“Yes. Until a few days ago, you and I were partners.”

“Partners in what?”

“The greatest scientific endeavor in history.”

“The Looking Glass.”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Because of the second possible reason you might have lost your memories.”

“Which is?”

“That you did this to yourself—that you betrayed us and our cause. That’s actually the more frightening scenario. Either way, I’m not sure whose side you’re on, Desmond. But if you recover your memories, you’ll know the truth of what we’re facing. You’ll know that we’re humanity’s only hope—that the Looking Glass is our only hope.”

“There are three pieces,” Desmond said. “Rook, Rendition, and Rapture.”

“You remember?”

“No. The journalist told me.” Desmond’s mind flashed to the man, the fear on his face when he’d said, They have my fiancée. “What happened to him?”

Conner averted his eyes.

“I asked you a question.”

“We sent him on an all-expenses paid trip to Disneyland, Desmond. What do you think happened to him?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Rendition.”

“What is it?”

“Your life’s work. Your piece of the Looking Glass.”

Sitting on the narrow bed, Desmond tried to remember anything about Rendition. Nothing came to him. The word evoked no memories—only a feeling: it must be protected. Instinctively, Desmond knew that if Conner gained possession of Rendition, an unimaginable catastrophe would occur, a loss of life on a scale never seen before.

He looked up. “What about the other components of the Looking Glass?”

“Rook is my project. It’s almost complete.”

“And Rapture?”

“Is safely secured by our partner. Listen, Des. It’s imperative that you remember what you’ve done with Rendition. Lives are at stake; the very future of the human race.”

The two men stared at one another, each trying to read the other.

The hatch to the corridor opened, and a man and woman marched in. They set a laptop and a flat-screen monitor on the table where Conner had been sitting. They turned the screen to face Desmond’s cell.

“What’s this?”

“We’re going to try to help you remember.”

The woman typed on the laptop, and a picture appeared on the screen. It showed a young, blond-haired boy, perhaps seven years old, standing next to a tall, ruddy-faced man in overalls. An oil rig towered behind them.

Desmond studied both faces. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Do you remember him?”

Desmond had seen the older man’s face once before—in a memory.

Out of pure instinct, Desmond lied.

“No.”

To the woman, Conner said, “Keep at it. Call me if you make any breakthroughs.”

Chapter 39

Chapter 39

When Conner had slipped out of view, Desmond again looked at the picture on the screen. Seeing it did bring back a memory. An unpleasant one.