The Manganese Dilemma

by Ian Miller

  "We have a problem in that we cannot make out whether this problem is real or not," the White House man continued. "The previous representative could not make up her mind for sure, so I am here to form my opinion. Colonel, your view first."

  The Colonel stood up and said, "I am sorry sir, but we are unsure. We've made flights probing the Russian air space borders, and these usually attract attention from the Russian air force, but we have seen no contacts. There are two possible explanations. The first is the Russian air force has decided not to respond to our provocations for whatever reason. The second is that they have responded, and we cannot detect them. Take your pick."

  "Your guess, Colonel?"

  The Colonel paused for an instant, and then said, "I believe they have kept grounded."

  "Why would they do that?"

  "Well, sir, we are not at war, and we do not enter their air space. If they decided to defend in depth, or with surface to air missiles, they don't need to fly. Also, of course, we saw no sign of them. This paint is only reputed to make them invisible to radar, not light."

  "Assuming that is right, is there anything further to cause you to think that?"

  "Yes sir. Despite some of the times being extremely favourable for them, we saw no contrails. You can't fly a jet without emitting burnt fuel out the back, and even when our aircraft were making quite strong contrails, we saw nothing from the Russians. The most obvious reason we saw no aircraft was that there were no Russian aircraft patrolling the borders."

  "Isn't that strange?"

  "Depends," the Colonel said with a smile.

  "On?"

  "Whether they know what we're doing. This would be the cheapest way of confusing us."

  "I see." Obviously, he did not see to the extent of being able to reach a conclusion. "Doctor Turner? Where have you got?"

  "I'm afraid I'm in a similar position to the Colonel. I have made a major investigation of whatever we know about the relevant chemistry and physics, and I can't see how this is possible. However, just because I can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there."

  "So, we're no further ahead?"

  "There's one more confusing point," Doctor Turner said, a smile breaking over his face. "Doctor Bazina has received a large grant for research."

  "I know that."

  "The point is, what she is going to do apparently has no plausible military value. Essentially she is going after a manganese complex to mimic the water reaction by the manganese complex in photosystem two. What she aims to do is to either make a complex that will aid the production of hydrogen, or to make a hydrogenating catalyst that only uses water rather than hydrogen."

  "Is that good?"

  "It's ambitious, but the approach is purely academic. If she succeeds she will be fairly well known, but the point is, it has no real relation to this problem. My initial guess would be, if she were responsible for this military advance, she would be leading a team to improve it."

  "Unless there is no obvious way to improve it," Lawton intervened.

  "That's true," Turner admitted. "So, as I said, we're no further ahead."

  "Ruth?"

  Ruth Telfar looked somewhat unhappy. "The score so far is we have put a number of agents at risk, and got nowhere. We sent in some special American operatives, and the defences around that shed were so good they never got through the first fence. Now they have been arrested, and, as I rather suspect you know, there have been serious protests from the Russian government."

  "Which suggests there is something in that shed worth –"

  "Or they knew what we were going to try," Lawton interjected.

  "So, now what?" the White House man muttered, not to anyone in particular.

  "If you want my advice," Lawton offered, "do nothing for the time being."

  "Reasons?"

  "We can't read the situation, so whatever we do, we're doing it blind. Meanwhile, the other side has been alerted that we are trying things, so they will be on high alert, irrespective of what the situation is. If nothing else, we have to cool things down."

  "And what about the NSA?"

  "Oh, we shall maintain surveillance but in my opinion, the Russians will know we're doing that, and I doubt we shall see anything critical, and from some of the other stuff, we shall have real problems interpreting it because if I were them, I would start sending some dummy messages around to get us to waste time."

  "The President is not going to want to hear that."

  "You can tell him what you like," Lawton said with a shrug. "I am merely telling you what I think he should be told."

  "I think you can also tell the President that bearing in mind how close the opposition has got to what we are doing, we have been extremely lucky not to have lost a number of agents. That luck can't hold, if we keep up such efforts based as much as anything on ignorance of what is there," Telfar added.

  "I see. OK, I want you to put on your thinking caps and see if you can come up with anything." The White House man was clearly not happy, but it was equally obvious nothing was going to change in the minds from those he had sought advice, so he gathered up his belongings, thanked them for attending, and started to close the meeting.

  "One minute," Lawton said. "Have we got any satellites that can detect radar signals?"

  "Why?"

  "Check out their exercises. See if they light each other up."

  The White House man stared at Lawton somewhat bemused.

  "If they do," Lawton continued, "they're not using this paint, which probably means it doesn't exist."

  "Or they are using non-painted fighters in the exercises, for which each side is practising flying against us, and we don't have it."

  "Oh. I hadn't thought of that," Lawton muttered.

  "On the other hand," the White House man beamed, "it's an excellent suggestion for the present, because it gives everyone something to do for a few weeks, which takes the pressure off me."

  With that, he grasped his things and broke out whistling as he walked out the door. It was not very melodious, but it signalled he was happier, at least for a while.

  "That," Lawton commented drily, "shows what's wrong with politics. He's happy he's got something to do, even though he knows it probably won't work."

  Chapter 24

  Goldfinch took a deep breath and entered the bar. This was not the part of town he wished to frequent, but there was little option. He could not help but notice that most of the men there turned to look at him, and he was only too well aware that his dress marked him as someone who did not belong. Also, it marked him as being wealthy enough to be worth having a piece of.

  Two rather large and clearly unfriendly men greeted him. "Come with us." The stares looked away. The starers tried to look inconspicuous. They might have liked a piece of Goldfinch, but they most definitely did not want to come to the attention of these two men's boss.

  There was no option, having got that far, but still, all this distasteful stuff would be worth it when he got the plans. One man led the way across to a doorway, which led to a large room. The door was opened, and Goldfinch was pushed in. There, seated, was the man who had the means to make anyone fear for his life, and with good cause.

  "Sit!" The command came in a low but firm voice. Goldfinch realised this was not going to be a friendly meeting.

  "Good of you to come, Irving." This was said slowly, but the facial expression suggested the real statement was, why did you?

  Goldfinch realised something was wrong. "So?"

  "So things did not go well," the crime boss said coldly. "Someone was waiting for the thief."

  "Who? Police?"

  "I have no idea. According to my thief, a hood was placed over his face, so he did not see."

  "So the document was stolen?"

  "That's the odd part. No, it was not. Whoever did this left the document in a drawer. My thief said whoever it was reckoned it was just rubbish, so –"

  "Then we can . . . Wait a minute. If the thief has a hood over his
head, how did he see what happened?"

  "Someone else came the following morning, and my thief saw him hand the document over to the two bankers. And as far as I'm concerned, that's the end of my involvement. This someone mentioned to my thief that these were plans for a weapon for the US Navy."

  "Yes, but –"

  "But nothing." The crime boss raised a finger and pointed it at Goldfinch. "You did not tell me this is an issue of national security. I don't need the fibbies all over me like a rash, so no, I'm not doing any more."

  "But –"

  "No buts. You gave me a hundred g as a down payment, and I guess since I didn't deliver, I'll keep that and let you go. Do not come back." With that he waved his hand in the general direction of the door. The two large men came over to Goldfinch, but he was quickly on his feet. He had to show them he would go away without argument.

  He noticed the stares as he walked back through the bar. This was not a good part of town. Nevertheless, he walked confidently, without any pushing from the escort. His one chance of getting away unharmed, he realised, was if there were doubt in their minds as to whether he was still in favour. Dumping on anyone useful to the man in the back room was as good a way as any to get beaten to within an inch of his life, or beyond.

  When he reached the front door, someone else was coming in. Goldfinch gave a polite, "Good evening," then he quickly slithered out behind the person before the other two toughs could follow. He walked quickly away, but he did glance back to see if there were to be pursuit. There was not. One of the toughs was standing at the bar door with a sardonic smile on his face. The tough gave a single wave of one hand, so Goldfinch returned the wave, then turned his back and continued walking. One of the few benefits of being in this district was that now he would be left alone. That wave from the tough had left enough doubt that he was protected, at least for now.

  That still left the problem of that prototype.

  * * *

  Goldfinch jumped a little as his office door was flung open and Middleton charged in. "I'm busy," Goldfinch spat. "Piss off, and do not ever charge in like that again without knocking."

  "Sorry, Boss," a chastened Middleton said, "but I need a decision from you right now."

  "And what is so urgent?"

  "That land we were trying to buy." Goldfinch's cold flat stare shook him. Middleton finally realised he could be on the verge of being fired. "I got calls from two of the owners. The competition fell through –"

  "What?" It was clear Goldfinch had heard. He just did not believe it.

  "Lamont and Ellison refused to honour their bids, and the address they gave was to a shelf company that seems to have disappeared. The bid was a fraud."

  "That doesn't make any sense," Goldfinch said, his frown now deepening. "Whatever else, those two know how finance works. They wouldn't . . ."

  "Well, they did," Middleton said firmly. "As bankers, they're finished. They'll have no credibility when –"

  "Stop right there! Have you done anything?" Goldfinch's eyes bored into Middleton.

  "Well, no, but I thought you'd want to have them taken apart and –"

  "That's so out of character," Goldfinch said, more directed at his desk than at Middleton. "What's the worst that could happen now?"

  "Worst? I dunno."

  "Suppose they did not do any better on those bids than you did?"

  "You mean, was there a third person there?"

  "That's exactly what I mean. Suppose you try blackening those two's names in the financial sector, and they are totally innocent. You know what happens next?"

  Middleton blanched. "I suppose they'd sue and . . ."

  "And they'd end up with enough millions to set them up as real businesses, and we'd be spat out of town. Graeme, never go down that road unless you're absolutely sure of all your facts."

  "I see what you mean. Anyway, here's the real problem. We can get those two blocks at a real discount, but they say I need to give an answer quickly, and I need to know now whether that snail protest has gone in."

  "I can retrieve that," Goldfinch said, "but enough people know about it that we can't bid. I've got two choices. The first is to contact the major and suggest we could get that land for them if they're still interested. It'll be a no-fee job for them."

  "No fee even?"

  "Yes, Graeme, because otherwise I have to explain how I knew about it. If I do it for no fee, I can say something about I've heard rumours up there, and nobody will worry too much about why I'm involved."

  "You think it's that bad?"

  "Graeme, if you try something a little shady, you have to be in and out cleanly and quickly. Try staying, and you'll find yourself fighting a tar baby."

  "And the second choice?" Middleton asked.

  "Walk away and do nothing." Goldfinch paused, then a slight smile crossed his face as he said harshly to Middleton, "What do you advise?"

  "Walk away," Middleton said quickly.

  "And why?"

  "You don't have to admit you had inside knowledge, and also, it covers you as well as anything can if the major hears about your snail protest."

  Goldfinch stared vacantly for a few moments, then he nodded. "Good thinking, Graeme. We walk away."

  "So I phone those land-owners and say, sorry, not interested?"

  "Yes, and at the same time try to find out what you can about who folded. I'm quite convinced it would not have been Lamont."

  "They may not be able to describe –"

  "Then ask them if you can go up and show them a photo of Lamont and one of Ellison, just in case a woman was there. Find out if they really were the buyers."

  "Sure, boss." Middleton turned to go, but Goldfinch called him back.

  "Since you barged in while I was trying to think a way out of the other mess, you might as well get involved in that."

  "Yes?"

  "By contract Seafarth has to build another demonstration torpedo." Goldfinch was unemotional as he stared into space.

  "And we need those two inventors?"

  "Either that or the plans of the last one."

  Middleton frowned, then said somewhat tentatively, "I thought you had an idea how to get those plans back?"

  Goldfinch realized that this time he was on thin ice. He had to divert attention. "I thought I knew where they were, and I thought I could get them from there, but, well, the two inventors must have realised I'd try to get them back, and, well, they recovered them."

  "So, what now?" Middleton knew better than to ask the obvious question, especially since he had a very good idea what the answer would be.

  "I want you to go around to the guys who made the last one and see if they made any copies, or if they have any parts of . . . well, anything connected."

  "And why do I do that?" When he saw the expression building on Goldfinch's face, he quickly added, "What I mean is, what do I tell them why I am doing this now?"

  "Yes, I see what you mean. Tell them it is a security matter. I am concerned that someone else is after the details, and I want to be in possession of all copies."

  "And if they say they haven't got any?"

  "Then we have a problem," Goldfinch said. "My guess is, that's what you'll find, but I have to try."

  "Yes, boss."

  Goldfinch sat back in his chair. This had not turned out well. The best option seemed to be to go back to the inventors under the terms of the original contract. Suppose they gave him the fingers? How closely would they have read that contract? Their problem was they were forbidden to compete with Goldfinch. They could argue that he had broken the contract, but they would not get very far with that because they had failed to give notice of termination, together with the required offer to allow him to rectify the cause within thirty days. So, if they walked, nobody got anything. That was not a very satisfactory ending, but there were worse endings possible.

  For the moment, he would sit back and see what fell out. No, wait, There was something he could do. The contract required clear pro
gress reports from the parties. He would file one, and see what happened.

  He would state that sufficient finance was being held to enable the next step to proceed, and he had the agreement of the engineering company, which he would obtain with a five million dollar advance. That meant he would have to throw in about ten million from Goldfinch Capital, but that might break the impasse. That would force those two to carry out their obligations, the first one of which would be to produce the technology. That did not relieve them of their obligation to find additional funding; it just meant they did not have to yet. Yes, basically he had made the mistake of getting the order of events wrong.

  * * *

  Middleton had a spot of luck. He recalled that one of the people had given him the name of the person who had signed a purchase agreement. The disgruntled owner had got back to him to inform him that the sale had fallen through. If the man had signed a purchase agreement, he had to leave his name. He phoned back.

  "So, you still want it?" There was greed in the voice.

  "As I said before, I needed three other properties," Middleton said, "and it occurred to me whoever made the offer to you might have done the same to the others."

  "So?"

  "Do you know who it was?"

  "It was a company that no longer exists," the man said.

  "What about the name on the sale document?"

  "Its sort of illegible." There was real despondency in the voice.

  "I see. Then I'm not sure I can go any further." No need to point out this has nothing to do with whether he will purchase.

  "I did take down a number plate," the man said. "I know. It's probably stolen or hired, but . . ."

  "Give it to me."

  This was more fortunate. At last, something to work on. Even better, with a little checking he found that the car was neither hired nor stolen. There was an owner, and he had an address. It might be time for one of his associates to photograph the owner of that car.

  That proved to be a little more troublesome, because owner seemed reluctant to use the car, but after a couple of days a photograph was handed to Middleton, who immediately took it to the person who still wanted to sell his land. Dennis was identified.