“Would you prefer I called them our doomsday plans?” Smith asked.
“I would prefer knowing the OTM had secured these devices,” Eric said.
“It makes her a target,” Nancy said. “That’s why the Russians won’t let it go.”
The current Russian president had been in office for two years, but everyone knew that the Prime Minister, a man with a background in the KGB, actually ran the USSR. “There’s at least two good reasons why we should bring your mother in from the cold. We need to know about these nukes.”
“And the second reason?” Nancy asked.
“She’s your mother,” Eric said. “Whatever we need to do, Nancy.”
Nancy slowed the cart. “Thank you.”
Eric nodded, then turned to look at Smith. “This conversation will be a little more uncomfortable than I’d like.”
Smith frowned. “I appreciate your help with Alexandra, but I don’t—”
“You don’t look well. I want you to see Dr. Barnwell.”
“Hob?” Smith asked.
“I’ve read Barnwell’s notes.”
Smith’s mouth opened and closed. “I don’t have much time—”
“That’s why I want you examined. You pushed yourself beyond your limits.”
“I need to finish this,” Smith barked out.
Nancy jerked the wheel of the cart, almost hitting a lab technician driving a cart the other way. “You think you’re invincible, but Eric is right. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m… so close,” Smith said. He rubbed his eyes, looking every bit of his seventy-eight years. “I’ll be fine as soon as we find Alexandra.”
“You won’t be fine,” Eric said softly. “Don’t make it an order.”
“You can’t order him,” Nancy said.
“I’m the director now,” Eric said. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t get him to Barnwell.”
Nancy started to speak, but Smith held up his hand. “Eric is right, my dear. It is why I picked him. Take me to Hob’s office.”
Nancy slowed the cart and did a one-eighty, and they went barreling back through the tunnel system to Barnwell’s office. “You tried contacting me,” Nancy said. “What was that about?”
Eric sighed. “It can wait.”
Smith pulled back as Barnwell attempted to take his blood pressure. “Can’t you leave me well enough alone?”
Nancy and Eric had deposited him in Barnwell’s office, and Barnwell paused in taking notes on his tablet and shook his head. “We really need an fMRI of your brain. Then we can see just how—”
“What?” Smith asked.
Barnwell sighed. “I’m sorry, Fulton. It’s going to happen sooner than I thought. Tell me what happened in Washington.”
Smith told his best friend about the attack that had killed Melamid. Barnwell made a face and Smith asked, “What?”
“You shouldn’t have been there,” Barnwell said. “Why didn’t you turn this over to Eric? He would have handled it. The stress isn’t good for you.”
“It had to be me,” Smith said. “Alexandra’s people wouldn’t have passed the message along.”
“Tell me about the attack again.”
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
Smith recounted the attack, reaching the point where the gunman had entered the diner, and then his voice trailed off. “That’s… odd.”
“What’s that?” Barnwell asked.
“We were at the diner and then the gunman… I remember Nancy killing him, but I can’t seem to quite picture it.”
“You talked about it on the flight back?”
“Yes.”
“You do not remember the actual event, you remember the discussion of the event. Stressful events cause a rush of neurotransmitters, but the drugs you’re on are disrupting your short-term memory formation.”
“My God, Hob. I’m losing my mind.” He struggled to catch his breath. “I’m losing my mind.”
Barnwell’s lips trembled, and he wiped at his eyes. “Memory is a tricky thing. We lose them each and every day. Just a fraction of what we experience gets converted to long-term memory. I’m afraid it’s getting worse, and it’s going to get much worse.”
Smith struggled to stand from the chair. He wiped at his eyes and found that he was crying. “Damn it, Hob. Do something!”
“There’s nothing I can do,” Barnwell shouted. “We’ve tried everything. You would have reached this point months ago if we hadn’t been pumping you full of drugs and using that damned brain stimulator!”
“There — there must be something,” Smith said. He paced the small office on wobbly legs. “It can’t just end like this. Not like this.”
Barnwell glanced down at the floor. “Normally you would have months of good and bad days, but I’m afraid it’s going to be…”
Smith stopped pacing. “How much time, Hob? A few weeks?”
Barnwell shook his head and whispered, “A few days.”
“What should I do?” he asked, his voice cracking. “What about Alexandra?”
“You’re simply out of time, Fulton. You need to rest now.”
For the first time in his adult life, Smith felt as helpless as a child. He smiled sadly as the tears ran down his cheeks and splattered on the concrete floor. “You’ve been a good friend, Hob. We just… got old.”
As they approached the door to Dewey’s office, Nancy turned to Eric and asked, “Do you think finding my mother will make me… normal?”
Eric glanced around. The tunnel was empty except for them. He took her hand and said, “You deserve to be happy.”
Nancy’s face softened. She looked young and vulnerable, two things he had never equated with her. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I know.”
She leaned forward and kissed him. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, and he felt an almost electric shock run through his body.
Blood rushed to his groin, and he felt himself stiffen. Before he could even think to kiss her back, she pulled away and smiled sadly. “I never asked to be like this, Eric. I hope…”
His voice was shaky. “What?”
“I hope I can find the part of me that’s missing. Then I can be the woman you need me to be.”
He wanted to grab her and pin her arms against the cold stone wall while grinding himself again her, but he settled for leaning in close to her neck. “I don’t want you to be anything other than what you are. I trust you. I don’t give that out lightly.”
Nancy smiled. It was a fragile thing, full of awkward longing. “Would it be bad if I wanted to go back to your quarters?”
The image of her naked and writhing in pleasure beneath him was almost impossible to get out of his head. “Let’s focus on your mother. There will be time for… you know… afterward.”
Nancy looked like she wanted to argue, but she straightened her blouse and said, “I’ll hold you to that. You’ll be exhausted by the time I’m done with you.”
She turned and continued down the hall. Eric followed and halted behind her in front of Dewey’s office. She gave the poster of the blond woman on the door a sour look and then knocked loudly. “Dewey. I need your help.”
The door opened moments later, and Dewey peeked out. “Nancy?”
Nancy brushed past him, and Eric followed. The arrangement of Dewey’s office had been reconfigured since Eric’s last visit, and what looked suspiciously like a dentist’s chair sat in the middle of the room with an array of monitors suspended from the ceiling.
For the hundredth time, he resolved to pay closer attention to the man’s work.