Amnesia

by Michael Cross

  “The Tower’s strength. Yeah, I heard,” I snap. “What about my memories?”

  A frown pulls the corners of his mouth down. “That I can’t say. I am unfortunately not a neurologist, and the brain is a very complicated thing,” he says. “Your memories may all come back at some point. Some of them may come back. Or perhaps none of them come back. That isn’t something that can be predicted.”

  “That’s just great.”

  Eubanks puts me through a couple more tests and makes some notations on his tablet then looks up at me with a smile on his face.

  “Good news. Your cognitive skills are intact,” he says. “I’m declaring you fit to return to the field.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  He gives me a small shrug. “It means you’ll likely be given an assignment.”

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “What in the hell is this Tower, Doctor?” I ask. “What is it exactly they do?”

  “My understanding is that they try to make this country—this world—a safer place,” he says simply. “As to the exact nature of the work, I can’t possibly say. I’ve never been in the field. Though, if I had to hazard a guess, I would imagine it’s much the same as the work you did with the Agency.”

  “So we’re a government entity?”

  He shrugs. “You will have to discuss specifics with the High Priestess, I’m afraid,” he tells me. “I am merely employed to keep your body and brains working. Honestly, at this point, you might know even more than me.”

  Getting to my feet, I wipe my face with the towel again. I want to lash out but manage to hold my temper in check. This isn’t his fault. He’s just doing his job—it’s a mantra I’ve had to keep repeating over the last four weeks.

  No, the real target of my anger is this High Priestess. And after I shower, I’ll be able to give her a piece of it since we’re scheduled to talk today.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  Chapter Five

  “I’m not calling you High Priestess,” I growl. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I never asked you to.”

  “Then what’s your name?”

  “You may call me Delta,” she offers.

  “That’s just as ridiculous.”

  Her laughter is soft as I stare at her silhouette on the computer screen. “No more ridiculous than me calling you Echo.”

  “That’s on you. You gave me that stupid name.”

  “Actually, I didn’t,” she corrects me. “The men in your unit did.”

  “My unit?”

  “Before joining the Agency, you were special forces,” she tells me. “Army Green Berets.”

  I clench and unclench my fists, doing my best to keep my composure. Getting pissed off isn’t going to do a damn thing for me. Not with her sitting on the other side of a computer screen. I don’t know if she’s in the next room or on the other side of the planet.

  “I’m getting real tired of you doling out little pieces of my past like goddamn breadcrumbs to keep me in a line,” I tell her.

  “It is unfortunate, but necessary,” she says smoothly. “Until we establish that, you remain reliable.”

  “Reliable?”

  On the screen, the shadow nods. “You made a commitment to us. To the Tower,” she says. “When you were recruited, you said you believed in what we were doing and wanted to be part of it.”

  “Did you recruit me?”

  “No, safety protocols dictate that you are recruited by an over-officer,” she explains. “Then you are delegated to a case officer. You were assigned to me.”

  I sigh. “Well, whatever the case may be, wouldn’t it make more sense to help me remember everything so we can get back to whatever work we were doing? Wouldn’t it make more sense to fill in all the blanks for me?”

  There’s a long pause, and then she sighs. “Unfortunately, the fact that you were burned and have subsequently been stripped of your memories has changed a great many things. It has made some—nervous.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Yes. There are some within the Tower who are concerned that your amnesia will affect your commitment to our cause,” she admits. “And if you aren’t given too much information about us before you are—vetted—you won’t be able to betray us. It is a safety measure. A compromise that was agreed upon.”

  “Well I don’t even know what this cause is, so that’s probably smart,” I begrudgingly admit. “Do you know who burned me?”

  “We have some theories, but we don’t know for certain.”

  “Care to share those theories?”

  On the screen, she shakes her head. “Not yet. But as we build trust and you prove reliable, we can certainly address it in the future.”

  “Or, I can remember on my own.”

  “That’s a possibility,” she nods. “And if your memories come back, it will be to all our benefit, as you will recall why you agreed to work with us in the first place.”

  I stand up and pace the room. There are plenty of cameras in here, so I assume she can see me. I just don’t feel like staring at somebody in silhouette any longer. It’s well past time this woman, Delta—which I guess is slightly more tolerable than ‘The High Priestess’—answers some of my goddamn questions.

  For weeks and weeks, I have been held prisoner here. Doors with high-tech locks have prevented me from going anywhere—at least anywhere I want to go—and despite what Dr. Eubanks thinks, that is called being a prisoner.

  I have played along with this charade as I got my body back into shape. I’ve done what they’ve asked of me. The fact that my memories have not followed—and this woman is not helping that situation—is a source of daily irritation.

  “It’s time you answer some questions for me,” I say.

  “I will answer what I’m able to.”

  “No, you’ll answer all of my questions. Otherwise, you can shoot me, haul me off to prison, or do whatever you’re going to do with me,” I spit. “I’m not going to do a goddamn thing for you until I know what is going on.”

  I stand facing the windows overlooking the city. I stare at the hustle and bustle of the streets below, watching all of these people going on about their normal lives. I’d give anything for a big slice of normal right about now. But then, knowing I’m a former Green Beret and a former Agency spook, I have to wonder if I’d know normal if it walked up and punched me in the nose.

  “Ask your questions, Echo,” she finally relents. “I will be as forthcoming as I can be. You have my word.”

  “Yeah, for whatever that’s worth.”

  She sighs. “We need to develop some trust between us.”

  “You can start by showing me your face.”

  “As I told you, that is for my safety as—”

  “Yeah, whatever. Fine,” I growl. “What is the Tower? Let’s start there.”

  “The Tower is an organization of current and former military and intelligence operatives who have grown—disillusioned—with the United States government,” she says. “Disillusioned with the programs being carried out by agencies like the CIA.”

  “So what, we’re a cabal looking to overthrow the government?”

  “No, not exactly,” she responds. “We are simply trying to shape events and install policymakers more in line with our thinking.”

  She can dress it up any way she sees fit, but her description is pretty much what I just said—a cabal seeking to overthrow the government. Except it would seem that they aren’t looking to start a bloody revolution so much as an infiltration and takeover. A bloodless coup, so to speak.

  It’s smart. Bloody revolutions have a tendency to leave power vacuums. And people worse than those who were just overthrown often fill those voids. In many cases, an open revolution doesn’t achieve the original goals. But installing policymakers like what these people are doing can have a subtle yet far more lasting impact on the national landscape. Hell, it can change the world.

  But the question for me remains—what is it exa
ctly they’re trying to change? Is it to only benefit and enrich themselves? Is this a power grab with the hope of installing some dictatorial regime?

  I don’t know myself right now, but even as the questions pass through my mind, I dismiss them. I’m not sure how I know, but I know well beyond the shadow of a doubt that I would never help some authoritarian, autocratic regime seize power. I can feel that down in my bones.

  “And what exactly is our thinking, Delta?” I ask. “What is it we are attempting to achieve?”

  “We have a great many strategic goals, Echo,” she replies. “But I think we can summarize it by saying, having a government that responds to and represents the people is our main objective.”

  “I thought we had that already.”

  Her laughter is soft and wry. “You have been on the inside. You would know better than anybody how untrue that is.”

  “Perhaps I would—if I could remember a goddamn thing.”

  “Of course. Apologies. We operate much the way the Agency does, Echo,” she says. “We do not take this lightly, but we—including you—have determined that regime change is necessary for the health of the country.”

  “Regime change.”

  “The infection we are fighting has spread throughout the entire governmental body. From top to bottom, we are infected by avarice—among other things,” she goes on. “And it is metastasizing. Rapidly. It is our duty to remove that infection.”

  “That is quite the sales pitch.”

  “It is the simple truth.”

  I turn from the window and walk into the kitchen. I retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator, open it, and take a long swallow, absorbing her words. So much of it rings true. It sounds familiar. And yet, I can’t quite make the turn. I can’t reconcile it all in my head.

  “So what you’re asking me is to turn against my country,” I call over my shoulder, knowing how simplistic it sounds.

  “That’s not it at all. And besides, I know better than that. If there is one thing I have learned about you, it’s that you are intensely loyal,” she states. “And that you are an ardent patriot. Many say it or slap a bumper sticker on their car to show it, but you truly live it, Echo. You have bled for this country. Many of us in the Tower have. And like us, you genuinely want what is best for it. Which is why you aligned yourself with us, to begin with. You saw the necessity of our methods.”

  It sounds like she is advocating treason. But as much as I want to reject her words outright, I can’t. It’s because that ring of truth and familiarity still sounds in my ears. It sticks with me for reasons I don’t understand, but I can’t simply dismiss it.

  I may not know anything about myself, but I know she is right.

  “Now, as much as I would like to sit here all day and answer all of your questions, we have work to do, Echo,” she tells me. “Dr. Eubanks has pronounced you fit and ready for duty.”

  I lean back against the counter and take a long swallow of water, draining the bottle. I toss it into the trash can and fold my arms over my chest.

  “You really think this is a good idea?” I ask. “Sending me out there to do—whatever it is you’re going to have me do—when I can’t even remember my own freaking name?”

  “Your cognitive functioning is fine. It’s only your memories that are impacted,” she offers. “And you will not need your memories to carry out your assignment. Now—”

  “I think not being able to remember the training I received—training that might help me carry out this mission—could be a big problem,” I interject.

  “The mind and body are amazing machines, Echo,” she says. “You will be surprised at how easily your training comes back to you once you’re in the field.”

  I frown and run a hand over my cheek, the stubble making a dry, scratchy sound. My hand-to-hand combat training came back to me as I grew stronger, so maybe she’s not entirely wrong. Still, my mind is spinning with a thousand different thoughts, and I can’t make sense of any of them. But one question cuts through them all and takes the forefront in my mind.

  Though physically ready for anything, am I mentally ready for it?

  “Your monetary and material needs will be seen to. You will want for nothing. Get some rest tonight, Echo,” she instructs. “Tomorrow morning, a car will be left for you in the parking lot of the building and a key at the concierge’s desk. Your destination will be programmed into the GPS.”

  “And if I say no to all of this?” I ask, my voice carefully neutral. “If I don’t want to play your reindeer games?”

  She sighs. “Please do not put me in a position where I have to make an ultimatum,” she says. “I have gone to the wall for you when others wanted to cut you loose. I know the good you can do for the Tower and for this country. I—believe in you, Echo.”

  “Awww, that’s sweet. I appreciate the endorsement,” I reply curtly. “But you didn’t answer my question. If I tell you to get bent with all of this?”

  “I have the answers to every single one of your questions. I can fill in all of the blanks in your head for you, Echo,” she fires back, her voice harder. “Or, you can leave and hope that maybe one day, your memories come back on their own.”

  “But you’ll only tell me what I want to know if I do the job.”

  “That is correct.”

  “What assurances do I have that you’ll hold up your end of the bargain?” I ask.

  “You’re just going to have to trust me,” she tells me.

  I scoff. “Trust is earned. And so far, you haven’t earned a shred of it from me.”

  “Echo, please believe me that we are on the same side. We want the same things,” she urges. “And I give you my word that I will tell you everything when the time is right.”

  I’m pissed and want to dismiss her. But I hear the sincerity in her voice. I don’t want to hear it, but it’s there all the same. She gave me her word, and I can tell she’ll keep it. But I also instinctively know her type. The mission will always come first, and as long as I’m caught up in the gears of her machine, she’ll keep me there.

  Oh, she’ll tell me everything, but I already know it will be on her timetable. She’ll give it to me piecemeal, and there’s not much I’ll be able to do about it. But after six weeks, my memories haven’t come back. And I doubt they’re going to. If I’m going to unravel the Gordian knot inside my head, I’ll need her help—as painfully galling as it is to admit.

  “Fine,” I sigh. “I need the details.”

  She lets out a small breath of relief. “Details will be provided once you reach your destination,” she tells me. “Sorry, we must firewall it like this but—”

  “It’s operational security,” I cut in. “I get it.”

  I stare at the computer again, my eyes boring into the shadow that’s looking back at me just so she can see exactly how serious I am.

  “I’m going to do this. But you had best hold up your end of our deal,” I glower. “Or I swear to you that I will find you. And when I do, I promise that it will be the very worst day of your life.”

  “Understood. And I hope it does not come to that,” she replies curtly. “Until we speak again then. Good hunting.”

  Chapter Six

  I climb out of the car and take a deep breath of the clean, crisp air. The sky is overcast, and there is a refreshing chill in the air. I stretch my legs, working out the stiffness in my muscles after making the eight-hour drive from New York to Auburn, Maine.

  I breathe deeply again, relishing the fresh air here near the Appalachians. After having been cooped up in that condo for the last couple of months, this feels like heaven to me. The freedom to move about unimpeded and unobserved is something I took for granted.

  I hit the button on the fob to lock the car, and the alarm on the Dodge Charger chirps in response. The car is all black, with smoked windows and all of the bells and whistles you could possibly want. The Tower certainly doesn’t skimp when it comes to transportation; I’ll give them that.


  “At least the ride was in style,” I mutter to myself.

  Chuckling to myself, I head into McDonald’s for something to eat. After week upon week of protein-packed health food, I’m ready for some grease and fat. I push through the doors and make my way over to the counter to place my order. They give me a number, and I grab a soda before I walk to the back of the restaurant.

  I slip into a booth well away from the windows and have a seat with my back to the wall and survey the small crowd. There are two teenage couples huddled in a small booth near the soda machine. Two guys in overalls and ballcaps at a table near the doors. A soccer mom and her kids at another table, and a few singles—two men and a woman—scattered about.

  As I sit there, I realize that I’m assessing any possible threats—that everything I’ve done since coming in was assess possible threats. Apparently, High Priestess Delta was right. My training is kicking back in. It’s like muscle memory, I guess. Either that or I’m just paranoid as hell.

  A few minutes later, a teenage girl brings my tray of food over to me and sets it down with a smile.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “No problem.”

  She turns and heads back to the counter as I start to sort out my food on the tray. I hear the doors open and notice a couple of the guys in denim overalls walking out as another soccer mom with a small child in tow comes in.

  I pull the burger out of the carton and freeze. Sitting at the bottom of the carton is a smaller version of the Tower card—the same one Delta had left on my desk back at the condo. I set the burger down on the tray and pick up the card. My stomach tightens as I look around the dining room. Nobody is looking my way, and all seem absorbed in their own little worlds.

  But then, I recognize this as a deft bit of tradecraft. Any intelligence operative worth their salt would not give themselves away. I flip the card over and see a handwritten message on it: 2413 Halstead Street. 11 pm. Be sure you are not followed. I tuck the card into my pocket and go about finishing my meal as I wonder who they think might be following me. And why. I haven’t even gotten into the game yet, and based on what Delta has told me, nobody knows I’m back on the board. Clearly, the Tower is even more paranoid than I am.