Rafa was shaking his head. “It’s not like that at all. Would you just listen to me?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to tell you what’s really going on.”
While Antoine folded his arms skeptically Rafa launched into a tale that was in many ways similar to his own: mysterious strangers asking leading questions, then one particular man watching him at special events and in public places, always turning up where Rafa was scheduled to be, as if he had an inside knowledge of his appointments. Finally came a day when the man made his offer: Mnemosyne, a prophylactic pill to protect his memory, in exchange for slipping a few false memories to his clients.
Like Antoine, Rafa had at first refused. “But then I had an idea. I was at the Med Center practically every day. If I could get my hands on the drug, I could give it to one of their researchers so they could figure out what it was and duplicate it. Then it wouldn’t be a secret any more. It would go on the market and everyone would have a chance at getting it.”
Antoine gazed at him through narrowed eyes, still not quite believing. “You’re telling me you don’t take even a few of these for yourself? You give them all to research?”
“Don’t look so shocked. I’m still at the top of my game. My memory is safe for now, and if I give the pills to research, it’ll be on every drugstore counter by the time I need it, and a lot of good people will have been saved in the meantime.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
Rafa frowned and counted on his fingers. “About six months.”
“And they still haven’t duplicated the drug?”
“It’s a slow process.” Rafa sighed. “Not so much figuring out what’s in the pills, but getting what they need to make more. There’s some stuff they have to have that’s not very easy to get, and they need to keep it all on the down low.”
“And in the meantime you keep playing both ends against the middle so you can get more pills.”
Rafa waved a hand in frustration. “These guys have to protect their own memories or they’ll never finish the work, so most of the pills are for them to take for themselves. Can’t you see this is all for the greater good? What’s a few changes slipped into someone’s memory when the intelligence of the entire human race is at stake? Besides,” he allowed himself a little smile. “It’s not like you’re above changing your clients’ narratives, and you don’t even have some larger purpose for it.”
Antoine drew back. “You know why I tell Rory her son is alive. Healing people’s pain is a higher purpose.”
“But you’re concerned with just one person. I’m concerned with them all.”
Antoine didn’t have an argument against that. “Well, it’s a dangerous game you’re playing. Something tells me Civ Mechant and his bosses, whoever they are, wouldn’t be very happy if they knew what you were doing with those pills.”
“Don’t I know it. One of the researchers already died. Fell down some stairs at his house, and I don’t think it was an accident.”
“Are you serious? Man, you need to get out of this, fast.”
“How? Once you’re in, there isn’t any out.”
“What about the archive project? They know I’m involved, so they must know you’re in it, too. How are you getting away with that, if they’re so hard to rebel against?”
He gave a little shrug. “They think I’m a double agent. Every time Dymphna gives me something, I make a second copy. One copy goes to my contact, who gives me a fake, which I promise to give to you. Then I destroy the fake.”
Antoine frowned. “How can you be sure you don’t get them mixed up?”
Rafa tapped the side of his head. “Good memory, bro.”
“You are in such deep shit if anyone ever finds out. You’ve been playing Everett Blair, playing your clients, playing these other guys, and for all I know—”
“Not you. I swear it on the family hacienda in Havana, not you.”
The two men gazed at each other for a long moment. “Well, I guess I just have to trust you,” Antoine finally said.
“Isn’t that what everyone does, every day of the week, with everyone they meet?”
“Maybe so. But tell me something. You never took the Mnemosyne at all? You weren’t tempted even once?”
Rafa grinned. “Sure, I tried it once.”
“And?”
“I didn’t like it. Made me feel funny.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Antoine tried to settle back into the former rhythm of his days, but it was with the uneasy feeling that everyone in his circle of acquaintances was living a lie. He gazed around his world with renewed suspicion. His fellow prompters were all possible traitors. The same went for anyone he encountered who seemed to be in possession of their faculties. Whereas the world had previously seemed relatively safe and straightforward, now everyone was a potential threat. The only people he felt certain were telling the truth were the amnesiacs, proving that sincerity didn’t always mean having the facts on one’s side.
Halloween blew in on a cool front, finally banishing the lingering heat of summer and putting a punctuation mark onto Antoine’s sense of the surreal as costumes came out and masks went on. At least the ghouls and witches admitted their fiction, unlike the people one encountered in one’s normal rounds. But as the city marked el Dia de los Muertos and slipped into November, Antoine found himself more confused and alone than he had ever been. Rafa’s revelations hadn’t broken their friendship, but it had twisted it into a new shape that he wasn’t quite sure he was comfortable with. The only person he could trust now was Dymphna, so it jarred him to the core the first time she slipped him a packet of documents that looked familiar.
“Didn’t you give me Mirabou B. Lamar’s letters last week?” he asked. “Or are these additional ones?”
Dymphna frowned. “No, we haven’t done any Lamar letters. We’ve done Sam Houston and Governor Hogg, but these are the first Lamar.”
Antoine felt fairly certain she was wrong, but anyone could make a mistake. When it happened again, though, he quizzed her a little more closely.
“Have you been getting enough sleep? What are you doing to manage your stress?”
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that you’re starting to give me duplicate documents and—”
“I don’t have amnesia.”
Antoine smiled patiently. “Okay. But there are a lot of other issues that can lead to these types of mistakes. Would you like me to give you a memory test?”
She shook her head hard. “I’m fine, really.”
Dymphna wasn’t fine. Although her next few deliveries were up to her previous standards, she soon began slipping again. Since she refused any offer of testing or assistance, Antoine went to Rafa for ideas.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You can never tell who’s going to be willing to get help and who isn’t. Sometimes you think it’s the big shot who acts like he knows it all who will refuse to get tested, but he’ll be all over it, while some mousy little guy who has never spoken up for himself in his life will get defensive.”
“She’s just proud,” Antoine said. “It’s hard for anyone, especially someone who has earned their living by keeping up with the past. I just wish I knew what to do for her.”
Rafa nodded agreement. “That’s one thing we don’t ever have to worry about at Everett Blair. By the time they end up on our caseload, they or someone important to them, has told them this is how it’s going to be. We’re not in the business of convincing people to get help in the first place.”
Antoine was reluctant ask the question that had been on his mind, but the urgency of Dymphna’s situation compelled him to speak the words aloud. “Do you think Mnemosyne would help?”
“We could give her a few and see if we notice any changes,” Rafa said, as if he had anticipated the question. “But I’ve been told it’s strictly prophylactic. Once you’re showing symptoms, it’s too late.”
??
?Do you have enough to spare that we could at least try? Maybe it won’t reverse her symptoms but it might stabilize her so she doesn’t get worse.”
“Sure.” Rafa gave a little shrug. My lab guys finally got the missing chemical they needed and made a test batch last week, so they should have enough to hold them for a while. We just need to make sure your friend doesn’t know what it really is. Word can’t get out, you know.”
“That goes without saying,” Antoine said. “I’ll tell her it’s a new ginkgo product that all the prompters are swearing by.”
* * * *
Antoine went back to his apartment with a bottle of Mnemosyne in his pocket. He emptied it on the table and then picked up one of the yellow tablets to examine more closely. It looked for all the world like an ordinary aspirin. What could be in it that gave it such a powerful effect on memory? And why was it so hard for the researchers at the medical center get what they needed to duplicate it?
He dumped out a bottle of HerbaBrain Max, which was still so new that it wasn’t widely available. Dymphna wasn’t likely to buy a bottle on her own and discover that the tablets looked entirely different. With the Mnemosyne safely camouflaged in the new bottle, he started getting ready for bed. But just as he was slipping under the covers he had a thought. He padded back out to the living room and removed the bottle from his messenger bag. He slept with it under his pillow instead, just to be sure.
Convincing Dymphna to try the pills proved not very difficult. He approached the matter casually and when she understood that he took HerbaBrain himself, she accepted the bottle. In exchange she handed him an envelope that, when opened, proved to contain copies of faked information about Spindletop. He sighed and tossed them in the nearest shredder at Everett Blair when he checked in between that day’s cases.
Rafa had assured him that there was little point in expecting a change in Dymphna for at least two weeks or even a month, and this proved to be the case. But just before Thanksgiving something of far greater import occurred.
He was at the gym lifting weights early one morning when Rafa burst into the room. “Put that down. We’ve got to talk.”
Antoine looked around. There weren’t many other residents around, and gym rats tended to mind their own business…
“Forget it. There’s no one out by the pool. We’ll go there.”
“Let me go upstairs and get my jacket, then.”
“It’s not that cold out. You can use your towel. This is important.”
Antoine awkwardly wrapped himself in a white gym towel and the two men went outside to the pool deck. “This had better be good.”
“No, it’s bad. Really bad. You know how I told you I had some scientists trying to duplicate Mnemosyne?” Rafa didn’t wait for Antoine to nod agreement. “Something’s gone wrong.”
“I told you it would. What happened?”
“My main guy’s in trouble. He wasn’t making much sense when he called me, but someone’s after him and it’s not my people.”
“How do you know?”
“They’re demanding Mnemosyne.”
Antoine frowned. “Civ and those guys are the suppliers of that stuff, so you’re right, it’s got to be someone else, but that means there’s a leak. Someone knows your researcher has it, or has access. That trail is going to go right back to you, if it hasn’t already.”
“I know.” Rafa bowed his head. “I’m such an idiot.”
“You didn’t see it coming?”
“No, but I should have. They went through some kind of shady back door channels to get the missing chemical for the Mnemosyne trial, but they never said who they actually got it from.” He looked up at Antoine in appeal. “I won’t be mad if you say no, because I’m asking a lot, but will you help?”
Antoine resisted the urge to take a step back. “Help with what?”
“Help me get to the bottom of this, find out if my researcher is going to sic the mafia on me or something.”
In spite of himself, Antoine smiled. “It can’t be that bad. Scientists are a fairly boring bunch. I can’t imagine any bona fide gang affiliations going on.”
“Then you’ll go down there with me and talk to him?”
“Why do you need me?”
“In case it really is the mafia. If they’re going to throw me in the bayou wearing cement shoes, I want a witness who can retrieve my body.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dr. Chatterjee wasn’t in his office, but Rafa knew the location of his lab. There was a sign on the door with strict instructions regarding authorized personnel only, but they ignored it and stepped inside. At first glance it appeared to be a dead end. Although a few researchers were working quietly, bent over flasks and petri dishes or placing test tubes into centrifuges, none of the white-coated scientists were the one they sought. One woman looked up from placing drops of lurid purple fluid into a small sectioned box. She said nothing, but her frown spoke volumes. Rafa and Antoine quickly backed out into the hallway and shut the door.
“What now?” Antoine asked. “We’re going to need lab coats to infiltrate a place like that.”
Rafa sighed. “I guess I should’ve texted him first. He’s always around this time of day, though—”
At the sound of quick footsteps, they looked up. A tall, brown-skinned man was heading their way but suddenly stopped. His white lab coat was unbuttoned and he reached a cautious hand toward something underneath that looked like it might be a weapon, but then recognized Rafa. His body visibly relaxed and he hurried over.
“Rafael, I’m so glad to see you—” he glanced nervously at Antoine.
“Dr. Chatterjee, this is my friend Antoine Gavin. We work together.”
The researcher nodded in understanding, then looked around. “Did anyone see you? Let’s go where we can talk. He led them to the end of the hall and around the corner. In front of a nondescript gray door he fumbled in the coat of his lab pocket and withdrew a heavy set of keys. Once they were all inside the narrow storage room, he dropped the keys back in his pocket and made a small gesture of apology. “I would take you to my office, but I worry it’s been bugged. And the break room is out of the question, for obvious reasons.” He looked expectantly at Rafa. “You have it?”
“I’m sorry,” Rafa said. “What I told you earlier is the truth. I don’t have any Mnemosyne and there won’t be any more before the first of next month.”
“But—” the man’s earlier nervousness returned in a rush. “I need it. My work and even my life are in danger. It’s the only thing that will buy me time.” He turned appealing eyes on Antoine. “Can you give me some? You came because you have connections, right?”
Antoine shook his head.
“He came with me to help me find out what the hell is going on,” Rafa said. “How can you be out of Mnemosyne when I’ve been giving you a 30-day supply each month and you’ve recently made some, too?”
“It was only a very small batch,” Dr. Chatterjee reminded him. “I spent months trying to get everything I needed, but a key element of the compound is controlled by the federal government. Even someone needing it for research has to jump through hoops to get it. The process is slow, with no guarantee of anything.”
“So how did you finally acquire it?” Antoine asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“One of my post-docs found a source. It…wasn’t a standard channel.”
“You bought it from some kind of cartel or mafia,” Rafa said. “Why don’t you just admit it? You sold out the project and probably promised to let them sell the end product on the street for an inflated price so you could get rich.”
“No.” Dr. Chatterjee turned earnest eyes on them both. “We didn’t tell them why we needed it, I swear. It was strictly a business transaction.”
“Then why are they expecting Mnemosyne now? From the way you tell it, they had no way to know you weren’t making aspirin or baking aluminum sulfate cupcakes,” Rafa pointed out.
“I don’t know
how they found out. My post-doc, the one who made the deal, went missing three days ago. Maybe he told them. Or maybe they infiltrated the lab and stole some of my data. Does it matter right now? I’m in immediate danger.”
“How can that be? You got what you needed to make more Mnemosyne,” Antoine pointed out. “And you succeeded. Why can’t you give them that batch and appease them?”
Rafa agreed. “Give them the batch you made and make them give you more of whatever ingredient it is you need to keep making it. I don’t like the idea of us being involved in that sort of thing, but it’ll buy us time to figure out a better solution.”
Dr. Chatterjee waved his hands in exasperation. “I don’t have that batch anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Rafa asked.
“We have to protect our own memories too, you know.”
“I realize that, but are you saying you and your colleagues used it all? You have nothing left?”
The scientist nodded his head. “We thought more supplies would be here by now.”
Antoine struggled to hide his frustration. The plague made people desperate, and desperate people were often short-sighted. But then a thought occurred to him. “Was there any way these people you bought from, whoever they are, could have traced the original Mnemosyne tablets, or even the idea of such a drug, to Rafa?”
“No, I swear.” He turned to Rafa. “I consider you a friend. I’ve mentioned your name to no one, and there is nothing in my lab notes or protocol that references you.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any worries about your life being in danger,” Antoine pointed out. “As far as these guys know, you’re the only source. Even if you don’t have the finished product, you know how to make it. They may want a lot of things, but they sure don’t want you dead.”
Dr. Chatterjee gave him an incredulous look. “They could kidnap me, torture me. They could lock me up and force me to make the drug for them. My life might as well be over.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” Rafa assured him. “I’ll bring you some more next month and in the meantime—”
“I don’t have until next month!” He looked at both men, desperation in his eyes. “You really can’t help me, can you?”