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Tim’s first thought was to destroy the fork, but maybe he could use it as some kind of leverage. “Let me go or I’ll kill the fork!”
As he looked around it, though, it became apparent that the fork had been taken. Oh well, Tim thought. It would not have been too difficult for them to make a new one, anyway. Or would it?
Maybe that was the real question—and the reason that Tim was here in the first place. Tim’s training had taught him that when a group decides to kill a head of state, the less people who knew about it, the better. So how many people knew about this plan? 10? 20? It was hard to say, but it was most likely no more than 20. The three of them and Ajacks made four, but then there had to be some management types and a couple of agents in the Secret Service who were aware of the plan, plus some people at the FBI. There was certainly no love lost between the FBI and this administration, Tim thought. So, there would be a total of between 20 to 25 conspirators involved, and Tim was being used simply for economic reasons.
Like many occupations, the modern-day Agency had become a company of specialists, i.e., men and women who performed one particular task and only that particular task. Tim, on the other hand, was an old school spy who knew how to do a lot of different things. In the modern-day Agency, developing the fork might have taken 10 to 20 employees at the minimum. Engineers to design it, mechanics to put it together, chemists to test the poisons, testers to make sure it all worked, with meetings, meetings, and more meetings. The inclusion of Tim simply bypassed all of that red tape.
Although he no longer had the fork in his possession, Tim had determined that Sebastian and Pam still needed him, which would give him some more time to figure things out.
Tim pulled out his cell phone and checked both his voicemail and text messages. Nothing from Mary Ann. He had texted her yesterday, and it was a little unlike her not to at least leave some kind of message, even if she was pissed off at him. It was also not lost on Tim that Toby was not around. Somebody had brought a car around for Sebastian during the day on Friday, and he had indicated to Pam that he would not be spending the night.
None of this meant anything, at least in regard to Mary Ann and her safety. Sebastian must also have a life somewhere, and maybe he just wanted to take the weekend off from his work. The work of planning assassinations.
The door at the top of the steps opened, and someone began to descend down to the basement.
Tim thought it would be Pam coming to yell at him some more, or perhaps even to apologize—with Pam, you never could guess. Instead, it was the deep and British voice of Sebastian Oak that called out. “Tim? Are you down here? I need to speak with you before I leave.”
“Sure, Sebastian, come on down.” Unintentionally, Tim’s tone had sounded like the announcer on a television game show.
Sebastian entered the laboratory and saw Tim sitting on a stool at one end of the granite worktable. Sebastian sat at the other end, made himself comfortable, and began to speak. “Tim, I feel that I owe you an apology. It was me, after all, who suggested to Pam that we bring you back in, and it was me who tricked you into traveling to the Dominican Republic.”
“Yes, that’s a good place to start, Sebastian. Why did you lure me to Santa Domingo?”
“We were attempting to reverse your amnesia, my friend.”
Tim and Sebastian were far from friends at the moment, but Tim was very interested in finally finding out the purpose of his so-called medical vacation. “Reversing my amnesia, Sebastian?” he asked. “My doctors at John Hopkins told me that could not be done.”
“The FDA has not approved any drugs or treatments involving drugs for amnesia. However, that does not mean that no treatments exist. There are actually quite a lot of things that can be tried,” Sebastian said.
“Things that can be tried?” Tim repeated skeptically. “What kind of things?”
“Well, I’m not a medical man, Tim, and you know that, but I think that we can both say that your treatment was something of a success.”
This was, of course, a rhetorical question. Tim could not deny that whatever treatments were performed had achieved a certain amount of success. At one point, he’d determined that he had lost around four years of his memory, but now it was maybe just a few months. He could not be sure of that, but Tim now recalled most of his life up until the trip to China. That was supposed to be his last assignment before retirement—and, in a sense, it had been.
“If you arranged all of this, Sebastian, why did you insist on collecting $17,500 from me?”
“I said that unapproved methods were applied, Tim. I did not say they were free.” Sebastian was almost laughing now. “Besides, the doctors and locals had to be paid. But if you’re so concerned about the money, I’ll pay you back personally. Will you take a check?”
Tim could not believe that Sebastian had the gall to offer this, but he also somehow wasn’t surprised. “Sure, Sebastian, a check will be fine.”
Sebastian produced a checkbook from his suit jacket and began to write. Both of the men knew what a senseless gesture this was, since Tim’s fate had already been sealed. Wising off to the department head certainly did not endear him to anyone, but that probably did not make any difference. Tim figured that he had perhaps until Wednesday, the day of delivery, or maybe a day or two past that. As soon as everyone was convinced the fork would work, Tim was a dead man.
Sebastian pushed the check across the table and over to Tim. Tim picked it up in order to examine it.
Sebastian and Molly Oak, the check read in the left corner. 2365 Eagle Cir, Bethesda, Maryland 20819. Pay to the order of Tim Hall, Seventeen thousand and five hundred dollars and no cents. In the memo line was written, “For Services Rendered.”
Tim’s curiosity got the better of him. “Have I ever met your wife Molly?”
“Oh no, my wife has no idea what I do for a living. She thinks I’m in the import-export business.”
“Yes, aren’t we all?” Tim replied, and both men had a laugh. That was often how these kinds of things went, Tim thought. Nothing personal, this is just part of my job; it was just the standard line people in intelligence gave to one another.
“So, Sebastian, I haven’t seen your friend Toby for a day. Where has he gone off to?”
“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Sebastian said with some excitement in his voice. “Toby and Mary Ann have decided to get back together, and Toby requested some time off in order to make that happen. Toby sent me a picture of the two lovebirds.” Sebastian produced his iPhone and showed Tim a selfie. In it was Toby with his arm around Mary Ann’s shoulder, but it looked a little like a chokehold, and Tim could not see Mary Ann’s hands.
“Now, look at this one. I have to agree with you about Mary Ann, Tim. She is exceptionally beautiful,” Sebastian said as he showed Tim the picture. It was a close up of Mary Ann, and Tim saw what appeared to be a bruise below Mary Ann’s right eye, partially covered up by makeup. Sebastian turned his phone off and placed it back in his pocket.
“Toby wanted to be sure I let you know that there is no longer any reason for you to text, call, or email her. In other words, it’s over between you two.” Sebastian got up to leave, adding, “Maybe Pam will take you back.”
When he started heading for the basement steps, Tim was on the other man’s back before Sebastian knew it. Tim took Sebastian by the shoulders, turned him around and shoved him against the stone basement wall.
“Look, you fuck,” Tim’s nose was about two inches from Sebastian face. “Mary Ann doesn’t know anything about any of this, so why don’t you leave her alone?”
Sebastian just smiled at Tim. “That is totally up to you, Tim,” he answered pleasantly. “Yes, Mary Ann and Toby do not know anything about any of this, and my intention has always been to allow both of them to return to Las Vegas. I am not a murderer, no matter what you may think; but I am also not about to sabotage my operation because you have the hots for some Las Vegas bartender. Now, please let go of me before Darrel gets here.”
At that moment, the basement door opened and Darrel, Pam’s security, came down the stairs with his pistol drawn. He had obviously been watching everything on the security cameras.
“Step back, Mr. Hall,” Darrel commanded, and Tim took both of his hands off of Sebastian and raised them in the air. He knew the drill.
“Place your hands behind your head and lace your fingers together.”
“Everything is okay, Darrel,” Sebastian interrupted. “Mr. Hall and I were just having a difference of opinion.” He casually began to straighten the lapels on his suit jacket. “You can leave us; I’m sure that Mr. Hall will behave himself now.”
“Okay, Mr. Oak, as long as you’re sure.” Darrel turned and headed back upstairs.
When he was gone, Sebastian smirked at Tim. “As you can see, Tim, I’m holding all of the cards. All Pam and I want from you is just to cooperate, and who knows? You may even get the chance to cash my check. So, think about it.”
Sebastian turned and headed back upstairs while Tim bought his hands back down to his sides. He certainly did have a lot to think about.