The Puppet Master

ourselves.'

I didn't leave it at that. I had to pump her a little. It goes with the profession. 'But astrology!' I said. 'I mean, I can imagine people getting information through the omega matrix maybe, but from the positions of the planets?'

She shrugged. 'You read the papers.'

'Not the horoscopes, I don't.'

'Did you read about the astronomer, Ashkenazi?'

'Do you believe him?'

'Nobody seemed anxious to try proving him wrong.' She paused, looking pointedly at me. 'Why don't you tell me why you brought this up?'

So I did. 'And now Ashkenazi's my job. Thanks to Mr. Paska. Oops, Pasco.'

She tried to grin and wrinkle her nose at the same time. The nose won out. 'Paska is a good name for him.'

'You know Pasco?'

'In my business, he has a reputation. He hates people like me. He's California's main agitator for laws to stop us from practicing our profession.' Her eyes looked thoughtfully at me. 'You've heard the saying, 'In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.' '

'Yeah?'

'The person who said it was mistaken. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is apt to be considered a liar and a fraud.' She paused again. This time her eyes seemed to focus somewhere above and beyond my right shoulder. 'You're likelier to find something criminal about Pasco than about Ashkenazi.'

'Are you serious?'

'Yes I'm serious.'

'What should I look for?'

Tuuli shrugged. 'I don't know. If you're interested in Ashkenazi, look way back. To when he was young.' She paused. 'Ashkenazi's not his real name, his original name.'

'How do you know?' I assumed she'd read it somewhere. 'What is his real name?'

'I don't know. You should be able to find out. And it's something you really should look into. And find out about his twin. His twin brother. I'm pretty sure it's a brother.'

I didn't know how to take that—whether she'd read something, or if she was being psychic. 'And you say I can find something criminal about Pasco if I try?'

'I'm not sure. The feeling I get is a little confusing. It may be something he hasn't done yet.'

'Huh! I'll keep that in mind,' I told her. 'But tomorrow I start checking on Ashkenazi.'

3

An investigation contract with a public agency gets you direct access to the confidential State Data Center through your computer. You call and enter your case ID. Their computer checks the ID and your face and thumbprint against their records, then you insert the contract card so they know what it's all about. After that you tell them what you want, with a brief oral justification. If it sounds reasonable to them, and if everything checks out, the information downloads into your computer for your temporary use.

As for 'temporary use,' you're supposed to erase stuff within three business days of contract termination. Actually they give you a two-day grace period. The information is flagged in their computer when you get it, and they check contractor computers from Sacramento, to be sure the stuff has been erased. Obviously it's possible to hold out on them; make hard copies for example. But if you're caught, it can cost your license, as well as a fine and possible criminal charges.

Joe's grace period is less than Sacramento's. On the morning of the third day, the company checks. Your first violation brings a reprimand. The second time you're fired, or if you're lucky as hell, put on probation. That's part of the orientation pack you get when he hires you. Plus Joe tells you himself, with his bushy black Irish-Cornish eyebrows drawn up in a knot to make sure you take him seriously. He fires your ass, and the reason will be on your employment references.

So anyway, I called up all the information on Ashkenazi in the state's files, with the exception of tax and census data. Tax records are accessible only if your contract is with the California Franchise Tax Board. Census data isn't available under any contract, and I'm told if you even ask, the state investigates you.

I learned a lot about Ashkenazi: His current address, past addresses with dates . . . all kinds of stuff. But the most interesting item was that Arthur Aaron Ashkenazi was an assumed name. Just like Tuuli said. He'd been born Aldon Arthur Ashley, and had legally changed it in 1973, seven years before I was born. There was no hint of why.

There was nothing there to focus an investigation on except the name change, and offhand that didn't look very promising. So I decided to interview him. I'd present myself as a freelance writer doing an article on spec for the pop-science magazine Cutting Edge.

I had his unlisted number from the state, but using it might bring questions I wouldn't care to answer, so I dialed his answering service, which was listed. The woman who answered had a face like a bulldog. I decided right away he didn't want calls from strangers.

'I'd like to speak with Mr. Ashkenazi, please.'

'What may I tell him the call is about?'

'It's confidential.'

'Mr. Ashkenazi doesn't accept confidential calls at this number.'