“Mr. Killorin said you were his friend,” Angelique offered tentatively.
Thomas sighed. “What does that mean?”
“We don’t know, either. The police called here last Thursday. His car was towed away that morning from somewhere on Wilson Boulevard in Rosslyn. No one has seen him since he left work on Wednesday.”
“That’s over a week,” Thomas repeated helplessly.
“I know. He didn’t tell anyone he was going anywhere. It’s like he just disappeared. He didn’t have any travel plans. The message on his answering machine is the same as always. He even penciled in some appointments for the next day just before he left.”
“Oh…” The comment was involuntary.
“I wish I could tell you more.”
“That’s all right. Thank you. I didn’t mean to bother you.” Thomas pursed his lips and swallowed. “But I was worried.”
“If you find out anything…?” asked the secretary.
“I’ll certainly let you know. Can I check back later in the week?”
“That would be all right.”
Thomas looked at the notes he had scribbled on the yellow pad.
“Peter arrested … Jerry missing … Metals? McDarvid?”
He looked around the office, shaking his head, before crumpling the yellow sheet and tossing it in the colored paper recycling basket by his desk.
Finally, he picked up the telephone once more.
80
McDARVID LOOKED THROUGH THE ATTACHMENTS to his letter to the Ethics Committee. Heidlinger would be furious, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed the law firm’s letterhead on this one.
Attachment 1 was a chronological summary of the legislation authorizing the development and deployment of the earth observation satellites.
Attachment 2 was the highlighted language in the committee report accompanying the authorizing legislation: “… in the interests of geographically balanced procurement, at least one advanced inertial terrain scanning system shall be procured from a vendor located east of the Mississippi River and at least one from a vendor located west of the Mississippi.”
Harmless enough, except Hesterton Engineering was the single competing vendor located in the West.
Attachment 3 was the summary of the NASA evaluation of the TRICOM and Hesterton systems, the evaluation which indicated TRICOM’s superiority in price, delivery times, and satellite systems experience.
Attachment 4 was the Hesterton Engineering organization chart, listing Michael Alroy as the Washington, D.C., representative reporting directly to the President of Hesterton.
Attachment 5 was the subcommittee organization chart, listing Renni Fowler as the counsel and staff director.
Attachment 6 was the article from The Legal Times about the unsuccessful motion by Hartwicke, Fowler, and Prestigan on behalf of Hesterton Engineering contesting the original award of the inertial system to TRICOM.
Attachment 7 was a copy of Renni Fowler’s ethics form.
Attachment 8 comprised Michael Alroy’s federal lobbying reports for the past three years.
McDarvid read through the letter again, skimming the key points.
… clear and obvious conflict of interest … not reported according to the requirements of the committee and of the Ethics in Government Act … integrity of procurement process compromised … casts doubt upon the integrity of the subcommittee’s actions with regard to all space efforts … failure to address obstacles to development of resources in space …
… request an investigation of the events chronicled in Attachment 1 … and public disclosure of the committee’s findings …
McDarvid shook his head. It would have been so much easier if Renni had just agreed to hold one damned hearing on the metals initiative. He hoped the Ethics Committee would do something, but he wasn’t counting on it. That was why he had the pictures he still didn’t want to use. At least, the damned telephoto lens was back with Jonnie, presumably returned to his sister.
With a sigh, he sealed the envelope for the messenger.
81
“JACK McDARVID FOR RENNI FOWLER.” Holding the phone with his right hand, McDarvid used his left hand on the computer, saving the update for Steve Greene on the changes in the pesticide special review process.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McDarvid. She left word that she was not to be disturbed.”
“Marianne? This is Marianne, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been trying to reach her for three days. She can’t be that busy.”
“Mr. McDarvid, sir…?”
“Yes?”
“She actually said to tell you that no one could sink lower than you have, and that it would be a cold century in hell before she would ever talk to you again.”
“Oh…”
“And I agree with her, Mr. McDarvid, sir.”
Click.
McDarvid winced. He set the telephone back in place and stood up. Outside it was raining, the cold winter rain that made Washington so dreary.
“What am I supposed to do? There’s something wrong, really wrong, and no one will do anything. Just send letters that no one reads?” He turned back to the desk and removed the unlabeled file folder that had covered the stack of heavy envelopes on the desk.
“She didn’t really give me much choice.”
Each of the envelopes contained the original complaint to the Ethics Committee, a plain white sheet outlining a few more salient facts, and the photos. The damned photos that were explicit enough at least for the tabloid types to look into the real substance of McDarvid’s complaint.
Should he tell Jonnie? He shook his head. Having Jonnie know anything about it certainly wouldn’t help the younger man.
His stomach tightened as he looked at the envelopes again. He’d used stamps; so they couldn’t trace a postage meter number. They might ask him about the photos, but he’d have to ignore those questions and concentrate on talking about the actual complaint.
Larry was dead. Killorin was missing. According to Ellie, he’d disappeared with appointments on his calendar for the next day, and his car had been found in Rosslyn. Jerry wouldn’t have driven the car out of the way, and he wasn’t the type to run off. If he had been, he would have done it years before. So the poor bastard was probably dead. All the police-mentality types would say he was jumping to conclusions, but McDarvid knew. He just couldn’t prove a damned thing.
Eric’s hands were tied. So were the DIA’s. Renni wouldn’t do anything, and the Ethics Committee wasn’t acting, although someone had certainly let Renni know. The metals initiative was headed onward. And U.S. industrial and technical capabilities were slowly being strangled, with the Japanese sitting on the sidelines smirking. JAFFE, who seemed to know more than Devenant let on, had hired them for still undefined reasons, and then kept careful track of what they did. There was also the strange man in the gray suit. And then there was Lao Systems, which, for some reason, seemed to give scholarships to the children of the bureaucrats who set the critical risk assessments for environmental regulations.
McDarvid shook his head. That was just what he saw. God knew how much was still hidden. And if he didn’t get it in the open before long, he might be following Larry and Jerry. Eric was right, though. McDarvid felt amateur, very amateur. The photos didn’t help.
He looked at the envelopes again, and took a deep breath, before pulling his coat off its hook. He could get them in the box on Nineteenth before the two-thirty pickup.
82
“YOU’RE A BASTARD, McDarvid. A total bastard.” Renni’s voice was flat. “I wouldn’t have called, but I wanted to let you know myself.”
McDarvid raised his eyebrows as he cradled the telephone. “I appreciate the compliment, Renni, but I don’t think I understand.”
“Killorin’s disappeared.”
“What?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. You knew he couldn’t take the pressure. You set him up for this. So it’s your turn.
”
“My turn?”
“Your subpoena should arrive this morning. I’m having Tom deliver it personally. Since you’ve charged the committee staff and DEP with a conflict of interest, I’d like you to explain everything.”
McDarvid frowned. “If you insist.”
“Why not? I’m losing everything. You might as well sweat some. Your wife must be a saint … or a masochist.”
McDarvid looked up from the dead phone at the closed door of his office. Then he glanced out the window at the blurred pink marble facade across Nineteenth Street.
Testifying before Chairman Hancock wasn’t going to be a picnic, not with Renni and Tom preparing the questions. Then he shook his head. There he was, acting like Jerry Killorin. But where was Killorin?
He jabbed the intercom button.
“Reception. This is Doris.”
“Doris? This is Jack McDarvid. I’m expecting someone from the Science, Space, and Technology Committee. I need to see them.”
“But if they’re coming—”
“They may only want to drop off an envelope. I need to see them. Refuse the envelope. Insist that they deliver it personally.”
“We can’t do that—”
“It’s a subpoena, and you certainly can. Check with Mr. Heidlinger or Mr. Ames if you doubt me.”
“Yes, Mr. McDougal.”
“McDarvid,” he corrected, wondering how long it would be before George Ames would pay the receptionists enough to keep them at least until they could learn people’s names.
“Excuse me, Mr. McDarvid.”
He dialed Jonnie. No answer. Jonnie was out somewhere, but McDarvid didn’t remember where. Then again, he was having trouble remembering his own name. The whole business was the regulatory equivalent of Vietnam. You didn’t know who your friends were, who or where your enemies were, or even why you were fighting. Hell, he still wasn’t sure there was a fight. Maybe … maybe, he was just losing it.
He took a deep breath, looked at the computer. He still had to finish the short follow-up paper he had promised to Steve Greene on the special review process. Steve still hadn’t picked up all the distinctions involved in pesticide registration, cancellation, or restrictive uses. So McDarvid was still providing background memos after nearly six months.
“Status of Aldicarb,” mumbled McDarvid as he looked at the keyboard, wishing he could leave, get out of the office—anything but wait for a subpoena. He wanted to talk to Tom, assuming the assistant counsel would say anything at all. Yet he didn’t want to lounge around the reception area all morning.
He glanced at the rain outside, pelting down even more heavily, then back to the screen. Special reviews? Who cared?
Lurching to his feet, he walked to the window, where he studied the rain-splashed sidewalk five floors below, watching as a gust of wind turned an older woman’s umbrella inside out, and finally looked back at the closed office door.
Jerry Killorin was scared to testify—that had been obvious. But he would never have run out. At least McDarvid didn’t think so, but that raised a bigger question. Who would have done him in? As Eric had said so often, that wasn’t the way the professionals worked.
McDarvid frowned. Killorin had never been that enthused about taking over Standards and Regs. Had it been the Ethics Act considerations? And who had been paying him off?
“McDarvid?” rasped Bill Heidlinger as he pushed his vested bulk through the open door. “What’s this about a subpoena? Now what have you done?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, Bill.”
“With a subpoena coming?”
“I take it the receptionist called you.”
“Of course she called me. I don’t take subpoenas as lightly as you do.”
“I scarcely take them lightly, but it’s from the Science, Space, and Technology Committee.”
“Oversight Subcommittee?”
McDarvid nodded.
“Would you like to explain?”
McDarvid shrugged. “I thought it was fairly simple. The JAFFE metals issue … the DEP push for reregulating well beyond the health thresholds? It didn’t seem to make sense, and no one seemed to know where the idea started. Every time I talked to Jerry Killorin about it, he got nervous. Now … no one should get nervous about something like that. So I suggested that the Research Subcommittee ought to hold hearings.”
Heidlinger looked blankly at the consultant. “Keep going. I still … Why the Science Committee?”
“Space.” McDarvid stopped before shaking his head. “It goes like this. Every one of those metals is vital to the U.S. space effort. If the standards pushed by DEP go into effect, most U.S. producers will close or go offshore. Do you think DOD or NASA wants to rely on offshore suppliers for satellite communications power systems? Yet Environment never looked at that. So I suggested that the committee ask Killorin why. I hinted that Killorin might have some additional motivation.”
“Did he?”
McDarvid shrugged. “I thought so, but I could never find anything hard, except for the fact that Killorin makes far more money than he reports on the ethics forms. So”—McDarvid swallowed—“I suggested that the DEP I.G. look into the coincidences. The I.G. asked Killorin to explain, and he disappeared.”
“That still doesn’t explain the subpoena.”
“The committee still refused to act on the issue. So I did some more digging and discovered that there was a rather odd coincidence between Hesterton Engineering and the committee staff.”
“Who represents Hesterton? Isn’t that Hartwicke, Fowler, and Prestigan?”
McDarvid nodded.
“The more I hear, the less I like it. But you still haven’t explained why you’re getting a subpoena.”
“I made a complaint to the House Ethics Committee, charging that the conflicts of interest created by several special relationships had prevented the necessary oversight and, in fact, resulted in more costly procurements in other cases.”
“That’s preposterous. Absolute cock and bull.” Heidlinger swallowed. “People don’t go running off to avoid testifying before the I.G. Especially on environmental matters.”
“They did throw Rita LaVelle into jail, Bill. They destroyed a number of careers. Remember Deaver and Ollie North?”
“That might explain the DEP bureaucrat’s disappearance.”
McDarvid nodded. “That’s right. That’s why Killorin’s disappearance, assuming he did in fact disappear, is so interesting. Jerry was scared about something, but what…” He shrugged. “I never could find out.”
The senior partner shook his head. “I’m not sure I approve. But why is the committee mad enough to send you a subpoena? And why the Oversight Subcommittee? Did you charge Hancock himself with misfeasance?”
“No. I charged Renni Fowler with it.”
“Ohhhh … Is she…?”
“She’s married to Hal Fowler, Jr.—not very happily from all accounts.”
Heidlinger shook his head. “God, this is a mess. Why I ever let you two…”
“I don’t have much choice, as you pointed out. All I have to do is tell the truth.” If I can ever figure out what it is, McDarvid thought to himself.
83
TOM LERWINSKY HELD A STANDARD-SIZED BUSINESS ENVELOPE. “Mr. J. B. McDarvid?”
“If we’re playing this formally—yes.”
Tom extended the envelope. “This is a subpoena to appear before the Oversight and Investigations Subcommittee of the House Science, Space, and Technology Committee. You may be accompanied by counsel, if you so desire, and you may present any supporting materials pertinent to the subcommittee inquiry.”
The receptionist kept her eyes on the switchboard.
McDarvid accepted the envelope.
“Sorry, Jack.”
“Sorry you had to bring it.” McDarvid paused. “I didn’t mean to get you dragged into this.”
“It’s part of the job.” Lerwinsky looked from the receptionist to McDarvid. “But you’ve
already got people pretty upset. Richards’ L.A. called yesterday about your inquiries.”
“Bang-Bang Richards?” McDarvid frowned. “He’s not on the committee.”
Lerwinsky shrugged. “You got me. Quasie’s staff is already drafting questions. Even Stayd isn’t happy, and he’s never happy with Environment.”
“What about Renni?”
“You won’t like her questions, either. Not that I blame her, Jack.”
The two men stood for a moment longer.
“Any questions?” Lerwinsky asked.
“Why’d you deliver it?”
“Why not? As the country saying goes, ‘You kill your own dog.’”
“Thanks … I think. I’ll see you at the hearing.”
“Probably not. Renni will be handling it.”
84
“ERIC, WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON?”
“You’re going to have to be a little more precise, Jack. Everything or nothing could be occurring.”
“You know exactly what I mean. You’ve been playing with us all along on this metals thing.” McDarvid glanced at the closed door to his office, wondering who, if anyone, was listening.
“Jack, you’re imagining things.”
“I’m imagining things,” McDarvid snorted. “My boss looks into the metals mess, and he’s shot dead. The office director who masterminded the regulatory program is asked to talk to the I.G. When he can’t get out of it, he disappears. And by the way, he also can’t live the way he does on the income reported on his ethics form. Someone keeps shadowing me and my kids, and my telephone gives funny little rings with no one on the line.” He took a deep breath. “Then we talk to the DARPA boys, and the Space Council, and the SDI office, and they all thank us for the information, agree that the issue is critical, and say that they’re taking care of it, and please, Jack, don’t raise the defense issues directly with Environment or OSHA. Oh, and how about the fellow from DIA who practically blares that they’re worried about the metals issue and suggests oh so subtly that we could help?
The Green Progression Page 28