Killing Time

CHAPTER 27

Whether or not Malcolm was mad, he was certainly justified in his fearful suspicions about the mysterious Israeli communications concerning the Stalin images. When we'd all gathered at the table that did double duty for dining and conferring on the lower level of the nose of the ship, Malcolm showed us the completed version of those images and explained how they had come to be; and though just a few months earlier it might have been difficult for me to appreciate the dangers posed by such a seemingly random bit of visual documentation, I was now well versed enough in the power of cleverly packaged disinformation to know that we were faced with a potentially disastrous situation.

The images themselves were simple enough: they showed several separate shots of Josef Stalin touring various parts of the Dachau concentration camp sometime in the late 1930s (Dachau having been the first of the really large-scale, factory-modeled German extermination centers). The Soviet strongman was seen watching the laboring prisoners, their abusive guards, and the executions and corpse disposals with an approving eye, occasionally even chuckling as he pulled on his pipe and exchanged information and jokes with several high-ranking SS tour guides — including, in one shot, Heinrich Himmler. The implications were obvious: the Soviet government had been involved not only in its own domestic genocidal policies but, during the years prior to Hitler's invasion of Russia, in the Nazi Holocaust, as well.

"But what was the purpose of creating such an impression, Malcolm?" Jonah asked, deeply troubled by what he'd seen — as, indeed, were we all.

"The Russian government has degenerated from merely unstable to dangerous, even grotesque," Malcolm declared, fists still tight atop the arms of his chair. "Since taking power, the right wing has employed the same tactics that leveled Chechnya in four other rebellious regions. Nuclear weapons and technology, though admittedly crude, are being sold to whoever has the hard currency to pay for them. Virtual slavery is being practiced in factories and fields, and toxic and nuclear wastes are being dumped into shallow repositories in Siberia, which is why that region's separatist movement has become so violent. Each new problem only brings more vicious solutions from the central government, until it now looks as though Russia will be the black hole of the modern world, taking all of civilization with it when it collapses. Yet the rest of that modern world does nothing. Foreign investment in Russia is running at absurdly high levels, and no one can afford to tell the truth or to have it told — information and communications companies are, after all, among the most severely overextended in the Russian market. The argument that loans and investment will bring reform continues to stand as self-serving nonsense of a variety to match the Chinese model. Putting money into such a situation is simply throwing gasoline on a fire." He caught his breath and sat back, his anger slowly giving way to regret. "It seemed to me, in other words, that some kind of popular redefinition of Russia's place, in the world and in history, might be called for."

"You could hardly have picked a more… provocative event of which to make use, Malcolm," Tarbell said; and there was no note of irony or amusement in his voice now.

Malcolm nodded grimly. "Or a worse person, as it turned out, to do the work. I hired John Price because none of us had his visual manipulation skills — but I always had reservations about him. It wasn't just that he was a freelance operator, though that did trouble me. But a freelance operator from a place where betrayal is the unspoken stuff of amiable meals in pleasant restaurants… It was my mother's world; that in itself should have kept me away. But I thought we could control him."

"I thought we had," Larissa said, in a tone that clearly indicated she had no regrets about having been Price's executioner.

"Sometimes, Larissa," Malcolm said, "death doesn't put an end to the dangers a person can pose."

"And what do you think those dangers are?" I asked, looking around the table.

"I've studied the communications Leon intercepted," Colonel Slayton replied. "And putting them together with what I heard, I'd say the situation is very bad. Worse yet, it's fairly advanced. The Israelis are clearly worried about some specific terrorist response to this new revelation about the Holocaust, a response that's apparently going to come from one of their own operatives. Probably the same man who discovered the images."

"A fanatic? "Eli asked.

Malcolm nodded, self-recrimination all over his face. "It's why I canceled the project in the first place, before even telling any of you about it. There are certain historical events, I've come to realize, that even we must never toy with — the violence of the emotions they unleash is simply too great. We're talking, now, about what is quite probably the blackest moment in all of human experience. Even the tortures and brutalities of the Dark Ages had nothing like the scale, the systematic insanity…" Malcolm shook his head. "This man may have lost family in the Holocaust. Or he may simply have grown unbalanced contemplating it." I felt a quick pang of dread at this thought: not only did it seem entirely plausible, even likely, but I'd dealt with similar characters before and knew what they were capable of. "Whatever the explanation," Malcolm continued, "he has now joined the ranks of those whom the world should always fear most, those who were responsible for the Holocaust in the first place: fanatics.''

"The Mossad is full of them," Colonel Slayton said, "unlike most intelligence agencies. But they're being very careful not to use this character's name in communications that are not absolutely secure— they're determined to handle this internally."

"That is understandable," Fouché judged. "Ever since they entered the Turkish civil war on the side of the Kurds, there has been enormous tension between America and Israel. It may be that the Israelis had no choice, now that they are dependent on water that flows from Kurdish territory, but this does not change the fact that Turkey remains an American ally."

"I have checked CIA communications," Tarbell said. "To no one's great surprise, I am sure, they know less than we do. They are aware that the Israelis have a problem with one of their people but have no idea why. Still, they are interested. And when the CIA staggers blindly in the dark, well… unfortunate things have a way of occurring."

"Not to our people," Larissa said firmly. "The real thing to worry about is this Israeli. Who is he? How the hell did he get hold of the images in the first place?"

"And what is he intending to do about it?" Malcolm added. "These are all questions that we must answer. Not the Israelis, not the Americans, not anyone else. I want us to find this man, secure his copy of the images, and finish him."

The ruthless finality of this statement caught me off guard. "But — surely we can just hand him over to his people after we have the images," I said.

"No," Malcolm replied with the same chilling determination. "If he gets back to Israel, he'll spread rumors and stories that will be worse than the images themselves. If he vanishes — or better yet, if we can force him to tell his superiors that the images are actually fabrications before he vanishes — then and only then will it all blow over."

I glanced quickly from face to face. I knew that what Malcolm had said made sense, but I nonetheless found myself hoping that someone else would raise an objection.

None came. "Where do we begin?" Fouché asked solemnly.

"Unfortunately," Malcolm said, "if there were any more information in Price's New York residence, his wife would, I suspect, have turned it over to Gideon. Which leaves…" His face filled with deep reluctance.

"Los Angeles," Jonah said with a nod.

Slayton tapped the table. "It won't be easy — the city's in chaos, along with the rest of southern California."

"Water again," Eli agreed.

"Yes," Malcolm said, "but we have no choice. Set a course to approach Los Angeles from the sea, Colonel — I don't want to get tangled up with any of the National Guard or militia units. People who've been without adequate water for long enough can be worse than ethnic fanatics."

"Understood," Slayton replied, rising.

"Let's hope this will be simple," Malcolm said as the rest of us moved to follow Slayton. The last to go, I was almost out the door when I heard him mutter quietly, "By all means, let's hope once more for the impossible…"