Program for a Puppet (31 page)

Graham referred to the copious notes he had assembled in the five days he had been back from the Soviet Union, using a reading lamp on his chair in the darkened auditorium.

“These first ten frames compare the KGB structure before and after computerization. It is now a more manageable ten departments. Hence the code name for the whole operation of smuggling and installing computer systems—Operation Ten.”

The next five frames gave diagrammatic details on each new section of the KGB.

“General Gerovan of the Politburo controls all armed forces, military communications and weaponry. He heads the new KGB department where there has been a big build-up of converted Cheetah computers.”

Gould switched the auditorium lights on. “Converted Cheetahs?”

“Yes.”

“My understanding was,” Gould said, pausing to fill his pipe, “that only a very few American scientists knew how to convert Cheetahs for military use. They need to be programmed a special way. It is highly classified.”

“That may still be true.”

“But it would mean Lasercomp scientists were cooperating in improving Soviet strike power!”

“A market is a market to Lasercomp.” Graham shrugged. “You buy a machine from them and they'll help you install it.”

“Have you any more details on this?”

“I can give you the broad picture I've put together with Irena's help.”

“Which is?”

“Lasercomp scientists at IOSWOP in the palace in Vienna and elsewhere are designing the master systems—Operation Ten. They instruct Soviet scientists on the overall design and how to convert ordinary Cheetahs into those for military use.”

“Do these Lasercomp scientists visit the Soviet Union?”

“I'm going to check that out in the U.S. It's likely that they make periodic visits to installation sites in the Soviet Union.”

“To supervise the installation of the master system?”

“Yes.”

They looked at the next frame. It held details on a new KGB set-up—the control of communications and satellites.

“There's a plan for direct communication links with other Eastern-bloc countries, Cuba and some African states. It's already partially operating.”

“Where these satellites are to be used to bounce information from a computer in one country to a computer in another?”

“Yes. The master plan's top political priority is to build a system of stronger control inside the Soviet Union. The second priority is to use computers to give the Kremlin greater control over other communist countries, and eventually help pull other nations into its orbit of influence.”

“Eventually?”

“Irena says that will not be working completely for ten years. But control inside the Soviet Union is working right now.”

“Lasercomp is involved in this satellite set-up too?”

“Yes.”

“There must be a huge number of computers needed for the whole of Operation Ten.”

“About fifteen thousand are in the blueprint.”

“The cost must be stupendous!”

“That figure includes everything from small mini-Cheetahs right through to supersized machines. If you averaged each computer at five million dollars, it's an extraordinary bill of roughly seventy-five billion American dollars, written off over the next decade, and probably the one after.”

“How can the Soviet administration afford it? They don't have that much foreign exchange.”

“The KGB is desperate to set up the master plan. They see it as the main way of keeping a Stalin-like grip on society. They are using every means possible—their own money, funds from special loans in the West, money from other nations involved. They've even set up a primitive international barter system where the computers are exchanged for other goods—cars and so on.”

Gould puffed on his pipe for a few moments. “By the way,” he said, “would you tell your friend Françoise not to worry about her boss Radford? He and three other executives of Computer Increments are being arrested today. They'll be charged under several sections of the U.K. Crimes Act concerning espionage, illegal foreign trade and dealing in contraband.”

“She'll be relieved to hear it. But what about the Russians they were dealing with in London?”

“Unfortunately they've all got diplomatic immunity. But we have enough on ten in the Soviet trade mission to expel them straight away.…”

“That's great news, Commander,” Graham said, as he punched up the next frame on the screen. “Now let's have a look at the blueprints for the specific military networks in the Soviet military arsenal….”

“I agree that Mr. Graham should be accommodated,” the Director said to Herman Znorel, who was calling from Stuttgart, “but the price I have in mind is twice yours.”

“That is ridiculous! You are already paid a—”

“Don't waste my time,” the Director snapped. “This would be a major piece of planning and coordination to be added to our current assignment. The risks are high.”

“We can't go any higher.”

“Then find another contractor.”

The Director was gambling on the fact that Znorel would not like to engage another hit team.

“That is your final answer?”

“Yes. You must weigh up the importance of this man to you.”

After a pause, Znorel replied, “I shall relay your message.”

“Good. I must insist that we fulfill the contract in Paris. We would need Mr. Graham here.”

“That may prove difficult.”

“I think your employer will understand if you explain the difficulty of carrying on the special assignment for it, and doing extra contract work, which takes time and careful planning. It must pay for this and cooperate with us.”

Znorel sighed. “I shall explain the situation. Goodbye, Herr Director.”

In New York City, Brogan Senior was making one of his regular visits to Lasercomp's biggest office block, on Second Avenue.

The Old Man would often visit corporation offices and factories in many parts of the world, but he was especially interested in his employees on the top five floors of this block. Here, programmers and systems design people worked on continually updating the secret master program and its subprogram. These workers were each assigned different parts of the program which
never allowed them to grasp the overall design. There was no permanent staff. Employees from a Lasercomp office around the world would be assigned to New York for a two-year period.

Managers in dark suits, stiffly starched white shirts and polished shoes, tripped over each other opening doors and introducing employees.

Brogan Senior stopped a few yards from a group of programmers working with a Cheetah mini, and frowned. His elephantine memory had failed him.

“Who is that young man nearest the window?” he said to a manager in the entourage.

“Ken Jungwirth, sir.”

The Old Man was impressed by his neat appearance. He shuffled across to him.

“Mr. Jungwirth, you're on assignment from our L.A. branch, aren't you?”

“Yes, sir, research and development.”

“How are you enjoying it here in New York?”

“It's a nice change, sir.”

“Keep up the good work.”

The Old Man turned to the manager. “Triple Mr. Jungwirth's salary.”

The manager blinked and nodded as Brogan Senior smiled to the appreciative employee and moved on.

“Uh, Mr. Brogan, did you mean for the year?” the manager asked when the workers were out of earshot.

“No, just this month.”

As he was about to engage another programmer in conversation, the Old Man was tapped on the arm.

“Henry Strasburg on the line,” a female secretary said.

Brogan Senior broke away from the entourage and picked up a telephone on the nearest empty desk.

“Henry?”

“C.B.?”

“Henry, I had a visit from Donald Gordon last night.”

“Gordon! What did he want?”

“Huntsman will explain later. I want you to find out who his lawyer is and exactly what he has documented on Lasercomp. We want it, Henry, and I don't care how you get it.”

• • •

Douglas Philpott stepped forward to loud organized applause from the live audience of his nightly television show and a plump, awkward woman handed him an inscribed silver plaque.

“On behalf of the twenty million members of our association, The Television Watchers of America, I have great pleasure in giving you this plaque which designates you The Most Trusted Man in America.…”

Philpott held the trophy up modestly in one hand and shook hands with the woman. He mouthed a sincere-looking “thank you” twice to the woman as she continued. “Several million Americans voted you this honor ahead of politicians, businessmen, church leaders, academics and other members of the media. Might I say that over the years the integrity of your reporting and commentary, and that of the great team around you, has justly earned you this finest of awards.”

She moved forward to kiss Philpott on both cheeks as he turned to the audience.

“This is indeed a truly great honor,” Philpott said reverently, “and I am deeply moved by it and the tribute on the plaque here which reads, ‘Greater faith has no man than to completely trust another.' … I thank you one and all very, very much….”

There was near-hysterical applause as Philpott raised both hands to calm them. “Let me say that I have always sought truth and honesty in the news and information behind it … and tonight's show will be no exception.”

There was a commercial break as Philpott moved back to behind the anchorman's desk. When he reappeared he seemed confused by his crew and team of reporters who had begun to talk to him from off-camera. As he was about to read the news, he said, “My team here apparently wants to show a short, unscheduled film clip. So let's see it …”

On the screen were strung together several pieces of film collected over the years of Philpott winning several other awards, ranging from the recent “Best Known Face in America” to those of a decade ago, “The Most Popular Face,” and “The Most Sexy Newsperson.”

When the clip was finished the cameras turned to Philpott who appeared dismayed and embarrassed. “Well, viewers, that's the last time I let a clip go on unscheduled…

As he spoke the screens were filled with a montage of supposedly off-camera “unrehearsed” facial shots of Philpott and a final shot of his head on a poster with the caption: “Would you buy a used television from this man?” It cut to Philpott throwing his hands in the air in mock horror to a background of sniggers and guffaws from his crew and reporting team. There was another commercial break and Philpott came back looking decidedly poker-faced.

“Now that the guys have had their fun—heaven knows where they got those shots of me!—let's look at today's main stories….”

In the last five minutes he announced an exclusive for his show regarding rumors of a tape recording containing information that, he claimed, “could affect the fast-looming presidential election.”

In the last week, several newspapers had speculated that this mysterious tape might contain information about the death of Ronald MacGregor. Philpott went one better in his attempt to keep pushing to his huge audience veiled innuendos directed at vilifying Rickard. His exclusive began: “This tape is now rumored to be a conversation between President Rickard and the recently dismissed assistant Under Secretary of State, Gregor Haussermann. We have been in contact with the White House. It denies categorically the existence of any such tape or that Rickard has had a secret bugging system reinstalled at the White House.

“Nevertheless,” Philpott went on, “interest around Washington is mounting. News-hungry reporters have begun to work their telephones and see contacts in the hope of being first to crack a sensation that some are saying may even rival Watergate. If these unproven rumors do amount to anything, FBS will be right in there…. Today we tried to contact Haussermann. But when our reporter Bob Grisewald went to find the former State Department official, he had disappeared…. Bob?”

The camera turned to the reporter. “That's what we found, Doug. No Haussermann and no tape. We spoke to his wife at their Chevy Chase Friendship Boulevard apartment. Mrs. Haussermann said she had not seen her husband for several days. She refused to go on camera, but did say her husband had been in contact with her by phone … from Europe.…”

“I won't be here when you return,” Françoise said quietly as she drove Graham to Heathrow airport on his way to New York.

“Why?” the Australian frowned at her.

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Because you are impossible. You have a death wish. I don't want to come to your funeral.…”

“So that's why you've been so moody these last few days.” Graham leaned across to kiss her cheek.

“Please, not while I'm driving.” Françoise moved her head away.

Graham sighed heavily and looked out of his window at the endless line of cars they were overtaking.

“Look. The presidential election is only twelve days away. I'll be back the day after it at the latest….”

“I tell you I won't be here….”

“But the assignment will be over. We can go for a vacation somewhere. Perhaps to the south of France. Your hometown Montpellier … you told me you would like me to come there….”

“You are impossible … very stupid! Commander Gould warns you not to continue the investigation, Sir Alfred Ryder pleads with you. But you take no notice. You are going to get killed. I feel it. I can't stand it any more.”

There was a long silence until they hit the flat stretch of motorway to Heathrow. Graham leaned across and looked at the speedometer. It showed a hundred miles an hour and the Citroen was swaying as it approached top speed.

“Who's got a death wish?” Graham said, trying to break the ice. She ignored him and pressed her foot down harder.