“The problem is, it looks like he knows we don't like what he's telling us, and as a result he's trying to put a spin on the data to please us. This is a time when we really need good stuff from Langley, but we're not getting it.”
Holtzman nodded thoughtfully. That was not exactly a new problem at Langley, but Ryan wasn't that sort, was he? The reporter set that aside. “And Narmonov?”
“If what we're getting is in any way correct, he may be on the way out, whether from the right or the left, we can't say. It may be that he's losing it.”
“That's solid?”
“It appears so. The part about blackmail from his security forces is very disturbing. But with our problems at Langley…” Liz held up her hands.
“Just when things were going so well, too. I guess you're having problems with Cabot?”
“He's learning his job pretty well. If he had better support, he'd be okay.”
“How worried are you?” Holtzman asked.
“Very much so. This is a time when we need good intel, but we're not getting it. How the hell can we figure out what to do about Narmonov unless we get good information? So, what do we get?” Liz asked in exasperation. “Our hero is running around doing stuff that really doesn't concern his agency — he's gone over people's heads to the Hill on some things — doing a Chicken Little act on one thing while at the same time he's not getting Cabot good analysis on what appears to be a major issue. Of course, he has his distractions…”
Our hero, Holtzman thought. What an interesting choice of words. She really hates the guy, doesn't she. Holtzman knew the fact, but not the reason. There was no reason for her to be jealous of him. Ryan had never shown great ambition, at least not in a political sense. He was a pretty good man, by all accounts. The reporter remembered his one public faux pas, a confrontation with Al Trent which, Holtzman was certain, must have been staged. Ryan and Trent got along very well now by all accounts. What could possibly have been important enough to stage something like that? Ryan had two intelligence stars — what for, Holtzman had never been able to find out. Just rumors, five different versions of four different stories, probably all of them false. Ryan wasn't all that popular with the press. The reason was that he had never really leaked anything. He took secrecy a little too seriously. On the other hand, he didn't try to curry favor either, and Holtzman respected anyone who avoided that. Of one thing he was sure: he had gravely underestimated the antipathy for Ryan in the Fowler Administration.
I'm being manipulated. That was as obvious as a peacock in a barnyard. Very cleverly, of course. The bit about the Russians was probably genuine. The Central Intelligence Agency's inability to get vital information to the White House wasn't exactly new either, was it? That was probably true also. So, where was the lie? Or was there a lie at all? Maybe they just wanted to get truthful but sensitive information out… in the normal way. It wasn't the first time he'd learned things in the northwest-corner office of the White House West Wing.
Could Holtzman not do a story on this?
Not hardly, Bobby boy, the reporter told himself.
The ride home was smooth as silk. Ryan caught as much sleep as he could, while the sergeant who took care of the cabin read through assembly instructions for some of the toys Jack had picked up.
“Yo, Sarge.” The pilot was back in the cabin for a stretch. “Whatcha doin'?”
“Well, Maj, our DV here picked up some stuff for the kiddies.” The NCO handed over a page of directions. Tab-1 into Slot-A, use 7/8ths bolt, tighten with a wrench, using…
“I think I'd rather tinker with broke engines.”
“Roger that,” the sergeant agreed. “This guy's got some bad times ahead.”
24
REVELATION
“I don't like being used,” Holtzman said, leaning back with his hands clasped at the base of his neck.
He sat in the conference room with his managing editor, another long-term Washington-watcher who'd won his spurs in the feeding frenzy that had ended the presidency of Richard Nixon. Those had been heady times. It had given the entire American media a taste for blood that had never gone away. The only good part about it, Holtzman thought, was that they didn't cozy up to anyone now. Any politician was a potential target for the righteous wrath of America 's investigatorial priesthood. The fact of it was healthy, though the extent of it occasionally was not.
“That's beside the point. Who does? So, what do we know is true?” the editor asked.
“We have to believe her that the White House isn't getting good data. That's nothing new at CIA, though it's not as bad as it used to be. The fact of the matter is that Agency performance has improved somewhat — well, there is the problem that Cabot has lopped off a lot of heads. We also have to believe what she says about Narmonov and his military.”
“And Ryan?”
“I've met him at social functions, never officially. He's actually a fairly nice guy, good sense of humor. He must have a hell of a record. Two Intelligence Stars — what for, we do not know. He fought Cabot on downsizing the Operations Directorate, evidently saved a few jobs. He's moved up very fast. Al Trent likes him, despite that run-in they had a few years ago. There's gotta be a story in that, but Trent flatly refused to discuss it the only time I asked him. Supposedly they kissed and made up, and I believe that like I believe in the Easter Bunny.”
“Is he the sort to play around?” the editor asked next.
“What sort is that? You expect they're issued a scarlet 'A' for their shirts?”
“Very clever, Bob. So, what the hell are you asking me?”
“Do we run a story on this or not?”
The editor's eyes widened in surprise. “Are you kidding? How can we not run a story on this?”
“I just don't like being used.”
“We've been through that! I don't, either. Granted that it's obvious in this case, but it's still an important story, and if we don't run it, then the Times will. How soon will you have it ready?”
“Soon,” Holtzman promised. Now he knew why he'd declined a promotion to assistant managing editor. He didn't need the money, his book income absolved him of the necessity of working at all. He liked being a journalist, still had his idealism, still cared about what he did. It was a further blessing, he thought, that he was absolved of the necessity of making executive decisions.
The new feed-water pump was everything the Master Shipwright had promised on the installation side, Captain Dubinin noted. They'd practically had to dismantle a whole compartment to get it in, plus torch a hole through the submarine's double hull. He could still look up and see sky through what should have been a curved steel overhead, something very unnerving indeed for a submarine officer. They had to make sure that the pump worked satisfactorily before they welded shut the “soft patch” through which it had arrived. It could have been worse. This submarine had a steel hull. Those Soviet submarines made of titanium were the devil to weld shut.
The pump/steam-generator room was immediately aft of the reactor compartment. In fact the reactor vessel abutted the bulkhead on the forward side, and the pump assembly on the after side. The pump circulated water in and out of the reactor. The saturated steam went into the steam-generator, where it ran through an interface. There its heat caused water in the “outside” or non-radioactive loop to flash to steam, which then turned the submarine turbine engines (in turn driving the propeller through reduction gears). The “inner loop” steam, with most of its energy lost, then ran through a condenser that was cooled by seawater from outside the hull, and was pumped as water back into the bottom of the reactor vessel for reheating to continue the cycle. The steam-generator and condenser were actually the same large structure, and the same multi-stage pump handled all of the circulation. This one mechanical object was the acoustical Achilles' heel of all nuclear-powered ships. The pump had to exchange vast quantities of water that was “hot” both thermally and radioactively. Doing that much mechanical work had always meant making a large amount of noise Until now.