On Deception Watch

by David H Spielberg

  “We run these bullshit articlesexclusive articles, mind youabout poor AJC Fusion getting fucked by the government and we get scooped by the Post on this.” Scully leaned over his desk at James, picking the paper up and tossing it down again for emphasis and to further display his displeasure. “How come your friend Carlyle didn’t tell you about this instead of leading us down the garden path?”

  James was seeing this headline for the first time, having just arrived on the shuttle from New York. He was shocked by the story. But not shocked enough to take too much abuse. He slowly picked up the paper, scanning the story quickly as he quietly returned Scully’s implication with one of his own. “I don’t know. Why didn’t Cranshaw tell you?” Scully sat down with a sigh. James sat also and both men regrouped their inner forces.

  “That missing son of a bitch, Philip Layland, still has pretty good ties into that company. Better than ours, goddammit. Everyone figured he’d end up on some oil company payroll as a lobbyist in DC. No one figured he’d end up in Senator Paxton’s office. And how did Paxton get wind of this? Is Drummond crazy, giving military secrets to a private company to help promote their own commercial interests? Congress will nail his ass to the wall. The owners of this paper will nail my ass to the wall. And I’m going to nail your ass to the wall. What kind of a friend have you got in that company? Are you too busy screwing around to keep your eye on the job?”

  He knew he had gone too far as soon as the words had left his mouth. But they were out and he couldn’t call them back, so he just glowered at Marshall and tried to brazen it through. Marshall looked at Scully, considering a number of responses, rejected all of them and got up without a word to leave. Quickly, Scully was around his desk, intercepting Marshall before he could get to the door. For a man in his late fifties, he could move quickly enough when he wanted to, James thought.

  “I’m sorry Jimmy. That was entirely out of line. But we’ve got a real problem here. Sit down. Let’s talk. You don’t know the morning I’ve had with our esteemed publisher over this. To say that I got my ass reamed would put it mildly. One of his lighter comments was that I’ve done about as effective with this whole fusion stuff as the fabled salesman who couldn’t sell pussy on a troop train. Honest to god, James, how did this happen to you?”

  “I don’t know, Dick. I honestly don’t know. It’s possible that Sylvia didn’t know about this. I mean this is pretty heavy stuff.”

  “Well, for chrissake, Layland knew about it and he isn’t even there anymore. Who the hell else is there besides Cranshaw and Carlyle who would know about this?”

  “Sam Berman, their controller. But it’s impossible that he would double-cross Cranshaw. He’s totally loyal.”

  “Well, someone on the inside has a pipeline to Layland,” Scully said.

  “It could be from the government side, you know. I mean we’re talking about Washington and a lot of people don’t like what Drummond is doing. It’s possible Layland didn’t get his information from anyone in AJC Fusion.”

  Dick always worked with his sleeves rolled up, but James never remembered him with his collar open or his tie loosened. On those occasions when his emotions were high, Scully’s face turned a remarkable bright red, which never failed to amaze rather than to intimidate Marshall.

  “Then again it could be one of the technical team. I don’t know them all that well. They all seem pretty motivated but you never know. They would have to know about the sharing of data because they would be the ones to use the information. By the way, how bad does it look for Drummond?”

  “He’s a fox, but he’s got his tail on fire with this one. He claims it’s all a mountain out of a molehill. He says that AJC was awarded a contract for lens development work on SDI, our never-ending missile defense program, and that the technical exchange was a legitimate result of that award. Unfortunately, Layland claims that the laser generator reports that were turned over to AJC didn’t have anything to do with their SDI contract—that it was a smokescreen to hide the technology transfer. Congress is going ape-shit. Everyone and his brother are getting subpoenaed. The oil lobby is pulling out their big guns. Their lobbyists have been all over town this morning. They’re climbing over the Hill like flies on shit right now. The media people won’t be far behind. We are about to see another media feeding frenzy. There’ll be hearings for months on this.”

  “What do you want me to do, Dick?”

  “Okay, it’s still your story. But we need to get more depth on this. We’re becoming too associated with one side of this thing. I want you to get some interviews outside the Cranshaw clique. I’m beginning to feel that sonofabitch abused my friendship. I’ll find out. Time to talk with our government. Try Paxton, try Benson at Energy. We’ll get you accredited for the White House. See if you can get to Morrison. I don’t think you’ll get to Drummond. He’ll be too tied up with the sharks. But you might get Morrison. Also, see if you can get a copy of the contract with AJC Fusion. You might be able to figure out if Layland’s smokescreen scenario makes sense. Don’t put your science hat away on this one either. That’s where we’re one up on the next guy. Let’s go. Beat the bushes, and I mean now!”

  Marshall knew that the story was no longer a science supplement feature. This was now a hard news story. The paper had specialists who did this sort of story. Dick Scully was taking a chance letting him keep the story or at least letting him continue to solo with it.

  As if reading Marshall’s mind, Scully added, “I think you’ll have a better chance than our normal crowd for a story like this. You’re identified in the public’s eye with this story. Besides, we’ve kicked hell out of the bureaucracy with these harassment stories your Ms. Carlyle has been feeding you and they’re probably eager for a chance to rub your nose in our getting scooped. It may be the only fun they’ll have for a while. But Jimmy, once these guys start talking you never know what may come out. I think you’ll get in where others might not.” He added with a shrug, “I could be wrong. We can always take you off the story or give you a partner later. Let’s try it this way a little longer.”

  “Thanks, Dick, I think.” He knew that the meeting was over, but he just wasn’t ready to leave. This was a big change for him, a big chance for him. “Where do you think the public is going to go with this?”

  “That depends on what we—I mean all the news media—find out. The corn on my toe tells me we’re just scratching the surface with this story. I don’t think we’re close to seeing the last play. I tell you, everyone is just getting warmed up.”

  “The people at AJC are afraid for their lives. Did you know that?” Marshall felt relieved that he had raised this outside Cranshaw’s inner circle. Scully was an old pro. James needed some guidance on this.

  Scully just shrugged his shoulders. Nothing else. Marshall hadn’t expected that. “Should I be worried? For myself, I mean?”

  “Well, Jimmy, newsmen don’t usually get caught in the crossfire, but it happens. ‘Be careful’ is all I can tell you.” He leaned back in his swivel chair and clasped his hands behind his head.

  “You’re a big help.” James got up and left to start making phone calls. Sylvia Carlyle would be the first one on his list.

  18

  Dick Scully was right. Marshall was able to arrange for interviews with Morrison and Benson for the next day. He also convinced Sylvia Carlyle to come to Washington for a meeting with him that afternoon. He needed an explanation of what was going on. He could not believe that Cranshaw—that Sylvia—would use him so crassly. Marshall and Sylvia Carlyle agreed that he would pick her up at Reagan National Airport at two o’clock.

  Sylvia spotted his car in the pickup zone. She quickly got in and Marshall headed south toward Fredericksburg. They would be able to talk less conspicuously there than in Washington. He took Route 1 instead of the interstate, feeling that he wanted to keep his options open in the event they would need or want to stop somewhere sooner. There were numerous small towns along US 1.

 
; As they drove, Marshall was aware of a tension between them that he had not felt before. His anger and righteous indignation was instantly transformed into curiosity about this change in atmosphere. After several miles of silence, Sylvia turned to James and began to speak with a subdued uncertainty in her voice that he had not heard before.

  “James, I didn’t know about the laser deal with Drummond. I just didn’t know about it. When I saw that article in the Post this morning I couldn’t believe that Dr. Cranshaw would proceed in something like this without my being involved. I knew about the lens contract, of course. Usually they go through Nova Industries but it was a big contract and I heard about it before the press release. You know, around the water fountain. I just didn’t think there was a connection to AJC Fusion. I never thought and I never questioned it.”

  Marshall continued driving, trying to understand, trying to decide what was bothering him about what she was saying.

  “Do you believe me, James?”

  “Yes,” James answered. Unless they had no further use for him, there was no reason to double-cross him at this point. It would be for nothing. The one explanation that is always the last to be considered is simple incompetence, a foul-up in communications within their organization. He believed her, having great confidence in the ability of any organization to misfire. But that still didn’t explain that frightened look in her eyes.

  “What else, Sylvia? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “James, I’m starting to get scared. I knew this would be a big mess when we went public, but I thought we could control it. Now I’m not so sure. Philip Layland is out there laying land mines. Now we’ve got the president and Congress at each other’s throats. If we get caught in the middle of a government power struggle we’ll get ground to a powder. I hoped that your articles would bring us favorable public opinion, and they have, but it will be destroyed instantly if we get involved in a scandal involving commercial favoritism. Congress will tear us apart and the press will tear us apart and they’ll tear the president apart. And he’ll fight back and we’ll be in the middle. Ripped on all sides. And the special interests will be free to operate out of the public view and they will finish us off. Don’t forget, we still don’t have a complete commercial pilot plant. We can still be called a technical blip, nice to know about and easily forgotten. James, it’s getting out of control and that’s why I’m scared.”

  “How much did you find out about the laser deal? Have you met with Cranshaw? Is he bringing you back up to speed?” James asked.

  “Dr. Cranshaw has apologized to me for not keeping me informed. He used . . . you know . . . the rapid turn of events. He told me that the president reviewed the findings of his technical staff’s visit to our laboratories and decided it was in the national interest to go ahead with a pilot commercial-scale power plant. As you know, James, our lasers can’t produce enough compression of the targets to achieve economic breakeven. Without those lasers we’re out of business. The lens contract brings the lasers into our labs. From there it was an easy step for the president to authorize a feasibility study for the pilot plant. Strictly speaking, it isn’t a technology-transfer situation. At least that’s how the president is going to argue it. For the time being, we haven’t given up our proprietary interests in our technology and the federal government hasn’t given us the laser technology for our own use.”

  James knew the argument wouldn’t hold, but it would provide enough grist that Congress and the press could chew on it for weeks and not resolve anything. Meanwhile, AJC Fusion would be putting together their commercial demonstration unit. A lot can be done by executive order. The Congress cannot enjoin the president in this case. And to try to tie his hands by special legislation would take months and would probably have to be so specifically targeted at AJC Fusion as to be unconstitutional. To stop the president on this, the Congress would have to impeach him.

  “How long do you think it would take to get a pilot plant going?”

  “Most of the work is already done. We were only waiting for the right laser system. Dr. Cranshaw estimates about two months for testing. Back-reflection suppression will have to be confirmed. He’s confident they can do it in two months.”

  “So while everyone bashes everyone else for the next few months, AJC simply goes ahead and does the job, right?”

  “That’s basically it,” Sylvia responded, a note of doubt still evident in her voice.

  “There’s more. What is it?” James demanded.

  “It’s Samuel. Samuel Berman. He’s on a special project for Dr. Cranshaw. It’s very secret. I don’t know anything about it. At least I’m not supposed to know anything.”

  “So—,” James prompted.

  “So, I don’t know what, except that it’s very unusual for Samuel to be doing something that I’m not supposed to know anything about. Our working relationship has been very close and we normally don’t have any secrets from each other. And you know you get a feel for something sometimes, you get a kind of vague apprehension about something. I mean, it’s not like they’re trying to keep things from me. It’s more like they’re trying to protect me from something. And that’s another reason I’m frightened. I’m scared enough about the things I know about. I don’t know how to deal with the scary things I don’t know about . . . Is this making any sense, James?”

  “I don’t know. How much does Cranshaw trust Berman?”

  “Dr. Cranshaw and Samuel have known each other for thirty or more years. He’d trust him with his life. Oh god, did I just say that?” Sylvia looked at James. “James, pull over, please.”

  There was a rest area about a quarter-mile up the road and James pulled into it and stopped the engine. Sylvia sat looking down at her hands folded tightly in her lap. Without looking up at Marshall, she began to speak again slowly and quietly.

  “James, I’m starting to get that over-my-head feeling. James, would you please just hold me for a minute. I can’t stop shaking.”

  19

  When General Morgan Slaider read the article headline in the Post, “Fusion Company to Get Weapons Secrets,” he closed his eyes, as if wanting no longer to be confronted with the evidence of his own failure. His hands slowly curled into fists and the muscles in his arms and back tensed. After several moments, he slowly allowed himself to breathe again and let out a slow, thin vent of air from his nostrils, by his tightly clamped teeth.

  Emerson was risking the security of the nation. He understood the president’s interest in micro-fusion. He applauded it, in fact. But in his pursuit of the next generation of energy, the president was risking the nation’s most sensitive military secrets. AJC Fusion was not a proven safe haven for the nation’s military secrets. It was engaged in unstable internal dissensions and tainted by the desertion of high-level personnel. It was directed by a chairman driven by profit whose loyalty to America could not be trusted.

  In the hands of a determined, or worse, a messianic enemy, the laser technology the president was proposing to give to AJC Fusion could neutralize the key elements to America’s nuclear shield. If you know how something works, it doesn’t take long to figure out how to counter it.

  America would be at the mercy of nuclear blackmail from any number of the countries now in possession of nuclear weapons or their subsidized proxies. He understood that civilians did not understand this—did not want to understand this. The Congress, just like the Europeans, he thought bitterly, wanted to wish away the deadly reach of America’s enemies.

  As a soldier, Morgan Slaider would not think twice about throwing himself on top of a live grenade to protect America. But what do you do, he asked himself, when the commander in chief, the president, is the live grenade?

  Every fiber of his being demanded that he protect America at all costs. Yet just as powerful imperatives demanded his allegiance to the system, to the chain of command and obedience and loyalty to his commander in chief. But the system to which he dedicated his life had responsibilities too. It had to f
unction within the rules of the game. And Emerson had violated those rules. He is planning to transfer this weapons technology recklessly. He has acted precipitously for political reasons and had denied himself the counsel of his most knowledgeable and dedicated centurion. President Drummond was risking America’s survival for a place in history, for his own aggrandizement, and Slaider knew he must do something about it.

  General Slaider put the newspaper down. He remembered a thought he had after his meeting with Talbot. Maybe he was seeing the situation and the necessary response all wrong, backward, as it were. Maybe he should be pulling instead of pushing, going the opposite way, thinking in the opposite direction.

  Slaider did not feel he had sufficient information to act or formulate a plan but he knew how to get that information. Work the system. Quickly he placed two calls. One was to Roger Talbot and the other was to Amanda Brock. She confirmed that a surveillance authorization had been approved by President Emerson and that it was to be a combined NSA-CIA-FBI operation. General Slaider could personally review the daily hot sheets if he wished.

  Slaider did not use his office phone. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a disposable cell phone he kept there for moments like this when he wanted to make a call NSA could not trace.

  On the third ring, the phone was answered, but no greeting was offered. Slaider said, “Jeremy? Do you know who this is?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to see you—now.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “Yes. This is very special. I need to meet with you, personally.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll meet you where we met last time,” Slaider said.

  “Okay. It’ll take me about three hours for me to get there. How about 4:00 p.m.?”