Twelve: Diamonds and Gaelic

Goofy Ridge resembled a post card of idyllic, desolate winter wasteland, with the bright sun shimmering off the smooth, white snow and the farmhouses and silos and barns resting silently as though they and the people inside them had not changed one iota since 1952. Norman Rockwell could not have painted it better. Nathanial Wildacre continued to drive with abundant confidence as he made his way toward the corporate office of the Monolithic Chemical Company along the lakeshore.

"The land that time forgot," murmured Agent Bygone.

"Looks that way," concurred Wildacre, "but of course, half these people probably have plasma TVs and Superspeed Internet. Spoils the illusion, I know."

"So what do you know about this place?"

"The town or the company?"

"I meant the company, but if you feel something about the town is relevant, that's fine too."

"First you'll have to explain to me what you're after," said Wildacre, "Or who. I would like to know what sort of work you're doing here."

"Well, as you know, there's a great deal of paranoia about tangible hubris and also a lot of it lying around disrupting every day life. Rumor has it the Monolithic Chemical Company figured out a safe way of disposing of this material."

"But not how to prevent it from happening in the first place."

"Right," said Agent Bygone, "That's not something anyone has figured out yet. Even the name is based on the assumption that it's caused by some combination of egotism and curiosity, of appointing yourself the determiner of what's best for everyone, which is why, it is supposed, so many politicians and reporters were infected with it so badly."

"But you're not investigating MCC, are you?"

"Actually, I am but that's only part of it. Four people from Indianapolis were on their way here as well, may already be here, so I'm supposed to look into their intentions."

"To find out, in effect, if their intentions are noble or illicit?"

"Well, I don't know. SpyCo sees plots everywhere. I think these people may be guilty of the same traits that are meant to have caused the TH outbreak before, but I can't fathom what their illicit intentions might be, can you? If these people have the same information as I have and are interested in disposing of tangible hubris, why assume their intentions are sinister?"

"But that's what power does, doesn't it? If someone catches onto something before they do, or even after they do but before they've chosen to share it with everyone else, they're suspicious, right?"

Tomatilla Bygone did not want to agree, but she heard a lot of truth in what Nathanial Wildacre said. They had now reached the headquarters, a place considerably smaller and not nearly as bustling as Agent Bygone presumed it would be.

"Looks abandoned," she remarked.

"It is, in a way," Wildacre said, "Over the last few years, MCC has been relocating much of its operation overseas, but not to the kind of countries one generally associates with cost-cutting."

"Go on."

"They opened one office in Botswana and one in Ireland."

Agent Bygone looked at the old man in utter puzzlement, wondering both how he knew this and why the Monolithic Chemical Company had selected the nations it had.

"Okay,"she said, "Botswana I can sort of see. I'm guessing land is cheap there and labor costs aren't too high either. I realize it isn't a hotspot like India and Mexico, but I could see some advantages."

"Nothing wrong with your logic, but that's not it. Botswana has very cheap land and reasonably cheap labor, but there's something else it has a lot of, and it's one of the few relatively peaceful countries that has them."

"Diamonds?"

"Diamonds."

"And what do they need diamonds for?"

"That, I'm afraid, is the extent of my knowledge, " said Nathanial Wildacre. "I could hazard a few guesses about it, but I'm not certain of any of them. You see, I did some security work for MCC after I retired, that's how I know some of what I know. But I never penetrated their inner circle, had no wish to at the time. But with your appearance here, I sort of wish I had."

"Okay, what about Ireland?"

"That's a lot simpler," he said. "An Irish holding company bought 49% interest in MCC six years ago. They were out to become majority owners, but settled for slightly less than half on the condition that MCC brought some jobs to Ireland. So now MCC is still considered an American-owned corporation, even though it now employs fewer Americans than it might have if it had become foreign-owned."

"The global economy is a convoluted mess," exclaimed Tomatilla Bygone.

"You can say that again."

Agent Bygone pondered doing exactly that, just for the fun of it, but by now three people and an apparently two legged dog--no, a four legged dog walking upright on two legs--burst from the MCC corporate office and dashed toward the only other car in the large parking lot, an ancient Buick Electra 225.

Eleven: Where Do We Go From Here?

Though the thought remained unspoken among them, the dog reminded all four of Wile E. Coyote, though it carried a more hunched gait. When the creature crossed the doorway, it let out a single bark that conveyed, most plausibly, a demand to know what these intruders were doing here. Its gaze swept over the room, never quite meeting the eyes of a particular person.

"Jim," said Nichelle, "have you got five dollars?"

"Sorry?" Jim uttered, clearly bewildered by this query.

"You're not suggesting we bribe this--"

"No, Elmer, shut up! Do you have the money, Jim?"

"Sure," he said.

"Take the car and go to a store, any store you can find, and get some... you know, dog treats."

"Uh huh."

"You don't like it?"

"Don't like what?"

"My idea about the dog treats."

"Honestly, I have no idea," Jim stammered. "On one hand, I'm glad somebody thought of something, but it seems like a very peculiar--"

"Well, I don't like it," interrupted Elmer.

"You don't like much of anything these days, do you?" snapped Nichelle.

"What do you think, Tott?" asked Jim, more out of courtesy than curiosity.

"Doesn't matter to me."

The dog waved one of its forelegs and barked again, perhaps as though indicating something. Upon close examination, the animal did not appear especially unpleasant. Besides walking on its rear legs, nothing seemed wrong with it. It was clearly some sort of mixed breed, perhaps part retriever and part terrier. And part human, some might have said.

"We don't actually seem to be under threat here, do we?" Jim asked.

"Not really," agreed Nichelle.

Suddenly, Tott clapped his hands and called the dog. The dog heeded in a machine-like manner, without resentment or alacrity, lowering its head as Tott patted it gently.

"I say we take the dog, go through the door, and see what's there. Otherwise, what's the point of making the trip? Anyone disagree?"

"Yes and no," said Elmer, cautiously. "I know I've been oppositional here, but it's... you know."

They did know. Maybe Tott hadn't made the connection, but the others had. Of the four, Elmer had choked up the most tangible hubris during the initial outbreak and, as a former member of the media, felt the most anxiety about investigating anything. There was no definite proof that a correlation existed between inquisitiveness and tangible hubris, no clear proof that hubris as a trait led directly to hubris as a periodically fatal condition, but there was circumstantial evidence. Nichelle and Jim realized this, but their difficulty with the ailment had been minimal; Elmer, however, had become very gun shy. Jim had as well, but only for a while. Nichelle's motivation seemed to snap him out of his complacency.

"Look, never mind," Elmer said, "We can't stay this way all our lives and we can't live forever, can we? Let's do it."

"Well said, Elmer," commended Jim.

They moved toward the door and the dog barked. When they stopped, it sauntered in front of them, not to prevent their entry, but to lead.

"So no dog treats?"

"No dog treats, Tott," said Nichelle.