Repairman Jack 03 - Conspiracies

by F. Paul Wilson

  Jack did just that, then approached the counter, passing racks of sunglasses, customizable T-shirts, sports caps, and bootleg videos. Ernie developed film and made legitimate photo IDs, and generally sold anything that had a fat mark-up, but his main income came from people who wanted to be someone else, or at least be known as someone else.

  Over the years Ernie had made dozens of driver's licenses and photo IDs for Jack.

  "You said you need another high school ID, right?" Ernie said, lifting an accordion file from the floor and removing the elastic band that encircled it. "Here in the city?"

  "No. Hoboken."

  Ernie flipped through the pockets in the file, an extensive collection of ID cards and badges for most of the schools, factories, and offices within a ten-mile radius.

  "Hoboken ... Hoboken ... what's the kid's name?"

  Jack unfolded a photocopy of a certified birth certificate and placed it on the counter.

  "Here he is. And I'll need you to notarize this copy for me, too."

  Ernie had a Notary Public seal, the duplicate of a legitimate Notary down in the financial district.

  "Sure thing." He squinted at the birth certificate. "D'Attilio, huh? D'Attilio the Hun, maybe?" He flashed Jack a quick, Charlie Callas grin. "For a D'Attilio we should probably enroll him in St. Aloysius." More searching. "Here it is."

  He removed a high school ID from the file and clipped it to a yellow legal pad.

  "Okay," he said, scribbling on the pad. "We've got John D'Attilio. D-O-B?"

  Jack pointed to the birth date on the certificate. "Right there."

  "Got it. Address?"

  Jack gave him the address of his Hoboken mail drop.

  Ernie nodded. "Yog?"

  "What's that?"

  Ernie raised his eyebrows and gave Jack a Do-I-have-to-spell-it-out? look. "Y-O-G?"

  Of course—year of graduation. It was on all school IDs.

  "Let see ... he's just turning sixteen, so he'll graduate two years from now."

  "Got it. And I've got a nice photo to go with that name. Okay. When do you need it?"

  "No hurry. Next week's okay."

  "Good. Cause I'm a little backed up."

  "Usual price?"

  "Yeah."

  "See you Monday."

  Jack turned the sign, unlocked the door, and stepped back onto Tenth Avenue. He glanced at his watch. Time to check back with the hotel. He hoped the reservation desk had scrounged up a room for him. He found himself looking forward to mingling with the Society for the Exposure of Secret Organizations and Unexplained Phenomena. He'd never been an "experiencer" before.

  4

  Jack lucked out with a room: One of the SESOUPers had to cancel because of some family emergency, and Jack took her place.

  He wound up in a fifth floor room overlooking the street. The decor was typical hotel blah: stucco ceiling, heavy duty beige wall paper, TV, dresser, and a pair of double beds, double drapes on the window, and framed nondescript prints of ponds and tree branches on the walls. But the bland surroundings didn't allay the strange uneasiness he felt every time he stepped into this building, as if the air were charged with some sort of cold energy.

  He was unpacking the gym bag that held the change of clothes he'd brought from home, when he heard a knock on his door. He eyeballed the peephole, expecting to see Lew. Instead he found Olive Farina standing in the hall.

  "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr. Shelby?" she said as Jack pulled open the door. "May I come in? I have a question or two I'd like to ask you."

  Jack hesitated, puzzled. What did she want here?

  But she looked harmless enough, and he was curious to hear her question or two.

  "Sure."

  He stepped aside and Olive entered uncertainly, peering into the bathroom as she passed, as if expecting someone to be hiding in there.

  "You're alone?"

  "Last time I looked."

  When she reached the center of the room, she stopped in front of the TV cabinet and turned to him. "Before we speak, will you do something for me?"

  "Depends on what it is."

  She lifted the silver crucifix that hung from her neck. "Will you hold this for me?"

  "Hold it?"

  "That's right. Just wrap your fingers around it for the count of ten."

  Uh-oh, Jack thought. Loony Tunes times.

  But he said okay and gripped the crucifix in his fist, firmly resisting the manic urge to scream in agony and fall writhing to the floor. Very doubtful this audience would find much humor in that.

  "Good," she said after a few heartbeats. "You can let go now." She inspected Jack's open palm.

  "Looking for scorch marks?" he said.

  She gave him a tolerant smile. "Laugh if you will, but at least now I feel I can trust you."

  Jack shrugged, thinking, if that's all it takes, you're already way too trusting. He gestured to one of the upholstered chairs by the big plate glass window.

  "Have a seat." Jack turned the chair from the writing desk to face her and dropped into it. "What did you want to ask me?"

  "Well," she said, adjusting her wide frame into the narrow seat, "if I understand correctly, you were the last one to speak to Melanie Ehler."

  "I don't know that for sure. She could have called lots of other people."

  "Yes, of course. But I want to know ... when she spoke to you, did she mention anything else ... did she mention the End Times?"

  "No," Jack said. "I'm not familiar—"

  "That must be what Melanie learned," Olive said, her voice revving up. "Because everything that's going wrong in the world is evidence of the End Times." She pointed to the night stand between the beds. "There's a Holy Bible in that drawer, and it's all recorded right there in the Book of Revelations."

  "Really."

  "That glowing figure you saw in the woods? That could have been an angel—the Book of Revelations mentions angels appearing to the Righteous near the End Times. Are you righteous?"

  "I sure hope so."

  "And that light you saw? Some will claim it was a UFO peopled with aliens. Don't believe them. UFOs are not from outer space—they're the chariots of Satan."

  She was working herself up. It was almost as if she were talking to herself. Jack could only watch and listen, fascinated.

  "Yes! Satan! For isn't the Dark One, after all, referred to as 'Prince of the Air?' The lights in the skies are proof that Satan is here. He and his forces are at this very moment working to hurl America into anarchy by destroying religious freedoms. That's why there's been so many church burnings recently—and don't forget Waco! But he'll also try to undermine from within by striking at us through our children! Even now his minions are teaching those innocent minds about evolution and life on other planets, trying to convince them that science proves the Bible wrong! And it's working, trust me, it's working. And what is Satan's purpose? Just before the End Times, he is going to join the USA and Canada into a single government and install the Antichrist as overall leader."

  Jack listened raptly. He loved this stuff.

  "Any idea who this Antichrist is?" he said when she took a breath. He could think of a few politicians who fit the description.

  "No. Not yet. We'll know soon enough, though. But not all of us are going to sit around and just let this happen. The Righteous Faithful will resist to the end. The Devil is going to mark his billions of followers with a special microchip. It will run at six hundred and sixty-six megahertz—six-six-six is the Number of the Beast, you know. His followers, those who have the chip, will be able to buy food and roam free; the Righteous who refuse the chip and stay faithful to God will starve or be rounded up and put into camps."

  Got to make sure I get me one of those chips, Jack thought.

  "It will be a terrible time," she said, shaking her head as she wound down and her voice softened. "A terrible, terrible time."

  "How did you learn all this?" Jack said.

  "I told you: it's right here in the
Bible, and in the papers every day!"

  "Right. Of course." He knew she hadn't been born like this. He wondered when she'd gone off the deep end. And he wanted to know if she was far enough gone to make a move against Melanie Ehler. "But when did you first begin putting it all together?"

  Olive leaned forward. "I can tell you the exact date I became aware of Satan's evil hand in world affairs. Up till that time I was just like everybody else, blithely going about my business, thinking everything was fine—well, I had a bad weight problem and couldn't seem to do anything about it. But I had no idea my obesity was related to Satan."

  Jack couldn't resist. "The Devil made you eat?"

  "Are you mocking me, Mr. Shelby? Because if—"

  "Call me Jack, and no, I wasn't mocking you." Had to tread softly here. "Go on."

  "All right. As I was saying, I was getting nowhere with my weight until I went to this wonderful therapist. She took one look at me and said, 'You were abused as a child—that's why you're overweight. Your mind has forced you to build up that layer of fat as symbolic insulation against further abuse.'"

  "She made the diagnosis first, before she started interviewing you? Isn't it usually the other way around?"

  "She's an exceptional woman. At first, of course, I thought she was crazy, but she convinced me to go through memory recovery therapy. And, to my everlasting horror, I found she was right. I recovered memories of Satanic ritual abuse when I was a child."

  Jack said nothing. He'd read an article in the Times about memory recovery therapy and how it tended to create more memories than it supposedly recovered.

  Olive pulled a tissue from the pocket of her flowered vest and dabbed at her eyes. "My parents denied it all till their dying days, so I couldn't find out if they'd implanted one of those 666 chips in me."

  "What makes you think—?"

  "Because they hurt me!" she said, her eyes puddling up again. "I remember that! I can see those black robed figures standing over me—you hear about men in black, and there was that so-called comedy movie about them, but these were the real men in black, and believe me, there was nothing funny about them!"

  "Easy, Olive," Jack said, fearing she was about to lose it. "It's all right."

  "It's not all right! These Satanic cults sacrifice most of their victims, and so for a while I thought I was lucky because I'd survived. And then I started thinking maybe I was allowed to live for a reason. Maybe I'd been implanted with the 666 chip. If that's true, it will control me during the End Times. I'll be marked as unfaithful. I'll miss the Rapture and suffer the Tribulation."

  "A simple X ray ought to—"

  "They don't show up on X rays! I've had countless pelvic exams, plus CAT scans and ultrasounds and MRIs, but they all supposedly come back negative."

  "Supposedly?"

  "I'm beginning to suspect that the medical profession is in league with the CIA and Satan, implanting these chips in everyone they can. That's why I've got to know when the End Times are coming ... so I can prepare myself ... purify myself. If you hear from Melanie again, ask her about the End Times, will you? Please? I've got to know."

  Jack's sense of derisive amusement with Olive melted away in the face of her genuine anguish. Her fears were whacked out, but the deeply troubled woman before him was real, and she was hurting. He would have liked a few minutes with the so-called therapist who got her started down this road.

  "Sure, Olive," he said softly. "If I hear from her again, that's the first thing I'll ask her."

  "Thank you," she said, brightening. "Oh, thank you. And tell her I've still got the disks." Her eyes widened and her hand darted to her mouth.

  "What disks?" Jack asked.

  "Nothing," she said quickly. "It was nothing. Forget I said that."

  Jack remembered the empty "GUT" folder in Melanie's computer.

  "Computer disks, Olive?" he said, improvising. "Melanie told me she had large computer files on her Grand Unification Theory. She said she made copies for safekeeping and that she was giving them to someone she trusted." He was stabbing in the dark here. "Was that someone you?"

  "Her theory? All her work?" Olive sat frozen, staring at Jack. "She told you?"

  Jack nodded. "You've got them in a safe place, I hope."

  "Yes, but I don't know anything about computers, so I have no idea what's on them. And I was wondering why she didn't give them to Lew. Do you think she doesn't trust him?"

  Good question. Why hadn't she given them to her husband?

  "I can't say, Olive. I never met her, and I've only known Lew since Tuesday."

  "Melanie and I are very close. She's such a good, warm person. She'll always listen to me, always comfort me. She never has a bad word to say about anyone. She's been like a sister to me."

  That didn't jibe with Lew's description of a woman with few friends or social contacts.

  "If something's happened to her ... " Olive sniffed and blinked back tears.

  "You know," Jack said slowly, cautiously, "I know a little about computers. Maybe I could help you get into those disks and—"

  Olive was shaking her head. "No." Her eyes narrowed. "Why should you care about what's on those disks?"

  "Well," Jack said, improvising again—this was one suspicious lady. "Melanie seemed to know about my, um, experience. I want to know how. Those disks might give us a clue as to—"

  "No-no!" she said, her voice rising. "No one can see them! I promised!"

  "Okay," Jack said, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. He didn't want her getting worked up again. "Good for you. You have to honor Melanie's trust. Does anyone else know about the disks?"

  She shook her head. "Not another soul ... until now."

  "Good. We'll keep it that way. I won't mention it to anyone, not even Lew."

  She wiped her eyes and composed herself, then rose to her feet.

  "Thank you. You're a good man. And I'm sorry I made such a scene. I didn't mean for this to happen. It's just that I seem to cry so easily lately. Maybe it's because something inside me senses the End Times coming. Do you think that could be it?"

  "I couldn't say, Olive. But I'll bet they're still a long ways off."

  "Let's hope so—for both our sakes."

  "What do you mean?"

  She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "Get yourself a check-up, Mr. Shelby."

  "Me? Why?"

  "Those missing hours after you saw the light and the figure—they might have planted one of the 666 chips in you. Get a thorough examination by a doctor you trust. Soon."

  Jack led her toward the door. "Yeah. That's probably a good idea. Thanks for the advice."

  "And watch out for Jim Zaleski."

  "Who?"

  "One of our more prominent members."

  Jack remembered the name now—Lew had called him a "ufologist."

  "I don't know why he was ever allowed in this organization. He's so foul mouthed. He cannot seem to speak a single sentence without blaspheming or taking the name of the Lord in vain."

  "I don't see how—"

  "And he has a temper nearly as terrible as his tongue. I'm just hoping that Melanie didn't come to him with some information that upset him, because there's no telling what he might do."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  "And the other one to watch out for is Professor Roma himself."

  "I've already had a run-in with him."

  "I heard. That's why I thought I could trust you ... because I don't trust him. At least not yet. He could be an ally, or he could be in league with the devil."

  "Why do you say that?" Jack remembered his instant dislike of the man.

  "That monkey ... I've seen him talking to it."

  "Well, everybody talks to their pets now and again."

  "Yes, but I've seen it answering him, whispering in his ear. I even overheard it once."

  A chill shot through Jack. The way that monkey had glared at him earlier, with almost human hatred ...

  "What did it s
ay?"

  "I don't know ... it was speaking a language unlike any I've ever heard, almost like ... " She glanced at him. "Have you ever heard anyone speaking in tongues?"

  "Can't say I've had the pleasure."

  "Well, I have. And many times the Spirit has taken me over and I've spoken myself. That's what it sounded like to me—Speaking in Tongues."

  "You could be mistaken."

  She nodded slowly. "Yes, I could be. But what if that monkey is some sort of familiar? That would tell us which side he's on, wouldn't it." Her eyes narrowed again. "That's why I'm watching him ... watching him whenever I can. I'll find out the truth about Professor Salvatore Roma."

  Jack opened the door and ushered her into the hall. Movement to his left caught his eye and he turned in time to see a man in a hat and a dark suit moving quickly down the hall and ducking out of sight into the elevator alcove. He had a sense that he'd been standing outside the door a few seconds ago.

  Listening? he wondered. Somebody watching me? Or watching Olive? Or just somebody heading for the elevator?

  He considered heading down to the alcove to get a better look at the guy, but dropped the idea when he heard the elevator bell ring. He'd never make it in time.

  He turned back to Olive. "If you learn anything about You-know-who, be sure to let me know."

  "I will. And remember," she said, a fearful need growing in her eyes. "If Melanie calls again—"

  "I'll ask her. I promise I'll ask her."

  "Bless you. I'm in 812. Call me as soon as you have any news, no matter how late the hour."

  Jack closed the door and sighed with a mixture of relief and pity. One very disturbed woman. At least he hoped she was. None of that could possibly be true, could it?

  Nah. Jack figured he didn't know much about the End Times, but he did know a lady who should probably be on some heavy-duty medication while she was waiting for them.

  5

  Jack sat with Lew during Professor Roma's welcoming address. He was less interested in the words—some mishmash about "confluence of ideas" and "spreading the Truth" and "ripping the cover off' and so on—than, in the man.

  Roma—sans monkey—wore a very dapper light gray Armani suit with a black collarless shirt buttoned to the top, giving him the appearance of a very rich and hip minister. Much as Jack hated to admit it, the guy was a mesmerizing speaker. He prowled the little stage with a cordless mike, gesturing dramatically, speaking without notes. Sincerity and dedication fired his every word. Here was a man with a mission.