Of Honor And Deceit

Of Honor And Deceit

Michael R. Due

Copyright 2012 by Michael R. Due

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Chapter 1

Florescent tubes shone glaringly from their casements along the twisting hallway. They did little more than illuminate, as one would hardly say they brightened the corridor; in truth they created a psychological dread. But nothing could have changed the mood of one man in the middle of others. His mind was elsewhere and he was not paying attention to his surroundings.

He walked with two men behind, two men in front, all of them much larger than himself. Size alone was not the only differentiation point; they wore military gear, he did not. They were relaxed, he was not. This was just another day of active duty for them, but for him it was a day of rebirth. It should be a day of joy, but still he was anxious. He knew there would be pain involved before he could start over. Still, he had examined his options well, and though his immediate future was going to be a night-mare, at least he would have a future.

The man was not familiar with the building. They had driven for over two hours to get there, through many a twisting back road, past the swamps and fields and he was simply lost. He had enjoyed the ride despite the stress. It had allowed him once again able to view the swampy southern landscape that he had called home during his childhood and into his late teens.

The cotton was very nice. It had been so long since he’d worn a soft fabric like this. They had done a fine job of picking out something that he’d be comfortable in; jeans, suede shoes, a white cotton shirt and a nice, light-weight blazer. The jeans and suede shoes were purely for comfort, and the only part of his attire that would really matter would be what could fit into the head-and-shoulders view of the camera.

He walked for what seemed like an eternity through cinder-block hallways and echo-chamber stairwells. The entire time, his escorts did not speak. At last the hallway opened into a large room that appeared to be a cafeteria which had been converted temporarily into a small scale media room. One got the feeling that a lot happened in this cafeteria; there were conflicting lines on the floor used for a variety of sports; basketball back-boards hung from the ceiling; folding tables covered a portion of he floor; a small portable stage had been erected at the far end for some kind of ceremony or presentation; there were flags belonging to a variety of military units hanging from the rafters; and there was boxing gear hanging from pegs on the nearest wall.

His care-takers lead him to one corner of the echo-filled room that was obviously intended for him. There were cameras, lights on tripods and several chairs and desks. Ahead of him was a woman sitting behind one of the desks and across from her an empty chair. The chair was in front of a camera, the woman was sitting off to the side, out of camera view. Upon seeing him arrive she greeted him warmly.

Hello, Mr. Templeton, welcome to our makeshift studio she said. It’s not much, but if we have down time I bet we could find some Twinkies in the cafeteria’s kitchen, she said with zest. Mr. Templeton smelled her perfume and it rocketed through his olfactory lobe without delay. It was the same perfume one of his loves had worn so many years ago, back when things were good. It stirred something in him, something that felt like a hint of Spring air on a February day but was also littered with sadness.

This woman was stunningly beautiful. He could not help but notice the silk top, the high heels, the slit skirt and the way she moved. Especially the heels, the way they made her legs look so remarkably slender; it made his blood run swift. Even her vocal quality was alluring. Yes, she was the perfect storm. She was a few years older than he was, but he loved the prospect of an older woman. This was a nice perk for a stressful situation.

His handlers motioned for him to take his seat, and he did so as he ran his fingers through his hair. He thought of how funny it was that five minutes earlier he didn’t really care how he looked. He hadn’t shaved for over a week and he knew the brief attention to his hair would do little to help his appearance. But he was about to be recorded, so why not, it couldn’t hurt to tidy up a bit, especially in front of this woman who smelled like a big city department store and had already taken his breath away.

This had been planned for over two weeks. He should not be surprised by any of this. Yet he’d been nervous all day. They were to the point of no return. His blood pressure spiked. This was the moment of truth. He thought of the irony. The last time he was around people like this his life was over. Now, once more surrounded by these authority figures, he had a chance at a new life. He began to sweat even more profusely.

Mr. Templeton, are you ready? she asked as she looked for her interview sheet on the desk.

Yes, he replied. Let’s get going. I want to get this overwith.

Have you signed all the paperwork? she said, as he digested the softness of her voice. Where he came from, softness of any kind was a rare thing.

Yes, replied Mr. Templeton, impatiently. She looked to the military escort for confirmation and she received a nod for acknowledgement. There was nothing left to do but shoot the video.

Ok, we’ll be ready in a minute, as soon as they get all of this set up she said, looking at her team to finalize their setup. These simple delays just added to his nervousness. He was not an edgy person, seldom sarcastic, usually polite. But the stress of this day was wearing on his nerves. It all seemed too good to be true and deep inside he knew that this whole arrangements would be front-page news if it were exposed.

She paused and looked back at the man before her. Just think, you will be a hero! Many lives could be saved because of you. It may sound cliché, but thank you for your service. She smiled at him and secretly felt good about herself for having done her good deed for the day.

As the words left her lips his gaze shifted to his feet, with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. She was just being nice, but something about her words irritated him. After a short pause, he looked up at her and made solid eye contact. Finally he spoke to her slowly and deliberately.

Listen, Lady...I once tried to do the right thing and it cost me everything. Lawyers made me look like I was evil. So I have given up on everybody else. I’m not doing this to save lives; I’m doing it to get back what was taken from me. Those soldiers over there — they’re heroes — not me. He returned his intense gaze to the woman. So what do you say? Can we get the show on the road or are we just going to sit here and chat all day?

Reality was breaking through the shroud of a dream. It came quickly. Hurried sounds of urgency and visual commotion became clearer. From within his calm dreaminess a man felt he was being worked on by a number of medical personnel. In short order he noticed he was hooked up to a mess of wiring and machines. Doctors and nurses where shouting instructions and carrying them out. Above him was a very bright light and his eyes were having a hard time dilating. He was no longer a spectator but a participant in this drama. He felt his muscles twitching uncontrollably and had an urge to vomit. Without notice he began to urinate and could not stop. He was having difficulty breathing properly before they gave him an oxygen mask. He felt a tug on his arm and the prick of a syringe. Someone had noticed he was coming too and put an end to it with a syringe. His eyes darted back and forth with no control as the medical team watched his eyelids close once more. He was again in a timeless place.

When he awoke all was quiet. He was in a room alone but still in a bed, still hooked up to machines. He did not come out of his fog all at once; his vision was playing tricks on him. He thought he saw an infinite number of other patients in hospital beds around him but there were none. The chemicals were clouding his judgment but the effect was slowly lifting.

His emergence left no trace of the sleep’s duration. There was a clock in the room, but that told nothing of the days that had passed. In fact it had been two weeks since he had last been conscious.

Slowly he began to think his way through his current situation. This was definitely a hospital, and he was in his own room. It was very small, with barely enough room to move around the massive bed he was in. The digital clock near the bed said it was 19:18, but he did not quite understand what that meant. Perhaps that was a hallucination. There was one large window in his room but the view led to the hallway outside his room. Without exposure to a natural light source, he could not tell if it was night or day. He heard quiet, distant noises. He could tell others were just outside his door, perhaps down a hallway. The door was not fully closed, producing an opening that allowed the noise to enter freely.

He looked at his arm. There was an IV hooked up to a bag filled with liquid next to his bed. Several other tubes and wires ran to and from his body. Questions came to him like the box-cars of a freight train, one after another. His mind flipped from one to the next without stopping to consider real answers.

What is all this?

Where am I?

What day is it?

How long have I been here?

What’s wrong with me?

Was I in an accident?

Am I going to die?

....WHO AM I?

It was this last question that caused his heart to race. He did not know the answer. It was a sobering realization. The lack of an answer invited panic to swell up inside him, making him uncomfortable enough to shout out quickly WHO’S OUT THERE?!!! SOMEBODY...IS ANYBODY OUT THERE?

Hospital personnel appeared immediately, flooding through the door in surprising numbers. There was an obvious air about them...they appeared to be a little embarrassed that he had come to without notice, catching them unaware. They all knew their roll; some attended to machines, others charts. In particular, one man in a colorful lab coat attended directly to John.

Private, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Martin. I’m your doctor. How are you feeling?

Martin was a bit of a character. He was in his early 50’s, sported a classic wrap-around hair style (with a large, shiny bald spot on top), had an extrovert’s sense of humor, and wore a multi-colored lab coat over his military uniform.

I’m OK, I guess, replied John. I’m a Private? In the Army? I think I am having trouble —

John certainly appeared to be in good health. In his early twenties, he had a great muscular build and enviable Hollywood looks tempered by a mild southern accent.

We’ll get to your questions in a bit, interrupted the doctor. How is your breathing?

Fine, but I do kind of feel like I’ve had a cold or something, responded John, tentatively. He felt as if he had more immediate concerns than entering into a medical diagnosis with the doctor. Down in my chest, when I breathe, it’s a little raw. And I feel ragged out, like I’ve had too much caffeine or something. What’s going on?

Martin then performed a field test for John’s hearing, vision and coordination. Others took his vital signs and tested his reflexes by swinging his legs over the side of the hospital bed and gently hit a small mallet below his knee cap. After a few more tests and pauses to document his condition on clipboards filled with papers, Martin leaned up against the nearby wall and began the inevitable conversation.

Private, I know you have a lot of questions, but I need to spend a few minutes for my own assessment of your condition. But the good news is that I think you are going to be OK. Got that? You are going to be just fine. Now, besides your memory, how are you doing mentally? Are you thinking clearly?

Yeah, I guess I’m fine, I’m not confused or anything, but I don’t remember anything. How did I get here? When? said John, as he ran his right hand over his head, feeling for a bump. Did I get hit in the head or something? Is this Amnesia?

Yes, you do have something like that. We have a lot to tell you, but for now, let me just assure you that we’ve been monitoring you for a couple of weeks while you’ve been unconscious and you are going to be just fine. Now, more of my own questions —

John considered what he’d just been told and felt good about the doctor’s statement, but a little shocked to hear he’d been unconscious for two weeks. John interrupted. Who am I?

You are Private John Billings of the U.S. Army.

At first John did not know how to respond to this information. No kidding. Really? There’s got to be a mistake.

OK, so I am kidding you. You are actually Jimmy Hoffa, replied the doctor with a smirk on his face. There was an uncomfortable pause while he waited to see if John would get the joke, but he did not.

John said In the Army. I’ll be damned. Who’s Jimmy Hoffa?

Well, he’s a famous union boss who went missing in the 70’s. Can you remember anything from the 70’s?

Sure thing. Bell-bottom jeans, Punk Rock, Disco, Richard Nixon, replied John.

OK, you scared me there for a moment not knowing who Jimmy Hoffa was. But that’s good that you have memories like that. How about the 80’s and 90’s?

Ronald Reagan, Molly Hatchet, Miami Dolphins — Don Shula.

How about a guy named Dan Marino?

Sounds familiar, but no.

Marino is about as well known as Shula, the QB and the coach, respectively. Who’s the current President?

Bush?

No, try again.

Clinton?

No, sorry. Close, but off by a few years. What year is it right now?

"Look, you are supposed to be telling me this stuff."

I’m just trying to get a feel for what you can remember. What year is it?

I just don’t know. Doc, this is bad isn’t it? asked John with worry in his voice.

Let’s keep going. But, before we do, take a drink. A nurse handed John a glass of soft drink and a straw. John put the straw in the glass and drank.

Martin asked What’s in the glass, John?

What, is this a national taste test? asked John, showing signs of humor. I’d have to guess Coke.

When was the last time you had a Coke, John?

I don’t know.

Do you have any memories of drinking a Coke, or any soft drink for that matter?

No, I don’t. I guess not.

Yet you remember what the straw was for and how to use it, remarked the doctor. Who is your mother, John?

Don’t know.

Are you married?

Don’t know.

Any children?

Damn, this is horrible. I don’t know.

Do you personally know any women named Doris?

Maybe, I don’t know, I’d have to think about it. Why — should I?

That’s your mother’s name, said Martin, then greeted by silence from John. Martin sat down at the foot of the bed and looked more intently at his patient. "We’ve pretty much already determined a diagnosis and things you’ve told me here confirm this. I believe you have a form of amnesia that is called Retrograde Amnesia. In particular, it’s a version which some in our field are now calling Hyper-Retrograde Amnesia. You have some factual recall; you know what a Coke is, remember some famous athletes, things like that, even though some of that’s also a little spotty. Overall, this is good news.

"Also, you knew exactly what to do with the straw and these kinds of memories are what we call your Procedural memory. That’s in good shape too. This means you probably will remember how to ride a bike, tie your shoes, etc. You can do those things without really thinking about them once you’ve learned them. Then there’s Semantic memory. Semantic memory would allow you remember what a football is, but Procedural memory would enable you to recall how to throw it. With me so far? The good news is that all of this memory is functioning well.

Let’s talk about one specific type of memory called Episodic memory. This is where we need to do some work, continued the doctor. "This is the type of memory that holds your personal memories. Episodic memory is personal; people, places, things that are related directly to you. I don’t want to sound like some medical text book, John, but we’ll be using some terms like these a lot so that’s why I’m explaining it to you now. Don’t worry if you need a refresher, you’ll get it.

So, the part of your brain that controls Episodic memory has been impaired. That part is called your Hippocampus. What we are seeing here is that you may be totally unaware of your own past, and may also not be able to recall your immediate family and friends, the people in your life who were a part of your personal memories. It’s all very confusing, John, I’m sure. And a little bizarre that you can, for example, remember Don Shula but not your own mother. Don Shula is in your Semantic memory, which is functioning fairly well, but your mother is in your Episodic memory and that’s been impaired.

I think I’d rather trade how to use a straw for remembering who I am, you know what I mean?

Not so fast, John. If you lose your Procedural memory, you just might also forget how to close a door, flush a toilet, or any number of other things you do every day. That can be totally disabling and you’d have to learn the simplest of tasks all over again. That would mean a boat-load of rehab. So let’s not make any deals like that just yet. We will have time to work on the missing pieces of you Episodic memory. The good news is you are alive and healthy. And your condition is consistent with the others. Things could have been much worse.

Others?

The doctor paused, considering how much he should say at this time. Yes, John, there was an event that landed you in this bed, and you are not the only one who was affected. I can’t tell you more right now, but I can tell you where you are. You are at Fort Huachuca, an Army post in Arizona. We are in the Raymond W. Bliss Army Health Center, the post hospital.

What about family? What can you tell me about them...my mom...dad...wife...kids...can I see any of them?

John, I know you want to fill in all the gaps, but that’s not going to happen right now. I hope you will trust me here. Amnesia patients can quickly become overwhelmed with too much information given too quickly. We are going to have to do this in a more clinical, rehabilitative way, not by playing 100 questions. I’m afraid you are going to have to be patient. Maybe more patient than you’ve ever been in your life.

The life I can’t remember, said John, with a tinge of sarcasm.

Stick with us, John. That might change. Look, I have to run right now, but we’ve got plenty of time to work on those missing pieces. Just stick with us.

With that Martin turned to the nurse and gave her instructions before he finally turned to leave the room. He then turned toward John once more. Oh, and Private, I really don’t mind if you call me Doc on a one-to-one basis, but around others we should keep it official. Please call me Lieutenant Colonel or Sir. The last John saw of the man as he walked out the door was the long flowing coat of many colors. It occurred to him that he would have to remember to joke with the doctor about the Bible story of Joseph and his coat of many colors. That is, if he was going to be able to remember the joke tomorrow. Hopefully, he thought, he was not that screwed up.

Within moments, John had a healthy diversion. Her name was Janice, but the badge on her uniform simply stated her name as 1LT Delmonico. John could not remember what the 1LT stood for but would soon understand it stood for First Lieutenant. While several nurses had come and gone, Janice had been there the whole time. She had a very nice smile and shared it with John in a caring, compassionate way as she remained on task. She was 24 years-old, cute, and perky. He was already interested with just an initial glance. He suspected he was a couple of years younger than her, but he knew he could fall for someone like her. He would just need to get to know her first.

1LT Delmonico had overheard the conversation the two men had just had with one-another and felt bad for what John was going through. She took his arm and placed a digital blood pressure monitor upon his wrist before pushing a few buttons. This was new technology to John and he stared at it as it beeped.

What happened to the big balloon thing they used to put up around here, motioning to the upper part of his arm, where you’d pump it up full of air?

That’s so 2005, she said. Of course, if you want to get your arm squeezed I’m sure I can find one of those around here somewhere. Janice continued working at a break-neck pace and he noticed. Her work ethic could not be questioned.

No, no, I’m not complaining. That’s pretty cool stuff. John had felt the softness of her hand in his as she removed the device. He also noticed the locket around her neck, a delicate feminine touch. It was the type which contained a small photo within and it featured a cross on the outside. Nice locket, said John. Looks kind of old fashioned.

The nurse finished what she was doing as she stopped to touch the locket around her neck. Oh, yes, this was my grandmother’s. She was about to say more but saw the look on John’s face change to sadness. He was getting emotional. To his own surprise, the word grandmother hit him like a sledgehammer. He did not know if he had a grandmother. He did not know if his parents were alive, if he had a wife, or children. This was somehow, and quite suddenly, overwhelming. But it was more than just a general feeling of unknowing, there was something hiding in the deeper regions of his mind that reacted to the mention of a grandmother. He knew a grandmother played an important role in his life. He would need to be patient before he could find out more.

John quickly discovered that some things never change, even if you can’t fully remember them. Such was the case with how annoyed he became as someone from the hospital came to wake him for a test in the night. Surely, he thought to himself, I’ve