XXIV
Paul Haas was a tall, rangy man of fifty-two. Abbott to Ortiz’s Costello. He was dean of the Mechanical Engineering Department at Stanford. He and Hector Ortiz had known each other for thirty years.
Like Ortiz, he had a wry sense of humor, a presence that came from absolute confidence in himself, and a total absence of any sense of status or hierarchy, with regard to himself or anyone else.
Haas, his wife and oldest daughter had just returned from vacationing in Chile. On the afternoon of January 10, Ortiz walked into Haas’ office.
“Well, Paul, how was Chile? Did you get to enjoy any of the Christmas and New Year’s festivities?”
“Hector, good to see you,” Haas’ face lit up. “It was just great, and yes, we spent Christmas with Antonio Hernandez and his family in La Paz—had a wonderful time. We went back to Iquique over New Year’s. The hotel bar had a New Year’s Eve party for the American guests, and it was plenty, as far as we were concerned. I caught a marlin—no record, but he gave me all the fight I ever want to experience. Almost three hours. I’m still sore all over from it.
“We took a camera safari into the mountains last week. I can’t wait to show you some of the slides I took. The views are breathtaking. We looked at some twelfth-century middens, and a couple of mummies, circa 500 A.D. I just enjoyed the scenery. I love the tropics. I swear I lived in Mexico or South America in a former life. How have things been with you?”
“Same old, same old. I wanted to talk a bit. Care to take the air?”
“How about the cafeteria, instead? This time of day there’s hardly anyone there. We can find a secluded corner. This fifty-degree weather is rough on my old bones, especially when I was in eighty-degree temperatures just two days ago.”
“Fine with me.”
The two men walked down the hall, talking campus trivia as they went, and took the elevator down to the first-floor cafeteria. In a few minutes they were seated at a table near a plate-glass window, with steaming cups of coffee before them.
“Is everything ready?” asked Ortiz, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Everything is set,” responded Haas. “I rented an old church. It will sleep about fifty people, and we can set up a field kitchen in an army tent next to it. We’ve got plenty of those big, forty-foot tents. I think we could bivouac about three hundred, if we had to. The antennas and other satellite comm equipment is on its way there now. I left two people there to supervise the Chilean contractor who’s going to install the systems. A systems specialist from La Plata, Buenos Aires, and Tony Madragal, my associate professor.
“I also want to set up a dispensary, Hector. We can inoculate a thousand kids from the surrounding villages while we’re there. I promised the local jefe that we would throw a little business his way, too. He runs the local liquor store in Aqua Dulce, the nearest town to the dig.”
“What is the site like?”
“The main site is nothing remarkable, but decent. There was a sixteenth-century Spanish garrison there, with a churchyard cemetery and lots of foundation remains. I found a second site that I think is a pre-Columbian tomb. It looks really good—a wall of cut stone, exposed by the erosion of an embankment, beside an old dirt road that winds through the hills. We can make a small detour in the road to move traffic away from our excavation. Not much in the way of traffic anyway—just farmers.
“Between the two sites and a dispensary operation, we can spread out several dozen folks and keep them busy for three or four months. Hell, we might even find something.”
“Good! Good!” said Ortiz. He sat silent for a moment, looking out the cafeteria window at students passing through the outer arcade.
“What’s up?” asked Haas, sensing that something was troubling him.
“Well, nothing much. I just wanted to fill you in on a couple of developments. We have a wannabe recruit. Guy named Townsend. Showed up at Christmas. He’s a friend of Eddie’s, a former C.I.A. agent that claims to be out in the cold. It’s official too, for what that’s worth. He’s wanted for murder.
“He claims it’s a setup, that he refused to whack a woman newscaster—she’s with him incidentally—and his section chief decided that he knew too much to live.
“I had Pete Yarborough, in Chicago, check her out. Her real name is Beverly Watkins. She was fired back in August or September. Her husband and two cops were found shot to death in the foyer of her house, and she’s wanted in connection with it.
“Townsend claims it was for airing an interview live that blasted the federal government. It was just a local show, and ordinarily, nothing would have come of it, but it was picked up by the wire services and broadcast worldwide. The lunatic in charge of Townsend’s section decided to teach all errant newscasters a lesson by making an example of her.
“Most of the story checks out. Anyway, Townsend wants to join up.”
“Think he’s on the level?”
“Eddie trusts him, but suggests discretion. Even old friends can turn on you if they think it’s in the holy name of national security. I’ve turned him over to Ted Wallace for a while. He’ll keep him busy while we consider things. It’s possible that he could be of use to us.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. He claims that he can infiltrate the American and European undergrounds, and eliminate some of the hidden players. He wants help in identifying them—research help.”
“Hell, go for it, Hector. What have you got to lose? You don’t have to involve him in anything else, or let him know anything else. Just give him a few computers and two or three grad students, and see what he comes up with. We need that data, too.”
“He also wants to track down the ‘makers of the weapon.’ How do you feel about that? And what if I give him the help, and it’s an entrapment scheme. He could accuse me of treason for helping him, and not reporting him to the government.”
“I’m beginning to understand your dilemma. What are you going to do?”
“I did give him the computers and student helpers, just as you suggested, but I made it explicit that I wasn’t helping him in any antigovernment scheme. I offered to humor him, more or less, that’s all.
“I’m going to let Ted distract him for a few days. We’ll give him the computers and the help, but then . . .” he shrugged. “I don’t know. It would be a shame to waste him, or his help, if he’s genuine. We can’t risk everything on it, though. I’ve been trying to think of some way we can authenticate him. Is there a way we can influence him into some kind of test situation without appearing to do so? We don’t want him to know that we are organized, or that we have any particular viewpoint, or that we are active in any way whatsoever.”
Haas idly studied his half-full coffee cup for a moment before responding, “Let me think on it a day or two. Maybe Eddie would have some ideas. Have you thought to ask him? After all, he and this Townsend are a lot more familiar with sneaky tricks than you or I.”
“No. I hadn’t thought of that. It’s a good idea. I’ll drive down and see him tonight.”
“Have you heard from Leland lately?” asked Haas, changing the subject.
“No. Not for about a week, now. He’s been busy reconfiguring the control frequencies. He’s being very careful. It’s almost comical,” Ortiz laughed. “He still loves us, but he doesn’t trust us any farther than he can spit. Can’t say I blame him, really.”
Haas smiled, then frowned. “No one could usurp control anyway, could they? Even if they knew the operating frequencies? How could they, without knowing the pass codes?”
“I don’t know. I just know that Leland thinks it must be done, so it’s going to be done. You know him as well as I do.”
Ortiz changed the subject. “Ted just got back from Alabama a few days ago. He was fortunate enough to be one of two contract consultants hired by Stickles group to do an assessment on the weapon.”
“They don’t have a clue, do they?” Haas laughed gleefully.
“Surprisingly, an
d maybe unfortunately, they do. Ever hear of a guy named Able Johnson? He’s a professor at Georgia Tech.”
“As a matter of fact,” Haas said, looking concerned, “I know him slightly. We met at an OTEC energy-physics seminar at the U. of Hawaii a few years ago. Ate and drank together a couple of nights, along with a few others. Seemed like a sharp guy, kind of introverted and thoughtful—not a party animal. We sat alone in the hotel lobby, late one night, and talked shop into the wee hours. I liked him.”
“Did any of that talk concern molecular resonances, or anything related?”
“I’m not sure,” said Haas. “God, I hadn’t realized how long it’s been. It’s twenty-five years or more. Let me see, 1979 I think. I was into transient thermodynamic phenomena at the time—Stirling Cycle engines and thermoacoustics. We were investigating a variety of heat engines as candidates to power orbital weapons platforms, as a matter of fact.
“Joe Beatty and I went down together; he was doing shock-tube research at Livermore then, remember? I really don’t think we discussed resonance, but who knows? I take it that Johnson is speculating that resonance is involved?”
“Damn near has it all worked out, according to Ted,” said Ortiz. “He was the other consultant. Ted discreetly pumped him for as much detail as he could get, and he agrees with your assessment of him—he’s sharp.”
“So Stickles bunch knows, then. What can they do with it?”
“I’m not sure. I told Leland about it. He didn’t comment much, just asked questions. I don’t see that it furthers their cause much at present. Given three or four years, they could have a similar weapon system.”
“Who would they use it against? They are a lot more visible than we are. We could prevent them from ever putting it up.”
“All true warriors are optimists, Paul. They really can’t believe they’ll ever lose, so they keep coming back, no matter what. They unconsciously believe that they will somehow overcome any obstacles. They have to keep trying, anyway. It’s what makes life interesting for that personality type. War, business and sports—in-your-face competition—that’s the way some people are made.
“And we scientists are just as bad in our own way. If we didn’t lust so single-mindedly after nature’s secrets, without regard for the uses that our discoveries are put to, the world wouldn’t be in this fix.”
“I’ve heard that argument before,” said Haas, “and I don’t buy it. Pick any time in history, and they were just as bad before the next technological advance came as they were afterward. They misuse whatever technology is at hand; it makes no difference what it is. When the technology was swords and armor, the rich guys had the swords and armor, and they used it to subjugate the weak and the poor.”
“Well, maybe you’re right, said Ortiz.
“Of course I’m right,” grinned Haas. They both laughed.
“Is Leland okay?” asked Haas, sobering. “He seemed really down last month. I’m worried about him. I tried to get him to take a few days and go with us to Chile, but he wouldn’t. He’s under a lot of strain.”
“I know. I feel sorry for him. He has suffered a great deal over all of this. I just can’t bring myself to think of him as a heartless killer—knowing him as I do. He would have chosen another way, if it were possible. Now that it’s done, it’s like a dream. All those millions hurt. He broke down and cried, afterward. Begged my forgiveness. I felt ashamed. We didn’t intend it to be that way, but in retrospect, we used Leland. He believes humanity is worth fighting for. I’m not sure I do, anymore. Maybe, deep down, we all knew he was idealistic enough to carry through with it, when we didn’t have the guts. Like sending an impressionable, naive boy to lead the way into hostile country.”
“Leland’s not a boy, Hector, as much as you like to think of him that way. He’s always been a realist. He’s as human as anybody when it comes to needing approval and support, but he’s always said that either something is real or it isn’t. If an experiment doesn’t turn out the way you hoped, it does no good to try to rationalize the results and defend your theory. You accept the result and you do what you have to do, even if it means dumping ideas you’ve clung to for years. We couldn’t go through with it and he knew it, so he did what he had to do.”
“It still doesn’t absolve us. We still used him.”
“Had to be, though.” Haas wagged his head regretfully. “Had to be. I couldn’t have done it; I know that now. Neither could you.”
“I know,” Ortiz sighed. “I just wish that we could find a way to exorcise the greed and perversity out of humankind altogether, while we’re about this. It would make the whole, bloody business worthwhile, if we could just get rid of the megalomania that lusts for domination of others, once and for all. That would make it worth all the lives.”
“You’re talking about reinventing man,” said Haas. “Never happen. The best we can do is try to instill principles. As to the rest, Thomas Jefferson said it best: ‘Occasionally the tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of tyrants and patriots alike.’ Every so often, it takes a bloody revolution to put things back on track for a while. History has confirmed it ten thousand times.
“Maybe someday we’ll be able to save the actual memories of past generations, and feed those experiences and lifetimes of learning into the brains of newborns, so they won’t have to keep repeating the same stupid acts throughout eternity—won’t have to learn everything anew, every generation. God, what an evolutionary leap that would be.
“We’ve already reached the limits of the mind, to absorb information through sensory input and experience, and most of that is wasted nowadays on television bullshit. It takes forty years of learning and experience under the best of conditions before we begin to know anything, and by then our immune systems have started to decline and aging is progressing rapidly.
“What a leapfrog that would be, to be infused with a couple of centuries of direct scientific experience and reasoning while the body is young and vigorous. We could skip the twenty years of education that take up the first third of everyone’s life. Hell, we’d be out of a job,” Haas grinned gleefully.
“Funny. Townsend said something similar a few days ago,” said Ortiz. “Actually, there are some people working on it.”
“Really? Who?”
“Lots of folks, really. A company called Cyber-Biotics has been doing research on human memory mechanisms for the last fifteen years or so. Made some real progress, too. I think they’ve proven the concept of hereditary, conscious memory.”
“What is hereditary, conscious memory?”
“Well, everyone in the biological and cognitive sciences will admit that we come preprogrammed with a set of basic assembly and operating instructions. These instructions determine what we look like, the color of our eyes and hair, how tall we will be, genetic tendencies such as obesity, cancer, mental disorders. All our autonomic functions are preset. Our hearts beat, our glands secrete hormones in the proper amounts at the proper times, throughout our lives. We also come with a programming set that permits us to learn, to weigh variables and make judgments, and to note and store information.
“The basic theory behind hereditary memory is that experience and learning alters our neural wiring, and as we age, the children we have are given attributes according to our developed cellular memory. Our cell DNA has not only carried forward the prior genetic information that determined the kinship peculiarities of our physical construction, such as getting our fathers eyes, or our mothers cheeks, but some of the new experiences that we have collected have subtly altered the genetic information we were given by our parents, and so we pass along the original text to our children, plus some of our own unique, mental programming—an edited version of ourselves.”
“Then wouldn’t all late-born children be smarter than their older siblings?”
“If that were the only factor, they probably would. Unfortunately, the act of living also produces cellular damage via disease, accident, naturally occurring back
ground and cosmic radiation, etc., and for the past century, there has been an ever-increasing abundance of man-made things that are detrimental. Fossil fuel by-products, electromagnetic radiation, nuclear waste, asbestos—just a ton of environmental chemicals, dyes, food preservatives and so forth. Such things damage the reproductive system.
“Genetic development is so slow, anyway. Each generation gains an infinitesimal bit more, and up through the industrial revolution, it seemed to be working well. It’s not dramatic evolutionary change, like the sudden appearance of Cro-Magnon man, and the subsequent disappearance of Neanderthal man, or Neanderthal as some say now, but it was a gradual increase in height, brain volume, intrinsic intelligence.
“Now it seems that we’re backsliding. Dirty air, dirty water, stupid politics, and as you mentioned, years of watching mindless, erroneous pap on television; a virtual bombardment of the human genetic memory bank by all those internal and external physical and environmental factors.
“Young minds have no experience by which to gauge incoming information and filter out the bullshit. The mind accepts it, especially if it comes from what most young people think of as an authoritative source, such as television and newspapers. Later on, as they gradually find out that literally thousands of things they have been told are outright lies, from manipulative social bullshit to the impossible physical stunts they see in every movie, they undergo a real, traumatic adjustment, and pretty soon, the mind distrusts all information. It’s a societal syndrome brought about by the ignorant assholes that control the media.
“When the mind is lied to, and cruelly teased, with no cessation in sight, it is a form of mental torture. The psyche subconsciously rebels. The kids stay frustrated and angry. Maybe they turn to robbing and killing. Or to drugs. Deep down psychologically, they want revenge on society, and they revert to basics because everything else that comes along may be just another pack of lies. It’s all taking its toll on the physical equipment that forms the psyche. The codes that hand down the autonomic and physical programming are damaged by the worsening environmental factors, and the higher cognitive hand-me-downs are neuroses, frustrations, impotent rage—all the antitheses of contentment, happiness, and calm, speculative reasoning. It’s no wonder that antacids and ulcer drugs are so common.
Operation Damocles Page 18