Program for a Puppet (15 page)

The Australian was surprised and delighted to make contact with the lawyer. He had often read about and admired his efforts to beat Lasercomp in the Justice Department court battle. He outlined his investigation without mentioning his cooperation with MI-6, and Revel told the Australian that the PICS assignment was considered important to high officials in the U.S. administration. They had a mutual interest in finding out how computers were being used inside the Soviet Union. The lawyer had contacts there, and by the end of their meeting he trusted Graham enough to share their names with him. Since they found that a few hours over dinner was not enough to exchange information, they planned to meet again the following day.

Normally Graham would have a workout on a Saturday morning and follow it with a three-mile run around Hyde Park. Now he could not risk any former routines. However, when he learned that Revel was a keen jogger, he invited him to join him for a run beside the river at Kew, a mile from his Strand-on-the-Green hideout.

By eleven the two tracksuited men had set themselves a steady pace in the drizzling rain. Early autumn yellow and green leaves were already falling in the almost deserted gardens.

“Those contacts may be able to speak to you,” Revel said, puffing as they reached the first mile. “One is a Ukrainian-American. He will be in Kiev the same time as you. The other is Professor Boronovsky, a leading dissident scientist.”

“I know of him. An expert in cybernetics.”

“That's right. He has become quite vocal about human rights in the Soviet Union lately.”

The drizzle had turned into rain, which became quite heavy as they jogged on.

Graham wondered how well the lawyer knew Dr. Donald Gordon,
the former computer scientist at Lasercomp … the man Jane Ryder had wanted to contact in Paris shortly before her death.

“I had met him several times,” Revel said. “We worked in different areas, but his reputation in design made him one of the best-known names in the computer world.”

“He was behind the early Cheetah development. But I believe he fell out with the Brogans about what they wanted to see built into the machine.”

“Did you ever learn what that was?”

“No. I think only a handful at Lasercomp did. But it must have been damned important.”

“Why?”

“Rumor said he had one of the biggest golden handshakes in American business history to shut up about the dispute, and not join an opposition corporation.”

“Would he speak to you?”

“Possibly. But if I tried to arrange for us both to meet him, you would have to come to the States. He lives like a recluse near Washington.”

“I may come over after I've been to the Soviet Union.”

By September 15, another big problem for President Everett Rickard involving the Soviet Union had come to a head. Daily now he was being presented with evidence that it was breaking previous agreements and escalating its arms build-up in almost every weapons system area. The Cheetah put America ahead in “first strike capability.” But with the knowledge that computers were being smuggled into the East, Rickard had to cover the risk that somehow these machines could be converted to military use. If that ever happened, with Cheetahs, the Soviet Union would be equal in the precision use of whatever weapons they had developed.

Until a few months ago he had been making steady progress in agreements with Soviet Premier Brechinov. Now the Soviet administration was ignoring them. Rickard suspected the Soviets could have been gambling on the fact that he might try to avoid confrontation just before an election.

The National Security Council assembled in a White House west wing conference room early on the morning of the fifteenth. Rickard had asked six representatives from Congress to join the
meeting so that it could be briefed on the situation, which was potentially explosive.

Each person was given a copy of a note Rickard proposed to give the Soviet ambassador.

The note said that the U.S. would consider stringent trade sanctions against the Soviet Union if it did not agree quickly to maintain arms agreements.

Rickard asked if they had any comment.

Nicholas Stavelin, a burly, bespectacled Texan, drawled, “Mr. President, I am basically in agreement with the note. But I'm not sure about your threat to cut back trade. Is that absolutely necessary?”

“Yes,” Rickard said firmly, “I think it is.”

“But you've threatened trade sanctions before.”

“And it has worked.”

“Well, I want it on the record that I think you're overdoing it,” the senator argued. “Mixing trade and politics is dangerous.”

Rickard had expected this from the senator. He had long suspected him of being in the pocket of Lasercomp.

When he first became President, Rickard had caused an international stir by tearing up all previous agreements with the Soviet Union that called nations to stop interfering in the internal politics of other nations. He had demanded concessions for Soviet political prisoners when some big trade deals were made. Rickard knew he could not work miracles. But each time he had stood up to the Soviet administration, concessions had been granted. Occasionally political prisoners were released from mental hospitals, or allowed to leave the Soviet Union. And so far, trade between the two nations had not slackened.

Apart from the senator's objection, there were no other major criticisms of the note. Just at noon, Rickard closed the meeting.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “Secretary Grove will hand it personally to the Soviet ambassador at three
P.M
. today.”

Twelve hours after Rickard had made his decison to confront the Kremlin with its violations of agreements, Douglas Philpott met a contact with the State Department, who had direct access to the minutes of the President's special committee meeting. It was Gregor Haussermann, assistant Under Secretary of
State. He and Philpott had met once before. It was too much of a coincidence in the TV superstar's mind that this meeting had occurred only days after Huntsman of Lasercomp had brought pressure on him. He maintained the contact, and Haussermann was willing to supply exclusive information about the President's ultimatum to the Soviets.

Haussermann called Philpott at the FBS studio and arranged to meet him at a small Chinese restaurant. Quiet and relatively unknown, it was an ideal spot that Philpott often used for meetings. Once or twice over the years he had been recognized by a fan there, but never often enough to bother him. Even someone with his outsized ego needed a break from the admirers, backslappers and assorted sycophants.

This night, Philpott was more cautious than ever, because he was going to receive stolen documents. He arranged to meet Haussermann early. The two men made their way to an alcove cubicle, where they both ordered a light Chinese meal and a beer.

“It-it's all there,” Haussermann stammered nervously at Philpott as he placed a thick manila folder in his lap. “Be-be care-care-ful how you-you use it. Don't refer to the documents. You-you must use your s-skill to cover the source. When you-you pass it on to the
Times
, have your own report made up and get rid of it.”

The
New York Times
was the first to run the story of Rickard's ultimatum in the morning edition of September 17, with a front page headed:
“Exclusive: Rickard's Ultimatum to U.S.S.R.”
It ran a fairly accurate story of about 2,500 words spilling onto an inside page. It covered the background to the three-month run-up to the decision to confront the Russians.

Three other big dailies then ran follow-up reports on the story of the controversial note, and Rickard was forced to confirm that the Kremlin had received it. A guarded White House press release refused to disclose its contents.

The controversy was kept going on television. Douglas Philpott claimed that he had been one of the first to receive the leak, and that he passed it on to the
New York Times
. With a fine balance of charm and self-righteousness, he told his huge audience: “I refrain from editorializing on the content of the note except to confirm its existence.”

With his photogenic head filling the screen, he added in a halting tone meant to convey a great depth of sincerity, “I decided to pass on the note only after agonizing for several days … and being confronted with … an … an inescapable decision of … journalistic conscience….”

It was an act worthy of an Emmy. The TV superstar was doing Lasercomp's bidding. The attempt to crush Rickard by every piece of sensation, scandal, innuendo and vilification had begun in earnest.

The Kremlin reacted with uncharacteristic speed to the report of Rickard's ultimatum. Within forty-eight hours, the Soviet news agency Tass denounced Rickard as a “danger to all mankind,” and in vitriolic terms accused him of setting world peace back twenty-five years.

Rickard was told of the first Soviet reaction. Yet there had been no reply from the Soviet ambassador, which Rickard regarded as a better guide to gauging the Kremlin's reaction.

Lasercomp was quick to exploit Rickard's problem. Huntsman told Bilby that Brogan Senior was prepared to be interviewed on Philpott's evening program.

A feature was prepared for September 18. Filmed highlights of Brogan's career in dealing with the Soviets from Lenin's time were followed by the interview:

“You have been one of the biggest traders with the Soviet Union,” Philpott began in his staged but convincing style. “Why do you say President Rickard's note to the Kremlin is a dangerous move?”

Brogan spat a reply. “Crass brinkmanship! One idiotic note has taken us all the way back to the 1950s and the Cold War.”

“But if the Russians have broken arms limitation agreements …”

“Who says they have?” Brogan said in his rasping voice.

“President Rickard said he was acting on advice from his Intelligence and military advisers.”

Brogan changed position in his chair indignantly and, leaning forward, said, “Look. I know the Russians like the back of my hand. They stick to agreements.”

“Are you suggesting the President of the United States is
misleading the public?” Philpott had become the Great American Inquisitor.

“Of course he is,” Brogan sneered. “It's been done before by Presidents, you know.”

“That's a serious charge, Mr. Brogan.”

“He is grandstanding. Playing politics. There's an election coming up.” His tone was sarcastic. “He wants to show America how tough he is. Remember, the American people never elected Rickard. He got there by chance and I think he'll do almost anything to stay in power!”

Philpott paused and looked at the script board he was clutching. “Then why do you think the Kremlin has so far failed to reply?” he asked.

“Well, they're not fools. They're obviously considering it properly. Anyway, I disagree with your saying they have failed to reply. We've already had a reaction that is clear enough.”

“You mean …”

“Their media, of course.”

“And what have you heard, Mr. Brogan, with your strong contacts in the Kremlin?”

The Old Man remained silent for a few seconds, as if he was measuring what he was about to say very carefully. “I think you'll find they'll shut off their dealings with Rickard until they see which way the presidential election goes.”

“What about trade?”

“Huh!” Brogan grunted with an appeal to the heavens. “Millions … billions of dollars' worth of contracts could go down the drain … the U.S. balance of trade will suffer. Rickard is saying do this and that or we will stop trading with you. Naturally, the Soviets don't like it. And I don't blame them!”

“One last question, Mr. Brogan. What do you think should be done if the official reply from the Soviet Union in response to Rickard's ultimatum is unfavorable?”

Brogan was acting like an old stager who had been there a thousand times before. He paused melodramatically and looked away as the camera moved in for a close-up. His wrinkled profile was a study of concentration as he said, “I think someone has to let the Soviet Union administration and its people know that Rickard's warmongering attitudes are not representative of the true American opinion.”

“You?”

“I'm not a politician.”

“Then who?”

Brogan paused again. “I would say it's a heaven-sent opportunity for Senator MacGregor to show he is a statesman,” he said forcefully. “It's his real chance to let the Soviets know we are not about to wipe out years of growing ties because of one stupid and irresponsible act.”

Present at a very special dinner two nights later in a discreet corner of Le Perigord, one of New York City's most fashionable restaurants, were Brogan Senior and Junior, Alan Huntsman, Senator Ronald MacGregor and his running mate, Governor Paul Mineva. They were being waited on in the opulent setting of crimson silk-covered walls and frosted glass mirrors, by European waiters who outnumbered the VIPs and the mandatory Secret Service agents at a nearby table by two to one.

Le Perigord's Swiss manager, an old acquaintance of Huntsman's, gushed over the distinguished guests and went to great lengths to explain each dish on the menu. Huntsman fussed with the manager in fluent French. As an appetizer, MacGregor and Mineva both liked the sound of
escargots de Bourgogne
, while Brogan Junior and Huntsman settled for
caviar aux blinis
. The Old Man indicated he would have just the main course later—a
sole au plat.
Huntsman managed to convince MacGregor that he should try the
canard aux pêches
, while Mineva and Brogan Junior went for
grenouilles Provençale
. Huntsman himself ordered a Chateaubriand for two without batting an eyelid, and then surveyed the wine list. With a pretentious flourish, he ordered a decade-old Nuits St. Georges and a white wine bottled especially for Le Perigord.