Razing Beijing

by Sidney Elston

“We’re having our share of problems,” Perry acknowledged. He repeated his rejoinder that the senator should expect tonight’s demonstration to represent a work-in-progress.

  “It’s just that I’m concerned about...we’ve discussed my concern for the disruption to the nation’s trucking and air freight sectors. I appreciate the environmental arguments. These are real working people whose jobs will be affected by this.”

  Stuart thought the reasonable concern was fundamentally at odds with developing the system to begin with.

  Perry might’ve sensed this and was quick to agree with the senator. “However, we will have time to prepare. We’re talking quite a few years down the road.”

  “How many years?”

  “Stu, what would you say? Ten? Fifteen?”

  “I would say many years,” Stuart replied. “Maybe.”

  “Fifteen years,” Perry said, blinking his eyes and turning from Stuart. “That’s time enough to plan the phase-in of a well regulated system, with plenty of...safety nets. I think by then CLI might even be in a position to help sponsor a government job skills training program, you know, for dislocated industry. ‘Americans for Energy Independent Families Act’ has kind of a solid ring to it.”

  Senator Milner cocked an eyebrow and grunted his interest.

  Stuart could barely conceal his surprise. In all their discussions on the subject, Perry had always touted the satellite phase as a private, free enterprise venture. To hint at conceding to regulatory intervention, in exchange for near-term financial consideration, was something that no real business leader in his right mind should do. Stuart wondered how the senator could not but interpret the act of desperation for what it was.

  The observation deck overlooking the well was crammed with engineers and technicians discussing preparations; others arrived and departed with brisk urgency. Stuart picked Thackeray out of the crowd standing near the control console, caught his eye, and Thackeray flashed him a thumbs-up.

  Perry led his charges to the spot held in reserve which provided them a good view while not interfering with the activity. The two visitors quickly became bored with the sophisticated console. They proceeded to the downward-slanted observation window and gazed into the pit of the well, where they could see dozens of technicians at work. After a minute, they cranked their necks up at the two huge lasers suspended within the maze of aluminum scaffolding high over their heads. To even the casual observer, it was an awe-inspiring sight.

  Stuart, Perry, and the DOE official patiently awaited the volley of questions that was certain to follow. Instead, the pair chose to point and consult privately over some apparently disconcerting discovery. They appeared puzzled, edgy, overwhelmed.

  Perry looked at Stuart with concern in his eyes. Stuart stifled a laugh.

  Sensing there was nothing more that he could contribute, Stuart looked around for a convenient way out—his eyes landed on Thackeray. He waved him over and Thackeray shouldered his way toward them.

  Stuart introduced Thackeray to the senator. “Dr. Thackeray is our chief technology officer. Thack, how long...?”

  Thackeray thrust his chin at the timer on the far wall of the well. “We start the four minute count-down in about five minutes. For the uninitiated, that’s about nine minutes.”

  Stuart said to the senator, “You can see Dr. Thackeray has a gift for shedding simplicity on the most complicated technical issues. You should feel free to pepper him with questions. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

  Thackeray arched his eyebrows and jabbed his thumb toward the flurry of activity at the control console. Perry cast him a curious glance as he proceeded to slip away for the third time that afternoon. Outside the observation deck, Stuart hurried to his office and closed the door.

  Marlene Schwegman’s voice came over the phone. “How may I help you?”

  “Marlene, Bob Stuart calling. I guess you’ve heard the news that the Canadians have given up hope of finding Paul.”

  “Yes, only this morning. How upsetting to think that young man was here just a few weeks ago, smiling and happy in his job.”

  “It truly is. Marlene, uh, this is going to sound indelicate. A sticky little problem regarding Paul’s estate has been brought to my attention by, well, one of his offspring.”

  Marlene gasped. “You mean, but he wasn’t...he never...oh my word.”

  Stuart lowered his voice. “I’m afraid so. For the time being, we should keep it a secret. This young woman, I think she’s only nineteen, apparently she knew Paul and I were acquainted. She approached me hoping that Paul over the years might have acknowledged his having a daughter. This poor girl doesn’t know who else to turn to. It’s really sad. She looks just like her father.”

  More gasps and mutterings.

  “I don’t recall his ever mentioning a child, and my hunch is he never drew up any sort of a will. I really don’t have any idea how to approach something like this. My lawyer suggested that we start with his personnel file.”

  “Well...”

  “Would you mind checking to see if he listed any dependents?”

  “But you’re no longer a Thanatech employee. We’re really not allowed to discuss employee records. I could lose my job.”

  “I hired the guy. If you take a look, you’ll find my signature on the bottom of the file.”

  “Oh...”

  “You can say you were only trying to help a wronged orphan. I’m sure Paul isn’t going to complain.”

  “Next time you’re in town, it’s going to cost you dinner.”

  “Deal. At your favorite place.”

  The phone went down with a clunk. In the background he heard the office door shut, the sound of a filing cabinet slide open. A few minutes later her voice was back on the line in a harsh whisper. “Paul has the number zero typed in the box labeled ‘children.’ So, he was a dead-beat dad. That scoundrel.”

  “Hard to believe. Damn. I guess I’ll have to start somewhere else—oh. There was something else. Did you know Paul to drink?”

  “Alcohol? Mmm, no. Come to think of it, I don’t believe he ever drank at all.”

  “That’s what I remember. Had you heard Paul might have been drinking when his boat flipped over?”

  “Yes.”

  “See, that makes me wonder if the Canadians haven’t made some sort of mistake.”

  “There isn’t anything in his medical records that might suggest some peculiar malady was involved.”

  It was possible that the guy simply decided to get drunk and put an end to it all, something Stuart seriously doubted. “Mum’s the word on the paternity suit. It might turn out to be fraudulent. We wouldn’t want to smear an innocent man’s name.”

  “Remember dinner,” Marlene responded hopefully.

  Stuart smiled. “Better not stand me up.”

  Minutes later and still staring at the phone, Stuart had completely forgotten about racing down the hall for the senatorial demo. When the phone rang again it was Perry to harangue him over missing the test, which as everyone had expected was another halfway success.

  56

  VAUGHAN KEILIG and Steve Reedy followed Emily’s gaze to find Stuart standing in the doorway to her office, hand raised and ready to knock. They gathered their papers from the surface of Emily’s desk and departed with cordial goodbyes.

  Stuart sat beside her desk with lingering uncertainty in his eyes. “I’m sure you heard about yesterday’s test.”

  “Yes, more of the same. We were just going over that.”

  “So how’s Blue Team treating you?” he asked, referring to her departed visitors.

  “As if I actually know what I’m talking about.” Emily smiled. “They seem really enthused about being involved in something that might really clean up the environment. Of course, it’s always fun working with such intelligent people.” Emily frowned. “Someone told me Vaughan Keilig was only twenty-seven when CERN put him in charge of particle physics research.”

  “Who cares about Keilig
. How do you like your new job?”

  “I really like it.”

  “You’re sure?” Stuart studied her.

  “It’s just...I’ve had a lot of catching up to do. This place is so much different than what I’d gotten used to at Thanatech. Working here sort of reminds me of being back at university.”

  Stuart’s uttered grunt was vaguely disapproving. He averted his eyes to her desk—there was something weighing on his mind. She realized after a moment that he was watching her nervously toy with the silver bracelet on her wrist.

  Emily folded her hands. “Is everything all right with you?”

  “I meant to stop by the other day. They said you were out, and then I got caught up preparing for the senator’s visit. Actually, we might have a problem.”

  Emily explored his face with her eyes.

  “I was interrogated again by the FBI.”

  “When?”

  “Day before last.” Stuart explained the FBI’s request that he help them evaluate their latest evidence in the Thompson murder investigation. “I was surprised to learn that they’re suspicious of Paul Devinn. And they seem to have expanded their investigation beyond the Thompson murder.”

  Emily remembered ‘their latest evidence’ ploy was what the FBI had used in luring her. “Why Paul Devinn?”

  “I’m not sure. The problem is that Devinn’s missing and presumed dead.”

  She felt her eyes welling with tears. “He’s dead? Another Thanatech person is dead?”

  “Looks that way. They asked a lot of questions about my past affiliations with him. If I’m not already a suspect, I get the feeling...are you okay?”

  Emily took a deep breath. “They can’t really believe you had anything to do with Sean’s murder, can they?”

  Stuart looked at her as if struggling with the dilemma of correcting somebody who’d missed the intent of his words. “What I think the FBI are actually investigating now is the cause of the Mojave plane crash. Whether we like it or not, the authorities are involved. What we need to consider is, if and when the saboteurs discover this, will they conclude that you tipped off the FBI? Would they then take action against your parents?”

  Emily felt suddenly small and selfish. Stuart sought to protect her parents—he had no idea they were beyond protection, in their separate ways. For all his trouble, now he stood to pay a personal price. And how could the CIA not have given the FBI her explanation for the crash? She leaned her elbows on the desk with her face in her hands.

  Stuart asked softly, “Have your parents been harmed?”

  Emily wiped away her tears with the inside of her wrist. She whispered, “I believe my mother is already dead.”

  Stuart became very still. “I’m sorry. Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  “Then, I certainly hope not. Listen, sooner or later the authorities have to be informed of the facts. It may be time.”

  “I’ve already told them. That’s where I was a couple days ago. And that’s what I don’t understand.”

  Stuart rose from the chair and gently closed the door to her office. Returning to his chair, he appeared totally confused.

  Where do I begin? Emily steadied her hands. “Something I have not discussed with you was that the best available medical treatment for my mother’s cancer was here, in the United States.” Overcoming reluctance, she explained her plan to illegally smuggle her parents into the country, there being no way she could simply allow her mother to die with the means for a cure within her grasp. Stuart listened patiently to the saga of her parents’ capture while they were attempting defection. Finally, she told Stuart about her desperate plea to the CIA that they right their incompetence by somehow securing her parents’ release.

  When she was finished, Stuart’s eyes appeared sympathetic. “Sounds like nobody really knows where your mother...I’m not sure what to make of your father’s imprisonment, although I guess I assumed all along they were both being detained somewhere.”

  “I should never have let you get tangled up in this.” However hopeful she remained, it was impossible not to fear the worst—that her mother was somewhere alone and afraid, barely clinging to life, or had already died that way.

  “You shouldn’t feel ashamed about the smuggling ordeal. Is that why you didn’t tell me you’d been to the CIA?”

  “The CIA instructed me not to say anything.”

  Stuart looked at her. “They specifically singled me out as someone not to tell?”

  “They seemed more interested to know why I had followed you to work here at CLI. At the time I was too upset to question their concern...I’m sure they think I’m a bitch. This FBI attack on you is just a misunderstanding.”

  Stuart smiled. “They didn’t attack me. They only asked me some questions.”

  “I don’t care. Obviously the stupid CIA hasn’t given the FBI my explanation for the sabotage.”

  “I’m not sure they would necessarily tell the FBI anything. Let’s not confuse the issues. We really can’t be certain Thompson’s murder had anything to do with the crash. You presented the CIA with evidence suggesting the crash was the result of sabotage. By the same token, I’m not aware of any evidence that necessarily absolves me of being the saboteur.”

  “That’s pure nonsense! If it weren’t for you, we would never have known it was sabotage.” Emily felt a spark of optimism. “I’ll just explain to the FBI, like I did at the CIA, what happened at Thanatech. Then you will be absolved.”

  “I’m not sure that you should, at least not yet. The interesting thing to come out of this is Devinn. I hadn’t a clue of some of the things they told me, so I can begin to understand their interest in him. Some of it doesn’t add up, which I fear won’t matter to them so long as they’re convinced the guy’s at the bottom of a lake.” Stuart narrowed his eyes. “I’ve begun a little digging of my own into Paul Devinn’s disappearance.”

  “Then, I’m going to help you.”

  Stuart eyed her. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Are you busy?”

  A smile parted her lips. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Actually, I promised to take my daughter for a sail. Would you like to come along?”

  * * *

  STUART HAD ROUNDED OUT the crew aboard Mystic, his forty-foot sloop, to an even four by inviting Ashley’s godmother, Joanne Lewis. Not only would he spend the afternoon fulfilling a promise to his daughter, he would also begin his effort to piece together the untidy leads of a conspiracy.

  As he watched her being lectured by Ashley, Stuart wondered whether Emily might regret having admitted to this being her first time ever aboard a sailboat. Shocked by Emily’s admission, Stuart’s daughter had taken upon herself the burden of familiarizing Emily with every conceivable sailing task she could think of, from grinding and tailing to trimming the sails.

  The afternoon’s weather had remained ideal, blustery and bright, but the twilight sky turned overcast with cumulous clouds swollen by rain. Stuart surveyed the surface chop kicked up by the increasing breeze; the Potomac River estuary to the Chesapeake could quickly become rough. As he was sailing with novices, he reached down and started the sailboat’s engine. Time to head for the channel to Nomini Bay.

  Stuart watched from the helm as Ashley joined Emily Chang forward of the cockpit to impart her final lesson of the day, furling the sails. Emily had chosen to wear practical clothing, a light-blue cowl-neck sweater and smartly fitting jeans, tennis sneakers, her silky black hair gathered in a pony tail out through the back of a Baltimore Oriole’s baseball cap. Joanne Lewis had arrived at the dock wearing the sort of droopy cotton sweater in fashion these days, no doubt selected to highlight her snug white shorts. Whenever they tacked the sailboat, Ashley tailed the sheet while Joanne obligingly bent over to grind the winch. At such times it was all Stuart could do to train his eye on the compass, or crane his neck to gaze at the windex atop the mast, so as not to have Emily see him leer at Joanne. Upon trimming the sail Lewis would then park herself
on the leeward bench with her legs outstretched, giving him that satisfied look to convey her approval of the fact he’d been unable to keep his eyes off her. As the afternoon progressed, her glances between him and Emily turning gradually suspicious, Stuart was beginning to worry the outing had not been so good an idea.

  With the sails safely secured—so, too, the crew’s long female hair by all manner of ties, rubber bands, and hats—Joanne sat back against the cabin with her arms snugly around Ashley. All three of Stuart’s passengers gazed out over the bay. Soon his daughter’s eyelids became droopy, and she drifted to sleep.

  Lewis unleashed a glance at Emily, and then shifted her eyes back to Stuart. “Perry and I think dinner with the senator went well the other night. A few more days schmoozing the DOE boys might actually produce a re-draft of the contract. The terms seem to be moving more favorably for the company.”

  Stuart eased over the helm as they rounded a buoy. “You weren’t there, but earlier in the afternoon, Perry suggested to Milner that future control of the industry, if ever there is one, should be subordinated to a new shipping branch of the U.S. Post Office or some damn thing.”

  “And what did Milner say to that?”

  “He looked like a Doberman salivating over a slab of meat.” Lewis appraised him scornfully, and Stuart realized he’d just reduced to mere bribery the entire complex of mysterious political machinations over which she performed her lobbyist magic. “On the other hand, Perry’s only wasting his breath without your involvement. I’m sure he knows how much he really needs you up there.” He looked at the compass to check their heading until, from the corner of his eye, he saw Joanne direct her intensity elsewhere.

  “CLI is certainly in no position to bargain,” she said. “And what’s wrong with a government role? You don’t seem to mind when they’re handing you money.”

  When they’re handing me back my money, he wanted to say. Stuart knew how that argument would end, Joanne condescendingly professorial, he outdone by style over substance. Lawyers, he thought, must drive each other friggin’ nuts.

  Stuart slid back the sleeve of his sweater; almost 7:00 P.M. Under power, the sailboat glided past the Nomini light house to starboard, its silhouette bleak against a faint gray sky. His eyes eventually found their way to Emily’s. She returned his smile and brushed strands of hair from her face.