I handed my drink to 61 and ran outside. I kicked the wall next to the entrance a couple of times, bruising my foot. I heard the door open.
"What's the matter?" asked 61.
"I had sex with that woman."
Her face formed into a curious mixture of expressions. Disappointment? Confusion? Worry?
She put the glasses down on a table inside the door and followed me outside.
"You can't be blamed, Arthur," she said, putting a hand on my shoulder, "you were literally out of your mind.
"I doubt Barbara will see it like that."
"We have to..."
I never got to hear her suggestion because the door flew open and the woman I now reluctantly remembered was called Joyce staggered out.
The whole revolting episode came flooding back to me like a tsunami. I had sex with her because it was the only way I could think of to shut her up or stop her drinking. I didn't even enjoy it. In fact, even at the time when I didn't know who I was and that I was married, it repulsed me.
Hang on though. I was sure that later in the room I knew who I was. Did I know in the bar and I was now lying to myself? Or did I think I was someone else? It wouldn't matter to Barbara, I suspected.
"Ed, where are you going, you owe me a drink?"
"What did I drink when I... met you," I asked quietly.
"What didn't you drink, more like. Scotch, bourbon, gin, beer."
She looked at 61 with distaste.
"She's a bit young, isn't she?" she spat. 61's cheeks reddened.
"I'm his niece," she said, with what I suspected was partly genuine indignation. "I think we should just go," she said to me, "damage limitation."
"But what if I... disclosed anything?" I whispered. "We can't go back without a definitive answer for A1."
I glanced over my shoulder to see Joyce swaying like a tree in a hurricane.
"I'm not sure we'll get much out of her."
"Take her to another bar," said 61, "keep her topped up and I'll phone Jen."
"Don't leave me alone with her for long," I pleaded, "she makes my skin crawl."
61 nodded and walked away. I reluctantly scanned the map again and found a bar a few streets away.
I walked as slowly as possible, which was easy as Joyce kept having to prop herself up against the front of shops. We were so slow that 61 caught up with us before we'd even reached the bar. Before we'd had time to say very much, 45 screeched to a halt beside us.
"Bloody hell," said 61, "how many red lights did you go through?"
"Never mind," she replied, "it's a rental car they can't trace back to us. Get her in the back."
"Hey, who are you?" slurred Joyce.
"I'm his other niece, get in the fucking car."
Joyce started to protest vociferously. I was loathe to touch the woman under any circumstances. Seeing my hesitation, 61 took a quick glance around, put her hand over Joyce's mouth and dragged her into the car.
"Arthur," said 61 as we drove away, "can you find a deserted spot for us to park?"
I rummaged through the map once more.
"Second left up here," I said, having found a pet store that was now closed and had a small parking lot.
Joyce was making so much fuss that 61 had no choice but to pull out her gun. Even then she didn't entirely shut up, but she was at least adequately subdued.
As she recalled the encounter I tried to remain professional and focus on the security aspects. The personal stuff would have to wait until I got home.
Home. Barbara. Oh fuck.
After a revolting fifteen minutes of questioning, my memory of the incident fully returned, like a secondary cancer. It was clear that we had spent an hour drinking in the bar - she was already so drunk when I arrived she wouldn't have understood or remembered any state secrets in any case, but fortunately I said nothing very much at all - and then we... went outside and had sex in an alleyway. With the virus code and my first taste of alcohol in almost thirty years I'm surprised I was capable of anything.
I administered the sedative 37 had meant for me and we dumped her in the parking lot outside the bar; they were obviously used to scraping her up off the floor and hosing her down.
As we drove back to our motel, empty as I felt, I clearly realised one thing. Whoever gave me the virus had ruined my marriage, regardless of whether or not I decided to tell Barbara what I'd done. My only goal in life now was to find that bastard, hurt him and then kill him.