Page 39 - Psychoceramics and the Test of Fire

Cabalocracy and the Hall of Mirrors

I had no cobbled-together support system on my next assignment.
Nor had I adequate warning of what was in store when I contacted
Curtis Capra, of necessity first by telephone.
“Hello.” The voice was indistinct, masculine but muffled as if by a
cloth held over the instrument’s microphone.
“Mr. Capra? I’m trying to reach Mr. Curtis Capra.”
“Who’s calling?”
“My name is Jack Dawes. I’m interested in—”
“Never mind that now.” The voice was impatient, an octave
higher. I had blundered. “How did you get my number?”
Now I was back on track. “Sir, I cannot tell that to anyone but Mr.
Capra.”
“Then what is the nature of your business?”
More verbal sparring. “As you said, sir, this is not the time to
discuss such things.”
“You must give me more information.”
Time to be indirectly direct: “The rear-view mirror in my car is
cracked. I need to replace it.”
“I see.” A pause. “And you have tried to replace it before?”
This was going well. I had no password or cereal-box decoder
ring, so all I could do was make oblique references. And that was just
the ticket. “Oh, yes. Several times. But I still can’t see anything in it.”
“Give me your phone number.” I did. It had just been installed,
under my false identity. “You’ll get a call,” said the voice, and clicked
off.
That was my introduction to the myopic but omnivoyant world of
conspiracy theory and its proponents. My job was to gain the
confidence of this isolate crackpot and shower him with money for
his pet project. Al Magnus, philanthropist extraordinaire, had picked
out Curtis Capra from the herd of howling hierophants. All I had to
go on was a P.I. file provided by Magnus: that left me alone to play
psychologist and figure out how to deal with the guy. I could expect
paranoia to go with the territory; I understood the personality type in
broad terms, and realized I had to adopt some of its idiosyncrasies
myself in order to be on the same wavelength as my intended co-
37