“Understood, Mr. Hamilton,” Collinsworth nodded benevolently. “I image that if pioneers like Alexander Graham Bell and Tom Edison were testifying about commercial applications of their inventions, they would have made a similar remark.”
“Thank you, Senator,” Hamilton said. “While I certainly do not want to compare myself to those titans, there is some similarity.”
“And what would that similarity be?”
“Well, Senator, back in the golden age of American genius, those inventions moved quickly from laboratory demonstrations to commercial applications. Free enterprise was the highway to the future. And now we are on a skyway. We are leaving the era of government-sponsored footprints and flags on the moon and moving to a free-enterprise era of liberty and prosperity, an era that begins with asteroid mining and continues to the colonization of Mars.”
“And the moon,” Collinsworth added.
“Yes, certainly the moon, Senator.”
And so it went, Hamilton flying high in answer to Collinsworth’s gentle questions. Regularly, one of the other senators would make a perfunctory remark, nod to Anderson, and steal away from the Here’s Hamilton Show. After a while there were only three senators in the chairs on the dais: Anderson, Collinsworth, and Sarah Lawrence. There was no way Anderson could snub her. He finally had to acknowledge her.
She looked up from a small stack of documents and asked, “Isn’t it true, Mr. Hamilton, that SpaceMine did not reveal the launch site of the rocket that reached Asteroid USA?”
“Yes, Senator Lawrence. We simply saw no particular need to go into the technical matters that led to our reaching our goal, Asteroid USA,” Hamilton replied, his tone cold.
“And wasn’t the launch site, in fact, Russia’s Plesetsk Cosmodrome, designed originally for launching ICBMs aimed at America?”
Collinsworth and Anderson exchanged puzzled glances, as did Ben and Darlene Taylor. The audience stirred.
“Yes, Senator, although that is a rather melodramatic way to put it.”
“And wasn’t the launch supervised by the Khrunichev State Research and Production Center?”
“Yes, Senator,” Hamilton repeated. Anticipating the next question, he glanced anxiously at Collinsworth.
“And did not the Russians suffer five major launch failures—resulting in tremendous explosions when the rockets struck the Earth?”
“The ground damage was minimal, Senator. The explosions were exaggerated on unauthorized YouTube videos taken by Russian dissidents.”
“Did the Russians show you any authorized videos of these massive explosions?” Lawrence asked.
Before Hamilton had a chance to answer, Anderson banged his gavel and said with a trace of anger, “We are not here to discuss methods, Senator. We are looking at results.”
Lawrence ignored Anderson and said, “You mentioned NASA, Mr. Hamilton. Did you consult their extensive asteroid studies?”
“I’m glad you asked that question, Senator,” Hamilton said, a trace of relief in his voice. “We found NASA’s asteroid studies to be hesitant and inconclusive. Instead, we turned to privately sponsored research that looked at the feasibility of asteroid mining. Those studies showed that there was no doubt that the best way to mine an asteroid was to put it into a lunar orbit.”
“You mean move the asteroid, right?”
“Precisely, Senator. And we found that the best cost-analysis approach came down to picking one of the biggest, closest asteroids.”
“Incidentally, does that asteroid have a number or name?”
“Of course, as I’ve testified. Asteroid USA.”
“No, Mr. Hamilton. The name given by the scientific community?”
“I believe some had referred to it in the past by others names, but—”
“Such as Janus?”
“I’m not familiar with all the mythological names some in the scientific community use, and as a Christian I prefer good Biblical names or in this case good American ones. But if you’ll allow me to continue without interruption…”
Anderson, tapping his gavel, and glowering at Senator Lawrence, said, “The chair agrees that the witness should be allowed to complete his thoughts without interruption.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I was about to say that as I understand the law, possession is pretty close to ownership. Since our team is now controlling the asteroid, I believe we are entitled to bestow its title.”
“So you are in the process of moving what you call ‘Asteroid USA’?”
“Indeed, Senator Lawrence. That’s what I announced almost two weeks ago on GNN. It’s no secret.”
“And can you describe with greater particularity exactly where you intend to place it?” Lawrence persisted.
“Actually, this is not the appropriate time. But I plan to do so within the next thirty days.”
“Rumor has it that you intend to issue an IPO for SpaceMine soon.”
“It’s a long process, Senator. My attorneys and bankers have been working diligently on this question and hope that we might be able to move forward in the reasonably near future. But no final decision has been made and no date set.”
While Hamilton continued projecting an air of nonchalance, Sprague knew that Lawrence was starting to irritate his client.
“With all due respect, Mr. Chairman,” Sprague said, “I think we’re drifting pretty far afield with this line of questioning. The financial aspects of Mr. Hamilton’s venture are very complex and currently under considerable review in preparation for any public offering of stock which may or may not materialize. This is hardly the forum for such analysis.”
Senator Anderson was quick to respond. “Your point is well taken, counselor. This line of inquiry goes well beyond the scope of this joint committee’s inquiry—”
Not ready to yield the issue, Senator Lawrence retorted, “Mr. Chairman, there is all too much secrecy, too much ambiguity surrounding this ‘venture,’ as you describe it. There are serious national-security implications involved in moving asteroids around in space, and we need to—”
“We need to desist, Senator Lawrence. Perhaps you can take your concerns up in your own committee. We need to move on and the clerk advises me that your time has expired.”
“My God!” Taylor whispered to Darlene. “I think that Hamilton’s messing with Janus! He wouldn’t answer her question. If he’s not familiar with mythology, how did he know Janus was a mythical figure? Janus! That’s what Cole must have wanted to tell me! It’s Janus!”
With one pound of his gavel, Anderson ignored Lawrence’s attempt to raise a final question. “This hearing,” he declared, “is hereby adjourned.”
50
Sprague and Hamilton slipped out of the hearing room through a side door, avoiding a scrum of reporters and cameras at the main door. They hurried down the corridor, Sprague leading the way, the phalanx of lawyers trailing behind. Atop the broad stairs at the entrance to the Russell Building, the lawyers went off on their own. Sprague and Hamilton walked down the steps into a shadowy Capitol Hill bathed in the warm light of a lowering sun.
Sprague’s Lincoln Town Car was the first in a line of black limousines parked along the curb. The driver pulled up directly in front of Sprague and stepped out to open the passenger door. Sprague motioned Hamilton to enter, then followed. At luxurious moments like this he secretly relished the idea that a boy who had been so poor could become a man who was so rich.
The car cut smoothly through Capitol Hill traffic, heading down Constitution Avenue. As the car passed the National Art Gallery, Hamilton said, “Fusty old place full of fusty old masters.” He looked at the black face of his Rolex and asked, “How long will this take?”
“Not long,” Sprague said, too quickly, too defensively. He had never found a way to get to a comfortable level with Hamilton. Sprague knew that Hamilton regarded him as just another person paid to help get Hamilton through life.
“I think things went well today. Taylor discredited. Your firm pre
sentation. Glad that’s behind us.”
“I want to call my pilot as soon as possible and give him an estimated time,” Hamilton said in the weary tone he sometimes affected. “It has been a long and tiring day. Yes, I thought it went well.”
They made the rest of the trip to Georgetown in silence. When the car pulled into the driveway of the Ritz-Carlton, a doorman in blue livery opened the door and said, “Fine day, Mr. Sprague.” He nodded and stepped back for Hamilton to enter first. Inside, Sprague awkwardly passed Hamilton so he could lead him to the elevator, which took them to the fourth floor.
Sprague punched the buttons on the number pad, opened the door, and stepped back, allowing Hamilton to enter first into the marble-floored entrance to a starkly white room—white walls, white high ceiling, white carpet, long white sofa, and white armchairs. Through white sheer curtains could be seen a terrace and a view of the Potomac, gray under darkening clouds. Sprague paused to share the view with Hamilton. But he looked toward a hallway. “I’ve got to hit the head,” he said. “It there one down here?”
“Yes, second door to the left.”
Sprague was still standing on the spot when Hamilton returned. “Clouding up,” Sprague said, walking to the fireplace, an oblong slot in a marble wall, under a wide inset television screen. With a flick of a switch, two rows of gas flames rose. Sprague pointed Hamilton to an armchair at the left of the fireplace.
On the wall to his right were shelves containing mementos of Sprague’s Foreign Service days—a dozen Japanese netsukes, most of them mildly pornographic; two Javanese shadow puppets; miniature Taiwanese paintings full of eerie, brightly colored faces; a piece of jadeite carved into the shape of a Chinese cabbage with a locust within its leaves.
“It’s … how shall I say it … curiously interesting, but I give little notice to non-Christian art,” Hamilton said, turning away from the artifacts. “I prefer Biblical art, particularly paintings and sculptures that attempt to lead the viewer toward God’s word, such as Gustave Doré’s illustrations for the Book of Revelation. Are you familiar with those works?”
“I know who Doré is. But I don’t know much about the Book of Revelation.”
“It is more than a book, far more than a book,” Hamilton said. “‘Revelation’ means exactly that. Its words show us ‘things which must shortly come to pass.’ It is a guide to direct us to the Final Days.’”
“Hmm. Interesting,” Sprague said awkwardly, at a loss for an honest response.
“Some of my collection is in the Getty Villa in Los Angeles. I assume you’ve been there.”
“I’ll make it a stop on my next trip to LA,” Sprague said. Knowing Hamilton did not drink alcohol or soft drinks of any kind, he asked, “Can I make you a cup of tea?”
“I’d like a glass of water—tap water—and no ice cubes. Where is it?”
Heading toward the kitchen, Sprague stopped and asked, “Where is what?”
“The thumb drive. I assume it’s here or we would have gone to your office.”
“I think this place is safer than my office,” Sprague said. “I have a wall safe in my—in the master—bedroom. I’ll get it.”
Sprague detoured to a bar in the library, poured himself a Scotch, and carried it into a large bedroom with off-white walls and ceiling and a television screen positioned for viewing from the oversized bed. He finished the Scotch and put the glass on a table near the bed. Then he removed from the wall a high-grade print of a Winslow Homer landscape, opened the safe that it had concealed, and took out a small lacquered wooden box. It was decorated in pale red and yellow stripes. On the top was a copy of an eighteenth-century portrait of a long-faced Japanese courtesan.
Detouring to the kitchen and filling a glass, he walked back to the living room with the glass in one hand and the box in the other. He proffered both to Hamilton, who was back in the chair. Sprague took the chair opposite Hamilton, who drank the water and put the glass on the table between them. Hamilton examined the box, which did not appear to have a lid.
“How the hell do I open this?” he asked.
“It’s a Japanese puzzle box. A curiosity. To open it, turn it over and press the fourth red stripe from your left.”
Hamilton tried to follow directions, said, “I hate puzzles,” and tossed it to Sprague. He quickly opened it, took out the thumb drive, and handed it to Hamilton, who put it in his suit coat’s inner pocket.
“It’s yours,” Sprague said, pointing to the box he had placed on the table. “I have one that takes seventy-eight moves to open.”
“Thank you, Paul. But it’s not my type of thing.… I guess it’s more like your type of thing: complicated, tricky.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“Wasn’t meant to be, Paul. I’m still angry about your tone in that nutty phone call you made after the shooting.”
“Maybe my tone wasn’t to your liking, Robert. Sorry about the tone. But don’t forget: That was your lawyer talking. This is serious.”
“How serious?”
“I hate to admit that I don’t know. All I know is that I got a call from Hal Davidson, late on the night of October second. He said he had to speak to me the next morning. When I asked him why he was sounding so excited and why was this so urgent, he said it involved the firm’s most important client. That, of course, would be you.”
“Yes, that would be me.”
“I believed him. He was a sound attorney, very precise. But I felt I had to stall so I could call you and get an idea about what was going on.”
“Yes, yes. I remember the call. And I remember saying that I thought I knew what this was about and would take care of it.”
“I must know, Robert. Exactly how did you take care of it?”
“I called Basayev.”
“Basayev? What in hell … Robert. Why call him? I have warned you that—”
“You are my lawyer, Paul. Not my nanny. I called him and told him that a disgruntled employee had walked out and had taken information that could be embarrassing to him, to me, and to SpaceMine. I think that is exactly the way I put it.”
“And then did you—”
“You’re straining my patience, Paul. I’m not going to submit to a deposition.”
“I must know, Robert. For my own understanding, as your lawyer. Our conversations are protected by—”
“Oh, come off it, Paul. When I mentioned that this employee had turned a computer over to Hal Davidson, Basayev cursed in Russian. I don’t know exactly the words he used, but he seemed to know about Hal. And just from his tone, it was clear he didn’t like him.
“Then Basayev said—these are the exact words—he said, ‘Don’t worry, little bushkin. I’ll take care of everything. There will be no loose ends.’ I was surprised when he said this that he had only a slight accent.”
“Loose ends?” Sprague repeated, his face paling.
Hamilton took his smartphone out of his pocket and hit a button. Looking at Sprague, he said, “Excuse me.” He then spoke into the phone and said, “Mike. Hold on.”
He looked at Sprague again. “I assume I can take your car to Dulles?”
Sprague nodded slowly, as if in a trance, and said, “I’ll call. It will be here when you want it.”
“Okay, Mike,” Hamilton said. “I figure I’ll be leaving for Dulles in less than half an hour.” He pocketed the phone and turned back to face Sprague.
“Yes, you said you’d take care of it,” Sprague said. “Loose ends. And then Hal Davidson was shot to death, along with three innocent—”
“Paul!” Hamilton shouted, leaning closer to Sprague. “Shut up! Shut up about that shooting.”
Sprague’s heart began pounding. He felt light-headed. Hamilton had that look in his eyes that was stone-cold and threatening, sending a chill right through him. He had never seen eyes quite like Hamilton’s. They were eyes that never seemed to blink.
Sprague shifted in his chair, then, getting face-to-face to Hamilton,
said, “I can’t shut up. I am your attorney. The police have Hal’s cell phone. They will—”
“The police do not have the case. It’s in the hands of the FBI,” Hamilton said, leaning back.
“For God’s sake, Robert. That obviously makes it worse. The FBI is going to find Hal called me and—”
“And was shot? So what? Where is the connection to me?” Hamilton said. He leaned back, paused, and resumed speaking calmly. “Let me tell you something, counselor. Collinsworth and Anderson are my connections. They are powerful senators, even more powerful than the FBI. They control the bureau’s budget! They’re both up for reelection next year. And my money and my resources will reelect them. That’s connections.”
“I wouldn’t count on controlling the Justice Department or the FBI if I were you. Your ‘connections’ just might one day find themselves on the other side of a subpoena.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that you’d better walk a little more humbly. I know that you and some private investigators on your payroll can make life tough for Ben Taylor. And you can get his show canceled, maybe even get him fired. All that is politics, political power. This is crime, a crime being investigated by the FBI. Don’t you realize the FBI will track your connection with your Russian partner? Don’t you realize that the NSA has to be eavesdropping on him—and, as a result, on you?”
“Again, so what? He’s always being investigated. He and I have a legitimate business relationship.”
“You realize I have to take your word for that. You have never let me see your contracts with him.”
“You know all you have to know, Paul. I needed a Russian partner—associate, really—to get a launch of Asteroid USA.”
“You can’t keep up this secrecy, Robert. When SpaceMine announces its IPO it has to make a regulatory filing. You’ll have to open your books. The SEC will be looking at your dealings with your Russian associate.”
“There’s something called a stealthy IPO, Paul. I take it you know that! Lots of high-tech companies are doing it. In any event Basayev and I are soon to have a meeting, Paul. We’ll discuss the IPO. As I said when you called me about—what’s his name? Davidson?—I will take care of it.”
Collision Page 21
