The rubber wheels of the dinner cart squeaked softly as it was wheeled down the tiled hallway. It was a low sound, but Tom found it irritating. He sat in the recreation room, listlessly watching two men play backgammon. After the first few days, they had removed the straitjacket. Dr. Silvany had praised Tom for learning to control his violent impulses. At first, it had been a struggle to contain his rage at finding himself at their mercy once more, trapped inside another of their hospitals. He wanted to shout at them, to fight any way he could, but he would find no chance for escape confined to his room, trussed in a straitjacket. So he had swallowed his rage and forced himself to remain even-tempered even through a battery of inane psychological tests.
It didn�t seem so hard anymore controlling his temper. He felt calmer than he had in a long time. He wondered vaguely how long he had been there. He was a little bothered that he couldn�t remember how he got there, but when he tried to concentrate too hard on anything, he lost the thread of what he was thinking about and his mind wandered to something else.
He studied the cuff of his robe, fascinated by the blend of colors as navy blue blended into red. If he held his arm up a little to catch the sunlight, the geometric pattern seemed to flow on its own, like a neon advertising sign. Puzzled, he held his hand in front of his eyes to look closer at a bruised area surrounding a small puncture mark on the back. He couldn�t remember how he got it, but he was sure it wasn�t there the day before.
He dozed off, his head lolling as he dreamed pleasant dreams of Alyson. Had she came to see him yesterday? He couldn�t remember, but he had this feeling that he had seen her recently. He hoped she was taking good care of Newt. That dog always missed him when he was away. He saw himself entering the house in Evanston, Alyson turning towards him with a welcoming smile. He hung his jacket on the rack beside the door and reached out to take her in his arms. But something was wrong. Suddenly her face was hard, brittle anger in her eyes as she held a pistol in both hands and pointed it at him. Sweat broke out on his brow as he tried to shut out the memory of her voice: "I will kill you, Tom!"
Someone had hold of his arm and was shaking it firmly. "Roberts," the voice was quiet but urgent. "Roberts, or whatever your name is, wake up!"
Tom opened his eyes slowly; as terrible as it was to relive the nightmare, he felt rooted to the scene, helpless to tear himself away. But the shaking wouldn�t go away and he couldn�t shut out the man�s voice, ordering him to wake up and calling him Roberts.
"Tom," he said dazedly as he straightened in the chair. "My name�s Tom."
"That must have been one hell of a nightmare, Tom. You looked like the demons of hell were chasing you."
Tom squinted against the sunlight to see the man who sat in the chair beside him. "Radisson?" he asked in surprise.
Radisson leaned close, keeping his voice low. "We may only have a few minutes. They�re keeping a close watch on me. This is the first time I�ve been able to slip away on my own. I thought I really had gone crazy when I saw you sitting here. But then I thought maybe you were doing some kind of undercover story."
"Undercover?" Tom asked confusedly.
"Sure, you lied to see me, told me your name was Roberts. I thought maybe you had yourself committed to write a story about Norcross. You�ve got to get out now. Tell someone that I�m here. I�m sorry if you�ll lose your story, but you�re my only hope of getting out of here."
"Sorry," Tom said slowly. "I�m not a reporter. I can�t walk out of here any more than you can."
Radisson fell silent, absorbing his disappointment.
"What happened? How did you end up here?" Tom asked him.
"We were on our honeymoon, sailing to Tahiti. Serena wanted it to be just the two of us, just the moon and the stars and the sea. It sounded so romantic when she said it and it started off perfectly-- calm seas, ideal sailing weather, Serena so happy and affectionate. The second night we had a late dinner. The last thing I remember is starting to get undressed for bed. When I woke up, I was here."
"Do you think Serena�s here?" his voice rising in panic. "You don�t think they�ve hurt her, do you?"
Tom shook his head. "Don�t you see? She�s part of this. She helped them do this to you."
"You don�t know what you�re talking about," Radisson insisted. "You came to warn me that I was in danger and I thank you for that. But I still don�t believe that Serena had anything to do with this."
"She�s not Serena!" Tom considered how much to tell him and decided it was too soon to say that Alyson had been his wife. "Her name�s Alyson. Or maybe even that�s a lie. You�re not the first person she�s deceived and betrayed. She set you up. She probably drugged your drink and watched them take you away."
Seeing the stony denial on Radisson�s face, Tom said, "OK, let�s forget that for now. We�ve got to find a way to get out of here."
"Milton!" Radisson suddenly exclaimed.
"What?"
"Henry W. Milton," Radisson said excitedly. "It had to be him. If I disappeared, there wouldn�t be anyone left strong enough to fight off a takeover. If we can just get back to my offices, I�ve got some papers hidden away that would ruin him if they ever saw the light of day. Proof that he sold that toxin to Iraq. He wouldn�t dare touch me."
"It�s no good," Tom replied. "These people are very thorough. They were probably into your safe before you even set sail."
"They�re not in my safe," Radisson said. "We used to play in that building when I was a boy. Quite by accident, I found a hiding place down in the basement. In five years, my brother never found my stash of comic books and marbles. I wasn�t sure if I would ever use those papers and I knew it was dangerous to have them in my possession. I didn�t want to see them every time I opened my safe."
"Did you tell Serena about your hiding place?"
Tom persisted, ignoring the irritation on Radisson�s face. "This is important. Think, man. Does she know about it?"
"No, I never got around to showing it to her," Radisson replied. "Not because I didn�t trust her. It just never came up."
"They might be there, then," Tom said. "Are you sure about these papers? That they�ll be enough to protect you."
"Iraq is just one of his dirty deals. If those papers became public, Milton would be finished in Washington. Now how are we going to get out of here?"
"I don�t know yet," Tom said. "Just be ready. If we see a chance, we�ll have to go for it. There may not be time for a lot of planning."
"The sooner the better," Radisson said fervently. "A few more days in here and I really will be climbing the walls. I wake up in the morning and I feel like something must have happened to me during the night, but I don�t remember anything."
Tom�s mouth went dry and he massaged the back of his hand. He started to say something, but a nurse rounded the corner carrying a tray full of small paper cups.
"Time for your medication," she said cheerfully. Radisson had pulled his chair slightly away and seemed absorbed in the backgammon game.
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Two men dressed in white coats stood watching a monitor in a cluttered office. They saw Tom palm his medication after the nurse turned away. "I�ll have to speak to her about that," Dr. Silvany thought to himself. But no real harm done; they�d have to begin easing up on his medication anyway.
Turning to his superior, he tried to sound respectful as he complained, "I still think this is a mistake. To bring them together at this point... How am I to remove the memory of Radisson and Serena from his mind if you introduce the very stimuli I�m trying to erase?"
The Director slammed his hand down on the edge of the desk. "We�ve been over this before, Lucius. There are other agendas beside your own here. We expected to have more time to prepare Radisson�s replacement. But he cut short his honeymoon because of the negotiations for his company. We need to know quickly what he knows and if he can hurt us. Once that�s taken care of, you can go back to the Veil project."
"You must understand, he�s proven himself to be a very difficult subject, highly resistant to mind control techniques. The normal protocols have not been successful."
"Then I suggest you try abnormal protocols," the Director snapped. "But first we have to deal with Radisson."
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Rico was the youngest orderly on the floor. A handsome kid, he loved to turn on the charm and flirt with the nurses. They seldom took him seriously, but he was so earnest and winning that they didn�t mind his outrageous confidence that any woman would come running if he just crooked his finger. Today he leaned over the counter of the nurses� station murmuring to Doreen, a young redhead who blushed and dimpled prettily. Encouraged, he turned up the charm, waiting for the right moment to ask her out. Neither Rico or Doreen saw Tom quietly slip up and take the keys dangling from Rico�s waist.
Tom hurried as fast as he dared to Radisson�s room, keeping his gait slow enough to avoid suspicion. He swore softly; the room was empty. Precious seconds ticking away, he hurried to the recreation room. Radisson was there, but so were two orderlies trying to organize a game of cards.
"Come on, Tom," one called encouragingly. "I�ll bet you�re good at this."
"Not today," he said. "I�m supposed to go see Dr. Silvany." He walked past Radisson, letting him see the keys cupped in his hand before exiting through the doors at the other end of the room. Radisson waited a minute, then put down his magazine and strolled off in the same direction.
"Hey, James," an orderly said. "You leaving us, too?"
"I never was one much for cards," Radisson replied.
In the hallway, Radisson looked around for Tom, who beckoned from an open doorway. "Where�d you get the keys?" he asked breathlessly.
"Our friend Rico loaned them to me." Tom grinned. "He�s likely to miss them soon, so we�d better get moving."
"Come on, then!" Radisson exclaimed, starting towards the ward entrance.
"Wait." Tom said. "That�s no good. They never carry the ward keys on the floor. We can�t get out that way."
Radisson pulled up short, his shoulders slumped in dejection. "So what good was getting the keys if they won�t get us out of here?"
"What they will get us is into the rooms on this wing," Tom explained. "And that�s going to help us get out."
"How? In case you haven�t noticed, they�re not real big on doors in this place. No private patios to each room. We�ll still be stuck inside."
"I have a plan," Tom said, "but it�ll be too late if we waste time standing here arguing about it."
Radisson bit off what he was going to say and looked at Tom expectantly.
"I have a session with Dr. Silvany in fifteen minutes. Every time it�s the same. The orderly takes me to the treatment room and waits until I sit down. Then he leaves, locking the door behind him. When Silvany comes in, he enters by another door, a door from the room next door. It must be his office. There has to be another way out of that office, one that doesn�t open onto the ward."
"How can you be sure of that? Just because you didn�t see him go in or out, it doesn�t follow that he didn�t use the door to the hall."
"I can�t be positive," Tom said with a trace of irritation. "But I�ve been watching for the last two days. Yesterday morning, he left his office just before lunch. I never saw him go in there. And I�ve never seen him enter or leave the ward by the double doors. Look, this is the best shot we have. We don�t have time to wait for a sure thing."
"OK, tell me your plan," Radisson replied heavily.
"You wait until the orderly�s out of sight, then use Rico�s key to let yourself into the treatment room. You hide behind the door to Silvany�s office and take him by surprise when he comes in. I�ll help you, but you have to be the one to jump him. If I�m not sitting in the chair like usual, he�ll suspect something�s up."
"Aren�t you forgetting one thing?"
Tom looked at him questioning.
"Rico," Radisson elaborated. "By now he�ll have reported his keys missing. Any minute now this ward could be locked down while they search for the keys."
"I don�t think so," Tom said. "Rico�s not going to be in a hurry to tell anyone he screwed up. Right now, he�s probably hoping like mad that he lost them himself. I think we�ll have at least an hour before he gives up and reports it."
"There sure are a lot of suppositions to this plan," Radisson said. "But I don�t have a better one, so let�s get to it."
--------------------------------
Silvany watched on a screen as Radisson stealthily entered the treatment room and following a whispered exchange with Tom, flattened himself against the wall beside the door leading to his office. He wasn�t looking forward to the next couple hours. He didn�t think Tom would kill him, but he had been getting more unpredictable and desperate as the study progressed. The doctor tried not to think of Barton. It was a calculated risk, the Director had said. Silvany couldn�t help but wonder if the Director would have been as sanguine about those risks if he were the one taking them.
He lifted the telephone receiver and pressed the Director�s extension.
--------------------------------------------
Twenty minutes later he sat in the front seat of his Mercedes with the business end of a Luger pressed hard into his shoulder. He could feel the tension of the man holding it as Tom drove the car towards the front gate. Radisson moved back against the backrest of the seat behind him, a jacket draped over the gun on his lap to hide it from the security guard at the gate.
The guard stepped over to the driver�s side window. "On your way out, Dr. Silvany? I don�t want to hold you up, but I�m afraid I don�t recognize the other gentlemen."
"Visiting colleagues," Silvany casually replied. "Drs. Foster and Merrick."
The guard hastily scanned his sheet and frowned. "I don�t have any record of them coming in this morning."
Tom stiffened, his foot poised over the gas pedal.
"There must be some mistake," Silvany said. "It was very busy this morning when we arrived. I assure you that everything is quite in order. If anyone should give you any trouble about it, I take full responsibility."
The guard hesitated. He really should call this in, but he�d look like a fool if it was just an oversight and make an enemy of the doctor. He stepped back and pressed the button to open the gate.
Tom drove at a leisurely pace down the drive and turned towards the city, every nerve in his body screaming to press the pedal to the floor and get the hell out of here. He could see Radisson had the same thought. While keeping an eye on Silvany, he kept flashing wild looks at the speedometer. Tom could see how agitated and nervous he was. He had helped Tom subdue Silvany back at the hospital, but seemed shocked by the menace in Tom�s voice as he threatened and bullied the doctor. Tom thought Radisson was going to be ill when he saw Tom take the gun from the doctor�s desk drawer. Now he clung to it with white-clenched fingers. Tom knew he was going to have to be careful not to push him over the edge.
"If they are looking for us, the first places they�re going to check is your home and your office," he said, trying to steady Radisson with his voice. "so it would be wiser to stay away from them. The problem is, if we don�t get those papers now, we may not have another chance. Are you sure they�re worth it?"
Radisson trembled, trying to focus on Tom�s words. "I can�t believe this is happening," he murmured. "What? Oh... Those papers are my only chance of putting an end to this. Milton won�t dare touch me if knows I have them and that they will be sent to the appropriate people if anything should happen to me."
"We�ll have to chance it then," Tom said decisively. "The alarm may not have gone out yet. But if there�s any sign of trouble, get out as fast as you can. Believe me, these people don�t fool around. You could end up dead or worse."
"What could be worse?"
"Try a lifetime inside of one of those hospitals while they rearrange your brain. Is that what you do, Doc?" he asked Silvany.
Silvany gave him a haughty stare. "Obviously, I didn�t do that well enough in your case. Soon to be remedied, I�m sure."
"Don�t count on it," Tom harshly replied. "Just remember, if anything happens to us, you�ll be the first one to fall."
Silvany looked faintly amused. Tom fought the urge to cuff his pompous face. "Get a grip," he told himself. "Don�t let him provoke you."
"What do we do with him?" Radisson asked.
"We take him with us," Tom answered. "It�s the safest way. We keep an eye on him and when we no longer need him, he can go back and tell them all about those papers you have on Milton."
Radisson looked faintly relieved that Tom wasn�t think of doing something more violent to the doctor. He seemed to be calming down. The efficient businessman took over as he thought about the operation ahead of them.
"There�s a back entrance from the alley leading into the basement. If I had my keys we could go straight in that way. I�ll enter alone through the front and get the keys from my office. Then I�ll come down and let you in."
"You�re taking a big chance if they know already that we�ve escaped," Tom commented. "You�d be walking right into their hands."
"I don�t see where we have a choice," Radisson said. "We�ve got this far. Let�s hope that luck is running with us."
-----------------------------
Tom waited in the Mercedes, guarding Silvany. When he saw the alley door open a few inches, he got out of the car, keeping the doctor covered as he walked around the front of the car to open the passenger door. Inside the building, Radisson led them down a half-flight of stairs. Tom kept a firm grip on Silvany�s shoulder, the pistol at the ready, but the doctor followed along docilely.
They passed through several rooms haphazardly packed with discarded office furniture and file boxes in dusty heaps. It was an old building heated by a monstrous boiler, silent on this warm spring day. Radisson led them around the boiler and eagerly started pulling away wooden flats leaning against the walls. Beginning several rows up from the floor, he started at the corner counting bricks.
"This is it," he cried. "Find me something to work with, a chisel or screwdriver."
A toolbox sat open next to the boiler where a section had been disassembled. Tom found a rusty screwdriver and handed it to Radisson. The mortar around the brick crumbled easily as Radisson scraped at it. After a few tries followed by more energetic scraping, he was able to pull the brick from the wall. He reached inside and pulled out a small metal box. Setting it on the floor, he fumbled eagerly for the latch. Seizing a manila envelope, he slid out half a dozen folded papers. After quickly perusing them, he cried exultantly, "They�re all here."
"Now!" Silvany shouted, shoving Tom hard to one side. Tom barely heard the silenced shot, rolling back to his feet and turning to see Radisson slowly crumple to the floor, a red stain blossoming outwards on his chest. Conscious of the marksman, he darted forward and dragged the other man behind the shelter of the boiler. He knelt beside him and tried to stanch the flow of blood, but Radisson�s eyes were already widening with shock.
"Hold on!" Tom pled frantically. "Come on, Radisson! You�ve got to hang in there."
Radisson tried to speak but only let out a sigh as his body sagged. Tom closed the sightless eyes before doubling over, holding his sides against the gasping breaths wracking his body. The remorse and horror tearing at his soul gave way to blinding anger.
"Silvany!" he shouted. "Where are you, you bastard?"
Silvany stepped into view. "Right here, Tom," he said calmly.
"Why did you have to kill him?" Tom raged. "He didn�t even have a gun."
"He was a loose end," the doctor replied. "The question is, what are you?"
"The man who can blow a hole in you right now," Tom shouted. "Give me one reason why I shouldn�t kill you."
"Do you really think I would let you have real bullets?" the doctor asked. "They�re blanks, Tom." Seeing the derision on Tom�s face, he went on, "Go ahead. Try it and see."
With a shaking hand, Tom tightened his finger on the trigger, still aimed at the doctor�s chest. Then he lowered his aim to Silvany�s leg. The release of the trigger was deafening, but Silvany still stood there smugly smiling.
Tom reversed the gun, ready to club the doctor with its butt, but a blow from behind plummeted him into darkness.
----------------------------------
Tom sat down at the counter of the diner. Angela briskly walked over and asked "Coffee?", already reaching for a cup. Tom nodded.
"I guess it�s not the best coffee in the word," she said with a smile.
"What do you mean?" Tom asked.
"It took you two months to come back for another cup," she replied.
Trying to hide his disquiet, he asked, "I was in here before? Are you sure?"
"Sure," she said. "I poured you three cups of coffee and you read the paper and left."
"I�m on the road a lot," he stammered. "After a while, one place starts to look like another. Sorry."
"Hey, what does a guy have to do to get some coffee in here?" the man who had sat down two stools over boisterously called out.
"Just a sec." Angela scurried to pour him a cup of coffee.
The newcomer unfolded his paper and read silently for a moment. He turned to Tom and exclaimed with disgust, "How do you like that? The guy says he�ll never sell and now there he is with his arm around Henry Milton himself, saying how happy he is to be working with him."
He pointed at a headline at the top of the page. Bold headlines proclaimed, "Radisson Aviation Enters Milton Fold." In smaller letters beneath: "Radisson to stay on as RA director."
The man seated on the other side of Tom studied his face from the corner of his eye, the hand in his pocket of his overcoat holding a small pistol.
The loudmouth went on, "I suppose after the death of his wife, he didn�t have the heart to fight the takeover anymore. That was a sad thing. Drowning on their honeymoon. They never did find the body, either."
Tom tried to turn back to his coffee, but the man persisted, "Do you know I met him once? A real straight-up guy. Shook my hand and called me by name, nice as you please. Hey, did you ever meet him?" He thrust the paper towards Tom, making sure he had a good look at Radisson�s portrait.
Tom glanced at it and something stirred at the corner of his mind. The man in the overcoat picked up on the hesitation and tensed, ready to spring into action. But Tom finally shook his head and said, "No. I�m not from around here."
He left his coffee half-drank and walked slowly back to his motel. Two months he couldn�t account for, a city he couldn�t remember visiting before. Somewhere in this town was the key to whatever had happened to him in those missing weeks, but he didn�t know where to start. For a moment in the diner, he had thought he remembered something but it was too deeply buried in the mists of his mind. What was the game this time, he wondered. He couldn�t shake the feeling that this time he�d lost.
THE END
Copyright 1997 by Marge Brashier