“Why do you think the memories might be triggered in different ways?”

Byron shrugged. “Simple logic. He wouldn’t want himself to be in the dark, but he also wants to keep us from knowing any sensitive information. If he runs into something he needs to know about, the implant could release memories to help him out without compromising his goal.”

Avery bit her lip. “Okay, fine. Just keep at it. Let me know what you find.” She held the tablet up again and tapped it. The speaker in Desmond’s cell fell silent, but Avery kept speaking to the programmers. Byron shrugged and gave an animated response, then Avery turned, again glanced quickly at Desmond, making eye contact for a fraction of a second, and left through the hatch.

The moment the hatch closed, Byron stood and began pacing and talking to the two other programmers. They pointed at the laptop screens and leaned back in their chairs.

Desmond wondered why she had let him hear the conversation. Was she an ally? Or was she trying to build trust? Was it part of their plan?

They were looking for an app. Could it be the Labyrinth Reality app? In Berlin it didn’t seem to work. Maybe Byron was right—maybe the app was waiting for the right time or location. But some memories had come back to him—memories of his childhood. They wouldn’t reveal what he had done with Rendition. Maybe that had been his plan: to hide the most sensitive memories until the right time. Or until he was ready.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He truly was in a labyrinth of his own making. He wondered if he would make it out alive. His breathing slowed, and another memory came.

One Saturday, when Orville was waking up, when he was sober, Desmond said, “I need you to take me to Oklahoma City.”

“What for?” the man grumbled.

“I need to buy something.”

Orville shook his head, annoyed.

“I need to buy a computer.”

The older man stared at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Desmond had rehearsed this conversation a dozen times in his mind, imagining what Orville would say. That Desmond had no use for a computer. That he needed it like he needed a hole in his head. That it was a waste of money.

Instead, Orville put a large pinch of Copenhagen snuff behind his lip and simply said, “All right then. Go get in the truck.”

A minute later, Desmond sat in the Jeep pickup, waiting.

Orville walked past it, to the shed behind the house. Desmond heard him open the hood of the broken-down Studebaker truck he had been threatening to fix up for years. He tossed some tools around, then slammed the hood shut, got in the Jeep, and drove to the city.