What Rough Beast

My loving wife had business elsewhere, or perhaps they wouldn't let her visit me. I remember thinking that Dani had resorted to divine intervention. Maybe Vanessa didn't know anybody holy enough?

Anyhow, that was a relief. I was getting some very bad vibes off that woman.

The next couple of days were busy. Each one featured testing, scanning and psychiatric interviews. The docs even tried hypnosis, which kicked me into a PTSD episode. They considered that "progress."

I couldn't remember anything meaningful. That is, if I consciously tried to do it. But I was starting to get flashes of explicit events. I told the docs what was happening, and they looked wise.

Apparently, there are a bunch of different kinds of memory and one of those is "episodic memory." Those were the memories I'd lost. Episodic memory has subcomponents and one of those is "emotional memory." That type of memory is very powerful, and it seemed to be tied to my PTSD event.

I knew the PTSD episode wasn't real. But it had an authentic feel about it, which was what I told the docs. They began to focus on something in my brain called my amygdala.

Also, getting so much basic personal information was beginning to rewire my brain. I knew that I was thirty-nine years old and had spent almost seventeen years working for the CIA. I knew that I lived in Dulwich Village with my wife Vanessa. I knew I could afford the two-million uplift on the mortgage because I had family money.

We had chosen Dulwich because it was convenient to the Embassy and Vanessa coveted the Victorian mansion that we lived in. I worked at the Embassy as a "Liaison Officer," which I knew was another word for Clandestine Service operative. By all accounts we were a perfect couple.

My brother George was older and more distinguished. At least that's what everybody in the family thought. He'd ridden the West Point, Afghanistan, Iraq merry-go-round to a high mucky-muck position on the strategic planning staff for US-EUCOM.

He was a confirmed bachelor and since he was stationed in Germany, he stayed with us on the holidays. Some of the returning flashes of memory were about him. I couldn't tease anything useful out of those moments. But my sense was that he was very dismissive of me as the younger brother.

My wife finally showed up late on the fourth day. She was made up to the nines and trailing a cloud of exotic perfume. It was like she had just come back from a date.

She was smiling brightly and full of cheerful concern. She laid a passionate kiss on me. Then she reached to fluff my pillows saying, "I'm here dear and I won't leave your side until you have fully recovered." Her words made me think of Dani.

Dani's loss was eating me up. I hoped my little rectory cat had moved on without too much pain. My last sight was her shining hair. Her head was down, and she was holding her hands over her face as she cried. Every time that image appeared, a crippling pang of regret hit me.

We had never said it, and we had very little time together to cement it. But I loved her heart and soul. I also recognized that Vanessa's presence eliminated any hope of ever making Dani mine.

Meanwhile Vanessa was settling in for the long-haul. The room had a small sleeping accommodation and she was laying out the contents of a roller-bag like she was moving into the Ritz. She said breezily, "I'll sleep here my love."

I tried to keep the disappointment off my face. I really didn't want Vanessa around. I didn't know whether it was because she continued to radiate condescension, or the fact that I was deeply in love with Dani. I said testily, "Did anybody mention when I can get out?"

She said, "The doctors say you're making progress. They think that you were poisoned by something called," and she hesitated like she was trying to pronounce it, "Phalloidin."

She added, "They're trying an experimental treatment to flush it out, with a drug called," and her brow wrinkled again, "... something-Actin." That explained the drip that I'd had in my arm for the past three days.

I said, "Parts of my memory ARE returning."

She got an intensely focused look on her gorgeous face and said tersely, "How much do you remember."

I said, "I don't remember much so far. Maybe I never will. But there are flashes of scenes from my recent past."

I added, "I haven't been able to hold on to the memories long enough to make much sense of them. But I am definitely starting to recall happenings prior to my waking up on that ship."

She said idly, "Does any of that include the SIMs? They'll let you out if you can remember what happened to them."

I got the feeling she was pushing me, probing. I said, "The memories are sliding-by too fast for me to hold on to. But the progression is starting to slow down. I'm sure I'll dredge up whatever they need sooner or later. In the meantime, tell us about our life together."

Vanessa was Irish, from Cork, and we had met in London at the Mahiki Mayfair. We had been married for seven years. It was a whirlwind courtship that led to a classic Irish country wedding.

My attraction to her wasn't hard to understand. Vanessa was a rare Celtic beauty, ideal facial features, a model's slim, supple body on a five-foot-seven frame. She also radiated the sort of primitive sexual hunger you'd normally associate with human sacrifices.

She told me that I'd said that I worked at the Embassy on HUMINT coordination for the countries that act as buffer states between NATO and the Russians. She said somewhat disdainfully, "It was in an analyst's role, not a field agent."

She added that I HAD been on a number of trips to places like Estonia, Ukraine and Belarus to gather data. There was something in that part of her story that didn't ring true. Or, perhaps I'd told her that to cover-up my actual role.

Our marriage only reinforced the idea that we were both too in love with ourselves to possibly love anybody else. As she described it, our life together one of decadence. I had inherited family money and we were industriously trying to spend every penny.

But it was my brother George who was the true Lord of the Manor. Apparently, he was larger than life. He was in the military, so he didn't spend as lavishly as we did. But he always brought extravagant gifts for Vanessa on his visits; and he visited often.

According to Vanessa, I worshiped George as my older brother and he loved me. Perhaps that was true. But I had the impression that he treated me with contempt, probably because I wasn't in the military.

Vanessa was just wrapping up when the nurse arrived to give me my nightly sleeping medicine. It was some kind of heavy-duty horse-pill meant to drug me like an animal. The first time I took it, it put me in la-la land for nine full hours and I was hung over for half the next day.

I told the nurse that I didn't want it. But Vanessa said, still focusing intently, "Take it baby, it might help you get your memory back. I'll be here all the time."

I didn't want to argue. So, I popped the pill under my tongue and took a big swig of water. Then, as I furtively palmed the pill and dropped it into the bedding I was thinking, "I must have learned a few things down on the Farm."

I was wakened shortly thereafter by a glowing cell phone. I heard Vanessa's whispered voice say, "I had them give him Midazolam. He's out-cold."

There was conversation on the other end and she said, "God, I miss you too baby. But we have to get those SIMs and he's the only one who knows where he hid them."

There was some more conversation and I heard my wife say in a flirty voice, "Okay, I'll meet you in Queen Square Garden in twenty minutes. But it's going to have to be a quickie. I love you."

She looked in my direction. My eyes were closed. I was tracking her by sound not sight.

Vanessa rose and walked quietly out of the room. I could hear her heels clicking off down the hall. I jumped out of bed and rummaged around in the closet. My clothes were in there, neatly stored in a plastic bag.

I stuck my head out. Neither Frick, nor Frack, was there. They probably went home once the hospital staff knocked me out for the night. I crept down the hall, waited until the nurse at the station had turned her back. Then I scampered down the stairs and out the door.

Vanessa was just disappearing into the lush foliage of Queen Square Garden, which was directly across the street. I crept after her.

She never noticed. Of course, why would she even look? Her clueless husband was lying drugged in a bed in the hospital behind her.

Vanessa walked past the statue of Queen Charlotte. Charlotte was George IIIs wife. Yep, he's the guy mentioned in the Declaration of Independence. George was off his rocker for a good part of his reign and the neurological hospital was built to treat him. Charlotte was the sponsor. Hence the statue.

My wife stopped in the open area. She was looking around excitedly when a shadowy figure emerged from behind the statue. He walked silently up behind her and put his arms around her. Vanessa sighed and melted back into him. Then she turned inside his grasp and they shared an ardent kiss. My damaged synapses began firing and I knew that the figure was my long-lost brother George.

Perhaps it was the treatment kicking in, or maybe it was the sight of my brother and my wife locked in passionate embrace. But the dam broke and a cascade of memories poured out. I remembered EVERYTHING.

*****

I could see the sneer on George's face as he told me about the death-cap mushroom. Vanessa and I had been dining with him at his Thames-side pied-a-terre. He was stationed in Stuttgart. Only my wife and I knew about the London residence.

Vanessa was in a long revealing black silk gown. Her dusky skin was like satin. George and I were in formal attire. We weren't going to the opera. We dressed that way because we were pretentious assholes.

George said gleefully, "Well little brother, I've finally gotten my hands on something that is going to put me where I rightfully belong." He had always had delusions of grandeur.

He reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and produced a black ballistic nylon holder. It was like a big fat notebook, which was folded over itself several times. Then, he gleefully handed it to me. He loved to show-off.

Unfolding it I discovered that it was full of dozens of neatly organized SIM cards; the kind that you put in cell-phones and tablets. I said, "What's this bro?"

He laughed and said, "These are the keys for Sippernet's one-time-pad encryption."

That was stunning. Anybody who had those SIMs could decode any message sent on the U.S.'s most secure military network. I looked at him aghast and said, "What are you doing with those??!!"

He said condescendingly, "I borrowed them from DISA. It's amazing how easy it is for a two-star to walk into-and-out of a military facility"

I said horrified, "If they catch you with these, you're going to get life in Leavenworth."

Vanessa laughed scornfully and said, "George is going to be one of the richest men in Russia. It's already arranged. But first we need to do something about you. "

This was too much. I looked at her astounded. I said, "You knew about this??!!"

She laughed contemptuously and said, "It was my idea you fool. I'm going to Russia with him. We've been lovers since the day we met." That was seven years ago at the wedding!!

Vanessa said sneering, "George is just so much more of a man than you are." Then she added, with a twinkle in her eye, "And I could never resist a man in uniform."

She looked at me with fond disdain and said, "You had your uses. But I deserve so much more. Now I'm going to have it all."

What do you say when your wife announces a betrayal of that magnitude? I should have guessed that Vanessa was behind George's blatant act of treachery. He wasn't smart enough.

I just sat there open mouthed, unable to react. I finally stuttered, "Why are you telling me this now?" God!! I sounded like such a hopeless weenie.

George laughed scornfully and said, "Because we need you as a distraction, old boy." My two-timing bitch wife tittered. Apparently, she found my ruination pretty funny.

My temper was getting the best of me. I looked at the adulterous pair. George might be the military man. But he was soft, from far too much time behind a desk. I had been a field agent for seventeen years and I knew I could take him down.

I said teeth gritted, "I'll kill both of you before I let that happen." That was the point where a tidal wave of agony broke over me.

I must have cried out because George looked across the table and said placidly, "That's a death-cap mushroom, old-boy. They've been using it to get rid of inconvenient people since Roman times."

He added, "That's how the Emperor Claudius was removed from office." Then he laughed at his pedantic little joke. My brother really was a self-important d-bag.

He added, "It was extra garnish on your steak. We added it just for you. When they break in looking for me, all they're going to find is you. You can try to explain where Vanessa and I are."

Then he got a gleeful look and said, "Oh wait... I forgot... you won't be able to remember your own name - if you manage to live. It will slow them down for a while."

My world narrowed to a pinprick and there was blackness. I awoke a short time later. I was lying on the kitchen floor in a big pool of vomit. The involuntary puking might have saved me. I got on my hands and knees and threw-up some more. I was confused. But I knew that I had to get out of there.

Wild fucking sounds were emanating from down the hall. I recognized the moans. The two of them must have decided to knock off a quick piece before they fled the country. London City Airport was just a few miles to the west and I'd wager there was a private jet waiting.

I levered myself to my feet holding onto a chair. The black ballistic folder was right in front of me. I wasn't thinking clearly. But I still knew that it was the key to screwing over my brother. So, I grabbed it as I stumbled out the door.

I knew the effects of the mushroom were going to get to me sooner than later, and I had no plan. But I saw a warehouse area with a lot of people directly across the street. The place was lit up like a circus and they seemed to be loading a big merchant ship.

I needed help fast. So, I lurched across the street. Luckily there was no traffic at that hour. Once I got inside the warehouse, I grabbed the first person I saw and said desperately, "Help me!!"

The guy saw a drunken toff in a vomit stained tux. He said disgusted, "Get your hands off me, mate!!" He gave me a big shove and I staggered some distance.

I fell at the foot of the boarding ramp. Maybe there was somebody on board the ship who'd be able to help me? All I could feel was intense pain. The poison was taking its malevolent toll. I stumbled up the gangplank, reeling so much that I almost went over the rail.

I had just gotten into a passageway when the world started to spin. I lurched drunkenly sideways, fell through a hatch and into a dark compartment. I was unable to walk. But a ventilator shaft was poking out of the deck next to where I'd fallen.

I fumbled the folder out of my tux coat, pulled out all of the SIMs and stuffed them down the ventilator shaft. I thought, "Good luck finding THOSE George."

I chuckled at the thought of the dismay chez-Parmentier when the two of them discovered that their ticket to Russia had disappeared. Then there was a roaring noise and nothing but blackness.

*****

I slipped back across the street and into the hospital. Vanessa and George were just beginning their pas-de-deux. She was using Queen Charlotte's statue as a prop.

Did I feel anything seeing my wife getting rear-ended, while bracing her hands against the bronze feet of King George's wife? I did indeed. I felt liberated and happy beyond belief.

Now, there was no barrier between me and Dani; except a quick divorce.

Frack was standing outside my door now. The junior guy always gets the short end of the stick. He did a double-take when he saw me. Then he glanced inside the room. Frack wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

I said jovially, "If you want George, he's across the street. But you'd better act fast. I can't guarantee his staying power." Talk about coitus interruptus.

Frack was fumbling for his walkie-talkie as I breezed past with a cheerful, "I'll be inside getting packed." I had a little lost rectory cat to find.

My overwhelming desire for Dani defied logic. It sure wasn't the sex. Up to that point the most carnal thing I had done with her was to carry her naked through a pitch-black cave. Okay - if you want to get technical, there was also that little show in the mead-hall.

Still, I couldn't think of a single instance when my feelings for Vanessa were within light-years of the way I felt about Dani. I don't know if I EVER loved the bitch. I might have loved being fucked by her. That was another matter entirely. But Dani was my eternal destiny.

The blue lights of the London police were brightening my window as I exited the hospital room. I said in a newfound voice of authority, "I know where the SIMs are and they're safe. Take me back to the Embassy and I'll connect the dots for you."

*****

Two weeks later I was in Dulwich Village. I was sitting on our big brick terrace in the buttery English summer sun. Emotionally, I'd been to the penthouse, now I was back in the outhouse.

First, I briefed my bosses. The CIA accepted that the SIMs were safe; two miles under the Atlantic. Of course, it took three polygraphs to convince them.

Then I resigned. Life's too short to suffer assholes and I had a lifetime's-worth of money now that my brother was out of the will.

Speaking of said asshole. George dropped completely off the radar. I was sure that the treacherous bastard was enjoying the CIA's hospitality at some cozy little rendition site; where his black-ops jailers could share a few pertinent thoughts about the consequences of treason.

Meanwhile, the whore, formerly-known-as my wife, had been desperately trying to get ahold of me. It seems that she had recently rediscovered her feelings for our marriage. Perhaps that passion was inspired by the circumstance of six London Bobbies witnessing her in an act of "gross-public-indecency."

I studiously avoided slutbreath until all the pieces hit the ground. I knew that I couldn't avoid her forever. But it took a while to get my ducks in marching order.

I appeared on Vanessa's porch one bright English morning. The slut had been squatting at our house in Dulwich. She cracked the door, gave me a triumphant smile and said, "I knew you'd finally come to your senses."

That made it easy. I stepped aside and let Frick and Frack do their thing.

I had explained Vanessa's complicity to my former employers. To say the least, they were NOT amused. Naturally, there would be a trial. Ours is a civilized society.

However, Vanessa would be enjoying the hospitality of the Federal government until then. I don't think the summer heat at their super-max in Texas would do good things for her complexion, or attitude.

So, the last time I saw my soon-to-be-ex-wife, she was being unceremoniously stuffed into one of those ubiquitous white vans. My goodness!! what a mouth on that girl!!

Now, all that was left was to find Dani and propose.

...And the Gods laughed...

I had last seen Dani on the steps of Landspitali. That was almost a month ago. It should have been a simple matter of looking her up. Except, I didn't know her last name. It had been expedient to NOT get into last names, since I didn't have one at the time.

First, I called the Lutheran Synod in Reykjavik and asked about the woman from the boat. The nice lady told me that Dani had left right after I was hustled out of Landspitali. The woman said, "I don't know where she went. She was hysterical with grief. We were afraid she would harm herself. But we couldn't prevent her from leaving."