Dead and Gone

“Here’s your ‘answer,’ ” he said, still chuckling. “And it’s not the one you think.”

I said nothing, waiting.

“I realized I had you to thank for my prison sentence—you and that cunt Wolfe—before I ever started doing it. But I am a professional. I wouldn’t spend a fortune on petty revenge.”

“A professional pedophile.”

“Yes,” he said, chuckling again. “That’s the problem. Your problem.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You want to know the truth? Here it is. You called me a professional pedophile. That’s only half right. I am a professional. A true professional. And you, you’re a rank, incompetent amateur. The reason for the assassination —which I now see failed—is not because of what I do, but because of your delusions about it.”

“It’s your story. Tell it.”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. And when I’m done, I’ll be able to tell something else. I’ll be able to tell if you truly understand.”

“Why is that important?”

“You’ll see. The man you met in that townhouse was a fiction. The Israelis knew it, but, apparently, they didn’t see fit to share their knowledge with you. I was playing a part. A role. Espionage can’t make much use of certain … information as it once could. At least not in America or many European countries. Homosexuality, a mistress—even the most bizarre sexual preferences—those are not good blackmail tools anymore. At least, not reliable ones. But pedophilia … ah, that one is an ironclad guarantee.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t deal in kiddie porn?”

“Of course I did. I was that horrible ‘commercial element’ I described to you,” he said, switching back to the slightly effeminate, semi-British voice he’d used when I’d first met him. “The market for such product may not be broad, but, I assure you, it is astoundingly deep. And the profit margins are truly incredible … virtually infinite.

“Look,” he said, his voice shifting again, letting me feel the steel beneath the froth, “use your fucking head, all right? If I was a child molester, when City-Wide popped me, how long do you think it would have taken me to rat out every single person I’d ever dealt with?”

“About thirty seconds.”

“Yes. And that’s the way you figured it, didn’t you? Only problem is, you never bothered to check. I didn’t drop dime-fucking-one, pal,” he said, hard-voiced. “And the people I didn’t rat out, well, they were very grateful. How much time do you think I actually did?”

“Six to eighteen, with the judge’s recommendation that you do the max.”

“Ah, so you at least followed the proceedings that far. What happened after that was an appeal—”

“You pleaded out. What kind of bullshit appeal could you put up?”

“Oh, that the guilty plea was coerced by use of improperly obtained evidence, what else?” he said, switching voice again, showing off his chameleon moves. “And, of course, there was a sealed brief submitted by the State Department in support of my application. I understand it was quite persuasive. Bottom line? I did a little less than a two-year bit.”

“Beautiful. And now you’re setting up a paradise for freaks, not because you’re one yourself, but for the money?”

“You mean Darcadia? I’m surprised at you, Mr. Burke. You have a reputation for utter insanity when it comes to child abusers, I grant you. But, in some circles, you are also known as a very clever confidence man. And not above playing some roles yourself when there’s enough money in it.”

“What are you saying? That you and me, we’re the same?” I asked, pushing a little button on the side of the oxygen mask I was still holding in my lap.

“Oh, but we are, Mr. Burke. We’re both predators. And we both prey on the same victims, albeit in different ways. There is no Darcadia. And there never will be. Of all the congenital defectives ever birthed on this godforsaken earth, those pathetic little wannabe Nazis have to be the most extreme example. Who else would believe such a fairy tale? And pedophiles? Perhaps even easier to gull. Ah, how they dream of such a place! And I am making their dreams come true.”

“Nazis and child molesters on the same little island?”

“Please! Spare me your incompetent attempts at political analysis. Hitler marched Jews into the ovens because … why? They were defectives. As were Gypsies, homosexuals … a long list. But you never saw pedophiles on that list, did you?

“Extremists don’t fit themselves along a continuum, Mr. Burke. They don’t form lines; they form a circle. And the ‘sexual liberation’ frauds who include children among their ‘causes’ eventually met the Nazis who think incest preserves the race. Pedophiles don’t have politics,” he said, contemptuously. “They only have … preferences. This is business, pure and simple.”

He took a long, deep refueling breath and went on: “Any businessman understands it’s not enough to know your product; you also have to know your market. And I have been successfully marketing information to pedophiles for years. There are states where sex with a child under eleven can get you twenty-five years in prison … unless it’s your own child. Then, if the DA can be persuaded to charge ‘incest’ instead of ‘sexual assault of a child,’ the offender can expect probation. Do you know which states have the loosest requirements for running a day-care center? Which organizations don’t do background checks for those who volunteer to work with kids? Which jurisdictions make it easiest to get a foster child? Which won’t prosecute polygamy?”

I didn’t answer him. Truth is, I didn’t know the answers.

“I didn’t think so,” he said, after a pause. “But I do. And do you know how to package a pedophile for