Free Unforgettable - eARC by Eric James Stone

Farsi.
    I wished that Farsi was a language I had studied, but I only knew how to say I needed to use the bathroom. “If now’s not a good time, I could meet you at your hotel room.”
    “It would be a pleasure, young man.” He had a thick headful of white hair. “Hotel Pulitzer, suite 603. Could you meet me at eight-thirty?”
    “I am afraid that will not be possible,” said the guard on Rezaei’s right. His English was slow and accented, but clearly understandable. “Dr. Rezaei has a conference call.”
    Rezaei shrugged as the guard took him by the elbow and turned him toward the elevators. “Sorry,” he said.
    “No problem,” I said, backing away to show the other guard I wasn’t going to press the matter. I had what I wanted, anyway.
    * * *
    At nine o’clock that night, I knocked on the door of suite 603 in the Hotel Pulitzer. I had a Manila envelope containing a few papers that I had printed up in the hotel’s business center.
    One of Rezaei’s bodyguards answered the door. He glared at me suspiciously through the two-inch gap he allowed between the door and its frame.
    “Delivery for Dr. Rezaei,” I said. “From QuantumExpo management.” I thrust the envelope through the gap, and the bodyguard took it and then closed the door.
    Mentally counting off the seconds, I walked down the hallway to where I had left a second envelope of papers. When the minute was up, I returned to the door of 603 and knocked.
    The same guard answered the door the same way he had before.
    “Hi there,” I said brightly. “My name is Alex Helps, from QuantumExpo. I’m here for my nine o’clock appointment with Dr. Rezaei?”
    He frowned, then spoke Farsi to someone in the room before turning back to me. “There is no appointment.”
    I gave him a nervous laugh. “Did you not get the revised schedule? It was sent your room earlier today.”
    More conversation in Farsi ensued. Finally, the guard said, “Sorry, Dr. Rezaei is in a meeting. Come back in fifteen minutes.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    He closed the door.
    Figuring it might be good to see just who Rezaei was meeting with, I hung out in the hall between his room and the elevators. About ten minutes later, his door opened and a fifty-something man with black hair, graying at the temples, walked out.
    It took me a moment to recognize him as the mystery man who had chased me down from Jamshidi’s office—which pretty much confirmed the link between Jamshidi and Rezaei.
    He didn’t even make eye contact as he passed me.
    I approached Rezaei’s door and knocked, and was answered by the same guard. “Hi there,” I said. “My name is Alex Helps, from QuantumExpo. I’m here for my nine o’clock appointment with Dr. Rezaei? Sorry I’m a bit late.”
    We went through a repeat of the earlier scene, but this time it ended with the guard opening the door wide and beckoning me in.
    “My apologies for the mix-up,” Dr. Rezaei said, holding up one of the papers from the envelope I had dropped off. “We hadn’t noticed there was a new schedule.” He was sitting on an overstuffed couch in front of a coffee table. With a wave, he indicated one of the chairs across from him.
    “Quite all right,” I said as I sat down. I opened the envelope I was carrying and pulled out several papers. “Your lecture earlier today was such a success that we’re hoping we can arrange to have you speak again tomorrow.”
    He shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. I must go to London to conduct business there, and then back to Iran. My father is in ill health.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. But can I just say how much I enjoyed hearing your lecture today? I found it fascinating, especially the part about someone having two different possible memories of an event and then only one is chosen.”
    “Oh, yes, superposition of memories. Quite an interesting topic philosophically. What makes an event truly real, the event itself or our memory of it? That’s not to