doctor-patient routines. I wondered if she really meant it or if she was running a bluff. Either way, the results were likely to be painful.
“When does the game start?” I asked.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Are we playing under those rules right now?” I asked. “I don’t want to incur an unnecessary crack on the head for breaking them.”
She hesitated. “Let’s say the rules don’t apply yet. Why?”
“I just wanted to get it on record that you’re wrong, Dr. Somerset. Unless you’ve got some very good tricks in your back room—I suppose there’s a back room full of tricks in this place—you’re not going to get anything out of me about a certain period of my life, not unless your tricks are good enough to let
me
get through to what’s missing. I don’t know what’s there myself, so I can’t tell you about it. A little early stuff has come back, but there’s still no recent material in sight. Unless you’ve got something that’ll let me break through into the storage vault, you’ll be wasting your time asking questions about it.”
“I have plenty of time. I don’t mind wasting a little.”
“Sure,” I said. It was no use, but I had to keep trying. Something might register that would save me suffering later. I went on: “It’s what you’ll be doing while you’re wasting that time that bothers me, Doctor. I may not know exactly who I am, but I do know I’m no hero. Please get that straight. I’m not about to suffer in stoical silence if I can help it. Any answers I’ve got, you’ve got. All you have to do is ask. Don’t go haywire with a lot of scientific tortures just because you refuse to recognize the truth, which is that I simply can’t remember certain things.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Tortures? Who said anything about tortures, Mr. Madden? And what does a respectable photographer know about tortures, anyway?”
“Nuts,” I said. “Your boy Dugan isn’t exactly closemouthed; he likes a spot of menace. And he brought me here with a gun. I was knocked down when I tried to leave. I’ve just been told that if I refuse to answer questions you’ll try to persuade me to change my mind. Persuade! Any TV-watcher worth his salt knows what that means, particularly in a place like this. How stupid am I supposed to be?”
She studied me carefully for a moment. I’d made a small impression. Maybe I’d even implanted a seed of doubt. It was all I could hope for.
“Who’s Helm?”
The question caught me by surprise. “What?”
The woman was leaning forward across the desk, still watching me closely. “You just said you’d give me all the answers you had. Somebody called you at the hospital and used that name. Tell me about it.”
I grimaced. “So my room and phone were bugged? That explains a few things.” I shrugged. “I can’t tell you who Helm is, but I’m Helm.”
“Explain.”
“Let’s put it this way,” I said carefully. “A bit of ancient history returned, maybe as a direct result of hearing that name. I now know that I was a kid named Matthew Helm going to school during the week and hunting with his daddy on weekends. That I remember. Then I remember being a young fellow named Helm taking pictures for various newspapers. Then there’s a long hiatus. Then I woke up in a hospital and was told that I’m now a dedicated nature photographer named Madden recuperating from a terrible flying accident. I don’t remember anything about that. Aside from minor details, which I’ll happily supply without coercion, that’s all you’re going to get if you work on me a week, because that’s all there is to get, Doctor.”
She asked flatly, as if she hadn’t really been listening: “Where’s Walters?”
There it was, the bad news Dugan had hinted at, confirmed. If they were interested in Pilot Walters’ last flight, if that was what the whole thing was all about, I was in for a very unhappy time.
I said, “I was told that Herbert
“When does the game start?” I asked.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Are we playing under those rules right now?” I asked. “I don’t want to incur an unnecessary crack on the head for breaking them.”
She hesitated. “Let’s say the rules don’t apply yet. Why?”
“I just wanted to get it on record that you’re wrong, Dr. Somerset. Unless you’ve got some very good tricks in your back room—I suppose there’s a back room full of tricks in this place—you’re not going to get anything out of me about a certain period of my life, not unless your tricks are good enough to let
me
get through to what’s missing. I don’t know what’s there myself, so I can’t tell you about it. A little early stuff has come back, but there’s still no recent material in sight. Unless you’ve got something that’ll let me break through into the storage vault, you’ll be wasting your time asking questions about it.”
“I have plenty of time. I don’t mind wasting a little.”
“Sure,” I said. It was no use, but I had to keep trying. Something might register that would save me suffering later. I went on: “It’s what you’ll be doing while you’re wasting that time that bothers me, Doctor. I may not know exactly who I am, but I do know I’m no hero. Please get that straight. I’m not about to suffer in stoical silence if I can help it. Any answers I’ve got, you’ve got. All you have to do is ask. Don’t go haywire with a lot of scientific tortures just because you refuse to recognize the truth, which is that I simply can’t remember certain things.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Tortures? Who said anything about tortures, Mr. Madden? And what does a respectable photographer know about tortures, anyway?”
“Nuts,” I said. “Your boy Dugan isn’t exactly closemouthed; he likes a spot of menace. And he brought me here with a gun. I was knocked down when I tried to leave. I’ve just been told that if I refuse to answer questions you’ll try to persuade me to change my mind. Persuade! Any TV-watcher worth his salt knows what that means, particularly in a place like this. How stupid am I supposed to be?”
She studied me carefully for a moment. I’d made a small impression. Maybe I’d even implanted a seed of doubt. It was all I could hope for.
“Who’s Helm?”
The question caught me by surprise. “What?”
The woman was leaning forward across the desk, still watching me closely. “You just said you’d give me all the answers you had. Somebody called you at the hospital and used that name. Tell me about it.”
I grimaced. “So my room and phone were bugged? That explains a few things.” I shrugged. “I can’t tell you who Helm is, but I’m Helm.”
“Explain.”
“Let’s put it this way,” I said carefully. “A bit of ancient history returned, maybe as a direct result of hearing that name. I now know that I was a kid named Matthew Helm going to school during the week and hunting with his daddy on weekends. That I remember. Then I remember being a young fellow named Helm taking pictures for various newspapers. Then there’s a long hiatus. Then I woke up in a hospital and was told that I’m now a dedicated nature photographer named Madden recuperating from a terrible flying accident. I don’t remember anything about that. Aside from minor details, which I’ll happily supply without coercion, that’s all you’re going to get if you work on me a week, because that’s all there is to get, Doctor.”
She asked flatly, as if she hadn’t really been listening: “Where’s Walters?”
There it was, the bad news Dugan had hinted at, confirmed. If they were interested in Pilot Walters’ last flight, if that was what the whole thing was all about, I was in for a very unhappy time.
I said, “I was told that Herbert
Similar Books
