David Morrell - The Fifth Profession

Savage studied her, admired her, and couldn't help smiling. “I guess that's how I sound. But I think I understand a part of this book, and it scares me.”

Rachel and Akira came to attention.

“Memory's more complicated than I realized. Not just that no one's really sure how the neurons in our brain store information. But what about the implication of what it means to be able to remember? That's what scares me.” Savage's head throbbed. “We think of memory as a mental record of the past. The trouble is the past, by definition, doesn't exist. It's a phantom of what used to be the present. And it isn't just what happened a year ago, last month, or yesterday. It's twenty minutes ago. It's an instant ago. What I'm saying is already in the past, in our memories.”

Rachel and Akira waited.

“This book has a theory that when we see an apple fall from a tree, when we hear it land, when we pick it up, smell it, and taste it, we're not experiencing those sensations simultaneously with the events. There's a time lag-let's say a millionth of a second-before the sense impulses reach the brain. By the time we register the taste of the apple, what we think is the present is actually the past. That lag would explain déjà vu. We enter a room and feel eerily convinced we've been there before, though we haven't. Why? Because of the millionth of a second it takes the brain to receive a transmission from the eyes and tell us what we're seeing. If the two hemispheres of the brain are temporarily out of sync, one side of the brain receives the transmission slightly before the other. We see the room twice. We think the sensation happened before because it did Not in the distant past, however. Instead, a fraction of an instant before, one side of the brain received what the other side later received.”

“But our problem isn't déjà vu -it's jamais vu” Akira said. “Why are you disturbed by what you just read?”

“Because I can't be sure of the present, let alone the past. Because there is no present, at least as far as my brain's concerned. Everything it tells me is a delayed reaction.”

“That may be true,” Rachel said. “But for practical purposes, even with the time lag, what we perceive might as well be the present. You've got a big enough problem without exaggerating it.”

“Am I exaggerating? I'm scared because I thought I was struggling with false memories someone implanted in my brain six months ago. But was it six months ago? How do I know the operation didn't happen much more recently? How can I be sure of what occurred yesterday or even this morning?” Savage turned to Rachel. “In France, when you learned about our pseudonyms and the cover stories we had to invent, you said it seemed that everything about us was a lie. In a way I never imagined, maybe you're right. How many false memories do I have? How do I know who I am? How can I be sure that you and Akira are what you seem? Suppose you're actors hired to trick me and reinforce my delusions.”

“But obviously we're not,” Akira said. “We've been through too much together. Rachel's rescue. The escape in the helicopter. The ferry out of Greece. The vans that tried to intercept us in France.”

“My point is maybe none of it happened. My false memories might have begun today. My entire background-everything about me-might be a lie I'm not aware of! Did I ever meet Rachel's sister? Is Graham really dead?”

“Keep thinking like that,” Akira said, “and you'll go crazy.”

“Right,” Savage said. “That's what I mean-I'm scared. I feel like I'm seeing through a haze, like the floor's unsteady, like I'm in an elevator that's falling. Total disorientation. I've based my identity on protecting people. But how can I protect myself from my mind?”

Rachel put an arm around him. “You've got to believe we're not actors. We're all you have. Trust us.”

“Trust you? I don't even trust myself.”

That night, as Savage slept fitfully, assaulted by nightmares, he woke abruptly from a hand that caressed his cheek. Startled, he grabbed the hand and lunged upright on the sofa, prepared to defend himself.

He restrained his impulse. In the soft light from a lamp in a corner, he saw Rachel's worried face beside him. She was kneeling.

“What?” Savage scanned the room. “Where's Akira?”

“In the hallway. I asked him to leave us alone.”

“Why would-?”

“Because I asked him,” she repeated, her blond hair silhouetted by the dim light in the corner.

“No, why did you ask him to leave?”

“Because I need to be with you.”

“That still doesn't answer my-”

“Hush.” Rachel touched his lips. “You think too much. You ask too many questions.”

“It's impossible to ask too many questions.”

“But sometimes it's wiser not to ask any.”

Savage smelled her perfume. “I can't imagine-”

“Yes,” she said, “I know

Savage drove from the motel, hoping no one had seen them get into the car.

Again Akira hid on the floor in back, though Rachel sat next to Savage, her auburn hair making it safe for her to show herself. She studied a road map. “The nearest major airport is in Raleigh. That's a hundred and fifty miles west.”

“No, Raleigh won't do,” Savage said. “There'd be so few Japanese flying out of that airport-probably none- Akira would be sure to attract attention.” Reaching a highway, he headed northwest. “Will this route take us around Virginia Beach?”

Rachel checked the map. “No problem. But where are we going?”

“ Washington. Dulles International Airport. We can count on a lot of Japanese flying in and out of there. Akira won't be noticed.”

A few miles later, Savage pulled into a truckstop. He took care to park well away from other vehicles so no one could see into the back of the Taurus. Referring to the directory in a pay phone's booth, he called the toll-free numbers for several airlines. Though it would have been easier to phone from the motel, he didn't want to leave a record of his calls.

“We're in luck,” he said, getting back in the car. “I managed to get three seats on an American Airlines flight.”

“What time does it leave?” Akira asked.

“Tomorrow morning. Ten to eight.”

“But Dulles Airport must be-”

“Four hundred miles away, given the roundabout route we're forced to take to avoid the eastern part of Virginia,” Savage said. “The airport's security inspection takes longer on an overseas flight. All our luggage is carry-on. That'll save time. Even so, to pick up our tickets and guarantee we're on the plane, we need to be at the airport by five A.M. at the latest.”

“Can we do that?” Rachel asked.

Savage glanced at his watch. “Twenty-one hours to drive four hundred miles? Sure. Even if traffic's bad, we'll be in Washington tonight.”

Despite his confident tone, Savage reflexively increased speed. At once he thought better and strictly obeyed the limit. They didn't dare get stopped by a traffic cop. “There's plenty of time.”

“Then we should use it,” Akira said. “You have much to learn.”

“What about?” Savage asked.

“I gather that neither of you has been to Japan.”

Savage and Rachel agreed.

“Yes,” Akira said. “You have much to learn.”

“I've read books about Japan,” Savage said.

“But I can't assume that the books were accurate or that you retain the essentials,” Akira said. “And Rachel apparently knows almost nothing about Japan.”