The Green Progression

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

“After Cal sees them.” The receptionist’s voice was firm.

  “Let me just skim the cover letter here. That way, I can look into the background…”

  “I’ll be happy to make you a copy after Cal sees it.”

  The attorney finished skimming the one-page cover letter over her shoulder before responding. “I’d like a copy.”

  “Fine. After Cal sees it.”

  “How about now?”

  “Ray, you’re not the only one who works here.”

  The attorney turned and walked back toward his desk. Why were such obviously industry-biased studies being sent to Cal? What he had glimpsed of the cover letter was bad enough—implying that environmental cleanup would destroy the space effort, including cleaner space manufacturing.

  Thomas shook his head. Space! As if there weren’t too much to do already on earth. Still, the letters were being sent to the Policy Office, and some of the political types worried about economics and future technology.

  He picked up the telephone and punched in a number.

  “Standards and Regulations.”

  “This is Ray Thomas. I’d like to speak to Jerry.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Thomas. Mr. Killorin is at a meeting. Can he call you back?”

  “Yes, please. The number is…” Thomas hoped that Jerry wouldn’t be too long getting back to him. The industry types were getting sneakier and sneakier.

  34

  SITTING ON THE EDGE OF THE BED, wearing just the black bottoms of his shorty pajamas, McDarvid looked toward the closet, wondering idly whether he should wear the gray or the blue pinstripe the next day. Probably the blue.

  “Jack?” Allyson came out of the bathroom, wearing the sheer green nightgown.

  He smiled in spite of his preoccupation.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’ve been worried about something for months. You won’t talk about it, and it’s not just Larry Partello’s death. And you’re having nightmares again, like when you were flying.”

  He eyed the still-lush figure under the sheer green. “I’m not thinking about that right now.”

  The redhead who was his wife smiled softly. “I am.” She sat down cross-legged at the end of the bed.

  McDarvid failed to raise his eyes to her face at first. “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  Brrrinngg …

  He grabbed the telephone.

  “No one there?” Allyson asked.

  “Yeah. The phantom again. Benefits of divestiture and computerized telephone switching systems.” He replaced the phone.

  “Jack, don’t change the subject.”

  “I don’t know if I’m paranoid, or if I’m right, or both, or neither.” His eyes met hers, then looked away. “Jonnie pointed it out first. How likely was it that Larry would be shot a block from the Capitol? Through the heart with a single shot? When it was nearly dark? He was nervous about the JAFFE account. The more I look into it, the more strange things there are.”

  “Tell me some of these strange occurrences.” Allyson’s voice was neutral, the tone of the physician reserving judgment.

  McDarvid, giving up on any quick change of subject, swung his feet onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard. “That’s the hard thing. It’s all so nebulous. I see a man in a gray suit who looks like a Secret Service agent at Larry’s funeral. Then I see him again at Woodies when I’m shopping with the kids. The account that Larry was nervous about is this metals initiative pushed by Environment and OSHA—but all the metals are already heavily regulated. Someone wants to regulate all of them a whole lot more than necessary. And all of them have defense implications. But no one at Defense wants to talk about it. No one at Environment wants to explain it. The Congress doesn’t want to look into it. Hell, the affected subcommittees have ignored basic industry strangulation for nearly two decades.” He shook his head. “I feel stupid even talking about it.”

  He looked at Allyson. She wasn’t smiling, exactly, but she nodded for him to go on.

  “It just doesn’t feel right. I mean, as a country, we couldn’t build battleships anymore even if we wanted to. We can’t mass-produce combat electronics in a hurry—no matter what the DOD contractors say.” He pursed his lips. “Then I worry about the job. Heidlinger keeps sermonizing about how it’s not a consulting firm, but a law firm. Then that weekend while you were at the seminar, Jonnie comes over with the computer—”

  “Elizabeth loves it.”

  “Yeah, I know. She requested that I inform her when the system was available for her use.” McDarvid shook his head. “Anyway, Jonnie mentions in passing how this guy in a gray suit watched him leave his apartment. A cheap gray suit—on a Saturday, for Christ’s sake. And I didn’t tell him about the guy in gray beforehand.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I just thought it was my imagination. So I didn’t tell anyone, either you or Jonnie. I mean, how many men wear plain gray suits in Washington? And to think one of them was following me? That’s a sign of paranoia.” He looked toward her before continuing. “Do I just feel this way because I don’t want to be out of a job? Or because I don’t want to throw the burden on you?” He shrugged. “It’s so hard to sort it all out. And it all seems stupid, compared to your problems.

  “So there’s a regulation that’s not right. Who does it affect, besides a big corporation? They’ll pay, one way or another. So we can’t produce as many weapons as quickly? Or some weapons at all? Are we really going to use them? But when you talk about dealing with battered children, or children getting leukemia, or even strep—that seems more important.” He took a deep breath. “Sometimes, I even wonder … After all, some of the people I work for aren’t good citizens. They don’t always protect their employees or the environment. Guess that’s what comes of marrying a doctor.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve been carrying all that around.”

  “Didn’t want to bother you.”

  “We don’t talk enough anymore,” Allyson added, shifting her weight forward.

  “Seems like we never have any time. If I’m not working late, you are. And Elizabeth never sleeps. To bed late and up early. ‘Are you otherwise engaged, Father?’”

  Allyson grinned at his mimicry. “Well … would you like to be otherwise engaged?”

  McDarvid grinned back, sitting up and taking a deliberate leer at Allyson’s chest.

  “How about a kiss, Mr. McDarvid?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  35

  JONNIE TAPPED LIGHTLY on McDarvid’s almost closed door. After a few seconds, McDarvid turned from the computer. Jonnie closed the door, set down his briefcase, an envelope of some sort on top of it, and sat down.

  “You remember that, in addition to studying the regulatory dockets, I decided to do a little checking up on our friends?”

  “Right. JAFFE.”

  “I was kind of curious about the folks who hired us. So for the past week I’ve been calling a few friends and acquaintances in New York and a couple of other places.” A purple glow filled the small office as the end of the sunset cut through the fluorescent lighting.

  “Other places?”

  “London, Singapore…” Jonnie’s voice trailed off. “I put it all, except for the domestic calls, on my own credit card. Our dear employer won’t find out, and I won’t notice a few extra calls. Anyway, I found out a few interesting things about our client.” Jonnie rocked back on the chair’s rear legs until the back of his head rested on the wall. “JAFFE’s sort of a public company. They’re traded on the Paris bourse, but a controlling—if minority—bloc of stock is still held by the company’s founding family. The family’s Corsican by the way, not French.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?” McDarvid saved the Moreland waiver update on the screen, and turned his chair to face Jonnie.

  “Not to them, it isn’t. Any suggestion that Corsican is French may significantly decrease your life expectancy. Anyhow,
JAFFE was one of the largest companies to escape nationalization when Mitterrand took power. They release some financials, but most of them are worthless.”

  “Why? Financial statements are pretty standard, at least for public companies. JAFFE may be secretive, but they wouldn’t lie on something that public—at least too much.” McDarvid’s chair creaked as he also leaned back.

  “It’s not a question of lying. It’s a question of what they release and in what form. JAFFE’s a conglomerate. Mostly chemicals, pharmaceuticals, and some other stuff. They only release consolidated financial statements. The statements give an idea of how big the total company is, but that’s about it. Even the accuracy of those numbers depends on how they value assets, what they consider to be liabilities, and when they decide to declare a given revenue. There’s no good way to tell how big a specific business is or how well they’re doing. Sure, there are some glitzy photos and slick statements, but they don’t provide any substance.”

  There was no noise from beyond the door. Most of the law firm’s staff had already gone home. The general clatter and shouts of people who had never learned to use the intercom system had finally stopped.

  Jonnie continued. “You know that JAFFE had its origin in the chemical stuff? And that they’ve been primarily a chemical house?”

  “So?”

  “They’ve sold off most of their basic chemical operations. Two months ago they sold off all their Latin American operations, which they have had for almost a century, for beaucoup francs.”

  “They’re in trouble and need the money?” McDarvid’s tone was skeptical.

  “No, not as far as I can tell. It just seems as if they’re cashing in. It does, however, explain their interest in chlorohydrobenzilate.”

  “To make sure that deal stays done?”

  “Chlorohydrobenzilate was a big money earner for their Brazilian operation. The parent still holds the U.S. registration. By producing the stuff in the States, they can compete with their former subsidiary for the same customers.”

  “Nice guys, aren’t they?” McDarvid turned to the computer, resaved the document he had been working on, and shut off the machine. “Just a second.” He brought his briefcase up onto the desk and opened it.

  “It’s not a question of nice. They’re businessmen. They have been for at least a couple of hundred years. What’s most interesting is what they’ve done with the money.”

  “What?” McDarvid asked mechanically as he placed a pile of thin files in the briefcase.

  “They’ve bought a major yttrium mine.”

  “Yttrium?”

  “A rare earth.”

  “What’s it good for?”

  “I was never a chemistry major. Other than high-temperature superconductors, I have no idea what the stuff’s good for.”

  McDarvid looked up from the briefcase, closing it with a snap.

  “JAFFE also bought other mines, as well as other mineral stocks—including chromium, beryllium, and vanadium.”

  “The metals initiative…”

  “Yep. So it would seem.” Jonnie eyed the halo around the moon that was visible behind McDarvid and hoped it did not mean that snow was coming. Washington was not a city that could deal with snow, or even a rumor of snow.

  “There’s one other commodity that JAFFE has been actively purchasing.”

  “Atomic waste?” McDarvid’s tone was sour. He stood up.

  “Talent. An old professor of mine and a friend stationed in Singapore both said that JAFFE has been hiring some of the best people around—for substantial salaries. Folks from both industry and academia worldwide.”

  “What sort of specialties?”

  “It’s a really eclectic crew, almost like they’re assembling a miniature version of Bell Labs. JAFFE has been hiring physicists, chemists, engineers, and some good management experts with a special emphasis on manufacturing productivity. Although he wasn’t very specific, my friend indicated that JAFFE has managed to get at least two of the best chip manufacturing experts in Asia, and they don’t even speak a word of English, let alone French. JAFFE has also just hired one of Chicago’s best psychology professors as a consultant. His specialty is artificial intelligence.”

  McDarvid massaged his temples. “I’ll have to think about this. There’s more there than meets the eye, a lot more. But I promised Allyson I wouldn’t be too late tonight. We might actually have a chance to eat together.”

  Jonnie reached for the envelope. “Well, I won’t keep you too much longer. By the way, JAFFE sent me a copy of their annual report.”

  “Heidlinger won’t be thrilled with your calling the client without his approval. He’s convinced that only attorneys are smart enough to ask simple questions.” McDarvid frowned as he reached behind the door for his coat. “I thought you found out all about their financial statements from your friends.”

  “I did. I never called JAFFE.” Jonnie lifted the DHL air express envelope and laid it on McDarvid’s desk. “Look at the address.”

  “JAFFE Internationale…” McDarvid stumbled over the street address, but the city was clear enough—Paris. “You said you didn’t contact JAFFE.”

  “I didn’t,” responded Jonnie. “There’s more. Read the cover letter.”

  The cover letter was succinct. McDarvid lingered over the key sentence in the second paragraph.

  “… in view of your interest in JAFFE Internationale, and your apparent concerns, enclosed are the most recent financial reports, as well as the corporate restructuring plan proposed and adopted last March…”

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “I never talked to anyone from JAFFE about this. Did you?”

  McDarvid shook his head.

  “They just sent me the stuff. It arrived this afternoon. I’m not quite through with the analysis. Sometime tomorrow, I’d guess. Anyway, I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Right.” McDarvid’s voice sounded tired. “Any other surprises?”

  “Well…” Jonnie grinned nervously. He looked down for a moment.

  “Oh, shit,” mumbled McDarvid.

  Jonnie nodded. “I got a phone call a little while ago. A fellow wanted me to have coffee with him.”

  McDarvid shook his head slowly.

  “He said his name was Murrill. He’s with DOD and, I assume, DIA.”

  McDarvid groaned. “That’s par for the day. I assume he didn’t say what it was about.”

  Jonnie looked up sharply. “No. I don’t think he was interested in the weather, though.”

  “No. I don’t suppose so.” McDarvid straightened as he pulled on his jacket. “It sounds like everyone in the world knows you were out there looking.” He paused. “Scary, when you consider we don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

  “Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  “What do we do now?”

  “You go and have coffee with the nice man. I’ll try and find out who he is from some friends. You say his name is Merrill?”

  “Murrill, with a u.” Jonnie shrugged. “I already agreed to coffee. Maybe he can tell us something.”

  “He already has,” observed McDarvid.

  “Oh…”

  “Right. He’s told us that we’re not totally crazy, that there is something strange going on.” McDarvid put his hand on the briefcase. “So has JAFFE, and I’m not sure which is scarier.”

  “There is that,” Jonnie said flatly.

  “Yeah. Why is JAFFE spending time tracking what we’re doing? Worse … maybe they’re not, and they’ve got an intelligence network that just dragged us in.”

  “I don’t know that I like that, either.”

  “Nothing we can do about either tonight.” McDarvid shrugged. “And I did promise Allyson…”

  “You’re taking all this almost as if it were routine.”

  McDarvid smiled sadly. “It is to them, I’m sure. What else can a poor consultant do?”

  Jonnie lifted his hands from the back of the cha
ir, took a step toward the doorway, then turned. “It’s been a long day … Good night, Jack.”

  “Good night, Jonnie. Pleasant dreams.”

  Jonnie picked up his briefcase. “You, too.”

  36

  McDARVID PICKED UP THE TELEPHONE three times in a row, setting it down twice before finally punching in the number he had been using all too often.

  “You have reached a nonworking federal number.”

  McDarvid punched in the three digits.

  “This is Jack McDarvid—”

  “I’ll see if he’s available, Mr. McDarvid.”

  The line went dead as McDarvid waited.

  “Yes, Jack. What’s up now? Another policy paper? Or some new facts?”

  “I thought you might be able to tell me, Eric. Yesterday my partner was asked to have a friendly chat with some fellows. Just a friendly chat, you understand, except they wanted to know why we were making inquiries.”

  “Hold on. I need a few more details.”

  McDarvid sighed. “All right. From the top. We were hired by JAFFE. You knew that. We keep running into brick walls. And people started tailing us. At least sometimes. So Jonnie decided to try another tack. He started by trying to find out more about JAFFE.” He paused. “He started the inquiries last Wednesday. Today is Thursday, one week and one day later, and he’s been requested to have coffee tomorrow morning. One of your off-site specials. Supposedly, the contact’s name is Murrill. M-U-R-R-I-L-L. He says he’s with DOD. Is there any way to find out if he’s legitimate?”

  McDarvid paused. “I’d also like to know what DIA is doing with a French multinational and environmental regs dealing with metals.”

  “Hmmmmm … I don’t think he’s one of ours. I’ll get back to you shortly.”

  McDarvid turned back to the computer, forcing himself to concentrate on the summary of the status of the special review of yet another pesticide registered by United Agricare—for poor Steve Greene, who was still struggling with the effort to pick up Larry’s pesticide practice.

  “… teratogenic effects illustrated by Rangely mouse study…”

  He wondered how long before Eric would call back, if in fact his former boss would find out who and what special agent Murrill was all about. And in some ways, Murrill was less scary than JAFFE. Why was JAFFE keeping tabs on its contractors? Or running a private intelligence network?