‘No. All I meant was, today wasn’t your first day as part of the trial.’
‘Huh?’
‘That’s why I wanted you to come with me. To show you this.’
She opened the folder and took out a sheet of paper printed on both sides. Marc had seen it once before. A few hours ago. At the clinic.
‘See this?’
She held out the form and tapped the handwritten box in the top-right corner.
‘This is…’
…impossible.
Marc took the sheet from her.
Quite impossible.
‘Now do you see why it’s so important for us to have a talk?’
He nodded without taking his eyes off the application form, which had been completed and bore his signature. What startled him most of all was the date.
October 1st. The date of the accident.
Four weeks before he answered the Bleibtreu Clinic’s advertisement.
24
It looked like an original, but before he could satisfy himself that he was holding a forgery in his hands there was a knock at the door: three short, two long. Although it sounded like a prearranged signal, Emma didn’t seem to be expecting anyone. She glanced nervously at the door, then at Marc. Then she snatched the application form back.
‘Who?’ she breathed. The right-hand corner of her mouth was quivering.
Marc shrugged. He’d never heard of the Tegel Inn Hotel until a quarter of an hour ago. How should he know who was standing outside her door, which wasn’t, unfortunately, fitted with a spyhole? They would have to open it to discover who wanted them so late. It could hardly be a member of the staff. This seedy hotel boasted neither room service nor a minibar in need of topping up.
‘I’ll go and see,’ he whispered when the knock was repeated. The same rhythm, the same knuckles tapping on laminated wood.
‘No!’ Emma shook her head fiercely and grabbed his arm, pulling him so close that the tip of her nose brushed his ear. ‘Don’t you see what’s going on here?’
‘No.’ He tried to free himself.
‘They’re after us.’
‘Who? Bleibtreu?’
Her hair tickled his cheek as she shook her head again. ‘He doesn’t do his own dirty work. He’s got people for that.’
Her eyelids flickered violently and her massive bosom heaved at every breath. ‘That’s just why I need you,’ she said in a low, shaky voice. ‘I need a witness who’ll confirm what they’re doing to us…’
She put a finger to his lips just as he opened his mouth to speak and touched his tongue. Unlike him, she seemed not to notice this involuntarily intimate contact.
‘This is getting ridiculous,’ he whispered.
‘…a witness who’ll document the results of the experiment. No one will believe my word alone.’
He shook his head vigorously and freed himself from her grasp. Before she could protest he strode swiftly to the door, undid the chain, and opened it.
Too late.
25
The narrow but surprisingly well-lit corridor was deserted. There was nothing to be seen apart from a trolley overflowing with dirty sheets and a soft-drinks dispenser at the far end.
Marc came back into the room. For one brief moment he was afraid that Emma, too, had disappeared. Then he heard her voice.
‘We must get out of here.’
She was tugging a holdall from under the bed. It looked far too small to contain all the papers strewn around the room.
‘Look, calm down.’
‘No, I won’t!’ She almost shouted the words. ‘You don’t understand the situation we’re in.’
‘You’re right, I don’t understand any of it, but you’re making no attempt to enlighten me.’
Emma slammed the holdall down on the clear side of the bed and brushed a thin film of sweat off her forehead with her forearm. Then she glanced at her watch. ‘All right, here’s the short answer: you’re in the amnesia programme because there’s something you’ve got to forget.’
‘Yes, I know.’
He started to tell her about the accident that had robbed him of his wife and unborn son, but she interrupted him after only a sentence or two.
‘No, that can’t be so.’
‘Why not?’
‘They wouldn’t go to these lengths if it was only a question of heartache.’
Heartache?
‘Hey, I’m not just talking about a broken date. My pregnant wife and unborn son are dead and I’m to blame.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but there’s far more involved here than a personal tragedy.’
‘What makes you say that?’
She struggled with the holdall’s zip, which had jammed. Marc came to her aid.
‘Have you any idea what this series of experiments is costing? Implementation, supervision, evaluation? Add in a new identity and it’ll run to seven figures. No, it’s quite out of the question.’
‘But why would they publicly advertise for guinea pigs if it’s so damned expensive?’
‘They don’t.’
She went over to the desk and opened a drawer. It was filled to the brim with old magazines.
‘When did you send that email?’
‘Two weeks ago.’
She pulled out one magazine after another and tossed them carelessly on the floor until she found what she was looking for.
‘Here.’
She handed him a news magazine. It was the issue in which he’d come across the Bleibtreu Clinic’s advertisement on page 211. The page number had lodged in his memory only because Clause 211 of the penal code related to murder. The habit of using mnemonics to remember telephone and room numbers was a lawyer’s disease you could never shake off, even if you didn’t practise as an attorney or judge.
‘Take a good look,’ Emma told him. ‘Go through it from beginning to end. You won’t find the advertisement there.’
It was true. On page 211 Marc found a puff for an internet bank, not a psychiatric clinic’s slogan.
Learn to forget.
The article at the top of the page, a report on the unutterable cruelty of transporting livestock over long distances, was still there.
Either there were two different editions of the same issue in Constantin’s waiting room…
He lowered the magazine and stared at it blankly.
…or the edition in Constantin’s waiting room was a fake. But that would mean…
He leant against the wall because he felt the room tilting beneath his feet.
‘What about you?’ he asked with his eyes shut. ‘What was your reason for taking part in the experiment?’ He heard Emma clear her throat.
‘It was about a year ago. I received a job offer that didn’t come via my translation agency. It sounded vaguely suspect but involved a great deal of money. Cash I now need to make good my escape.’
‘What was the job?’ Marc opened his eyes.
‘Routine, really. Simultaneous translation on a flight to Barcelona in a pharmaceutical company’s private jet.’
‘A flight during which matters were discussed which you’d have done better not to hear?’
‘Correct.’
‘What were they?’
‘No idea. That’s just my problem, I broke off the experiment too late. I can’t remember.’ She ran her fingers nervously through her hair. ‘I’ve only a patchy recollection of my identity and my life before the amnesia experiment. All I know is what I’ve gleaned from the papers I stole from records before I escaped.’
So that’s how she got hold of her CV. From the clinic.
‘Why did you escape?’ he asked.
‘Because of you.’
‘Me?’
‘I’m sure they explained the methodology of the experiment. In phase one your memories are deleted. In phase two you’re fed with memories of pleasant experiences you never wanted to forget. Last of all, you’re provided with a new identity.’
‘Yes, that I do remember.’ Marc laughed derisively. ‘But how come you know it if your memory has such big gaps in it?’
Emma gripped her Adam’s apple and cleared her throat again. ‘I’ve done some research on the internet since I escaped. There are a number of blog entries describing such amnesia experiments.’ Marc raised his eyebrows incredulously, but she pressed on undaunted. ‘Well, I was just starting on phase two when I overheard a conversation between Professor Bleibtreu and another man.’