The StarSight Project

by S. P. Perone

  “But, can I ask you one more thing,” she continued. “Will any of you be in any danger? Can you answer that?”

  Shane thought about it for a moment, and that was all Sandy needed. She said simply, “That’s OK, Dr. Shane. Just leave that one alone. I think I know the answer.”

  As she stood up to leave, she said, “You can count on me to get things taken care of, Dr. Shane. And, don’t worry about what people will find out around here. As far as I’m concerned, you and your students are just off doing your usual academic research, using the facilities at Livermore Lab because we don’t have them here. Does that sound OK?”

  Shane once again marveled at his good fortune to get such an able assistant. And once again he dreaded the thought of her leaving someday. Maybe, he thought to himself for the hundredth time, he should try to get her husband a job in Rockville…maybe a university position. Turning to Sandy, though, he answered approvingly, “Yeah, Sandy, that sounds great!”

  And then she was gone.

  Just before the phone call came in from Barry Nagle at eleven o’clock, Sandy had again buttonholed Shane. “Dr. Shane, these security clearance forms are impossible. There’s no way Sarah and Barry can get them filled out completely today. They’re twelve pages of questions that don’t have quick answers. Who can remember the exact addresses for the last 5 places they’ve lived; or their great-grandmother’s maiden name; or any of dozens of questions like that?”

  Her red hair was redder, and her blue eyes brighter that he’d ever seen them. She was on one of her rolls, and Shane knew there were very few forces on earth that could hold her back. He knew she was not asking him for advice, she was telling him she would handle it. So, he just asked simply, “What do you think we should do?”

  “Well, you know, anybody who has the power to push clearances through in a few days should also have the authority to overlook missing answers to a few inconsequential questions…don’t you think?” she replied, with unfailing logic.

  “You know what? I think you’re absolutely right. Let’s let the Senator deal with the blanks.” Shane answered. “Go for it, Sandy.”

  And, once again, she disappeared.

  The phone conversation with Barry Nagle went pretty well. They covered the same topics Shane had discussed with Sharon Carson, but Barry was in a better position. He was able to get one postdoctoral associate, Anna Ling, who was already involved in the academic research sponsored by DOE, and was known and respected by both Tony and Sharon, to agree to work with them on the classified project. When he learned that the project might involve a long-term commitment, Barry was also confident he could cover his university obligations while commuting to Livermore Lab on a daily basis. But he was concerned about his family.

  Barry and his wife, Renata, lived in San Francisco with their two children, a boy and a girl, both in elementary school. Renata was an attorney, working in the Financial District for a large firm specializing in corporate law. They lived in a beautifully restored three-story Victorian home located in Pacific Heights. Renata’s income was about five times that of Barry…and she relied on his flexible academic schedule allowing him to take primary responsibility for the kids’ daily routine of school, piano and dance lessons, and daycare. Barry knew that any commitment to the Livermore project would be painful for Renata. She had never been very understanding of his professional travel obligations, and this would be a major perturbation.

  After sharing this concern with Shane, he said, “Tony, I’m having lunch with Renata today. I’ll discuss this with her, and see what we can do.”

  “Do you think you might be able to hire aNanny for a while?” Shane asked. “I’m sure we could get DOE to provide a supplement to our contract to pay for our extraordinary expenses. After all, we’re disrupting our lives at their request…not that we don’twant to do this…but I think these kinds of unusual expenses could be justified to an auditor.”

  Jumping at the idea, Nagle exclaimed, “Hey, aNanny ! Now that’s a great idea, Tony! And I think you’re right about getting the funding. I think I’ll spring it on Renataafter she blows her top at lunch. Maybe it’ll save the day,” he finished with a brief snicker.

  “In any event,” Nagle continued more seriously, “I should be able to let you know when we get together this afternoon for our conference call. In the mean time, I’ve got to help my postdoc get the clearance forms completed and sent out.”

  Before they said goodbye, Shane shared with Nagle the strategy that Sandy had recommended in completing the forms. He also indicated he might have some word about lodging arrangements for Livermore by the time of the afternoon call. And, finally, he wished Nagle good luck in his meeting with Renata.

  By four o’clock Sandy had taken care of the complex matter of arranging a conference call with three scrambler phones dispersed across the country. She also had two sets of nearly complete security clearance forms faxed to the Senator’s office, with hard copies sent by overnight mail. In addition, she had gotten the necessary information regarding plans for lodging in Livermore.

  Accordingly, Shane was well prepared to talk with both Sharon Carson and Barry Nagle. The DOE facilitator for the call finally rang through to Shane’s office, and he picked up the phone. “Hello, Tony Shane here,” he said. Sharon and Barry responded as well, indicating the conference was ready to proceed.

  Shane took the lead. “Before we start,” he began, “let me tell you what we’ve found out about lodging in Livermore. The Senator’s office has booked a block of rooms at the Residence Inn, which is a few miles from the Lab, right on the 580 freeway. We can stay at the Fairmont in San Francisco for Sunday night, but we need to take everything with us when we depart Monday morning for Livermore. We’ll stay at the Residence Inn indefinitely. Barry can choose to stay there or commute each day from the City, but they would like for him to stay at least a couple nights, so there won’t be any break in the ‘momentum’…In other words, they expect we’ll be putting in 16-hour days.”

  “OK, let’s get some inputs from you guys,” he continued. “Sharon, can we start with you? Have you made any progress in arrangements to be away?”

  “Yeah, Tony, I have made some progress. I took your advice, and told my Department Head that we had a rare opportunity to do some work on the Livermore White computer. Fortunately, he had heard about this supercomputer somewhere, so it wasn’t too hard for me to convince him it was something we shouldn’t pass up…that is, I convinced him it would be great for good old Eastmont University. As soon as he saw that he could take a message to the Dean and Provost that sounded like more bucks coming our way, his eyes actually lit up! He even asked me how he could help me carry this off!”

  “Wow. That’s great, Sharon,” Nagle chimed in. “Did he offer to teach your classes for you?” he added, tongue firmly planted in cheek.

  “Sure, and he’s going to baby sit for my daughter too,” Sharon replied, continuing with the gag.

  “Alright, you guys,” Tony interjected. “Let’s get serious. It’s great that your Department Head was agreeable. But, what about the teaching and babysitting issues? Any progress there?”

  “Actually, that’s been worked out too,” Sharon answered. “My mom has agreed to come down from Rochester to stay here for the duration. She figures it’ll do my dad good for her to get away for awhile. Actually, I think he’s getting on her nerves ever since he retired from Kodak.”

  “And,” she continued, “my Department Head surprised me again by agreeing to let my two postdocs take over the teaching load temporarily. They both felt just guilty enough in turning me down on the classified project, that they agreed to take on the teaching, as well as to take over the guidance of the half-dozen undergraduate research students I have this semester.”

  “So, contrary to what I feared when we talked this morning, things look really OK. It’s aGo for me, Tony.”

  “Thanks, Sharon, that’s really great,” Tony commented. Then, switching gears, he addressed N
agle. “So, Barry, where doyou stand?”

  “Well, like I said this morning, Tony…and for your benefit, Sharon…my biggest problem is getting Renata to buy into this deal. We got into it at lunch today. Thank goodness we were at Kuleto’s. It might have gotten ugly.”

  “But, Tony, I have to thank you for theNanny idea. She really sucked that one up. It really appeals to her that we could hire one, and might not even have to pay for it. So, we ended the lunch on a very positive note. She even agreed to line one up. It seems there’s several other ladies in her firm who have live-in help, and Renata’s been dying to suggest it for a long time.”

  “Sounds like you really scored some points today,” Shane commented. “Talk about taking a lemon and…Well…you know the rest.”

  These three scientists from such different backgrounds had become close friends as well as professional associates over the past year or so. They shared their scientific thoughts, ideas, and aspirations, but they also had grown to know each other personally. Barry’s marital issues; Sharon and her daughter’s virtual abandonment by her husband a little over a year ago; and Tony’s conflicts with Clarkson, and his relationship with Sarah; these, and many more personal items were all common knowledge shared among the three.

  As Shane reflected on the closeness of this dynamic group of scientists, and the three very competent research associates they had brought in to the project, he began to get a warm feeling of camaraderie, and allowed himself a brief flash of optimism that perhaps they could pull it off. He thought about the Manhattan Project, which developed the first atomic bomb during World War II. It had faced enormous odds, and the stakes were incredibly high. He was reminded of the dedication of that small army of outstanding physicists, chemists, engineers and others who secluded themselves in Los Alamos, and made it work. He began to feel an enthusiasm and an optimism he hadn’t anticipated. And he shared it with his comrades.

  “You guys. I don’t know how you’re feeling right now. But, I’m beginning to think that maybe all of these things are falling in place for us for a reason. Maybe we are destined to work this thing out. We’ve always been confident StarSight would work eventually. Maybe this crisis will inspire us to get it done quickly. God only knows, we don’t want to fail. And I don’t know a better group of scientists to tackle this crisis right now. None of us is accustomed to failure…and I know we won’t accept it now either.”

  Knowing there wasn’t anything more to be said, they ended their conference call, and each went off to make preparations for what promised to be an extraordinary adventure.

  Chapter 8

  The Bear

  He was allowing himself to feel a little excitement. For over fifty years he had patiently gathered the resources to unleash the sword of vengeance on the United States. It had been 1948, when he was but ten years old, that Ahmed Sharif and his parents and sister had been forced to leave their home in Palestine…to be separated from their relatives, neighbors, friends and much of their belongings, and to re-locate in a vast desert refugee camp. They had done nothing wrong. They had worked hard, loved their God, and respected their neighbors. Their only mistake was that their ancestors had occupied land that had long been cherished by the Jews. With the backing of the Allies who had recently defeated Germany…the Jews had arbitrarily and cruelly stolen this land…which had been just as holy to him and his ancestors as it was to them.

  But, Ahmed knew, as did everyone, that it was the United States, with all its powerful Jewish families, and its bleeding-heart simpletons, who had engineered this human tragedy. He had watched with sadness and a growing fury as his father had first lost his spirit, and then allowed his life to slip away. In just a few years his father had gone from prosperous merchant to a homeless itinerant nomad. Ahmed saw his mother succumb shortly afterward, knowing in her heart that they would never return home.

  He hated the Jews who had rushed into Palestine, inexorably expanding the boundaries of their occupation…arrogantly assuming the ownership of his land, his country, and his holy ground. Above all, he hated the United States, because of its unfettered support for Israel over the past half century. He hated the United States with a fiery passion that had grown abundantly over the years. This hatred had festered into an enormous spiritual boil that would surely have exploded into some senseless act of violence, had he been a lesser man.

  In fact, the Bear, as he called himself when involved in clandestine negotiations, had always been an extraordinary human being. His pure Arab blood brought with it the shrewdness, patience, and wisdom of his ancestors. Mentally, he had few equals in the world of politics and intrigue. Physically, he was an imposing figure. His tall, lean frame was athletic and strong, even now in his early 60’s. His skin was dark, and his hair was black, straight, splashed with gray, and combed straight back. A strong chin, prominent nose, piercing dark brown eyes, and a well-groomed thin black mustache gave his face a look of distinction. His clothes were tailored and expensive. Invariably, he would be dressed in a dark suit, with a silk shirt and conservative, but boldly colored, tie. His shoes were Italian leather, hand made.

  The Bear had come a long way. In his teens, he had devised his life plan. He would travel to the United States; become a citizen; and silently work toward its demise from the inside. To the rest of the world he would appear to be a model citizen. He had hoped he would also become a prosperous citizen, and his hopes were realized beyond even his wild imagination. The young 19-year old Ahmed had taken work in a restaurant as a dishwasher when he first arrived in New York City in 1957. He took on a second job, as a janitor’s assistant in the large apartment building where he lived with distant relatives. Soon, he had worked his way up to waiter in the restaurant.

  Ahmed slowly accumulated money. From his father he had inherited the natural instinct for buying and selling merchandise at a profit. At first, he bought and sold cars, then he discovered that he could buy stolen merchandise at very low prices, and sell with enormous profit. He was careful. He kept his day job, while he ran his brokering business in the evenings.

  Gradually, Ahmed began to accumulate real wealth. He began to invest in real estate, then in the stock market. By the time he was thirty years old, he was a millionaire. By the time he was forty, he owned a square block of real estate in Manhattan; had a string of real estate agencies in New York and New Jersey; and owned the up-scale Avondale department stores located in Philadelphia, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, and Detroit. He no longer brokered stolen merchandise. All of his businesses were legitimate. He had even been featured in Time magazine as one of the ten most prosperous individuals in the United States.

  Over the years, Sharif’s wealth had continued to grow until currently he was worth several billion dollars. He was a well-known public figure. He had never married, but he had been linked to a series of glamorous American and European celebrities. Not since his youth had he been seriously involved with any woman, however. He had no room in his soul for love or affection; nor had he ever, since his very early years, allowed himself to become physically involved with a woman he dated. His associations with the glamorous women of the world were purely platonic and social. His only concession to his physical needs was to engage the most expensive call girls that New York City could offer. These encounters were not often, but they were intense. He was demanding and cruel. He had never been serviced by the same lady more than once; but his contact had never failed to provide him with a beautiful and talented companion whenever he desired.

  Sharif donated much of his wealth to various charities, always making sure that these donations were well known and publicized. He avoided political endorsements, but had been invited to serve on several presidential commissions. It was not unusual for a dinner at the White House to appear on his calendar. His ownership of a portion of the nation’s oil reserves, and his position as chair of the board of directors of one of the few operating nuclear power plants, located in Illinois, resulted in his appointment to the President’s special
commission on nuclear energy and nuclear proliferation. From this position he became closely associated with Senator Gerald Moorhouse. Many evenings were spent enjoying dinner with the Senator and his wife, Ellen, at their Georgetown home. The Senator and his wife frequently visited Sharif’s penthouse in Manhattan, and were guests occasionally on his yacht.

  Sharif, through his involvement in the presidential commission, was provided with a security clearance so that he could participate in closed discussions regarding intelligence reports on nuclear proliferation. It was not in this venue, but through an overheard conversation between the Senator and his secretary in the Senator’s office that he had become aware of the classified contract with Tony Shane and two other university professors. Despite his security clearance, he did not have a “need to know,” so he could not get any information directly about the project. But, through the Internet he obtained as much information as was in the public domain regarding the DOE contract with Shane and the others. When the “StarSight” project, and its nature, had been mentioned inadvertently in a side conversation between the Senator and a CIA guest at one of the Commission meetings, Sharif had made the mental connection with the classified DOE contract.

  He had known then that the StarSight project might provide the only flaw in his grand plan.

  Ahmed Sharif/the Bear had deliberately avoided associations with other Arabs, both socially and in business. He wanted to be perceived as an “American.” It was not until he was in his fifties that Ahmed had begun discreetly to establish contact with other businessmen of Arab origins living in the U.S., Canada, England, France, and other European countries. He deliberately restricted his contacts to similar expatriates, particularly with Palestinian origins. Eventually, with subtle probing, he uncovered much of the same underlying hostility towards the United States that also burned so passionately within him. Finally, he had been put in contact with a terrorist organization, the al-Qa’eda, led by Osama bin Laden. Never had he traveled to Afghanistan, where bin Laden had been headquartered…or to any country notorious for its support for terrorist organizations. Instead, he met with bin Laden’s emissary in Zurich, under cover of innocuous social engagements.