by J C Ryan
“That sounds like just the right thing,” Mackenzie replied. “Why do we need to discuss it any further?”
“Because he can’t use it until he’s already subpoenaed, for one thing,” Bill answered. “We’re hoping to avoid that altogether. It’s one of the reasons we’d already decided to let James and Irene be the sacrificial lambs. If this goes forward, their ordeal will have been for nothing.
“For the same reason, we can’t apply it to everything. We must give them something. It won’t truly delay the hearings, just throw them off a bit. The objective is delay. Remember, we’re trying to catch a traitor.
“Finally, and perhaps most important in the long run, it looks bad. People don’t like it, and Grant doesn’t want to use it more than necessary. It makes him look like he has something to hide, which of course he does. But the public would assume it was guilt, and it could very well hand the opposition the election.”
Carter slapped the table. “You’ve got to be kidding! Forget the damn politics! This is critical to national security. Anyone in Grant’s position should be prepared to look bad if that’s the only way to keep the people safe. This is no place for election-year politics.”
Mackenzie clapped her hands softly, while Sean and Dylan nodded forcefully. James and Irene were neutral on the subject or appeared to be. But then, they’d been privy to the planning session that had concluded executive privilege should be reserved for a last resort.
Bill replied mildly, “I understand your frustration, Carter. No one hates politics more than I do. I think only masochists like playing a political game. I know Sam Grant doesn’t. But it’s the price of democracy. Or at least the price as it’s come to be. Politicians gonna politic, just like haters gonna hate.”
“Sometimes I think a dictatorship would be more convenient,” Carter said. Everyone understood it wasn’t his literal opinion.
Bill thought to have the last word anyway. “It’s like Churchill said. ‘Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.’”
“You know what he also said? ‘The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter.’ Maybe he should have expanded that to the average Congressman,” Carter added.
“Good one. Nevertheless, it’s been decided above my pay grade. Executive privilege is the last resort. Let’s move on.”
“I say you all take the Fifth,” Dylan offered.
“No good,” Bill answered. “Same problem as executive privilege, plus a few more. Again, it won’t delay the hearings. They’ll just move on to the next person, and everyone who uses that tactic will end up in court eventually anyway. You know as well as I do that pleading the Fifth amounts to telling everyone you’re guilty but you won’t admit it. The President does that, and impeachment will follow like a rocket and the same for us. All that will do is guarantee Michelle Davis will dig harder and faster. Again, it doesn’t serve our purpose.”
“What’s wrong with just telling the truth?” Carter asked, with a heavy dose of sarcasm. He was still disgruntled about the political aspect of the discussion.
The people around the table exploded. “Have you gone bonkers?” Dylan’s voice broke through the others.
“Hear me out. We don’t have to do it in public. What if we take the most influential members, or the ones with the highest security clearances—?”
“Everyone on the Intelligence Committee has a security clearance,” Bill interrupted. “But it isn’t top-secret clearance. They just make a pledge, and historically, they’ve honored it more in the breach than the spirit.”
“Okay, but still. We need to insist on a closed-door meeting and show them some of the secret stuff to convince them.”
“Go on. What would you show them?” Bill was still reluctant to consider giving any senator any secret information, but he had to admit that was force of habit. Maybe this was a special case.
“What about the ancient nukes? We bring in those two nuclear scientists who were on the ship when we retrieved the nukes from the Alboran Sea. That should get their attention.
“And maybe a video recording of some of our chats with the dolphins.
“After that, they should believe everything we tell them, including why they should stop this witch-hunt right now, in the name of national security.”
Nods and smiles around the table convinced Bill that Carter was onto something. “Suppose we agree. What do you suggest as the next step?”
He wished he hadn’t opened it for discussion when everyone agreed it was up to him to contact Michelle Davis, either directly or through one of the other committee members, to make the offer. He loathed the idea, and it wasn’t just because of his natural wish to keep top-secret information out of her hands. She hated the CIA and him personally. The feeling was mutual. Several of her committee members felt the same about him and everything he stood for, which he’d always thought was an unfortunate situation given their oversight over his department.
Nevertheless, he agreed it was his duty and said he’d take care of it the following day.
Though they hadn’t had much time to enjoy the beautiful spring weather at Sean’s hideaway, it was time to get back to DC and put all their plans in motion.
Chapter 49 - About these quantum computers
April 23
True to his word, Bill contacted Scott Eadie first thing the next morning and wangled a short meeting with the President for later in the morning. Scott, in his usual irascible persona, asked several times if it was really important, because the President had meetings with party leadership scheduled for most of the day.
Bill, after the third such question, lost his patience. “Scott, if you ask me that again, I’m going to come over there right now and wring your scrawny neck. It is of the utmost importance, or I wouldn’t ask. I’ve got better things to do than get on my knees and beg you for an audience. Now give me a time, and it better be before noon.”
“Okay, okay! You don’t have to get all pissy about it.”
“Scott—”
“Fine! You can have fifteen minutes after the party chairman’s slot. Be here at nine thirty sharp. That’s when your fifteen minutes starts, and if you’re late, you still end at nine forty-five.” He ended the call before Bill could respond.
Bill looked at his watch. Two hours, and that was too long. Not to mention fifteen minutes was too short. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered.
His next call was to James, who told him to hold the line while he brought Irene into the call.
“I want you in the meeting with the President. Nine thirty sharp. Be there by nine fifteen.”
His tone made it clear there were to be no questions or objections. James and Irene wisely agreed, and the call ended.
Bill spent the next hour and a half putting together a hasty PowerPoint presentation, rearranging slides, and timing it. There was no way he’d be able to present all the evidence and all the plans in under half an hour. But if he was kicked out after fifteen minutes he could at least leave the PowerPoint with all the information for the President to view.
Scott Eadie might get his knickers in a twist over the destruction of his schedule, but Bill was certain the President would back him up and allow him more time after seeing the first fifteen minutes.
Bill was the first to arrive, a couple of minutes before the deadline he’d given James and Irene. He was told to wait in the anteroom. In all his years of service to his country, from the time he was a raw recruit to the Agency, through countless perilous undercover operations, and over the past several weeks in the current crisis, he’d never been as unsettled as he was right now.
He felt the fate of the free world rested on his ability to convince the President the proposals he was about to make were not only imperative but urgent. Physically, he felt like what he imagined a guitar string would feel on a long, sustained, high note in a heavy metal song. He was sur
prised he couldn’t see his arms vibrating, because they felt as if they were.
Just before he was about to jump out of his chair and pace, James and Irene arrived together. It was 9:16. He glared at them. “Where the hell have you been? You’re one minute late.”
Irene opened her mouth to protest, but James touched her arm, stopping her from saying anything. “Sorry, boss. We got hung up in security.”
“Well, isn’t that just dandy. They let traitors into the National Security Council meetings, and keep our top security officers out,” Bill muttered.
James and Irene let the remark pass without response. They could tell Bill was wound tighter than a two-dollar watch.
At 9:29 a.m., the door to the Oval Office opened, and Scott appeared with one hand on the back of the party chairman, as he shook hands with the other. The guy probably didn’t even realize he was being shoved out the door. He was only a few paces down the hall when Scott gestured to Bill. “Get in here, and make it brief.”
It was all Bill could do not to snarl at Scott, but he managed a sickly smile. “Thanks, Scott.”
James and Irene were on his heels as Scott closed the door. Before they even got to their chairs, he was opening his laptop and setting it in front of the President.
“President Grant, Scott didn’t give me much time, so I’ll dispense with formalities if you don’t mind. James and Irene are here to help me answer any questions you have after you’ve seen this.”
With that, he started his slideshow. He’d rehearsed it once, timing the slides to open as his narrative got to them so he’d stay on track. Within the first few sentences, Grant stopped him.
“Slow down, Bill. Give me a chance to absorb this.”
“With all due respect, Mr. President, I have half an hour’s material to present in fifteen minutes. Scott said you were very busy with party business.”
“Oh, he did, did he? Scott.”
Scott approached confidently. He’d been listening to Bill but didn’t have the benefit of the slides.
“Clear my schedule for however long Bill needs me.”
“But sir, the party—”
“Can go to hell. There won’t be a party if we don’t take care of this business right now. So, go and clear my schedule.”
Bill heaved a sigh of relief and felt his tension melt away. Now he could make the President understand everything. He left his laptop open but didn’t start the slideshow again. Instead, he went through everything they’d learned, and not learned, from Kelly White and Russell McCormick. Everything Carter and Mackenzie had discovered or theorized regarding a potential Nabatean library and what they proposed to do about it. Carter’s idea to lift the veil for some of the Intelligence Committee members to show them what was discovered and how serious it is. And the building of a quantum computer.
The President listened in silence until Bill stopped talking. “What can I do to help?” he asked then.
“You may be aware that I’m not Senator Davis’s favorite person,” Bill began.
The President burst out laughing. “I suppose you could say that,” he agreed. “But you must also be aware she’s out for my blood, too. You say you want the hearings postponed. How do you think I can help with that?”
Bill shrugged. “I thought you might know who could influence her.”
“I’ll give it some thought. I probably do. Maybe your boss. Sebastian Birch doesn’t seem to have pissed her off as much as you have.”
Bill nodded ruefully.
“What else?”
“Sir, to get all of the security agencies together for a project of the magnitude of the quantum computer proposal will take an order from you.”
“No problem. I’ll have to get Scott to look at funding for it, but go ahead and get started talking to your counterparts.”
Bill was amazed at the President’s grasp of it all. He’d expected to have to answer questions. James and Irene hadn’t even opened their mouths, but the President was agreeing. Only one item remained.
“About the Devereuxs’ proposal to go to Italy—”
“That’s up to your buddies over there,” the President interrupted, pointing to James and Irene. “If they agree and they have the funding, I have no objection.”
Just then, Scott came back in. “I’ve cleared the next hour, Mr. President. Will that be enough time?”
The President and Bill exchanged glances. “In that case,” Grant said, “tell me more about these quantum computers.”
Chapter 50 - The IT Project
April 25
Bill had made remarkable progress, in terms of government timeframes that was, by getting all his security agency counterparts to agree to meet only a couple of days after the President gave his blessing to the project. Even more remarkable was their agreement to bring the best minds in their IT departments with them. In a system where the best chance for advancement was cross-agency transfer, everyone was understandably leery of exposing their best employees to potential poachers.
He was mentally patting himself on the back when he opened the meeting, and he’d prepared opening remarks concerning the importance and urgency of the project.
“The project we’re here to discuss and kick off is above top-secret. Think Manhattan Project urgency and importance. I want to say at the outset it’s because of the work of A-Echelon that we have this opportunity. I know they’ve been under fire in the news media lately, but trust me on this, they have uncovered a threat that’s worse than any this country has ever faced.
“Forget Pearl Harbor. Forget 9-ll, weapons of mass destruction, ISIS, and people tunneling under walls. What we face right now is nothing less than the complete destruction of not only our democracy, but any other democracy in the world.”
He looked around at the curious faces, understanding he hadn’t given them enough information to absorb the dire prediction. To correct that, he began with the truth about Patch Barracks, to low murmurs here and there. By the time he stated the mission—to build a quantum computer—the murmurs were a steady drone. And then all hell broke loose.
Bill was disgusted at the melee. It seemed the mild-mannered computer geeks had a different side to their personalities. Without waiting for permission to speak, or for others to finish what they were saying, several had stood up and begun shouting. Bill couldn’t understand everything they were saying because they were shouting over each other, but he caught snatches of it.
“…impossible… not proven… idiot…”
The geek-speak was even more baffling. Parallel universes? Millikelvins? Entanglement of quantum bits? Cubits. Are these guys even speaking English?
The heads of the other agencies began shouting at him and at each other. He tried getting everyone’s attention by rapping a gavel he found under the portable podium in front of him on the table. When that didn’t work, out of desperation, he pounded his shoe, thinking he now knew why Soviet Premier Khrushchev had done such an uncouth thing decades before.
Still, no one paid him the slightest attention, except for his counterparts who were still shouting at him.
The IT people had gathered into several small knots, apparently along agency alliance lines. In one corner, two had resorted to fisticuffs and a ring had formed around them to encourage one or the other. The fighting pair were slapping at and pushing each other like kittens play-fighting. But the expressions on their faces said just because they didn’t know how to fight didn’t mean they weren’t dead serious.
Bill attempted one more time to bring the room to order with no success. He wished he had a gun so he could fire a shot in the air to get their attention or maybe even shoot a few of them. He stormed out of the room and had a couple of his operatives stand guard so none of the participants could leave.
Within minutes, he arrived breathless at the door of Scott Eadie’s office. “I need to see him, right now,” Bill said.
Scott had learned his lesson with the previous meeting and told Bill to follow him. He interrup
ted a photo-op session where Grant was signing a bill of some sort or other. One look at him had the President hurrying the signing ceremony along and all but shooing out the interested parties once it was done.
“What is it?” Grant asked when the three were alone.
Bill described the scene at his agency’s conference room.
Grant turned pale, and Bill at first thought he was having a heart attack. He regretted bringing the matter straight to the top. Maybe he could have used an air horn or something to get things under control?
But it turned out Grant wasn’t having a heart attack. Instead, it was an event so rare that his best friends had never even seen it. It was a fit of temper—compared to the one he’d seen a few days ago, when he told the President about the illegal surveillance of the National Security Council members. That fit was like a light breeze—this was a tornado.
“Scott, get over there right now. Take a pistol with you to get their attention if you need to. Shoot one of the agency heads, if you’d like. When they’re ready to listen, tell them every one of them is required to be at a rescheduled meeting at seven p.m.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, dammit, p.m. means tonight! No one is excused, unless he or she has died since this morning. In that case, I might accept an apology, but no guarantees.”
Scott scuttled out of the office, leaving a shaken and slightly amused Bill in his wake.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“You’re welcome. Now get out of here and get to work. I’m going to set a lighted firecracker up their collective butt, and you’d better be ready to give them their assignments.”
It was Bill’s turn to scuttle. He had some prep work to do in the next few hours. Never again did he want to see the President that angry, and certainly not at him.
***
At seven p.m. precisely, Bill entered the meeting room again. In contrast to the way he’d last seen it, the participants were all in their seats, and no one was talking. They didn’t need to. Bill could see from their expressions that if he wasn’t about to introduce the President, he’d better have an escape route in mind. His counterparts alone looked ready to tear him limb from limb.
