Square Four Inside the CIA

Si Fullinwider


He silently handed me his file. This was part of the ritual of my profession, a ritual clients seem to know instinctively. He did it without flourish or immodesty. He was self-assured without giving offense. As my part of the ritual I took the file, balanced it in my hands, and then opened it. While acting out my part I became aware of something unusual. The file had no weight to it. I opened it and found only one page, and that one blank except for the name typed in at the top: Baker Baker.

An empty file and an empty name. Company secrecy. I felt good-part of something larger than myself, something with the feel of the clandestine to it. My romantic side leaped forward, but I pretended casualness.

"And," I said, "who might you be?"

The little man replied nasally but with perfect courtesy, and apparent sincerity, "I am not anybody. I am not real."

No small voice inside my head spoke to tell me that those words would lead to my doom. No small voice told me anything. I was too busy doing a double-take, and trying to hide it. I am a psychiatrist, and I hope a good one. Double-takes in front of patients are rank amateurism. At
that moment I was that rank amateur, and I was too busy trying to hide it to listen to small voices I should have listened to. The little man pretended not to notice my confusion.

"You," I said, "are not real?"

"No, Sir."

He spoke the "sir" with no hint of subservience. He had no sense of my being his superior. Nor was the "sir" empty politeness. It was the sort of polish that would not allow a "no" to hang there alone and unescorted.

I studied this. Was I dealing with a screwball, a head-case, a nut? Do I start therapy right away? Or, was this a perfectly rational statement by a man feeling the unreality of a life immersed in all this spy stuff and the world the spies have made for themselves? Do I treat him as a perfectly reasonable fellow creature? I probed,"Is this a feeling of yours? A feeling of unreality? Or is this a statement of fact?"

"Fact." He let that one hang out there unescorted.

"Fruitcake," I thought. Then I thought, someone's playing a joke on me. Okay, I'll play along. But instead of asking what it is like not to be real, as I had a strong urge to ask, I said, "If you are not real, what are you?" and without hesitation the little man said, "Virtual reality."

It is a joke, I thought. Then it flashed on me to wonder if the lovely Valerie is in on it. What could it mean if she is? Could it mean that she likes me, feels comfortable with me? Or, does it mean that she finds me ridiculous? In short, my mind began playing tricks on me. I decided to say something neutral, something to smoke out the joke.

"Virtual reality? Isn't that where you exist only in my mind? You are my hallucination, so to speak?" And him,

"That is partly correct. I exist in the minds of all those who see me. But I exist only in your minds. Still, I am very real. I am a P.O.D., real in the sense that I will cause you to react to me. You are already reacting to me. You are speaking to me. You are wondering about me. Starting now I will begin to reshape your life." Then, he favored me with a smirk, a look I was destined to become all too familiar with.

He was toying with me. "Pod" was the term for the body-snatchers in Finney's book. I heard myself asking, "How did you get into our minds?" And him,

"Need-to-know."

The CIA rule of secrecy. You are not allowed to know what you do not need to know. It was a bit of craziness. Here is this guy in my head where he doesn't belong and when I ask him why, he tells me I am not permitted to know. I tried to think back over what I had eaten that
morning. What undigested substance in my system was doing this to me? My mind went haywire. A sudden impulse threw me into action. I lunged across the desk and grabbed the little man's knee. It was there-solid, resisting, real. Then embarrassment swallowed me. I felt my face go aflame. If this was a joke on me it was working. The laughter of the jokesters already rang in my
ears. I struggled for composure. I tried to sound normal, as if grabbing a man's knee was all in a day's work. "You are quite real to me."

The little man did not stir. He did, however, allow himself another smirk. And, to add to the insult, he said "You see, you are reacting to me. And of course my body is real to you. I'm as virtually real to the touch of your hand as I am to the touch of your eyes. Same principle."

Was I losing control of my faculties? What the little man said seemed to make sense! I did my second double-take of the morning, a strictly mental double-take. Seeing and touching are both sensory. But when you touch a thing it pushes back. Isaac Newton himself said so three
centuries ago. When you push something real it pushes back. Can virtual reality push back? Not according to Newton, but Newton never encountered the likes of Baker Baker. Such was my mental double-take and it got me nowhere. Meanwhile, Baker Baker had managed to suppress his smirk. For the time being.

Pods! My mind jumped back to that word. Someone had discovered my reading habits and was playing a game with me. That's it! Of course! I searched my mind and got nowhere. I decided to wait Baker Baker out. "Why," I asked "do you call yourselves 'pods'?"

He was ready with his answer: "Plausible Ontological Denial." Once again the little man could not contain that damned smirk of his. "That's my private appellation. It refers to when we VRs have taken over the CIA from our human doubles. Its CIA talk: 'plausible denial'! Always
have an excuse handy. The excuse may be transparent nonsense, it doesn't matter."

The joke was going stale fast. I struggled to control my temper. "And, why have you come to me? Why exercise your 'transparent nonsense' on me? Who sent you?" And him,

"My human double made the appointment to see you. Some problem with his wife. She no longer loves him, or something. Has probably been unfaithful. No concern of mine. But since he made the appointment I came. A shame to waste valuable time with a shrink." Again the smirk.

I tinged my voice with sarcasm. "Quite an honor for me, I assure you." And him, with his nasal twang,

"My human double was seeking mental repose. Now his repose is more lasting. But, don't feel sorry for him. In me he has gained immortality."

I made my sarcasm less subtle, in case he didn't catch it, "I'll bet."

I was about to hit the little man with a smirk of my own but he was gone. And here is the scary part, I did not see him go. I did not see the door open or close. He was just gone. He was gone like a popped bubble, smirk and all. I circled the desk. He was not behind it. He was not under it. I looked behind the chairs. For a while I wandered almost aimlessly back and forth, looking. I felt like I do when I misplace my keys or a book. I get agitated at myself and lose direction. The little man was gone and I got mad at myself for losing him. Finally, I stuck my head into the anteroom and asked Valerie. She looked at me strangely. "He just left."