Walter Williams - Deep State

“He’ll find that out later today if he tunes in the news,” Dagmar said.

“Here’s his number,” Lincoln said. He held the phone to Dagmar. Dagmar unholstered her own handheld, and Lincoln neatly transferred Odis Strange’s number to Dagmar with the press of a virtual button.

Dagmar pressed Send. Lincoln drew his own phone back.

“It’s very early in the morning in California,” he said.

“I’ll have to hope that Odis Strange keeps rock-star hours.”

The ring signal repeated five times before Odis Strange answered. During that time Dagmar paced back and forth along the two-yard-long empty strip in front of Lincoln’s desk and managed three complete laps.

“Hello.” He didn’t sound as if Dagmar had dragged him from sleep.

“Mr. Strange,” Dagmar said, “my name is Dagmar Shaw. I’m calling from Cyprus. I was Judy’s boss.”

“I already talked to that guy,” Strange said. His tenor voice was crisp, and the words came fast but distinct, rap-rap-rap, like the sound from a telegraph key.

“The person you talked to is the man I work for,” Dagmar said. “Judy worked directly under me. In fact, we were roommates.”

“I’d like to know exactly what Judy was doing out there,” Strange said. Rap-rap-rap.

“Mr. Strange,” Dagmar said. “I’m a game designer. Judy worked for me earlier this year, in the game we ran in Turkey.”

“I heard about that,” Strange said. “I’d still like to know what the hell was going on.”

Dagmar decided to evade that subject.

“The authorities,” she said, “tell me they’re doing everything they can to locate the men responsible.”

“The fucking authorities know more than they’re fucking telling.” Rap-rap-rap. “I should fly out there myself and bring my AR-15 and ask those fuckers some questions. That gun can fire damn near a hundred fifty rounds per minute, and that’s on semiautomatic.”

“Mr. Strange,” Dagmar said, “a situation has come up, and I need your help.”

“Fuck those people up!” Strange shouted. “Fuck them up with two-two-three rounds!”

Dagmar winced and held the phone away from her ear. Lincoln looked at her with saturnine amusement. She turned away from him and stared at the evil eye amulet on his wall.

“Mr. Strange-” she began.

“When can I bring Judy home?” Strange demanded. “Her mother’s a damn wreck. The people there are all giving me the runaround.”

“I don’t know,” Dagmar said. “But I promise I’ll find out for you.”

“I need to go down there and break some heads,” Strange said. “Bring a crowbar.”

“Mr. Strange,” Dagmar said. “I need your help.”

The statement seemed to surprise him.

“My help?” he said. “What the hell can I do?”

“There’s a false rumor going around,” Dagmar said. “People are saying that I-that Judy and I were hired by Ian Attila Gordon to overthrow the Turkish junta.”

“What in God’s name-” Rap-rap-rap and then a brief pause. “Attila was doing this? Attila was trying to overthrow the dictators?”

“Well,” Dagmar said, “no, he wasn’t.”

“It’s the CIA that put those guys in power,” Strange said. “Those Turkish generals are CIA way back. That’s how they got to be Turkish generals in the first place!”

Dagmar tried to stay relentlessly on topic.

“I need to coordinate with Attila,” Dagmar said. “I need to talk to him, so we can agree on what to say to the press.”

“If you’ve been fucking with the generals,” Strange said, “you’re damn right you need to coordinate.”

“I didn’t say we were doing that.” Dagmar couldn’t help herself.

“I still can’t figure out,” Strange said, “how Attila got into this.”

“Do you have contact information for him?” Dagmar persisted. “Judy said you knew him.” A verbal memory flashed into her mind. “She said you thought he was a tosser.”

Strange laughed. “Yeah, he fucking well is,” he said. “I’ve got it on my phone.”

“Good, because-” And then the line went dead.

Dagmar looked at her phone in annoyance. Lincoln’s window rattled to the sound of Eurofighters crashing the sound barrier somewhere above the Med.

“What happened?” Lincoln asked.

“I think he cut me off accidentally when he was trying to access Attila’s number.”

Lincoln sighed. “Is he crazy out of his mind?”

Dagmar considered this.

“Who am I to judge?” She shrugged. She hit Redial.

“What the fuck?” She jumped as Strange shouted in her ear before she even heard a ring signal.

“That’s what I want to know!” Strange said. “What the fuck? Double-you Tee Eff. Know what I’m saying?”

Persist, she told herself.

“Did you manage to get me Attila’s contact information?”

“Yeah. I got it right here.”

As he gave the number, she pressed the Write button on her handheld and scribed the number in the air and into her phone’s memory.

“Thank you, Mr. Strange,” Dagmar said. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, when I hear anything about Judy.”

“Yeah,” Strange said. “Thanks.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Dagmar said. “We all loved Judy here.”

She pressed the End button and felt herself sag in relief.

“That seemed to go well,” Lincoln said dryly.

“I’m the envy of my friends,” Dagmar said as she connected. “Now I have two rock stars on my speed dial.”

“Let’s hope only one of them is crazy.”

The number answered after the first ring.

“Hello?” a Scots voice said. “Who is this? If this is aboot that pish on the telly…”

“Is this Mr. Gordon?” Dagmar asked. She wasn’t completely certain: when Ian Attila Gordon sang, it sounded as if he were from Memphis.

“Aye.” The voice was cautious.

“Mr. Gordon,” Dagmar said, “this is Dagmar Shaw. I’m the person you’re supposed to have hired to overthrow General Bozbeyli.”

“Thank fuck fir that!” Attila Gordon seemed relieved to have a fellow victim to talk to. “Ah jumped a fuckin mile when Ah heard the phone.”

“It’s pretty crazy,” Dagmar said.

“The arseholes even hacked the Web page! Aw that ‘revolution in music’ mince wasnae meant tae be there. We couldnae change it back, ’cause thid altered the passwords!”

“They’re very good,” Dagmar said, “whoever they are.”

“Look,” Attila said. “The guys are trying tae put thegither a statement denying the story. Maybe we should coordinate-”

“A denial isn’t going to work,” Dagmar said. “The story’s already huge; a denial will never catch up with it.”

“What the hell else can we dae!” Attila said. “Mah balls are on the rails here. I mean, I’ve niver even talked tae yi before, ken? Let alone hired yi-”

“I have an idea,” Dagmar said. “It’ll get you in front of the story, and it’ll put you on the right side of public opinion, but it all depends how much you really want the return of Turkish democracy.”

“Cannae hiv they Nazi cunts ruling the roost.”

“That’s good,” Dagmar said, “but when I said how much, I actually meant how much in pounds sterling.”

There was a long silence at the other end. Dagmar held her breath.

She was counting on the idea that rock musicians, when all was said and done, would much rather be God than just be the entertainment.

Please, she thought, please be a megalomaniac, and not a Scot who’s tight with his money.

“How much?” Attila said.

Dagmar let her breath out in a sigh.

She reckoned she had him.

I am Plot Queen, she thought.