The Mirror Maze

by James P. Hogan

  Later that evening, Dave Fenner called, also by prearrangement. Before leaving Florida, the three of them had debated whether to tell the Constitutional people about the informal working relationship that Dave had had with Eva, and the task he’d wanted her to help him with in Israel—which Stephanie would now carry out instead. Dave had been strongly against saying anything, his argument being that it would serve the cause of realism better to keep Stephanie’s situation as close as possible to what Eva’s had been. Mel suspected it was more Dave’s instinctive reluctance to reveal anything to anybody that they didn’t absolutely have to know, but in the end they had agreed to do it his way.

  Dave, of course, had also assumed that the line would be tapped. One of the reasons for his call was to corroborate for the eavesdroppers’ benefit the story that Stephanie would be telling later.

  “Eva, hi. This is Dave,” he said when Stephanie answered. “It’s been a while. I tried calling a few times, but all I’ve been getting is your machine. So, how are things?”

  “Dave. Oh.” Stephanie injected an appropriate note of confusion into her voice. “I’ve been away for a month. In fact I only got back earlier today.” Again, her choice of words confirmed that the call was being monitored.

  “Really? Where did you go? Did you just decide to take a sudden vacation? You should have told me. I might have managed a few days off.”

  “It was my sister…”

  “Stephanie from way back? How—” Dave’s voice changed abruptly, as if he had just registered the tone of her voice. “What’s happened? Is she okay?”

  “She’s dead… A month ago.”

  “Oh my God! How?”

  “She… she killed herself. Brett—you remember Brett?”

  “Of course.”

  “He was killed in an accident—”

  “Jesus Christ! I—”

  “It seems that Steph took it real badly, and…”

  “Look, do you want me to come out there? I could get a plane tonight.”

  “No, Dave.” Stephanie’s voice was firm. “I’m fine. As a matter of fact I ran into Mel again, and—”

  “You mean Mel Shears?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought he was in Massachusetts. Didn’t he become a lawyer or something?”

  “He showed up in California, for Stephanie’s funeral. And we just… well, you know how it is sometimes…”

  “You mean you might be getting together again?”

  “I guess so. He’s here with me right now.”

  There was a pause. “I see. Well, look, I’m glad you’ve got somebody there at a time like this, but… I mean, are you sure it’s for real? It’s not just a reaction to the stress or something?”

  “I’m not sure… I don’t think so. I mean, yes, I think it’s real. Dave, let me work this out in my own time, please? I’m okay, honestly. And Mel is being a real help.”

  “You’re sure, now?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Then, I wish the best for you. You know that, anyhow.”

  “I know. And thanks. I do appreciate it.”

  “If I can help at all, you just let me know.”

  “I will.”

  “Get plenty to eat. Stay looking nice.”

  “You’re terrific… And Dave, stay in touch, okay?”

  Stephanie hung up the phone and looked questioningly across at Mel, who had been listening on an extension set. He nodded. “You did good. It sure would have convinced me.”

  Which left only the problem of making the rendezvous that Seybelman had indicated for the next day.

  • • •

  “It’s no good,” Mel said when they had talked it over for the umpteenth time. “There’s no way we’re going to find out where or when it is, and you can hardly call him and ask. You’ll just have to try and get him to change the whole thing.”

  “I’m supposed to tell Seybelman what to do? Aren’t we getting a bit out of our depth here?”

  “Dave’s call will help. Use that.”

  “You think I should just brazen it out.”

  “Yes. I think that’s got the best chance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s what Eva would have done.”

  They used the terminal to browse through the public directory of local services and places of interest, and found a large shopping mall, located a little over ten miles north at Reseda, which seemed suitable for their purpose. After driving north past Beverly Hills to Reseda, they found the mall and spent some time touring it to familiarize themselves with the layout. Then they drove to a steak restaurant nearby and had dinner while they waited for eleven o’clock, by which time, they figured, details of Stephanie’s earlier conversation with Dave should have reached Seybelman. While Mel ordered desserts, Stephanie called Seybelman’s private number from a pay phone in a booth near the door.

  “Annabel,” she said quietly when the familiar high-pitched, nasal voice answered.

  Seybelman didn’t sound pleased. “I distinctly told you not to call,” he hissed. “Didn’t you read the drop?”

  “Yes, but things have changed. Look—”

  “You’re not calling from home, I take it. ” That was funny—him cautioning that the line might not be secure.

  “Of course not. Listen, I don’t want to go into detail now, but I’ve had a lot of personal problems. Sorry to have messed you around, but there were reasons.”

  “Reasons! We’re into December already, and you take it into your head to disappear for a month. It’s not like you at all. Not at all. I always took you as being more professional.”

  “I left several messages telling you that I’d be out of circulation until the beginning of the month,” Stephanie countered, raising her voice a fraction. “It was the best I could do.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end. “Very well. Now, what do you want that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “Something has happened on a personal level that would complicate the arrangement. I don’t want any contact through Breadman any more. It isn’t anything he’s done. As I said, it’s personal.”

  Seybelman responded too promptly for this to have been a complete surprise. It suggested that, as they had hoped, he already knew about Mel. “If you insist… although I can’t imagine why.” Now Seybelman was playing deception games—trying not to sound as if he already knew. “I’ll arrange for somebody else to pick you up.”

  They had anticipated that. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not happy about using Apple. I have a suspicion that it mightn’t be secure. I want to set up a new pickup, to be sure it’s clean.” She went on before he could respond. “How about the Spanish Hat Mall at Reseda? Could you send somebody there?”

  “I suppose so, if that’s what you want…”

  “The eastern parking lot is on Balboa. I’ll be on the top level, that’s Level E, by the exit ramp. How would that be?”

  “Wait a minute,” Seybelman mumbled. “Let me make a note. Spanish Hat Mall, eastern parking lot, Level E exit ramp.” Stephanie had to fight to stop her sigh of relief from being audible. “Usual time?” Seybelman asked.

  “How about noon?”

  “That is the usual time.”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean,” she said hastily.

  “Very well. We can talk more tomorrow. The designation for this pickup will be ‘Pineapple.’ Have you got that?”

  “Pineapple,” she repeated. “I’ve got it.”

  Mel was waiting with two hot fudge sundaes when Stephanie rejoined him at the table. He looked up at her as she sat down. “How’d it go?” His expression became concerned as he saw that she was shaking. “Are you okay?”

  Stephanie nodded and pulled her coat closer around her shoulders as if she were feeling cold. “It went okay. Tomorrow at the mall, noon.”

  CHAPTER 37

  So, Stephanie at last met Louis Seybelman. He was far from amused—with some justification—at her prolonged disappea
rance and failure to respond to his attempts at communication. She had already formed an impression of him as somebody who alternated between extremes of mood, radiating exaltation when things went his way, and switching rapidly to pique at being victimized by fate when they didn’t.

  As arranged, she had driven to the Spanish Hat Mall and parked her car near the place that she had indicated. Precisely at noon, she had got out and walked to the exit ramp, and within seconds a Nissan that had been hovering a short distance back drew up alongside her. She had then been driven a couple of miles east to another parking lot, where Seybelman was waiting in the back of a Cadillac. Now they were cruising at slow-lane speed along 101 in the direction of Glendale and Pasadena.

  Seybelman waved a hand irritably in the air as he spoke. He was wearing an open-neck, pale orange shirt with a lightweight navy jacket, and his mane of shoulder-length blond hair tossed behind his neck. The two men in front of the glass partition stared at the road ahead impassively. “So, who is he, this person that you’ve brought back with you? At a time like this, with barely a month left before you go to Egypt. I mean, it’s utterly beyond my comprehension, it really is. I had classed you as professional, but I’m beginning to wonder. How could you go and allow personal matters to intrude at a time like this? I mean, who is he?”

  “We’ve been through this. He’s somebody that I’ve known since I was at university.” Stephanie suppressed her impulse to blurt apologies, and forced her voice to carry the note of rising exasperation that Eva’s would have if she were being pressed pointlessly when there was nothing left to say. “I ran into him at the funeral. My sister killed herself, okay? That isn’t exactly something that happens every day.”

  Seybelman’s manner mollified for a moment. “Yes… and I was sorry to hear about that.” Then he became peevish again. “But all the same you could have informed us. I know that you have, shall we say, strong feelings concerning your personal affairs… But a whole month, with no idea of when you were going to appear again. It’s quite intolerable.”

  “That’s not true. I told you I’d be back by the beginning of December. I delivered the package on Kirkelmayer, and he’s been taken off the job. I was involved in that up to my neck for half of November. And yes, I have a personal life. Don’t you? If it isn’t going to fit with working for you, then we’d better forget the whole thing, because it’s not going to go away.” She sat back, turned her head away, and watched the scenery flowing by off the freeway. After a few seconds she added in a less strident tone, “Besides, he could be useful. He’s a lawyer who gets involved in a lot of Constitutional litigation.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “You’ve hardly given me much of a chance to.”

  Seybelman’s mouth worked irascibly for a few seconds, but when he next spoke, his voice took on a note of grudging restraint. “So, it’s definite that Kirkelmayer is out, is it? And you will be going in his place?”

  Stephanie nodded without turning her face from the window. “It was confirmed just before I left Washington. We’re leaving on January ninth for Egypt, arriving in Israel on the fourteenth, and back home by the eighteenth for the inauguration.” There was a short silence. She could sense Seybelman watching her.

  “So, how do you feel about what we discussed?” he asked at last.

  Something dropped in the pit of Stephanie’s stomach. She had been dreading something like this. “Which do you mean specifically?” was all she could answer.

  “What kind of a question is that?” Seybelman asked.

  Stephanie turned to face him. “It’s been a month, and a lot of things have been happening in my life.”

  Seybelman looked at her strangely. “Possibly to the point of deranging you completely, I’m beginning to suspect. I take it that you do recall the purpose of this meeting?”

  Stephanie could feel her palms sweating upon her knees. The seconds of silence dragged agonizingly. There was no response she could make. She stared numbly at the backs of the two heads in front, struggling desperately to recall any clue to what Eva was supposed to have decided. But nothing would come. Her mental processes had seized up.

  “Do I take it that the answer is yes or no?” Seybelman demanded, sounding impatient.

  Stephanie licked her lips. It was a fifty-fifty chance. What else could she do? “Yes,” she said, realizing with surprise of how dry her mouth had become suddenly.

  Seybelman was looking at her dubiously. “I must say, you sounded more sure of yourself a month ago. If you’ve had second thoughts or something, for God’s sake say so now. We can’t risk—”

  “No,” Stephanie said, endeavoring to retrieve her position by sounding decisive. “Nothing like that. I think I’m a bit spaced after traveling, that’s all. I need to catch up on some sleep.”

  “Hmph,” Seybelman made no attempt to hide his disapproval.

  “There was a month’s worth of mail and calls to catch up on,” Stephanie said, sounding strained.

  “Very well, very well. So you’ll do it? There’s no question?”

  At last. That could only refer to the job that Eva had been preparing for in the Middle East. Stephanie felt herself being carried toward shallower waters. She nodded affirmatively. Was she supposed to talk knowledgeably now about what that job was to entail?… No, she wasn’t in any danger there. The indications were that even Eva hadn’t known what it was about.

  Then the pieces came together in a way she felt should have been obvious sooner. From the information that Eva had passed to Landis, Seybelman had hinted that she would be introduced to someone, or some others, later. What Seybelman must have agreed with Eva was simply that this would be arranged after it was known for sure that she would be replacing Kirkelmayer. She played her hunch accordingly.

  “Of course I’ll do it. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. So when do I get to find out what it’s all about?”

  Seybelman’s smile told her that the gamble had paid off. “That sounds more like you,” he said. “You’ve talked a number of times about your disillusionment after so many years of dedication to your present associates. Well, just to show that I do listen, I’m arranging a small social gathering of certain individuals who share, shall we say, a certain congruence of interest in the outcome of the operation, which I would like you to attend—probably within the next week. From some of your past remarks, I take it you are not averse to such occasions.” She looked at him questioningly, as Eva would have done—Stephanie was finding it exhausting, having to do the thinking of two people. Seybelman went on before she could say anything. “Don’t worry. You can take my word that everyone involved will have the highest credentials. Totally reliable and utterly discreet. But I want you to see for yourself the kind of club that you’ll be earning yourself a place in. I think you’ll be suitably impressed. So, I take it you’re agreeable, then?”

  “Sure.”

  “And this boyfriend that you have at the place, this… lawyer? I assume he won’t pose any difficulties?”

  “No. He’ll only be around for a few days, anyway.”

  “Even better. Very well, I will make the necessary arrangements. You will receive details via the drop. Do you have any other questions for now?”

  “No. I guess that’s about it.”

  “Good.” Seybelman tapped on the partition. The man in the passenger seat in front turned and opened it a fraction. “Back to Reseda,” Seybelman said. And then to Stephanie, “We’ll drop you off at the Spanish Hat.” She nodded. The man in front closed the partition. “And now,” Seybelman said, settling back in his seat, “tell me as much as you can at this stage of what your duties with McCormick will be…”

  • • •

  Earlier that year, Stephanie recalled, there had been an incident at General Plasma Dynamics in which about fifty gallons—enough to fill a trash barrel—of cooling water from a low-power experimental reactor connected with the fission-fusion hybrid program had spilled over the floor of the building
and had to be cleaned up. The water had been mildly radioactive, with an activity level of sixty to seventy picocuries per liter, which put it at around half that measured in typical four-percent-alcohol beer, or a twenty-fifth the level found in the waters of the spa at Bath in England, which have brought relief to sufferers from rheumatism and similar afflictions since Roman times. Nevertheless, headlines such as “nuke leak contaminates research plant” proceeded to appear in the local papers, and accounts based on the accompanying stories soon made national press and TV.

  To allay the ensuing spate of fears and hysteria in the area over leukemia, cancer, sterility, and genetic mutations, the city had imposed an emergency injunction that prohibited further operation pending an official inquiry and public hearing, and a new batch of restrictive regulations had descended from Washington that made even less sense than the original curfuffle. The whole episode had achieved nothing except the waste of a lot of people’s time and a considerable amount of public and private money, and additions to GPD’s already formidable list of woes and tribulations. Also, of course, it had added to the public’s misperceptions of technological risks; and the general belief that “thousands could be affected by what happened in Denver” had become an ineradicable part of the popular mythology.

  From her training as a physicist and her subsequent experience, Stephanie had been too familiar with the routine contrast that existed in such instances between what the public was being told the scientists were saying, and what they were really saying, to be especially surprised. She had learned to accept it all with weary resignation, knowing that the laws of physics couldn’t be deceived, though people might, and that in the end, as had been its habit throughout history, truth would assert itself and endure after the superstitions had been long forgotten.

  But at the same time, she was acutely aware that the daily diet of misinformation was too systematic to be due simply to ignorance and inaccuracy. When the views of less than one percent of the scientific community commanded ninety-nine percent of the coverage that an issue received, and this happened not once, but repeatedly and predictably, something was going on that was far removed from any simple misreporting attributable to lack of expertise or the pressures of deadlines. In short, the sources that the public relied on for facts were being used, instead, to maninpulate ideological images and opinions. And from some of the material that Stephanie had been studing during the previous two weeks at Pinewood Hills and in Washington, she knew that an active figure in the web of influences that orchestrated the misdirection of the information media was Louis Seybelman. As she drove back from Reseda to Santa Monica after the meeting, she went over in her mind what she had managed to fathom of his motives and the aims that lay behind them.