“The one is, anyway.”
“If one is, they all are.”
“What kind of shenanigans are they up to?” Clyde said.
“I don’t know,” Knightly said. “I just know they’re not doing what they said they were coming here to do.”
“Which was?”
“One of Professor Larsen’s goddamn things,” Knightly said. “Supposedly these guys were coming to do some research sponsored by one of Larsen’s little spin-off companies.”
“Was it supposed to be an academic thing? Or a private-enterprise thing?”
“Hell, Clyde, there’s no difference anymore,” Knightly said. “The boundary has been erased, there are no rules. It’s the most corrupt aspect of the United States right now.”
A few beers plus getting hammered in the election had made Clyde a bit more inquisitorial than usual. “Tell me to shut up if you want to, but you did more than just teach people how to raise food when you traveled, didn’t you?”
“I’m telling you the truth. That’s all I did. Oh, I was on the edge of a bunch of things. And I knew a bunch of people. But I never did any kind of work like that—never. It would have been fatal for somebody like me. Where I worked, I was totally hanging out by myself. I was tolerated because I was useful for everybody. But I learned enough to know that what’s going on with Larsen, here, is something different. Case in point: Kevin Vandeventer didn’t get killed in a highway robbery. He was working visas forLarsen.”
“You think he got killed over visas?”
“Visas are hot shit. Anyone can get in to do anything on a student visa.”
“As long as someone like you is willing to vouch for them.”
“Exactly. And I have no choice but to vouch when I’m told to vouch.”
“Who’s telling you to vouch?”
“My boss, the president of EIU,” Knightly said, “who takes his marching orders from the board of regents, and they take their orders from whoever provides the funding—which used to be the State of Iowa and the alumni. But now these hybrid operations like Larsen’s have become hugely important.”
“Okay,” Clyde said, “I see why this is off the record. Because if Larsen finds out that you’re throwing a monkey wrench into his machine—”
“All fucking hell will break loose,” Knightly said. “Come on, I’m freezing my ass off.”
They sidestepped carefully down the levee and began strolling back up the alley toward the brewery. “Do you have any specific information about what these guys are up to?” Clyde said.
“Nah. I’ve heard from their neighbors. They keep their curtains drawn day and night. When they go out—which they usually do at odd hours—they use one of two vehicles, both of which have tinted windows, and they’ve got a garage-door opener, so they never have to show their faces out-of-doors. They seem to eat a lot of pizza and take-out food.”
“Why’d you hear from the neighbors?” Clyde asked. “People just call you up to gossip?”
“They call me up to complain.”
“What do they have to complain about? These guys aren’t being friendly enough?”
“The radio transmissions,” Knightly said.
“Radio?”
“None of their neighbors can watch TV, or listen to a message on their answering machine, or use their wireless phones or their baby monitors, without getting all kinds of strange radio noise.”
“In Arabic?”
“It’s not in any language,” Knightly said. “I’ve listened to it—one irate citizen played her answering-machine tape for me. It’s scrambled or something. They’ve played with the signals electronically so that not even an Arabic speaker can understand what they’re saying.” Knightly pulled the side door open and held it for Clyde. Clyde wanted to ask more questions, but he got the feeling that Knightly must have told him everything he knew by this point.