(1976) The R Document (15 page)

Collins studied the photographs. What he saw was sections of a broken-down chain-link fence, with rusted strands of barbed wire on top, set in chipped concrete foundations. Behind the fence, he saw some decaying remnants of barracks, scattered shells of buildings, and a crumbling watchtower.

‘What about this?’ Collins asked, returning the pictures to his son. ‘There’s nothing to see in those photos.’

‘Exactly,’ said Josh. ‘That’s the whole point. They were taken a year ago and there was nothing to see then. Just ruins.’ He gestured toward the scene in front of them. ‘Now look at Tule Lake today and what do you see?’ Puzzled,

Collins squinted off, as his son went on. ‘A brand-new security fence with electrified wire on top, and set in reinforced-concrete foundations. And out there, look at the buildings. A spanking-new brick watchtower with searchlights. Three absolutely new cement-block buildings, with four more going up. What does that tell you?’

‘That there’s construction work going on. That’s all.’

‘But what kind of construction work? I’ll tell you what kind. It’s a secret Government project taking place in this remote area. It’s a new Tule Lake being repaired and rebuilt. It’s a future concentration camp being prepared for the victims of mass arrests when the 35th Amendment goes into effect.’

Collins was taken aback and irritated. He had wasted a day, endured unnecessary discomfort, to be shown what was only a product of his son’s immature and paranoidal imagination. ‘Come on, Josh, you don’t expect me to buy that. Wherever did you dream this up?’

Josh’s mouth tightened. ‘We have our sources. It is a Government project. It’s new. It’s plainly some kind of internment camp or prison. If it isn’t, why the renovated watchtower?’

‘A hundred Government projects might have that for security purposes.’

‘Not this heavy, not like this.’

‘Well, dammit, it’s not a concentration camp or whatever you want to call it. We don’t have those in this country now, and we never will again. My God, Josh, this is the same kind of nonsense, the same kind of loose rumor, that was going on back in 1971 when a few underground papers accused President Nixon and Attorney General Mitchell of reviving the Japanese relocation centers as detention camps for dissenters and demonstrators. Nobody ever proved that.’

‘Nobody ever disproved it, either.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Collins saw that behind the fence two men were walking toward the entry gate. ‘Well, I’ll disprove your notion about this project,’ he said determinedly. ‘You wait here.’

As Collins strode toward the gate, he saw the two men - one in military uniform, the other in T-shirt and jeans -

shake hands and part company. While the uniformed man remained at the gate, the other started to return to the construction site in the distance.

Collins quickened his stride as he neared the uniformed man, who had been watching his approach with a speculative eye.

‘Are you a guard here?’ Collins asked. ‘That’s right.’

‘Is this private property or Federal?’ ‘It’s Federal. Anything I can do for you, sir?’ ‘I’m with the Government. I’d like to have a look at your facility.’

The guard appraised Collins briefly. ‘I dunno. Of course, if you’re Government … ‘ He wheeled about, cupped his hand around his mouth, and shouted, ‘Hey, Tim!’ The retreating figure stopped, turned back. This fellow says he’s Government. You’d better talk to him.’

The other figure, a burly man with a reddish face, was returning.

Collins waited. When the burly man in T-shirt and jeans reached the gate, the guard stepped aside.

‘I’m Nordquist, the construction foreman,’ the burly man said. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I - I was hoping to tour this facility.’ He was tempted to display his credentials, identify himself as the Attorney General of the United States, but he thought better of it. Word might get out that he had taken part in this wild-goose chase, this nonsense, and he’d look like a fool. ‘I’m with the - the Government - Justice Department - Washington.’

‘You’d have to have clearance to enter. Unless you have an okay from the Pentagon or the Navy -‘ ‘I don’t/ said Collins lamely.

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in without special permission,’ said Nordquist. ‘This is definitely a restricted area.’ ‘The Navy, you said.’

‘That’s no secret,’ the construction foreman said. ‘This is an arm of Project Sanguine. Called ELF. You know about that?’

‘ I’m not quite sure.’

‘ELF - Extremely Low Frequency. A facility of the United States Navy - the communication system to contact submerged submarines. If you read the newspapers, you should know about it.’

‘I’ve missed some of the news reports during my inspection tour. At any rate, I seem to have been directed to the wrong place this time.’

‘Looks that way, sir. But come back with proper clearance and we’ll be glad to show you around.’

‘Well, thanks anyway.’

He watched the man leave. Then, feeling very foolish and manipulated, he trudged slowly back to where Josh was waiting in front of the car.

He tried not to be resentful of his son. He tried to be restrained. He explained the situation to Josh, repeating exactly what Nordquist had told him. ‘So much for that,’ he concluded. ‘Now you can tell Pierce and all your friends they’re a million miles off base. It’s a U.S. Navy facility and nothing more.’

Josh would not have it. ‘Je-sus, Dad, you don’t expect them to call it a detention camp, do you?’ Stubbornly, he persisted. ‘Why all those barracks, or jailhouses?’

‘Nobody but you says they’re jailhouses.’

‘Navy personnel doesn’t need that kind of setup. I still say why the watchtower? Why the electrified fence? Why the secrecy?’

‘He said it was no secret. You can read about it.’

‘I’ll bet. Listen, Dad, we have good sources. You just won’t face up to what the President and the FBI are planning to do. They’re duping you all the way.’

Collins started for the car. ‘Maybe you’re the one who is being duped,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s return to civilization.’

The long ride back was a silent one.

Only when they had reached the Sacramento Metropolitan Airport and were about to say good-bye - he to proceed to Los Angeles, his son to return to Berkeley via Oakland - did Collins offer up a smile.

He placed his arm around Josh’s shoulder. ‘Look, I

don’t object to your being an activist. I’m proud to have you that involved. But you’ve got to be very careful about making accusations. You’ve got to be positive about your facts before going public’

I’m positive about this one,’ said Josh.

The boy’s obstinance was maddening. With an effort, Collins maintained his good humor. ‘Okay, okay. What if I can prove to you that what we saw was a legitimate Navy project? If I can prove it, will that convince you?’

For the first time, Josh smiled. ‘Fair enough. You prove that, Dad, and I’ll admit I was wrong. But you’ve got to prove it.’

You have my word that I will. Now I’d better catch that plane. I’ve got to meet with a state legislator who’s on your side. But he’s going to have to prove a few things, too.’

*

Once he had reached the Beverly Hills Hotel from the Los Angeles International Airport and announced his arrival, he had barely time enough to see his bags to his private three-room bungalow in the rear, hastily clean up and change his shirt, and hurry back to the car entrance. His appointment with State Assemblyman Olin Keefe was for ten o’clock at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, and it was now five after ten.

His bodyguard, Oakes, who was spelling Hogan, picked him up outside his bungalow door, and quickly they traversed the winding paths leading into the hotel, crossed the lobby, and went out to his waiting Lincoln Continental. Soon they had crossed Sunset Boulevard and were driving toward Wilshire Boulevard, and in five minutes they pulled up before the Beverly Wilshire Hotel.

Inside, after learning the number of the fourth-floor suite from the operator, he called upstairs and in a moment had Keefe on the line.

‘Have you eaten yet?’ Keefe inquired.

‘Hardly a bite all day. And there was no real food on the plane coming down here. Are you offering me something?’

‘I am. I’ll order right away.’

‘Just make it a ham and cheese on rye and some hot tea, no lemon. Be right up.’

‘We’re waiting for you.’

Collins did not miss the plural. He had been led to expect that he would be meeting with Keefe alone. Now there was someone else with Keefe, but possibly he had meant his wife.

When Collins entered Keefe’s small living room, he found not one but two strangers rising to greet him, and neither was the State Assemblyman’s wife.

The affable Keefe, a friendly smile on his cherubic countenance, was attired in a checked sports jacket and gabardine slacks. He pumped Collins’ hand enthusiastically and immediately led him to his companions.

‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Collins, but I took the liberty of inviting two of my colleagues from the State Assembly. Since we’re lucky enough to have you here, I thought the more input the better - for you and all of us.’

‘I’m delighted,’ said Collins, somewhat disconcerted.

‘This is Assemblyman Yurkovich.’ Yurkovitch proved to be a serious young man with a pinched brow, a nervous tic in his eye, a flowing rust moustache. Collins shook his hand.

‘And this is Assemblyman Tobias, a veteran of the Assembly.’ Tobias was short, with bulging brown eyes and a bulging waistline.

‘Here, why don’t you take the armchair,’ said Keefe. ‘You’ll want something comfortable, I’m afraid.’

To Collins, that sounded ominous. He settled into the armchair, agreed that a Scotch on the rocks would be perfect, and lighted a cigarette as his host poured the drink.

‘Your sandwich should be up in a minute,’ said Keefe. ‘You must be tired as the devil - all that flying today, and the time change - so we’ll try not to keep you too long. In fact, we’ll start right in.’

‘Please do,’ said Collins, accepting the Scotch and taking a drink.

The others were seated on the sofa, and Keefe hauled a nearby chair to the coffee table across from Collins.

‘This is important to all of us in this room, yourself

included,’ said Keefe. ‘This may be an eye-opener for you -although I understand our mutual friend, Senator Paul Hilliard, filled you in a little last week.’

‘Yes, he did,’ said Collins, trying to remember. So much had happened since the dinner with Hilliard. Also, he was tired. It was after one o’clock in the morning in his head, still on Washington time. He took another big swallow of the Scotch, hoping it would revive him. ‘Uh, yes, he wanted me to see you about some - some discrepancy in California’s crime rate - the statistics. Do I have it right?’

‘You have it right,’ said Keefe. I hope you won’t object to a free and open discussion on this and other matters of concern to you.’

‘Of course not. Be as free and open as you wish.’

Suddenly, Keefe was less affable, even faintly troubled. ‘I prefaced with that because if you’ll really allow for a frank discussion, well, Mr Collins, it might not be a pleasant evening for you.’

This was unexpected. ‘What are you leading up to?’ Collins asked, more alert now. ‘Speak your mind.’

‘Very well. I’m trying to say that the three of us - as well as many more in the California State Legislature who are afraid to speak out - are gravely distressed by the tactics you and your Department of Justice are employing to win this state in the 35th Amendment vote.’

Collins finished his drink and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘What tactics?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve employed no tactics whatsoever to influence the vote here. You have my word for that. I’ve done nothing in this matter.’

‘Then someone else has,’ interjected Tobias from the sofa. ‘Someone in your Department is trying to scare the legislators of this state into ratifying the 35th.’

Collins scowled. ‘If that is happening, I for one, don’t know a damn thing about it. You’re making vague allegations. Do you want to be more specific?’

‘Let me take it from here,’ said Keefe to his colleagues. He swung around toward Collins. ‘Very well, we’ll be specific. We’re talking about your crime statistics reports, which get such wide publicity here. Those statistics of violent crimes and conspiracies have been deliberately inflated

by the FBI to scare the people and legislators of this state into supporting the 35th Amendment. Since the time Senator Hilliard discussed this matter with you, I’ve personally interviewed a dozen - actually, fourteen - community police chiefs about this. More than half agreed that the figures they are sending to the FBI are not the figures being released by the Department of Justice. Somewhere along the way the real statistics have been doctored, exaggerated, even falsified.’

Shaken by the intensity of the speaker, Collins said, ‘That’s a grave charge. Have you got written statements from these police chiefs to back it up?’

‘No, I do not,’ said Keefe. ‘These complaining police chiefs won’t go that far. They’re too dependent on the goodwill and cooperation of the FBI to antagonize the Bureau. Basically, too, they are sympathetic toward the FBI. They’re in the same business, and their business is bad these days. I think the police chiefs spoke of the matter to me only because they resent being made to look incompetent. No, Mr Collins, we have not an iota of proof in writing. You have asked us to take your word that you are not involved in this. You in turn will have to take our word about the tactics being used by the FBI.’

‘I might be prepared to do so,’ said Collins, ‘but I’m afraid Director Tynan would take a dimmer view of hearsay evidence. Certainly you can see my position. I can’t go in to Director Tynan, challenge his integrity, that of the entire Bureau, without written evidence corroborating what you’ve been charging. Now, if you could actually get those police chiefs to put something in writing -‘

‘I can’t,’ said Keefe, helplessly. ‘I’ve tried, but it’s no use.’

‘Maybe I could try. They might be willing to file a complaint with me, as Attorney General, where they would refuse to do so with you. Do you have the names of the police chiefs you interviewed?’