Next to "baby face" sat a man who looked to be in his early forties and who looked like he belonged in the military even though he didn't have on a uniform. He had a crew-cut and kept darting his eyes back and forth sizing up the other people in the room. He did this without moving his head. His stare was icy and Pat suspected he might be from one of the national security agencies. From the past experience of having applied for a job at one particular agency, he knew that the agencies oftentimes hired ex-military men and this guy fit the mold to a tee.
Rounding out the group of civilians was a man Pat pegged at being in his mid-fifties. He too, like the fat man, was unkempt and wouldn't be winning any fashion shows in the near future. He had on a plaid, wrinkled shirt and a paisley tie which horribly clashed with it. This man was also a heart attack waiting to happen and was chain smoking one cigarette after another, all the while fidgeting in his chair and rolling a pencil back and forth on the table in front of him. Pat couldn't determine what his affiliation was, but sized him up to be some sort of scientist because of the plastic pocket liner filled with pens he had stuffed in his shirt pocket.
Seated next to the civilians were the three military men lined up just like in the commercials--Army, Navy, and Air Force. (The Marines were missing from the group, ending the simile.)
Before Pat could begin his briefing, the senator got up and as he did everyone turned their attention toward him. It was, after all, the senator's meeting.
"Pat," Radcliff said aloud from across the room. "Before you get started, I'd like to introduce you to everyone. It's only fair you should know the players involved in your continued funding."
Pat agreed, but stood silent at the podium, waiting and watching for some indication of the mood of the players seated before him.
Radcliff began the introductions. "First on my right is Dr. Gandliong. I'm sure you've heard of him Pat. He has written numerous books on parapsychology and is currently associated with the University of Chicago. He is also on the board of directors at Cedar Sinai in Los Angeles and is responsible for syphoning off millions of dollars of aids research monies earmarked for them and then laundering the funds and providing them to SIGMA ONE."
Pat looked over at the doctor and felt a strange sense of pride. After all, here was a person who had taken an oath to save lives, diverting funds from much-needed research to find a cure for a proven killer, to his unproven dream of complete nuclear disarmament. Pat was happy the doctor apparently believed in his dream, but he couldn't help wonder if Gandliong ever felt guilty for his part in SIGMA ONE.
Gandliong smiled at Pat, gave him a stern look of approval, but said nothing. The sternness didn't bother him, to Pat he still looked like his daughter's pediatrician.
Radcliff continued the introductions.
"Pat," Radcliff said, referring to the young lady seated next to Gandliong, "this is Gloria Robinson. Ms. Robinson represents Green Peace."
"Green Peace?" Pat said aloud. "What does Green Peace have to do with SIGMA ONE?" Pat addressed his question to Ms. Robinson.
Ms. Robinson pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, and up and up. She must have been six foot six. After standing, she then began to unbutton the top of her business suit, exposing a neatly cut white silk blouse.
"It's rather hot in here gentlemen. I hope you don't mind if I take this off."
None of the men argued. They just stared.
When Ms. Robinson finished taking off her jacket, each and every man in the room couldn't help but notice it had hidden a perfectly statuesque figure. Now revealed, it became the center of attention. Crew-cut's jaw dropped, the only emotion he had shown all day.
Ms. Robinson folded her jacket neatly and placed it on the spare chair behind her and then returned to the table and faced Pat before beginning to speak.
"Mr. Huxley, as you are aware, Green Peace has a mission to clean up and save the world's environment. For years we have often been considered by some governmental groups as being almost radical." She paused briefly to allow them to reflect on what she had just said and then began again. "And I suppose in our early years of operation we were radical. Radical things were happening to the environment, and radical action was necessary, and still is, as far as I'm concerned."
The men all nodded in agreement. Each had seen the news broadcasts of the past few years showing, on numerous occasions, bold environmentalists charging their small rubber rafts toward much larger Japanese fishing boats, risking drowning.
Robinson continued. "Today, however, Green Peace has found that by working with, rather than against the government, that our mission can be accomplished at much less expense and at much smaller risk. Senator Radcliff has been a longtime supporter of ours and it was through him that our organization became aware of your project five years ago. It was his influence, as well as the goal of the project itself, that convinced our board of directors to provide seed monies to you as, at the time, your project did seem like it had the potential to make our world a safer place for everyone."
The connection seemed logical enough to Pat. But he wondered if all the millions of supporters knew how their contributions were being spent. He didn't really care as long as he got his.
Ms. Robinson reached down and picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, before continuing.
"As I was saying, Mr. Huxley, Green Peace views your project as part of its long term plan to stop man's destruction of this planet." Her tone of voice was strained. She was beginning to get emotional and it was obvious. "But, my reason for being here today is not to praise SIGMA ONE, rather it is to determine whether or not our funds which are spent on SIGMA ONE, could be better spent elsewhere, on other projects with similar goals as yours. We have provided our support for five years now, and, to be quite frank, your achievements have not been satisfactory to date. If continuation of funding is what you expect, Mr. Huxley, you had better be able to shed some light today on just what your team has accomplished with our money. And you had better be able to give us some assurance, some evidence of progress."
Pat surveyed the room quickly to see what affect her words had on the rest of the group. To his distress, he saw agreement in each of their farms. He cringed. He had thought earlier Ms. Robinson was going to be a supporter. Now he was sure she was not; not that she couldn't be swayed to his position, just that it would take some interesting truth bending on his part to do so.
In order not to let Ms. Robinson's words remain the subject of thought too long in the other member's minds and potentially weaken his position, Pat spoke up. "Ms. Robinson. I understand your concern and have sent a full status report to the senator which, after you read it, I'm sure will assuage any doubts you have."
Pat hoped this maneuver would buy him some time and diffuse the situation.
Ms. Robinson was not to be put off so easily and added, "Mr. Huxley, I hope you will be able to provide a verbal summary of what is in that report today. The budget hearings will be over shortly, and I need to make a recommendation to my management tomorrow."
Pat breathed a sigh of relief. He was sure he could provide a good-enough-sounding story to convince her and the others. All he needed was to buy enough time to get through this budget cycle. He was sure shortly he would be able to show them all the progress they wanted.
"After the introductions, Ms. Robinson, I'll be able to answer any questions you have. I've even got some data in these charts which I'm sure your group will find interesting." Pat motioned to his stack of viewgraphs. The data wasn't there, of course, but Pat was confident he could snow her by playing to her emotions.
"Very well, then." Ms. Robinson replied and sat back down.
The Senator, silent for the past few moments round of verbal volleyball between Pat and Ms. Robinson continued with the introductions again. This time he pointed to "baby face". "Pat, this is Mr. Butterworth. He is from the Senate finance committee and is here to get a financial update on the project."
Butterworth grunted, and wed
ged himself out of the chair to stand. Pat laughed to himself. Butterworth certainly fit his name.
In a soprano voice of a preadolescent, Butterworth introduced himself, said how happy he was to be there and that he was sure everything was in order. Pat was sure he could pull one over on Butterworth. He didn't look too bright.
Next to Butterworth, sat Crew-cut. The Senator motioned for him to stand up, which he did, briskly pushing his chair back and cutting the Senator off before he could finish the introduction.
"Agent Clifton Walker, Mr. Huxley. Let's just say I represent National security interests, who have an investment in your project. In fact, if you don't mind, during your presentation and at some appropriate time, I'd like to address this body myself. I think they all will find what I have to say quite intriguing, and I'm sure after they hear it, those not convinced of the viability and importance of your project will soon change their minds after they hear what I have to say.
Pat was astonished. Radcliff hadn't told him anything about someone else making a presentation. And Walker seemed so confident and reassuring. It made him feel like some of the pressure was off him to perform and he was glad of that. He liked Walker. But what was he up to?
While Pat sat there thinking about agent Walker, Radcliff moved slowly by him, skipping the scientist who was lighting another cigarette, and positioned himself at the back of the army colonel's seat. The colonel sat there silently chewing on his unlit cigar. To Pat, the cigar looked like a toxic pacifier the way the colonel rolled it from one side of his mouth to the other. Pat raised his eyes from the colonel's mouth, disgusted from watching him. As soon as Pat's eyes focused on him, Radcliff quickly mouthed the words "be careful of this one," before he began the introductions again. No one else caught the warning the senator had sent.
"Pat, this is Colonel Anderson representing the United States Army."
The square-jawed colonel took his cigar out of his mouth and stood up. He then pointed it directly at Pat before he began to speak.
"Listen here, Mr. Huxley. I represent Headquarters United States Army European Command. I'm here in Washington on temporary assignment to the Pentagon. I'm not here to praise the project either, to borrow from what the lady said. I'm here to make damn sure all Army funding for this here SIGMA ONE project is stopped immediately, unless you can show me personally why it shouldn't be!" The colonel stared directly at Pat and lowered his cigar.
Pat's jaw slacked. Funding stopped? That would mean over twenty percent of his budget would be cut. That was unacceptable. Pat now understood the meaning of the previous warning.
Colonel Anderson started again. "In case you're not aware of it, Mr. Huxley, we're at war over in Europe. Now it's not a shootin' war, yet," (his Kentucky accent was thick)" but if we don't match the Reds buildup of conventional forces with increased modernized, mechanized forces, hell, we'll lose before we ever fire a shot. Now you don't want that, do you Mr. Huxley? You don't want to see this proud nation blackmailed by some third rate communist hues, do you?"
He didn't wait for Pat to answer. "Nor do I. That's why they sent me here: to let me judge for myself whether or not I want to risk billions on brainwaves when I could be investin' in bullets."
The alliteration was damnable, Pat thought. Bullets or brainwaves. The colonel was an idiot, but Pat was too smart to be sucked into his childish debate. He knew his position was risky especially with tensions easing in Europe and talks of further conventional arms reductions, but he also knew he could out maneuver the army colonel by simply focusing on extremely complex technical details when he briefed later. The old Kentucky Colonel wouldn't be able to keep up with him in that kind of race. His plan determined, Pat simply nodded and smiled at his adversary.
Pat watched as the colonel sat back down and put the stogy back into his jaw. He was smiling and winked at Pat knowing that at this point he had the upper hand, or at least thought he did. Pat leaned forward on one elbow and returned the wink. Playing poker with this good ole boy would be fun.
Radcliff moved next to the navy man.
"This is Commander Packett, Pat."
The young commander stood up. Pat must have misgauged his age. No way could a man appearing to be in his twenties have achieved the rank of commander. More likely Packett was in his mid-thirties.
"Hello, Mr. Huxley," Packett said coolly. His blue eyes were burning holes through Pat. "I'm here representing the Office of Naval Research, and I’ll be blunt. I'm here to see if your cockamamie Project warrants any more of our agency's money. What you say today will determine that Mr. Huxley. I've read all your reports you submitted so far, and I don't find one bit of scientific evidence that your scheme--or should I say scam--is any closer to fruition now than it will ever be. SIGMA ONE is impossible, in my opinion, and if it were solely up to me, I'd have cancelled it years ago and not wasted any money on it at all. But my predecessors in this job saw it differently and I didn't have a thing to say about it earlier. Now I do. Every dime we spent on it so far could have been better spent by the Navy on its own problems instead of chasing the phantom of the dream you concocted. Ever since the Toshiba incident, our subs have had harder and harder times chasing the Soviet's newer models and our money could have been used to help there rather than on SIGMA ONE. But if you ask me, the Soviet subs aren't the real threat today to the U.S.! The real threat is scientists like you who say they're working for the betterment of mankind, when all they're really doing is feathering their own nests and using government financing to do so!"
Pat was furious. Commander Packett struck a nerve, and to Pat, was a disgrace to the Navy wings he wore. If circumstances were different and SIGMA ONE's success didn't ride on his ability to maintain his composure and tell a convincing story to the committee, he would have decked this bastard. When he was a flyer in Viet Nam years earlier, he had had more than his share of brawls and he wouldn't have any trouble now dealing with Packett. But now was not the time. He clenched his fists under the podium out of sight of everyone while he tried to regain his composure.
But his temper got the better of him and he had to make some sort of reply so he blurted, "Commander, whether or not you believe in SIGMA ONE'S viability doesn't matter one iota to me!" (It did, but he didn't want the commander to know it.)
He continued. "You say you've read our reports and it’s your opinion that we're no closer to realizing our goals today than we were five years ago. Well, let me tell you this commander, it's not just your opinion that counts. Many minds far superior to yours have spent years researching the viability of this project, and your opinion doesn't hold water. Granted, the reports you have read say that progress has been slow, but the most recent reports we have published indicate a ten-fold acceleration in our activities toward achieving the goals of SIGMA ONE. This progress is so recent, it hasn't been released to the full committee as yet. Why only today, I reviewed the final draft of the report and had it delivered to the senator's office before I came here. And that's why I'm here now, to give you and the other members a summary of that progress."
Pat began to speak slower to add emphasis to his next words. "And as far as feathering our own nest, Packett, let me add, my staff, just like your navy scientists, is highly dedicated. And I won't sit here and have you degrade their integrity by innuendo!"
Packett appeared stunned. Apparently he didn't expect Pat to reply so forcefully, so when Radcliff motioned for him to sit down he did without saying a word. As he sat, he did, however, utter a loud "harrumph" to show his indignity.
After this, Radcliff ignored Packett's disgust and moved around the room to the Air Force general.
"Pat, I'm sure this gentleman needs no introduction," Radcliff said referring to the man seated before him.
Pat recognized the man immediately as General Kurt Lassiter, currently assigned as deputy commander of the Air Force's Office of Policy and Analysis. It was Lassiter's office which first advised the President on acceptance of the Soviet's recent show of good faith by
destroying some of their short-range missiles in Eastern Europe, prompting him to give orders to destroy our own. Lassiter later made notoriety when he reversed his position based on intelligence reports that indicated the Soviets were actually not destroying their missiles, but had devised an elaborate scheme of deception and were, instead, destroying mockups. As a result of Lassiter's reversal, scarce funding was diverted from the Strategic Defense Initiative to rebuild our defensive posture in Europe. The newscasters made a hay day of that. Riots broke out in the streets of Europe as the first of the new missiles were installed, and as a result, Lassiter became a national hero of sorts. There was even recent speculation that because of this popularity, that he might even be considering running for public office after he retired from the military within the next year.
Yes, Pat knew of Lassiter's reputation. But he didn't know how Lassiter stood on SIGMA ONE.
Pat cordially introduced himself. "General, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
The general didn't stand as the others had previously. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, folded his hands behind his neck and put his feet arrogantly up on the table before he began to speak.
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