by Jackson, Gil
‘Communism dear boy.’
‘What’s that got to do with Mexico?’
‘Not Mexico, Cuba! The way that country is being managed by Batista and the Mafia, it’s got to be ripe for a revolution anytime soon, and the CIA will be watching for that, not to mention what’s in the President’s mind. If there is a revolt, America’s back garden would be insecure indeed; especially if the Cuban People’s Party gets their way with backing from Moscow. They will be getting themselves well entrenched.’
‘Ty Colsson wouldn’t have put himself under a gas attack for mere politics, surely?’
‘That’s what I like, a suspicious mind, so I do, you’re learning well.’
‘Yes, well, it still comes back to Frederik Spannocs?’
‘What about him?’
‘Would he be of interest to the CIA?’
‘What a businessman of his stature? With a possible tie up in Mexico? You can bet your life on it. They don’t trust anyone where other countries and money are concerned. And Frederik Spannocs would be no exception to that rule whatever deals he might have elsewhere with the government. His kind of business is no less concerned with Communism than the American dream if money could be made in either — in answer to your question, they couldn’t resist him. And as you and your compatriot found out, were not having you upsetting any apple carts for longer term gains. Anyway, how is Mr. Colsson? I see they brought you in under the same roof.’
‘The same as me. In fact, he’s being discharged tomorrow; with no-one else in the region, he’s being sent back double sharp with or without convalescence.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And Charlie, whenever we start to talk business the same doctor seems to be hovering around.’
‘Perhaps he’s thinking of your welfare, you shouldn’t look too far into that.’
‘Well I appreciate what you say, except, he’s not doctor to either of us, know what I mean?’
‘What does Colsson make of him?’
‘That some of our people are not bright, are they?’
‘Get a picture of him — got your Minolta? — perhaps we can ID him.’
‘Or you. You’ve been round the block a few times with all of this! And, while I’m talking about the block being circumnavigated, what do you know of strange creatures that can go through walls?’
Charlie got up to leave, and sat down again. ‘What, apparitions?’
David went on to explain what he had seen in Spannocs’s house. Of a screaming child, policemen, explosions. Charlie listened intently. Worried for all he was worth. If he didn’t believe it before, or conveniently put it all to the back of his mind, it was all being made flesh on bones, and with what Lomax had said of a threat to Sarah Weinberg from him; such a call not being made, at least by him, supernatural aspects of this were beginning to spill over back in his direction. And there were the two professor Angus Paul’s, supposedly seen by Colsson, which he would have to disregard due to his being unable to substantiate to be taken into consideration. He was going to have to check that one out with Colsson before he was discharged. All in all, Spannocs’s house was beginning to look like the home of Marco Giuseppi. Or, were they one of the same?
Charlie rose to leave again. ‘Just get well, David.’
David grabbed him by his jacket pocket. ‘Explain!’
‘Can’t. But will.’
* * *
A week later Director Lomax received a directive to investigate the death of another girl. This time a twelve-year-old Hispanic wearing a small woman’s ball gown. She had been found hanging from the overhead power supply of the entrance to the station at Brooklyn central; not knowing which way to tackle it {this was after all the job of the local PD who had not solved one single case that the Press and the public were screaming themselves hoarse to do something; politicians were falling over themselves, and he, ‘Get this sorted, Lomax, anyway you can, the President wants a result’, received it from his superiors, and not the ones that usually pussyfooted), rather reluctantly called Charlie to see what light he could throw on something that he was all too familiar.
Charlie smelt his usual rat when he read it in the papers and was more than willing to meet with him; rubbed his hands together and said ‘At fooking last, the case is to be opened up with someone’s fooking blessing, so it is.
Lomax, not as delighted to see him as he made out; and Charlie, not seen off by his act and choosing to ignore it made the ridiculous statement to him that the girl found hanging so conveniently was a set-up!
‘What kind of sick thoughts have you been nurturing all these years that have made you make a comment like that?’ Lomax said it in a purposeful and personal way. A cross between frustration and anger. ‘Everytime there’s something like this you seem to get another bizarre idea into your head! When’re you going to let it lie?’
‘Well perhaps soon. Because someone has clearly rattled your cage prompting you to start taking seriously what I’ve been saying for years and which, you, rather arrogantly have poo-pooed!’
‘Poo-pooed? Poo-pooed!! What kind of crap remark is that to make to your superior? That’s the problem with you and all this — you won’t speak English in syllables that we can all understand!’
Charlie leant over to him and whispered in his right ear that had taken on the hue of a red rose. ‘When the right person comes along he’ll know what it is. In the meantime you’ll have to trust me, cos it’s clearly not you, and while you’re at it, don’t mention English to me, it’s a sore subject.’
‘Oh, I would like to, Charlie O’Hare, I would, but you’re driving me nuts with your cryptics. Unfortunately for me I’m stuck with not only them but with you. So I fooking well am!’
Charlie laughed. ‘“So I fooking well am”. What kind of Irish is that?’
There was silence between them. Lomax smiled. ‘All right, have your way, what have you got?’
Charlie dropped the magazine he had in his hand in front of him. ‘Well you can try this for starters.’
Lomax recognised the magazine as Forbes, the corporate journal for rising stars in the business world. It was open at the centre-fold but didn’t recognise the face that was staring up at him. Adjusting his glasses he picked it up and gave it a closer inspection. The picture was of a good-looking man he guessed to be in his thirties that he supposed to be Scandinavian. Had a moustache, slicked back hair — which he judged to be blonde. The cover story that ran with it mentioned that Frederik Spannocs had acquired an interest in an atomic energy research programme. Reading on — as he had no idea why anyone would want to do that — he discovered that the race to provide cheap electric power was the motive for that interest.
‘Yes.’ Lomax said looking up from the article.
‘Interesting that, that they can do away with coal,
and use—?’
‘I know what it says. I’m not here to discuss splitting atoms. That man is Marco Giuseppi; and the same that Hoover said he holds a death certificate for, and, who built Ocean International from the proceeds of child abuse. And contrary to what John Hoover says, put one of your agents in hospital. Will you fooking understand it, now, because it’s all you’ve
got ...’ He leaned over to him ... ‘so it fooking well is!’
Lomax was visibly shaken by Charlie’s outburst. His hand began to shake as he looked at the picture once again, said quietly, ‘What about the age of the man?’
Charlie had to admit this was going to be difficult to explain, age was not the issue they were both after all the same. His appearance was not that of Giuseppi, although the slicked back hair was ... but, a lot of men wore their hair in that fashion nowadays. He was sure that the act of aggression on David was exactly that. An attempt on their lives to vouchsafe Spannocs’.
‘Listen. I’m convinced that there are people out there that are not only protecting Giuseppi but are within our government doing it for reasons other than kosher, possibly using Spannocs’s interest in nuclear energy as a front fo
r something more sinister.’ Charlie added.
‘Sinister? Sorry, I’ll need something more concrete than that, Charlie. What evidence have you for it?’
‘I’m, — off the record — and as far as you’re concerned, at the starting line on that statement. For my own part, as you know, I’ve been involved in the investigation, by Spannocs, of child molestation for so many years that I can give you no other explanation. Let me put something to you, Franklin. What if one side of our masters does not know the goings on of the other — the left hand not knowing the right hand’s intent syndrome?’ He waited for the right expression, which came, as he knew it would before continuing: ‘Would you digest that thought, Franklin?’
* * *
What Charlie couldn’t understand was Giuseppi’s grudge against David and apparent lack of interest in him himself. Or was it possible he didn’t know of his existence. It was as if he thought that Frank had known something and passed it on to his son and he needing to be silenced for his trouble — he did, but the boy would have been too young. Again, he could be wrong, perhaps there was nothing in the threat to David all those years ago — more a warning for Frank, or Sarah to back off. Well he’d got a result there. Frank Weinberg! Someone knew he wasn’t going to be allowed home alive from that Seager inquiry. But not the latest. That could only leave frighteners for the rest of them that knew — and he was the only one alive as far as he knew. For what purpose: he had always thought it could be to prevent him trying to follow Giuseppi’s tracks.
He was as much to blame for sending David on a mission as Lomax, more so. Lomax was not aware of the powers that Spannocs had acquired down the years. Was this the selfish act of an old man after revenge or to bring in a man involved in hideous crimes? He’d been involved in those crimes for so long, had he become insular to them and blinkered to the safety of others for that revenge?
* * *
Lomax spoke. ‘Charlie.’
He had the other’s attention.
‘I’m more than mindful that Sarah Weinberg had a threat against her, but as I said at the time you’ve no real evidence that it was Spannocs or Giuseppi or whatever you want to call him — assuming that they are one of the same if I agree to trust you on this, where do you want to take it? That man is still head of an international company as Hoover pointed out, and if what you say is true, he’s not going to jeopardise all that to draw David out after all this time, surely? What I am saying.... Charlie, there’s still that question that you haven’t answered, the one that will ultimately convince me of your convictions. The question of his age.’
‘Age? Ah, yes.’ He repeated himself, solemnly, repeated himself again. ‘There’s a thing, so it is. We didn’t see eye to eye on Frank’s report me and him you know. Yes I know I was a signatory to it, but it was still not a true report of events as they unfolded, so to speak. Frank persuaded me, that for the good of our careers it would need doctoring. However, there is a true account and that’s in a safety deposit box. It doesn’t matter that you believe or not, you’re new to all this, it’s up to you to trust what I’m saying without asking questions that I cannot answer myself, yet. Keep an open mind as I’ve done. And, getting back to the little girl that was found hanging, what have you got?’
Lomax reached into a drawer, pulled out a file and opened it. Pulling out a sheaf of paper he went through it. ‘This is all we have, no witnesses — that can be found — and heads of departments being uncooperative. Nothing apart from the event itself.’
Charlie got impatient. ‘In what way?’
‘Well there was a witness, one.... Reported it to her boss, cleaner, you know that pick up the rubbish left from the night before—’
‘And?’
‘Well its like I said. We made our investigations and walked into a blank wall. The cleaner’s gone, no one knows where. No forwarding address. Apparently she worked for a contracting company. We put pressure on the station boss who eventually cracked and said that he’d been told not to comment on the situation as it was a matter of national security. I contacted his employer and he said the same and referred me to a department within the New York City Subway System who said that they were under a Government directive not to issue any facts for a formal investigation and that the matter must stay on the books. That’s it.’
‘There you are...!’
‘There you are then, what?’
Charlie had become agitated before — but not like this. ‘Nothing about the child. Who she was? Or who, this Government department supposedly was?’
‘No.’
‘But we’re supposed to be FBI, who’s bigger than us?’
‘Charlie, don’t you think I took it as far as I could; that’s why I’ve called you in to investigate. As far as my superiors are concerned I’ve to carry on with one arm behind my back. I’ve decided you’re going to have to be my other arm, content yourself with that.’
PART TWO
CHAPTER 15 – 1950
The office of administrative (annexe ii-38) section pen.gov was exactly what it said on its façade — absolutely nothing at all. Attracting less of a first glance than a second; and to add to its air of nondescriptiveness ironic thought had been given to the display of its title: large red lettering: Venus extra bold extended lower case. A touch more of not trying to make too much of its secrecy.
The building was on three floors, but only the top was occupied by two nameless individuals, as far as the floors below were concerned, who were not associated, but were, so they had been told, in a round about way. Those working below were government servants of those above; didn’t know it though they were of the highest and most trusted calibre. Military personnel in the main. Intelligence and Scientific brains that would no more comment on their working day outside of their encapsulated environment, than discuss a sexual relationship upon themselves with their nearest and dearest.
For they were the think tank for hypothetical situations, occurrences, and stranger than fiction day-to-day events and experiences that some take seriously and will always get a reading in newspapers and magazines or whatever from an insatiable audience that lead lives that some would describe as uninteresting; and, seeking some purpose for that existence by hanging onto the fantastical or something bigger than themselves and the powers that be that look after their interests. In short: goblins, demons, ghosts, fairies, UFOs and anything else that cannot be proven, made disprovable; and which also, in the extreme, might also rule in an overseeing Creator, by a faithless section of society that would far rather accept the existence of Flash Gordon and planet Zog than the latter.
There were also potential scenarios of a plainer kind thrown at them by a sometimes paranoid government. A Russian or Chinese nuclear first strike (yet to be worked). (The decision to drop an atomic bomb on Germany had been called off after the coalition forces drove Germany back during Operation Overlord.) The destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to discourage the Japanese from further involvement with Germany and the Second World War, proved that it was a viable possibility.
All of these were the think tanking of the office of administrative (annexe ii-38) section pen.gov, including miscellaneous and bizarre agendas such as the introduction of flying saucers over Nevada to study the reaction of people in the event of an earth attack from another planet! The introduction of minced beef in buns of bread to take up the surpluses of over production of meat from cattle ranches for a war in Vietnam — that was not meant to last more than a year — with the unlikely label of Ronald Macdonald after the man that came up with the idea at one of their think-tank meetings.
There was the overseeing of a society known as: The Order of the Most Divine Third Circle: seeking the secrets of the universe and its creation. An ancient order that Nathaniel Johnson and his assistant, Daniel Sullivan had a particular interest. All this from the top floor of the office of administrative (annexe ii-38) section pen.gov. The Second Coming would have to wait, pending, for their work was up and running; had bee
n this past two hundred years; unlike the latter that hadn’t reared itself in 2000 and was becoming more and more unlikely that He ever would. Much to the relief, so far, of other faiths.
The two men worked in the same room opposite each other. One smoked a pipe; the other the more conventional fad, allowed a convivial air of old and new tobacco smoke to pervade the clutter from books, files, papers, bags, boxes and accoutrements for making coffee, telephones, Gestetner, telex tape machine with played out spools. An ascii paper tape tumbled: starting out in the bookcases and desk surfaces that surrounded them, making its way across the floor onto a broken chair and off again, up the legs of their desks until coming to a halt underneath an old rotor arm embedded in resin being used as its paperweight; having been unable to go any further, giving up and dying; to be worked on by one or the other of them. On the wall an old photograph of a policeman in dress uniform with the words ‘Lost his head in the line of duty’, scrawled in pen beneath. Drawing pinned next to it, a faded paper list of names:
THE PLAYERS
Fariq Mihalyvich (f.170) Oona (f.170)
Baby Mihalyvich (f.170) Marco Giuseppi (f.9666)
Sledgehammer (f.1670) Charlie O’Hare (f.184)
Tony di Sotto (f.1670) Governor Brent (f.9666)
Frank Weinberg (f.184) The Resurrectionist?
‘Persistence will be the death of that man,’ Daniel Sullivan murmured putting the receiver of the telephone into its cradle.
Nathaniel Johnson looked at him, a smile on his face. ‘Must be six weeks now.’ Sullivan stared back at him picking up the telephone again and dialling out a number. ‘You can’t have it both ways; you’re working him like a puppeteer with no control over the strings — do it my way and take him out before he gets the better of us, he’s been around far too long he can’t serve any more useful purpose surely. The organization didn’t leave his partner to live as long, or was it we were all anti-Semitic in another life?
