Read Online The Magdalene Cipher by Jim Hougan - Free Book Online

(and therefore a gathering place for spooks), when Roscoe asked him—with a sly grin—about the FOIA request that he’d assigned to Dunphy that same afternoon .
    â€œWhich one?” Dunphy asked, not really paying attention. He was scrutinizing a photograph that hung on the wall with other memorabilia, all of it in need of a good dusting. There was a faded banner of the IRA’s, a dartboard with Saddam Hussein’s picture on it, some postcards from Havana (signed Frank & Ruth a), and a Japanese ceremonial sword with what looked like dried blood on it. Some yellowing newspaper headlines ( JFK SENDS ADVISERS TO VIETNAM a) had been glued to the wall beside signed and framed photographs of George Bush, William Colby, and Richard Helms .
    But the picture that held Dunphy’s interest was a snapshot of three men standing in a jungle clearing, laughing. On the ground in front of them was the head of an Asian man who looked as if he’d been decapitated. In fact, he’d been buried standing, and though his eyes were glazed, you could see that he was still alive. A typed caption was stapled to the picture: MAC/SOG , it read . 12-25-66—Laos. Merry Xmas!
    â€œThe one about root canals,” Roscoe said .
    Dunphy shook his head, still staring at the photo .
    â€œYou don’t remember?” Roscoe asked .
    Hearing his friend’s incredulity, Dunphy turned to him. “What?”
    â€œI was asking you about the FOIA request I sent—about the root-canal procedures on Naval cadets at Annapolis, 1979 to the present.”
    â€œOh, yeah,” Dunphy replied. “I got that this afternoon. Now, why the fuck would the Agency have anything like that?” he asked. “I mean, what’s on this guy’s mind?”
    Roscoe shrugged. “Actually . . . I can probably tell you exactly what’s on his mind. He’s one of our most frequent requesters.”
    â€œOkay,” Dunphy said. “So hit me with it.”
    â€œMind control. Mr. McWillie is obsessed with it. A lot of people are.”
    Dunphy cocked his head to the left and raised his eyebrows, “Maybe I missed something, but—I thought we were talking about dentistry.”
    â€œWell, yes—in a sense, we are. The guy’s asking for dental records, but he doesn’t have to tell us why. He doesn’t have to tell us what he suspects . But after a while, when you’ve processed as many requests as I have, you get to know where people are coming from. And judging from the kinds of things that Mr. McWillie has asked for in the past, I’d say that he thinks that we’re installing miniaturized radio receivers—”
    Dunphy almost spewed his beer. “In people’s molars?!”
    â€œYeah.” Roscoe nodded .
    â€œ Why , fahchrissake?”
    â€œI don’t know. Subliminal messages. Stuff like that. Who knows what Lewis McWillie suspects? I mean, he’s obviously a schizophrenic. Did you happen to catch the return address on his letter?”
    â€œNo,” Dunphy said. “I didn’t really look at it.”
    â€œWell, unless he’s moved, the address is ’86 Impala, Lot A, Fort Ward Park, Alexandria.”
    Dunphy rolled his eyes. “I gotta get out of this job. This is the stupidest fucking job I’ve ever had.”
    â€œMaybe,” Roscoe said. “Then again, maybe not.”
    â€œTrust me. I’m pretty clear about this.” He paused. “You know why I joined the Agency?”
    Roscoe nodded. “Patriotism.”
    Dunphy chuckled. “No, Roscoe. It wasn’t patriotism. ‘Patriotism’ didn’t have anything to do with it.”
    â€œThen . . . what?”
    â€œI joined the Agency because, until then, I’d wanted to be an historian. And what I found out was—what I learned in college was—it’s no longer possible to be an historian.”
    Roscoe gave him a puzzled look.