Marx pounded his palmtop with his fist, sending it rattling across his desk. The device slid to a stop, and he stared at it hatefully. Completely unharmned. The palmtop was military-issue, designed to hold together in heavy combat. He couldn’t break it.
He couldn’t do anything.
The Goliath and the girl had disappeared into Dubai Colony. He’d sent two agents after them in the hours since. Neither had returned. Communications were down.
If he committed any more resources to this, he’d be noticed. But if he didn’t recover his memory quickly, someone else might discover what he was up to first. The thought sent his heart racing. Things were getting out of control, slipping out of his hands-
He remembered the last time he was this panicked. He remembered. He froze, seeing the hallway in his memory. Hearing the wails of children. Seeing the dim sunlight through the dusty windows.
He stood up sharply, snatching up his palmtop and heading for his telepad. He had to go back.
He had to go back to the orphanage.