Coordinator Marx knew he’d had a good reason for sending the Goliath and the girl in search of her blocked memories; but until he stepped into the craft room, he didn’t remember what that reason was.
The memory was on the tip of his mind as he marched through downtown New Barcelona. It tugged him toward the abandoned building in midtown, past the empty playground and up the staircase. The cleanup crew he’d dispatched had already removed the bodies of the thugs that 231 had killed that morning, leaving no trace.
The deja vu startled him as he saw the hallway, the classrooms on his right, the row of windows on his left. He couldn’t look away from the door nearest him. Marx’s brain hummed. He felt the gray blankness threatening to surge over his consciousness, but weakening. The block was breaking up.
He stepped into the doorway, looked inside, and remembered.
He remembered Sister Parveen Al-Khouri shaking her head, scowling.
He remembered promising her that the children would be well-protected in Tower’s care. They would be better off than they were here. The research project would help them as much as anyone.
He remembered the nun snarling. She knew he had tried to buy the property from under them. He couldn’t fool her — she was a psion too, just like they were.
He remembered telling her to stay out of his head unless she wanted a bullet in hers.
He remembered her last words, thrust straight into his mind. I’m not afraid of you.
He remembered the rage when he drew his gun and shot her in the chest.
He remembered storming down the hall to —
Marx found himself leaning against the wall, breathing hard. The block was still there. Something was still missing. He pounded his fist into the wall.
He still didn’t remember where they hid the children.