Mecrats

by C J Klinger

  It was a question that could not be answered by words. He needed to capture and kill these “angels” to really put the rumors to rest. But how? The West had been strangely quiet about the operation to rescue the women saying only that a squad of Special Forces had stormed the compound where they had been held and had rescued them without any allied casualties. Al Jazeera had eyes and ears everywhere in the Mid-east and it was inevitable they would eventually pick up rumors that the angel of death had been involved. Only one paper in America, the Washington Post had made mention of the possibility that a new, combat robot under development had been used to help the Special Forces rescue the women.

  Abdullah had more than a few supporters in America. Many of them were under constant surveillance and could do little in the way of helping him directly without being picked up for questioning, but a few of them were in positions to provide useful information. He could get money and weapons easily, but useful information was like gold, scarce and expensive. One of the areas where the western powers had consistently underestimated the Islamists was their ability to use the web to advance their cause. They had substantial computer skills, both home grown and imported. Abdullah and his staff used these skills to confidentially communicate with sympathizers all over the globe. They used the internet to spread messages of terror, false information and appeals to the disenfranchised of the world who believed the Islamic rebels held the answer to their problems. These messages led a significant number of new recruits to make their way to the jihadist territory each month.

  Abdullah turned to the man who was acknowledged to be their brightest computer expert, a man known only as Bassel. Even Abdullah did not know his full name. “Find out what you can about these American soldiers, Bassel. I don’t care what these ignorant farmers say they saw; the men who did this were soldiers. They may have been dressed up in armored suits, but they were soldiers.”

  Bassel stared at him through the smoke that curled from the cigarette that seemed to be a permanent part of his face. “I will begin some inquires.”

  It did not seem like much of a commitment to action, but Abdullah knew from experience that if it was possible to get the names of the people who had frustrated his plans, Bassel would find out who they were. Whoever they were, one of them had thrown down a challenge when he told the surviving guard they would personally come looking for Abdullah if he abducted any more women. It was an invitation the Islamic leader could not pass up.

  He sent one of the many runners waiting to carry his orders to find another of his trusted lieutenants, a vicious man who would carry out the most despicable acts without qualms. An hour later a man with deep set eyes set in a narrow gaunt face came to the farm house where Abdullah had set up his temporary headquarters.

  “You wanted something, Abdullah?”

  Abdullah smiled for the first time in days. “Yes, Hasim, I do, I need some more American women.”

  Chapter 17

  The weather in Washington D.C. was unusually pleasant. The stifling humidity of summer was a recent memory as were the vacationing crowds of tourist, domestic and foreign fighting to see the many monuments and museums in the nation’s capital. Cathy had visited the city often enough to have seen most of the city’s attractions, but she would have enjoyed revisiting the National Gallery of Art. Unfortunately on this trip her time was not her own and it would have to wait for another visit. As promised, General Emerson had sent an executive MAT’s plane to fly her and George Zimmerman to the capital. Captain Barker had been on the plane and had informed them the general had been unable to discover any reason for the committee to call them as witnesses. He repeated the general’s instructions to answer the committee’s questions with a minimum of details and not to volunteer any information about the Mecrats that was not included in the scope of their question. Cathy assumed this particular committee would already have all the facts about their project. They were the ones charged with oversight responsibility and would have been the ones who had originally approved of this particularly sensitive project.

  General Emerson had not been completely honest with Cathy and George. He knew exactly why they had been called to Washington. Senator Webber, the current chairman of the committee who had issued the subpoenas was the incumbent Republican senator the general planned to run against in the next senatorial election. Somehow Senator Webber had learned of the general’s plan and had decided to look for ways to attack the general before he announced his candidacy. The general’s plan to incorporate living minds into combat machines was both his biggest accomplishment and potentially his Achilles heel. It made no difference that Senator’s Webber’s committee had approved the project; it was the general’s plan from start to finish and a certain percentage of American society would find that concept immoral and disgusting. Senator Webber planned to grill the scientists for flaws in the program to be able to attack the general in any future campaign.

  Cathy decided to stay in Arlington after their late arrival from Nevada and George had planned to stay with his sister and brother-in-law, who were long time Washington residents. They agreed to meet at the coffee shop in the Dirksen Senate Office Building an hour before the hearing. They were not sure if anyone from General Emerson’s staff would be at the hearing, or if they would be on their own.

  The night passed slowly for Cathy. A sense of unease kept waking her to check the time. She finally gave up and headed to the shower at five AM. Her mind kept trying to frame answers for questions she didn’t know. After several futile attempts to mentally orchestrate the upcoming meeting, she realized her imaginary answers were all centered on the moral ambiguity of having saved severely injured soldiers in order to be able to send them back into combat. It was the same question that had plagued her for the past seven years. The possibility that someone else would ask this question suddenly frightened her. Now she would be forced to answer the question whereas before she had been able to push it aside.

  The image of Randy telling her not to worry about him, because being a combat soldier was what he was, what he trained for. His reassurance calmed her, making her again realize that the great good she had done in saving these ten lives more than outweighed the danger her actions may have placed them in the future. She was ready to meet the question head on.

  George was easy to pick out in the coffee shop; his tall gangly figure topped by a shock of unruly black hair was in stark contrast to most of the buttoned down men and women in the place dressed in their Washington power suits. He did not look rested. Apparently he had his own demons about the program that had kept him from getting a good night’s sleep.

  “Good morning, George. You don’t look happy,” Cathy said as she sat down next to her comrade in science.

  “Very observant, as usual, Doctor Williamson,” George said with a wry expression. “I don’t want to be here and I don’t see any reason to hide my displeasure.”

  “Wow, what happened between yesterday and today, George. On the flight you said you were glad to get out of Nevada for a while.” Cathy’s own anxiety level rose with George’s sudden, obvious distaste for what lay ahead of them.

  George looked around before answering. “My brother-in-law is a Washington lobbyist and the scuttlebutt around the Senate is that the chairman of this committee is on a witch hunt.”

  Cathy was alarmed at the prospect of being a victim in someone else’s feud. Science she understood; politics eluded her. “Do you think he’s coming after us?” she asked.

  His head swiveled back to her and said, “I can’t imagine why he would be. We’re scientists, not politicians.”

  Cathy sat back in her chair, the thought of another cup of coffee gone. “That hasn’t always worked out so well in the past,” she said, biting her lower lip. She knew from her high school and college courses in history that politicians were masters at redirecting blame to other people, people less skilled at playing the Machiavellian games that seemed to be such a part of Washington, DC.

  Geor
ge Zimmerman had a grudging respect for his colleague, who frequently irritated him with her pointed questions and insistence on extreme accuracy. Whatever else she was, Doctor Cathy Williamson was smart and George wanted some smart advice right now.

  “How do you thing we should handle this, Cathy?”

  Cathy knew then that George was worried. He rarely called her anything, but Doctor Williamson. She thought for a moment before answering. “If it’s a witch hunt, that means he’s looking for a witch. Let’s provide him with one, one that’s not located at Groom Lake.”

  George looked interested. “What do you mean? Who? How are you going to do that?”

  Cathy smiled brightly; suddenly looking forward to crossing swords with an opponent like those she had played chess against in college during her graduate studies. “There’s a big building just south of here,” she said, making a pentagon shape in the air.

  “Wow, Cathy, just remember those people sign our paychecks.” The double digit frown between George’s eyes return as he considered the ramifications of Cathy’s suggestion.

  “We don’t have to name specific targets for the committee. Let them do their own research. All we have to do is provide them with a target that’s as big as they are, maybe bigger.”

  Cathy remembered what an English literature professor had told her once. “Literary direction or misdirection is accomplished by adverbs and adjectives, not by the verbs and nouns.” She thought of a way to put his advice to good use. She touched George on his arm and said, “Look, George, just remember what you and I and the rest of the Mecrats Project scientists did saved lives, soldiers’ lives. No congressman or senator who wants to get reelected is ever going to attack somebody who has saved an American soldier’s life.” She batted her eye lashes in mock femininity and smiled sweetly, completely transforming her normal academic persona.

  “I’d hate to play poker with you, Doctor Williamson.”

  “Why Doctor Zimmerman, I believe that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. You would lose, by the way.”

  For the first time since Cathy had met Doctor George Zimmerman, the man laughed. It was a sound not often heard in the senate office building coffee shop and several people turned to see who had something to laugh about. George looked at his watch and said, “We better get going. It wouldn’t do us any good to be late and besides, I’m anxious to see you in action.”

  The sub-committee hearing room was as Cathy imagined it to be, a semi-circular raised dais with seven imposing chairs. The design was solely to convey power, to put the attendees at a disadvantage. There was nothing democratic about the format. An impression of imperial courts came to Cathy’s mind as she and George sat down at the table immediately in front of chairperson’s central seat. Cathy looked around to see only a few other people, several of them quite young attending the meeting. She was not surprised, knowing that the subject to be discussed was a highly classified project.

  They sat there in silence for at least ten minutes. One by one, the senators came in with several of their staff personnel and sat at their assigned seat. No one spoke to the two doctors patiently waiting to be questioned. Cathy thought about George’s comment about this being a political witch hunt and she grew angrier with each passing minute. She had work to do, work that she had devoted most of her adult life to. Being ordered to go across the country to sit and wait to be somebody’s political pin cushion was a monumental waste of her talents. Just as she was about to say something loud enough to be heard, the doors opened and the familiar figure of Senator Richard Webber, the Republican senator from Maryland strode into the chambers and took the central seat.

  When the meeting was brought to order, Cathy and George were sworn in. Senator Webber gave an opening speech covering the purpose of the meeting, which Cathy gathered was to clarify some poorly explained innuendos about some of the practices at Groom Lake with regard to the Mecrats Projects. While the senator spoke, she shot a glance at George, who rolled his eyes slightly while the senator rambled on repeating himself several times. Mercifully, none of the other senators saw fit to add their comments to the chairman’s opening remarks. Looking a little put out by the lack of enthusiasm by his colleagues, Senator Webber directed his gaze toward the pair in front of him. He looked over the top of his glasses at Cathy and after referring to a sheet of paper in front of him said, “Miss Williamson, you are in charge of neurological interface for the Mecrats program, are you not?”

  Cathy smiled brightly and said in a loud clear voice, “It’s Doctor Williamson, Senator Webber and yes, I am in charge of the neurological portion of the program that saved grievously wounded, American soldiers’ lives.”

  Senator Webber looked at the attractive woman sitting at the table in front of him and made a rapid calculation that he might have underestimated his first choice of people to question. Recovering quickly, he turned to George Zimmerman and asked, “And you Doctor Zimmerman, are in charge of the electrical engineering portion of this program, is that correct.”

  George took his cue from Cathy. He leaned forward toward the desk mike and answered, “That is correct, Senator Webber. I coordinate with Dr. Williamson on the non-biological, electrical interface in the program that has saved grievously wounded, American soldiers’ lives.”

  A not so subtle laugh from the democratic senator from New Hampshire drew a mean look from Senator Webber, who was beginning to question his decision to use the scientists at Groom Lake as his road map to attack his true target, General Emerson. He was, however a consummate politician and was not so easily deterred from his chosen path. “That’s an admirable accomplishment, I’m sure Doctors, but was that the original intent of the Mecrat program?”

  Since the question was addressed to both of them, George deferred to Cathy, whom he had decided was more adept at taking on the senator.

  Cathy was enjoying herself. She had always loved a good battle of wits and this adversary, while not particularly challenging was offering her an opportunity to test her skills in a new arena. “I personally have never seen the original documents authorizing the Mecrats Project, Senator Webber, so I am unable to testify to that question, but.” She paused for meaningful effect before continuing. “I suspect it originated with this committee, so if the chairman will provide me with a copy of the directive, I will be glad to study it and then comment on the portion that relates to my responsibility.”

  Senator Webber was irritated. He was not used to being thwarted, especially by a petite young women, who in his estimation should be home tending to her children.

  “Doctor Williamson, I’m getting the impression you consider this an adversarial encounter.”

  Cathy decided to get to the meat of matter. She had better things to do than be a punching bag for an ambitious politician.

  “Senator Webber, I’m a busy person as I’m sure you are. I have ten American soldiers who have paid the ultimate price to defend our country and now rely on me and Doctor Zimmerman to keep their minds safe in their new, mechanical bodies. We should be in Nevada doing just that. If I sound adversarial, it’s because I get the impression that you are looking to find something wrong in order to blame somebody for misconduct. If this is the case and Doctor Zimmerman and I are in violation of the original purpose of this program, then I think it is appropriate for us to have legal counsel here to help defend us. If I am wrong in my impression, please state clearly what you want from us so we can answer your questions and get back to our responsibilities.”

  Before the red-faced senator could respond to Cathy’s charge, the senator from New Hampshire, Mrs. Martha Brillings spoke up, “Mr. Chairman, I have to leave in a few moments for another committee meeting. With your permission I would like to make a comment before I leave.”

  Senator Webber was glad to have a moment to gather his thoughts. It was not often that anyone in Washington politics had the temerity to state the obvious. Politicians were adept at shades of grey, but generally avoided black and white conf
rontations. He nodded his permission to the senator from New Hampshire.

  Senator Billings was perhaps twenty years older than Cathy and a former defense attorney who had entered politics to have a bigger voice in the battle against injustice. In her third term, she found she had become used to the constant grey-speak employed by the people in power in the nation’s capital and was pleasantly surprised at Cathy’s direct question to the chairman. It encouraged her to do the same.

  “Doctor Williamson, Doctor Zimmerman, I want to thank you for taking the time away from your valuable services to our nation’s wounded warriors to attend this meeting. I for one agree with your question, Doctor Williamson.” She paused and looked toward the chairman, whose face was a gathering cloud of anger. “Why are these people here? The meeting agenda was rather ambiguous. Is there another agenda that I’m not aware of?” The senator stood in preparation for leaving. She turned back to the witnesses and said, “I believe I’ll plan a trip to Nevada within the next couple of weeks to see for myself the work you have been doing, Doctors. I apologize if we have inconvenienced you in your efforts to save America’s fighting soldiers.” She looked directly at Cathy and said, “Doctor Williamson, if you ever want to enter politics, give me a call. We’ll talk.”

  Several senators on the committee laughed at their colleague’s obvious reference to Cathy’s blunt rebuttal to Senator’s Webber’s witch hunt. As for the senator from Maryland, he had had enough of the young doctor from Groom Lake. He decided to gracefully back out of what had become an ill-advised effort to attack his future political opponent. He stood up and with all the dignity he could muster, said, “I have just been informed by my staff of a critical matter needing my attentions in my office. We will have to take up these matters at a later date.” He looked at the two doctors sitting at the witness table and said, “You are dismissed and may return to your most valuable duties.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice in spite of his best effort to sound sincere. “However, you will remain under subpoena and may be required to reappear in front of this committee at a later date.”