he began helping me take the tape from around the cuffs and pulled the gloves off, tossing them to Nick on the sideline. He stood in front of me for a moment, looking at my hands and flexing my fingers and wrist before bending my arm at the elbow, grasping my forearm.
He looked up at me suddenly as if some aspect of his examination had revealed something unexpected.
He backed away from me a couple of steps and then bowed “Defend,” he said.
I bowed in return, careful not to break eye contact—it was a good thing, too. He launched at me so fast that I barely saw his hand lash out knife-like toward my throat. I dipped my head to the left just as his hand reached me, letting it collide with my shoulder instead. The impact, even from the glancing blow, was significant. That would leave a bruise.
My hands flashed up quickly, trapping his hand on my shoulder, and I kicked out with my knee to block the groin punch I thought was coming from my attacker. But the punch never arrived. Instead, a stomp to my other foot sent a jolt of pain up my leg.
Nice fake! I thought as I extended my foot sharply, kicking him in the gut and releasing his arm. The kick lifted him off the mat and sent him backward several feet. But I was shocked and very impressed when he landed solidly on his feet, still in a fighting position.
He wasted no time, stepping toward me again with a hidden left hand—I didn’t fall for his fake out this time, instead waiting for the real punch.
When it came, I blocked it with crossed arms, but I still stumbled backward, unable to reverse my hands fast enough to grasp him by the wrist.
Jesus! Fast and strong. Time to step it up, Scott.
He followed me as I stepped backward to regain my balance. When his hand lashed out for another knife strike, I saw the feint and instead focused on the fist that was tensing for a backspin punch. I caught his wrist in my hand as it whistled toward my face, using a simple push to defect the other arm. Once his wrist was in my grasp, I threw my leg up and locked it over his shoulder before spinning myself backward in a fall, attempting to take him down into an arm bar.
I thought I had him until he smashed my wrist with his deflected hand and pushed hard away from me, using my thigh as a springboard. When his feet touched the ground, and as I started shaking the pain out of my wrist, I realized that he was the first person to ever break my grasp.
Oh, this is going to be seriously fun, I thought to myself.
I rolled back to my feet before stepping forward to re-engage, but he put his hand up. “Enough.”
I stopped and took a step back, adjusting into a defensive position. He stepped toward me slowly.
“Your stances are weak,” he said as he moved around beside me, mirroring my stand. “If you anticipate a hidden attack, you begin off-balance. You have to defend from the proper stance, even if a hidden attack is waiting.”
I nodded as he turned to face me before using his foot to tap the inside of my leg. I moved it to the proper position. Over the past two months, I had focused less and less attention on posture when fighting. I was excited that someone was finally noticing.
“Your attack counters are strong,” he said, stepping back and looking at me. “But it’s clear you rely on creativity far too often even though your fundamentals aren’t strong.”
I nodded my agreement. It was true and I knew it; Bailey, Nick and Marcus had been so intent on trying to challenge me with ever-more-aggressive tactics, I had nearly abandoned the basics to keep up.
“Your Krav Maga is pathetic; no form whatsoever,” he said, continuing his assessment of my abilities. “Your Judo looks more like love play, and your Goju Ryu looks like an odd combination of yellow belt Katas and a Bruce Lee movie.”
I tried to suppress a chuckle. Goju Ryu had been the style I learned as a child…and quite by accident, my teenage obsession with Saturday morning Kung Fu movies had apparently infected my practice.
He threw a quick, open-handed slap at my face, and I snapped my hand to attention to block it. I followed up by turning it into a grasp but he pulled his hand away before I could close my fingers.
“Good,” he said, squinting his eyes at me. After a moment of enduring his penetrating stare, he nodded slowly before turning to Nick. “Twice a day when he’s on post,” Kobe said. “In the morning before chow and whatever timing allows between his other classes.”
Nick nodded with a smile. “Will you need any of us as sparring partners?” he asked.
“Ha!” Kobe scoffed in a stinging rebuke that even I felt. “When you have to wrap a man in chains to train him, you might as well call yourself the student.”
A couple of chuckles burst from the instructors along the wall. I noticed Bailey and Marcus turning somewhat red.
“But if you want to learn something, you can be his punching bag,” he continued dismissively as he turned back to me.
I was a little taken aback. “In all fairness, they have improved my performance,” I said quietly.
“Nonsense,” he replied loudly. “You’ve been here how long? Three months?” He walked around me, poked my shoulder, and squeezed my bicep. “If anything, they just made you think harder about what you were already capable of—I hear you nearly defeated eight of them during the abduction.”
“Nearly,” I muttered.
“There were eight of them, all trained by me,” he snapped. “That is no trivial feat. All they did was wake up the beast that was already inside you. You need nothing but to learn what they cannot teach you.”
“Okay,” I replied, nodding, quickly trying to decipher the odd logic behind that statement.
“Kobe,” he said, reaching his hand out to me.
“Scott,” I replied and shook his hand.
Ray turned and headed for the door. “I came to see an ass whoopin’,” he said as he pushed through. “If that ain’t happening, I’m getting some breakfast.”
The rest of the instructors followed Ray out of the door, leaving me alone with Nick and Kobe.
