“That’s exactly the problem, Storm. You don’t know. You issue the funds, but have no oversight beyond that. You ask questions before making the appropriations, but not after.”
“Some questions don’t need to be asked. Take nuclear weapons for example; I don’t know how they make the plutonium in them, but I still support funding. That information must be kept secret. You don’t want every Tom, Dick and Hussein making bombs.”
Storm had taken the congressman’s point out of context, but he didn’t care to correct him, nor continue debating. Instead he asked, “How much did you receive in PAC contributions last year?”
Offended and stern, Storm replied, “What’s your point?”
“You forget who your obligations are to. When was the last time you honestly spoke to a constituent that wasn’t waving corporate money or didn’t offer a sentimental PR story?”
Without hesitation or remorse, Storm answered, “Eighteen years ago. My first term, when I didn’t know any better and thought I could help everyone and everything in my path. If you don’t soon realize your limitations, you won’t be around for a second term.”
“That’s where you’re confused. I’m a man of action. I don’t care about the picture I paint, just the results. And I never planned on a long tenure.”
The congressman’s persistence irritated Storm. “You waltz into Washington and think you can take over. It doesn’t work that way. You can’t fathom the power with which you’re dealing. You won’t be allowed to make a mockery of my committee.”
“It’s already a mockery!”
“You just remember: David beat Goliath, not the United States Military.” Storm quickly surveyed others nearby, making sure his quiet furry hadn’t attracted any eavesdroppers, then continued. “I don’t like everything I see, but certain people and circumstances should be left alone. I don’t know how far along you are with your plans, but covertly sending an FBI agent onto a secret military installation is not oversight; it’s tantamount to espionage. They’ll bury your man in that desert. Then come after you. I’m being kind by warning you.” He extended his hand for a shake, not out of courtesy or respect, but in a calculated fashion to control the conversation and signal their exchange was over.
Watching Storm return to his military cohorts, the congressman considered Storm’s parting statement about not liking everything he saw, and how it contrasted with a previous remark: If there was any truth to them, I would know.
Warnings and actions were two different problems. The congressman knew Storm was making idle threats to keep his committee from being scrutinized. Plus, Storm misunderstood the situation; the congressman’s man was already in the desert, and was far from being buried.
Minutes after Storm left him, the congressman’s phone rang.
“Where are you?” Grason asked fervently.
“Good timing,” the congressman replied. “I’m at that GRATCOR function I told you about. We have a problem.”
“Call me after you’ve left, and use a landline.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got troubles too.”
“Get out of that place and call me back.”
The congressman was eager to talk, but sensed the urgency in Grason’s voice. He hung up the phone and left the party. After driving a few blocks he found a gas station with a payphone in the parking lot.
“Someone broke into the professor’s lab and bugged his house,” Grason informed him once they were in contact again. “Tried to look at his files. He thinks they’re watching him.”
“How can that be? You haven’t given him anything yet.”
“They didn’t find him through us. I assume his FOIA request for documents raised a flag somewhere. I think we discovered the problem immediately, the professor took good precautions.”
“We’ve got to believe that whoever is interested in the professor is the same group we have an interest in. Maybe you can work some counterintelligence?”
“I’m trying. But I’m having trouble getting him to stay at his house.”
“Then put him on hiatus until we know it’s safe.”
Grason was surprised to hear the congressman take the conservative approach.
“In the meantime,” the congressman continued, “Val should be back from his second trip. Better luck?”
“A little, but let’s not discuss that over the phone. Bottom line is he’ll have to make another trip.”
“It might be the last time we can risk sending him. The cat’s head is out of the bag in Washington, but they don’t realize the investigation is operational.”
Grason didn’t like hearing there was a leak on the political end, but had no option other than to deal with it. After hanging up, he stretched out on the aging avocado green couch in his office. He closed his eyes and milled over the operation, where it was, and where he wanted to take it. The sofa felt comfortable. He liked spending time in his office, surrounded by all the electronic devices that helped make his career exciting: recording devices, anti-recording devices, state-of-the-art computer equipment. The one piece of equipment Grason didn’t have: the laser-guided listening device that was trained on his office window.
Outside the Los Angeles Federal Building, across Veteran Avenue, a small parabolic satellite dish had been installed atop a six-story apartment building by Damien Owens’ Aquarius agents. The results weren’t as effective as tapping Grason’s phone because the dish only recorded his end of the conversation, but was less risky than tapping the FBI’s secured phone lines.
Routine investigations by the Aquarius teams into individuals studying fringe sciences had led them to Professor Eldred, who led them to Grason Kendricks, and would soon lead them to the congressman.
CHAPTER 33
Blake returned home and found a phone message from Professor Eldred telling him to take some time off — no mention of how long — and he would be in touch. Trying to return the call proved frustrating; the professor wasn’t answering his phone, and had disconnected his answering machine. Time off? Blake wondered. He had just taken three days off, and the professor had seemed disappointed to see him go.
Having the professor as an employer was an awkward situation. Now he understood why people advised against conducting business with friends. He couldn’t afford to take much time off, but felt uncomfortable making an issue of it. Maybe I jumped into the project too soon, he thought. Could gravity really be an attainable resource? His time with Desmond did nothing to advance his understanding of the classified document. Although the science of antigravity had captivated him, he wondered if it was better studied by ufologists, not someone looking to start an engineering career.
After being home for two days, Blake began to feel directionless, and did something he had never done before by watching daytime television, evening television, and prime time television all in the same day. On the third night he considered a return to productivity through new channels of employment and printed a copy of his resume to review, but before he could give considerable thought about where to send it he received a late-night knock at his door. Opening the door revealed the professor’s slight frame.