by John Douglas
“Yeah, Jake. Anyway, the guy said he’d tell me two things. One, is EMPs.”
“What are EMPs?” Dom asked.
“Electromagnetic pulses.” Trevor was acutely focused on what Jerry was saying, which didn’t happen often.
“Right.” Jerry looked surprised for a moment, then jumped back aboard his train of thought and held on. “You know how a nuclear detonation produces large amounts of ionized matter and gamma rays? Well, under the right conditions, those ionized particles and those gamma rays produce EMPs. And EMPs can disable electronic equipment. The ionized gases can block radio signals, too. It’s called a fireball blackout.”
“So, William Rush was working on a nuclear bomb?”
“No, Jake. He was working on EMPs. See, we’ve known for a long time that a nuclear explosion would fry electrical parts, particularly chips. But the EMP is highly dependent on the altitude. It has to be either on the ground, which is blown up anyway, and if you’re going to blow someone into the void, who cares if their Nokias work, right? But at high altitudes, like above thirty thousand meters, the EMPs generate enormous electrical currents in anything metal—wires, antennas, missiles, airplanes, skyscrapers. Anything metal, even braces.” Jerry showed us his teeth.
“What would that do?” Dom asked.
“Dominic, my man, think of a commercial power grid as a giant EMP antenna. You’d get a power surge greater than lightning. Computers, fax machines, phones, everything electrical, would be toast. Now, think of this weapon on the modern battlefield.”
“But the military has known about this for years,” Trevor said, “and they’ve hardened all of their equipment.”
Jerry held up one long finger. “They say they have, but have they?”
Trevor looked surprised. “I don’t know.”
“Realistic tests are nearly impossible to perform,” Jerry said, “and EMP protection, this hardening the military talks about, can be compromised by water, sand, poor maintenance, all the things that bedevil the military in the kind of places where today’s bad guys hang out.”
“And given the new direction of our armed forces…,” Trevor said.
“Exactly.” Jerry stabbed the air with his forefinger, then looked at it as if inspecting his own fingerprint. When he recovered, he said, “And think about this for a while: With a practical EMP generator, all of our high-tech, whiz-bang weaponry is just so much scrap. That includes everything from our radios to our billion-dollar Stealth bombers. That, my friends, takes away our edge and puts our army on an equal footing with just about any army, anywhere in the world. Nothing but men and guns. No tanks, no planes, no radar. It’d be like fighting the Civil War again, but with automatic rifles.”
“I can see very bad people dancing in the street over that news,” Dom said.
“The trouble was”—Jerry tucked his hands into his pockets—“from a practical standpoint, nuclear bombs aren’t very efficient because they carry a whole lot of other baggage, and, you know, because we’re not the only ones who have them.”
“What’s the second thing?”
“What second thing?”
Trevor looked as if he was about to come across the table and shake it from him. “You said the guy from Langley told you two things. EMPs and what?”
“Oh, just that Rush had figured it out.” Jerry sat down and folded his hands together on the table, his report done.
We all sat quietly for a moment, the drone of the plane in our ears.
Dom finally cleared his throat. “After Cassandra there, my report seems rather mundane, but I did find something out that may be of interest.”
“Tell me anything, Dom, just so I can stop thinking about Iraqis with EMPs.”
“It might be a coincidence, but I was reading the paper this morning about the downing of the Hawker 700. Those guys on board, with the exception of Buckholz and his staff, were all part of the same agency.”
“They were civilians,” Trevor said.
“Right, but they worked for the government.” Dom placed his briefcase in his lap, opened it, and pulled out that day’sWashington Post. He moved his head until he found the right spot on his bifocals and leafed through the first section. “Here it is. A column about the bombing.” Dom scanned down until he found what he was looking for. “They worked for the Defense Acquisition Research Project Agency, some kind of weapons development organization.”
“It is,” I said. “It’s set up so DOD can green-light projects on a small scale and bypass the usual layers of oversight.”
“A lot like us,” Katie said.
“Except they get paid,” Trevor said.
“It’s called DARPA,” I said.
Dom removed his glasses and carefully polished them with his handkerchief. “Well, it rang a bell with me, so I checked. One of the great things about DARPA is that it’s vertically organized, which means you have a lot of small, autonomous teams all working on their own projects, all at the top, hierarchically, so that each of the projects gets equal attention. Now, this vertical integration is also, in the case of our EMT project—”
“EMP,” Jerry said.
“Whatever.” Dom waved the distinction away with a flick of his handkerchief. “The drawback to this vertical integration is that each team works essentially alone. The entire team on this particular project was killed, all but one that is, when the congressman’s plane went down. Care to venture who that one lone survivor was?”
“Ted Baker,” I said.
Dom smiled. “That’s right. The man who was murdered with Janice Callahan.”
It was as if a light had been turned on in a dark room. Suddenly, I could see the how and the why, and with those I was so much closer to finding the who.
Knowing he followed the financial news, I gave Dom some homework. I asked Jerry to call his man at Langley to see if anyone else could have been working on the same technology. No secrets, just if anyone else in the world was researching EMPs. I had a pretty good idea what answer, if any, I would get. Katie said she would dig into public records, and even Trevor volunteered to spend time at the computer, a task he compared to dental work.
“Trevor, I want you to stay with me as backup. I have an idea I might need you.”
I called the director’s office and was told he’d see me at three. At four, I was still in the waiting room. I read through every issue ofLaw Enforcement Bulletin, paced in front of his secretary’s desk until she asked me to please sit down, and looked at every picture on the wall, from the one of Ravan shaking hands with Hoover and Hoover looking like someone had slipped him a bad clam, to the head shot of Ravan looking pretty damn pleased with himself for outlasting his enemies.
The intercom buzzed and Ravan’s secretary said, “The director will see you now.” I don’t know which one of us was more relieved.
Ravan was standing when I entered. He was near the door, between me and the other man in the room. The other man stood up, but made no approach and did not try to shake my hand.
Ravan cleared his throat. He gave me a quick look that asked me to behave. “You know Attorney General Armstrong.”
“Yes,” I said. “We met a long time ago, in New York.”
I sat across from the director. The AG sat in an overstuffed armchair by the window.
Ravan sat behind his desk. It was big and uncluttered, much like Ravan’s life. I’d heard that he had had the legs of all the other chairs in his office shortened so he would have an automatic height advantage, but sitting in that chair, in front of that desk and that face, I realized Ravan didn’t need props. He’d have an advantage in stature in any room in Washington.
“You’ve had a pretty busy week, Jake.”
“Yes, sir, I have.”
“Me, too. I’m tired. How about you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How’d you like to go home and take a nice long vacation?”
I expected more, but Ravan apparently was willing to wait for an answer.
; “No, sir, I’m not done with my investigation.”
Ravan leaned back in his chair and the leather creaked. It was the only sound in the office besides the ticking of an antique clock in the bookcase.
From the windows, the AG mumbled, “I wanted to thank you for your help in solving the murder of General Buckholz, his staff, and the research team.” It was like a schoolboy forced to apologize for pulling a girl’s hair.
I listened to my heartbeat for a moment, then the clock, then to the creaking of Ravan’s chair, just to make sure I hadn’t slipped into a coma. I tried to make out Armstrong’s face, but the light behind his head made it impossible for my eyes to adjust to his features in shadow. “Thank you. I think. But how did I do that?”
“The clue you gave us.”
“What clue?”
“From the TV interview you did with that reporter, that Tick fellow.”
“Spider,” I said. “Spider Urich.”
“Same family,” Armstrong said. “Arachnids.”
That was as close as I’d heard the AG come to actually making a joke.
“You told Urich that if you were investigating the case, you’d start looking at the victims as the real targets, and not the First Lady.”
“It was an off-the-cuff remark, sir.”
“But correct. When we started looking for why someone would want to kill the army chief, his staff, and a couple of researchers, it led us to a former employee of DARPA, someone whose project had been rejected and who had been let go. He has a history of mental instability and was deemed a security risk by the chief. We have him in custody right now. I’ll be announcing the arrest this evening, but I wanted you to know that the shift in the investigation came from you, Jake, and the nation is grateful for your service.”
“A disgruntled employee?”
“We caught him as he was getting on a plane to go home. We found the explosives in his apartment. Semtex, same as that used on the congressman’s plane.”
“And my car.”
“Yes,” the AG said. “That’s right.”
The AG had always hated that car, I knew, and probably broke his face smiling when he heard it had been blown away.
“This man you’ve arrested.”
“Yes?”
“You say he was going home.”
“Yes. We caught him at the airport.”
“Let me guess where home is. Uganda?”
Even in shadow I could see the AG’s face open in surprise. Even Ravan blinked, then a chuckle rolled across his desk and filled the room.
“Just a lucky guess, sir,” I said. “But if I were you, I’d hold off on any press conferences. I have some news.”
My suit was pressed, even though I was not. I was so tired, I knew that once the adrenaline of the chase wore off, I’d sleep for twenty-four hours straight.
Katie, on the other hand, looked as though she’d spent two weeks at a spa. In a black silk dress with a high Chinese collar, her hair piled high, and jade at her neck and earlobes, she made the solarium orchids look gaudy and rough by comparison. She held a black purse decorated with tiny black seed pearls. The purse was just big enough to hold a lipstick, a set of cuffs, and my Airweight .38.
Mrs. De Vries was as sparkling as the champagne. She appeared to be a woman untroubled by life, instead of a woman who had just lost a niece to murder. She moved about the room, rearranging groups or gently steering conversations so that everyone at the party felt brilliant and charming.
Half of the guests were politicians Joe Public would recognize from Sunday-morning talk TV if Joe Public watched Sunday-morning talk TV. The other guests were anonymous to all but Washington insiders. They were the people who made the wheels turn. With few exceptions, these were the people who persevered, regardless of who won an election. They served as the institutional memory for a city where the public face of power changed every four years and political memory went back only as far as the latest poll.
Of course, even in this crowd, the attorney general wielded the big stick. People gathered around him, hoping to get the inside scoop on the investigation.
It was close to eleven when Dom joined the party, perfectly put together in a blue, three-piece pinstripe and red tie.
Dom greeted Frederick as if they were old school chums, and when I introduced him to Mrs. De Vries, he said, “Yes, we’ve met,” and held her hand for a long time. Mrs. De Vries seemed to enjoy the attention and it made me reluctant to pull Dom away, but I did.
It took a few minutes for Dom to confirm what I’d already suspected. Trying to keep it all organized in my head when all my head wanted was a pillow was the hard part. So many strings went in so many directions, but they all came back to one person.
Katie was in the garden talking to Congressman Jason when I joined them.
“Jake,” he said, and pumped my hand. “Astonishing work, truly astonishing. Figuring out that the murder of the research team was the real motive behind the bombing of my plane, well, I have to say that the entire country is in awe of your investigative abilities. Everyone thought it was a terrorist attack, but not you two. Amazing.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t put that together. That was the Bureau who made the connection, and it was the attorney general who arrested the man from Uganda.”
“You are too modest. Both of you are.” Jason sipped at a martini.
“No, really. My team came to an entirely different conclusion.” I watched him, his hands in particular.
Jason drained his martini and casually snagged another from a passing waiter. “Oh, well, as long as the bad guy gets caught, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
“I was just expressing my condolences to your lovely partner. This has had to be one of the hardest days anyone’s ever faced, and yet here you both are, the center of attention at one of Millicent’s parties where so many try and fail. And one of you”—Jason put a modest hand to his breast—“I won’t say which, but one of you looks absolutely stunning.” He flashed that fund-raiser smile at Katie. “I hope this means we’ll be seeing more of you at these Washington gettogethers.”
Attorney General Armstrong came into the garden, his hands in his pockets. In a social setting he didn’t appear to be such a bad guy. Armstrong acknowledged each of us and said, “It’s getting late, Jake.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think here in the garden would be best.”
“Yes, sir, I agree. Should you tell him or should I?”
“You’re the one with the badge, Jake.”
The congressman looked from Armstrong to me and back to Armstrong. The AG said, “You should probably finish up that martini, David.”
Jason tried to smile, the glass halfway to his lips. “What’s this all about?”
“Katie, would you do the honors?”
“May I?”
“Sure.”
Jason followed this like a child about to be surprised on his birthday.
“Well, sir, this really isn’t a social occasion for us.” Katie put her hand inside her purse.
“No, indeed not,” the attorney general said.
I said, “We’re still working.”
Jason’s well-groomed eyebrows shot up in vaudeville surprise. “No!”
Katie smiled. “Congressman Jason, you’re under arrest for murder.” She pulled the cuffs from her bag.
“Really,” Jason said, playing the outraged partygoer.
“The same explosive used to blow up my car,” I said. “I really liked that car, too. Do you have any idea what that will do to my premiums?”
I had to give him credit. Jason didn’t even break a sweat. He laughed, and it wasn’t one of those nervous, I’m-guilty-as-hell laughs, either. That’s the laugh of an innocent man. But Jason wasn’t an innocent man.
“Jake,” he said. “I was home sleeping when my plane exploded.”
Katie gently put her hand on Jason’s shoulder, forcing him to turn around.
“B
efore you say anything else, Congressman, you have the right to remain silent—”
“I know my rights.”
As I Mirandized the representative, I marveled at how easily Katie patted him down and cuffed him. I would have thought it would be awkward in heels.
Trevor stood back by the garden gate with two men who weren’t guests of Mrs. De Vries but were guests of mine. I introduced them to their congressman, just in case they hadn’t met.
“Representative Jason, I’d like you to meet Detectives Weller and Snead. They have some questions they need to ask about conspiracy to commit murder.”
Weller said, “Thanks for the call, Donovan. And that plane of yours is a sweet ride.”
Snead took Jason by the arm and jerked him. “I voted for you, you son of a bitch.”
The attorney general took Jason’s other arm. “Let’s go meet the press, shall we? Then, after that, there are people from Virginia, the District, the Justice Department, the Maryland authorities, and, oh, yes, the SEC, who have questions for you, too. I’d say you’re in for a long night.”
“This is all a mistake,” Jason said.
“Let me recommend a good lawyer.” I tucked Larry Berman’s business card into the congressman’s jacket. “You can call him tonight. He won’t mind.”
40
The next morning, David Jason of North Carolina would be on the front page of every paper in the country. But for a while it was just between us, Mrs. De Vries’s party guests, and about a hundred authorities in nearly a dozen jurisdictions.
As Mrs. De Vries said good-night to the last of her guests, all of whom expressed awe and appreciation for being invited, Katie, Trevor, Dom, and I waited in her library. I had a single malt that sang of the Highlands, Katie nursed a vodka martini, Dom rolled a tumbler full of seltzer between his hands, and Trevor had a beer. From the bottle.
Jerry had gone to North Carolina to “check on things.” My guess was that one of those things was Dr. Plessy. I wished him a good trip and he had the decency to blush.
Mrs. De Vries settled into a chair and put her head in her hand. “Such a night.”
“Such a week.”