by James Peters
“I need something more, though.”
“And that would be?”
“I need to be able to do good research. You have archives here and connections to other papers and news sources. Probably more valuable than anything is your network of connections around the country and perhaps the world. I need contact information for newsmen from other locations. I need to be able to say that I work for the Gazette and show credentials to get the information that I need.”
“I can’t pay you until you deliver a good usable story so don’t even ask. But I can get you an ID badge and we have a group work area with desks, typewriters, and phones you can use. They aren’t fancy, and they are first come first served. I’d suggest you look for one that isn’t in use, rather than stepping on someone’s toes. I’ll get you credentials to get in and out of the building for a month. No more, unless you bring me something good to print. Now, give me that drink – there’s no drinking on the job here. Go down to the receptionist and give her this note.”
He scribbled something on a yellow pad. “She’ll get you a card. Now get to work. Bring me something good and we’ll talk again. Otherwise, don’t come back here.”
I walked out, as I saw him pick up my glass and quickly toss the contents down his throat. “I’ll get you something good.”
***
At this point, I had two basic goals. First, I needed to find some investigative stories to keep in good grace with my new boss. Secondly, I had my own personal goal; to find out where the Imperial technology came from. I could never share this as a story, but needed to solve it. I decided to go back to basics. The first rule of investigative reporting: Follow the money.
Real Estate and vehicle sales transactions are part of public record through tax data, and my first big break in Imperial reporting came through data mining purchasing transactions for unusual patterns. Investigative theory told me that someone ‘on the take’ or somehow dipping into monies that didn’t belong to them, would always want to spend that money. A series of odd transactions would flag someone worth investigating. If that person happened to be a public figure and their salary also a matter of public record, I could quickly analyze a level of reasonable spending. I’d search for someone officially making a modest income, spending like they had wealth. I processed the data using some of my more advanced technology and found a handful of targets.
I ran into several dead-ends. One lead had inherited a good sum of money from family and enjoying spending it; nothing illegal going on there. A few had been simply in debt to a point that they’d never be able to pay it all back. While not smart, that’s not the stuff of investigative reporting. I considered giving up when I found one last prospect, a Mr. McGee: maintenance worker at a manufacturing plant that made ball bearings. Somehow on a meager income, over the span of five years, he bought an expensive residence, then upgraded it each year. I caught myself smirking and wringing my hands together as I started to see the pattern. I had my target. Now, what are you up to, Mr. McGee?
With some basic reconnaissance work, I identified my target. A small man, just over five-feet tall, thin build, with a long nose supporting black-framed glasses. The most memorable feature: his male-pattern-baldness camouflaged by an impressive comb-over; his hair on the right side of his head had been grown long enough to cover his bald head and meet up with the very short hair on the other side. It had been covered in hairspray so thick that the hair couldn’t move on its own. He had taken AquaNetTM to a level of “AquaAnchor”.
I secretly followed him for a few days and determined his routine. He ate breakfast at 6:30, left for work at 7:15, arrived at work at 7:40, worked until a lunch break at 12, returned to work at 12:50 and worked until 5 o’clock. Every weekday; the exact same schedule, to the minute, even his bathroom breaks. You could set a clock to his movements, so to speak. I also observed the schedule at the shipping and receiving doors, finding a window of opportunity to set up my dust cameras. Once prepared, I dressed in a fine suit and carried a briefcase with me. If questioned, I would act like a salesman making a cold-call and, worst case, I’d be escorted from the building. I knew that maintenance workers would want nothing to do with a man in a suit, so even if they did see me, they’d likely turn the other way.
I slipped in and out without notice and started collecting video and audio. I found our man McGee a tough nut to crack. I saw no indication that he stole funds or changed records. He didn’t have access to purchasing accounts or cash and seemed a reasonably hard worker. So what is he up to?
If he isn’t doing something at work, it must be something personal. I felt both annoyed and exhilarated; the old thrill of the chase came back to me.
One evening, I noticed him loading bags into his car. He clearly headed somewhere. I followed, keeping enough distance between us to not be noticed. He led me toward a warehouse area and as he approached an overhead door, it opened just in time to let him pull in, then closed behind him. I stopped my car and pondered what to do. I couldn’t follow him directly into the building, but I knew that I needed to find out what this was all about. I sat in my car, watching the door when my passenger door opened and I found myself on the business end of a large handgun.
“Drive.”
“What?”
“Drive,” the man said, poking me in the eye with the gun barrel. It stung and my eye watered. I tried to wipe the tear away. In the process, I got a look at him. I noticed his small frame with a big gun, scruffy beard that looked like a week’s growth, and bright blue eyes. He had a wild look about him; unpredictable and restless. He spoke in a manic way, fast and loud. “Hands on the wheel; ten and two or nine and three. Some argue that one is better than the other, but don’t use one and seven. That’s never good. Take the car out of park, go past R and N and put it in D, and quietly turn around. Make a left turn on McGovern and follow it out of town.”
“But,” I said and he poked me in the eye again.
“Ouch! Would you stop that?”
“Next time I poke you with a bullet. A three fifty-seven bullet with a hundred and forty grains of powder driving it at sixteen-ninety feet per second. Drive.”
So I followed McGovern out of town, eventually turned into a country road. He had me make a turn onto a gravel road. I hit a big pothole, and the gun poked me in the eye again. “Dammit! Would you either shoot me or back that thing up a little bit? I can’t freakin’ see.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” What was I saying? It’s okay? I’m okay with you holding a gun to my head and making me drive to the center of nowhere, so you can kill me, and easily dispose of my body. But it’s okay as long as you stop poking me in the eye?
“Pull the car into that barn. Watch the haystack; never know when a needle might appear. I have some questions for you.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“That wasn’t one of my questions.”
He led me to a wooden beam and had me back up to it. He pushed my arms back and quickly handcuffed them. “Now, why were you following Mr. McGee?”
“I wasn’t following anyone. I made a wrong turn.”
The man let out a sigh. “You know, I really wanted to do this the clean way. But you insist on making it dirty. I hate dirty. You have to wash dirt off, and no matter how many times you scrub your hands under hot water, there’s always some left under your nails. Scrub until your hands bleed and there’s still dirt. Even the blood is dirty. The soil of the body, or is it the soul?”
“Uh.”
If I could have scratched my head I would have. I felt a tear run down my cheek.
“Crying is a sign of weakness. No crying!”
“It’s just my eye watering.”
“No watering. Now, why follow McGee?”
“I wanted to learn what he was up to.”
“Up to? Up to no good.”
“Probably. I didn’t find out.”
“Why do you care? You’re not one of us.”
He paced b
ack and forth, running fingers through his chin scruff. “No, definitely not one of us. I would know. I know lots and lots of things and I’d definitely know if you were one of us.”
“One of you?”
“Oh no, you’re not tricking me that way. I ask the questions. Ask, ask, ask. Asking I am. Who are you?”
“Raka. My name’s Raka.”
“Raka. I don’t know any Rakas; not until now. Odd name it is and an odd accent you have. Two odds make an even, so that works out well. What do you know about McGee?”
“Not a lot. I was suspicious of him. He seemed to be living above his means. I thought that he might be stealing money somehow. So I followed him.”
“Living above his means? Do you know how mean he is? Can that be measured, cataloged, and compared?”
“I don’t know. I just thought he spent more money than he should have. I thought I’d catch him.”
“And do what? Are you a cop? Sheriff, FBI, CIA, MI Five, Gestapo?”
“No. Reporter.”
“Reporter? Why would a porter do his job twice? Leaving and returning. Port twice, report. Or port wine. No, can’t drink it twice.”
“I write stories for the newspaper. That kind of reporting. Investigative reporting.”
“Investigator. Alligator wearing a vest, looking damn snappy I should say. But why, why a vest and not a jacket? But you don’t know what McGee was up to?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Do you want to know?”
“Yes, of course. But first, is it really necessary for me to be handcuffed like this? You have the gun and I can’t really go anywhere. I’m not with McGee. I really don’t know anything about him. Can’t we just talk? I think I can help you.”
“No. No tricks. You stay there until I say. But I’ll tell you what McGee was up to. He’s replaced our Mayor with an imposter.”
“McGee is involved with a plot to replace the Mayor?”
“So you do know about it. Obvious, isn’t it? Plain as a day on the plains. Imposter Mayor.”
“But, why? How? What makes you think that?”
“Network. I know lots and lots of things, lots of things. Lots of people watch lots of things and I hear about them. Around the world, we have a network. When something isn’t right, people notice. We know each other and share data. Information flows like water, water that can flow uphill and around borders. We are aware of who runs things and have a plan.”
“A plan?”
“Yes, a plan to expose them.”
“Them?”
“Them. The Illuminati. They control things. Economies, information, even minds. Mostly minds. We will stop them.”
“Who are ‘we’”? I said, not sure if I wanted to know.
“We are the Deluminati. We will defeat them, hence the name, De-Luminati.”
“I see. So, back to the Mayor. He’s an imposter?”
“Absolutely. I have the evidence.”
“Can you tell me more?”
“I learned his schedule and got close. I saw what he did, ordered, and consumed. Definitely not the Mayor.”
“Go on…”
“I sat behind him and heard him make the order. The order confirmed it all.”
“What did he order?”
“Grits.”
“Grits?”
“Grits. For breakfast.”
“And?”
“That was all I needed. It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Not to me. Can you explain?”
“Everyone knows that Mayors eat oats. He ordered grits. Imposter Mayor, case closed. Thank you, and don’t forget to tip, your juror.”
“Mayors eat oats?”
Mayors eat oats! This guy is a complete nutcase. I had to get out of here and quickly.
“You’re on to something. I think you are right. I need my notebook from the car so I can write this down. We’re definitely onto something here, and I can help you prove it. Quickly, grab my notebook!” He trotted off to my car and returned with my notebook. I had a blue-inked Parker pen clipped to the front.
“I need to be able to write!” I said, nodding toward my cuffed hands.
He unlocked the handcuffs. “Let me get those for you.”
I stretched my arms and extended my right hand forward. “You know my name, but I’m at a disadvantage. You are?”
“No name, just call me The Dentist.” He reached forward to shake my hand, and in doing so, transferred the gun to his left hand, pointing it at the ground. I shook his hand hard, and in one quick motion, grabbed the gun from him and hooked my left leg behind his knee. A push with my shoulder left him flat on the ground, and the gun in my hand.
“You, sir, are a complete lunatic. I won’t harm you but will leave you here. Don’t bother me again!”
“But I thought you were Deluminati now.”
“Delusionati is more like it.”
“But I know all kinds of things. We were going to work together. I can tell you how Lyndon Johnson can watch you through your television! He can, I swear. I know how they transmit thoughts through x-rays. I know about the three from space! The man, woman, and the monkey! I know about the testing in the Bermuda triangle!”
“Wait. What did you say?”
“Johnson. Watches you through the TV. He knows if you are watching his address. Watch his eyes, he’s counting.”
“No. Not Johnson. The three from space. Man, woman, and monkey?”
“I know all about them. They have technology that we’ve never dreamed of. I know where they are.”
“We’re going to have a long talk, Mr. Dentist. A long talk indeed.”
Chapter 17
Project Beholder
Last Meeting Notes, presentation of Top Secret Project “Beholder” to President Lyndon Johnson by David C. Kelson.
LBJ: “I can give you precisely three minutes before I have to be in another meeting. Make good use of your time, Kelson.”
DCK: “Yes, sir. You won’t be disappointed, sir. I’d like to present to you: Project Beholder. We’ve introduced some special units into a small test market. They allow you to view a remote location.”
LBJ: “Units? View? What are you talking about?”
DCK: “Sir, they are special television receivers. We’ve introduced them into a few hundred homes across the country. With this technology, you’ll actually be able to see who’s watching your speeches from their homes and gauge their reaction. The great politicians of old could measure responses in real time, but now with television, speeches are one-sided. Beholder fixes that. You’ll be able to know immediately what the country thinks of your plans, early enough to change the message if needed. It’s going to be amazing.”
LBJ: “Show me.”
DCK: “Yes, sir. Right now, we’ll just peek in on some Joe Sixpack and see what he’s up to. Just pretend you were giving a speech.”
LBJ: “I don’t see anything.”
DCK: “Just a second, it doesn’t look like that unit was on. Here, let’s try this one.”
LBJ: “Wait, yes, I do see something. It’s a man. What is that? Is that a corndog? What the hell is he doing?”
DCK: “Uh.”
LBJ: “Is that a poodle? What’s with the peanut butter? What the hell is going on here? That is disgusting! Is that a bowling pin?”
DCK: “We’re still working the bugs out, sir!”
LBJ: “I truly think that I’m going to be sick. This project is over. Burn the blueprints and dispose of all the records. Never speak of this again. I need Scotch to get that image out of my head!”
Chapter 18
Drilling into a Nerve
“Tell me what you know about the three. Man, woman and chimp.” I said, vaguely waving the gun at this ‘Dentist’.
“No. I am the asker, you are the askee. You tricked me; can’t forgive.”
“I tricked you? You held a gun to my head. My eye still waters from all the times you poked me with the barrel, and I tricked you? I was protect
ing my own life.”
“Doesn’t matter. I won’t talk, no matter what you do. You could throw muddy water on my face and I wouldn’t talk!”
What an odd thing to say. “Fine. Muddy water torture it is. I’m going to get a bucket of dirt, and if I have to, I’ll pee in it and…”
“Wait! I’ll talk, like a carrot. No, parrot! Talk like a parrot. Tell you all I know.”
“Fine. The three from out there.”
“The Trinity.”
“Trinity?”
“Man, woman and chimp. Traveling together, with a message for us. Three messages, three messengers, one word.”
“One word?”
“Umpire.”
“Umpire?”
“Yes, Umpire. A big one, coming to judge us. Fair or Foul, Safe or Out. They said he was huge.”
A wave of nauseous understanding came over me. “How big?”
“Huge, unimaginably huge. Bigger than a planet; bigger than a solar system.”
“Galactic?”
“Yes! That’s it. Galactic Umpire.”
“Empire.” I said, “Galactic Empire.”
“No, that would be something completely different. Ridiculous. Galactic Empire? Definitely Umpire.”
My face flushed and pulse raced. “What else did they say? This Umpire is coming, but why?”
“Retrieval. Foul balls I think. Probably needs deodorant.”
“Retrieval.” Could the Empire have found us? Impossible! We’re on an absurd little planet at the ass-end of the galaxy. One in a quadrillion chance they’d even find this little rock. We got away and had no indication of being followed.“What else do you know? Where are they?”
“Split up. Monkey disappeared. He’s the one that knew the Umpire was coming. He got a letter, not sure which one. One of twenty-six I’m sure. Some say he was seen in Houston. Others said Cape Canaveral.”
“The woman.Where did she end up?”
“Not sure. After the Tricycle broke, she disappeared.”