Devlin Sub Rosa: Book Three of the Devlin Quatrology

by Jake Devlin

  “And brutal.”

  “Ja, ja, brutal. Out of the six hundred million peoples left after Vorld Var Sree, at least a hundred million vere in his militias.”

  “And maybe a couple thousand elites at the top and the rest were peasants, right?”

  “Ja, ja, Joel, except zere vere about two million petty bureaucrats. Und, of course, ze outcasts und outlaws in ze vastelands.”

  “Oh, like in – in – oh, crap. What was the name of that movie?”

  “What movie, Rona?”

  “The one about – with Gib Melson, the one – oh, right; 'Mad Max.'”

  “Ja, ja, 'Mad Max.' Ze documentary.”

  “No, no, Doc, just a movie. Fiction.”

  “Here, ja. But viz Fardunkoff, it vas a documentary, a – a – an underground, I sink it is, film. But his militias tracked down ze actors, ze writers, filmmakers, everybody involved, und slaughtered zem all.”

  “Like the critics did over here.”

  “Zey killed zem all?”

  “No, no, not for real. They panned it, gave it bad reviews.”

  “But it did great at the box office.”

  “Und most of ze films of zat schtyle were documentaries in zat udder timeline.”

  “What? No.”

  “Ja, Rona, ja. Und zey came out as fiction in zis one. I sink you call zem eezer post-apocalyptic or dyschtopian. Right?”

  “Dystopian?”

  “Ja; zat is vat I said.”

  “No, you” –

  “Let it lie, Joel, let it lie.”

  “Oh; okay.

  “You're talking about stuff before 1999, right?”

  “Ja, Joel, ja.”

  “And after that?”

  “Ah; a different story on zose. From zen on, most of ze films und almost all of ze books like zat vere most likely written by crossovers like me” –

  “Crossovers?”

  “Ja, Rona, zat is vat I call zem; people who, like me, haf memories of zeir lifes in zat udder timeline, even if zey haf no idea zat zey are real memories.”

  “Whoa there, Doc. You're saying there are more like you?”

  “Ja, ja, Joel.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “From vat zey haf written, books, movies, even some TV shows.”

  “But how can you tell?”

  “Because zey fit viz vat is in my journals. Remember, I wrote zose every single day, und zey are very detailed. Und I haf been studying zem for ten years.

  “'Salient Green' vas anudder film zat vas a documentary in zat timeline.”

  “Wait. They turned people into food for real?”

  “Ja, ja, absolutely. Zat vas in the Europe sector, vere I vas. Und in my journals, I wrote zat it tasted good.

  “Und zat movie, 'Ze Hunger Games' – und ze book, too – matched exactly viz how Fardunkoff's deputy for vat vas left of Nord America ran his region … und his games.”

  “So the author of that was” –

  “Is, Joel; I think she's still alive.”

  “Ah; okay. Is a crossover?”

  “Ja, ja, absolutely.”

  “Does she know?”

  “I haf no idea. I haf never talked viz her. If she does not know, she probably sinks she is crazy – crazy, ja?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Or maybe she just sinks she is making it all up und is happy she is so creative.

  “But I did haf some contact viz an author in Australia who is definitely a crossover. I did an online search for dystopian fiction und up came her book, 'Ze Julianna Rae Chronicles,' und zat matched up vis vat my journals told me about vat happened in zat part of ze vorld.”

  “Australia?”

  “Ja, Rona, or vat vas left of it. Zat vas perhaps the most gritty, darkest, dangerous region of ze whole vorld, und she captured zat so accurately it brought my nightmares back for many veeks. Zat made me vant to find her and talk viz her.

  “Finally, I found her on Twutter, und we schwapped some emails. She is absolutely a crossover, had ze same kinds of nightmares I did, but she had no journals, nussing to refer to, und vas positive zat she vas crazy. But after ve shared our experiences, I sink she finally underschtood vat vas really going on, zat it vas her memories crossing over und coming sru.”

  “Can you prove that? Any of it?”

  “To a concrete sinker? I do not sink so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it is – ach, Rona, vat is ze wort? Sub-somesing.”

  “Subconscious?”

  “Nein.”

  “Subjective?”

  “Ach, ja, ja, Rona; subjective. Danke. It is subjective.”

  “How so?”

  “Vell, Joel, vould you agree zat it is our memories zat tell us who ve are and vat ze vorld is like?”

  “What, now you're a shrink?”

  “A vat?”

  “A shrink, a psychiatrist, a brain doctor.”

  'Nein, nein. But I haf been sinking about zis every day for almost zehn Jahre – sorry – ten years.”

  “So that makes you some kind of expert?”

  “C'mon, Joel, give him a chance. I know what you mean, Doc.”

  “Ja, ja. Vomen are usually much more, ah, intuitive zan men. It vas ze same viz Julie und Greg.”

  “Go ahead, Doc. And Joel, just listen.”

  “Okay. I gif you a concrete example, Joel. Ve are indoors, can not see outside, correct?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. Vat color is ze sky?”

  “What kind of stupid” –

  “C'mon, Joel; just go with it.”

  “Okay, okay. It's blue. Okay?”

  “Ja, ja. Und you know zat from your memory, correct?”

  “Okay. Yeah, correct.”

  “Because it has alvays been blue, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “From as far back as you can remember, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But if ve vent outside right now und ze sky vas red, you vould be surprised, ja?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because zere is a conflict – is zat ze right vort, Rona?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Zere is a conflict between your memory and reality, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But now suppose your memory changed exactly venn ze sky did, so zat in your memory, ze sky had always been red.”

  “But how could” –

  “Joel!”

  “Okay, okay. So no conflict.”

  “Correct. Und zat is vat happened for most peoples in 1999, ven I killed Fardunkoff. Poof, everysing changed und it all felt completely normal; no conflict. Und” –

  “But how did that” –

  “I do not know ze how, only zat it did. Except for ze crossovers, like me.

  “But now I must haf some tea. Vould you like some?”

  “Think I'll pass on that, Doc.”

  “Me, too.”

  - 59 -

  June 18, 2013

  2:53 p.m. local time

  St. Tropez, France

  “We got some more information from a bodyguarding job we did for a conference in North Carolina in 1975 led by Margaret Mead, the anthropologist, and Paul Ehrlich, the author of “The Population Bomb,” a misguided and vile anti-human book based on Malthusian and eugenic principles. What we” –

  “Wasn't Margaret Mead the one who wrote about the sex lives of some primitive tribe in the South Pacific way back when?”

  “Yup, but that book was later proved to be a fraud. She and the other hoaxsters at the conference were pushing panic and fear of global warming, a term they invented, as a front for their real goal of reducing industrial activity and essentially halting Third World development to reduce or eliminate population growth, even through genocide. What we” –

  “Wait a minute, Jake. Genocide?”

  “Yup. But what we” –

  “And you say they invented the phrase 'global warming'?”

  “Yup, and we've got them
on tape talking about it way before the conference. I think it was back in July or – right, just about the time we were getting rid of Hoffa's body. So we didn't pay all that much attention to it until much later. But what we” –

  “Wait. What? You guys did Jimmy Hoffa?”

  “Yup; Gordy, Amber and me, took him right out of a parking lot in Detroit in the middle of the afternoon. Our first hit for the mob, and our best-paying job up to that point; quarter of a million bucks. And we were testing out a new sealant in our tiny R&D labs, the first time we used it in the field, so to speak.”

  “'So to speak'?”

  “Well, it was first time we used it in actual practice. We put the body in a hollowed-out statue filled with sealant, let it harden and bronzed the whole thing. So Jimmy's rotting away inside a statue of a horse in a park in – you know, I don't remember where we put that. Detroit, Pittsburgh, Chicago? I've QH'd it. Gone. Oh, wait a mi- – right. We were also helping Hoffman disappear at the same time. He was still” –

  “Who?”

  “Hoffman, Abbie Hoffman. He was a sixties radical, part of the Chicago Seven who'd disrupted the 1968 Democratic convention. '68, you were what? Seven years old? Eight?”

  “Seven.”

  “He was still healing from his plastic surgery, which he'd finally agreed to after more than a year on the run, and we had him holed up in the Windy City, so we stuck Hoffa in his horse in a park there.”

  “So what was he like, this radical, Hoffman?”

  “Never met him. Veronica and Fred, our two best disappearers at the time, dealt with his handler, and that was through a cutout, so they never knew who was helping him. But from the reports I got, he was another hard one to contain, probably bipolar, definitely a devout left-winger, got pretty antsy during the five or six years he was under, and he finally came out of hiding and faced the music. I didn't pay him much attention after that; he wasn't a client anymore, and we had lots of other stuff on our plate in all of our businesses, and we were getting more and more info out of our bugs.”

  - 60 -

  April 1, 2014

  9:27 a.m. local time

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  “No, no, NO, not that one, Norm!”

  “What?”

  “Just kidding. Pick any one you want.”

  “Goddammit, Gordy! You damn near gave me a heart attack!”

  “Sorry, Norm; couldn't resist. You okay?”

  “Lemme catch my breath. Uh, yeah, okay.”

  “Good. So any one you want.”

  “Okay. The same one.”

  “Purple; okay. Pink and green left.

  “Who's next? What? Everybody's got one? Damn. We need two more” –

  “We'll play.”

  “Oh, hi.”

  “If that's okay.”

  “Sure. You heard the rules?”

  “Yeah; we're sitting right there.”

  “I'm Gordy. Welcome.”

  “Ciro and Melanie. Hi.”

  “Hi. So pink or green?”

  “Ladies first. Mel?”

  “Okay; green.”

  “And that leaves pink for me.”

  “Good; so we're all set. Now, before anybody opens their egg, I've got four questions. Quiet, folks, please! Okay.

  “So how many of you think whoever finds the hundred-dollar bill in the egg should share it with everybody in the group? Hands? Okay. Um – six, seven. Okay; seven for sharing.

  “Now, how many think he or she should keep it and not share? Okay – ah, eight, nine. Okay; nine for not sharing.

  “Third question. How many of you are Democrats? Ah, six – hm; the same seven. Okay.

  “Last one. Republicans? Okay. Eight? Eight. Who's missing?”

  “Me. I'm a Libertarian.”

  “Oh, Dallas. Of course; I shoulda guessed.”

  “Yeah, Gordy, you sure shoulda.”

  “Okay; sorry.

  “Okay, everybody, drumroll, trumpet flourish ... ready? And open your eggs. Who's got the hundred-dollar bill?”

  “Nothing here.”

  “Empty.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Wait, wait; I've got a piece of paper. Lemme”--

  “What you got, Dave?”

  “Yeah, Dave, don't keep us all in suspense.”

  “C'mon, Dave.”

  “Is it a clue?”

  “A map?”

  “An IOU?”

  “It's gotta be a map.”

  “Wait, wait; lemme get it unfol- – geez, people – oh, geez, Gordy.

  “It's an invoice. 'For entertainment services, one hundred dollars, payable on receipt.'”

  “Invoice?”

  “Yeah, Angela, right there. See? 'Invoice.'”

  “But he said it was a bill, a hundred-dollar bill.”

  “Right. And it is.”

  “No, it's not. It's just a piece of paper.”

  “That's an invoice, a bill, Angela.”

  “But he said” --

  “So how many of you Democrats want to share in that now? Let's see, one hundred divided by seven” --

  “Would be fourteen dollars and 29 cents each.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Herb.

  “Ah. Nobody? Any Republicans want to donate? Ah. Again, nobody. Okay, okay.

  “April Fool, everybody. Thanks for playing.”

  “Not bad, Gordy.”

  “Thanks, Ro.”

  “Had us going.”

  “Yup, Dallas; that one worked.”

  “Wait, wait. He said it was a hundred-dollar bill.”

  “Can you explain it to her, Joe?”

  “Yeah, Gordy.

  “Angie, let's go for a walk.”

  “Okay, Joey.”

  - 61 -

  June 18, 2013

  3:01 p.m. local time

  St. Tropez, France

  “People were so gullible back then, with the sex, drugs and rock 'n roll of the sixties, and that fed over into the seventies and the eighties, even up to today. So Mead and her fellow anti-human ilk had a pretty easy time getting all these hippies to jump on her radical environmental bandwagon; brilliant media strategies.

  “And all the anti-nuke, anti-energy, anti-growth groups got a big boost from that bunch, especially when Al Gore, an avowed one-world-government guy, narrated that panicky film, 'The Inconvenient Truth.'”

  “The anti-carbon dioxide, global warming one?”

  “Right. But the ironic thing is that way back before that Mead conference, we got her and Ehrlich and several others on tape as they brainstormed ideas to get what they wanted, control of the world population, and one of the ideas they brought up but ultimately threw out was to create the illusion of an alien invasion and use that to unify all countries under one strong dictatorial police-state type government.”

  “An alien invasion? Seriously?”

  “Yup. They talked about Orson Welle's 'War of the Worlds' broadcast from '38 as an example of how to manipulate and propagandize the sheeple.”

  “'Sheeple'?”

  “Yup; people as sheep, just following without thinking.”

  “Cool word. Did they make that up?”

  “Nope. Not sure where it came from, but it's been around since maybe the mid-eighties. Mead's people used the word 'lemmings' a lot, but it was pretty clear they'd been drinking fairly heavily in that planning session.”

  “Or maybe smoking pot?”

  “Could be, but it sounded more like alcohol than weed doing the talking. We can listen to the tape, if you want. It's been digitized, but it's still crackly and staticky.”

  “Naw, that's okay. Kind of a side issue.”

  “Yeah. But another piece of that particular puzzle is that their basic manifesto formed a big part of the basis for the United Nations' Agenda 21 that came out in the early nineties.”

  “I've heard about that; haven't read it.”

  “I have, and it's got a lot of anti-growth, anti-business, anti-, anti-, anti- stuff in there, lot
s of government intrusion, brainwashing of our kids into being tree-huggers and flower-fondlers, and policies that can work to enslave the lemmings, the sheeple, take away as many of their individual human rights as possible.

  “But – and this is the basic question I've always been asking – who controls those people? Who's behind the curtain, pulling the levers? And not just on the greenies, but on every other group, cabal, whatever you want to call 'em, that we've investigated over the years.”

  “Which would be how many?”

  “As of today, two thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven.”

  - 62 -

  May 11, 2014

  11:27 a.m. local time

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  “So the answers to your questions are yes, maybe and probably not.”

  “What questions would those be?”

  “The ones every woman is asking every man she meets, even if she's not aware of it.”

  “And?”

  “Okay. First one, 'Am I attractive enough, interesting enough and sexy enough that you'd want to fuck me?' And my answer is 'Yes.'

  “Second, 'Is this guy attractive enough, interesting enough and sexy enough that I'd want to let him fuck me?' And your answer at this point is 'Maybe.'”

  “Wait” –

  “No, no. Third question, 'Will we be fucking right here, right now in the next ten minutes?' And the answer is” –

  “Probably not. In fact, definitely not. What kind of woman do you think” –

  “Do I think you are? I think you're a beautiful, vital, intelligent and incredibly sexy woman, something that your husband hasn't noticed or appreciated in, oh, maybe six, seven years, maybe longer. And he's probably had at least one affair that you know of, maybe more, and most likely several more that you had no idea about. You're like an unread book collecting dust on a back shelf in his mind, while he's out pounding away on the newer, younger and more nubile releases.

  “So you've let yourself go, put on a few pounds here and there, not paid much attention to your wrinkles and you've let time and anger and sadness take its toll. But I can see through all that to the beauty you really are.”

  “Oh, Frank, really?”

  “Really. I can see you've got a deeply sensitive soul, an old soul, connected to all kinds of spiritual and metaphysical worlds. But you've been so caught up wallowing in the tragedy and sorrow of your marriage that you've ignored that small voice inside you for too long, and you can't hear it at all anymore.”