Final Approach

by John J. Nance

  “Good.” And Farris hung up.

  Kell Martinson took it even harder. He had invested a substantial amount of personal capital in assuring his fellow senators—including the angry proponents of the full SDI project—that the Defense Department was telling the truth. Everyone he talked to in the Pentagon had assured him that there was no way—“No way, Senator”—that the mobile radar unit could have been activated. He had accepted the assurances at last and gone back to his angry colleagues on the Hill with a “Trust me!” approach. Now those assurances—along with a lot of his credibility—were in danger of being blown away. And the American public would probably conclude the Pentagon was incompetent, and Kell Martinson was, at best, an amiable, gullible dupe.

  “Kell, keep in mind it was not sabotage. You told them it wasn’t, and this doesn’t contradict your assurances,” Cindy had said by phone around 7:30 P.M., trying to calm him down.

  “Yeah, but I asked them point-blank if it could have been physically possible—electronically possible—that the radar was transmitting as the North America Airbus approached the airport, and all I’ve gotten is a resounding and apparently fraudulent no.

  Cindy’s counsel was to be cautious, but Kell immediately punched in the unlisted home number of Lt. Gen. Roach’s superior, the four-star general heading the SDI program. The resulting exchange was rather one-sided and vitriolic.

  “Once and for all, General, I want a straight answer, and this senator’s support for anything you people hold dear hinges in its entirety on getting an honest answer. You dance around this one, General, and your people will be spending the rest of their natural lives testifying before committees up here with a galaxy of angry senators—including this one—as your constant inquisitors.”

  “Senator, we have not lied to you. I’ll be back to you in an hour.”

  Instead, he was back on the line in twenty minutes.

  “Senator Martinson, I say this to you for the record, and with my full belief that it is indeed absolutely true. I stake my personal and professional reputation on it, sir. Despite the statements of this man Tarvin, the mobile tracking radar unit’s main antenna was retracted, and because of an intricate system of interlocks and other safeguards in the design, as well as safeguards built into the physical unit, if the antenna is not fully shaped into its normal 25-foot dish on top of the unit, the unit cannot—I repeat—cannot—transmit a single watt of radio frequency energy. It is a physical impossibility. It is possible, Senator, for someone to switch power into the main radar module and have a tremendous power drain, but that drain does not go to producing radio, radar, microwave, or any other sort of radio frequency radiation.”

  “What does it produce? Electrical energy has to go somewhere.”

  “That part’s classified, Senator. But it doesn’t produce radio waves.”

  “In other words, General, the man may be telling the truth about what he did and what he saw, but there could have been no radio interference with that Airbus?”

  “Exactly.”

  There was an ominous silence, and the general was prepared for it.

  “Senator, would you consider a midnight flight with your Air Force?”

  “What?”

  “To clear this up beyond a shadow of a doubt, would you forego some sleep and meet one of my people at Andrews in, say, two hours?”

  “I suppose so. To go where?”

  “Just stop at any of the gates, Senator, and identify yourself. Someone will escort you to the right location. Bring a change of clothes and your Dopp kit, but expect to be back within, say, fourteen hours.”

  Kell was somewhat shocked, but accepted immediately, and by midnight found himself strapped into a tiny cabin seat of an Air Force Learjet, the general himself sitting in the next seat.

  “All I’m going to tell you right now, Senator, is that what you are going to see and hear is classified Top Secret, and you are authorized to receive this information subject to your security clearance. You may not divulge anything classified outside of normal cleared need-to-know channels. This would be the same as if you had convened a closed session of the Armed Services Committee for presentation of Top Secret classified national-defense testimony. This is definitely a matter of national defense. Do you agree and reaffirm your understanding and acceptance of the limitations?”

  “Yes sir. No problem.”

  “I’ve discussed my appraisal of your need-to-know status through the chief of staff. We’re in agreement that you do, indeed, need to know this, though it’s only for your reassurance. You can’t divulge.”

  Kell was consumed with curiosity as the small twin jet lifted off Andrews and turned west, climbing rapidly to 41,000 feet. Both of them settled back and slept through the next three hours, the sounds of throttled-back engines finally announcing a descent into—somewhere.

  “Holloman Air Force Base, New Mexico, Senator,” the general said simply when Kell’s eyes came open.

  They touched down and taxied at what seemed to be excessive speed straight toward a lighted, distant hangar, the doors of which opened as they approached. The Air Force major in the left seat rolled his craft through the doors and to a stop in the interior. It was just before 4 A.M. in Washington, and 2 A.M. in New Mexico, the stars showing brightly in the dear desert sky as the huge doors were motored closed again behind them.

  Kell stepped out into a world of metallic echoes and soaring open space within the walls of the cavernous hangar, facing the most ungainly monstrosity of a vehicle he had ever seen.

  “This is it, Senator, the cause of our mutual discomfort. Ninety thousand pounds, two complete antenna sets, automatically deployable and retractable within two minutes, on-board diesel generators for stable, rectified power, multiple transmitters, on and on. Unlike the main SDI plans which, as you know, have varying dependence on ground-based radar, this is merely a tracking test unit, so when you gentlemen on the Hill give us the money and the go-ahead, we can start flying the equipment and proving what the space-based hardware can do.”

  The general looked rumpled. He had arrived at Andrews wearing a full dress blue uniform. The blouse, bedecked with ribbons, now hung open, revealing a wrinkled shirt, his tie askew, and a half day’s growth of unshaven stubble on his chin—quite in contrast to the spit-and-polish neatness of the Air Force security police watching the four-star general’s every move with respect and anticipation. Yet his voice was sharp, his words precise, and Kell noted almost a pride of ownership in his description of the radar unit. The general brought Kell around to the front and they climbed into the cab.

  “This is the switch Tarvin got by mistake. You can see it’s a bad design—I could have screwed it up myself on a cold and boring night.”

  “You knew about this?”

  “Within an hour of the time he reported it to his supervisor in Leavenworth more than a month ago. We already suspected something had happened to power up the unit, because of the power surge reports.”

  Kell bristled. “Why didn’t you tell me then? Damn it, you knew the thing was operating.”

  “Wait, Senator, hang on. Let’s have you look in the back first before you take a swing at me.”

  They climbed down and walked the 85-foot length of the unit, climbing up the rear entrance steps to the main radar unit, where the door already stood open.

  “Okay, Senator, step in and take a look at the most powerful mobile radar unit on the planet.”

  The interior was lighted by incandescent lamps, and the pristine walls and ceiling were in contrast to the tightly packed electronics he had expected. The module was approximately 55 feet long, 10 feet wide, and 8 feet high—and except for several large concrete blocks on the floor, it was completely empty!

  “What … where …?” Kell began.

  “Where is everything? Is that what you’re asking?”

  Kell saw the general had played him like a violin, but for a purpose. He let him continue.

  “It’s still being developed, S
enator. This unit couldn’t transmit a single watt of radio energy because there’s nothing inside the sucker. Nothing has been installed yet, and this is exactly what it looked like when we loaded it at Kansas City to fly it to Kwajalein, and then back here.”

  “How about the power drain?”

  The general reached over and lifted a floor panel, revealing a series of large transformers.

  “Power sinks, you might call them. They suck up a tremendous amount of power and convert it into nothing but heat. That way, somebody plugs it up, it will appear to be operating at phenomenal power-requirement levels. But nothing related to radio or radar is happening.”

  “Why, General?”

  “You haven’t figured it out yet? I don’t mean to twist your arm, because you’ve helped keep peace on the Hill for us to continue development, but because of the budget restrictions and test restrictions, we’ve put our resources into research, not testing. That’s what you wanted, that’s what we’ve done.”

  “But …”

  “The Soviets, Senator. Our adversaries, despite the democratization of the Warsaw Pact, perestroika, glasnost, wholesale troop withdrawals, German reunification, and the declaration of a blessed state of peace between us. All of us in the military are praying for Mikhail Gorbachev’s reforms to permanently change the Soviet Union to a nonthreatening friend, but the process, at best, will take a decade. There is still a terribly powerful Soviet military over there, led by hardened senior officers who watch the direction of the political winds in their government from hour to hour. As long as things could change internally—as long as there are Soviet missiles pointed at us and missile-carrying submarines out there—we can’t afford to drop our guard for a split second, any more than they can, despite hail-commies-well-met and constant exchanges of warm fuzzies between us. Don’t forget, we watch each other constantly with our surveillance satellites. We want them to know we’re prepared for war as well as peace as this process continues. We want to remind them constantly how costly this arms race will continue to be until we disengage, and that means ongoing development.”

  Kell leaned against the unencumbered wall of the module and looked at the general, who was smiling. “This was all a show, then?”

  “That’s right. It was showtime. The CIA picked up indications of extraordinary Soviet interest in the progress of one particular aspect of Brilliant Pebbles—a facet of the program that we really hadn’t made as much progress in as we wanted them to think. Well, we can’t very well trot out one of the Pebbles vehicles and disassemble it on an outdoor picnic table for their cameras, but if they see us getting ready to test it, moving a piece of equipment even our own Congress has forbidden us to move …”

  “I get the picture.”

  “So did they. We monitored the transmissions. Beautiful. We moved it through Kansas City Airport to make sure at least a ground-based agent would find out and report it to Moscow, but their satellites caught it too, as we’d hoped. They caught it leaving the factory, sitting on the ramp in Kansas City, and even had the C-5B pictured in flight on the way to Kwajalein. They also got the North America accident moments after it occurred. Most of it imaged on infrared, of course. You can see that whole careful setup would have been destroyed if we’d said anything more after the accident.”

  “You didn’t have a cover story?”

  “We never anticipated an airline crash. Even now, no one outside of secure channels can know this—and that includes what I told you about their surveillance satellite capability. We’re only telling you because someone has to champion us as something other than rotten liars.”

  “What can I tell the other members of the committee?”

  The general’s face changed instantly to a look of dead seriousness.

  “This circle can’t widen, Senator. Tell each of them that if they absolutely insist on jeopardizing national defense, and they refuse to take your word, I will reluctantly show them the same thing in the same way with the same restrictions if they will take the time to fly here with me, but otherwise, they must take your word that this unit could not have been transmitting that night because the antenna was not deployed. That’s all you can say—a half-truth, of course, but it’s necessary.”

  The flight back to Washington was spent sleeping, the daylight streaming in the Learjet’s windows before they were past Memphis. Kell knew he looked like hell, but he headed for his office anyway, a long series of calls to each member of the committee ahead of him, all with essentially the same message: “Trust me, I’ve seen it, it is electronically impossible for the unit to have transmitted, although the power surge was normal.” And amazingly, there was little resistance.

  Kell thought of calling Dean Farris. Protocol made it the proper course of action, but he called Joe Wallingford instead, finding the NTSB investigator almost too shell-shocked to accept anything on faith.

  “I want to believe you, Kell, but I’ve got a man in Dallas talking to Tarvin right now, and the entire NTSB is up in arms about North America’s method of releasing this.”

  “What does that have to do with believing me, Joe?”

  Kell heard a snort from the other end. “You’re right. That made no sense, did it? You say you physically saw this thing?”

  “Joe, I was there, I saw it, I touched it, and although I can’t tell you the details why—because it’s a matter of national security since this is an important piece of defense equipment—it could not have been transmitting. You simply have to trust me. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Okay Senator. I didn’t mean to doubt you. Of course, this means we’re back in the woods with respect to what caused the accident.”

  “Sorry, Joe, but radar interference was never in my equation.”

  There was momentary silence from Joe’s end as he struggled to decide whether to ask.

  “Uh, Kell, could I ask a favor?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I appreciate your calling me first, but if I give you his home phone, would you call Dean Farris too, and not let on you’ve called me? Otherwise the tenuous truce between us will probably come apart.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Kell replaced the phone momentarily, thinking not of the promised call to the NTSB chairman, but the calls he needed to make to the media. The general had asked for help as they taxied in at Andrews.

  “Senator, since the media and the public don’t believe us, and since you’re the only other person who really knows the truth and can assure the public we were telling the truth …”

  “Would I go tell the media in a press conference?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Something exactly like that indeed. That was part of the plan, wasn’t it?” Kell asked it without rancor and delivered it with a smile. There’s no sense denying a tiger his stripes, Kell thought to himself. The top military brass could be just as politically astute as the elected masses on the Hill. And in fact they had to be. It was a matter of survival if their programs were to be funded with any consistency.

  “Well, we kind of figured—the chief of staff and I—that you would volunteer to help once you knew the truth.” The general was grinning, and Kell shook his head in mock despair.

  “The hell of it is, General, you’re right. After I try to make peace with the committee members, I’ll do it.”

  Kell checked with Cindy before calling the networks to see if they would be interested in his presence on the Sunday morning news shows. They were, of course, and before leaving the office he alerted Joe.

  “Watch ‘Face the Nation’ tomorrow morning, Joe. They’ve got David Bayne on from New York with me by satellite, and he doesn’t know what’s coming. This should be interesting.”

  “I wouldn’t miss this one for the world,” Joe replied.

  23

  Thursday, December 20 Washington, D.C.

  Fred Sneadman checked his watch in the light of oncoming traffic as he pulled up in front of Washington’s refurbished Uni
on Station with his boss, Senator Kell Martinson, in the passenger’s seat.

  “It’s 9:55, sir. Your train leaves at 10:30 so you’ve got a few minutes.”

  “I sure appreciate your staying late to get the agenda together, not to mention the taxi ride, Fred.”

  “No problem.”

  “You’ll get those papers I gave you over to Joe Wallingford at the NTSB for me tomorrow, won’t you?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Hand them to him personally, now, and only to him. Make him show you some identification.” Kell looked at Sneadman. “I’m serious about that. He’s taking a big risk working with us on this.”

  Sneadman nodded. “I understand.”

  “And”—Kell rummaged through a file folder as he talked—“tell Mr. Wallingford I’d appreciate it if he’d study the background material over the holidays, and reconfirm with him that the hearing begins at nine A.M. on January eighth, and give him the room number and all that.”

  “Yes sir.” Sneadman had put the gearshift lever in park and was struggling to write on a steno pad balanced on the steering wheel.

  “That drafting session two weeks ago really worked well. Tell him that. Tell him I said that thanks to his ideas, I think we’ve got a good piece of legislation. Have you heard any reaction, by the way?” Kell closed the folder and stuffed it into his briefcase.

  “From Wallingford? Only chuckles over the way you embarrassed North America last Sunday on network TV. If you mean committee staff reaction about the bill, we’re going to have an uphill battle convincing everyone this is needed right now, but so far no one’s throwing mud balls philosophically. The problem is, it’s not revenue neutral.”

  “But the funding plan was clever as hell, don’t you think? It’s almost neutral, even though plugging it into fuel taxes does constitute a bit of a tax hike.”

  “Oh, I think it will wash, sir, but we’ll need public pressure.”

  “That’s the other thing, and I only mentioned it in passing back at the office. I want you to get hold of Wally on the committee staff. He’s the best congressional subcommittee publicist in the business. Tell him we need this to explode nationally on the day before the hearing starts, and I want to meet with him sometime next week if possible to plan the strategy, provided he’ll do it.”