The House of Rumour (24 page)

He laughed.

‘Well,’ I went on, ‘you could visit there, couldn’t you?’

He stopped. He turned and frowned at me.

‘What do you mean?’ he demanded.

‘If you went to Israel.’

‘Who says I’m going to Israel?’

‘I worked it out. I’m a clever girl, you see. The Black Pilgrimage was a clue, wasn’t it?’

He looked around anxiously.

‘No one’s supposed to know. Not even Candy. You see, I’ve been approached by the Israelis and they want a detailed breakdown of equipment costs for a rocket programme. So I’ve borrowed the proposal document I put together for Hughes Aircraft.’

‘What do you mean Candy’s not supposed to know?’

‘The thing is, I’ve taken that and some details about rocket fuels and propellants. It’s all my work, but it kind of belongs to the company.’

‘Jack, why does it matter if Candy knows or not?’

‘What? Well, it could get me into trouble over my security clearance.’

‘But Candy’s not even here, is she? Is she?’

‘Well—’

‘She’s coming back. That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘But that’s what you want, isn’t it?’

‘Mary-Lou, wait—’

But I had already turned and walked away.

It was a small gallery on Wilshire Boulevard. A private viewing, the opening of a new exhibition, a sophisticated crowd. Dexter floating gently through space, one hand holding a wineglass, the other stroking his chin thoughtfully. I walked over and stood next to him.

‘What do you think?’ he said.

Large unframed canvases with abstract blocks of shimmering oil, jagged sprays of colour.

‘I saw Jack.’

‘Good, good,’ he muttered absently, gesturing at the artwork. ‘But what do you think of this? You wouldn’t say this was un-American, would you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s democratic, that’s what I’d say. And the good thing about abstract art is that it’s empty. It’s politically silent, you know? Though there are some people who actually believe that there are hidden messages in stuff like this, even maps of our secret defence complexes. That’s wonderfully mad, isn’t it?’

‘Dexter, we need to talk.’

‘I know, I know. Look, if you ask me, America really does have to establish its own modern movement. You can’t be a great power without the great art to go with it. Right,’ he declared, handing his wineglass to a passing waiter and clapping his hands together. ‘Let’s get out of here and get a proper drink.’

We went to a bar and Dexter ordered cocktails. I remember
him
getting drunk,
him
talking: not the way I imagined the evening would run. He was enjoying himself. This was his entertainment, his delight in invention.

‘Here’s to mass culture, Mary-Lou,’ he announced, holding up his martini glass. ‘So much more important than that long-hair stuff. And no one can deny that it’s all-American. It’s what we do best and I’m proud of it. Now, you have some information for me.’

I told him about Jack stealing documents from Hughes Aircraft to support his application to work for the Israelis.

‘Good work, Mary-Lou. I’ll pass it on.’

‘But don’t you want any more details?’

‘Oh, don’t worry. The Bureau will follow it up. And they’ll be appreciative, too. We can get them to sheep-dip your file. What?’

I was transfixed, staring at him, not knowing quite what to say.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he continued. ‘Of course, it’s the moment, isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘The moment. You’ve just sold somebody out. No big deal, Mary-Lou. Everybody named names and snitched on their buddies. You loved the guy. I take it that you’re through with that now, huh?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. Believe me, disillusionment is a marvellously liberating experience.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes. You’ve done the right thing. You’ve proved that you can work for us.’

‘Who are you?’

‘We’re the good guys. Psychological strategy, that’s our remit.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘
Pax Americana
, Mary-Lou. This is our century now. So, we have to win the Cold War in terms of culture. The Soviets fund high art heavily. We need to try to match them, but through the private sector, with the fruits of capitalism. Then there’s the obvious propaganda, the Technicolor stuff, our version of socialist realism, you know, the bright, cheerful, our-way-of-life-is-best attitude. Hollywood can deal with that; it polices itself, blacklists anyone out of line. With modernism, meanwhile, we’ve got to have the appearance of a liberal agenda to win over the European intellectuals. Now look, what’s down here at the bottom of the pile? B-movies, horror and fantasy double features, all the stuff people tend to think of as junk. But it’s as important as any other part of the culture. You know, I got sent to Poverty Row just to keep an eye on the greylist. But I’ve been able to clear our little project with my higher-ups. I told them that science fiction is the best propaganda of all. Why? Because it’s prophecy. Yes. It’s about the future and if you can imply that your future is better than your opponent’s, what could be better than that?’

‘So you really do want the film to go ahead?’

‘Of course! We’ve got a great team. Nemo’s better at the anti-Soviet stuff than any right-winger. He’s got a more nuanced sense. And the good thing about Trotskyists is they really know how to split left-wing opinion. It’s like nuclear fission with those guys. Larry, well, he’s disaffected, but it’s the kind of disaffection that neutralises itself. Deflects it somewhere else. He understands the popular instinctively, how it tends towards conspiracy and suspicion.’

‘And me?’

‘You were always something of a wild card, Mary-Lou. But occult knowledge is extremely useful, especially when it gives you an understanding of your enemies’ superstitions. When I was with the OSS in London during the war I worked with British Intelligence. We learnt so much from them about counter-intelligence and disinformation. They were masters of the black arts. They knew that so many of the top Nazis had mystical leanings. You know, they forged this German astrological magazine and managed to distribute it behind the lines. Some copies were antedated so they appeared to include astonishingly accurate forecasts of events that had already happened and from then on the magazine was used to question everything from the choice of Hitler’s doctor to the timing of U-boat launches. They played around with the unknown, the unseen.

‘That’s why this flying saucer storyline is such a good one. Larry’s right, it’s shaping up to be a new cultural phenomenon. A new belief system, even. Nemo’s convinced that there’s been some governmental cover-up about extraterrestrial activity. That’s already part of the mythology of this thing. And we can use that too.’

‘How?’

‘By subtly encouraging the sense of a cover-up. Then if we want to keep new aircraft or rocket technology secret, put a tracking device in a weather balloon, if something goes wrong with a test flight or, God forbid, a controlled nuclear detonation, an incomplete report might lead people to believe that it was one of these strange spacecraft everyone keeps talking about. And it enhances the image of our power if it’s perceived that we’ve got access to secret knowledge, especially if there’s an official denial of it. The Russians have got the atom bomb by now, we’re sure of that, and we know they’re developing missile technology. We need to maintain complete air superiority. That includes extraterrestrial activity, even the way it’s represented. Our flying saucers have to be better than their flying saucers.’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘I know. But this is how we tell the truth, Mary-Lou. Isn’t it wonderful? The rumour mill, that’s what we have to grind. Start a conspiracy and watch how it gets passed on. We can see how information moves through the culture. Like a marked card in a shuffled deck.’

We started shooting
Fugitive Alien
a month later. Nemo became increasingly suspicious about changes in the script. Larry had an air of distraction on set. It was soon clear that he was falling for the female lead, Sharleen Stirling. With her milky-blue eyes full of fear and wonder, there was something damaged and ethereal about Sharleen. A natural blonde, almost albino, she had a light peach fuzz on her deathly-pale skin that carried a sheen of luminescence so that her face glowed under the lights. She had a real screen presence. But there was a sad hunger in her gaze, imploring and seductive, caught in a bad childhood she could never escape from.

I heard that Jack got fired from Hughes Aircraft and had lost his security clearance after an FBI investigation. This disqualified him from any job in serious rocket research in the US and, given the circumstances, the Israelis withdrew their offer of work. I felt a little bad about how things had turned out but it was all in the balance. For all those years that he had power over me, I was the one who finally controlled his destiny. Funnily enough, we ended up in the same business. He got a job with an explosives company that specialised in developing pyrotechnics for the film industry.

And now that I had caught a glimpse of the real secret world, I got over my fascination with the occult and a search for hidden meaning. Oh, I still believe in the supernatural, in something beyond. I just don’t take it personally any more. After all, I managed to sell my soul. And I can’t tell you how much of a relief that turned out to be. I could get what I wanted out of life. With a clean file I’d be off the greylist, and
Fugitive Alien
could be my calling card to getting work in the big studios. I knew that it was going to be difficult for a woman director to succeed, but I was determined to try.

There were arguments on the set over Dexter’s suggestion that Zoltar, our ‘dissident’ alien, should discover the good things about the American way of life. This wasn’t in the original script and Nemo wasn’t happy. But when Dexter proposed that Sharleen’s part be made bigger, that she should show Zoltar the benefits of our great nation, Larry was only too happy to write new scenes for her. I was worried that this might be too much for Sharleen to carry.

‘Oh, she can’t act, but then she doesn’t have to,’ Dexter reassured me. ‘She believes in this stuff. It gives her this real intensity.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yeah. She thinks she’s seen one.’

‘What?’

‘A flying saucer. She has all these strange stories about her childhood too. She thinks Larry’s a genius. I tell you, Sharleen’s a whole project in herself.’

Soon after that Nemo stopped coming to the set, though Larry never missed a day’s shooting. I wasn’t happy about him and Sharleen falling in love but it was none of my business and I was far too busy to do anything about it. Dexter began to leave things to me with the filming but he would always come to watch the dailies. He was already planning his post-production strategy. He had decided that he would instigate rumours about the film: that the alien language used by Zoltar when he is aboard his ship is an occult incantation; that the mention of an air force report concerning flying saucer sightings refers to an existing top-secret memorandum (Dexter even suggested that a copy of this could be forged and used at a later date). His cleverest trick was to put about the story that we had used actual footage of a flying saucer landing as part of the movie. It meant that some of the special effects sequences were to be made deliberately blurred.

It was my idea to use Jack Parsons’ pyrotechnics company for these scenes. I knew he’d understand what we were after and would get it right. He believed in these things, of course. He told me that it was no coincidence that the spate of flying saucer sightings began just after he had been performing magical workings in the Mojave Desert. ‘We opened a portal,’ he said, ‘and something flew in.’ Dexter, of course, loved this notion and did nothing to discourage it. It was odd for me, to be with Jack again after all that had happened. It was astonishing really, though I just felt a calm detachment. But he was bitter at the way things had turned out: other people who had worked on the Jet Propulsion Laboratory’s early rocket tests had also lost jobs in the McCarthy clampdown, while captured Nazi scientists had had their war records laundered and were now in charge of research in the field.

‘You know, when I was a kid I thought that science was going to save the world, that it would give us a universal language, progress, peace,’ he lamented. ‘The military men took it over. Science means one word now: security.’

When he was just a teenage rocket enthusiast in the early 1930s, Jack had written to the German aerospace engineer Wernher von Braun and had received a reply. An intermittent correspondence came to an abrupt end once Hitler had come to power. Von Braun was a science fiction fan too. It is said that even during the war he kept up his subscription to
Astounding
magazine, obtaining copies via a mail drop in neutral Sweden. And he had now become part of the fantasy. Countless space films used stock footage of the testing launches of captured Nazi rockets in White Sands, New Mexico. And the new annual prizes for best SF works and achievements, the Hugo Awards, were presented in the form of a statuette looking disturbingly like a V2.