by S. P. Perone
Moorhouse had thought little more about their conversation, until one day when he was checking his e-mail and observed a curious banner on the computer screen. It looked like a typical e-commerce promotion…except that it was too simple. It said:
Afazio Pharmacia, A.G.
Buy: April 30
Sell: May 16
Recalling his conversation with Carothers, Moorhouse had a hunch that it would be worthwhile to follow the advice of the simple message. He called Fritz Weber at the Sovereign Bank, and asked if some of the fund’s assets could be converted to the purchase of 1000 shares of Afazio stock, with the conditions specified for purchase and sale. Within two weeks Hauser, Ltd had purchased Afazio, and its stock had risen precipitously. The $53,000 investment had been turned around to collect $72,000, for nearly 36% profit!
Moorhouse didn’t ask any questions. He continued to see these occasional promotional banners on his e-mail screen, and became ever bolder with his investments. Within several months, the trust fund had reached the 40 million-dollar mark, and the Senator had been able to make his daring statement regarding personal campaign financing. Because no financial details had ever been disclosed publicly regarding Ellen’s trust fund, and none ever would be, he did not fear the scrutiny of the press. Because the funds were from personal resources, he satisfied all the contemporary campaign finance laws by disclosing only their origins.
Later, when Carothers had asked him to be the “front man” for several of the classified DOE projects that the CIA was interested in, he new he couldn’t refuse. The “company” needed someone in the legislative branch with connections to DOE to act as a buffer between them and the investigators. It wasn’t an illegal or unethical arrangement, Moorhouse reflected; it was simply convenient, and it avoided unwanted visibility. The Senator had been an excellent choice, he thought. With his third term beginning, and his party in power, he had landed in positions of influence within the Senate. His voting record had been admirable, following principle before party lines. And he had scrupulously avoided lobbyists bearing gifts. His public image had been unassailable. He didn’t drink to excess, and had never done drugs. Most importantly, he had been a faithful husband…despite the numerous opportunities for infidelities provided by the government “groupies” that flooded D.C. Many of the young ladies who worked for federal agencies…commuting in each day from the Maryland and Virginia suburbs beyond the Beltway…dreamed of spending the night at some D.C. hotel with a senator, congressman, or other government “celebrity.” Hell, even the President’s office had not been off limits.
In the midst of this circus, the Senator had successfully resisted temptation, he thought to himself, with some satisfaction. Even in law school, when adultery was the norm for most of his classmates, Gerald Moorhouse, thinking thatsomeday he might go into politics, had had the foresight to avoid even the appearance of a flirtation. Yes, he had crafted his image well. Only once had he compromised his principles, when he saw the opportunity to swell the Swiss trust fund. He had convinced himself that it was for a good cause, not for personal gain. And, anyway, no one would ever know about it, he had thought.
What he hadn’t counted on was that one tenacious reporter for the WashingtonSentinel would indulge in a persistent series of probes that was about to explode with some devastating information. Robert Lee of theSentinel had buttonholed the Senator at a press luncheon a few weeks ago and had related some facts regarding several of the stock brokering deals that Moorhouse had initiated while building up the trust fund assets. Without using the words, he had clearly implied that the Senator had illegally used inside information. Most disturbing, and not very subtle, was the casual reference to the Senator’s ongoing official liaison role with the CIA. Feigning ignorance, the Senator had put Lee off at that time. How he had obtained the information, Moorhouse did not know, but he was certain that the evidence could only be circumstantial. Lee might have, with much difficulty, been able to obtain records of foreign stock transactions conducted by the Sovereign Bank, but there would be no way to tie them directly to Ellen’s account. No way, that is, unless there was a leak. But that was unheard of with Swiss bankers. On the other hand, a CIA leak was not out of the question. Or, perhaps, the FBI’s Carnivore e-mail surveillance system might have been directed at his computer station. He did not know, but he was very concerned that the reporter’s allegations might be confirmed and then find their way into print.
And Ellen was completely unaware of all of this. That the phenomenal growth in her foreign account had occurred during a time when the U.S. stock market was experiencing unprecedented growth persuaded her to simply accept their good fortune without question. And, of course, she had not been made aware of the probe being conducted by Mr. Robert Lee of the WashingtonSentinel . The Senator was carrying this burden alone. Not even Carothers had been told.
After reflecting for several minutes on his wife’s blissful ignorance, and her obvious concern for his depressed state, Moorhouse finally decided he simply couldn’t deal with these issues right now. It was late and he should be calling Tony Shane. He twirled around in his chair and accessed his home computer, bringing up his personal address book. He found Shane’s university and home phone numbers. Figuring that Shane was probably working late, he selected the university number.
Almost immediately he heard Shane’s voice on the line. “Tony Shane’s office.”
“Tony. It’s Senator Moorhouse. Looks like you’re working late tonight.”
“Hi, Senator. Yeah, I’ve got a lot of ‘special’ work to get done before our meeting next week.”
The implication in Shane’s message was that he was working with the classified documents at this time, and that meant the security guard was nearby. This told the Senator that someone else was present, and Shane could not speak freely. Despite his high-level security clearance, the guard did not know anything about the project in which Shane was engaged. The guard simply did not have a “need to know”. It was that simple principle that guided whether or not any classified information could be shared with an individual who possessed an adequate security clearance. Thus, a person with a security clearance might never be privy to any classified information if his or her job description didn’t require it. In Shane’s case, the security guard was required for retrieving and returning classified documents, but he did not have direct unaccompanied access to them. Both Shane and a security guard were required to open the vault. Neither could accomplish it alone.
Like the facilities in his home study, the Senator knew that Shane’s office was secure and that a scrambler phone was part of the equipment installed in both places. They could have a secure conversation. But it would have to wait until the guard was no longer present.
“Perhaps you could give me a call back when you’re finished,” the Senator asked, with no small touch of sarcasm in his voice. “We do have some urgent business to discuss. I’ll be in my study for another half-hour. We need to talk tonight.”
Without waiting for a reply, the Senator disconnected. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating the shadows cast by the indirect lighting on the ceiling of his study. He expected his phone to ring within 5 minutes.
He was not disappointed. The phone rang, and the Senator answered. It was Shane. After assuring each other that the scramblers were activated and the lines were secure, the real conversation began.
“Tony, we’ve got a serious problem,” the Senator blurted out. “We have reliable intelligence that a major terrorist strike will be directed at the U.S…but no details. It’s supposed to happen during the holidays…and that’s coming up fast. To make matters worse, our operative has been eliminated, and we can’t get any more information. We need StarSight, Tony…and we need it now!”
Shane let the statements sink in for a few moments before responding. He considered, first of all, why this information was coming from a United States Senator. Moorhouse was not a member of the intelligence community. But, somehow, he had as
sumed a very significant role, fronting for the CIA. This was not common knowledge. His constituents were ignorant of this activity. Shane wondered, suddenly, what political advantage the Senator was gaining from this activity. He needed to think more about that. But at the moment, he was searching for a response to the Senator’s implied request for an operational StarSight system.
“Senator. I’m very concerned…if what you say is true. But you know as well as I do that we’re still a long way from fielding an operational StarSight system. We’ve made good progress since the September 11 attacks…but I don’t think we could deliver a working system by next year, let alone next month!”
“Listen, Tony,” the Senator said sternly. “The terrorist group is the al-Qa’eda. We’re certain that they have access to nuclear devices as well as biological and nerve agents. They could strike us in a dozen different ways, and we’ve lost our eyes and ears to their activities. Without StarSight, we would only be able to rely on their making some dumb mistake. And that’s not much to hope for.”
“I’m sorry, Senator. I don’t know what to say. Even if we were to work on this day and night until it was finished, we wouldn’t have it ready for testing before next year. Manpower is not the only problem. There are logistical issues. Sensors need to be put in place; data need to be collected and integrated into our databases; and, finally, we need to run a simulated test on a global scale so that we can calibrate the A.I. software. Realistically, I estimate this will take a couple years, maybe longer.”
There was a long pause. Shane could hear the Senator’s breathing. Then the Senator began to speak slowly and softly. “Tony. I hear you.” Another long pause. Then, “What would it take to speed up the development? Given that it won’t be completed by next month, what can we do to make sure that manpower, at least, is not the limiting factor? I would like to see the StarSight system in operation early next year. What do you think?”
“Senator, first of all, we don’t even know if this project willever work. Secondly, increasing manpower will not reduce the time scale proportionately. And, finally, the most qualified talent for the job are the people in the research groups of the three principals involved in the project, and none of them have security clearances.”
Shane listened to himself speaking, and chastised himself for sounding like a whiner, offering nothing but excuses, and not offering anything positive. It was not like him. He should be brainstorming with the Senator, trying to find a way to get the job done. Wasn’t that the way he always dealt with research problems within his research group?
Suddenly, without giving the Senator a chance to respond to his last negative message, Shane heard himself blurt out, “Is it feasible to obtain security clearances quickly for five or six key people from our research groups?” Shane was realistic in anticipating that this would be an impossible problem. Security clearances normally required twelve to eighteen months…six months for a “rush” job. He didn’t anticipate Moorhouse’s response.
“Tony, if we need to get security clearances for five or six people in two or three days, we can do it. This is such a high priority that the FBI has been brought on board, and I have personal knowledge of their turning one over that quickly before. Getting five or six done would require assigning a larger number of agents. It’s do-able.”
To himself, the Senator was calculating how many arms would have to be twisted, and how many favors would have to be provided to achieve this monumental task. He hoped the President would not have to get involved. He knew for sure that the CIA would be seriously beholden to the FBI, and that somewhere down the line they would pay a dear price for this effort. But it had to be done.
Shane was stunned by the Senator’s statement. It was like someone had said that light from the nearest star no longer required four-and-a-half years to reach us; henceforth, it would arrive in five minutes! After thinking it over for a few moments, he said, “If we could do that, and if we could get all the software and databases on to the Livermore ASCI White computer system quickly, we could conceivably run a simulation within a month.”
He couldn’t believe what he had just said. He suddenly wanted to take the words back. He started back-pedaling. “Of course this would be a simulation using data collected prior to previous terrorist attacks, especially the September 11 attack. But, much of the data goes as far back as the 1970’s. Although these are very comprehensive data files they don’t contain nearly the kind of satellite surveillance and human activity data that we expect to have available in the future. We might find that the old data is not adequate. Or we might get accurate event prediction, but the models wouldn’t work for currently collected data.”
“What does that mean?” the Senator asked, silently conceding that all the organizational details could be accomplished.
“Well, the bottom line is that no matter how the simulated test turns out next month, we would not know whether or not the system would work over the holidays when we would anticipate a real event.”
“Where does that leave us?” the Senator persisted.
“I don’t know, Senator. I really don’t know,” Shane conceded.
The line was quiet for a few seconds, and then the Senator spoke up. “Well,I know,” he said. “It leaves us with the best damn chance…perhaps theonly chance…we have at avoiding the most fearful terrorist threat we’ve faced since September 11 of 2001.”
“Get in touch with Nagle and Carson,” he continued. “The three of you get me the names of the people you want clearances for. Get those people out to San Francisco for the meeting on Monday. But don’t tell them what’s going on until we meet in Livermore. I should have the clearances by then.
“And the three of you should also determine what data files need to be transported to Livermore’s computer. We can have the couriers transport the classified data, and you and your colleagues can bring as many high-density disk cartridges of unclassified material as you need. I’ll contact the Livermore Lab’s Supercomputer administrator and get everything set up for you.”
Shane was amazed at the Senator’s rapid digestion of what needed to be done, and formulation of a plan toget it done. For an instant, he almost forgot about the impossible magnitude of the task before them.
“And one more thing, Tony,” the Senator added. “Don’t plan on returning to the university for a while. You’ll probably be in California for the duration.”
With that, the Senator hung up, leaving Shane with his mouth hanging open, a word of protest forming feebly on his lips. But it was too late. And he knew it would be futile to protest. After all, the Senator was right. They had to make StarSight work!
Chapter 4
Sarah
“What an arrogant bastard!” she screamed, as she slammed the door behind her and stomped into the middle of her efficiency apartment, a half-mile from the Computer Science building. Sarah Stenstrom had been walking for the past hour through the little village of bookshops, fast food joints, beer and pizza parlors, and little café’s that surrounded the campus…oblivious to the many groups of students purposefully wandering the same streets. She had hoped the cold October evening air would cool her down after her encounter with Tony Shane in his office. The sound of her own voice echoing off the walls of the tiny apartment brought her abruptly out of her self-consuming rage. She stopped. Looked around. And, unexpectedly, began to laugh at herself. Then, slowly, the laughter turned to sobs, and she felt the tears beginning to well up and then run freely down her cheeks.
She threw herself face down on the large sofa that seemed to be the center of the apartment, her slender frame shaking inside the heavy long coat and scarf she was wearing. Her long, straight light-auburn hair was spread out like a corona surrounding her head, and then covered her face as she turned her head to get some air. Eyes tightly closed, and still sobbing, her hair became matted and tangled across her cheeks, nose, and mouth.
Slowly, the spasms subsided. She opened one eye. And then, a few seconds later, she
rotated her head to open the other eye. Realizing that several strands of her hair were now in her mouth, she reached up and grasped the hair sticking to her cheeks, pulled it aside, and flipped it back over her shoulder. Alert now, she lay there for a while, beginning to feel the warm, soft glow that often follows an emotional catharsis.
Calmly, she sat up, kicked off her loafers and removed her heavy socks. Standing up, she removed her coat and scarf and left them on the sofa. After bolting the door, and closing the curtains concealing the picture window that looked out at the large old maple tree that shaded her second-floor apartment, she slipped the green wool sweater over her head and tossed it on the floor. Walking through the tiny kitchen, she switched on the bathroom light, and began drawing water for a bath. She said a silent prayer of gratitude for the extra large bathroom that had originally sold her on this apartment. It had been built in the 1930’s, when homes had fewer but grander bathrooms. This one still had what may have been the original tub, set on pedestals. A showerhead had been added at some point, with a curtain that ringed the tub when needed. Sarah was especially pleased that there was a flat wide ledge built around one end between the tub and the sidewall. She used that ledge to place candles when she needed to lose herself in a romantic respite, soaking in a hot tub for a half-hour or so. That was what she would do tonight…not for the romance, but because she wanted to treat herself. She deserved it.
