And then there was the question of Matt Wells. Why had Sebastian suddenly started visiting the British writer so regularly? Why did he spend so much time on those visits closeted with Dr. Rivers, whose career in mind control had been characterized as ‘highly dubious’ by several researchers and bloggers? Now Matt Wells was doing combat training and firearms practice. What kind of a way was that to treat a prisoner with dubious legal status, one that had tried to kill the President?
Arthur Bimsdale threw the remains of his lunch into a garbage bin. He was going to spend the afternoon in the University of Pennsylvania library, seeing if Jack Notaro had written anything that could have provoked his killer. Meanwhile, his boss had returned to D.C., for a meeting with the Director. At least that showed he had top-level support.
If it were up to Arthur, he’d have busted Peter Sebastian’s hindmost region to Guam, never mind Butte, Montana.
I heard several clicks on the line.
‘Hello? Sebastian?’
‘No, this is Special Agent Bimsdale. Who’s this?’
‘Matt Wells. Listen, I need to talk to him urgently. Is he there?’
‘I’m afraid not. Can I help?’
I thought about that. Obviously Sebastian wasn’t taking calls. I didn’t have any option but to talk to his worryingly young-looking bagman.
‘All right. Are you familiar with the name Gordy Lister?’
There was a pause. ‘Wasn’t he involved in the Rothmann case?’
At least he’d done his homework. ‘Correct. He was the scumbag’s fixer on the Star Reporter.’
‘And he was allowed to remain at liberty.’
‘Thanks for pointing that out, Arthur. Not one of our better calls at the time. The thing is, I just saw him.’
‘What? At the camp?’
‘No, you idiot. On the TV. He’s at the back of the crowd at the scene where the professor’s organs were found.’
‘Really? Give me a description.’
I did so. ‘Are you there?’
‘Yes. Stay on the line.’
The TV was no longer showing the live feed from Philadelphia, so I could only follow what was happening on the phone. I heard raised voices-one of which seemed to call the special agent ‘fuckface’. Bimsdale responded with, ‘Coming through’. He wasn’t so dumb though-he wasn’t shouting, so Lister might not realize he was being approached. I zapped from channel to channel, but there was nothing relevant, not even on the 24-hour news stations.
Eventually I heard Bimsdale’s voice again.
‘I don’t see him, Mr. Wells.’ He was breathing heavily.
‘Shit. Are you sure?’
‘I’m standing on a newspaper dispenser.’ That would have made his tall figure stick out like a lighthouse, but it sounded like it was too late for caution. ‘No. I’m sorry, Mr. Wells, he must have gone.’
‘Circulate the description among the cops.’
‘Okay. I can do better than that. I’ll get hold of the TV footage. He’s bound to show up on at least one channel.’ He paused. ‘If he really was here.’
‘I’m telling you, it was him.’
‘He was wearing a beard, you said.’
‘Yeah, it could have been fake.’
‘So how did you recognize him?’
I sighed. ‘I don’t know, Arthur, I just did. It was something about his manner. Lister’s a shifty bastard and that was what I picked up on.’
‘All right, Mr. Wells, I’ll do what I can. The problem is, if his beard was a false one, he could easily have jettisoned it to aid his disappearance.’
He was right. Lister could also have dumped the overcoat he was wearing, or turned it inside out, and he could easily have dispensed with the woolen hat.
I signed off and thought about what Lister’s presence might mean. Could he be ‘Hitler’s Hitman?’ I’d had some run-ins with him and he had played the tough guy, but he usually made sure he had big men present to look after him. I couldn’t see Gordy, who was skinny and below average height, hoisting a body as bulky as Jack Notaro’s onto a hook in the ceiling, nor could I see him killing people and cutting them to pieces.
So what was he doing at the scene? He was taking a hell of a risk, despite the disguise. He would have known that law enforcement often checked TV footage for suspicious individuals. What was so important that he had shown up in Philadelphia? Had Rothmann sent him? I was pretty sure that Lister would have hooked up with his boss after he disappeared. But if the Nazi was behind the murders, why would he risk incriminating himself and his underground organization by sending Lister to the locus? I was certain he was still scheming, no doubt having changed the name of his armed force from the North American National Revival, also known as the North American Nazi Revival, and no doubt still manipulating the Antichurch of Lucifer Triumphant. Details of the M.O. s had been scanty, presumably because Sebastian had censored the reports, but it seemed to me that the satanic cult’s sacrificial ritual might be being copied in the stringing up and mutilation of the victims. On the other hand, Heinz Rothmann was a subtle operator, at least until his plans came to fruition. These murders were about as subtle as a cockroach in a cup of coffee.
Karen moved her bulk on the sofa. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’ I hurriedly turned the TV off. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘I was. Who were you talking to?’
‘What? Oh, Quincy Jerome. Just arranging a run.’ I didn’t want her to know about the latest murder, and especially not about Gordy Lister. She hadn’t met him, but she knew who he was. The idea of her going into labor with him in mind was not appealing. Then again, the process might not start for days. Keeping the news from her would be impossible now we had internet and TV access.
‘How about some music?’ she said, hands on her bulge. ‘There’s a whole lot of kicking going on down here.’
I turned on the CD player. Julie Simms brought fresh disks from the camp library every week. I’d managed to get her to steer clear of garbage pop and concentrate on rock and folk. She was obviously a classical fan; there were always a couple of orchestral pieces in the bag.
The Manic Street Preachers blasted out. I’d forgotten that I’d left the CD in. They weren’t a top class band as far as I was concerned, but I couldn’t fault the sentiments of what was playing now-‘If You Tolerate This, Then Your Children Will Be Next.’
‘No!’ Karen cried. ‘Too raucous. Do you want your son to shake his way out of me?’
‘Sorry.’ I ejected the disk and put on one of Julie’s. A swathe of gentle strings and what sounded like a harpsichord filled the room.
‘That’s better. What is it?’
I looked at the box. ‘Monteverdi.’
‘Mmm, it’s nice. Come over here.’
I did as I was told.
‘I feel…funny,’ Karen said, taking my hand.
I was instantly alert. ‘Is it beginning?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s just…it’s just that I’m afraid, Matt.’ She let out a sob.
I pressed myself against her. ‘Don’t be silly. You’re my strong woman, you can stand up to anything.’
‘I don’t think I can. I keep…I keep thinking about what the Rothmanns did to me. What if the baby’s damaged? What if I can’t act like a proper mother?’
I squeezed her hands. ‘You’ve had plenty of tests. Nothing’s wrong with the boy. Or with you.’
‘How do you know?’ she demanded, pulling her hands away. ‘Rivers is still dredging triggers out of you and I’ve had much less treatment. What if some function of the conditioning is activated when I give birth? What if they designed the process to keep female subjects childless? That isn’t so unlikely. They wouldn’t want their robot soldiers to be distracted by kids-’