by Uzi Eilam
“Morning, Gideon! You’re in early!” Nancy smiled brightly. “Any particular reason?”
“I’m planning to meet with Bill and Bob. You know—my research assistants,” Gideon said quietly, suddenly unsure of himself. “I hoped that the kind of coffee that only you know how to make can break the ice between us. I’m meeting Bob first—Robert Johannsen—and then Bill—William Abrahams.”
“You’ve got it. Do you want me to pop into each meeting with two coffees?”
“That would be great.” Gideon smiled. “You’re amazing. Oh, and another thing. Could you let Dr. Deutsch know about the meetings when he gets in? I’ll fill him in on the details later.”
“It’s as good as done.” Nancy smiled back, charmed by him, as usual, and went off to make the first couple of coffees. Gideon’s eyes followed her. She was wearing a short black dress. It was tight and showed off her every perfect curve.
“Good morning, G-Gideon,” Bob stammered when he entered the room. “What…can I do for you?”
“Morning, Bob,” Gideon said brightly, hoping to calm the young man, whose red cheeks betrayed his shyness. His unruly blond hair gave Gideon the urge to run a comb through it.
Bob folded his lanky body to sit down on the edge of a chair.
There was one light knock at the door, and Nancy walked in carrying two steaming cups. She put them down on the desk and gave Gideon a small conspiratorial smile before turning around to leave. Gideon thanked her as she closed the door.
Bob was obviously nervous, every muscle tense at the thought of meeting with his supervisor. He had no idea what to say.
Gideon tried to make him comfortable. “Tell me a little about yourself. About your family, your studies, where you see yourself in the future… There’s no rush, we have all the time in the world.”
“I was born and raised in Boston. My father is a respected accountant with a large firm, and my mother is a high school math teacher. My grandfather Per Johannsen immigrated to the United States from Norway. He was a fisherman, and he had a huge fishing boat in the Lofoten Islands. They’re on the west coast of Norway. Actually, it’s a historic site. My ancestors—the Vikings—used to set off from there to conquer the world,” Bob said, obviously proud of his heritage.
“What did your grandfather do after reaching the shores of America?” Gideon leaned forward. He’d always loved immigration stories.
“He did what he did best. He opened a fishing boat repair shop in Boston. The weather there was like Norway’s, and it suited him and my grandmother…”
Gideon hated discussing the weather. “And then?”
“He opened a large workshop to manufacture yachts. The demand increased, enabling them to give their kids the best education available. My father graduated from Harvard Business School and continued to be involved in managing my grandfather’s company,” Bob said as quickly as he could, peering anxiously at Gideon’s face.
“And you?” Gideon said, trying to keep the conversation going.
“I was accepted to MIT, where I earned a BS in math and physics. I did my master’s in computer science. I didn’t want to continue at MIT. I wanted a change…to get away from home. Luckily, I was accepted to Stanford’s PhD program in systems analysis.”
“And where do you see yourself down the road?”
“I want to be like you…” Bob replied, too quickly, and then blushed. “I love this field… Systems analysis. And I hope it can help me too, to find practical solutions to problems.”
“Thanks Bob. We’ll have plenty to analyze and work on together, and I’m glad to have you working with me,” Gideon said. “Please ask William to come in.”
Nancy, efficient as ever, walked into Gideon’s office with another two steaming cups of coffee and took the empties away. “Are things going well?” she asked with a smile. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Thanks, Nancy, that’s just perfect.” It hadn’t crossed Gideon’s mind to ask Bob or Bill if they even wanted coffee or how they drank it. Bill was about to knock when Nancy opened the door to leave.
“Come right in, Bill.” Gideon tried to put him at his ease.
William Abrahams was quite short. He sat down in the chair across from Gideon. His black wavy hair fell across his forehead. His dark eyes widened in expectation.
“So, how are you this morning?” Gideon asked. He felt that despite the confidence Bill seemed to have, he should still put him at his ease.
“Thanks, I’m fine, Gideon,” Bill answered in a high tenor. “Who goes first—you or me?”
They’re total opposites, Gideon observed. “I’ll start.” He took the reins back. “Tell me where you grew up, about your studies. Why you chose those courses. And, if you like, tell me where you want to go.”
“Our family owns a home appliances chain in LA, and my parents sent me to the best schools in town.” Abrahams swelled with pride and confidence. “I’ve always been fascinated with math and physics, even in high school. I earned excellent grades, and I had no problem being accepted to UCLA,” he said, almost bragging.
“You chose to stay on the same track you were on in high school?” Gideon asked.
“That’s right. But it was also a way to express my desire to stay out of the trade business I grew up in. The family tried to encourage me to study business administration and join the company, but I ran like hell from it…”
“I read in your file,” Gideon continued, “that your first and second degrees are in math and physics. What made you choose systems analysis for your doctorate? Why not your previous majors?”
For a moment, their eyes met, and Bill lowered his dark-brown eyes. He hesitated before answering.
“I had no interest in theoretical research, and I believed that systems analysis could take me in a more practical direction. And maybe studying the Talmud, as I did after my bar mitzvah, helped to shape my direction. I was impressed by the Talmud logic and its ability to find solutions for current developments.” Bill chose his words carefully. “I also wanted to get away from home. The Systems Analysis Department at Stanford has a great reputation,” he said, the words coming more easily to him once he was back on neutral ground, “and I’m glad I was accepted into their doctoral program.”
“Where did your parents come from?” Gideon shot at him from out of nowhere.
“My father was born in Brazil and chose to settle in the United States after completing his degree in economics at UCLA. That’s where he met my mother. She was also a student there. The chief rabbi of the Sephardic community in LA married them,” Bill said proudly.
“And your father’s parents and the rest of the family?” Gideon noticed Bill shift in his seat.
“Ah… They were immigrants, like most Jews throughout the generations,” he replied but chose not to elaborate.
“Now, Bill,” Gideon softened his voice ,“tell me, what are your plans for the future? Where do you see yourself further down the line? What do you want to be when you ‘grow up’? And what do you think you can contribute to our work, as part of a team?”
“Gideon, you’re a good example of what can be achieved using systems analysis. I think that I can also contribute to problem solving with the software we’re developing. It’s been a hobby of mine since I was a kid,” Bill added, sounding more confident again, more relaxed. “I hope to follow in your footsteps and to be a part of something important…”
Did they talk before their meetings with me? Gideon wondered. The phone rang, sounding like an alarm in the quiet room. Deutsch was on the line.
“Hi, Gideon,” the baritone voice said. “I know that you’re busy now, but I wanted to catch you. Can you come in when you’re free?”
“Sure, Gerald,” Gideon replied. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” Gideon noticed Bill stretch and straighten up when he heard him talking to the director.
Abrahams’ hand was damp with sweat when Gideon shook it goodbye. Am I that scary? he asked himself. He stood up to go to Deutsch’s office.
“Hi, Gideon.” Deutsch’s booming voice filled the room. “Did the meetings go well?”
“Yup. I was very impressed with them both. They’re talented young men, and I’m sure we can use them in our research work. Thanks for choosing them!”
“You’re welcome,” Deutsch replied. “I wanted to discuss the upcoming luncheon seminar with you. I think it’s time for you to give a review of the first insights you’ve reached in your research. Do you think your two young assistants can help you to prepare the lecture?”
“They’re young and intelligent. I’m sure they can help… But are you sure it’s the right time? That it isn’t too soon?” he asked hesitantly.
“Don’t worry, Gideon,” Deutsch said confidently. “I think you’ve achieved enough by this stage, and it’ll be good to share the institute’s research projects. And another thing—I believe you’ll find that the questions and responses from the seminar participants will help you later.”
“Fine, then,” Gideon said, swallowing a little sigh. “Sounds logical. I’ll start preparing the material immediately.”
Gideon returned to his office. He had to collect his thoughts and decide how to present his research at the seminar before summoning his assistants again. I could, of course, discuss our basic assumptions and the directions we need to take according to these assumptions. But the question is, how much of the research’s spinal cord can I expose? And how much must remain classified?
A hard knock on the door announced the quick arrival of his assistants. Bill and Bob stood panting like two puppies, then sat down facing him, on alert.
“Dr. Deutsch has asked us to prepare a lecture on my research’s preliminary findings,” Gideon shared with them. “This is for the upcoming luncheon seminar in a couple of days. We don’t have much time.”
Bill and Bob stared at him without saying a word.
“I suggest you take it upon yourselves to prepare the presentation for the introductory chapter and the basic assumptions. That chapter is about done, and you can condense it to just a few PowerPoint frames.”
Wide-eyed, the two of them nodded, obviously having difficulty grasping the task they were so suddenly given.
This may be a good test for our team, Gideon thought. Is that why Gerald sprang this on us?
“I’ll prepare the presentation on multi-tiered platforms against simultaneous salvos,” Gideon said, “and we’ll combine the two sections later to see what we need to add.”
He downloaded the introduction chapter to a new flash drive and gave it to Bill and Bob.
“Let’s get to work!” He smiled and pointed to the door.
They left the room, Gideon noticed, walking faster and taller than before. We’ll make a good team, he thought with satisfaction.
5.
The bikes of a few early risers were already parked in the allotted area by the main entrance to the institute. Gideon had felt at home at SRI from the very start. His small office, fast computer, and advanced communication system were much more than he’d had at the Technion in Haifa. The sharp transition from Israel’s stressful environment at the heart of the events in the Middle East to the tranquility of the old building surrounded by sycamores that flowered in the spring was good for his research. The atmosphere was pleasant, comfortable. He had a good relationship with a few of his colleagues, especially Deutsch, who’d come all the way to Israel to persuade him to join the team. He’d painted a very colorful and seductive picture of life in Palo Alto.
This was the first time Gideon was going to be speaking before such a wide forum of institute members, and he was somewhat concerned with how he’d keep his audience interested. The atmosphere at those seminars was open, but so was the participants’ criticism. Gideon knew that he had to speak eloquently and clearly, and mainly—he had to expect questions that he couldn’t prepare for in advance.
As always, the door to the Strategic Studies Division was locked. He peered into the iris recognition lens, placed his finger on the fingerprint recognition device, and finally, tapped his personal code to generate the familiar click. The heavy door opened. Gideon turned the key to his office and tapped another code to open his door. He closed it behind him, sat down at his desk, and pulled his laptop closer.
A loud knock at the door made him jump.
“It’s open,” he called out.
“Hi, Gideon, good morning,” Deutsch said cheerfully. “Today is your day! Is everything ready?”
With a single step of his long legs, he was at the chair facing Gideon. He folded his body into the seat. That was Deutsch’s way of doing things: to appear without warning at the researchers’ doors to have a quick, seemingly lighthearted chat with them. That’s how he got a feel for what was going on at the institute he ran so well.
“Everything’s ready, Gerald. I hope people will find the material interesting.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Deutsch responded with an encouraging smile. “Controlling multi-tiered simultaneous salvos of incoming missiles intrigues us all, and I know how promising the model you’re suggesting is. Besides, don’t underestimate the experience you gained in wars and that you’ve brought to this project. Can you incorporate it into the introduction? Most of the researchers here lack any operational experience.”
“Yes, I’ll try to think of something. I’m sure both Bill and Bob will love the idea. They’re a talented pair.”
“Definitely,” Deutsch said, in a tone that neither indicated agreement or the opposite. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. Good luck!” And with two long strides, he was out the door.
A moment later, there were another two loud knocks at the door, this time his assistants, who entered the room like a storm.
“You just missed Dr. Deutsch,” Gideon remarked.
“What did he want?” they asked in unison.
“To wish us good luck, but I think he also wanted to make a suggestion regarding the lecture.”
“I hope you aren’t going to tell us to change the entire structure of the lecture now,” Bob said. “It’s well constructed, and the explanations of the model and the development of the central concept all look perfect to us, right?”
“Don’t worry. The man merely suggested an addition, to add variety. It doesn’t require any changes.”
“What’s there to vary here?” Bill argued. “The very presentation of the concept is exciting, and the loops of potential strategies open up like the petals of a flower.”
“I agree with Bill,” Bob said. “Any additions may detract from it.”
Gideon suddenly felt the full weight of responsibility he had as the senior member of the team. “Deutsch knows the presentation is good, and he’s fully aware that it’s also convincing. The man only wanted to add a little color, and he says that my combat experience can add another, more practical dimension to our presentation that the other presentations don’t have.”
It was the first time Gideon had seen the two of them dumbstruck. They were usually incapable of being quiet for a minute.
“What do you think about starting by presenting the rationale of the model we’ve been working on? We can use the rockets during the war in Lebanon as an example. By pure coincidence,” he chuckled, “I happen to have the full statistics of the rockets that were fired during that war, with details of the various types and the distribution of salvos by date order.”
“Wow!” they both said in admiration.
“What made you decide to bring the data with you? Isn’t it classified?” Bill asked curiously.
“It can’t be kept classified. The whole Israeli nation counts the rockets and missiles every hour of every day. Everything is in the public domain. We can examine the rate of rocket fire and the types of rockets, and then draw conclusions.”
Now the only thing left for the three of them to do was to examine the files that Gideon had downloaded from his personal flash drive and decide which slides on the rocket fire history to include in the lecture’s introduction.
***
The seminar room at the institute was full to capacity. Gideon immediately noticed the table with trays full of sandwiches, coffee, and cold drinks for the participants—mostly researchers and just a few select guests. Most of them were munching on sandwiches and pouring themselves cold drinks into plastic cups. Gideon signaled to the projectionist with his finger. The video of the rocket salvos over the Galilee Panhandle shocked the audience, who cringed at the thunderous noise that filled the hall.
“That’s what wars everywhere will look like in a few years’ time,” Gideon said, opening the lecture, “and please don’t forget that there are people at both ends of the rocket route: those who are hurt and those who are doing the hurting.”
“Gideon,” Deutsch interrupted, “please allow me to say a word here.”
“Please do, Gerald.”
“I asked Gideon to take his presentation a step further and to show you not only the systems analysis models but also something from the real world. This example of salvos is here to remind us that we aren’t dealing with only theoretical models… Please continue, Gideon.”
Tense silence filled the hall. No one opened their mouths, not even to take another bite of a sandwich. Bill and Bob looked triumphantly at the audience as Gideon began to speak.
“The problem we face is how to deal with a threat that can occur simultaneously over a large number of sites. How do we deal with twenty, fifty, or a hundred missiles fired simultaneously?”
