The Mandela Effect

Chapter 59

"That is an interesting question," Wolfe says as he pondered.

Jon leaned back off the table and into the chair. It was deceivingly comfortable, despite the appearance.

"I guess," Wolfe says finally, patting the table top with his palms, "I'm like this table and chairs."

"From Sweden?" Jon asks as a joke.

"Ikea? Here?" Wolfe chuckles, "these are all specifically manufactured for these events. People here, generally, feel a need for secrecy. You see a cheap metal table and chairs with a plastic top. I know they are expensive and made-to-order. One set costs more than you've made this decade. The metal is non-magnetic. The tops are a specific polymer blend. Clear, yes, but also non-vibrating. The walls, the floor, the door: all are top-tier soundproofed. A word says in this room doesn't leave it except on the lips of someone inside."

Jon's eyes widened as Wolfe talked, "are you kidding me?"

"Not at all," Wolfe sighed, "but that's most people here. I am transparent."

He knocked on the plastic table top with his knuckles but there's little more than a dull thud..

"The metaphor holds though," Wolfe continues, "I look cheap and regular but am expensive and rare. Transparent, yes; but have only one real usefulness. Most specifically, I guess, I was made just for the Organization."

"Explain that last part," Jon says.

Wolfe sighed, "the old school guys, they are like kings and czars..."

Jon chuckles and Wolfe stopped to inquire.

"Kings and kings," Jon shrugged, "like ATM Machines."

"Oh," Wolfe says, "of course. Well, anyway, they had children to pass their lineage. They need an heir, not a child. That's how my Dad was born, and how I was born. And I can say, at least in my experience, that being an heir is not the same as being a child. I am here because the Organization needs a new generation. It's tough to hear all of that growing up."

"I can imagine," Jon agreed.

"But you," Wolfe says, leaning back and pointing at Jon, "are not. You are the poster boy for most of the people in the Organization, but they'd never admit it. Born, essentially, dirt-floor-poor in the Bush of South Africa. You got a spot in a small private school in the nearest town. Then, won a spot in a Resident School in East London. More competition, more wins: and you're in Johannesburg. You get recognized by someone who matters and whisks you off to boarding school in the UK. Off to Oxford after high school. Then, on to graduate school, not once but twice. All the way, graduating with honors."

"You get a job at a distinguished college," Wolfe continues, "but you don't sit on your haunches. You go from newbie to heading the department in a few years. You help create the strongest department in the country along the way. All the while, you're still researching, still publishing, and becoming a name in the field. Talk about fucking bootstraps man. Now, you're upper middle class, maybe even lower upper class and coasting into your golden years. That's... impressive."

Jon demurred, "its weird to hear it all together like that, but yes. That's all accurate."

"And, almost without a thought, they threw you on a list for review," Wolfe responded, "and you could have been killed."

Jon's eyes widened again. He hadn't really considered that aspect as much as the escape.

"And when you escape," Wolfe continues, "did you run and keep running? Did you give it up? Did you go back to your, assumedly, boring life? No! Not at all! Not Jon. He keeps chasing the clues. Pulling the thread. He walks right into the viper's den and starts asking questions."

Jon grimaced at the description. He didn't do it knowingly for sure.

"And I'm sitting across from this guy," Wolfe wrapped up, "I have never worried for anything, or worked for anything, in my entire life. And I certainly would have gone-to-ground and never been seen again."

"I did," Jon admitted.

"You went-to-ground, for sure," Wolfe says, "but more like a guerilla than a convict."

Jon nodded; again, it wasn't intentional.

"So, you asked me why?" Wolfe returned the question.

"Yea?" Jon replied.

"Why not?" Wolfe shrugged, "I truly do not give a fuck. I hate the Organization. I hate the people in it. Really, I hate myself for being a part of it. But, it was never a choice for me. All I can do is to try and nudge everyone else in the right direction. Like, it's fine that we're self-serving; but let's also help other people if it doesn't interfere."

"Become a part of the machine," Jon adds, "and rot it from the inside."

"I'm under no delusions that I'm a revolutionary, Jon," Wolfe answers, "I am going along to get along. And 'I was just following orders' has never been a legitimate excuse. I don't respect much of what we're doing. But I respect you, in particular. You want answers, I have them, why not give them."

"I appreciate that," Jon responded.

"And frankly," Wolfe continues, laughing, "I'm amazed you got this far. I just wanna see where you take it."

Jon sighed and leaned forward again, "well, there is one other thing you can help me with."

Wolfe mirrored his position and raised his eyebrows.

"I want to get in to the big meeting," Jon says, "can you help with that?"

"In Europe?" Wolfe smiled, "well, you came to the right place."