The Green Progression

by L. E. Modesitt Jr

  McDarvid winced, thinking about how Eric regarded amateurs, thinking about how the pictures didn’t quite prove anything—not by themselves. But, then, in Washington, there was seldom hard proof—until the hearings or the charges that were usually a professional obituary.

  74

  “MR. BLACK? There’s a Mr. Adrian Pimm from Lao Systems here.”

  “What?”

  “I said there’s a Mr. Adrian…”

  “Never mind. Tell him to wait a few minutes.”

  “If you would, please buzz me when you would like to see him.”

  “It’ll be a couple of minutes.”

  Jonnie hung up the receiver and rubbed his forehead. It had not been a good day. He looked at the computer screen and mumbled, “I have three attorneys who all want me to work immediately on projects they don’t have any budget for. I might be completely unemployed at any time. McDarvid’s getting squirrelier every day, and Veronica barely wanted to talk to me last night, let alone get together. Now some lousy computer rep is knocking on my door. And it’s only Wednesday.” Jonnie rubbed his forehead again. He took a swig of cold strong tea from the beige stoneware no-spill coffee mug marked with the LBI logo. He hadn’t even bothered to find out what LBI was before fast-talking the mug out of their representative at one computer show or another.

  After shutting off his computer, he moved the stack of papers in the middle of his desk to the top of his overstuffed bookcase. He picked up the receiver again.

  “Reception.”

  “This is Jonnie Black. Would you show Mr. Pimm to my office?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Black.”

  Jonnie took a deep breath and used one hand to massage his neck, thinking about the book on massage that Veronica had mentioned. They could both use it lately.

  A young earnest-looking man knocked on Jonnie’s already open door. “Mr. Black? I’m Adrian Pimm from Lao Systems’ Corporate Relations Department.” He gave a brilliant white smile as he extended his business card.

  Jonnie motioned to the chair in front of the desk. Christ, just what I needed, Jonnie thought, Wally Wonder Bread. He looks like he’s about to offer me an incredible deal on a new Toyota. Well, I won’t let him get my goat.

  “Mr. Black, I do apologize for stopping by without an appointment. I was visiting someone in the building and thought I would stop by and see if you had a moment. Is this convenient for you?”

  Jonnie nodded.

  “Mr. DiTellio mentioned to me that you were interested in our company. That’s why I thought I should drop by and answer any questions you had.”

  “Mr. DiTellio?”

  “Yes, he’s the gentleman you spoke with at the show last week.”

  “What show?”

  “The FOSE Interconnectivity and Applications Exhibition. At the Convention Center.”

  “Oh … Yes. Sorry. There are so many different shows…”

  “That’s all right. I travel to so many of these exhibitions around the country that I’m lucky to remember what city I’m in, let alone which show.” Pimm flashed another over-white-toothed grin. “You were interested in determining your connectivity needs.”

  “We’re pretty happy with our Novell two point one five and ARCNET system over co-ax. Sure, it’s a little old, and if we were going to start from scratch, we would probably go with unshielded twisted pair and maybe a different architecture, but what the hell … We can always upgrade to three point one three-eighty-six if we want. I’ve heard some good things about Banyan VINES, but I don’t think we’d move to it.”

  Pimm looked at Jonnie curiously. “I can understand that. Did you get a chance to see our Windows display? We’ve made a major effort to put together a comprehensive package of Windows applications for our clients.”

  “I hate GUI. Computing for the postliterate.”

  “Well, we have found that firms which migrate to a graphical user interface environment experience significant increases in productivity.”

  “They would get even more productivity if they would teach their people how to read. Or even more to the point, how to think. Maybe then people would put some thought into what they were doing instead of just pushing the damn mouse around and assuming that because the output looks pretty that it has any value. I’ve found that people who work with icon-based systems are more interested in cute pictures than in critical reasoning or substance.”

  “Well … umm … we do offer and support a complete range of traditional DOS systems. Oh, I did bring some information you asked for.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I have our complete information packet on the Lao Foundation. Since you were so curious about our charitable activities, I enclosed a copy of our 501 C(3) charter and our latest public interest statement showing how the funds are spent. I’m sure you’ll find that the Foundation is a very worthy activity. There’s also a set of corporate contribution forms.”

  “No doubt. Thanks. I’ll look at this later.” Jonnie took the large brown envelope Pimm had taken from his plastic attaché case, placed it in the upper left desk drawer, and began to stroke his beard.

  “And since you were interested, I also have some information about our TEMPEST systems. As you might know, we are one of the few manufacturers that produce our own board-level TEMPEST equipment. Do you have any need for a secure environment?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I see that you’re not currently a Lao customer,” he added, his eyes focusing on the IBM machine in the corner of the office. “Are you responsible for info systems procurement or support?”

  “No. We have a Purchasing Department that worries about buying equipment. And we have a part-time techie on staff who provides assistance.”

  “So your interest in computers is personal? You have one at home?”

  “No. I don’t like computers. They’re useful tools, sometimes even essential. Landfills are also essential, but I wouldn’t want one in my backyard.”

  The Lao rep looked at Jonnie for a moment without saying a word. “Do you mind if I ask why you were interested in Lao Systems?”

  “Just curious, that’s all. I like to keep up with what’s going on.”

  “Oh … well … you have my card with my local office number. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to give me a call.” Adrian Pimm snapped the gray plastic case shut and stood up.

  “There is one favor I would like to ask.” Jonnie gave his first smile of the afternoon.

  “What?”

  “Next time you hold one of your ‘special receptions’ in Amarillo, give me a call.”

  After a hard look, the Lao representative left without saying a word.

  Jonnie shook his head and stared out the window for a moment before picking up the telephone handset.

  “Jack, do you have a second?”

  “What’s up?”

  “I was just wondering how your visit to the computer show went.”

  “Fine, I think. Do you want the pass back? I meant to return it.”

  Jonnie leaned as far back in his chair as the tilt mechanism would let him. “No, I don’t need it. Did you ask lots of interesting questions?”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing much, but a gentleman from Lao just stopped by to see if I had any questions.”

  “Oh, that’s right. They think I’m you. Sorry.”

  “Jack, I’ve been to any number of these shows and asked all kinds of questions and never has anyone come to my office to see if they could be of any help. Just what did you say to them?”

  “Not much. I asked a few questions about their equipment and asked if they had any information about the Lao Foundation. I’m not an expert on computers, but I couldn’t have sounded that stupid.”

  “I don’t think stupidity is what caught their attention. The fellow did leave me, or you, a packet of information about their Foundation. And another one on their TEMPEST equipment.” Jonnie rocked forward in the chair.

&nb
sp; “Oh. I’ll stop by and pick it up.”

  “The corporate relations guy seemed interested in why I was interested in Lao. After talking to me, I think he left more confused than ever. I never asked why you were curious about Lao Systems. I don’t mind talking with you about computer companies, and I don’t mind your going to shows as me, but next time you do something like this, could you at least give me a little warning?”

  “Sorry. I tried to say as little as possible. I’ll come by in a little bit and pick up that stuff.”

  “Right. See you soon.” Jonnie replaced the handset, stared out the window, and slowly sighed. Now what was McDarvid up to? And why wouldn’t he say anything about his interest in Lao Systems?

  Jonnie pulled the brown envelope out of the drawer. Jack at least owed him a look-see. Besides, he wasn’t going to get any more work done for a while.

  Idly, scanning the plain sheets that described the need for merit scholarships for the children of the “forgotten backbone of America,” Jonnie leaned back in the chair again. He still needed a massage.

  75

  “YOU HAVE TO GET ME OUT OF THIS,” stammered Killorin, pale-faced.

  “Out of what? You’ve done nothing except follow your beliefs.” The taller man looked out the window overlooking the river, but remained standing where he could take in both the nighttime view and his visitor.

  “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have the Inspector General breathing down your neck.”

  “No, I have you at my front door, whining about something that’s not even a problem.” The tall and still-athletic man snorted, glancing to the bookcase on his left. A miniature marble replica of the David rested on one end and another miniature of Venus de Milo on the other.

  “Since when is the Inspector General no problem?”

  “Why are you worried about that? You might get a reprimand. That’s hardly something to worry about.”

  “Not after he’s been briefed by that bastard McDarvid. Hell, McDarvid wrote the investigation for the I.G.”

  “McDarvid?”

  “Jack McDarvid. He used to be the head of Policy Analysis. He works for one of the law firms downtown, but he’s not a lawyer.”

  “A lobbyist? You worry about a lobbyist? With the reputation they have?” The taller man stepped back until the back of his blue flannel blazer brushed the desk. Then he leaned against the heavy cherry replica.

  “You don’t understand. If anyone knows what questions to ask, it’s McDarvid. He’s been nosing around all over DEP and OSHA. Behind that broken-down old money front, he’s a cold-blooded bastard.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand. The Ethics Officer has released your ethics form, and the Inspector General has asked for an interview. You answer their questions. There’s no documentary evidence to the contrary. They’ll thank you. The Inspector General will write a letter indicating there was no evidence to support the claim, and everything will go on.”

  Killorin shook his head. “No. You don’t understand. McDarvid knows. And if he does so does the I.G. That’s why I’m here.” His hands rested on the arms of the deep and soft-padded chair.

  “So you lie a little.” The man in the Brooks Brothers blazer laughed. “It won’t be the first time.”

  “I tell you. He knows. And lying—that’s the one thing that both the I.G. and the congressional committees can kill you for. That’s how they got all the Ice Queen’s people.” Killorin’s voice rose fractionally.

  “Let’s discuss this rationally. Haven’t we always helped you out?”

  Killorin flushed at the condescending tone. “Yeah. But this is worse.” His feet shuffled as he looked up from the chair.

  “First, what’s the problem?”

  “The damned ethics forms show I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Oh … I don’t think so. Not if you consider it rationally.”

  “What about Denise?”

  “Your daughter received a scholarship on her own.”

  “What about the alimony?”

  “What alimony?”

  “That’s not how the committee will see it.”

  “How will they know?”

  “McDarvid will tell them.”

  “He can’t know.”

  “Well, he must be a good guesser. He dropped by the office last week. He said he wanted to chat, in that quiet polite way of his that means trouble. He talked about how funny Washington was, about how hard it was for him and his wife, and she’s a doctor, to make ends meet—yet how some government employees seemed to live well, even with children in college.”

  “You, of course, looked agitated, and added to his suspicions.” The older man’s tone was sardonic.

  “No. He didn’t even look for a reaction. He just said that he had put together a theoretical financial profile showing the income necessary to do all that. Then he said that he had done a study based on a number of officials’ forms, compared their incomes as reported on the ethics forms to what they were spending. Then he left.” Killorin wiped his forehead. “I could deal with that. He was fishing. But a week later the Ethics Officer told me McDarvid had requested my forms.”

  “I fail to see the problem.”

  “Last Thursday, he stopped by again. This time it was worse. He almost flat out told me that I had taken a payoff for the metals initiative, that he had completed not only the study but a formal complaint to the I.G., and that the complaint would be lodged in the docket as well, because my actions had compromised the entire rule-making.”

  “He didn’t say all that.”

  Killorin flushed. “Of course not. What he said was impartial and mealymouthed, but all the pieces were there. He even showed me the report. So I sat tight. Just like a good boy. The I.G. called Monday, but I didn’t get back from Region Nine until today. That’s less than forty-eight hours, and they never do that unless they’re serious.”

  “You’re reading too much into this … McDarvid’s actions.”

  “Oh, come off it. McDarvid’s figured it out, and he was letting me know that he knew I was being paid off.”

  “Money. So you received a few gifts from friends who have never asked you for anything. That’s not precluded.”

  “It is now. The Ethics Act applied when I was a GS-13, but there was no way to check because I didn’t have to file. As an office director, I have to file that form, and McDarvid’s got mine. So it’s either perjury or an apparent conflict of interest. I didn’t put gifts on the form. And it’s going to be hard to explain the amounts.”

  The older man shrugged. “You shouldn’t worry. They caught Mike Deaver in the White House cookie jar, and he was acquitted.”

  “They convicted Ollie North, and he was doing what he believed.” Killorin’s voice trembled.

  “You should be as successful as North. Besides, most of that was overturned on appeal. Bah … a token fine … community service … high fees for speeches, and he’s still a hero to thousands.”

  “Damn it! It’s my life. I don’t have a half million to pay legal fees. Sure, I’ll be a martyr to the cause, and famous—and broke as hell when I get out of Eglin. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

  The older man straightened and walked around the desk, where he stood, staring out into the night. “First, you go and talk to the I.G. After all, nothing is likely to happen. This … McDarvid … knows he doesn’t have hard evidence. That’s why he pressured you.”

  “God damn it! You don’t understand anything! It doesn’t matter! Maybe you don’t remember, but along with the creeps, when Ruckelshaus came in, he swept out a bunch of good people who had the misfortune to be in the wrong place. Some of them are still doing things like selling insurance. One engineer is a fucking diver for a marina! They’re the lucky ones.” Killorin lurched to his feet, heaving his thin frame and hardly slender belly from the overstuffed soft chair with both arms.

  “Are you asking for more money?” The tall man straightened.

  �
��More money, he offers. What will that do now? You’re not the one that sits there under the lights with an eager-beaver investigator dying to find some real-live corruption. You said I shouldn’t worry when this came up. Well, I’m worried, and you just stand behind that big desk and smile and ask if a little more money will help. ‘Oh, yes, Mr. Killorin, here’s a few thousand to help with the back alimony.’ And will Andy Corellian show up next week to offer a postgraduate scholarship to Denise?”

  “You’re not making much sense tonight,” observed the tall man.

  “I know you guys. One minute I tell you a few grand won’t cut it when I’ve got a daughter about to hit college. Three weeks later, your friend the computer guy shows up with a bona fide grant for Denise—the college of her choice.”

  The silver-haired man smiled. “Jerry, I may have mentioned your problems to a friend or two, but, believe me, the Lao Foundation is a bona fide 501 C(3) foundation. That’s why I suggested your daughter’s name to them. Whether they ever considered her was totally up to them and her record.”

  Killorin’s right hand slid behind his back, under the sweater, as if massaging sore muscles. “You’re not going to do one fucking thing, are you? You don’t have to. Everything that’s got a shred of paper is so legal and clean. They don’t even know who you really work for, and no one would believe little Jerry Killorin, anyway. ‘Jerry—he drinks too much. Sad about poor Jerry. He went right off the deep end.’ But you know something else? They don’t know I know you, either, Mr. Conservative Congressman.”

  His hand whipped from behind his body with the folded paper. “It’s all here. Every last nickel, every damned request.”

  The taller man snorted again. “I suppose you drafted it up on the office computer so that everyone knows.”

  “And if I did?”

  “You’re in trouble, Jerry, but you really don’t want the world to know. Who would give you the money to pay off your ex-wife? Or provide an extra few hundred when you overspend at the track? The Sierra Club? NRDC? Give me a break.”

  “You fucking bastard! Now I’ll damn well make sure the whole world knows.” Killorin lurched toward the silver-haired man.