June frowned. “What was that man’s name at the restaurant, again?”
“Walter—of the Trevany kind.”
“Walter Trevany. That was it.”
“How did that incident strike you?” Kieran asked curiously.
“Eerie,” June pronounced. “He hadn’t made a mistake. As he said at the time, Sarda’s hardly the faceless kind of person that you forget easily.”
“And he knew Leo’s name.”
“So was Sarda lying for some reason?” June shook her head. “I don’t think so. He came across to me as genuine enough.”
“Me too,” Kieran said. “And when I talked to him today, he admitted to having rising fears about the whole thing as D-Day came nearer, but he couldn’t recall voicing them to anyone. I thought that was odd too. He seems the type who would have.” He made a plucking motion in the air to materialize a coin between thumb and forefinger, tossed it toward his other hand which apparently caught it, and showed both hands empty again. Then he looked back at June challengingly to make what she could of it.
She went over what they had covered as if reciting a checklist. “No recollection of the woman that Trevany saw him with in the bar. Must have had an accomplice but doesn’t know anything about it. You’d have thought there’d be somebody he confided in, but he can’t recall anyone.” Her look said the question was obvious, wasn’t it? “Are we talking about the same person here?”
Kieran opened his palms to reveal not one coin but two. “You tell me.”
“Girlfriend, accomplice, and confidante,” June mused.
“And he doesn’t remember any of them.”
The dark, impenetrable eyes held Kieran’s searchingly. “Is there a pattern here, Sir Knight? I see a strong suggestion of selective amnesia at work. Is that the way your mind’s working too?”
“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Let’s try and put ourselves in his position. However successful the animal tests appeared, he can’t get inside their heads and know how it might have affected them in other ways. He’s the one who’s taking all the risks. And all he’s standing to get out of it in return is the prospect of going down in history as Plasma Man. It’s Sarda Mark Two who’s going to get all the accolades, walk out to a cool five million, and probably end up a billionaire later. How would you feel about it?”
“About the same as you. But he argued pretty solidly for this rationale that he pitched at us about only speeding up what happens naturally,” June pointed out.
“Too much so, if you ask me,” Kieran replied. “I got the feeling he was working to convince himself more than anyone.”
“Hmm . . . Okay, maybe. . . .”
“Then let’s suppose so. Isn’t it possible that inwardly, despite all the rationalizing, subconsciously he couldn’t really buy that line. So maybe he decided to take insurance, and at the same time extract dues that he’d earned, and his risk-free alter ego, who walks forth into fame and fortune, hadn’t.” Kieran contemplated one of the coins as he rolled it edge over edge across the backs of his outstretched fingers and back again, indicating that the case rested. Then he flipped it up and caught it, palmed it onto the back of his other hand, and looked at June questioningly.
“Heads,” she obliged.
He lifted his hand to reveal nothing.
“It makes sense,” June conceded. “As much as anything, anyway. So where do we go next?”
Kieran got up from the recliner and crossed over to the liquor cabinet while he considered their options. “Vodka tonic with a slice of lime,” he pronounced.
“Right. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. Power of suggestion at work.” Kieran began fixing the drinks, an Irish Bushmills whiskey straight for himself—expensive import; June had probably gotten it in just for him. “The only lead we’ve got to Sarda-One is through this Elaine. Sarda-Two ought to know everything we need to locate her, but all his recollections of her have been erased somehow. Or . . .” he looked at June pointedly, “they’re still in there somewhere but are blocked.”
“So if we knew how his amnesia was engineered, there might be a way to undo it,” she said, taking his meaning.