The Vault (8)

Adrian has purchased a hamster cage in the shape of a train. It is the first thing I notice as I return to my flat.

"The hamster was in that cage," I said to him. "In my visit to the Vault."

"I thought it might help," he said. "Give your hamster a nudge in the right direction."

"But how? It wasn't part of my memory, it was part of your memory."

"I was visiting my own Vault," he said. "I popped into yours just before you arrived."

"You visited my Vault?" I said, shocked. My Vault was precious, it contained my memories. Every single moment in my life was recorded there.

"Don't worry, I can't see any of your memories. If I could I wouldn't need you."

Fair point.

"So what happened?"

I repeated my experience in the Vault. "I'm nearly there," I concluded. 

"Good," he said, "In which case there's someone you need to meet." So saying he took out his phone and sent a short message. 

I relaxed post-Vault, with a beer on the sofa. The TV was still pushed to the corner, to accommodate the pool table, so I watched the two men playing pool. I could have played as well, of course, but I was so drained by my experience. 

There was a ring at the door, and immediately afterwards it opened. A locked door was clearly no barrier to these people.  A man entered, wearing a dark suit, a very expensive looking suit, with a T-shirt, a plain green T shirt, which also looked expensive. Unlike Adrian and Jeff, his clothes fitted, clearly tailor-made.

Although nothing was said, Adrian and Jeff took the man's arrival as a cue to leave. "We've got to pop out," Adrian said. They left their pool game unfinished. 

After they'd gone the man sat next to me on the sofa. "Fortune," he said, holding out his hand. I shook his hand and began to introduce myself, but he stopped me with a smile. "Oh, I know all about you."

"You're probably wondering who we are," he said. "We work for a government department, not one you'll have heard of. It's a bit new and a bit different. All you need to know is that one of the things we're working on is exploration of memory. It's a new area of science, one that the vast majority of the country is unaware of."

"Do you mind if I fetch a beer."  Without waiting for my response, he got up, walked to the kitchen, and returned with a bottle from the fridge. 

"There's an issue with the death of the old PM," he continued. "Or there may be. We need to know who the killer is, as we think he's resurfaced."

"You mean he's killed again," I said. 

"I mean he's resurfaced. I can't tell you more, it might affect your memory. It's a fickle thing, if I put a name in your head that name is liable to appear in your memory."

"I see," I said. I didn't see. 

"It seems that you're close. You've made excellent progress.  I need you to understand that if the killer is the person we think it is it would be immensely sensitive. We need you to sign the Official Secrets Act. Only let's not bother."

"You mean you trust me?" I said. 

"I mean that if you tell anyone what you've told us you won't be taken to court. We really don't want the trouble, and frankly the threat of a lifetime in jail isn't sufficient. If you tell people about this you'll be killed."

I said nothing. It didn't seem a statement which needed a response. 

"I need you to go back in," he said.

"To go back in?"

"To go back in the Vault. You're so close now. We need answers as soon as possible. The fate of nations may depend upon it."

It takes time to recover, I didn't say.  "I can try," I said instead.