The Bourne Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page A

minutes, those temporary memories disappear.”
    “But my memories occasionally do surface.”
    “That’s because trauma-physical, emotional, or a combination of the two-can very quickly flood certain synapses with neurotransmitters, thus resurrecting, shall we say, memories previously lost.”
    Dr. Sunderland smiled. “All this is to prepare you. The idea of full memory erasure, though closer than ever before, is still the stuff of science fiction. However, the very latest procedures are at my disposal, and I can confidently say that I can get your memory to surface completely. But you must give me two weeks.”
    “I’m giving you today, Doctor.”
    “I highly recommend-”
    “Today,” Bourne said more firmly.
    Dr. Sunderland studied him for some time, tapping his gold pen contemplatively against his lower lip. “Under those circumstances . . . I believe I can suppress the memory. That’s not the same as erasing it.”
    “I understand.”
    “All right.” Dr. Sunderland slapped his thighs. “Come into the examination room and I’ll do my best to help you.” He lifted a long, cautionary forefinger. “I suppose I needn’t remind you that memory is a terribly slippery creature.”
    “No need at all,” Bourne said as another glimmer of foreboding eeled its way through him.
    “So you understand there are no guarantees. The chances are excellent that my procedure will work, but for how long . . .” He shrugged.
    Bourne nodded as he rose and followed Dr. Sunderland into the next room. This was somewhat larger than the consultation room. The floor was doctor’s standard-issue speckled linoleum, the walls lined with stainless-steel equipment, counter, and cabinets. A small sink took up one corner, below which was a red plastic receptacle with a BIOHAZARD label prominently affixed to it. The center of the room was taken up by what looked like a particularly plush and futuristic dentist chair. Several articulated arms depended from the ceiling in a tight circle around it. There were two medical devices of unknown origin set on carts with rubber wheels. All in all, the room had the efficient, sterile look of an operating theater.
    Bourne sat on the chair and waited while Dr. Sunderland adjusted its height and inclination to his satisfaction. From one of the rolling carts, the doctor then affixed eight electronic leads to different areas of Bourne’s head.
    “I’m going to perform two series of tests of your brain waves, one when you’re conscious, one when you’re unconscious. It’s crucial that I be able to evaluate both states of your brain activity.”
    “And then what?”
    “It depends on what I find,” Dr. Sunderland said. “But the treatment will involve stimulating certain synapses in the brain with specific complex proteins.” He peered down at Bourne.
    “Miniaturization is the key, you see. That’s one of my specialties. You cannot work with proteins, on that minuscule level, without being an expert in miniaturization. You’ve heard of nanotechnology?”
    Bourne nodded. “Manufactured electronic bits of microscopic size. In effect, tiny computers.”
    “Precisely.” Dr. Sunderland’s eyes gleamed. He appeared very pleased by the scope of his patient’s knowledge. “These complex proteins-these neurotransmitters-act just like nanosites, binding and strengthening synapses in areas of your brain to which I will direct them, to block or make memories.”
    All at once Bourne ripped off the electronic leads, rose, and, without a word, bolted out of the office. He half ran down the marble-clad hall, his shoes making small clicking sounds as if a manylegged animal were pursuing him. What was he doing, allowing someone to tinker with his brain?
    The two bathroom doors stood side by side. Hauling open the door that said MEN , he rushed inside, stood with his arms rigid on either side of the white porcelain sink. There was his face, pallid, ghostly in the mirror. He saw reflected the tiles behind