Part 11 (1/2)

”With atomic energy? Nothing at all ... at least, nothing that I can see.... ”

”Why is Satan called the light-bringer?” Saul plunged on, convinced he was on the right track.

”The Manicheans reject the physical universe,” the priest said slowly. ”They say that the true G.o.d, their G.o.d, would never lower himself to mess around with matter. The G.o.d who created the world-our G.o.d, Jehovah- they call panurgia panurgia, which has the connotations of a kind of blind, stupid blundering force rather than a truly intelligent being. The realm which their G.o.d inhabits is pure spirit of pure light. Hence, he is called the light-bringer, and this universe is always called the realm of darkness. But they didn't know about atomic energy in those days-did they?” The last sentence had started as a statement and ended as a question.

”That's what I'm I'm wondering,” Saul said. ”Atomic power releases a lot of light, doesn't it? And it sure would immanentize the Eschaton if enough atomic power was unleashed at once, wouldn't it?” wondering,” Saul said. ”Atomic power releases a lot of light, doesn't it? And it sure would immanentize the Eschaton if enough atomic power was unleashed at once, wouldn't it?”

”Fernando Poo!” the priest exclaimed. ”Is this connected with Fernando Poo?”

”I'm beginning to think so,” Saul said. ”I'm also beginning to think we've stayed in one place a long time, using a phone that is almost certainly tapped. We better get moving. Thanks, Father.”

”You're quite welcome, although I'm sure I don't know what you're getting at,” the priest said. ”If you think Satanists control the United States government a few priests would agree with you, especially the Berrigan brothers, but I don't see how this can be a police matter. Does the New York Police Department now maintain a bureau of holy inquisitions?”

”Don't mind him,” Barney said softly. ”He's very cynical about dogma, like most clergymen these days.”

”I heard that,” the priest said. ”I may be cynical but I really don't think Satanism is a joking matter. And your friend's theory is very plausible, in its way. After all, the Satanist's motive in infiltrating the church, in the old days, was to disgrace the inst.i.tution thought to represent G.o.d on earth. Now that the United States government makes the same claim, well. That may be a joke or a paradox on my part, but it's the way their minds work, too. I am a professional cynic-a theologian must be, these days, if he isn't going to seem a total fool to young people with their skeptical minds-but I'm orthodox, or downright reactionary, about the Inquisitions. I've read all the rationalist historians, of course, and there was certainly an element of hysteria in the church in those days, but, still, Satanism is not any less frightening than cancer or plague. It is totally inimical to human life and, in fact, to all life. The church had good reasons to be afraid of it. Just as people who are old enough to remember have good reasons to be panicky at any hint of a revival of Hitlerism.”

Saul thought of the cryptic, evasive phrases in Eliphas Levy: ”the monstrous gnosis of Manes ... the cultus of material fire....” And, nearly ten years ago, the hippies gathered at the Pentagon, hanging flowers on the M.P.'s rifles, chanting ”Out, demon, out!” ... Hiros.h.i.+ma ... the White Light of the Void....

”Wait,” Saul said. ”Is there more to it than just ideas ideas about killing? Isn't killing a mystical experience to the Satanists?” about killing? Isn't killing a mystical experience to the Satanists?”

”Of course,” the priest replied. ”That's the whole point-they want gnosis, personal experience, not dogma, which is somebody else's word. Rationalists are always attacking dogma for causing fanaticism, but the worst fanatics start from gnosis. Modern psychologists are just beginning to understand some of this. You know how people in explosive group-therapy sessions talk about sudden bursts of energy occurring in the whole group at once? One can get the same effect with dancing and drum-beating; that's what is called a 'primitive' religion. Use drugs, nowadays, and you're a hippie. Do it with s.e.x, and you're a witch, or one of the Knights Templar. Ma.s.s partic.i.p.ation in an animal sacrifice has the same effect. Human sacrifice has been used in many religions, including the Aztec cult everybody has heard about, as well as in Satanism. Modern psychologists say that the force released is Freud's libidinal energy. Mystics call it prajna or the Astral Light. Whatever it is, human sacrifice seems to release more of it than s.e.x or drugs or dancing or drum-beating or any less violent method and ma.s.s human sacrifice unleashes a ton of it. Now do you understand why I fear Satanism and half apologize for the Inquisition?”

”Yes,” Saul said absently, ”and I'm beginning to share your fear....” A song he hated was pounding inside his skull: Wenn das Judenblut vom Messerspritz Wenn das Judenblut vom Messerspritz....

He realized that he was holding the phone and seeing scenes forty years ago in another country. He jerked himself back to attention as Muldoon thanked his brother again and hung up. Saul raised his eyes and the two detectives exchanged glances of mutual dread.

After a long pause, Muldoon said, ”We can't trust anybody with this. We can hardly even trust each other.”

Before Saul could answer the phone rang. It was Danny Pricefixer at headquarters. ”Bad news. There was only one girl in research at Confrontation Confrontation named Pat. Patricia Walsh to be exact, and-” named Pat. Patricia Walsh to be exact, and-”

”I know,” Saul said wearily, ”she's disappeared, too.”

”What are you going to do now? The FBI is still raising h.e.l.l and demanding to know where you two are and the Commissioner is having the s.h.i.+ts, the fits, and the blind staggers.”

”Tell them,” Saul said succinctly ”that we've disappeared.” He hung up carefully and began stuffing the memos back into the box.

”What now?” Muldoon asked.

”We go underground. And we stick to this until we crack it or it kills us.”

(”How long is this motherf.u.c.ker?” George asked, gesturing at the Danube six stories below. He and Stella were in their room at the Donau Hotel.

”You won't believe me,” Stella replied, smiling. ”It's exactly one thousand seven hundred and seventy-six miles in length. One-seven-seven-six, George.”

”The same as the date Weishaupt revived the Illuminati?”

”Exactly.” Stella grinned. ”We keep telling you. Synchronicity is as universal as gravity. When you start looking you find it everywhere.”) ”Here's the money,” Banana-Nose Maldonado said generously, opening a briefcase full of crisp new bills. (It is now November 23, 1963: they were meeting on a bench near Cleopatra's needle in Central Park: the younger man, however, is nervous.) ”I want to tell you that ... my superior ... is very pleased. This will definitely decrease Bobby's power in the Justice Department and stop a lot of annoying investigations.”

The younger man, Ben Volpe, gulps. ”Look, Mr. Maldonado, there's something I've got to tell you. I know how the ... Brotherhood ... is when somebody f.u.c.ks up and hides it.”

”You didn't f.u.c.k up,” Banana-Nose says, bewildered. ”In fact, you lucked out amazingly. That schmuck Oswald is going to fry for it. He came along at just the right time. It was a real Fortuna ... Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Banana-Nose sits up straight as the thought hits him. ”You mean ... you mean ... Did Oswald really do it? Did he shoot before before you?” you?”

”No, no,” Volpe is miserable. ”Let me explain it as clearly as I can. I'm there on top of the Dallas County Records Building like we planned, see? The motorcade turns onto Elm and heads for the underpa.s.s. I use my magnifying sight, swinging the whole gun around to look through it, just to make one last check that I have all the Feds spotted. When I face the School Book Depository, I catch this rifle. That was Oswald, I guess. Then I check out the gra.s.sy knoll and, G.o.ddam, there's another cat with a rifle. I just went cold. I couldn't figure it out. While I'm in this state, like a zombie, a dog barks and just then the guy in the gra.s.sy knoll calm and cool as if he was at a shooting range lays three of them right into the car. That's it,” Volpe ends miserably. ”I can't take the money. The ... Brotherhood ... would have my a.s.s if they ever found out the truth.”

Maldonado sat silently, rubbing his famous nose as he did when making a hard decision. ”You're a good boy, Bennie. I give you ten percent of the money, just for being honest. We need more honest young boys like you in the Brotherhood.”

Volpe swallowed again, and said, ”There's one more thing I oughta tell you. I went down to the gra.s.sy knoll, after the cops run from there to the School Book Depository. I thought I might find the guy who did the shooting still hanging around and tell you what he looked like. He was long gone, though. But here's what so spooky. I ran into another galoot, who was sneaking down from the triple underpa.s.s. Long, skinny guy with buck teeth, kind of reminded me of a python or some kind of snake. He just looks at me and my umbrella and guesses what's in it. His mouth falls open. 'Jesus Christ and his black b.a.s.t.a.r.d brother Harry,' he says, 'how the f.u.c.k f.u.c.k many people does it take to kill a President these days?'” many people does it take to kill a President these days?'”

(”And they're teaching them about perversions as well,” Smiling Jim was building toward his climax. ”h.o.m.os.e.xuality and lesbianism are being taught in our schools and we're paying for it out of our tax money. Now is that communism or isn't it?”) ”Welcome to the Playboy Club,” the beautiful blonde said, ”I'm your bunny, Virgin.”

Saul took his seat in the dark wondering if he had heard correctly. Virgin was an odd name for a bunny; perhaps she had actually said Virginia. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

”How do you wish your steak, sir?” the bunny was asking. A stake through the heart, for a vampire.

”Medium well,” Saul said, wondering why his mind was wandering in such odd directions. (”Odd erections,” somebody said in the nearby dark-or was it a distorted echo of his own voice?) ”Medium well,” the bunny repeated, seemingly speaking to the wall. A medium wall, Saul thought.

Immediately the wall opened and Saul was looking into a combination kitchen and butcher shop. A steer was standing not five feet from him, but before he could recover from this shock a male figure, stripped to the waist and wearing the hood of a medieval executioner, caught his attention. With one stroke of a huge hammer, this figure knocked the steer unconscious and it fell to the floor with a crash. Immediately the executioner produced an axe and chopped its head off; blood gushed in a crimson pool from its neck.

The wall closed, and Saul had the terrifying feeling that the whole scene had been a hallucination-that he was losing his mind.

”All our lunches are educational today,” the bunny said in his ear. ”We believe every customer should understand fully what's on the end of his fork and how it got there, before he takes a bite.”

”Good G.o.d,” Saul said, getting to his feet. This wasn't a Playboy Club, it was some den of lunatics and s.a.d.i.s.ts. He stumbled toward the door.

”No way out,” a man at another table said softly as he pa.s.sed.

”Saul, Saul,” the maitre d' murmured politely, ”why dost thou persecute me? Hab' rochmunas.” Hab' rochmunas.”

”It's a drug,” Saul said thickly, ”you've given me a drug.” Of course, that was it-something like mescaline or LSD-and they were guiding his hallucinations by providing proper stimuli. Perhaps they were even faking some of the hallucinations. But how had he fallen into their hands? The last thing he remembered, he was in Joe Malik's apartment with Barney Muldoon.... No, there was a voice saying, ”Now ”Now, Sister Victoria,” as they came out the door onto Riverside Drive....

”No man should marry a woman more than thirty years younger than himself,” the maitre d' said mournfully. How did they know about that? Had they investigated his whole life? How long had they held him?

”I'm getting out of here,” he shouted, pus.h.i.+ng the maitre d' aside and bolting for the door.

Hands grasped for him and missed (they weren't really trying, he realized: he was being allowed to reach the door). When he plunged through the doorway, he realized why: he was not on the street but in another room. This was the next ordeal.

A rectangle of light appeared on the wall; somewhere in the darkness there was a projector. A card, light an old silent-movie caption, appeared in the rectangle. It said: ALL JEW GIRLS LIKE TO BALL WITH BUCK n.i.g.g.e.rS.

”Sons of b.i.t.c.hes,” Saul shouted back at them. They were still working on his feelings about Rebecca. Well, that would get them nowhere: he had ample reason to trust her devotion to him, especially her s.e.xual devotion.

The card moved out of the rectangle, and a picture appeared in its place. It was Rebecca's, in her nightgown, kneeling. Before her stood a naked and enormous black man, six feet six at least, with an equally impressive p.e.n.i.s which she held sensuously in her mouth. Her eyes were closed in bliss, like a baby nursing.

”Motherf.u.c.kers,” Saul screamed. ”It's a fake. That's not Rebecca-it's an actress with makeup. You forgot the mole on her hip.” They could drug his senses but not his mind.

There was a nasty laugh in the darkness. ”Try this one, Saul,” a voice said coldly.

A new picture slid into view: Adolph Hitler, in full n.a.z.i uniform, and a naked Rebecca backing up to him, taking his p.e.n.i.s in her r.e.c.t.u.m. Her face showed both pain and pleasure-and the mole on her hip was visible. Another fake-Rebecca was born years after Hitler died. But they hadn't produced the slide in the thirty seconds after his shout, and that meant they knew her body, intimately.... And they also knew how skeptical and quick his mind was, and were prepared to administer a series of jolts until something got past his ability to doubt.