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

“Why do you say that?”
    â€œBecause historians collect facts and read documents. They do empirical research and analyze the information they’ve collected. Then they publish their findings. They call it the scientific method, and it’s something you can’t do in a university anymore.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause the structuralists—or the post astructuralists—or the post colonialists a—or whatever they’re calling themselves this week—take the position that reality is inaccessible, facts are fungible, and knowledge is impossible. Which reduces history to fiction and textual analysis. Which leaves us with . . .”
    â€œWhat?” Roscoe asked .
    â€œGender studies. Cultural studies. What I think of as the fuzzies . a”
    Roscoe caught the bartender’s eye and, with his forefinger, drew a circle in the air above their glasses. “So . . . you joined the CIA because you thought gender studies are fuzzy? That’s what you’re telling me?”
    â€œWell, that was a big part of it. I realized I’d never get a job teaching, not at a good university anyway—the poststructuralists are running the show just about everywhere. And the other thing was—I was a modern-military-history guy—I went to grad school at Wisconsin—and one of the things that became apparent was the fact that a lot of the stuff that should have been available . . . wasn’t.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Roscoe asked .
    â€œInformation. The data weren’t available.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause they were classified. And as a baby historian, I didn’t have a need to know. None of us did. And that pissed me off because . . . well, it’s like we’re living in a cryptocracy instead of a democracy.”
    Roscoe looked impressed. “Cryptocracy,” he repeated. “That’s good. I like that.”
    Dunphy laughed .
    â€œSo that’s why you joined the Agency,” Roscoe asked. “Poststructuralism and cryptocracy drove you to it.”
    â€œRight,” Dunphy said. “And there was another reason, too.”
    Roscoe eyed him skeptically. “What?”
    â€œA determination to live large . a”
    Roscoe chuckled as the bartender brought them another round .
    â€œThis guy you mentioned,” Dunphy said. “What’s-his-face—”
    â€œMcWillie.”
    â€œRight. We were talking about McWillie and the implants. Which sounds like a rock group, when you think about it. Nutball and the Molars. But my point is, no matter how you slice it, I’m this guy’s research assistant. That’s what it amounts to. When you come right down to it, I’m like a P.A. for any schizophrenic—”
    â€œWhat’s a P.A.?”
    â€œPersonal assistant. I’m like a personal assistant for any schizophrenic who’s got the money to buy a stamp. And you know what? It’s no accident. Someone’s fuckin’ with me. Someone wants me out.”
    Roscoe nodded, and sipped his beer. “Probably one of the poststructuralists.”
    Dunphy frowned. “I’m serious.”
    Roscoe chuckled. “I know you are.”
    â€œAnd that reminds me,” Dunphy added. “How’d I get that request, anyway?”
    â€œWhat do you mean? You got it from me. That’s what I do.”
    â€œI know that, but—”
    â€œI’m the liaison officer. Assigning FOIA requests to IROs like you is my mission in life.”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean. What I’m wondering is, how come you processed it so quickly? I thought there was a nine-year wait. You got McWillie’s letter on Tuesday and sent it down to me the same day. How come?”
    Roscoe grunted. “Mr. McWillie always puts a line in his letters, asking to have his requests expedited. If the request is stupid enough, like the one you got