“Bollocks,” muttered John, putting the phone down, “bang goes the sight seeing.”
Hannah knew from his expression during the five minute call that something somewhere had gone seriously tits up.
“Where are we going?”
“Washington, pack now.”
“Washington? Why, what's happened?” she asked, going over to the bed and pulling her suitcase out from underneath.
“We don't know. Arthur has gone AWOL. He's been disconnected since yesterday, no trace whatsoever.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“No.”
“That's...” Hannah didn't want to even contemplate what this might mean. “So are we going to secure the hard drives?”
“The drives have been secured - they're back home, he never brought them with him. We're going to find out what's happened to him. The details we have for his last known location make no sense. Nobody has any idea why he's even in the country. They must be worried because 37 and 45 are flying out to meet us.”
Hannah paused and looked up from her packing.
“Then it must...” she shook her head. “I haven't seen 45 for ages, I thought she was tied up?”
John shrugged. “That's what I was told.”
She looked gravely at the floor for a moment. “They think he's dead, don't they?”
“Don't overreact.”
“I don't see any other explanation.”
“All we can do is rescue the sticks and hope he's nearby.”
“I suppose,” she agreed reluctantly.
The following day, Agents 37 and 45 met up with Agents 61 and 22. They sat in their hire car, John impatiently tapping his hands on the dashboard.
“Come on Carter, you useless...” He heaved a sigh of relief as a taxi drove into the car park and pulled up next to them.
Adam opened the window and took the two suitcases from him.
“Bring them back in one piece,” grinned Kevin Carter before speeding off.
“Dick head,” muttered John as Adam opened the cases and handed out the Kalashnikovs.
Everyone checked and loaded their respective weapons and placed them on the floor.
"Don't drive too fast, John," said Adam, "we can't afford to waste time being stopped for speeding with these."
John grumbled something inaudible and pulled away in first gear with exaggerated slowness. Adam looked at Jennifer and raised his eyebrows as she stifled a laugh.
An hour later they arrived at the location of the last signal to be received from Agent 4.
Hannah stood next to the car and surveyed the scene with increasing despair.
"There's nothing here," she muttered, very accurately. They were in the middle of a field with nothing but other fields to be seen for miles.
Adam was busy walking around the field and inspecting the ground.
"No sign of any struggle or any vehicles," he sighed, returning to the group. "It's just a field."
Hannah once again waved her phone around the field, hoping in vain to receive a signal from the memory sticks.
"No sign of the sticks either."
"He must have been here two days ago," mused Jennifer, "but I can't see any reason why. Whether he's been captured or gone of his own accord, why the hell would he come here?"
"Maybe he was driving a long way and stopped for a piss," said John, sucking on a cigarette.
Jennifer looked at him.
"I'm not being sarcastic," he qualified, "why else would a man stop in a field in the middle of nowhere? The signal is only accurate to a couple of hundred meters, give or take. That could easily put him at the side of the road over there by the gate, behind those trees."
She had to concede it was the most likely explanation given their current lack of information.
"Okay," said Adam, "let's summarise. Two days ago all signals stopped. That means either a technical fault, nefarious and very clever interference from parties unknown, or he's dead and the sticks are either damaged or destroyed. We have to assume he's still alive and in trouble until we prove otherwise, we can't go to any US agencies for help, so what are we going to do?"
John used the dying embers of his cigarette to light another one.
"Unless his brain is completely scrambled," he said between puffs, "in which case he could be on the fucking moon for all we know, he must have been going somewhere, even if he himself didn't know why or was being taken there by force. There's no reason to come to the middle of nowhere and go back towards the airport so we have to assume he's in that direction." He pointed with his cigarette. "So, unless any more information turns up, all we can do today is keep driving in that direction and stop at every town, petrol station, hotel we find and... well, ask around I suppose."
He shrugged and turned his attention back to his cigarette.
"Any better ideas?" said Adam, looking around. "Okay, let's go. Who wants to drive for a while?"
Jennifer adjusted the seat and started the car, thankful that the weather was fairly mild. She hadn't had a chance to buy any clothes yet, and was still wearing Adam's shorts and t shirt. On the plus side, they made her look exactly unlike a Kalashnikov toting secret agent.
Forty minutes past, during which time John muttered "Why do they need so many fucking fields?" about five times to relieve the monotony of the ubiquitous landscape.
Jennifer slowed down as they approached a group of buildings.
"At last," she said, pulling into the parking lot.
A small motel, a gas station, a mini mart and, inexplicably, a shop selling brass instruments were all there was to be found in this tiny oasis.
"I'll go and check the motel first," said Jennifer, removing a photograph from the glove compartment. "Hannah, you may as well stock up on food and water, fuck knows how long this journey will last. And see if you can get me a couple of pairs of jeans and some vest tops. You two stay here. If anyone shows any interest in the car, take off and phone me."
She threw the keys to Adam and walked towards the hotel. He drove to the furthest part of the parking lot and turned the car around, reversing it into the spot.
"Hi," said an over-enthusiastic teenager behind the reception desk, "how may I help you today, miss?"
Jennifer showed him the photo.
"Have you seen this man? He's my uncle, he has altzhiemers and he wandered off a few days ago."
"Oh dear, I'm very sorry to hear that. Shall I see if he's booked in, do you have a name?"
Jennifer briefly wondered how in the world she would not know her own uncle's name, but let it pass. She had to be convincing on this point.
"I'm afraid he's so ill he can't even remember his own name," she said, throwing in a sad eyed look for added effect, "if he's booked in he could have used literally any name. Sometimes he thinks he's a character from 'The Posiden Adventure'."
"I see," said the boy, clearly feeling that this was now way out of his league. "Shall I fetch the manager?"
"That would be very kind," she sniffed, careful not to overact.
She was used to fooling people professionally, and the manager believed her story as readily as the pimply youth. After a few minutes of speaking to various members of staff, it was established that Agent 4 had indeed booked into the establishment two days previously, but had inexplicably left without staying in the room.
"I saw him in the corridor and he said he was going out," said one of the cleaners. "That was only a few minutes after he'd booked in. He never came back."
"Does he owe any money?" Jennifer asked.
"No," said the manager, "that's the odd thing - he paid for a week."
She filed away the information and decided not to react to it or think about it until she was safely back in the car.
"Thank you for all your help, we'd better get on after him."
"I hope you find him. We will, of course, keep the room free for the duration."
She bit her lip in frustration at her negligence.
"Could I have a quick look in the room, please?" She improvised: "He often writes little notes to himself about what he's going to do, he may have left something that could give us a clue."
"Of course," said the manager, "come this way, madam."
"As you can see," he said once they were inside the room, "he left none of his belongings behind."
"No, thank fuck," thought Jennifer, that would have been decidedly awkward.
She looked under the pillow and found three tell tale yellow post it notes.
"We haven't changed the bed," flustered the manager, "because it hasn't been used yet."
She was glad of his distraction, which gave her time to fold up the notes and carefully pocket them. A search of the waste basket and the bathroom revealed no further clues.
She stopped briefly at the gas station, where they were spectacularly unhelpful, then joined the others in the car.
"He booked in the day before yesterday then left almost immediately after paying for the room for a week."
"A week?" said Adam. "Sounds like he was in hiding."
"I asked, as subtly as possible, if they'd seen him with anyone and they hadn't."
"He bought a few things in the shop too," added Hannah. "They remembered him because of his accent, and because he was agitated and confused."
"What did he buy?" asked John.
"They couldn't remember exactly, and it would draw attention if I asked them to check the till rolls or CCTV footage, but it was something small like chocolate, matches and pencils. I don't think he even likes chocolate, but it doesn't sound as if he was planning on a long journey."
"We don't have any time to waste," said Jennifer, "he has a two day head start on us. We'll have to keep going twenty four hours a day and sleep in shifts in the back seat. John, you'd better stock up on fags and Adam we'll need more water and, unfortunately, some toilet paper. I'll get petrol."
Ten minutes later they were back on the road, wondering how long it would be before they could get back off it and sleep in a bed.
Jennifer awoke to find Hannah urgently tugging her sleeve.
"Come on, the boys have been and I'm busting. Hurry up."
They slid inelegantly down a dusty slope towards some bushes.
"At least it's dark," said Jennifer. "How many miles, sorry, kilometres have we covered?"
"Just under two hundred since the motel. We've passed a few small places but we didn't think it was worth stopping to ask if they'd seen him because there was nowhere he could be staying. There's been nothing else but, according to the sat nav, we're about ten miles from a medium sized town. Adam thought it best we all wake up before we arrive."
Jennifer nodded, and chose the least prickly looking bush to squat behind.
"How many of those do you smoke in a day?" asked Adam.
"Dunno, I don't count. Anyway, what's the plan when we get there? Split up and look for him individually?"
"I don't know," admitted Adam. "It seems by far the most likely scenario that he's wandered off alone because there's something wrong with his wiring and he's confused and lost. If we get desperate we could involve the local police but I'd rather not. Who knows what he may say when he's found?"
"Have you got those notes?"
Adam rummaged in his pocket and produced the three yellow slips of paper. John took them and got out of the car.
"I'll have a pace, it helps me think."
Leaving the door open, he began walking back and forth in and out of the cars headlights. Adam wished he had stayed put rather than leaving him in sole charge of four Kalashnikovs but then he heard 45 and 61 clambering back up the slope so relaxed back into his average level of tension.
"Come on, John, time to go," said Jennifer, shutting the car door behind her.
"Shush for two minutes, I think I'm on to something," he said, continuing to pace a slalom between the headlight beams.
She shrugged. "Okay, we may as well have some chocolate and check our weapons."
"Bingo," shouted John a minute later, causing Hannah to drop a handful of Maltesers onto the floor.
He got back in the car and did up his seatbelt. "Come on then, no time to waste, talk and drive."
Hannah gave up trying to retrieve the rolling chocolate ball bearings from under the pedals and started the ignition.
As she pulled out of the layby, John began to share his idea.
"We've been thinking these are random words and phrases but I've been looking for a pattern." He paused to take a drag on his cigarette while the others waited impatiently. "Of course we don't know in what order he wrote these or if there was any gap between each note, but I'm fairly sure they are telling us something.
"As you know, it would take at least two hours from the stick being removed for him to totally lose his memory of the last four years since the operation and the implant. After this amount of time, the implant should have done a fairly thorough job of repairing the damaged part of his brain. So, even if he were to be disconnected, he should still remember that he's an agent and everything he did before the shooting, possibly even up to last year. He should know all of us and that we're on his side, whatever else he can or can't remember."
"Well, that's good then, isn't it?" said Hannah.
"In theory yes, but I have some bad news. I stress this is only a theory but it's a distinct probability."
The other three braced themselves. Despite his offhand, flippant manner, John was the technical wizard of the organisation and knew more about Agent 4's implant than almost anyone else. Before joining T14 he had spent eight years working with computers and robotics.
"These words and phrases may seem random nonsense but there is a pattern. You see the way there are symbols mixed up with words and numbers? What does that remind you of?"
"Just tell us, John, for fucks sake," said Jennifer.
"How about a malfunctioning computer?"
"Of course he's malfunctioning, we know that. He is a computer."
"In a sense, yes," said John, "and I think he has a virus."
He took another drag and blew smoke out of the window as the car fell into silence.
"If that's true," said Adam, "then what could it mean for him?"
"Fuck knows," said John, "it depends where the virus came from and what type it is."
"He can't be breached from on line, can he?"
"No," said John, "that's not physically possible. He never connects directly to the internet for precisely that reason, we download and scan maps and relevant data and then upload them to the implant via the sticks. But if somebody had direct access to his sticks or drive, or plugged something else into him that contained a virus..."
"But who would have the chance to do that, and why, and how would they know about him anyway?" asked Hannah.
"Exactly," puffed John, "but I think I should say that, if I'm right, he could be in literally any kind of condition by now. Someone could have tried to feed him instructions, fry his organic brain, anything. So he may in fact not have a clue who we are. He may actually have advanced altzhiemers, albeit in digital form."
"Don't say that," pleaded Hannah, "that's horrible."
John shrugged. "We won't know until we find him."
Hannah slowed down as the lights of the town hoved into view.
"So," she said, "where do we start?"
"So far as I can tell," said Adam, "there are seventeen places you can find a room for the night in this town. We have no option but to do them one by one. It's too mild to wear coats big enough to conceal our weapons so two of us will have to stay with the car. Jen and Hannah, you're more plausible, so you visit places and John and I will phone the others."
45 and 61 visited six hotels without success. On his fourth attempt, John struck lucky. He leaned back into the car and motioned to Adam to get the others back.
"We're outside..." John looked around, blinking against the neon lighting, "a bowling alley and a Burger King. Okay, thanks very much, we'll be five minutes."
45 was already running towards the car so 37 ran off to retrieve 61 from her futile sortie.
"He's a few blocks away," said John, spitting out the words in disgust, "or a few streets away if you speak English."
"Has he got himself into any trouble?"
"No, he hasn't left his room, but they were on the verge of calling a doctor for him so I think we've had a very lucky escape."
Risking a speeding ticket, they arrived as quickly as humanly possible.
Jennifer and John went in, carrying two of the rifles in a suitcase.
A worried looking manager, doubtless desperate to avoid a lawsuit from relatives for failing to give proper medical care or something, showed them straight to the room.
"Would you mind if we went in alone," said Jennifer, "he gets confused if there are too many people talking to him at once."
"Yes, we know," said the manager, scuttling away in relief from the awkwardness of whatever was about to happen.
When he had disappeared, John opened the case and took out one of the rifles, concealing it behind his back as best he could.
Jennifer knocked and slowly opened the door.
"Arthur? It's me."
Agent 4 was sitting on the bed staring into space. He was unshaven, bleary eyed and clearly hadn't changed his clothes in at least a week. It had been almost two years since Jennifer had seen him and this wasn't the reunion she'd been expecting.
He looked much older than his fifty two years and what remained of his hair was sticking out at unruly angles. He'd visibly lost weight and his skin was pallid. He quite simply looked ill and malnourished.
Hearing a noise nearby, John had to risk shoving her into the room so that he could enter and shut the door behind them.
"Arthur," she repeated. "Agent 4?"
At the latter he looked up. John breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"Do you recognise us?"
Yes," he answered, though barely seeming to register anything very much. "Warm and toasty."
John locked the door behind him and did a quick search of the room and bathroom.
He put down the Kalashnikov and lit a cigarette, taking out his phone.
At the site of the gun Agent 4 jumped off the bed and made for the bathroom.
"No, Arthur, we're your friends, remember. We have guns because we thought you'd been taken prisoner."
John paused in pressing the call button.
"What's the last thing you remember, Arthur?"
"Big blue helicopter."
"The helicopter was an op eight years ago. See what I mean about random jumble?"
He went into the bathroom to make the call to White.
"Arthur," said Jennifer, sitting next to him on the bed and taking his hand, "do you know what's happened to you?"
"When? Recently? No."
"No, I mean the last few years."
"No idea. No idea, no no no no no ideas, patent applied for."
"You were shot in the head four years ago and lost your memory. You had an implant to help you remember things and now something has gone wrong with it. Once we get you back home they can fix it and you'll be fine again."
He looked up at her mournfully. "I hope so. This is horrible."
45 felt her steely exterior slip for a moment. This must be what it was like to have severe dementia. Fucking hell. She hugged him and wiped away a tear.
"I don't know why but I trust you."
"Good," she smiled.
22 emerged from the bathroom.
"We can't get on a flight for four hours," he grumbled, "but at least that gives us time to relax a bit and have a proper meal. Have you found his sticks?"
"Don't talk as if he's not here," hissed 45.
John stopped and threw her an apologetic glance.
"Sorry." He turned to 4. "Sorry, old man, but you are a bit fucked up, aren't you? Some nasty bastard has literally messed with your head. Do you remember where you left your sticks?"
"I'm too young to walk with sticks," he said indignantly.
"No," said 45 gently, "your Firewire sticks. They work with your implant."
He closed his eyes and said nothing, so 22 and 45 began searching the room and his luggage.
"Bingo with a fucking cherry on top," said John after a few minutes, "they're both in here. Wrapped in a sock."
Agent 4 opened his eyes and pointed excitedly at the two tiny devices.
"My sticks, give my my sticks!"
"Hang on," said 45, "somebody has tampered with them. They may make you worse, we'll have to check them."
"I'll pack my roller skates," he said, getting off the bed and going into the bathroom.
Jennifer looked worried.
"I checked for exit windows or sharp objects, it's fine," said John. He plugged one of the sticks into the Firewire port on his phone, then handed it to 45. "You're better at typing with your thumbs, you do all the bloody passwords. Where's your phone?"
He took her mobile and dialled White again.
"No, sir, it's 22. She's using my phone to scan one of the sticks, can you divert all available resources to that ASAP. Okay." He switched the phone to speaker and dropped it onto the bed.
"Anything yet? We'll have to read the results ourselves, all the tech boys have gone home."
"You mean you'll have to," said 45, giving him the phone. "I'll make some coffee."
She switched on the kettle and, after checking that Arthur was okay, phoned Adam.
"Sorry, it's been a bit hectic. Yes, he's fine. He remembers us but nothing else for about eight years. We're having a stick scanned now and John will have to assess the results. We'll be down in about fifteen minutes." She opened a small foil sachet of coffee and sniffed it cautiously. "Give it ten minutes then get us five large coffees; we can't get a flight for four hours so it's going to be a long night."
"A flight," said Agent 4, emerging from the bathroom without a hint of roller skate, "where are we going?"
"Home," said 45.
"Where's that?"
"Well, the agency initially. We're scanning your stick now to see if it's safe for you to have it back."
He looked puzzled.
"Do I put it in my ear, or what?"
John broke his intense stare away from his phone and looked up at Arthur.
"Can't you even remember... no I suppose not." He shrugged and turned his attention back to the lines of code streaming across the screen. "You'd better show him."
Jennifer took Agent 4's hand and guided it to the back of his neck, pressing his finger against the socket that sat under his shirt collar.
He seemed initially startled, but then relaxed visibly.
"I remember now, that at least."
"Good. We'll be able to go soon. 61 and 37 are waiting in the car."
"I remember 37, tall handsome chap, but not 61."
"She only joined five years ago," said Jennifer, "I'm sure it'll come back when you see her."
He looked at the open sachet of coffee on the side.
"Don't drink that, it's disgusting."
It took a few seconds for him to realise what he'd said, but then he looked as pleased as 45 and 22.
"What the hell's going on there?" shouted a voice, startling 4.
45 picked up the phone.
"It's okay, his short term memory seems to be returning. Do you want to speak to him?"
"Who is it?" asked Arthur warily.
"Bill White, our boss."
He thought for a moment.
"I don't have anything to report."
"Never mind," said White, "so long as you're okay, Arthur. We're doing all we can at this end, I'll see you first thing in the morning."
Jennifer as subtly as possible switched off the speaker in case he wanted to say anything else.
"Fucking shitbags!" shouted John. "There's a complex virus, or something bad, on this stick. I'll try the other one. Shall we get out of here and get that coffee, I'm sure you could do with a decent one, Arthur?"
"I'm very hungry as well."
"Plenty of time until the plane," said 45, "we'll all go and eat, none of us have had a meal today."
"I'll let you know about the scan soon as," said John, taking the phone, "yes, will do. Bye."
Arthur smiled.
"I'm very happy to be leaving this room."
"So am I," muttered Jennifer.
Thankfully, upon reaching the car, he immediately recognised Hannah.
Still having to guard the weapons, they decided to take their rest break in shifts. 45 and 61 ate with Agent 4 in a diner while 22 and 37 ate burgers in the car, then they swapped and 22 and 37 sat in the coffee bar with him.
John had scanned the second stick and not found anything untoward. Nonetheless, they decided it was too risky to connect it in case the virus from the other stick had infected the implant in some way. Besides, Arthur seemed quite happy and settled now.
They had spend a quiet ten minutes sipping coffee and sharing a box of doughnuts when Agent 4 suddenly stood up apropos of nothing. 37 and 22 tensed immediately and watched him carefully.
"You okay?" asked John.
"The box is going to fall," he screamed, "subroutine 61 failed."
John reached unhurriedly into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a small leather pouch. He nudged Adam, who looked momentarily puzzled, then nodded his assent.
Adam got up and stood in front of Arthur, hopefully blocking the view of most people, especially the two cops sitting four tables away, from what John was about to do.
"Altzhiemers," he said in a loud, clear voice.
"Bollocking traitor cunt!" shouted Arthur as John stuck the needle smoothly into his arm. Within seconds he helped the limp, bleary eyed Arthur back into his seat.
"I'm a doctor," shouted John in his tweediest voice, "from England," he added unnecessarily. "I've given him a sedative. He'll be fine now."
A waitress came over and mopped up the coffee Arthur had spilled on the floor.
"Can I get you some more, sir?"
"No thanks, we'd nearly finished. We have to be on our way anyway."
Adam maintained a level expression as one of the cops got up and approached him.
"Can we be of any assistance, sir?" he asked.
"No, it's fine now, thank you. We're just on our way to the airport. We thought a holiday may do him good but we're taking him home now. He's never behaved like that before," he added, entirely truthfully. "He'll be better when we get him back home," he said, fervently hoping that would also turn out to be true.
Thankfully, everyone seemed to lose interest, and they were able to get back to the car unimpeded.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Jennifer.
"Never mind," said John, seeing the two cops leave the building, "just fucking drive."
He waved politely at the police as they drove past. When he was sure they weren't being followed he explained what had happened.
"He should be pretty docile now until we land, touch wood."
"Good job he didn't do that at the airport," said Hannah, "they wouldn't have let us on the plane.”