Each, too, a brilliant man.
Afternoon became evening and then, swiftly, the early-morning hours. Ryan found that Jamison continuously evaded questions about his projects at Genessee. It was frustrating, because it wasn’t natural; shop talk among top aeronautical men—especially with both cleared for the highest classification—was the normal, anticipated, looked-forward-to indulgence.
«Then I got an inspiration, Andy,» said Mike Ryan, interrupting his narrative. «I decided to offer Ralph a job.»
«Where?» asked Trevayne, smiling. «Doing what?»
«Who the hell cared? We were both fried out of our skulls; him more than me, I’m happy to say… I made it sound like I was a lab raider. I was with a company that was in a bind; we needed him. I’d actually come looking for him. I offered him three, maybe four times what I figured he was pulling down at Genessee.»
«You were pretty damned generous,» said Alan Martin. «What were you going to do if he accepted?»
Ryan stared down at the coffee table. His eyes had a sadness about them. «By then I’d accurately predicted that he wouldn’t.» Ryan looked up. «Or couldn’t.»
Ralph Jamison, faced with a firm, incredible offer made by a man who—drunk or sober—would not have made it without authorization, had to find explanations commensurate with his illogical refusal. The words, at first, came easily: loyalty, current projects that concerned him at Genessee, lab problems he couldn’t leave, again loyalty, stretching back over the years.
Ryan countered each with growing irritation, until Jamison—by now nearly incoherent, and pressured by his total belief in Ryan’s extraordinary offer—dropped the words.
«You can’t understand. Genessee has taken care of us. All of us.»
«Taken care?» Trevayne repeated the words reported by Mike Ryan. «All of them?… Who? What did he mean?»
«I had to piece it together. He never came out and made any blanket admissions … except one. But it’s there, Andy. All the top talent—especially lab and design—are paid below the line.»
«Under the table, I presume, is another, more accurate description,» said Alan Martin.
«Yes,» answered Ryan. «And not little driblets in expense vouchers. Fair-sized amounts, usually paid outside the country and wending their way to Zurich and Bern. Coded bank accounts.»
«Unreported income,» supplied Martin.
«Untraceable,» added Sam Vicarson. «Because no one cries fraud. And no country’s tax laws are recognized in Switzerland. Even when violated, it’s not fraud as far as the Swiss are concerned.»
«It starts early, as I understand it,» said Ryan. «Genessee spots a comer, a real potential, and the loving begins. Oh, they check out the person; they work slowly, gradually. They find weaknesses—that was Ralph’s admission, incidentally, I’ll get to it—and when they find them they cross-pollinate them with plain, outright, hidden bonuses. In ten or fifteen years a guy has a sweet nest egg of a hundred, a hundred and fifty thousand salted away. That’s mighty inducive.»
«And he’s inexorably bound to Genessee Industries,» said Trevayne. «It’s a collusion pact; he does what Genessee tells him to do. Because if he doesn’t, that’s conducive to something else. I assume payments are made by … let’s say, expendable intermediaries.»
«Right.»
«A rough estimate, Mike: how many Ralph Jamisons are there?» asked Trevayne.
«Well, figure Genessee has a hundred installations—general and subsidiary—like the Houston labs. Not as big, certainly, but substantial. You can estimate between seven and ten top men at each site. Seven hundred to a thousand.»
«And these people control project decisions, production lines?» Trevayne wrote on notepaper.
«Ultimately, yes. They’re responsible.»
«So for a few million a year, Genessee extracts obedience from a powerful sector of the scientific community,» said Andrew, scratching over the figures he’d written. «Men who have control over, say, a hundred project installations, which in turn make the decisions for all of the Genessee plants and subsidiaries. Assembly lines and contracts involving billions.»
«Yes. I’d guess it’s growing every year; they start young.» The dejected, questioning expression returned to Ryan’s face. «Ralph Jamison’s a sad casualty, Andy. He’s better than that. He’s got a big problem.»
«He drinks with the Irish crazies,» said Alan Martin gently, seeing the pain in Ryan’s eyes.
Ryan looked at Martin, smiled, and paused before replying softly. «Hell no, Al, he’s an amateur. He goes out New Year’s Eve… Ralph’s at the real genius level. He’s made great contributions to metallurgical research; we’d never have made the moon without him. But he burns himself out in the shops. He’s been known to work seventy-two hours straight. His whole life is committed to the laboratory.»
«Is that his problem?» asked Andy.
«Yes. Because he can’t take the time for anything else. He runs from personal commitments; he’s frightened to death of them. He’s had three wives—quick selections. They gave him among them four children. The ladies have bled him in alimony and support. But he’s nuts about the kids; he worries about them so because he knows himself and those girls. That was his admission to me. Every February he goes to Paris, where a Genessee small-timer gives him twenty thousand in cash, which he takes to Zurich. It’s for his kids.»
«And he’s one of the men who put us on the moon.» Sam Vicarson made the statement quietly and watched Trevayne. It was apparent to all in the room that Sam was referring to something—someone else.
And each knew that Sam had been to Seattle, Washington. To Joshua Studebaker.
Andrew accepted Vicarson’s words and his unspoken appeal. He turned back to Ryan. «But you’re not suggesting that we disregard Jamison’s report, are you, Mike?»
«Christ, no.» Ryan exhaled slowly. «I don’t like nailing him, but what I’ve learned about Genessee Industries scares the hell out of me; I mean really scares me. I know what those design shops and laboratories are turning out.»
«That’s physical, not sociological,» said Vicarson quickly, firmly.
«Sooner or later those two get together if they’re not already, fella,» answered Ryan.
«Thanks, Mike.» Trevayne’s voice indicated that he wanted no tangential discussions at the moment.
Vicarson leaned forward on the couch and picked up his file folder. «Okay. I guess it’s my turn,» he said with a shrug that conveyed far more than resignation.
Andrew interrupted. «May I, please?»
Sam looked at Trevayne, surprised. «What?»
«Sam came to me earlier this evening. The Studebaker report isn’t complete. There’s no question that he was reached and threatened by Genessee, but we’re not sure of the degree of influence that had on the antitrust decision regarding Bellstar. The judge claims that it didn’t; he justifies the decision in legal and philosophical terms, using contemporary definitions. We do know the Justice Department had no real interest in pursuing the action.»
«But he was reached, Andrew?» Alan Martin was concerned. «And threatened?»
«He was.»
«Threatened with what?» asked Ryan.
«I’m going to ask you to let me wait before answering that.»
«It’s so filthy?» asked Martin.
«I’m not sure it’s relevant,» said Trevayne. «If it turns out to be, it’ll be filed.»
Ryan and Martin looked at each other, then at Vicarson. Martin spoke, addressing Trevayne. «I’d be a damn fool to start questioning your judgment after all these years, Andrew.»