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Neither Pam nor Tim was particularly hungry, but they knew that eating was important. They both decided on BLTs, so Tim started to fry up some bacon. Meanwhile, Darrel came into the kitchen to ask if everything was okay. Pam said that it was, but she did need to speak with him, and they both walked outside. Tim wondered what Pam might need to tell Darrel that she could not say in front of him and asked her about it when she returned.
“Darrel takes orders from me, Tim, and me alone. If I started giving him orders in front of you, then he might become suspicious I was being coerced.”
“Okay, I get it. So, what orders have you given Darrel?”
“I told him that we’re on total lockdown until Sunday morning, which means nobody gets in.”
“Or out?” Tim asked.
“Now why would you want to leave here on such a dark and stormy night?”
Pam was kidding, since it was a very pleasant evening for the first week of March. But it showed Tim that she was getting her sense of humor back, which meant that Pam was beginning to relax.
Pam stuck her head in the refrigerator and began to remove items, then started chopping some lettuce and tomatoes for the sandwiches. “So, Tim, you mentioned a while back that you were beginning to have some doubts about your retrograde amnesia diagnosis?” she asked.
“Did you ever meet my neurologist, Pam?”
“I remember a little skinny man who seemed to have lots of nervous energy hanging around your hospital bed. Was that the guy?”
“Sounds like him. Anyways, he was found dead over in Fells Point Friday night.”
Pam stopped chopping the lettuce for a second and looked at Tim. “When was the last time you had an appointment with him?”
“The day Sebastian revealed himself. As a matter of fact, Sebastian and Toby met me in the hallway outside his office.”
“What did you and your doctor...”
“Dr. Gray,” Tim supplied.
“What did you and Dr. Gray speak about during your appointment?”
“I made the appointment mostly because I was concerned about my mental state. I was apparently behaving rather bizarrely but had no memory of it.”
“Oh, was that the time you ended up in the John Hopkins Psychiatric Ward?”
“You heard about that?” Tim asked in surprise.
“I heard that they caught you running up and down some street in Baltimore screaming your head off. I thought that you had finally gone around the bend, honey,” Pam said with a sigh.
“Hey, I was afraid I had dementia like your father, Pam.”
Pam’s father’s illness was a very sensitive subject. She’d never visited her father after he had been diagnosed, which was a sore subject with the rest of Pam’s family. Pam was also terrified that she would also develop the disease one day. Tim, of course, knew all of this and was aware that he needed to tiptoe around the subject.
“But Dr. Gray did not see any evidence of brain damage,” he continued. “As a matter of fact, he commented that I appeared to have the brain of someone in their late 30s.”
Pam continued to make dinner but appeared otherwise lost in thought. Tim thought that his wife was most likely revisiting her father’s illness, beginning when he simply began to repeat himself. Pam’s father’s mental capacity quickly began to decline after that.
Tim knew that thinking about dementia would send Pam into a funk and was mad at himself for even mentioning it. “Earth to Pam, Earth to Pam,” he said.
Pam looked at him. “I’m with you, Tim. Dr. Gray said you had the brain of a teenager.”
“A thirty-year-old, Pam, but yes, that’s what he said. He also said that people’s brains tend to shrink over time, but my brain had not. But who knows? Maybe it was all complete bullshit.”
“Okay, but I still don’t get your point. You went to your neurologist, and now he’s dead. What’s the connection?”
“Who told you about my amnesia, Pam?”
“Sebastian told me when I visited you at John Hopkins. You had no clue who I was. You had no clue who Sebastian was. You also had no clue who you were.” Pam pointed her finger at Tim as she said this.
“Pam, what happened to me in China?” Tim asked.
“You were in an automobile accident, Tim.”
“How do you know that, Pam? Were you there when the accident happened?”
“No, I had gone ahead.”
“So how do you know I was in an accident?”
Pam frowned. “Sebastian was able to get a message to me.”
“What kind of message? I mean, what did he say, Pam?”
“He said that you and he had been in an accident. He said that you were driving.”
“I did not have an international driver’s license. I was not supposed to be driving.”
“Well, it would not have been the first time you broke the rules, Tim,” Pam answered sharply.
“True, but not this time,” Tim answered. “But you did shoot Ms. Lin, didn’t you, Pam?”
“Yes, but only because I was not planning on spending the rest of my life in a Chinese prison.”
“And Sebastian told me that you were saving my life, Pam.”
“Well, she did have the gun pointed at you, darling.”
Pam had finished putting together the lettuce and tomato and bacon. “The sandwiches will be ready in ten minutes,” she announced as she placed some slices of bread in the toaster. “Let’s have another drink in the meantime.”
Tim mixed two vodka martinis and sat down opposite Pam in the library.
“So, Tim, cut to the chase,” she demanded. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“What I’m trying to tell you, Pam, is that I was not in any traffic accident in China. I was drugged by Sebastian. As a matter of fact, I have been drugged for the last two years. I have been drugged since I returned from China by the late Dr. Gray. He was giving me Propofol without my knowledge.”
“What is Propofol?” Pam asked.
“It’s a drug used to put people to sleep, but a recent drug test found that I appeared to have quite a lot of it in my system. Apparently, Dr. Gray was administering it to me in timed-release capsules. Propofol also has quite the effect on the memory, Pam. Almost like amnesia.”
Pam looked at Tim incredulously. “I’m not sure if I like your tone of voice, Tim. Are you suggesting that I had a role in this plot?”
“I don’t know, Pam. You’ll have to tell me. I was told that you were dead. Why?”
“Because I wanted you out of my fucking life, Tim. You and your constant whining and complaining. You were holding me back. No one would give me a chance for any station manager position because they all knew that if they hired me, they also got fucking you.”
Tim was very surprised at Pam’s outburst. He’d been hoping that Pam was not part of the conspiracy to keep him drugged, but he never suspected that she was responsible for telling Tim that she was dead. It had never occurred to Tim that he had been any kind of drag on Pam’s career. Tim viewed Pam’s lack of success at upper management as her own fault, but perhaps she had a point. Tim’s lack of seriousness on and off the job certainly did not endear him to anyone. He remembered one of his performance reviews. “Tim is an exceptional case officer,” the comment read, “but his lack of seriousness does not help him or his team.” At the time, Tim had been proud of that trait, but he’d never thought about the negative effects it might have had on his colleagues or his wife.
Pam continued. “So, Sebastian and I thought that if you were told that I was dead, you would just accept it and not bother trying to find me. Trying to find a wife you didn’t remember anyhow... I thought that I deserved a new start.”
“What about the Agency, Pam? Do they think I’m dead as well?”
“No, as far as the Agency is concerned, you transferred to the Social Security Administration and retired from there. You are just another retired federal employee under the jurisdiction of the Office of Personnel Management. You are only dead to me.”
“Dead to you, Pam? You know, I had forgotten what a sweetheart you could be. If that old Land Rover outside still runs, then just give me the keys and I’ll be out of here in ten minutes. It’s been fun playing house for the last couple of days, but maybe it’s time I get back to Baltimore.”
“Tim, we are way past that now. If what you say about Sebastian is true, then you will not make it to Monday morning, and that goes for me, too. Come on. Let’s get something to eat.”
Pam got up and headed back to the kitchen, taking the bread out of the toaster. Tim figured that Pam’s outburst was most likely related to his mentioning Pam’s father’s dementia, but he also knew that Pam was telling him the truth about wanting him out of her life. She was not the type of woman who would make such a statement, only to take it back an hour later.
Tim walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. Pam handed him a plate with a perfectly made BLT on it, just like one he would expect to be served at a restaurant. Pam never did anything half-assed.
They both ate in silence. Tim tried to let go of Pam’s comments but found that her words still stung. He really did just want to leave and return to the life he had been living for the last two years.
Finally, Pam spoke. “So, you believe that Dr. Gray was administering drugs that resulted in amnesia? How would he be able to do that?”
Tim was not sure if Pam was interested in his hypothesis about how Sebastian and Dr. Gray were able to keep him dazed and confused for the last two years or if she was just trying to restart the conversation. As far as Tim knew, Pam may have been in on it as well.
“Dr. Gray wrote me prescriptions that he had me fill at a compounding pharmacy. He told me that a regular drug store like a CVS would not carry the medication and that it had to be made up special.”
“What’s the name of the pharmacy, Tim?”
“Kelley’s Pharmacy, which is right down the street from John Hopkins. It’s the pharmacy that makes the compounds used in lethal injections.”
“That’s appropriate, I guess,” Pam said, but Tim felt that she was still just trying to make conversation and wasn’t all that interested.
Tim continued anyway. “So, like a dummy, I just had it filled each month. Dr. Gray told me that the medication was to prevent seizures and headaches, plus it would help me sleep.”
“And it worked?” Pam asked.
“Yeah, it worked great. I couldn’t remember shit.”
Pam and Tim went back to eating in silence. When they both finished, Tim collected the plates and glasses and placed them in the dishwasher. Pam stood up and motioned for Tim to follow her.
Pam headed down to the basement and asked Tim to take a seat at the worktable. Next, she walked over to the gun locker and entered the combination. She removed what appeared to be two pistols and four magazines of ammunition, then placed the items in front of Tim.
“I was hoping that we would not get to this point, but it appears we have,” Pam said as she picked up one of the two weapons. She double-checked that the pistol was unloaded before handing it to Tim along with the two magazines. “Have you been certified on this weapon, Tim?”
It was Tim’s nature to make a joke about everything, and guns were no exception, but Pam’s outburst about Tim’s lack of seriousness had changed the tone of their relationship. “Yes, Pam, I’ve qualified on the range,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked you, Tim. Are you certified to handle this weapon?”
There was a difference. Qualified meant that you scored over 70% shooting at a fixed target, whereas certification meant that you had a complete understanding of how to operate the firearm. The GLOCK G19 9mm was the last weapon that Tim had trained on. The first weapon that Tim had ever handled in his life was a Smith and Wesson .38 caliber revolver, which everyone trained on at spy school, but it was years before Tim needed to carry a weapon on assignment. As a rule, spies did not carry guns. Only the ones in the movies did. Getting caught packing a gun by the local cops in many countries would get you thrown in jail and then deported, which would defeat the purpose of you being there in the first place. Plus, the old saying of “never pointing a weapon at someone unless you intend to use it” was very true, so the gun play was always best left to the contractors who had experience in shooting at and killing people.
With all this said, there were occasions where a firearm was required. Tim and Pam were in one now. He picked up one of the magazines and closed his eyes as to try and determine its weight.
“They’re 24s,” Pam remarked referring to the number of bullets in the magazine.
Tim was about to push the magazine into the handle of the luger when Pam stopped him. “I would prefer that you did not have a loaded firearm in the house, Tim.”
“An unloaded gun is kind of worthless, Pam,” he said. But he placed both the gun and the clip back on the table.
“Well, assuming we will be okay for today, before we do anything else, let’s go over to the range and get some practice.”
“Where is the range?” Tim asked, thinking that they would have to drive to Leesburg.
“Just behind the house.” Pam pointed in the general direction. “We will need to get up early, so don’t stay up too late.”
Pam had pulled back and released the slide on her Glock 19, and it made a distinct click. She turned and headed back upstairs.
“Don’t worry, mom, we’re going to bed right now,” Tim replied, but Pam was already out of hearing range. Just as well, he thought. She probably would not have found Tim’s comment particularly funny.