by Uzi Eilam
24.
San Francisco International Airport was already abuzz with air traffic in the early morning. The American Airlines’ Boeing 757 was warming up its engines, and the pilot was conducting routine checks before hitting the runway. Deutsch and Gideon lounged comfortably in first-class seats. The American Department of Defense knows how to treat its people, Gideon thought while getting his laptop ready to turn on after takeoff.
“Now,” Deutsch said, smiling, “prepare for a barrage of responses from the Pentagon…” He chuckled at his own choice of words.
As soon as the plane stopped climbing, the flight attendant offered them drinks. Deutsch ordered Chivas Regal Whisky while Gideon preferred a gin and tonic. The flight attendant was quick, and Gideon knew that one glass was enough to help him relax.
Five hours later, they arrived at a well-guarded building in Washington, DC. An officer saw them down three floors by elevator to what everyone called the Basement—a labyrinth of corridors that was home to the Missile Defense Agency. The corridors were a hive of activity with people running around looking at home and on top of things.
“General Malcolm Milson, the deputy director of the agency, has asked to see you before the meetings begin,” the officer said and led them to the deputy’s spacious office.
“Gerald! Great to see you!” General Milson exclaimed in a thin, high voice that didn’t match his athletic build.
“Hi, Mal! Great to be here with you. This is Dr. Gideon Ben-Ari, whom I’ve told you so much about.”
Gideon received a vigorous handshake. The general never misses a day at the Pentagon’s gym, Gideon guessed.
Milson led them to a nearby office. “I’m so glad to meet you, Gideon,” he stretched Gidi’s name out with a southern drawl, Geedeeon, “and to have you here, in the Basement. We attach great importance to your research, and you’ll find you have an inquisitive audience here. Prepare for many questions from our officers and scientists. But first,” the general said, “we’ll give you the review that we prepared for you. It’ll show you how we intend to integrate Gideon’s algorithm into the system.”
Officers and civilians were seated around the long oval table. They all stood up when General Milson entered with his visitors. The lights dimmed and the presentation began. Gideon was impressed with the speakers’ professionalism and logic. The vast variety of projects in various stages of development impressed him further, and he even found himself feeling envious. This is what a wealthy major power does, he thought. The modest research we do at the institute benefits from just the tip of the financial iceberg that these huge projects take for granted.
The first speaker began to summarize. “We now have the important elements for the mechanism that can destroy threatening missiles. We have solutions that we’ve developed to use against land, sea, and air threats. Our greatest concern, our Achilles’ heel if you will, lies in communication and its vulnerability. But we’ve been even more concerned about multifocal threats. We don’t yet have good solutions for masses of missiles fired simultaneously.”
Ahh, Gideon thought, we’ve got to the crux. He continued to listen carefully to the vast quantity of information he was being fed. One by one, the agency’s officers stood up and presented their projects. When the last speaker finished, Gideon found himself trying to sort out the wealth of information he’d been flooded with.
“Dr. Ben-Ari,” the general’s voice snapped him back to the present, “the stage is all yours. We’d love to hear what you have to say.”
“Thank you, General Milson, and thank you all, for the extensive and in-depth review. I’ll try to describe the project we’ve been working on at the institute for the past year.”
Gideon spoke for over an hour, giving a step-by-step description of the threat analysis. He went on to describe the statistical aspects of missile salvos and explained the difference between one missile group and another. After laying the foundations for his project, he described the main points of the model he’d used to develop the algorithm. He concluded with a reference to Yudke’s project. His audience clearly knew all about Callnet. Pleased, Deutsch nodded, and Gideon felt grateful for the support he was showing. How right he was to introduce me to Yudke, he thought after he concluded his presentation.
The systems analysis people seemed to have been waiting for that moment, and the bombardment of questions surprised Gideon. He answered patiently, focusing on each question, but he was glad whenever Deutsch chose to add a sentence or two. When he’d answered all their questions, they gave him a round of applause. Only then did Gideon notice how exhausted he felt from the effort.
General Milson thanked Gideon and didn’t forget to say a few warm words about Deutsch’s contribution. The meeting over, he invited Deutsch and Gideon to join him in his office.
“Well done,” Deutsch whispered to Gideon as they followed the general down the corridor. “You presented the subject clearly, and I think you’ve earned some important supporters in the agency.” After a few moments, he added, “And the institute has also benefited.”
“A convincing presentation, Gideon,” the general said before he’d reached his desk, “and now that I’m convinced that you’re going in the right direction, may I say that time is of the essence. And Gerald—with your experience, I’m sure I don’t have to explain—I expect the institute to complete the research as soon as possible, and to allow us to test the software with the Callnet card. When can you update us?”
“It’ll take a few weeks, Mal,” Deutsch promised without hesitation. “I’ll look into it as soon as we get back to California.”
“Mal’s great,” Deutsch said as they walked down the corridor accompanied by an officer. “The main thing you need to check, you and Dr. Avni, is the compatibility between your two systems. And you must make sure that there are no bugs in the software or in communication between the hardware elements.”
“Everything will be done quickly,” Gideon promised.
When they got to the agency’s car, Deutsch told the officer to take them to the Cosmos Club at 2121 Massachusetts Avenue.
Gideon wondered what Deutsch had in store for him this time. “Professor Teller would like to meet us,” Deutsch told him, as if he’d read his mind.
“What kind of club is it? I’ve never heard of it.” Gideon was intrigued.
“It’s a private social club that was founded in 1878, and it accepts members that have distinguished themselves in science, literature, or the arts. American Nobel laureates are given a place of honor there.”
The Cosmos Club was an architectural structure with straight lines, and the balance between its sections made it relaxing to look at. Deutsch drew Gideon’s attention to the wall in the entrance hall that was covered with the portraits of thirty-two American Nobel Prize winners. As they stood examining the names and prize details, they heard a voice with a heavy Hungarian accent behind them.
“Welcome. I’m so pleased to meet with you again.” This time, Teller was dressed in a three-piece suit and a burgundy tie.
“He isn’t wearing the ‘prophet’s’ cloak he wore in San Francisco,” Gideon whispered.
“This club has a strict dress code,” Deutsch said softly. “Even Teller has to obey the rules.”
The guest suite the professor led his guests to was spacious. It had a low oak table in the corner with a huge bowl of fruit. The three armchairs around the table were all that was needed for the corner to feel comfortable and intimate.
Deutsch was the first to speak. “Thank you for your invitation. We were just at BMDO. General Milson sends his warmest regards.”
“Ah, Malcom Milson?” Teller thundered. “He’s a good man. A bit square but a true professional.” He picked out a bunch of yellowy-green grapes from the fruit bowl and popped them one by one into his mouth with surprising speed. “Please. Help yourselves!” the professor urged them. “There is not
hing better at this time of day than a light meal of fruit.”
“Dr. Ben-Ari presented his research at the Basement and received enthusiastic responses,” Deutsch told him.
Teller shot out a question at the speed of light. “Is there anything new since your presentation at the conference?”
“We’ve finished analyzing the systems, and the algorithm can now deal with all the missiles that are currently known to us,” Gideon answered, choosing his words carefully. “Now we’re working on integrating the algorithm with a broadband communications system.”
Gideon looked anxiously at the professor’s face, trying to decipher his position by the look in his brown eyes, which hid behind thick eyebrows.
“That’s all very nice, Gideon,” Professor Teller said. “And I understand that you’ll have a solution for the heart of the system. That’s important, but certainly not enough.”
What does he mean? Gideon wondered. He felt like a student standing by the board unable to answer the teacher’s question. He didn’t say a word for what, to him, felt like an eternity.
“What do you mean, Professor?” Deutsch came to the rescue. “What’s missing?”
“End systems, Gerald, end systems!” Teller roared.
“Meaning?” Deutsch asked carefully.
“The new defense system has to use sensors, and from what I understand, the sensors will be connected to the system using an innovative smart card.”
Deutsch and Gideon looked in fascination at the man, who showed remarkable knowledge of the system. Teller continued talking as he bit into a juicy pear and wiped the juice from his chin with the back of his hand.
“But that isn’t all. At the other end of the system, you have the means to destroy missiles in flight, and that’s what I really wanted to discuss with you.”
“As you know, we’re working only on the heart of the system,” Gideon said after recovering. “Aren’t the end systems being handled by BMDO?” Gideon looked at Deutsch and received an encouraging nod. “We at SRI are working in coordination with New Horizons. They developed the smart card.”
“Our defense system—the end that has to destroy missiles,” Teller roared again, “is not able to deal with missile salvos.”
“The challenge,” Deutsch said, “is expressed in the rate of fire that’s needed to deal with salvos. And there’s also the question of cost.”
“I’m talking about a solution for both challenges,” the professor continued passionately. “The Pentagon is dragging its feet, and people have lost their creativity and courage—and this is where you come into the picture.”
“How… How exactly?” Gideon muttered hesitantly.
“We need powerful laser weapons,” the professor said emphatically, then stressed, “It’s time for this measure to come into use, not only in outer space against intercontinental missiles, but also in regional defense systems.”
Gideon and Deutsch exchanged glances. Teller was known for his ardent support of laser weapons that went back to the very first beginning of the Star Wars program. Where is he taking me? Gideon thought with great apprehension. Does he mean that everything I’ve done so far is going to be thrown away like yesterday’s trash?
“You in Israel,” Teller said directly to Gideon, “have proved that you have imagination, creativity, and daring. You began your defense program against medium-range missiles and proved with the Arrow project that you’re capable of dealing with complex development issues. You must give your friends in Israel this message. Visit the testing grounds at White Sands to get an impression of the powerful laser called Miracle. Miracles are our specialty, the Jewish people,” Teller winked, “and this facility will convince you that, without it, you do not have a full defense solution.”
The professor paused and grabbed an orange peach from the basket. Deutsch and Gideon could see that he was signaling the end of the meeting. They stood up and shook the giant man’s enormous hand as they thanked him.
On the way to the airport, neither of them spoke. They were both thinking about Teller.
25.
Nurit devoted most of the day to working on her dissertation. She overcame her uncertainties regarding a few passages and wrote the preface, which to her seemed perfect. When she finished, she decided to pop over to visit Arlene and Phyllis. Arlene had received generous funding for her research from anonymous government officials and aroused the envy of the students who heard about it. Phyllis had also received help, although not as generous as Arlene’s. Well, who the heck’s interested in the Alawite dynasty? Nurit thought. She was careful not to even hint at her opinion to Phyllis.
“Can you allow yourselves a coffee break?” Nurit asked, not expecting a no. “It’s on me.”
“What are you celebrating today?” Phyllis giggled. “And do I get a croissant to go with it?”
“Nothing special.” Nurit smiled, looking from one to the other. “I just finished writing the preface, and it made me happy. Anyway, what are friends for?”
There were always free tables in the cafeteria in the afternoon. Nurit went to the counter and came back with a tray of coffee and chocolate croissants for the three of them. She felt like a change from her usual plain croissant.
As she carried the tray carefully to the table, she noticed Francois out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting and talking quietly with someone, their heads as close as lovers. Nurit noticed that Francois didn’t take his eyes off his companion for an instant. I guess I shouldn’t go over, Nurit thought and tried to think no more of it.
Gideon was coming to visit the next day, and the anticipation cheered her up. What I need to do is spoil myself with something new to wear. Francois did say I could get a scholarship very soon. Money really should be in the hands of someone who knows what to do with it, and that someone isn’t Yudke, the miser. Soon I won’t need any favors from him, and there’s no time like the present to start spending!
The owner of the boutique near the campus greeted Nurit warmly. Nurit was one of her best customers, and she was always happy to see her. She fussed over her until they were both satisfied. Nurit left with a perfect fitted burgundy pantsuit. She was also a favorite at the deli, where she loaded a cart with a bottle of wine, caviar, smoked salmon, two jars of sour cream, fresh whole-grain bread, and three kinds of salty crackers.
She got to her apartment just as her cleaner was leaving, and it smelled like heaven. She put the groceries away, poured herself a glass of the Chablis Grand Cru she’d just bought for the next day, and put the bottle in the freezer. A couple of slices of fresh bread, smoked salmon, and Beaufort cheese and she was set. After turning on Chopin’s preludes, she sank onto the sofa. What a perfect ending to a perfect day, she told herself and closed her eyes.
She jerked up when the phone rang. She had no idea who could be calling so late. The phone flashed Private Number, and she hesitated before picking up.
“Mrs. Avni?”
“Yes, speaking,” she said, still hesitant.
“You’re a history doctoral student,” the man said confidently, “at Berkeley.” Something in his voice sounded threatening.
All she could say was “What do you want?” and she felt a threatening black cloud approaching, ready to engulf her.
“You can help the oppressed people,” the man said, “and we know that this is something you believe in.”
Nurit felt like she was suffocating. “What do you mean?”
“For a higher purpose, you must get information on a card called the Callnet. It is within your reach, and we know that it won’t be hard for you to find. You will be making a most important contribution to our cause,” the voice said. “And we will compensate you.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Nurit said. “I don’t know anything about any cards. I’m just a student at the university, that’s all.”
�
��We know more about you than you realize,” the man added, his tone becoming more menacing, “and you had better make an effort, if not for the sacred cause, then for your own safety.”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no point in continuing this conversation,” Nurit said with all the strength she had.
“You cannot get away,” the man whispered, stressing every word. “We have a higher purpose, and we won’t stop until we achieve it.”
“Goodbye, and please don’t bother me again,” Nurit said, trying to steady her voice. When she slammed down the phone, her heart was racing.
Who can I call? she asked herself. She was terrified. The only person she could think of was Gideon, but it was too late at night. Yudke didn’t even enter her mind.
***
After a fitful night’s sleep filled with strange dreams, which Nurit could remember nothing of other than the distress they’d caused, she tried to have a normal day. She did everything mechanically, her heart not in it. The threats ran through her mind constantly: We know more about you than you realize… You had better make an effort…for your own safety…
Gideon! Thank goodness he is coming today, she reassured herself. Francois had slipped from her mind like yesterday’s news.
She ran around the apartment. Time seemed to be standing still, but when she was almost desperate, the doorbell rang and Gideon stood in the doorway. Nurit fell into his arms, and their lips met in a kiss as long as eternity. Eventually, Gideon pulled away and put down his backpack.
“You’re limping,” Nurit said, worried. “Your leg again?”
“Yes, but it’s not that bad,” Gideon said.
“What you need,” Nurit said confidently, “is a hot shower and a good massage. I promise you you’ll feel better.”
She gave him a soft, fresh towel and the robe. From her experience, she knew that men were better at handling problems after a little pampering.
Ten minutes later, Gideon sat on the armchair, washed, fresh, and wrapped in the robe, waiting for Nurit to come out of the bathroom, drinking the glass of wine that Nurit had waiting for him. He longed for her touch. She, too, was wearing a robe. She went to the bedroom closet and brought out a folding massage table. Who else has she used it for? Gideon wondered enviously. She went back to the bathroom and returned with a bottle of massage oil. Gideon dropped the robe and lay down on his stomach as naked as the day he was born, his face in the hole.
