'I have just returned from business overseas,' said Frederick. ' 'And as you can see, Mr. Scruggs, I am in the process of relocating my operation.'
Dante nodded, smiled, and said nothing. As they rode over in the carriage, he had decided the fewer questions he asked Frederick the better; the man gave off an aura of confidence .ind power that made Dante feel dumb as a stump, but at the same time affectionately well cared for, like a favorite dog. And the Voices kept telling him not to worry; he could relax and trust that this man would carry him to safety. Dante felt as warm and snug in Frederick's company as a snake in a sleeping bag.
Frederick made no attempt to introduce Dante to the other men and left him momentarily alone to direct some of the work in the inner office, barking out sharp instructions in German. As one of the men passed carrying a box out to the hall, his sleeves rolled up, Dante noticed a strange tattoo on the inside crook of the man's left arm: a broken circle with three jagged lines darting through its borders.
Dante hopped agreeably out of the way to allow two more men through, pushing a stack of boxes on a rolling dolly. His movement put him close to the desk and the strip of telegraph paper, and he couldn't resist leaning over to take a peek at its hieroglyphs—he had worked as a telegraph operator during two of his army years. He could just make out the phrase BRING THE BOOK IMMEDIATELY when he heard a floorboard creak as Frederick reentered. Dante leaned away from the desk, looked down and studied his shoes, trying to convey a generalized innocence. Frederick walked past him and took a seat behind the desk.
'Naughty boy,' said Federick, wagging a playful finger at him.
Dante giggled and smiled sheepishly, unable to conceal his guilt.
'You are a naughty boy, aren't you, Mr. Scruggs?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Naughty boys sometimes get punished,' said Frederick, picking up the telegraph strip and scanning it quickly between his slender fingers.
Dante felt confused and thickheaded, but he didn't seem to mind it much; there was no fear involved. When he finished reading the strip, Frederick set a match to it and dropped the burning strand on the floor. He toggled on the telegraph and tapped out a message; listening carefully, Dante heard him spell the words A GLORIOUS DAY before Frederick began to speak over the clack of the key, disrupting his concentration.
'You enjoyed being in the army, did you not, Mr. Scruggs?'
'Oh yeah. More than anything.'
'Enjoyed that pride of authority,' he said, with that same teasing smile; how could the man talk and send Morse code at the same time?
'Uh-huh.'
'A sense of power.'
'Yeah.'
'Being a part of something larger than yourself; a sense of meaning in your life.'
'Yeah, I liked that.'
'A loyal soldier. Your every waking moment devoted to a purpose that served a design far greater than your ability to comprehend. Shoulder to shoulder with other men of like mind, marching forward, dedicated to serving the same high ideals.'
'Huh?' This was getting a little rich for him.
Frederick laughed and smiled like a loving father. 'You'd like to be a soldier in an army again, wouldn't you, Mr. Scruggs?'
'I guess so.' Dante wasn't so sure.
'Not one ruled by a distant, unenlightened government, overrun with fat, incompetent commanders; corrupted cowards afraid of their own shadows. An entirely different sort of army, Mr. Scruggs, where you truly felt you belonged. Where instead of being punished for the unique qualities that make you who you are, you are rewarded for them. An army that would allow you, no, encourage you to continue your... personal work. You would like that, wouldn't you, Mr. Scruggs?'
Dante's eyes narrowed; a shudder of excitement ran to his groin as the sense of the man's tone, if not the words, got through to him. 'Yeah. Yes, sir, I'd like that a lot.'
'We recruit from all over the world,' said Frederick. 'Not many men meet our exacting standards. But after months of close observation, I can say with some confidence that you ... measure up.'
'How'd you find me in the first place?'
'We have eyes and ears in many places. If it is meant to be, the right person will catch our attention. He is observed, studied, as you have been. If he's found worthy, we move to the stage where you find yourself now.'
Dante swallowed; he felt small, filled with wonder, as if an angel had reached down and touched him.
Frederick finished tapping out his message. He leaned down, ripped the telegraph wires out of the wall, and handed the key to Dante. 'Put that in a box for me, would you please, Mr. Scruggs?'
'Sure, Frederick.'
Dante looked around; there were no boxes left in the room.
'Uh...'
'In there,' said Frederick, pointing to the inner office, clearing a stack of papers from the drawers without looking up at him.
Dante nodded and carried the telegraph key through the door; he was immediately grabbed by a dozen grasping hands, lifted off the floor, and spread-eagled on his back across a desk. Dim light filtered through a slatted blind; Dante could barely make out their faces; no, they were wearing masks. Black masks; only their eyes showing through slits. A gloved hand smothered his mouth. Adrenaline pumped through his body; he struggled fiercely but couldn't move an inch, helplessly pinned.
Cows in the slaughterhouse, that's where his mind went; heads stuck through the rack, waiting for the sledge to cave in their skulls. What was that smell? Something pungent in the air; hot, sulfurous, like burning coals.
Frederick's face appeared above him; no smile now, fierce and purposeful. He reached down and pulled the knife from the sheath in Dante's pocket. The other men's hands were rolling up his sleeves, taking his pants down to his ankles. Squeals of terror came out of him; his bladder emptied involuntarily.
Frederick looked at the knife, read the manufacturer's trademark near the hilt. 'Green River, Wyoming. How pleasing. The Green River knife is one of the best in the world. If this was a violin it would be a Stradivarius.'
What the hell was he talking about? What did he want? What were they gonna do to him? Dante's eyes danced wildly around the room. Where were the Voices? Why couldn't somebody help him?
Frederick slit the buttons off Dante's union suit, spread it open, and ran the knife lightly over his privates.
'Have you even for a moment considered what the experience must be like for the women you've killed, Mr. Scruggs? What they must feel as you go about your work? The abject terror? Fear of dying? The pain as you make your first cuts? I have seen the bits and pieces of them you saved in your apartment; you are very fastidious about
