Greg Bear - Quantico

‘What kind of project?’ William asked.

Farrow looked aside and waved his hand at Levine.

‘Some of this is rumor and surmise,’ Levine said. ‘Starting eight years ago, Southern Poverty Law Center lost track of some pretty major players in the old bigot ballgame. They just vanished. Nobody knew where they went. I had a lunch with three Bureau of Domestic Intelligence types and they were licking canary feathers off their chops, so I asked a friend of a friend who knew someone. Nothing is completely secure in the Beltway. Back then, apparently, the Attorney General had decided that what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander and it was time to exercise a little preemptive caution against lily-white Americans. He didn’t want another Murrow Federal Building-it would take the focus off foreign terror. Some were saying that even with the National Security Service, the FBI wasn’t willing to get its hands dirty enough to protect America. So they created BDI-the Bureau of Domestic Intelligence. The AG then instituted a special role for his new agency-they would work collections.’

Farrow said, ‘Starting six or seven years ago, BDI came to Quantico and started interviewing agents. Word came down from the AG-cooperate or get your butts kicked. I voiced strong objections, so I was taken out of the loop. A couple of years after that, I started hearing rumors about disappearances. I didn’t know what to believe.

‘At headquarters, some senior executives were being replaced or reassigned-you remember-I presume because they didn’t cooperate with the administration and BDI. Later, it became clear that an unknown number of our agents had become involved in pre-emptive arrests. You never heard?’

‘I’m little people,’ Rebecca said. Her cheeks were pink. ‘So you just sat on your thumbs?’

‘Yes and no,’ Farrow said, shifting his shoulders. ‘Some senior agents-me among them-just happened to make a special visit to the Southern Poverty Law Center. I worked with Jacob to cross-reference the disappeared. In the interests of balanced government, you understand-these were all major assholes and otherwise I say good riddance. But there were at least two hundred of them, maybe a lot more. And there wasn’t a damned thing we could do. Whenever we went to the top, we were shot down. Real eyes of steel. I should have asked more questions, but it just wasn’t the right climate.’

‘We all turned our heads,’ Levine said. ‘They were rounding up the Jew-haters and the KKK. It was like a dream. They just vanished. Sometimes, BDI even arranged for a plausible crime scene to explain why they disappeared.’

‘Then Winter shows up to talk, and he’s obviously a broken man,’ Farrow said. ‘I tell myself, maybe here’s a way in. Maybe he’s what I need to keep the FBI from sliding deeper into this pile of manure.’ Farrow held up a digital recorder. ‘It was about here that I pressed the on-button.’

Winter’s voice came out of the tiny speaker with remarkable clarity, soft and regular and certainly lacking in shrillness or sarcasm.

‘… What I heard from everybody we dealt with sounded pretty much the same to me. KKK and Aryan Nations guys spoke of their hatred for Jews and Catholics and blacks. Jewish extremists talked about killing Muslims. Muslims spoke of how much they loathed Jews and Christians. The religious wars never ended, Pete. We’ve been fighting for thousands of years. We’re still fighting, still trying to drag everyone in. It’s a sickness. And things are different now. You can’t believe what I’ve seen, Pete. Some smart little fanatic with a grudge can unleash something that will kill us all. ’

Farrow paused the recorder. ‘“Smart little fanatic.” That makes me wonder if Winter had already tracked down Tommy Juarez, and if so, why he wasn’t turning him in.’ Farrow switched the recorder back on.

‘ Back in the fifties, it became obvious that nations with nuclear weapons could wipe life off the face of the Earth. Now, it could be five or ten teenagers in a high school biology lab…Or one driven monster. And who’s going to set them off? The big boys build their political careers on suspicion and fear and hatred…But where the rubber hits the road, it always comes down to the crazy little runts and the monsters-you know that, Pete. We have the profiles memorized. The big boys rant against the evils of government for years and then act all shocked when McVeigh and Nichols blow up a federal building. We squeeze the Middle East, and the monsters blow themselves up and squeeze back. But what if the runts and monsters get hold of things worse than fertilizer bombs-worse than atom bombs? Who’s going to be responsible? ’

The recorder beeped and shut off. ‘The last of my memory card was used up,’ Farrow said. ‘But I remember where the conversation went. Winter had volunteered to work with a clandestine BDI team. He told them he was uniquely qualified to do field work-meaning eliminations, I suppose-because of the way he was born.’

‘Chimeric,’ Rebecca said.

William felt utterly lost. Kidnappings. Murders. Cold cases.

Farrow nodded. ‘Genetically stealthy. That was the phrase he used. Eventually, we got around to talking about 10-4. That’s when he fell apart. He actually started to cry. I was ashamed for him.’

‘Tough guy, Pete,’ Rebecca said.

‘Yeah, well, Winter said just rounding up the monsters and even killing them wasn’t enough. There would always be more-an endless supply. He mentioned a plan he was working on. Jujitsu, he called it. Using the money behind hate to destroy hate.’

‘Why didn’t you turn him in?’ Rebecca said.

‘I did,’ Farrow said, watching her closely. ‘I handed it up to Hiram Newsome, along with a copy of this recording. News was the only one I thought I could trust.’

Rebecca looked between Levine and Farrow. Levine would not meet her gaze. ‘When?’

‘That would be what, three years ago. The wave was cresting. The congressional elections were going the wrong way. BDI was scrambling for cover.’

Rebecca stood. Her chair scraped. ‘You’re a liar.’

Farrow rose and went chest to chin with her. ‘News had it three years ago,’ he said.

‘That’s your story and you’re sticking to it,’ Rebecca said.

‘Screw you, little miss.’

Rebecca backed off a few inches and cocked her head to one side.

William took Rebecca’s arm and held on as she tried to shrug lose. ‘We’re going,’ he told her.

‘Right. Let’s climb out of this cesspool,’ Rebecca said.

‘Take your puppy with you,’ Farrow said. ‘Ask News how it happened. I’ve got the paper trail. I made duplicates.’ His face was red and even his blond-furred forearms were the color of Bing cherries. ‘Watch out for her, Griffin,’ he said, his tone ice and mud. ‘Think about your career. She and Hiram Newsome could get you fried.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Rebecca said, and shrugged in just such a way that William let go. She stared straight up at Farrow. ‘You seem to know everything. Tell me about BuDark-just for old time’s sake.’

Farrow pulled back, ashamed that he had lost his cool. He brushed his hand through his hair. ‘Fuck it. I’ll tell you what little I know. BuDark is presidential black ops, black budget. Larsen put it into play. They’re out to bring us down by gathering international evidence to prosecute BDI, FBI, anyone who opposes the liberals. It’s payback time. BuDark is anti-FBI.’

‘Pete’s dirty,’ Rebecca said as they walked down the long hall filled with art prints of nature serene.

‘He’s the straightest agent I ever met,’ William said coolly. ‘Present company excepted.’

‘Hiram Newsome is the straightest agent I’ve ever met.’