The Iranians’ chests visibly rose with his words.
It is so easy to manipulate these people, he thought.
“We wish to thank you, the Iranian people, for giving us this opportunity. As a sign of our good will and intentions toward your people, my men have something for you.”
The twenty clone soldiers broke ranks, lining up directly opposite their Iranian colleagues. Raising their weapons as if to salute them, they opened fire directly into their ranks.
Bremen watched the carnage with a smile on his face. Hardly a shot was returned as the poor souls twisted and jumped at the bullets biting at their torsos, arms, and heads. When the clones stopped shooting, they were just a bloodied heap of cotton, flesh, and bones, surrounded by clouds of billowing dust.
Turning to Captain Bald, who was looking away from the screen towards the stock market tickers, he boomed, “Can this day get any better!”
“It is going very well.” The Captain returned.
43
Michael felt the full force of the shot’s impact with the left side of his chest. He was already moving when the bullet hit him, but the impact had both twisted and lifted him, slamming the back of his head into the cell wall. The lights had gone out at that moment, and he was back in the twilight world of unconsciousness he had been inhabiting for the last month. As usual, he was not alone.
You useless son of a bitch! You have killed us, you know that? You have killed us as surely as if you pulled the trigger yourself!
Michael didn’t know what he had done, but he knew for sure that the death of Hofmann would not be such a bad thing.
If only I could have said goodbye, Michael said, thinking of Lisa.
It seemed Hofmann was privy to even his most intimate thoughts.
You miserable excuse for a German. How could you be a relative of mine? There is far more at stake than your whore! Don’t you understand how long I have been waiting for this? How long I worked for this! This was our dream. Our chance to finish the work of the Führer! And you! You have ruined everything. Everything! And you will pay! Before I go, I will make sure there is nothing left of you!
Michael listened to the tirade without emotion, finding solace in Hofmann’s demise.
You can’t hurt me any more Hofmann, it’s over.
Don’t be so sure!
Michael felt a rush of blood to his head and a moment’s dizziness, followed by the feeling of drunkenness and a loss of memory. Unable to get his bearings, he called out to Hofmann.
What are you doing? The sound of his voice echoed around the inside of his head.
Hofmann’s thoughts were filling his mind. Michael could feel his hatred and bitterness. His memories flashed before Michael’s eyes, as clear as day. Hofmann’s childhood, his first girlfriend, his first job. Michael didn’t understand how Hofmann was making him watch these things, but he could do nothing to stop them.
What is this?
This, my dear Michael, is my past. Can you remember yours?
Of course… But he couldn’t. Michael became panicked, trying to force his mind to wake up and remember. I remember my life. You can’t take that away from me!
Do you? Tell me, what hair colour did your first foster mother have?
Michael knew the answer, he was sure.
She was a young woman. He fought to remember, searching desperately for other memories from the same period of his life. Nothing came. Again he concentrated, determined to prove Hofmann wrong, but nothing came.
You don’t know, do you? What about your first school? You must be able to remember that.
Michael tried again.
This can’t be happening. Please, God, no.
Michael became scared, realising how far he was from himself.
Am I losing it? What will happen when I can’t remember anything of my life?
Then, you will be me! Hofmann’s tone was matter of fact.
That is not possible; you can’t just wipe me out as if I never existed. Michael tried to sound convinced, but he wasn’t, and a cold feeling of fear was growing in the pit of his stomach. Its tentacles pushed through his veins, wrapping themselves around his heart and squeezing the very life out of him.
Lisa watched through the windows of Intensive Care, as more doctors burst through swing doors into the room. Some silent alarm summoned them to save the patient. Desperation filled her as an arm placed gently on her shoulder beckoned her away from the scene.
“They know what they are doing. The doctors here are very good.” Monika did her best to sound convincing. Shrugging her off, Lisa moved back to the window, calling her husband’s name.
“Michael, please! Michael!”
His bed was now moving, a group of doctors and nurses manipulating it between them. Like a swarm of busy green ants, they disappeared beyond the sight of a weeping wife and into the surgery.
It had felt like a fall from a height, the air had left his lungs for a second, and his stomach strained to keep its contents down. But Michael was not falling through air; he was collapsing into himself. Desperate to find something he could identify with, he found only a swamp of putrid memories and the stink of Hofmann’s life all around him.
Where are you, Michael? Are you still here? Hofmann laughed. You are lost, it’s over; you have to submit. My destiny and the destiny of all mankind is at stake. You are just a pawn. Give up and let it go. You have lost!
The sound of Hofmann’s voice was getting weaker, moving farther away. Michael could hardly remember his name, and looking around, he saw nothing but inky blackness. The black hole in his memory was sucking the images, thoughts, and sounds from his mind. All he held dear, replaced by a void of dark space. Bereft of dialogue, sound, and touch, he felt his surroundings narrow around him. Trapped in an invisible funnel that pulled him into nonexistence. He was free falling, unable to influence his speed or direction. Only a pinprick of light below him gave him any sense of his final destination, before he once again heard Hofmann’s faint voice.
Goodbye, Jarvis.
Michael had never been a religious man, but he found himself praying, sure he was lost to the world. His last prayer was for Lisa.
Please, God, keep her safe; protect her from him.
The bullet had penetrated Michael’s left chest cavity, between the third and fourth ribs. A light ricochet from the third rib had sent fragments of bone out like darts into his body’s soft tissues, piercing his lungs and heart. The bullet had then continued clear through the left lung, before again ricocheting back off the sixth rib and coming to rest against the seventh and eighth vertebrae of his thoracic spine. Chest injuries end in death in less than ten percent of cases, and the doctors were not overly concerned when he first arrived in A&E. They went through the motions, ventilating him before checking the extent of the damage to his internal organs with a simple radiograph. Three to four hundred millilitres of blood had collected in his left lung, but it was the bullet that caused the most concern. None of the doctors’ present trusted themselves to remove it, and all had agreed to wait for the consultant. They had conducted a tube thoracotomy to suck away any blood and fluid from the chest cavity. Staples had been applied to close the two larger lacerations of the lung caused by the bullet, and Michael had been stitched up and returned to Intensive Care, to wait for his next operation.