Sigma One (10 page)

Anderson proceeded to lay out an elaborate plan describing how Kamarov would be smuggled into the States and then how, with the use of the drugs, he'd be made to divulge the secrets the Soviets had obviously worked so hard to guard.

His words were very convincing and with each added detail, the other committee members were being swayed closer to his point of view.

Walker, meanwhile, said nothing. He merely stood at the podium while the colonel rattled on and on.

When Anderson finally paused, Walker seized the opportunity to conclude. "Colonel, your plan is exactly what our agency had in mind, and in fact, we were about to implement it just five days ago.- Unfortunately, we have been unable to contact the agent we had in the research facility. In fact, we have reason to believe he's dead, but we have no way to verify it."

Pat breathed a sigh of relief at Walker's last comment If the agent were dead, there would be no way that Kamarov could be kidnapped if he stayed in the Soviet Union.

Lassiter stood up decisively and by his movements, it appeared he was about to say something very important. "Well, Walker, I've seen enough. If those pictures are real, and if the Soviets already have their version of the project, then I feel we have no alternative....Pat piqued his ears but to continue Mr. Huxley's research. (Pat beamed).

The general continued. "I do want to recommend, however, that we not give him blanket budgetary authority as we have in the past, but that we grant him a continuation of research for only ninety days pending our being able read the report he referred to earlier in the meeting and pending our finding out whether the agent Walker referred to is dead or alive. If either the report is not convincing or if we are able to contact the agent again ourselves and verify what he said was true then, and only then, can we re-examine the need to continue. In any event, a three month continuation is needed in the interim. Don't you agree?" Lassiter asked turning to each of the other members, all of whom nodded to show their approval as his eyes met theirs.

"Very well then," Radcliff added seeing everyone concurred. "It appears the committee has reached a consensus based on General Lassiter's recommendation. Let me restate it for the record and then we can adjourn."

Radcliff then restated the conditions on which SIGMA ONE would be allowed to continue as a formality and called for a vote. The committee voted unanimously to accept the conditions, and with that, he called the meeting to adjournment.

As each of the members filed past him, Pat nodded cordially, trying to put on that he was pleased with the outcome when, inside, he was seething. Each returned his gesture save for Butterworth and Ms. Anderson who were too caught up in an animated conversations about the health benefits of tofu. Apparently, both were vegetarians; although, judging from his girth, it didn't appear that Butterworth stuck to as healthy a diet as he was espousing to Robinson. It seemed odd to Pat that Butterworth would be interested in bean curd, and odder still that such a beauty as Robinson would give him a second glance, much less seem interested in what he had to say. Pat shook his head as he watched the odd couple pass into the corridor.

After the last of them had filed out, Radcliff and Pat were left alone.

"I'm sorry, Pat. I did the best I could under the circumstances."

“I know Senator. I’m not that concerned. At least we have some time to show progress and I'm sure we can." (He was lying. He didn't know how his organization would be able to do what he had promised in so short a span.

The senator saw through his friend's optimistic words, but chose to continue the lie anyway. "I know you can do it too, Pat. Why, my career is at stake as well as yours on this one."

Pat knew he was telling the truth about his own career being in the balance, but it struck him as unusual that Radcliff would make such a remark about his own future. The senator certainly didn't seem to worry about his career when his pecker got hard and he continued to chase the young secretaries around in the Senate building. Maybe something more was bothering him, but he didn't know what that could be. It was his neck on the line as he saw it, not the senator's, but before he could delve further into the reason for Radcliff's remark, the senator stuck out his hand and grabbed his shaking it briskly. "Good luck, Pat! I'll be talking to you soon," he said curtly motioning for him to leave.

Pat was still thinking about what Radcliff had said as he reached for the buzzer to let himself out of the vault.

Pat swung the vault door open and entered the hallway again. It was vacant. Captain Jennings, his escort, was nowhere to be seen. He looked at his watch and noted that only twenty-five minutes had passed since he had entered the conference room to defend his project. He still had five minutes left until the captain would come for him so he decided to use the time to develop a plan for dealing with the circumstances the committee had dealt him and sat down in an empty chair next to the vault door he had just closed. It was clear he hadn't succeeded in gaining the support he needed as he had hoped. Even Walker's testimony hadn't helped that much and his own briefing was a disaster. He was disgusted with himself.

Pat closed his eyes and began to weigh his alternatives. With only three months to save his dream, the only obvious thing to do was to make sure that his organization achieved the progress that he had lied about in the meeting. O'Shaunessey was his only hope. He decided then and there that whatever it took to get the old geezer to perform he'd do it.

As he sat there, he wrestled with the thought of going back into the vault and telling the senator that the report he sent was contrived, but quickly gave up the thought as foolish. He was too proud to admit that he'd lied about the progress his chief scientist had made. He remembered the oath he'd taken as a midshipman at the Naval Academy--that a midshipman didn't lie or cheat or steal or tolerate anyone else who did. This thought hurt. Had he become so involved in wanting SIGMA ONE to succeed that he'd abandoned his basic principles? Had he become so greedy? He didn't want to admit it, but the answer was clear: of course he had. But he rationalized that under the circumstances that principals didn't matter anymore. The fate of SIGMA ONE to him was synonymous with the fate of mankind. A lie to a friend paled in comparison to the significance of that.

At that moment, Captain Jennings came around the corner and approached him.

"Mr. Huxley?"

Pat ignored him. He was too deep in thought. His eyes were closed.

Jennings tried again. "Mr. Huxley, have you been waiting long?"

Still no reply.

Jennings tapped him on the shoulder and Pat opened his eyes.

"Huh," Pat replied, still not focused in this world.

"Have you been here long, sir? I got detained and hope that I didn't keep you waiting," Jennings apologized. He was still feeling slightly guilty for his earlier lack of consideration for Pat's handicap when he caught himself from running down the hall, leaving Pat behind, and he was trying to make amends.

Pat cleared his head and answered. "No, son, I just got out of the meeting." His voice indicated his meeting hadn't gone well.

Jennings picked up on it right away. "Everything okay? I mean did the hearing turn out okay?"

Pat snapped. "I don't want to talk about it and I'd appreciate your not intruding into matters that don't concern you. Do you understand?"

Jennings back stiffened. He was only curious. "Yes,sir. I understand." All thoughts of apologizing further for his earlier actions evaporated. Jennings then did a curt about face and proceeded down the hall not even waiting for Pat to get up. His gait was decidedly crisper than when he was hurrying to the meeting earlier.

Were it not for Pat's good sense of direction, he would have never made it out of the Pentagon, Jennings having sprinted purposefully until he was nearly out of sight. As it was, when Pat got to the front desk, Jennings was gone. Luckily for Pat, the guard seated at the front desk didn't check his escort-required badge and he was able to pass out of the controlled area without incident. Pat made a note to himself to call one of his old classmates at the Naval Annex and have the insolent Captain Jennings get a very choice assignment which, after he was through with it, would put any chances he may have had for career advancement out of the question.

Pat stood at the steps to the Pentagon and buttoned his overcoat to protect himself from the chilly October air. Scores of military men and women walked briskly past him. Each had a thinly disguised overworked look in their eyes as if their jobs would determine whether or not the country would go to war based upon which piece of paper they pushed that afternoon. This thought sickened him as he recalled the numerous zealots he had had to associate with in his brief tour of duty at the Naval Annex.

To him, people assigned to the Pentagon were more of a hindrance to military progress than a help.

He turned and limped toward his car. When Pat finished the half mile hike to the lower river front entrance parking lot and finally reached his car, he was physically and mentally exhausted so instead of going back to his office, he headed home to rest and to think.

Driving past the Washington Monument, he looked up at the white stone edifice and marveled at its beauty. The stone pillar stretched up into the cool October air pointing at the sky and reminded him of a Minuteman missile on lift-off. The sight also saddened him as he flashed back to the meeting and recalled the mandate he had been given to make progress or face the consequences of cancellation.

As he turned right onto Constitution Avenue and passed the tall grey government buildings, his cellphone beeped.

He lifted the receiver and put it to his Par.

"Hello!"

The voice on the other end was clear and crisp. "Mr. Huxley, this is security. I've got an urgent message for you from Ms. Hunt."

"What's up." Pat didn't like the word "urgent" especially when used in conjunction with Ms. Hunt. Pat wondered if Radcliff had more good news for him and was relaying it through Cherisa, his plant.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Huxley," the security guard said. "I just got this from the SIGMA ONE folks. Ms. Hunt said I should call you immediately.

She didn't give any details….”

Before he could continue, Pat interrupted. He was perplexed. "Put Ms.Hunt on the line. I want to speak to her now."

The guard paused, unsure how to respond, having sensed the anger in Huxley’s voice.

"Put her on! Dammit!" Pat repeated.

"I can't, sir. She's left the building. She wants you to meet her at Washington Mercy Hospital."

Pat was annoyed, but also concerned. His tone of voice changed as he probed for more information. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, sir, she didn't give me any further detail. She just left with the paramedics. They were carrying someone out on a stretcher. She said I should notify you. That's all I know."

"Did they say who was ill."

"No. I didn't get his name. I think you'd better hurry, sir. Ms. Hunt seemed pretty upset."

"Okay. Thanks. I'm on my way." Pat replied.Pat didn't know what had happened, but immediately after hanging up the receiver, he whipped his car to the right, changing directions without first looking in his rear view mirror and barely missing a new 450 SL Mercedes as he did. Obviously something was wrong at the NSF and it involved SIGMA ONE. He knew he had to hurry.

Pat drove for another twenty minutes and cursed each time he got caught behind a slow truck or missed a light. Finally, he pulled into the hospital parking lot. The red and white emergency entrance sign was on his right and as luck would have it, there weren't any parking spots near the door. Pat didn't have time to search the lot for a more convenient place, so instead he pulled into a reserved slot. He'd have to deal with whatever problem this caused later.

Pat hobbled toward the door and as soon as he entered, the clinical hospital smells of alcohol and sterility hit his nose. Ever since his airplane accident, hospitals had given him the chills. He didn't like to see them, or think about them, and to enter one was totally intolerable. Were it not for something involving SIGMA ONE, he wouldn't have even considered following Cherisa's request.

He stepped forward slowly ignoring the old man clutching his chest seated in the waiting room immediately opposite the admitting window. Once there, he cautiously looked around and seeing no one, began beating on the glass to get the administrator's attention. He could see her halfway across the room on the other side of the glass with her back turned. She was ignoring him and continued to pour herself a cup of coffee.

The old man spoke up. "Don't try to hurry her, son. I've been sitting here for nearly an hour and a half with chest pains and she's been ignoring me all that time. I think              probably have to die before I see a doctor." The old man was breathing laboriously as he spoke.

Pat stopped beating on the window long enough to turn around to see who had spoken to him. "Huh?" he asked.