Free MemoRandom: A Thriller by Anders de La Motte Page B

seemed to notice the change in his mood, because he hurried to break the silence.
    “The boys say hello. They wanted to come as well, but I told them to wait a bit. Thought you probably needed a chance to recover first. After everything you’ve been through.” He pulled a face.
    Sarac nodded and unconsciously put a hand to his head.
    “I bumped into Bergh. He said you had a few gaps in your memory,” Molnar said.
    Sarac took a deep breath, trying to muster his thoughts, but the headache kept getting in the way.
    “Well . . .” he said. He cleared his throat to make his voice sound more steady. “It’s not like it is in films. I know who I am, where I live, what my parents’ names were, where I went to school, how to tie my shoelaces, all that sort of thing.” Hewaved one hand, trying to find the right words. “But everything feels so distant, it’s like I’m not really . . . present. Like I’m looking on from the sidelines, if you see what I mean?”
    Molnar nodded slowly. His clear blue eyes were looking straight at Sarac, as if he were saying something incredibly interesting. Peter was good at making people feel that they were being noticed, appreciated.
    “What about the crash, do you remember anything about that?” Molnar said in a low voice.
    Sarac shook his head and decided to tell the truth. “To be honest, I can hardly remember anything about the past couple of years. After 2011, all I’ve got are random fragments floating about in my head.
    “But that’ll pass,” he added quickly. “The doctor’s sure that things will become clearer as soon as the swelling has gone down. It’s just a matter of time.”
    This last bit wasn’t entirely true. Dr. Vestman was far too cautious to promise anything like that. But no matter. Sarac had made up his mind. He was going to get better, completely better, in both mind and body, and in record time.
    His headache was on the move, gradually unfurling its spidery legs.
    “So when precisely do your memories stop? You started in the Intelligence Unit early in 2011. I was the one who recruited you,” Molnar said.
    Sarac nodded. “Yes, I remember that, no problem.”
    “Do you remember any specifics about what you were working on?” Molnar leaned forward slightly.
    “Of course. I recruit and handle CIs. Tip-offs, secret sources, people who might be useful to us.”
    Sarac put his hand to his forehead. The spider’s legs were all around his head, laying siege to his brain. A faint buzzing sound that he thought at first came from the fluorescent lights in the ceiling started to fill his head, making Molnar’s words indistinct.
    “And you’re very good at it, David. In fact you’re the best handler I’ve ever come across. Myself included. Professional, ambitious, loyal, always reliable. And you know exactly how to read people. It’s actually a bit uncanny. You seem to have a sixth sense for how to find a way in, how to get people to trust you with their deepest—”
    Secrets.
    Something suddenly flashed into Sarac’s head. A brief glimpse of a parked car. A dark color, a BMW, or possibly a Mercedes?
    “I left the Intelligence Unit in early 2012 when I was offered the job of being in charge of Special Operations. But you and I carried on working together closely. You did my old job better than I ever did. Your CIs were the best, and there’s no question that they gave us the best information.”
    Molnar’s words were blurring together. The image in Sarac’s head suddenly got clearer. He’s sitting inside the car, at the wheel, or possibly in the backseat? His perspective keeps switching, seems to change the whole time. A thickset man with a shaved head gets into the front passenger seat. He brings a smell of cigarette smoke with him into the car, and something else as well. The smell of fear.
    “It was after that operation that Bergh and, indirectly, Kollander, basically gave you carte blanche to do as you liked. You really don’t remember