by Darrell Bain
“It's not up to field agents to question an operation, Daniel. And as far as the secrecy goes, no one else other than that little stat clerk and his superior has made all these connections. They have been ordered to stay silent until we determine what's going on here.”
“But why? I don't see anything about Masterville that's really earthshaking. So what if the population is a little different? From what I've heard, some of those communities up in the Ozarks and Appalachians have been inbred for generations. Maybe that's the reason. Besides, they seem to be getting along fine as they are and not hurting anyone. Why go in and start them wondering about it?”
“Maybe too fine,” Shirley Rostervik said from beside him. She turned to him and smiled to take the sting out of the contradiction before addressing Crafton directly. Daniel sensed a layer of incipient sexuality beneath the smile, but it did little for him, even as attractively blond and slim as the other field agent was. Sometimes he wondered about himself.
Crafton allowed himself to return Shirley's smile as she continued. “There's something strange about that place. Just look at the gradient map.” She pulled a sheet of paper from the bottom of her stack and pushed it to the center of the table. It contained a map of northern Arkansas and southern Missouri, the heart of the Ozark mountain range. “See here, the anomalies begin tapering off the further away from Masterville you go. After thirty or forty miles, you can't tell any difference from the normal population. It's almost as if that city and valley are the center of an epidemic.”
“If it's an epidemic, it's been going on for a hell of a long time,” Daniel said. “Previous censuses show the same pattern once you begin looking for it.”
“That's the point,” Crafton interjected. “Whatever those people are up to, it's part of a long range plan. Perhaps a conspiracy.”
“I really can't see where they're up to anything, much less having a plan,” Daniel said, dropping his copy of the report onto the table in front of him. He reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a refill. Crafton might be a bastard, but his coffee was always excellent.
“That's enough, Dan. Our superiors think there's some phenomenon there worth looking into and that's all we need to know. You and Shirley have been assigned to the case. You're to go in there, posing as tourists and find out what's going on.”
“It seems to me we already know what's going on.”
“Enough, I said.”
Daniel shrugged. He had said what he thought and was willing to let it go at that. If the powers that be wanted him to go undercover into a happy, prosperous little valley and unobtrusively question its inhabitants, then he would do it, and do a thorough job while he was there. He looked across the table at the FBI liaison agent. “Is the FBI going in, too?”
Crafton answered, looking smug. “No, it was just the first agency notified. When the Attorney General refused them a writ, the problem was passed along to us.”
No wonder the Federal agent looked so glum, Daniel thought. All he was there for was as a hanger-on, just in case something illegal turned up that fell under his agency's jurisdiction. That government clerk, Harry something or other, must have gone to the FBI first, or his superior had. But then the problem had been passed on to the National Security Agency, and given the paranoia of President Smith, it was no wonder an investigation had been ordered. Well, whatever else, the operation would get him out of stifling weather of Washington and up into the mountains where it was cool. And perhaps there was a phenomenon in that valley not as benign as he imagined, though he couldn't begin to think of what it might be.
“We're going to need some more information,” Shirley said, “Like the names of all the prominent citizens, addresses and workplaces and so forth.”
“I'll have it for you tomorrow morning, along with your orders,” Crafton said. “In the meantime, let's move on. As Daniel said, this business has been going on as far back as census figures go.” He looked down at a sheaf of papers in front of him, thumbed through the stack, then glanced back up. “For instance, in the Civil War Arkansas was a slave state, yet records show that most of the men from around Masterville served on the Union side. Not only that, very few slave owners lived in the area at the time. Doesn't that strike anyone as strange?”
Daniel thought about it. “Not really. The valley is located up in the mountains, not a good place for large plantations. That's where most slave labor was used.”
Crafton tossed it back at him. “Records show a normal proportion of slave owners outside the valley. Besides, according to news accounts of the day, sentiment in the valley was overwhelmingly pro-union.”
Daniel shrugged. He didn't think that meant much, especially if the valley people shared a common heritage, something yet to be determined.
Shirley spoke up again while brushing a strand of fine blond hair away from her forehead. “Here's the anomaly I think is the most significant: the valley is smack in the middle of the Bible Belt, yet most of the population apparently has no religious preference. Now why should that be? It doesn't compute.”
“That's one of the things you're going to find out,” Crafton said.
“Why?” Daniel asked. “Or rather, let me put it this way: Wouldn't nosing into people's religious beliefs get us into constitutional questions?” He didn't bother mentioning that while he had no opinion one way or another on the existence of God, he thought all religions were rather silly and had never understood why anyone would believe in them.
Crafton stared at him, then answered, “We've already gotten a legal opinion on that. There's no conflict so long no attempt is made to change or influence beliefs. Mr. Phillips is very interested in the why, though.”
Daniel had never met Murray Phillips, the NSC director, but he knew of him. Like many of the current cabinet members subject to congressional confirmation, he was an avowed, born again Christian. With congress edging ever further toward the philosophy of the religious right, and President Smith already there, it was hard for any other type candidate to pass muster. Worse, in Daniel's opinion, four new Supreme Court justices of the same ilk had been appointed over the last several years and the court was now delicately balanced on the issue of separation of church and state. Daniel thought that something like the present investigation, especially with Phillips in charge, might well tip the balance if the proclivities of the valley residents became public. He couldn't help wondering, though, why such a high proportion of nonreligious folks should be concentrated in that one area. Perhaps there really was something wrong there, but he decided not to comment any further and simply wait and see what turned up. After that he would decide. Over the years he had rarely prejudged a case. Sometimes he thought he had been born a natural skeptic.
Crafton gazed at Daniel as if his eyes could bore holes into him, then dropped his scrutiny back to the stack of forms in front of him. He shuffled the papers for a moment then looked back up. “I think that's about it for now. Daniel, you and Shirley get together this afternoon and get your stories together so you won't contradict each other. Probably it would be best to pose as a married couple.”
Daniel caught the beginning of a smile from Shirley. It irritated him for no reason he could discern. He thought of telling Crafton that he preferred to work alone, then abandoned the idea. The cover would be reasonable in the situation, a married couple on vacation. He just hoped the investigation wouldn't take that long. He began picking up his copies of the background analysis.
Shirley smiled brightly at him. “Shall we have lunch and get started while we eat?”
Daniel glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly noon. He shrugged. “May as well. Any preference?”
“I know a place.”
“Let's go, then.” He was already thinking of a reason why, as a married couple on vacation, they would be lingering in the unobtrusive little city of Masterville.
Just as they were about to leave, a briefing officer called them back. They spent an impatient hour with him, including
ten minutes when Daniel joined him outside for a cigarette break. Afterwards, they were presented with some facts and figures about Masterville not mentioned in the initial brief, and were given Credit cards for the Operation.
* * * *
Daniel left his car in the parking garage and let Shirley drive. He raised his brows at her when she stopped by a Lucullan Deluxe and popped the two front doors open.
“I picked the right parents,” she said, sliding into the driver's seat.
Daniel went around to the open passenger's door and seated himself. The new car smell of leather and plastic, oil and paint, upholstery and polish were as pleasant as he remembered it from years ago, but the distinctive odor was long gone from his little hybrid Ford Kitten, an aptly fuzzy name for its environmental friendliness, although he had bought it for fuel economy rather than a deep concern over global warming or ozone levels. Personally, he would much rather be driving a big, well-cushioned vehicle like Shirley's Lucullan than his own, but they cost so much that he declined in favor of investing his money.
“Nice car,” he told Shirley as she drove away, heading east. Daniel hoped she didn't pick an inordinately expensive place to eat. Once they received their orders and an expense sheet from Crafton, it wouldn't matter, but right now he didn't feel like spending three times what the food was worth in one of the trendy Washington restaurants.
“Thanks. This little dive we're going to doesn't look like much, but the burgers are good.”
“Burgers? Somehow that doesn't go with a Lucullan.”
“Not to worry; we're eating at Marvin's because I know it's just been swept for bugs. I finished up a case there yesterday.”
“How come you're being reassigned so soon?”
Shirley shrugged. “Guess they thought I'd fit the Op, same as you. Crafton may act like an ass sometimes, but he knows what he's doing.”
“That he does,” Daniel agreed, remembering a bust he had been in on with Crafton. It had gone down bad but his boss never lost his cool, even with one of his agents down and another wounded. Daniel couldn't even remember him raising his voice as he gave orders in a clear, concise voice devoid of even a tinge of hysteria. Too bad he was so insecure that he worried about underlings upstaging him, he thought, then wondered where he had learned that bit of data. He couldn't remember anyone saying anything like that. He turned it over in his mind for a moment then dismissed the thought as something dredged up from his subconscious, unprovable and therefore meaningless.
* * * *
Marvin's cafe did look like a dive from the outside, but once past the entrance it turned into a clean, neat diner, with numerous alcoves set with tables and comfortable chairs with armrests. Daniel pulled a chair back for Shirley and held it for her while she sat down.
“No one has done that for me in years. You must have been brought up in the south.”
“Guilty. Mostly Texas, as a matter of fact. Sometimes my attitude gets me in trouble, though. Not all women like the little amenities.”
“I don't mind. I've been called a bitch before, but I can't find a thing wrong with good manners.”
Daniel seated himself, wondering again why he felt no attraction toward the agent. He felt as if he should have, given her blond good looks and a figure which was slim but possessed perfectly adequate curves. It was a puzzle he had run across before and still didn't know the answer to. He certainly wasn't gay; it was just that some women turned him on and some didn't. Shirley apparently was one of the latter. Well, it would make working together much simpler, assuming she didn't get the hots for him.
He let Shirley do the ordering, a relatively simple affair since all Marvin's served were hamburgers in various guises. He asked for a Coors draft beer to go with it. Shirley asked for white wine. The drinks were there within a minute or two of ordering.
As soon as the waiter was out of hearing, Daniel leaned forward and asked a direct question. “What do you think of all this?”
He got an enigmatic smile in return. “Actually, I don't have a clue. It should be damned interesting, though. I can't wait to meet some of those people in Masterville. They seem too good to be true, somehow.”
“There is that,” Daniel admitted, “but I still can't see where national security is being compromised.”
“Well, you know what the grapevine says about our leader: he sees a conspiracy against America under every rock, and Phillips aids and abets the paranoia.”
“Yeah, I've heard that, but who knows, really?”
“It seems pretty obvious if you follow politics at all. Bobby Lee is a slick one; he lets congress do his dirty work, then just signs the bills and gives them all the credit.”
“I don't follow politics much.”
“You should. The country is moving way too far toward the fundamentalist religious agenda. It's getting scary. You didn't hear me say that, though.”
Daniel nodded and smiled mirthlessly. Shirley was going to stay on the good side of Crafton and Crafton was staying on the good side of Murray Phillips, the NSA director who would prefer a theocracy rather than a democracy, or so it was bandied about among lower echelon agents. As for himself, he simply tried to do his job as well as possible and avoid politics, office and national both, just as he had done in the Marines.
Daniel drew a finger across his lips in a zipping motion just as their food arrived. “He took a bite of his burger and raised his brows in appreciation. As soon as he had the burger a few bites along, he asked, “Does posing as a married couple in Masterville suit you?”
“So long as it's a pose. You?”
“Crafton had the right idea. A married couple on vacation is likely to arouse the least suspicion. We may have problems finding a place to stay, though. There seems to be a dearth of motels around that city.”
“Terrell told me there's a bed and breakfast listed right in the city. Why don't we try there?” Terrell was the briefing officer who had called them back before they left the agency.
“Suits me. Do you have a number for them?”
“Yup. Wrote it down while I was going over all the data sheets. Here, you call.” She handed him a slip of paper with a phone number below the notation, Ruthanne's Bed and Breakfast.
“Okay.” Daniel pulled out the new credit card he had been issued. “I'm still listed as Daniel Stenning. What does yours say?”
Shirley set her wind glass down and rummaged in her purse. She held up the new card and chuckled. “It appears that we got married while talking to Terrell. I'm Shirley Stenning now.”
“Sounds good.” Daniel pulled his phone out and dialed. A few moments later they had reservations for a week, beginning three days from the present, time enough for the drive to Masterville Valley.
“That was easy, Dan. How does it feel to be suddenly married?” Shirley said, giving him a Cheshire Cat grin, promising further teasing.
Daniel simply nodded. He had never been married, even as a cover. This operation promised to be interesting in more ways than one.
CHAPTER THREE
In another part of the Capitol, President Robert E. “Bobby Lee” Smith was conferring with Murray Phillips, down in the basement of the White House. It was a small room reserved for NSA conferences and briefings, where he was constantly reassured that the room was bug-free and that conversations there wouldn't be overheard nor recorded, not even by nearby secret service agents. For someone like Smith, that was a comfort. He would just as soon not have what was talked about here ever get out, at least until it had been properly spun and sanitized so as not to offend any more voters than necessary. His agenda was advancing on several fronts nationally and he wanted to keep it that way. He loved being President; he loved all the perks and power and respect, and fully intended to continue enjoying them through a second term. And even beyond that, if a constitutional amendment allowing more than two terms could be passed in time. Even if not, it might still be possible if ...
The President's self-absorption with his future was bro
ken by Phillips's discourse as he completed the standard NSA brief and began talking about his plans for investigating Masterville.
“Can't you hurry that along a bit faster, Murray? I don't like what you've told me about that place. A whole goddamn city that doesn't believe in religion or marriage? It's fucking un-American!” Smith felt no inconsistency between his language and his professed belief in hard core Christian theology, but he did feel a tug in his gut at the very thought of a city as sizeable as Masterville that had given him less than ten per cent of the vote. He ran his fingers through his shock of fine, silver gray hair. Something was very wrong there and he intended to find out what it was.
“It's not quite that bad, Chief. Masterville isn't large enough to influence anything more than local politics. And I told Mister Crafton to send two of the best field agents in the store.”
President Smith stared at his NSA Director, a blocky man with dark hair and a perpetual frown line between his brows. “You think it's not that bad, huh? Didn't you go back over the historical records of that goddamned place? Their attitudes and beliefs have been growing and spreading for decades. Some of the little villages and towns further up and down the valley have been infected over the years, and according to your own figures, the contagion is spreading faster nowadays. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they had agents in other cities, trying to convert good Christians to their vile beliefs. Have you thought of that?”
Phillips hadn't, but now he did. He taught an adult Sunday School class whenever he could free himself up that early on Sunday mornings and the thought of possible agents from Masterville proselytizing around the nation gave him the willies. “Sorry, Chief, we just haven't gotten that far along in the investigation, but we will. I'll put some more agents on the problem.”
