Those were the opening paragraphs on each sheet. Then, individually, these followed.
Gemstone, your job is the fire, and even as I write these words I am visited by nostalgia, by the odor of rose bushes burning. Do you remember the aroma? Gasoline and roses in the villa in Quon Trac, the garden burning in the night. Do you remember how the odor blocked the smell of roasting flesh? You were good at it, Gemstone, as good as they come. I remember how you loved it all. I remember the look in your eye and the smile on your lips when you smelled the rose bushes burning, and now I have another blaze for you to set.
I want you to burn down a house. Not much of a job for your talents, I know, but it is the ceremony I have chosen and it will serve as a symbol for my pyre. The Southern Manor is a rather tacky little rooming house in the town of Glen Grove, Florida. It is a typical haven for the retired and the elderly, and I want it destroyed. I want it burned to the ground and made uninhabitable sometime between the dates of 28 February and 4 March. This is the blaze that I want for my altar, and I ask it of you. Should the opportunity present itself, you may throw a rose on the embers.
Your usual fee has been deposited in the Zurich account. Gibraltar Rules apply.
Sextant, your job is the virgin. Yes, I know that in the age in which we live the term is likely to be figurative, but this is the one I have chosen. Her name is Lila Simms, and she is a sixteen-year-old high school junior who lives in the small town of Rockhill, New York, in the Hudson Valley. There is nothing distinctive about the girl; she is a normal, decent teenager. Her interests are prosaic: dancing, rock music, tennis in the summer, skiing in the winter. Her school grades are average, and although she dates frequently, she has no steady boyfriend. This is the sacrifice I require, and I want it performed within the time frame of 28 February to 4 March. These are your instructions.
I want her raped, Sextant. Not just raped, but gang-raped by many men. I do not want her life, in fact I forbid you to take it, but I want her brutalized and I want it done in a fashion that will insure the maximum public attention and notoriety. My aim is her humiliation and her degradation; that will be sacrifice enough. Do this, Sextant, to speed me on my way.
Your usual fee has been deposited in the Geneva account. Gibraltar Rules apply.
Domino, I want you to slay me a bulldog to lie at my feet, but here I must confess to a weakness. I have ordered the deaths of many men, and have borne silent witness to the deaths of many others, but I have never killed an innocent animal, not deliberately, and I cannot order you to do so. The action is beyond me. Strange, but there it is, a weakness I have had all my life, and so this killing must be symbolic.
If you search among the small colleges of the northeast part of our country, you will find that Polk College, in New Hampshire, and Van Buren College in upper New York State, are traditional rivals in the sport of basketball. Each year they play against each other in the final game of the season, and the winner of that game will goes on to play in the Easter Holiday Tournament of Champions at Madison Square Garden. Having said that, I must point out that Van Buren is given little chance of getting into the tournament this year. Polk is too strong for them, even though Van Buren may well have its first winning season since its glory days of twenty years ago. Even now, well in advance of the game, Polk is heavily favored by the bookmakers.
And so, your assignment. The Van Buren team is called the Cavaliers. The Polk team is known as the Bulldogs, and therein lies my symbol. Van Buren must win. Polk must lose. The Bulldog must die. It's as simple as that, and I don't care how you do it. Bribery suggests itself, but I leave the details in your hands. Those hands that have served me so well, and now this final task, faint echo of past triumphs. But do it for me, as you always have. Slay me my bulldog on the first of March.
Your usual fee has been deposited in the Bern account. Gibraltar Rules apply.
Madrigal, I would have a jester to ride by my side on this darkest and longest of journeys. How wise the old ones were to take along a fool who could whistle in graveyards and mock eternal night. A jester, mind you, not a source of true wit or humor. I credit myself with a sufficiency of satire, and a sense of the ironic; I need no help in those departments. What I must have is a clown, a low-down thigh-slapper, a baggy-pants comedian, a mouther of banalities. In short, a buffoon, and I have found just the man.
His name is Calvin Weiss, and he is the entertainment director of the cruise ship S.S. Carnival Queen, one of those pathetic vessels that call at ports throughout the Caribbean. Visualize him, Madrigal, alive with a feverish energy, his eyes popping and his face sweating as he strives every night to amuse still another boatload of the brainless. Imagine what the mind of such a man must be like, stuffed full of punch lines and stale gags, blackout skits and rimshot whammos. What a delight he will be on the journey, what a shield against the gloom. Slay him for me, Madrigal. I need him. March first is the date that I give you. Have him for me then.
Your usual fee has been deposited in the Zurich account. Gibraltar Rules apply.
Sammy collected the folders, and returned them to Jessup. There was silence in the room. Jessup said, "First, let me point out the obvious. These people must be stopped. Today is the sixteenth of February, and these assignments are due to go into effect on the last day of the month. So, a certain amount of urgency is involved. And having said that, I'd now like to hear your opinion of the mental condition of the man who wrote these files."
Sammy looked at me, and said, "Ben, around the circle." Which meant that I was to speak first. We all had been born in the same year, but I was the youngest by a month, and it was a tradition with us that the youngest spoke first. So it was me, then Martha, then Vince, then Snake, and then Sammy, who was our eldest by a matter of weeks.
"I have to assume that the man was deranged," I said. "These assignments were made just before he went into the hospital, and the tumors had already taken root in his brain. I don't think that I need to comment on the nature of the assignments, since they were obviously written by a madman. He has ordered, in the name of the Agency, a murder, a rape, an act of arson, and a possible fraud. At the risk of sounding overly technical, David Ogden was a nut case."
Martha said, "Agreed. Totally bonkers."
Vince said, "No question about it."
Snake said, "Crazy weirdo."
Sammy said, "Make it unanimous. The man was brain damaged."
Jessup nodded his satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that. Those of us who knew David Ogden well, and that includes everyone on the executive committee, knew him to be a decent and honorable man. The David Ogden we knew could never have made those assignments. A different man made them, a man with a damaged brain. And having said that, I will now ask if there are any questions."
"I have one," said Vince. He looked unhappy. "You say that Ogden was an honorable man, and in his right mind he never would have made those assignments. Are you also saying that the DDO, or anyone like him, never sanctioned a killing, or an arson, or a rape, in the name of military or political expediency?"