by Jack Adler
Given the greater Latin presence, all public signage, including street and freeway signs, should be made in Spanish as well as English.
Given the inadequate security clearance given to incoming cargos at the port of Los Angeles, the unit charged with investigating such cargos should be tripled immediately.
In order to pay for more security, a one percent tax shall be immediately applied to all purchases at stores, restaurants, hotels and car rental offices, as well as those made in all other businesses that form a part of the travel industry and all modes of public transportation.
Pensions of all city employees shall be halved to create a greater economic balance among retirees. In addition, a salary cap of no more than one hundred thousand dollars should be mandated for all city employees. Both measures should be retroactive.
Any resident with more cars than people in that household should pay a premium of no less than five hundred dollars a year for each additional vehicle.
Ten percent of new residential and commercial construction must be set aside for green areas. Running guide lights must be placed in all hallways that could be darkened if energy is cut. Shatterproof glass must be used in new and existing street-front locations.
Instead of adding freeway lanes, the city shall immediately invest in people movers. These units will decrease energy consumption and our dependence on oil as well as traffic, accidents and resulting fatalities.
While some of these measures may seem draconian, they are all necessary. Unless these measures are immediately approved and implemented by the city, the HAP will be forced to take a sterner approach. To highlight these issues and generate prompt changes, we are forced to adopt an activist agenda. We regret this necessity, but history teaches that one or more generations must make sacrifices to further the security and well-being of future generations, and we are determined to press forward with our goals.
From time to time, the HAP will also submit further manifestos about issues we believe citizens of this great city should consider.
We are pleased to announce that the newest member to our growing organization,
Holly Baxter, has already demonstrated her willingness to do what is necessary to save our land, our city and our people.
Then, to her horror, Holly saw the postscript:
Of my own free hand and will, and with the conviction that this is the right path for our beloved country to take starting with Los Angeles, I hereby subscribe fully to the aims and aspirations of the HAP.
Holly Baxter
Though forewarned Holly still let out a gasp when she saw her own handwritten signature! How many of these falsely signed manifestos had they distributed? And to whom? The police, no doubt, in an attempt to further incriminate her! She had never signed anything. Had they forged her signature? She took a closer look at her signature; it certainly looked like her handwriting.
Bastards! They were scheming, murderous bastards out to destroy her. Barbarians! But surely no one would believe that she had really signed this asinine proclamation. Everyone must realize that she was under duress, forced somehow to sign, drugged into submission. It had to be something like that even though she had no memory of any such treatment.
With mounting fury she looked more closely at the front page story with the large, boldfaced headline:
HEIRESS HOLLY BAXTER
SUSPECTED OF MURDER
She read the story, shaking her head as if she were dreaming and none of what she read had ever happened. It was just as the one called Bender had said: a drawn-out virtual indictment indicated that the police suspected she had killed Ashley Wells, probably during a lovers’ quarrel, and then fled. Now the police were searching for her. Nothing in the article suggested in the slightest way that she might be innocent. Why? Why was there no paragraph or sentence at least suggesting some element of uncertainty of what took place? Members of the tour group were quoted saying that she and Ashley had shown romantic interest in each other. What a fool she had been! She had let herself believe they had been discreet.
What was worse, how had she let herself be seduced by Ashley? Couldn't she have seen through him?
Now that her memory had returned, Holly realized how badly Ashley had betrayed her and castigated herself. While he had paid a terrible price for his treachery, it was her incredible foolishness that made her vulnerable to their scheme to make her appear responsible for his murder. Why, she wondered, was Ashley killed? Just to incriminate her? She wasn't anyone important despite the "heiress" tag the newspaper had used. Regardless of their motivation, how could she prove her innocence, especially if she was held captive? And who knew what else this horrible trio might do while placing the blame on her?
Holly looked with distaste at the manifesto again as if by some miracle it might have been rewritten or her signature had been forged. The city would never agree to these ridiculous demands. Some of their simplistic and populist tenets made a bit of sense, but their methods were horrendous. Was murdering someone and trying to incriminate her activism? Were kidnapping and drugging her acts of patriotic idealism? Mayor Walden dismissed their demands as nonsense in a brief sentence.
Idiotic, deluded people!
But how could she escape? There was no way she would cooperate with them, which seemed to be Bender's goal. That bitch Rona was staring at her maliciously. Luke, the cameraman, looked and acted as if he were a bit simple-minded, a soldier taking orders. And smooth-talking Bender—she would never call him BB—was devious and deceitful. It sickened her when they referred to themselves as her companions in the HAP. Her poor parents must be worrying themselves to death, wondering what had happened and where she was. They surely had to know she was innocent of murdering Ashley, but it would be so embarrassing for them to read about her involvement with the tour leader. Had the incriminating and mortifying photos been sent to anyone? Probably, she feared. And she had to admit to herself, Bender had a point: even if she could escape, would the police believe her story?
"Is she buying it?" Luke asked, sinking his heavy body into an armchair. Rona was pouring herself a drink while Bender glanced through a current copy of Los Angeles magazine. He knew Holly was secure in her room and out of hearing range.
"Probably not," Bender said. "She's putting up a good front, but she's scared."
"She'd run to the police at the first opportunity," Rona warned. "Poor little rich girl thinks all will be well if daddy speaks to the pigs."
"I don't think so," Bender said. "I think the fact that the police are looking for her got to her. She understands the significance of her signature on the manifesto. She's confused, as the rest of the city and country will be. Did you see her face when she saw the TV clip?"
"Yes, ugly little bitch!" Rona exclaimed.
"You don't even know her," Bender said, looking puzzled. "Why the sudden dislike?"
"I dislike what she represents, the rich, spoiled, demanding brat!"
"You're remarkably perceptive," Bender said. "I only knew she came from a rich family with a highly recognizable name, which fits our plans quite well. We need a local face of sorts to carry off the deception."
"Can you tell us more now?" Luke asked. He always felt in the background when Bender and Rona sparred with each other. It was easy enough to read Rona—she was obvious in expressing herself—but Bender confused him. He was never sure how serious he was. Elegant words, and consecutive, complete sentences that forced him to focus more than he was used to glided out of Bender’s mouth with ease. He wished he could speak so gracefully, but sometimes he had to struggle to convey his meaning clearly.
"Yes, Luke. It’s really simple. We're going to be in Los Angeles for about ten days in a very quick but efficient campaign to destabilize the city."
"How will we do that?" Luke asked. Bender had withheld their specific goals until now, but he was used to the secrecy, as he understood its necessity. When Bender felt it was right, he always explained things, and he did so patiently so that Luke could under
stand.
"We, the Help America Patriots, are going to quickly disrupt Los Angeles, the first city in a national campaign. This will lead to a new government, the type of government all Americans like you want.”
Luke tried to show he grasped the concept, but he could see Bender thought he was slow in digesting this information. But at least Bender still had a patient look on his face.
"Luke,” Bender said, “we don’t expect the city to accept our demands. Not at all. But when they resist, we’ll show them we really mean business. And then the city will crumble and be ripe for a new order. Some people will think of us as terrorists, but remember that sometimes acts of terror are justified.”
“I guess,” Luke said, sounding uncertain.
“No pain, no gain,” Rona threw in.
"I understand," Luke said, though in truth he found it difficult to understand everything Bender said. He nodded several times to give them the impression he comprehended.
"Good," Bender said. “ Then, just as soon as we can, we'll scoot from L.A."
"And we'll only be here ten days?" Luke asked, seeking confirmation.
"Yes, Luke," Bender said with an indulgent smile. "Just ten days. I know the air quality isn't what you're used to."
"You can say that again," Luke agreed. "How do people live here?"
"And how does Missy fit into these plans?" Rona broke in, impatient to get back to the issue. She glanced sideways for a moment at Luke as if she doubted that he had followed Bender's explanation.
"Simple," Bender said, making sure he also paid attention to Luke. "Remember the Symbionese Liberation Army? Well, Holly is our Patty Hearst, and everything indicates that she'll play the role and evoke its accompanying symbolism very well."
As Luke looked baffled again, Rona took it upon herself to explain. "The Symbionese Liberation Army was a 1970s group that got whacked in a shoot-out with the police here in L.A. Patty Hearst, from the newspaper family, was taken captive by them, and then she joined them."
"Really," Luke said, marveled. "Did she die, too?"
"No," Rona said, disappointed. "Just jail time, and then a book, a marriage, and back to the good life."
"The outcome here may be different," Bender said. "But what we're engaged in is a classic disinformation campaign."
Disinformation! Luke felt lost. He looked from Bender to Rona for help.
"Luke," Bender explained, "we want everyone to believe the HAP wants these reforms. We made them purposefully impossible to fulfill, but we have to pretend we’re still pushing for them. The media will play into our hands the way they already have."
"A bit tricky, wouldn't you say?" Rona asked, mulling over the strategy.
Bender regarded her with the look of an instructor explaining a procedure to a student challenging his thesis. "It will work." With a measure of pride on his cleanly shaved face, he added, "Do you know where we got the idea from? The Russians! They created a Potemkin village with Catherine the Great. Closer to our time, they did it again after World War I, and it worked. The West was fooled for a while into thinking the Communists weren't what they really were. In fact, the KGB even had a Disinformation Section, which misled the West for years. "
"Sure," Rona said, "and the Nazis recreated a village for the same purpose, as if World War II were over and they had won. I saw the movie."
"What movie was that?" Luke asked. He almost always understood movies, and he had seen many films.
Rona gave him a sneer without answering. "So," she asked Bender, "our precious debutante is part of this disinformation strategy. But is she going to willingly work with us?"
"She will, willingly or not," Bender said as if there would be no indecision on this issue. He gave Rona a hard stare to determine whether she still questioned the plan.
Rona seemed unconvinced. "BB, are you really going to try and brainwash her? The Stockholm syndrome and all that?"
"We'll see," Bender said with a tight smile.
"I've heard of this Stockholm Syndrome, but just what is it?" Luke asked. He always figured it was better to admit he didn't know something than to pretend and then risk showing his ignorance at some critical point. It was an educational experience to be working with people as experienced as BB and Rona. Rona, he knew, had been a buyer for a Baltimore department store until souring on society and the tawdry political scene. Bender had a military background, though he was loath to talk about his record. They had been around the world, but he was just a country boy from a rural Wyoming community. He found the incessant traffic, noise and foul air of big cities stressful.
"Luke, I'm glad you asked," Bender said, meeting Luke's eyes again. "Anyone can be brainwashed, including me. It's only a matter of the combination of terror, loneliness, time and repetition that's used. There are four general steps. The subject, our friend Holly, suffers a psychological shock. I'd say that took place. Then she's taken away from friends and family and where she feels safe, and, of course, that's happened, too. The next two steps have just begun. We have to repeat our message over and over, and we have to hold out the promise of a reward, like letting her go."
Luke nodded, his face suffused with the glow of new knowledge, grateful to Bender for his elaborate explanation.
"Do you understand?" Bender asked.
"Yes, I do,” Luke said. “Are we going to let Holly go?"
"Well, we have to see how things go," Bender said.
"What's the next step?" Luke asked.
Bender smiled, amused by his own answer. "Our newest associate, the next Patty Hearst, is going to rob a bank."
After Luke left to get gas for their car, Rona confronted Bender. “Luke believes, you know.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“How long will he keep believing, especially when we get a bit more drastic?”
“He’s a true believer, Rona, not like us mere mercenaries.”
Rona nodded as if this were a fair assessment. “I don’t feel guilty at all about this contract we accepted from the World Citizens for Islamic Justice.”
“Which no doubt is funded by Al Qaeda, but it’s a clever move, hiring so-called domestic terrorists to do their dirty work.”
“Come on, BB, we’re world citizens, too, for our economic independence and a comfortable retirement once this job is over.”
“We’ll take care of Luke financially,” Bender said. “We owe him that.”
Rona shrugged. “You’re brainwashing two people: Luke as well as Holly.”
“Yes, but in different ways.”
Rona shook her head. “I hope nothing goes wrong.”
“We’re good, Rona. Don’t worry.”
Roland Weiser, director of operations for Tramerica, was a methodical Swiss-German in his late forties with a round face and thick black hair combed straight back. He monitored the company's far-flung tour programs from his office, a warren of charts, maps and bulletin boards.
He looked at me through his gold-framed glasses with momentary annoyance. Bad enough to come in on Sunday, he doubtless thought, but now he had to make time for me as well. For my part I had no great desire to see him, but Wolcott had suggested it, and I would still have enough time to get to the airport.
"I can tell you little about Ashley," Roland said, as if he were irritated by the request. "He came to us several years ago. He was a college teacher. History, I think. Well-traveled. Single, divorced, whatever, he was free to travel, and so we tried him out. He did well. We always got good reports about him."
There. Roland was finished; I was as good as dismissed.
"Great summary," I said. "Now, when was the last time you saw Ashley?"
Roland gave me a critical glance; then he relaxed and actually smiled for a moment. Looking beyond me, he probably saw Wolcott, our superior. "So long ago I do not remember,” he said in his distinct accent. “I don't greet tour guides when they return from the field. I read their reports."
"I know, but you have meetings with tour guides fro
m time to time, don't you?"
"Yes, when we have something to discuss, some new policy or such. Not often. I write memos, like you."
I had never written a memo to Roland, and while I submitted reports—interim and final—I generally discussed things in person with Wolcott when I was in town. And I doubted my reports to Wolcott made their way to Roland and other departments, though the rumor mill was certainly alive. But I let Roland have his little dig.
"When was the last meeting, and was Ashley there?"
"Ah, Derry, you are determined to take up all my time. I would have to check all this. Can my secretary send you a memo?"
Memoitis, the great American business passion!
"Sorry to be a bother, Roland, but this is important. No, I don't need a memo. If you don't remember, it was probably too long ago. But what did anyone else in your department have to say about Ashley? What did other guides have to say about him?"
Roland spread his hands in front of his broad chest as if he were throwing grain on the ground. "Gossip? You’re asking me for gossip? How should I know?"
"So there were no comments you're aware of about his political sentiments?"
"No." Roland looked puzzled by this question. Obviously he didn’t know about the latest developments.
"Had he ever been involved with any female tour participants before?"
"No! Not that I know of. If he had, he would have been fired. Company policy, you know."
Roland smirked as if I were guiltier than Ashley of breaching company policy.
Doubtless he was aware I had once been involved for a short while with a Tramerica employee. Our affair had been short-lived; she had moved on, and Wolcott had sternly warned me about any repetition. But the stigma, such as it was, persisted. The interview was over. I hadn't learned anything of value, and Roland had gotten in the parting shot.