by Jack Bowie
Hawthorne turned to Wallace, threw a grimace, then returned to Braxton. “I’m afraid we have brought you here under somewhat false pretenses,” he continued. “I’m sure you have lots of questions, and I promise we will do our best to eventually answer all of them. But first I must insist that everything we discuss here be held absolutely secret. Not in the government sense, but private. You will tell no one. Is this acceptable?”
Part of Braxton wanted to pick up his laptop, flip these assholes the bird and storm out of the room. His heart was pounding like a steam engine. But he couldn’t decide whether he was more angry or inquisitive.
Well, he’d wasted this much of his day already, so what harm would a few more minutes do? Maybe he would actually learn something useful from this colossal waste of time.
“Agreed,” Braxton announced.
“Good. Professor Wallace,” Hawthorne nodded to his colleague, “has disabled the recording devices set up for this briefing. There will be no electronic record. It will be our missing eighteen minutes.”
Wallace closed his laptop, Nichols set his notepad aside and Hawthorne sat rigid in his chair. Whatever they were going to discuss, it must be important. At least to them.
Hawthorne again took the lead. His voice was deep and compelling. “I assume you know of my involvement in advanced energy research. What you may not know is that I am the current Chair of Jason. From your expression, I see you have heard about our group?”
“Well, a bit. I—”
“Yes, yes. You’ve read the Wikipedia article.” He accentuated the reply with a dismissive wave. “Let me provide you with a more comprehensive summary.” Hawthorne cleared his throat and clasped his hands on the table. It reminded Braxton of someone testifying for a Congressional committee. An activity in which Hawthorne probably had significant experience.
“Jason was formed in 1960 by the Department of Defense to provide independent, scientific consulting services to the military. At the time, the government did not employ scientists. And you can’t ask a government agency or defense contractor for an unbiased assessment of a program. There’s simply too much conflict of interest not to mention likely financial entanglements.
“To access these independent resources, it was necessary to reach out to the academic community. In deference to standard scholastic schedules, the studies were conducted in so-called ‘summer sessions’, usually at a secure location in La Jolla, California.
“The original studies were all top secret, typically involving nuclear fusion or missile defense verification topics. The first Jasons were all physicists and included renowned individuals such as Freeman Dyson, Charles Hard Townes, Murray Gell-Mann, Marvin Goldberger, Steven Weinberg, William Happer, and Henry Kendall. Most came from the Manhattan Project.
“Now, unlike some popular anecdotes, the word Jason is not an acronym for July, August, September, October and November. Supposedly a reference to Jason’s term of activity. Actually, the name Jason was coined by Mildred Goldberger, wife of Marvin Goldberger, and herself a Jason. She saw Jason’s purpose to be not dissimilar to that of the ancient Greek myth of Jason and the Argonauts. But while their objective was the Golden Fleece, Jason’s purpose is less concrete. Our Golden Fleece is nothing less than the truth, Mr. Braxton. Jasons believe there is truth in the universe and we endeavor to find it. There must be some organization that can produce this deliverable, although it does appear to be increasingly less valued in today’s world of sound bites, spins and social engineering.
“There have been roughly one-hundred Jasons over the past half-century. Many are Nobel, MacArthur, and Fields Medal winners. Jasons have proven themselves to be at the very apex of their fields of study and have provided invaluable assistance to the government.
“As you can imagine, Jason is a complex organization, with many challenges and constraints on its operations, both from our members and our clients. The individuals you see here are the most senior Jasons. We have known each other for decades and are all members of the Jason Steering Committee, the executive branch of Jason.”
Braxton sat back, nodding at all the appropriate times, and letting his blood pressure return to normal. There was nothing in Hawthorne’s lecture that hadn’t been in Chu’s morning report—she must have worked all night on it—but Hawthorne seemed to be enjoying himself so much, Braxton hated to interrupt.
“In the past few decades, Jason has expanded its portfolio, and its members, beyond nuclear energy to areas such as astronomy, genetics, bioterrorism, chemical weapons, and computer technology. In addition to our advisory engagements, we have also been instrumental in the development of key technologies for adaptive optics, phased array radars, nuclear test verification, and climate modeling. Many of these technologies are now unclassified and in routine use around the world.
“Along with these visible successes, we have also advised on projects of, how can I put it, questionable feasibility. Stupidities such as Star Wars and Brilliant Pebbles. Jason was a consistent voice in highlighting the scientific irrationality of these programs. Sometimes our recommendations were accepted, sometimes not. Such is the burden of an advisory board.
“In summary, we have only two imperatives: a commitment to our country and a commitment to Jason. We do, as they say, stand on the shoulders of giants. Over the years, Jason has made invaluable contributions to our country. We intend to see that these contributions continue.”
Hawthorne finally took a breath and Braxton grabbed the opportunity. “So why am I here, Professor?”
Hawthorne took a sip of water and turned to each of his colleagues before continuing. “Honestly, Mr. Braxton, you also have a unique history with the government. We Jasons are scientists and quite uncomfortable in the policy and political arenas. We find ourselves with a dilemma in which both science and politics collide. You, on the other hand, have significant contacts in many of our funding agencies and have experience in criminal investigations.
“You also have some competence in the sciences. In other words, you straddle the fence. It has always been critical that Jason stays on its side of the fence. We are advisors. We neither set nor implement policy. That is not our role.”
Braxton had managed to control his ire through Hawthorne’s lecture. But it was time to bring this waste of his time to an end. “It’s obvious you are not overly impressed by my technical abilities, Professor. So I fail to see how I could be of assistance to your group. Even if I was so inclined. Once more, why am I here?”
Hawthorne paused before continuing. “The problem, Mr. Braxton, is that one of us is a traitor. Jason secrets are being leaked to other governments. We need to identify this individual. And remove him. Or her. Without involving the government.”
* * *
Braxton’s jaw dropped. They want me to find a traitor?
“How can this be secret? Surely the other agencies would be aware of any leaks.”
“Fortunately they are not.” Wallace finally chose to enter the discussion. “At least at a macro level. Since so much of our work is classified, projects are very compartmentalized. DoD Jasons don’t know about our NSA projects; Homeland Jasons don’t know about our projects with the CIA. Very few Jasons know of all of our work. And the individual agencies even less so. As the most senior members of the Steering Committee, we are among those few that know all the activities.”
“And as a result,” added Hawthorne, “we are the only ones who have recognized the leaks.”
“Okay, so inter-communication is imperfect. But how do you know the technology is being leaked?” Braxton could feel the draw of the puzzle despite his personal opinion of Hawthorne. “Surely our enemies aren’t disclosing the stolen material.”
“An excellent question, Mr. Braxton,” Nichols replied. “Of course there aren’t public disclosures. But as scientists, we frequent many conferences and have many contacts with colleagues and peers all over the world. A presentation here, a rumor there, all these have led to our conclusion.
Plus, we sometimes see the aftereffects of our inventions in the news media. It is all quite distressing.”
“Okay. Let’s say I buy this conclusion. Why not just go to your sponsors and tell them? Certainly the FBI or the intelligence agencies would want to know they’ve been compromised.”
There was silence. Then Wallace and Nichols both turned to Hawthorne. “Jason is at a critical juncture in its history, Mr. Braxton,” he said. “We have always had a, shall we say, complex, relationship with our funders. Sixty years ago, it was easier. We were all physicists, and the government agencies simply did not have the expertise to understand the issues of nuclear fission and fusion. Over the years, our charter has broadened into many additional areas of science, while the internal knowledge of our sponsors has grown. We cease to be as unique as we once were. We still believe our independence provides great value to the country, but others are not so sure. The current rejection of nuclear verification and climate change are obvious examples.
“In addition, you know very well the debilitating dissonance in the government today. There are those who believe Jason is a throwback, an unnecessary roadblock that impedes the efficiency of the government. Think of us as the First Amendment for science. Without the checks provided by Jason, it would be quite easy to slide down a slippery slope of anti-science and unilateralism. A Jason betrayal could be used to condemn the entire program and terminate Jason forever. We cannot let this happen.”
Hawthorne paused, and, for the first time, pulled his hands from the table and began rubbing them together.
“So you want me to investigate the most brilliant scientists in the country, and high-level military personnel, without their knowledge, to determine who might be a traitor.”
“Yes. That summarizes it quite well,” Hawthorne said with a smile. “Also, the investigation must be confidential. Only those directly involved can be aware of its existence. That includes your support staff. Finally, I will personally pay your expenses, according to your GSA schedule. Which is quite inflated if I may say so.”
Braxton’s face flushed. “Why on earth would I do this?”
Hawthorne’s smug smile disappeared. “For the same reason we Jasons do what we do. For the good of our country. Your efforts with the Saracen Worm, domestic terrorism and genomic disclosures have not gone unnoticed. You have conducted complex investigations, often under significant political interference, that resulted in quite satisfactory results. I came to you thinking your history suggested you would see this as a call-to-duty. I hope I am correct in this assessment.”
“I’d like to think about it, if I may.”
“Of course. Take all the time you would like. Until you leave this briefing. After that, we will have to consider alternative approaches.”
The three men returned to their previous preoccupation: Nichols doodling, Wallace typing on his laptop, and Hawthorne tapping his pencil on the table.
For his part, Braxton just sat, motionless, hoping for some divine intervention to tell him how to proceed. He had always been drawn to puzzles of any kind. It was another legacy from his father. It was also a trait that had gotten him into mortal danger more than once.
Can I really trust Jason?
But if secrets were being stolen, something had to be done. And the Jasons believed he could help. Well, then, how could he refuse?
“I accept.”
The room was instantly silent.
“Good,” Hawthorne finally proclaimed. “Now let’s discuss some approaches we have developed.”
Chapter 5
Cerberus Consulting, Tysons Corner, VA
Wednesday, 10:45 a.m.
Braxton had driven back to his office after the meeting at McLean. It had been a very unsettling morning. His “briefing” had gone completely sideways, and the request from Jason had been entirely unexpected. He particularly wasn’t pleased with the confidentiality constraints Hawthorne had placed on the engagement. Braxton had a hard time keeping anything from Chu. She was the closest thing to family he had in D.C. Could he really keep the details of the assignment from her?
Logically, Braxton knew he should have refused. The job was light-years away from his comfort zone. It wasn’t like he hadn’t worked in gray areas before, most all of his adventures with the CIA had fallen into that category, but those had been driven by events out of his control. This one was of his choice.
Hawthorne’s reasons for approaching Braxton sounded odd, but he of all people understood the danger of showing weakness to the government. Many of his previous difficulties had come after asking Washington for help. Maybe that was why he had accepted the challenge; as some kind of payback. Now he just had to deliver.
Chu was sitting at her desk, rifling through a stack of procurement forms, when he stepped into the suite.
“Good morning, Adam. How was the meeting with MITRE?” Chu’s boundless upbeat attitude brought a brightness to the office that Braxton could never extinguish. He didn’t know what he would do without her.
“It went okay.” He shrugged his shoulders, hoping it looked authentic. “Nothing immediate. Not as positive as we had hoped. Maybe something in the future. But thanks for the background. It was right on.”
“Sorry.” She handed him a yellow slip of paper. “It’s been pretty quiet here. Trevor Lambkin called and would like you to call him back.” Lambkin managed all of Cerberus’ IT systems. Odd for him to call. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“Nope. Just for you to give him a call.”
Braxton stuffed the paper into his jacket pocket. “Okay. Sydney around?”
“In the conference room. We do need to get her a real office soon.” Braxton could feel the point of the verbal knife.
It was not the first time Chu had mentioned this bit of corporate oversight. Sydney Walker was Cerberus’ newest employee. As his business had grown, Braxton had struggled with whether to bring an associate on board to help cover the load. He always worried about his ability to delegate and manage a new employee. And getting his company in over its head.
The situation had changed dramatically when he had been captured by terrorists in Switzerland. Without anyone else to keep the business going, Chu had taken the totally uncharacteristic step of hiring Walker, an investigator they both knew. Without any additional space in their small suite, Chu had set Walker up in a shared conference room adjacent to the suite.
“Understood, Karen. Call the building management company. Maybe they’ve got some adjacent space available. Something close by.”
“Thanks, Adam. I’m sure Sydney would appreciate it.”
Braxton stepped into his office then stuck his head back out. It was time to share the challenge.
“I’ll call Lambkin now. Can you call Sam and see if he’s available this afternoon? Sydney too. I’d like to get together after lunch.”
“Will do. I’ll see what I can set up.”
“Thanks.”
Braxton dropped his backpack on a chair and sat down at his desk. Drops of the morning’s rain spotted his window, part of a weather front that was supposed to park over the region for days.
He grabbed his phone and dialed Lambkin’s private cell number.
“Lambkin.”
“Hi, Trevor. It’s Adam Braxton.”
“Lieutenant Braxton. Good to finally hear from you. What’s it been? Six months?”
Braxton had known Trevor Lambkin for over fifteen years. They had first met in the Army’s Signals School. Braxton had completed his ROTC training, graduated from Boston College and was eventually placed into Signals. Captain Lambkin had been his first instructor. Lambkin had also attended BC, and the two had forged a friendship that had lasted long after Braxton’s discharge.
While he was living in Boston, Braxton had heard that Lambkin had left the Army and started his own IT consulting company, Silicon Fortress, in D.C. Then when he moved to D.C. and started Cerberus, he had contacted his old friend and gotten a very sweet deal on management of Cerber
us’ web and business IT assets. He owed Lambkin a lot.
“Sorry, Trevor. Life’s been a little hectic the past few months. You call to say hello?”
“So I heard.” Lambkin probably had heard. While his company was known for its high-profile commercial accounts, Braxton knew he also had long-standing contracts with the black agencies. Silicon Fortress was perhaps the most knowledgeable resource on Internet threats outside of the NSA. “Actually, this is business. Your site has been getting quite a bit of new traffic over the past week.”
“That’s good, right? Potential clients checking us out.”
Braxton heard a suspicious silence on the line. “Unfortunately not. The activity has been on your business site. Heavy intrusion attempts. Haven’t seen anything like it before.”
“Multiple attackers or just one? Foreign?”
“Probably foreign, although it’s hard to tell definitively, of course. Multiple intrusion techniques, but if I were a betting man, I’d say one actor trying their best to impersonate multiple attackers. You into something new, Adam?”
“I can’t think of anything that would be of value to an outsider. Anything more you can tell me?”
“Not without some serious snooping. You want me to look deeper?”
Braxton knew Lambkin’s question translated to spending more money. Silicon Fortress hired only the best Computer Science graduates. They didn’t come cheap these days.
“Please. Give a try. Just keep it reasonable. Okay, Trevor?” He tried to lighten his voice but doubted it was very believable.
“Understood, Adam. We’ll do some analysis and get back to you with the results in a few days.”
“Thanks, Trevor. Be safe.”
Braxton hung up the phone and slid back in his chair.
This is no big deal. Companies get hacked all the time. Nothing I need to worry about.
It was Jason that deserved his full attention.
* * *
Braxton finished his lunch at one-thirty, just in time for the meeting Chu had arranged. He tossed the food wrappers in his wastebasket and headed out to the reception area.