“Have you ever heard of Eighty-Five?” Mulder asked. Lessing s face told him he had not. “That stands for A.I.T.I.-5: Artificial Intelligence Terminal Installation, Model Five. It’s a computer, the closest thing to a complete thinking machine ever made, better than a human brain. Besides almost unlimited memory, Eighty-Five’s got a personality. It uses deductive and inductive logic, it plans, it remembers, it theorizes… it thinks, Alan. The only thing it does not do is emote.”
“It walks, it talks, it sings, it almost dances!” Wrench piped up with sardonic merriment from the background.
“How does it concern me?”
“One of the American intelligence agencies ran your dossier through Eighty -Five. There are terminals in Washington and in other major defense complexes. Almost everyone who lives in the United States is on file: tax records, voter registrations, driver’s licenses, military service, social security, pension plans, insurance applications, civil agencies, charitable institutions… a lot more. John Q. Public isn’t told, of course, for fear of the ‘Big Brother’ screams that would go up.” He jabbed a finger at Lessing. “Mercenaries are especially interesting to Eighty-Five, as are splinter political parties, religious cults, draft protesters, minority organizations, big crime… all the misfits. It keeps tabs on the likes of you… and us, Alan.”
“This computer… this Eighty-Five… traced me to Paris?”
“We believe somebody punched you in and asked for logical contacts and activities according to your profile. Eighty-Five compared your data with Copley’s, added the rumors about you thumbing people… they were common knowledge in Euro-mere circles, you recall… and came up with Paris. Richmond’s side wants Pacov very badly, but whether to use it or stop it, we do not know.”
“Richmond said he wasn’t working for the Americans.”
“He wasn’t. Not directly. His Zionists share a lot with President Rubin’s administration, though. Some say they’re one and the same, puppets of a larger Jewish-Establishment network. Anyway, his people have friends with access to Eighty-Five. So do we. So do your erstwhile employers, and they were smarter: Kuhn thinks they were watching while you and Richmond had your tete-a-tete. They hoped he’d thumb you and save them the trouble, but you pulled your phony Pacov stunt first. Then our Herr Kuhn came to your rescue.”
“Christ! ” Suddenly Lessing needed a drink, a craving he had not felt for months. “Wait a minute… if this Eighty-Five could pick up on me, why can’t your people use it to pick up on my Marvelous Gap employers?”
“Whoever they are, they’re good. They’ve programmed blind alleys and blocked access paths into Eighty-Five, special codes, alarms that trip if you punch in the wrong password. We know because we lost an operative or two finding out.”
The ramifications were unsettling. “If they’re so clever, why don’t they use it on you, on Kuhn… on Indoco… on your movement?”
Mulder spread his short, spatulate fingers. “Oh, they try. But we’ve got people with clearances as well. We’ve programmed Eighty-Five to shunt our sensitive data into dead files. It buries what we don’t want seen.”
“How about standard intelligence methods?” Lessing asked. “Richmond talked about Indoco being ‘odd’… about looking into your operation later. He knows Kuhn. He knows me. Surely his people can put it together.”
“They’re on the perimeter,” Mulder admitted. “They know a little about us and about some of our front groups. They know a lot about the organizations we want them to see: Neo-Nazis, Pre-Nazis, Post-Nazis, Paleo-Nazis, Would-Be-Nazis, rightists, racists, survivalists, Born Again fascists, an anthill of fringe groups. But the intelligence agencies… and the sects and factions and parties and secret societies… are like dancers in a dark room. You bump up against somebody, feel the clothing, smell the cologne, maybe touch a bit of skin. They do the same. None of the dancers ever gets a complete picture of the others. The Zionists, the Americans, various European agencies all know we’re here, but they don’t know where, who, or how much. As far as our people can tell, the core of our structure is still our secret.”
“The Israelis, too, can’t be bothered with us now,” Wrench added. “They have problems that won’t quit: religious and ethnic factionalism, runaway inflation, deficits, international loans they can’t repay, depicted resources, too much yerida and not enough aliya, a huge military establishment to support, no more ‘war reparations’ from Germany. The Russians have thirty-four divisions on Greater Israel’s northeastern borders in Iraq, and if that’s not enough—”
“Their worst worry is the hundred million Arabs they can’t feed or control,” Mulder interposed. “Conquered people, in effect slaves. But slaves who are increasingly vociferous about civil rights and voting privileges.”
“The end of the ‘Jewish State’ right there.” Wrench slapped a hand down upon the delicately inlaid table beside his chair. “Like the rabbit said to his girl friend, ‘Shall we run, or shall we stay and outnumber ’em?’ Israel might’ve been able to keep up the pretense of being a nice, homey dream once, back in the nineteenth century: ‘next year in Jerusalem’ and all that. Now the mask is off, and everyone can see that it’s simply a military empire with ambitions of world rule: ancient Rome all over again… everything but the gladiators and the lions. Hell, they’re already eating the Christians, or the Christians’ pocketbooks anyhow! Israel’s had its day in the sun, and it’s starting to slide, just like every imperial state before it.”
Lessing could not resist saying, “I think you’re dreaming.”
“Maybe so,” Mulder conceded. “In any case Israel is stewing in its own kosher juices right now and can’t attend to us.”
“To them we’re nothing but a bunch of loonies who are still pumping a cause that died in Berlin a century ago: nasty, little fanatics in leather overcoats.” Wrench snapped his fingers in disdain. “We want them to go on believing that, too, right up until our last, big corporate takeovers occur and our movement is ready to go public.”
Mulder frowned across at Wrench. “The Vizzies are getting close to some of our doings in the United States. We must talk about that, Charles, when Goddard gets back.”
“Which reminds me,” Lessing said. “Assume that my former ‘employers’… plus the Americans, the Israelis, and everybody else on earth… have all forgotten about me. Who were those two burglars? The safecrackers who broke into this house? How did they know about your diaries, and what did they want with them?”
Mulder pursed his lips. ‘To be honest, we haven’t a clue. Our people are still looking into it. As soon as we have a chance we’ll get Eighty-Five onto it too. There is definitely a leak.” He raised his bulk a trifle so that he could look Lessing directly in the eyes. “Why not join us, Alan? Really join us? We can use you.”
“I told you. I’m just a mere, Mr. Mulder. I’ll run your security, I’ll step and fetch for you, and I’ll protect you to the best of my ability. But I’m not interested in movements.”
“Except bowel movements,” Wrench cackled. “You should hear him in the morning. The walls are paper-thin “
“Charles, please! Be serious! ” Mulder dug into the papers on his desk. “I have a cable here from your friend, Felix Bauer. He likes the job we gave him as security chief at Club Lingahnie. The South Pacific suits him nicely. You recall that I offered you a job out there too, Alan.”
“I was… I am grateful. I was close to accepting.“He had talked it over with Jameela, and she, too, had almost agreed. It was one way of getting her out of India and away from her family and Indian society. Ponape also made a fine refuge for someone running from a foe with a very long reach.