Shadow Traffic by Richard Burgin Page A

Then he finally recognized Wallace, a member of the organization as he recalled, although he hadn’t seen him at the last meeting.
    â€œHey, Wallace,” he said, waving at him and forcing a smile so it could all seem like a coincidence. “Over here.”
    Wallace, holding his hat, which covered his round, prematurely balding head, half ran across the street that separated them.
    He forced himself to shake hands with Wallace, while keeping his smile intact, a difficult task that made him feel like a juggler. Meanwhile, he noticed an oddly embarrassed look on Wallace’s face. Would the organization choose someone as ineffectual as Wallace to follow him and report on his activities?
    â€œSo what are you doing in this neck of the woods?” Wallace said, in what Andrew thought was a pitifully transparent attempt to sound spontaneous.
    â€œI had some business near here and then I came here to eat.”
    â€œOh, me too,” Wallace said quickly, as if grateful that Andrew had provided him with his own cover story as well.
    â€œCare to join me?”
    â€œSure,” Wallace said, smiling more sincerely this time, which Andrew found convincing enough since Wallace had few friends and seemed to cling to anyone who showed a momentary interest in him.
    â€œIt’s a self-service cafeteria. I hope that’s all right.”
    â€œOh sure. I ate here once before with you after a meeting. Didn’t you take your Memo today?” Wallace said jokingly.
    Andrew forced a laugh then entered the restaurant. He didn’t attempt to talk to him again until they’d both gotten their food and were seated at a table on the upper level, where it was a little less noisy.
    â€œSo you never told me what
you
were doing around here today,” Andrew said, before chewing a generous bite of chicken and couscous.
    â€œOh, business too, just like you.”
    â€œReally? Something to do with the organization?”
    â€œIt’s a little embarrassing, but yes.”
    â€œOh? What’s embarrassing?”
    â€œI thought there was a meeting today.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYes. I got confused so I went there for nothing as it turns out. And then I got hungry and went to this place just like you.”
    Andrew looked hard at him. Two preposterous coincidences delivered in a convictionless voice by a dubious man who was now almost chugging his beer. Andrew was concerned, but before he could think of what to say next, Wallace put down his empty beer bottle and spoke again.
    â€œCan I ask you a personal question completely off the record while we’re kind of on the subject?”
    â€œGo ahead,” Andrew said.
    â€œWell don’t be offended, but do you ever have any doubts about the organization?”
    â€œDoubts? What kind of doubts?”
    â€œDoubts in general about their modus operandi.”
    â€œWhat about it would give me any doubts?”
    â€œDon’t you think some of their methods are a trifle controlling, even militaristic?”
    Andrew shrugged. Lately, he’d had similar thoughts himself, thoughts he’d generally try to kick out of his mind. For a second he wondered if Wallace had been given a different pill, which allowed him to read minds. “They’re dealing with something that will have a profound effect on the world. They have to be very careful.”
    â€œYes,” said Wallace. “I considered all that. Still, the way they walk up and down the aisles like soldiers to make sure we’re not taking any notes. And all the loyalty oaths they’ve made us sign, all the documented information we’ve had to turn over to them, whereas we don’t even know any of their full names.”
    â€œWhat about Dr. Rossi?”
    â€œI don’t know his first name, do you? I mean, don’t you find that just a little disturbing? Aren’t they supposed to be doctors, so why are they acting like drug