A note to people from Switzerland, if any of you happen to be reading this – I realize that Swiss-German is quite different from German-German (it feels weird typing that), but I could not find any reliable translators online, so I was forced to stick with regular ol' German. Please forgive me! I'm not trying to insult your language, culture, heritage, etc. I'm just too lazy and/or broke to go out and by a Swiss-German dictionary!

000

Chapter 12

They reached Zurich by mid afternoon. Yuna was dozing in the truck when his voice, low and tense, woke her up.

"We're here."

She sat up and saw the city's skyline approaching in the distance, and the now-familiar rush of adrenaline caused a ripple to pass through her. There was no guarantee that they would find anything that could be used to help clear their names, but if that bank vault was important enough to have the number inserted in the back of her companion's head, then they were bound to find something. Licking her lips, she turned to look at him, curious to see if his expression would reveal any of the turmoil he would surely be feeling.

He was staring ahead, his features perfectly neutral, trained to be still. His knuckles on the steering wheel, however, were white, and Yuna was certain that she could see his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching. She reached out and put her hand on his knee, squeezing gently. He glanced at her and tried to smile.

"I'd like to say that we're going to be just fine," he said, lowering a hand over hers. "But I really don't know if that's the case."

"At least then we will know," she offered. "That is better than all this secrecy and guessing."

He hesitated, and then reached over to rest an arm over hers. "Yuna, I want you to make me a promise."

Something about his voice made her glance up at him sharply. She pulled back enough to catch his eye. "What is it?"

"I know that I already owe you so much, and I shouldn't be asking for more favours –"

"What is it?" she asked again. It felt like he knew something dark and awful that she did not, and she hated that feeling.

He hesitated for a moment. "In case something happens to me . . . well, if it turns out that I do have a family somewhere out there . . ." he continued. "Would you find them? And . . . I don't know, tell them about me?"

It sounded like he had already made plans to die. She leaned back against him protectively, closing her eyes. "Of course, I promise. But nothing is going to happen to you, so it's no use being so dramatic."

His body vibrated with a deep chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind."

She frowned slightly, keeping her eyes closed. This conversation bothered her, but she had to have the last word. "Don't die, okay?"

His lips came down to kiss the top of her head, but he did not reply.

000

Ever cautious, they abandoned the truck in an underground parking lot a few blocks away from the Paradeplatz, the square of Zurich. He was almost sad to let go of it; the truck had felt like a haven for all those long hours, a little world of their own. It felt similar to the underground compartment in Maechan's house. He was a little worried about leaving the guns behind as well, but he knew that walking into a high-security bank with a couple of handguns stowed away was far from a good idea. There was no choice in the matter – he and Yuna just had to be extra careful.

He hadn't fully prepared himself for the sight of those gleaming steel and glass doors. The brass address jumped out at him like a beacon, calling him forward. The building's exterior looked like it was built in the late 19th century or early 20th. Like most things in Europe, though, it had probably been remodeled on the inside. He wracked his brains for anything familiar, anything that linked him to this place, but nothing came. He was a stranger with no name in a foreign place heading towards a giant question mark that may or may not get him killed, and the woman with him as well. No matter how many times he contemplated the situation, it still baffled him as to how he had ended up here.

Then Yuna laced her cool fingers with his, and he could feel her light pulse quicken as they drew nearer to the bank. He squeezed her hand appreciatively. If nothing else, he had her. She'd had countless opportunities to back out and run to the police, or simply abandon him and try to salvage what she could of her old life. But she didn't. She chose to stay, by some miracle or blessing. That had to count for something.

Entering the bank was like stepping into another world. The lobby was cold and bright, an ivory and green marble chamber that was remarkably silent when they stepped in. He was instantly wary of the two guards armed with G36 rifles, but neither of them even acknowledged when he and Yuna walked in through the doors. There were cameras everywhere, but there was nothing he could do but angle his face so that they wouldn't capture him directly.

The woman at the counter glanced up and waved them forward, looking almost bored. "Mag ich Ihnen helfen?" she asked.

And then he discovered he could speak German. The knowledge startled him for a moment, but he masked it and replied as casually as he could, "Ja, möchte ich meine Wölbung zugänglich machen, bitte." The language, like French, felt oddly comfortable to him, as though he had speaking it for years.

Yuna looked at him curiously for a second, but then, as he, did quickly disguised her surprise and tried to act normally. Nodding, the woman behind the counter handed him a pad of paper and a ridiculously expensive-looking pen, asking for his account number. He wrote down the numbers that had been burned in his memory since that day in Aix-en-Provence, when he smashed the device under foot.

The woman then called in a sharply-dressed assistant via intercom and instructed him to grab a key card and escort them up to the vault. They were led to an elevator off to the side of the lobby, and as soon as the doors closed, Yuna turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"German?" she queried. He smiled a little and shrugged.

"News to me, too. I didn't realize it until she spoke first," he replied, wondering how much English the assistant could understand. Judging by the fact that the young man didn't seem to be paying much attention, he doubted it was a lot.

Yuna sighed and shook her head. "I wonder what a normal day is like in your life."

He chuckled a little. "You and me both." After a moment of silence, another thought occurred to him and he turned back to her. "Aren't you claustrophobic?"

She blinked and then laughed softly in amazement. "It's strange, but . . . after what happened at Maechan's, I think I'm okay now. Who knew that's all it would take? I should have done that sooner!" He stared down at her for a second, and then felt an almost overwhelming wave of affection. With complete disregard for the assistant in front of them, he leaned down and kissed her temple. She looked a little surprised, but she grinned with pleasure nevertheless.

"Fourth floor, sir," the assistant said in German, grabbing their attention immediately. The doors slid open and he led them out to the security check, a long hallway with various armed guards posted here and there. There were no visible cameras, but he had a feeling that there were many, many hidden ones. Before departing, the assistant handed him the key card and gave the piece of paper with account number to one of the guards.

"They won't let more than one person access a vault at a time," he said to Yuna as the assistant disappeared behind the elevator doors. "Can I borrow your bag? Just in case I see something worth taking."

Looking somewhat disappointed, she consented. With Yuna's brown corduroy bag over his shoulder, he approached the first station, a print reading machine. Trying to look as though he did this sort of thing all the time, he placed his right hand on a flat computerized panel that instantly began scanning his fingerprints. A few seconds later he was cleared to proceed to the next security check. The metal detector, similar to what one would find in an airport, remained silent when he passed through it. Then the guard that had been given the account number escorted him through a door and down a hall towards the vault area.

000

The entire room was completely silent. Every pair of eyes was fixed on Seymour. He glanced at Lynwood, who nodded once and gave him thumbs up. Then he took a deep, indiscernible breath and began dialing.

000

It was one of the longest walks in his life. Every footstep seemed to take an eternity, and he could hardly keep from dashing ahead for himself. He had to remain calm. There were cameras in this hallway. Have to remain calm.

The guard stopped at a vast steel door and punched in a security code before turning to speak for the first time. "You have five minutes," he stated, obviously having had to say it hundreds of times before. "If you need more time, just ask. But let's not take all day, ja?"

He nodded briefly, not trusting himself to use his voice. Five minutes to figure out who you are. The steel door slid open slowly, and he marched through it with more conviction than he felt. As soon as the door closed behind him and he was left standing in that large metallic room by himself, he let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

All four walls were made up of individual vaults, roughly the size of file cabinet drawers with brass numbers welded to the front under the steel handle. There were no cameras in this room.

His eyes roamed the numbers until he found his account number and crossed over to it, hardly able to keep his fingers from shaking. He pulled out the drawer and carried it over to a table in the middle of the room. The key card slipped easily into a slot on the side of the box, and a little green light flashed, indicating that it was now unlocked. He slid aside the metal lid and looked down into the contents of his life.

The first thing he saw was a stack of passports, numbering eleven in total, all from different countries. The United States. Canada. France. Germany. Spain. Russia. Even the Czech Republic. He grabbed a handful and flipped through them, startled to see his face staring back from four of them. The others were men he didn't recognize – presumably other agents. Ignoring these, he reached for the American passport and scanned for a name.

Tidus Raines.

A strange calm descended on him. There it was, printed neatly next to his ID photo. American, aged 26, Caucasian, blond hair, blue eyes. Currently living in Paris. He raised an eyebrow at that, wondering why he was stationed in Paris, of all places. But at least that explained why he was fluent in French.

My name is Tidus Raines. It didn't matter what names he might find on those other passports; this would be the name that stuck with him for the rest of his life. The name that would carve him out of anonymity and give him a foundation, a place that was undeniably his. This is who he was now. The name Yuna would know him by.

He threw the passport into Yuna's bag and for the first time took notice of the money. A lot of money. He stared down in astonishment at what had to be around one million dollars in American bills and in Euros before gathering all the bundles dumping them into the bag as well. He owed Yuna, after all.

Next he noticed an unmarked file folder, tucked away at the bottom of the box. The sight of it brought on a feeling of unease. Something about it looked decidedly sinister to him, and he couldn't explain why, but somehow he knew that it was important. Vital. Everything. Nervously he pulled it out and flipped it open. All he saw was row after row of names, accompanied by dates and what appeared to be price numbers and other bank account numbers. The list went on and on, reaching as far back as nineteen years. The sheer amount of information was enough to make him dizzy. As the dates drew closer and closer to the present, the feeling of dread began to intensify as pieces of the puzzle began falling into place.

And then a phone rang.

He was so startled that he nearly dropped the folder. The ringing was loud and piercing, and it was definitely coming from the box. Trembling, he shuffled around until his fingers closed around a black satellite phone. Anything powerful enough to glean a signal out of a giant metal room was bound to be military technology. He held it up and with only one second of hesitation, he hit the receive button.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"Someone who has a bone to pick with you, Raines," the voice on the other end replied tersely. "You've been making a few people angry – namely me – and I think it's time we have a little chat."

"You're the one who sent those men after me," Tidus said, feeling for a moment that his heart had actually stopped beating.

"Yes, and you're the one who blew their brains out. We're done with intros. I want to know why the hell you're standing in a private bank vault in Zurich, where you are sure as hell not supposed to be."

"This account number was lodged in the back of my fucking head!" Tidus snapped. "I came to find out why. Until one minute ago I didn't even know my own name."

There was a moment of silence. "What are you talking about?"

"Three days ago, I woke up in a Marseille hospital. Beyond that, I can't remember a goddamn thing," Tidus went on, swallowing heavily. "So why are you chasing me? Who are you?"

"You failed a mission, boy," The voice stated coldly, ignoring the last question. "You botched the whole thing, ran away, and didn't check back with headquarters for damage control. Basically, you fucked up. That makes our investors just a little bit nervous."

"Investors?" Tidus asked, glancing down at the bank account numbers next to the names on the list.

"You see," the other man continued, "when we say we're going to use their money to get a certain job done, that means we do it. When it doesn't get done, that makes me look bad. When I look bad, I get pissed off. And when I get pissed off, things get ugly."

"So I have to die because I refused to kill someone." He was starting to wonder how much time he had left before the guard came back.

"What makes you so sure you simply refused?"

"Because I managed to kill every other agent you sent after me. I was stronger, faster, and more adept with or without a weapon than any of them. How could I possibly have 'failed'?" he asked, beginning to pace around the room. "I think I faced facts. I think I stopped wanting to kill people for a living. So I walked away."

"You don't just walk away from something like this," the man on the other end snarled. "Right now you are in the presence of some very . . . sensitive material. How do I know you're not going to traipse off and play show and tell with it?"

A knock on the door made Tidus jump. On the other side, he heard the guard begin punching in the code to open it.

"I don't care what you say. I'm done with you, whoever you are. I am walking away from all of this and I had better not feel anyone breathing down the back of my neck, or else you know what happens."

000

For a moment Seymour simply held the phone against his ear, listening to the dial tone as though he could still hear Raines' voice through it. Then he wordlessly hung up and stared ahead in deep thought, ignoring the tense crowd of people around him. They had all heard the conversation through the tracker on the main comp screen.

At long last Seymour turned to Miss Welsh. "Any records of amnesia among the men?" he asked with a heavy sigh. Rikku shook her head slowly, still looking somewhat stunned.

"No. If he's telling the truth . . . it's a first for us."

He stared down at the silent phone in his hand for a moment. "This changes a few things. Lynwood." His associate looked up at him with a knowing expression. "Call our Swiss connections. Raines and that woman are not leaving that building unless they're in handcuffs. I want some answers."

000

Mag ich Ihnen helfen – May I help you?

Ja, möchte ich meine Wölbung zugänglich machen, bitte – Yes, I would like to access my vault, please.