On Deception Watch

by David H Spielberg

  “Paul, Arthur Cranshaw and I met and had a difficult meeting of the minds. Even though this obviously is an energy issue I didn’t ask you to sit in on the conversation because I wasn’t sure myself where I was going to go with it and, well . . . I didn’t want it on the record. I wanted a meeting where I could deny what I said without contradiction . . . where at best it would be ‘he said, she said.’ Cranshaw and I met three days ago.

  “He is an interesting man, this Cranshaw. A PhD physicist, an entrepreneur, a visionary, and very much a capitalist. There is no doubt he is in this for the money, but I don’t think he realized just how big a Pandora’s Box he was opening. Oh, yes, he knew there would be strong and dangerous interests he would be challenging. Threatening, I think, is a more appropriate word, but he didn’t really see the true magnitude of what he was attempting and what he accomplished. Times have changed. The patent fight over Alexander Bell’s invention of the telephone is not a good comparison. In fact there are no good comparisons. Cranshaw’s inventions will change the world. They will change the future.

  “Paul, this is too big for Cranshaw. In fact, it’s too big for the United States. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the possibility of going to the UN with this. In fact, I’ve had some preliminary discussions with the secretary-general about this. I believe this is a technology we must share with the world.”

  Latimer exhaled slightly as his shoulders dropped. The reaction was not lost on the president. Both he and the president waited for the effect of the proposal to sink in. Then Drummond continued.

  “I am thinking of something like this—the United States and AJC Fusion would license our technology to the United Nations, exclusively. The technology AJC Fusion developed and patented and the solid laser technology we developed. The monetary value of the license fees would be our continuing reward for the use of our combined technologies. The United Nations would establish an agency to design, build, and operate microfusion power plants through a leasing arrangement to subscribing countries. This would provide a source of revenue for the UN and would keep the technology under UN control to preclude its diversion to weapons applications. That’s it in a nutshell, Paul. What do you think?” The president leaned back in his chair, content that the basic concept had been presented so quickly and easily. The simplicity appealed to him.

  Unconsciously, Paul Latimer reached into his shirt pocket and removed his fountain pen. He began to turn the pen over in his hand. Over and over, as he thought about what the president had just said.

  “It’s revolutionary thinking, Mr. President. I hope you don’t mind my using that term. But there are so many firsts here. If you’ll permit me, I’d like to play devil’s advocate for a moment.”

  Drummond nodded his approval.

  “First we will be turning over highly classified military research, research needed to shield the United States from nuclear attacknot to a private company, an entity we can perhaps control, but to the United Nations, the waving red flag to one third of the electorate, and over which we have no control and hardly any leverage. This will be like throwing raw meat to the far right, not to mention the military who will have a fit over this, sir. I’m not sure you could get such an agreement through the Congress.

  “Second, your plan doesn’t mention any bailout of the oil patch. And not just ours, but in other countries as well, where oil revenue is a matter of financial life and death. By sponsoring this technology, we’ll be devaluing the oil company holdings to the tune of trillions of dollars. This will have to be addressed.

  “Finally, the United Nations is not chartered to generate revenue, to be a profit center. It’s operating funds are meant to derive from member contributions. Any major independent source of income smacks of a first step toward a self-sustaining world entity. A world government, if you will. And placing anything as important for a country as power generation under UN control tends to support that thesis.” Latimer stopped, believing he had raised enough insoluble problems for the initial salvo.

  “Paul, it’s a good thing you weren’t there when the good Lord was figuring out how we should be making babies. You might’ve spoiled it for everyone,” the president said, laughing, more relaxed than Paul felt he had a right to be, under the circumstances. “But, as usual, you make several good points—points I can assure you that I have not been blind to. But I tell you, Paul, this breakthrough is too important to humanity to be sidetracked. We cannot say that this or that technology is only for war and not available for peaceful use. That is immoral. America cannot be a party to that. I will find a way around these problems, Paul. And I’m asking you to help me.”

  The president got up and looked out the window behind his desk. “I love this view. All that lawn and the trees, the expanse. It calms me. I find it helps me put things in perspective sometimes, looking out this window—a window that Lincoln and Roosevelt looked out. There is a peaceful world out there that we must nurture, Paul. You have a good brain, an analytical brain. And I can count on you also to see the big picture. I want you to help me with this. I need creative thinking. Not why we can’t do this, but how we can do it. By god, Paul, if we left it up to the lawyers and the diplomats, we’d never get anything done.”

  “Yes, sir . . . Mr. President, does anyone else know about your thinking on this matter?” Latimer asked. He was rubbing his chin with his pen.

  “I’ve asked for formal meetings to be set up with Secretary-General Lal and his aides. I will be meeting shortly with Senator Paxton and other key members of the Congress,” the president answered.

  “Will Cranshaw go along with your idea?”

  “Cranshaw doesn’t have much choice. Without our solid laser his system is just another article in Science Digest. He’s a little jittery right now, feeling out on a limb and out of control. And the death of one of his engineers hasn’t done anything to add to his sense of security or leverage on this. It shook Cranshaw up pretty badly. We’ll give him his due and he’ll understand that half a loaf is better than none. The police are sure that engineer was murdered. Evidently, everyone at his company thinks they’re next.”

  “There could be something to it, Mr. President,” Latimer said.

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I want to move fast. Up the ante to a higher level. If it is murder, I want that cast of characters at Cranshaw’s lab to be too low on the totem pole to kill.”

  “By putting the target around your neck, Mr. President?”

  “Well, Paul, nobody kills presidents anymore. Besides, you’re my insurance. Your loyalty is well-known. You would just carry out my plans. What would anyone gain from killing me?”

  “Nothing, Mr. President. What about Congress? How will you get around them?”

  “I don’t think we have a problem there. I believe I can transfer the technology to the UN under a Presidential Agreement. I don’t think we’ll need a treaty. If the Congress legislates that agreement away, I will veto the legislation.”

  “Suppose they override?”

  “Paul, I can see we’ve been entirely too friendly with the Congress. Not enough vetoes around here or you’d have remembered the answer to that.” The president sat down again at his desk.

  “To override a veto takes two-thirds of each house. To sustain a veto only takes one-third plus one. The minority controls. I can get enough conservationists and peaceniks and liberals to sustain my veto on this issue of nonpolluting energy and the peaceful use of fusion and using the Strategic Defense Initiative technology for peaceful purposes. They’ll eat it up. For the past twenty years, Congress has been trying to kill that program. Here’s a chance to show their folks back home that the money used to develop our laser technology was money well-spent. I believe I’m override-proof on this one, Paul.”

  “What about the oil companies?”

  “They’ll scream bloody murder. But they’ll have years to phase energy out of their operations. They’ll just have to find something else to do with all their oil. The gover
nment of the United States doesn’t owe a permanent market to any business in America, even the oil business. At least that’s how I see it now.” The president watched Latimer as he softly drummed his pen in the palm of his hand. “Paul, I can tell by the beat frequency of your pen that you’re not buying all of this.”

  Latimer quickly put his pen back in his pocket. Raising his eyebrows, he continued, “It’s just that there are so many consequences to consider. It’s so revolutionary. It would be better if this were in response to some generally perceived crisis, rather than out of the blue like this. We’d have people sensitized to the need. They’d be lined up on this. This way, it’s going to be a big shock to everyone. A bold, generous, far-sighted move, but a shock, nonetheless. I don’t know, Mr. President. I think we’re in for a very bumpy ride on this.”

  31

  Senator Jebediah Paxton waited outside the president’s door for only a few moments. Frank Morrison handled him, making sure he was properly stroked during the brief moments before the president indicated he was ready. Glad hand and idle chatter to pass the waiting moments with dignity and a sense of purpose. As chairman of the Ways and Means committee, Jeb Paxton was a very powerful presence in Washington.

  Where Jeb came from, the folks returned their senators. Until they died. That carried a lot of weight, the rules being what they were with seniority in the Congress. Paxton became accustomed to certain courtesies and considerations for a man of his influence. So Frank Morrison made sure that Paxton did not feel neglected in those few moments.

  When the president’s “summon button” lit, Morrison ushered the senator into Drummond’s office. There was the usual exchange of pleasantries after Paxton settled into his chair.

  Morrison did not stay as he usually did when the president met with members of Congress. Paxton liked to meet alone with the president. He said it made for a more open discussion. Nobody worrying about being quoted in a post-Washington “kiss and tell” book.

  “Jeb,” the president said, “I won’t beat around the bush with you. I’m going to announce the internationalization of the microfusion technology. I want this available to the world, through the United Nations, and I want you with me on this. That’s the bottom line. All the rest—the details—they will be worked out. You know how important this technology is to the world. You know what America stands for. This is the right thing to do and I’m going to need your help to make it happen.” Drummond leaned back in his chair. He picked up the lit cigar from the ashtray on his desk. “So there it is, Jeb. I need you with me on this.”

  Paxton, as with most Washington veterans, was a man who was not easy to read, neither from his expression nor from what he said. This was always a source of amazement to freshmen newly arrived to the halls of power. A thunderous “No!” might be a screen for a secret “Yes.” And just as often, a silent or muted reaction might, in reality, be the lurking eye of the hurricane. President Drummond, however, knew this very well. And Paxton knew that Drummond knew.

  “Well, Mr. President, I believe we all on the Hill share your enthusiasm for the great potential good that this new science will bring to America in the future. But I can tell you that we—and my constituents, I can tell you—are also feeling strongly about this, Mr. President. We are also concerned about the danger to the country—to our military security and to our economic strength—from what you have already done. My people back home are not happy with the federal government playing patty-cake with a private company on an issue where they are seeking proprietary gain from the use of federal technology, technology paid for with the people’s money. What you are proposing now to me, sir, I can tell you, will raise even more serious concerns and will strike many of my constituents as un-American.”

  “Jeb, I recognize those concerns. But I am convinced there is a higher duty here, that by placing this technology under the aegis of the United Nations we will be placing it in the hands of the people of the world.”

  “Mr. President, that’s just right there part of my problem. Not all the people of the world are friendly to the United States of America. I’m not sure that it’s in the best interests of our nation to place in those people’s hands the secret of our own nuclear defense. And a lot of my friends back home have the same concern. Mr. President, the United Nations is not what we want it to be. It’s what it is. And it has not been a great friend of the United States. It does not greatly reassure me, sir, to take our precious military security from the hands of a profit-seeking private American company—a company known to be trafficking with foreign powers—and turn those secrets over to the United Nations, an even more despicable organization, an institution that has vilified us, abused us, and continuously rejected our point of view.” For an instant Paxton’s right eye gave a startled twitch as he realized he was beginning to sound like a man on the stump, campaign zeal bursting to the surface. He leaned back in chair, smiling. “As you briefly described it just now, Mr. President, I believe my people will not be pleased with what you are proposing.”

  Reaching into his desk, Drummond drew out another cigar, offering one it to Paxton, who reached out and took it. President Drummond offered Senator Paxton the cutter to clip the end of the cigar, a fine Havana. Carefully lighting the cigar, Paxton continued to think about what the president had just said. Slowly he let out a narrow stream of smoke.

  “You remember, of course, Jeb, that when President Reagan first began the Strategic Defense Initiative, he indicated that the technology would be shared with the Russians, so that it would not represent a destabilizing influence in the world. If both sides were immune to a nuclear attack, then there would be no point to launching a nuclear attack. On that basis you folks on the Hill continued to fund the SDI program.

  “My people never subscribed to that concept, Mr. President. We still do not. You know, we don’t believe it’s the business of this or any other Congress to appropriate funds from the treasury of the people of the United States for research that we hand over to the Russians or the Chinese or, for that matter, the Brazilians.”

  “Suppose I could assure you that the security of the United States would not be jeopardized.”

  “Mr. President, it’s not your assurances that are the problem. The problem is the assurances that you will get from everyone else in the world that will be privy to our nuclear and laser secrets.”

  “Suppose we get airtight verification. What then?”

  “Then you’ve only scratched the surface. What about the oil industry in this country and the people who depend on it for their livelihood? Do we just throw these people away? No we don’t, sir. What about all those oil company loans, what about all those buyouts collateralized by the value of the oil in the hole—value that will be greatly decreased by your proposal. Our economy will be thrown into a shambles. What you are proposing is chaos, Mr. President, not revolution.”

  The president listened. He had heard nothing that he had not expected. All the issues between them were out now. They could now begin the real discussion. This was where Drummond was unsure. What did Paxton really think? What did he really want?

  “Senator, we have a real problem. This technology is not a hypothetical situation. It’s real and it’s here. And we have to decide what we want to do about it. It won’t go away because we don’t want to deal with it. Yes, it could become chaos. Or it could be handled, managed . . . a controlled revolution. We’ve got time to plan this thing, Jeb. It’s going to happen whether we control it or not. Right now, Cranshaw needs our solid laser technology. But don’t forget how smart and driven those folks at AJC Fusion are. If they can do all that they’ve already accomplished, if they have to don’t you think in time they could develop the laser technology they need all by themselves?

  “If we work together we can control this genie. I agree with your assessments. These are all valid concerns—concerns that I share with you, believe me. But the alternative to a planned revolution is the chaos you fear. We can’t simply walk away from
this. Help me. Together we can make it work.”

  Paxton rubbed his head. He took a long draw on the cigar and opening his mouth in a circular pout let the smoke drift out slowly. “I don’t think so, Mr. President. Not the way you want to do this. What you are proposing is too fast. And you are going too far. You are talking about benefits to the world when I respectfully submit that I don’t believe you have had time to properly analyze the benefits—and threats—yes, threats to the American people, to our own nation.”

  “Jeb, you’re a student of history. You know that when the cat is out of the bag, it’s out and that’s all there is to it. Once it’s shown that something can be done, other people find a way to do it too. We had our atom bomb in 1945. By ‘49 the Soviets were testing their first nuclear weapons. Then the French in ‘60, the Chinese in ‘64, and the Indians in ‘74. And the Pakistanis. And of course, the Israelis and the Iranians. It will be the same with this. The cat is out of the bag, Senator. If we don’t act now to control the direction this thing goes in—to take advantage of our initial advantage—Jeb, we’ll be out of control and maybe out of the picture later, if and when we get around to reacting.”

  Senator Paxton sat quietly thinking about the president’s words. Paxton had the face of a farmer, angular, thin, weathered, and determined, with a hard jawline, long, sharp nose, and a skin the color of cedar shake. His silver hair was full and straight, with a lock falling over his forehead that through long established habit he would absently return to its official position, only to have it fall again with his next animated movement.

  If eyes are the windows to the soul, then Jeb Paxton’s eyes opened to a soul lesser men declined to explore. Dark and dry, there was no inviting sparkle in their unblinking fixity. Set in that craglike face, the intimidation was complete. The most powerful senator in the Congress of the United States set those eyes upon the president of the United States. Neither man diverted his gaze. Finally, Paxton smiled.