Conspiracies

by F. Paul Wilson

  "And why do you call yourself Repairman Jack?" Ehler added.

  "I don't, really. It's a name that sort of became attached to me." Abe Grossman had started calling him that years ago. Jack had used it for awhile as a lark, but it had stuck. "Because I'm in a sort of fix-it business. But we'll get to me later. First tell me about you. What do you do for the Keystone Paper Cylinder Company?"

  "Do? I own it."

  "Really." This guy barely looked middle management. "Just what does a Keystone Paper Cylinder Company make?"

  And don't tell me paper cylinders.

  "Cardboard mailing tubes. The 'paper cylinder' bit was my father's idea. Thought it sounded classier than cardboard mailing tubes. He retired, left the place to me. And yeah, I know I don't look it, but I own it, run it, and make a decent living at it. But I'm not here to talk about me. I want to find my wife. She's been gone three days and I don't know how to get her back."

  His features screwed up and for a moment Jack was afraid he was going to cry. But Lew held on, sniffed twice, then got control.

  "You okay?" Jack said.

  Ehler nodded. "Yeah."

  "Okay. Let's start at the beginning. When did you last see your wife—Melanie, right?"

  Another nod. "Yes. Melanie. She left Sunday morning for some last-minute research and—"

  "Research on what?"

  "I'll get to that in a minute. The thing is, she said something that didn't sound so strange then, but sounds kind of creepy in retrospect. She told me if I didn't hear from her for a few days, not to get worried, not to report her missing or anything. She'd be all right, just out of touch for a while. 'Give me a few days to get back,' she said."

  "Get back from where?"

  "She didn't say."

  "Don't know about you," Jack said, "but that sounds pretty strange from the git-go."

  "Not if you knew Mel."

  "Got a picture?"

  Lew Ehler fished out his wallet. His long bony fingers were surprisingly agile as he whipped a creased photo from one of the slots and handed it across the talkie.

  Jack saw a slim, serious-looking brunette in her mid-thirties wearing a red turtleneck sweater and tan slacks, pictured from the hips up. Her hands were behind her back and her expression said she wasn't crazy about having her picture taken. She had pale skin, thick black hair and eyebrows, and dark penetrating eyes. Not a raving beauty, but not bad looking.

  "How recent is this?"

  "Just last year."

  Jack suddenly had a bad feeling where this was going: younger pretty wife leaves older, limping scarecrow husband to run off with younger man ... and maybe tries to run a game on him in the process.

  "No," Lew said, smiling thinly. "She's not having an affair. Mel's probably the most direct person you'll ever meet. If she were leaving me, she'd simply say so and go." He shook his head and looked again like he was going to cry. "Something's happened to her."

  "But you know she's alive, right?" Jack said quickly. "I mean, you heard from her last night."

  He bit his upper lip and shrugged.

  Jack said, "What did she say?"

  "She told me she was okay, but needed help, and that she wasn't where I could find her. 'Only Repairman Jack can find me,' she said. 'Only he will understand.'"

  But Jack did not understand. He was baffled. "She gave no hint where she was calling from?"

  Lew licked his lips. He seemed uncomfortable. "Let me explain a few things about Melanie first."

  Jack leaned back with the beer bottle between his fingertips. "Be my guest."

  "All right," Lew ran his fingers through his thinning hair. "I met her through my accountant. He had a heart attack and his firm sent her over to do Keystone's quarterly tax estimate. Melanie Rubin ... " Lew's lips curved into a smile as he said the name. "I've never met anyone before or since so full of energy, so determined, so focused. And yet so pretty. It was love at first sight for me. And best of all, she liked me. We went out for a while, and five and a half years ago we were married."

  "Any kids?"

  He shook his head. "No. Mel doesn't want any."

  "Ever?"

  "Never."

  Sounded like Melanie Ehler ruled the roost. Jack hesitated, mulling his phrasing ... the next question was a bit delicate.

  "I couldn't help but notice that you said it was love at first sight on your part, but she 'liked' you. Is that ... ?"

  Lew's smile was shy, his shrug a little embarrassed. "We have a good relationship. We live a quiet life, with very few close friends. Melanie loves me as much as she can love anyone. But she's too driven to really, truly love anyone."

  "Driven by what?"

  A deep sigh. "Let's see ... how do I put this? Okay ... Melanie might be considered a kook by some standards. She's been involved in fringe groups since she was a teenager."

  "Fringe groups? How fringey? Objectivism, the Church of the Sub-Genius, Scientology?"

  "More like SITPRCA, MCF, CAUS, ICAAR, LIU-FON, ORTK, the New York Fortean Society, and others."

  "Wow." Jack hadn't heard of any of those. "Alphabet city."

  Lew smiled. "Yeah, they love their acronyms almost as much as the government. But they're all concerned with one sort of conspiracy or another."

  "You mean like who really killed JFK and RFK and MLK, and who's covering it up and why?"

  "Yeah, some of them are like that. Others are really far out."

  Swell, Jack thought. A missing conspiracy nut. He could feel the rear exit door beckoning from behind him. If he jumped up and ran now, he could be out before Lew Ehler could say another word about his lost wife.

  But the missing Melanie had said that only Repairman Jack would understand, hadn't she. He wondered what she'd meant.

  Something must have showed on his face because Lew started waving his hands in front of him.

  "Don't get me wrong. She wasn't really into all that stuff—she was more of an interested observer than a serious participant in those groups. She was looking for something—she's been looking for something most of her life—and didn't know what it was. She once told me she wasn't looking for answers from these groups, just enough information to know what questions to ask."

  Could have been a Bob Dylan lyric.

  "And did she find it?"

  "No. And she was very frustrated until last year when SESOUP was formed."

  "Sea soup?" Sounded like an appetizer.

  "The Society for the Exposure of Secret Organizations and Unacknowledged Phenomena."

  "SESOUP ... " Jack had heard that name, but couldn't remember where. "For some reason, that sounds familiar."

  "It's an exclusive organization, started by—" Lew froze as he glanced toward the front. "There!" he said, pointing at the window. "Tell me that guy isn't watching us!"

  Jack looked—and damn if Lew wasn't right. A figure was silhouetted against Julio's front window, nose pressed against the glass, hands cupped on either side of his face. He sure as hell seemed to be staring their way.

  Jack jumped up and headed for the door. "Come on. Let's go see."

  The figure ducked away to the left, and by the time Jack reached the door, he'd vanished into the rest of the foot traffic on the sidewalk.

  "See anybody who looks familiar?" Jack said as Lew joined him in the doorway.

  Lew eyed the stream of shoppers and workers and mothers with strollers, then shook his head.

  "Could have been a thirsty guy just checking the place out," Jack said as they returned to the table.

  Of course that didn't explain why he'd hurried off when Jack started moving.

  "Could have been," Lew said, but no way he believed it.

  "All right. You were telling me about this soup society or something."

  "SESOUP." Lew looked spooked, and kept glancing at the window as he spoke. "It was put together by a fellow named Salvatore Roma. Membership is by invitation only, which has caused a lot of bad feeling in the conspiracy subculture—some well-known names w
ere excluded. It's designed as a clearing house for most of the major conspiracy theories. Roma's idea is to sort through them all for the purpose of finding common elements among them. Melanie loved the idea. She's sure that's the path to the truth."

  "The truth? About what?"

  "About what's really going on in the world. Something that would help identify the powers, the planners, the string-pullers behind the mysteries and mayhem and secret organizations that plague the world." He held up his hands again. "Not my words—Roma's."

  That rear door was calling like a siren.

  "And who's this Roma?"

  "Salvatore Roma came out of nowhere—actually he's a professor at some university in Kentucky—and got everybody fired up. He's been very helpful to Melanie in her research."

  "I take it then that you're not into that stuff."

  "Not like Melanie. I got involved out of pure curiosity—plus, attending the various gatherings and conventions around the country gave us an excuse to travel—but I've got to tell you, mister, after spending time with these people, I'm not so sure they're half as crazy as they're painted. And in some regards, I don't think they're crazy at all."

  "It's called brainwashing," Jack said.

  "Maybe. I don't say I'm immune to that. But Mel ... Mel is so tough minded, it's hard to imagine her being brainwashed by anything or anybody."

  "Does any of this have anything to do with Mel's disappearance?"

  "I'm sure of it. You see, over the years Mel became convinced that none of the conflicting theories about secret societies and UFOs and the Antichrist and world domination conspiracies was completely right."

  "I'm glad for that," Jack said.

  "But she also thought that none of them was completely wrong. She figured each formed around a kernel of truth, a tiny piece of the big picture. She spent years analyzing them all, trying to come up with what she called her Grand Unification Theory."

  "And?"

  "And a couple of months ago she told me she believed she'd found it."

  "And you're going to share it, right?"

  "I wish I could. All she told me was that she'd identified a single heretofore unsuspected power behind all the world's mysteries and unexplained phenomena, something totally unrelated to current theories. She refused to say any more until she had absolute proof. That was the 'research' I mentioned before. She thought she'd found a way to prove her Grand Unification Theory."

  "Let me guess: You think that she maybe did find this proof, and whoever's behind it all has abducted her."

  More like a job for Mulder and Scully, Jack thought.

  "That's a possibility, of course," Lew said, "but I'm afraid it might be something more mundane. And part of it might be Mel's fault. You see, she's been so excited about finally pulling her Grand Unification Theory together, that she's been sort of bragging."

  "To whom?"

  "To anyone who'll listen."

  "But didn't you tell me you two have very few friends?"

  "She's been bragging in the Usenet groups she participates in."

  "Isn't that part of the Internet?"

  Lew looked at him strangely. "You have a Web site and you don't know about Usenet groups?"

  Jack shrugged. "I had a guy at my ISP throw it together. You didn't see many bells and whistles, right?" Christ, the designer had wanted to festoon the site with animated tools—bouncing screwdrivers, pirouetting pliers, slithering tool belts. Remembering the demo still made Jack shudder. "It's not there to impress anyone. It's just another way for customers to get in touch with me. And as for the rest of the Internet, I don't do much surfing. It's a black hole for time, and I've got other things to do. So ... what's a Usenet group?"

  "It's a kind of bulletin board divided into interest topics where people post messages, news, facts, theories, opinions. The Internet is loaded with conspiracy topics, and Mel visited them all regularly, mostly lurking. But recently she began posting and, uncharacteristically, bragging, saying how her Grand Unification Theory was going to 'blow all other theories out of the water.' She said she was going to reveal her findings at the first annual SESOUP conference."

  "And that's bad?"

  "Well, yes. I think someone in one of those Usenet groups is trying to silence her."

  "That doesn't make sense. I thought these conspiracy nuts—sorry, no offense—were supposed to be looking for the truth that's presumably been hidden from them."

  "That's what you'd think, of course. But once you've gotten to know these folks ... well, you can see how some of them would feel threatened by a theory that proved theirs wrong, or worse yet, made theirs look foolish. You've got many people out there who've blamed all the problems in their lives on a certain conspiracy; some of them have built reputations in the conspiracy community by becoming experts on their section of the conspiracy landscape. Jack, these people live in that landscape, and the conspiracy community is all the social contact they've got. Someone like that wouldn't want to be proved wrong."

  "Badly enough to move against your wife?"

  "Loss of face, belief, support structure, status—think about it. That could be utterly devastating."

  Jack nodded. Damn right. Take a guy who's not too tightly wrapped to start with, and a threat like that could completely unravel him.

  Now we're getting somewhere, he thought.

  If Lew had started insisting that his wife had been abducted by aliens, or fallen victim to a faceless bogeyman or agents of some all-powerful shadow government, Jack would be waving bye-bye now. He wasn't into chasing phantoms. But a bad guy who was a fellow conspiracy nut, maybe working alone or with one or two of his brother kooks—that sounded real. Jack could handle real.

  "This Roma you mentioned—could he be a player in this?"

  Lew shook his head. "I can't see how. He's been very supportive of Mel's research, and she's often credited him publicly for his help."

  That still doesn't rule him out, Jack thought.

  "Okay, then," Jack said. "If someone's got her, how did she call you?"

  Lew looked away. "She didn't exactly call."

  The guy looked positively embarrassed.

  "Well then, how did she 'exactly' contact you?"

  "Through the TV."

  "Oh, hell."

  "Listen to me," Lew said hurriedly, looking at Jack now. "Please, I'm not crazy. She spoke to me from my TV—I swear!"

  "Right. And what were you watching—The X-Files?

  "No. The Weather Channel."

  Jack laughed. "Okay, who put you up to this? Abe? Julio? Whoever it is, you're good. You're very good."

  "No, listen to me," he said, sounding frantic now. "I know how it sounds, but this is no joke and I am completely sane. I was sitting there with The Weather Channel on, not paying it much attention—when I'm alone I use it like Muzak, you know? Just to have something on. And I'm sitting there having my after-dinner coffee when suddenly I hear Melanie's voice. I jump up and look around but she's not there. Then I realize it's coming from the TV. The weather maps are running but the sound is gone and Melanie is talking to me, but she's talking like she's on a one-way line and only has a short time to speak."

  "What did she say? Exactly."

  Lew put his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. "Let me see if I can get this right. She said, 'Lew? Lew? Can you hear me? Listen carefully. I'm okay now, but I need help. I'm not where you can find me. Only Repairman Jack can find me. Only he will understand. You can find him on the Internet. Remember: only Repairman Jack and no one else. Hurry, Lew. Please hurry.' And then the weatherman's voice came back on and Mel was gone."

  Jack hesitated. Every so often he ran into a potential customer who was missing a few buttons on his remote. The best thing was to let them down easy and not return any future calls.

  "Well, Lew, I wish I could help you but—"

  "Look, I'm not crazy. For a while I had my doubts, and I'm sure I was staring at that TV screen just the way you're staring at me now. I waited
for the voice to return but it never came. So I did what she'd told me: I looked for you on the Internet. I've never heard of you, yet when I did a search for your name in Yahoo, 'repairmanjack.com' popped right up. That got me thinking that maybe I didn't imagine her voice."

  "Well, you could have—" Jack began, but suddenly Lew was leaning over the table, reaching across it with pleading hands, his Adam's apple bobbing like a piston.

  "Please—she says you're the only one who can do it. Don't turn me away. If you want to think I'm crazy, fine, but humor me, okay? Something has happened to Melanie and I'll pay you anything you want to get her back."

  Tears rimmed Lew's eyes as he finished.

  Jack didn't know what to say. The guy didn't seem crazy, and didn't strike him as a put-on artist, and he did appear to be genuinely hurting. And if his wife was truly missing, whether through her own doing or taken against her will ... well, maybe Jack could fix it for him.

  And beyond that was the nagging question: If Lew's wife had indeed contacted him—though Jack would never buy the through-the-TV story—why had she stipulated Repairman Jack and no one else?

  Jack knew the question would go on biting at his ankles indefinitely if he didn't look into this.

  "Okay, Lew," he said. "I'll probably regret this, but I'll see what I can do for you. I'll—"

  "Oh, thank you! Thank you!"

  "Just hear me out first. I'll give it a week, max. Five thousand cash up front, non-negotiable, non-returnable. If I find her, it's another five thou, cash, on the spot."

  Jack was hoping the price might put him off, but Lew didn't bat an eye.

  "Okay," he said without an instant's hesitation. "Fine. Done. When do you want it?"

  Must be good money in the paper cylinder business.

  "Today. And I also want to go through any papers Melanie might have left around your place. Where do you live?"

  "Out on the Island. Shoreham."

  Jeez, that was a haul—almost out to the fork—but Jack didn't have much else on the slate for the day, so ...

  "All right. Give me the address and I'll see you out there in a couple of hours. Have the down payment with you."