Heathern (6 page)

"Charwomen, maintenants, anyone in the upper three
levels of Security," said Susie.

"Messiahs," said Bernard.

"We can clear most of those," said Thatcher, "There's still
a rat in the cheese factory. Whoever's behind this is using
our people. Who among us is most corruptible?"

"Blessings are equal, all around," said Bernard. "The
Army, perhaps. There're enough of them around here,
you'd think it was a VFW hall-"

"It's not the Army," said Thatcher.

"If he had Latin American dealings he would have
liaisoned with Army personnel at times," said Susie. "Any
reports of renegade elements within the ranks? Conceivably he was contacted--

"Reports from all fields are analyzed by sociopathologists
for disturbing motifs recurring in the subtext," Bernard
said. "That way those bent twigs may be swiftly pruned.
They're examined for signs of the boys enjoying themselves
too much, or for patterns of fatalism, signs of disagreement
with stated policies, the usual things. The prizewinners this
year were a group of pilots who were flying copters into
central Jersey at night to land in fields and mutilate farm
animals." He laughed. "Those guys. Amateur devil worshippers off on a toot."

"What happened to them?"

"Transferred to the Turkish theater," said Bernard. "Busy
mutilating Turks now, I suppose."

"If Jensen couldn't get in up here no one in the Army
ranks could have helped him access, whether they were in
or out," I said. "Army involvement would assume knowledge on the part of some in Command, wouldn't it? Who
analyzes their reports?"

Bernard shrugged. "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"

Thatcher spoke again, ignoring Bernard's sudden lapse
into tongues. "The Army's not in this, I tell you," he said.
"They see things different than we do, that's all. They may
not be too grateful but they don't forget who kept 'em going
when times was hard."

"Why would Frankenstein mind being given a gun?"
asked Bernard.

"Let's be realistic," said Thatcher. "You and I know who
we're looking for-"

"While it's possible the Japanese are involved, I'm sure it
would be only coincidentally. They've had so little involvement in the area in the past-"

"Think there's a possibility, though?"

"Anything's possible, Thatcher," Bernard said. "We still
have to get this agreement signed, whether they're involved
or not. After that our problems are over, wherever they
arise."

"Over?" Susie asked. "Done?"

Thatcher nodded. "You say this guy's into a lot of
things-"

"So many that conceivably a renegade within his organization might possibly be in on this. As, possibly, ones of
ours have been involved. But he probably isn't the one
immediately behind it. The Japanese aren't crazy-"

"They play golf on top of skyscrapers," Thatcher said,
speaking slowly, as if to children. "Keep robot fish in their
aquariums. Put fresh air in spray cans. Watch movies of
little girls killing each other with swords-"

"So they're crazy as Americans," said Bernard.

"They got fifth columnists in half my businesses and I
can't fire the bastards, they're too good. They're trying to
get me in bad with the government."

"Aren't you constantly telling me not to worry about the
government?"

"It's not as cut and dried as I'd like it to be," said
Thatcher. "You all act like we're already the government,
but you can't hurry love. That's why things still have to look
halfway right. We'll always have to have elections, for
example, there's no getting around it-"

"Subtleties," said Susie, "or so you always say."

"You're safe as milk, Thatcher," said Bernard. "The
populace has stayed so sober since it broke that terrible
addiction to truth."

"Never know what might get leaked," said Thatcher. "To
the media."

"Even the media you don't own want nothing to do with
unlocking your closet," said Bernard. "More pressing problems need attention. The scams of beggars. Serial killers in
the ranks of environmentalists. Subliminal messages on
cereal boxes within the pictures of missing children. Keep in
mind, all we have to do ninety-nine times out of a hundred
is put the cap over the lens. Then there is no situation."

"Mister Dryden," Lilly called over the intercom. It was
noon. "Lester Macaffrey to see you."

"Send him in," said Thatcher. "Never enough time to do
everything that needs doing. All right, Gus, stay on Jensen's
trail. Give Macaffrey a rubdown, too, why don't you?"

As the door slid open Gus walked over and patted
Macaffrey's limbs, as if to flour him. "Three times for luck?"
Macaffrey asked, his arms outstretched. "Or ritual?"

"Precautions," said Thatcher. "Have a seat. Good of you
to come see us on such short notice. Never heard such good
things about a teacher before, Lester."

"Mister Macaffrey will do for now," he said, sitting
down. "You understand."

Avi had been invited to the meeting; when I asked if he
was coming he shook his head, and walked away. I always
knew when he was scared, even if he didn't. "Nice offices
you got here. I'm surprised it's not the penthouse."

"Precautions," Thatcher reiterated. A question of blast
direction, Avi told me; the roof blew up if anything heavier
than a pigeon landed upon it, destroying as well the floor
immediately below, the observation deck. "Mister
Macaffrey, then. What I've heard about you makes me think
your talents might be going to seed. I'd like to offer you a
bigger field to sow."

Macaffrey's stare seemed not so withering as it had the
day before; I wondered if his mesmerism's effect could be
likened to that of a drug to which one became addicted
without ever feeling the high. Susie slipped on sunglasses,
looking as a gorgon lifting her own mirrors against those
who came to harm her.

"Maybe you've heard of Dryco," said Thatcher. "We keep
a low profile, but we're into more things than you could
shake a stick at. What we lack is consistency. Got lots of
material and no grand design. No theory."

"You need a moral outline," said Macaffrey. "How could
a teacher teach that?"

"For a teacher your educational record is refreshingly free
of degree," said Bernard, reading his printout. "We have no
evidence that you were even graduated from high school.
How did you come into your present position?"

"Fell into it," he said. "Neighborhood folks saw me as a
natural, I suppose. I don't think the Board of Regents minds
my taking my students off their hands."

"Yesterday you said your father was a minister," said
Susie. As she sat there, her eyes unreadable behind those
shades, she seemed only to lack a cup filled with pencils.
"Of what breed? Something respectable? Fundamentalist?
Racialist? Any interest in politics? How much experience
has your family had in this area?"

"Were the standard old ladies fleeced?" asked Bernard.
"Did he molest innocent minds? Could he convince his
flock that hell was worse than what they had?"

Macaffrey answered, his face totemic, showing nothing,
holding all. "My father was an Episcopal priest. He found
good in unlikely places. I think he was happy with his life.
In the fall he blessed the foxhounds before the hunts
began."

Bernard winked. "Who blessed the fox?"

"Is this a genealogical society?" Macaffrey asked. "I don't
understand what my family has to do with this-"

"Background checks. Precautions," said Thatcher.
"Looking for the man behind the mask. It's easy to lose the
human element in all this if you're not careful."

"Heaven forbid," said Bernard. "Much of a churchgoer
yourself, Lester? Not much point these days, is there?"

"I'm no joiner."

"In our service economy," said Bernard, "who do you
serve? God?"

"No less than anyone."

Bernard loved a challenge-to a point-and responded
at full tilt. "I wish my teachers had been so creative. Such
invention you have. Way above the norm, I assure you. It's
tricky, you know, to describe a creative act without tossing
the Lord in somewhere, I suppose, but I find such vagueness unholy. I'm told these concepts of yours came to you.
How? In dreams? A bottle? Do you file through some
heavenly fax? Do you consider your truth to be true?"

"I've said it long enough that I should." Bernard's net
was ready but the butterfly wouldn't settle. More familiar
with Thatcher's logic, Bernard reconsidered, and readied
the killing jar.

"Good man in procurement, we hear," he said. "What's
involved in that? You look up in the sky until you see what's
falling? Some geyser of bounty shoots up between your
feet? Where do you come by your gifts?"

"Everybody has connections," said Macaffrey. "No mystery in that."

"Tricks are fine for television but we have no cameras
here." Thatcher once told me that there were twelve in the
room. "Some here in our audience gave boffo reviews for
your act's finale. Can you raise the dead?"

"To be what?" Bernard pursed his lips and looked down
at his printout.

"Maybe you're not taking this in the right way," said
Thatcher, leaving it purposefully unclear as to whom he
spoke. "Mister Macaffrey. If Gus was to throw you through
that window, would you fall?"

"Under the circumstances you'd risk it?"

"I wouldn't be putting in an investment to lose, if you
fell. You get used to taking risks in business like you get
used to breathing, you know. It seems to me that there's
mighty big stuff being hinted at here and I'd like to see
something more impressive. I want to know if you're all you
say you are."

"I'm nothing," said Macaffrey. "I'm here at your request.
If you're so sure of what you see, why should I give you
glasses?"

"Gus," said Thatcher, "go out in the hall, bring Jake in
here a minute."

"Why?"

"I won't hurt him." Gus went to retrieve, and the
dialogue continued.

"Is there something you're planning?" asked Macaffrey.

"You're probably aware that most everybody in your line
claims some degree of medical skill," said Thatcher. "None
of 'em ever come saying they're a psychic accountant, for
example. Guess God never has to balance His own books."

"I'm no doctor."

"Bringin' somebody back to life's damn good doctoring,
long as they were dead," said Thatcher. "Course if you can
do that we have a new problem, deciding who to keep--

Gus returned with his protege. Jake stood silently, awaiting his orders, clasping his hands over his groin.

"You been working over a year for us now, right?" asked
Thatcher.

Jake nodded. I don't believe he'd ever been in the
boardroom before.

"You've done a good job for us. Good potential. You
don't fuck around, Jake."

"I sting the bees." With quick fingers Jake smoothed his
clothes, an unconstructed white jacket and ironed jeans.

"That's the way God planned it. I hear you never let on
when it hurts."

"Not overmuch, nada nohow."

"What does hurt you?"

"Tooth Nazis," he said.

"No root canal this trip," said Thatcher. "You don't mind
blood tests, do you? How often you get those?"

"Bimonthed as required."

"Think of this as a blood test," said Thatcher. "Jake, Gus
is going to break one of your fingers and then we'll see if
this boy can fix you up. You pick the finger."

After a moment's hesitation Jake lifted his left arm,
extending a pinky no larger than my own.

"There's a purpose to this, Mister Dryden?" Gus asked.

"Told you I wasn't going to hurt him," said Thatcher,
smiling. "Get to it, Gus, don't have all day."

Gus broke bones with the greatest finesse, I was told;
even so, I closed my eyes and covered my ears. Looking
again I saw Jake motionless, as a statue of smooth cold
marble. His arm was pressed against his side; his finger
jutted away from his hand at an unnatural angle.

"What do you suggest?" Thatcher asked Macaffrey.
Macaffrey's look held no threat of trance.

"Take him to the hospital," he said. "He'll go into shock."

"You don't think you can fix it?" asked Thatcher.

"I always fail tests."

"But you passed, son. If you'd tried faking it you'd've
already hit the street. Jake, that hurt much?"

Jake's lips barely moved. "No."

"AOK then. Gus, take him to the clinic." Jake shook
Gus's hand from his shoulder as they walked away. Bernard
tapped his pencil against the tabletop. Susie's eyes were
unreadable behind her sunglasses. I tried convincing myself
that I wasn't fully there.

"You're everything I've heard, Mister Dryden," said
Macaffrey, standing. "I'll be on my way."

"I understand gut reactions," said Thatcher. "Sit back
down. I want you to see how valuable you could be to my
organization. Sit down."

"What good could I do?" Macaffrey asked.

"You got to have more self-confidence than that. Haven't
you once stopped to think what you could be painting if
you had a bigger brush?"

"What do you want from me?"

"People always want more than what those who have can
give," said Thatcher, seeing no paradox. "But it's gotten to
the point where we can't let expectations get much
lower-"

"How could they?" asked Bernard.

"Time's come to raise a few hopes. We need to give 'em
inspiration. Help 'em get out of bed in the morning. Help us
keep a lid on things when the situation warrants it. Main
thing we can't forget is that we couldn't do what we do
without people."

"You want me to pass out the Kool-Aid," said Macaffrey.

"I hope you're not making unwarranted references," said
Thatcher, a century's sorrow soaking his voice at command.
"Unfair lies, that's what you've probably heard. Makes me
sick to think that's what's still believed." He calmed as he
took comfort in truth. "Not ten percent of our money comes
from drugs anymore, and we're in the process of phasing
that out. We've diversified into a number of fields."