Program for a Puppet (6 page)

Motioning for silence, Hart led Graham into a library. All its shelves were stark and bare. Every piece of information was apparently on microfilm. About twenty people sat at desks watching miniature TV display units.

At 12:45 they returned to Hart's office, where he gave out PR material, including photographs and brochures, and some papers on the organization's research into world problems.

After a few minutes they were informed that Letovsky would see the Australian. They were ushered into the professor's office. Its green silk and gold-paneled walls and ceiling were typical of the restoration, befitting the heads of state to which it once catered. A huge, glittering candelabrum hung from the center of the ceiling.

Letovsky, a heavily built Russian with black bushy eyebrows and alert brown eyes, unhurriedly eased himself up to shake hands with Graham. Hart spoke rapidly about the reason for the Australian's visit while Letovsky nodded slightly and stood close, as if he were a prizefighter sizing up an opponent. Apparently satisfied that the stranger was worth a minute or two of his precious time, the Russian motioned them to sit down as he moved back behind his leather-topped desk.

With his eyes on Graham, he said in near-perfect English, “I didn't realize we would be news on such a wide sphere, Mr. Graham. But if an article can attract fresh funds, then we are
always interested in speaking to the Western press.” He offered Graham a cigarette and lit one himself.

The Australian pulled out a tape recorder, saying, “You won't mind if I …”

Letovsky waved an indifferent hand. “Use a tape if you wish.” He regarded himself as experienced in handling the Western press.

Graham nodded a thank-you. “I've often read about you making trips to the West with Soviet trade delegations,” he said. “You split your time between that and your work here, I suppose?”

“More or less, yes,” Letovsky said. He stacked folders on his desk impatiently. “What would you like to know about IOSWOP?”

Graham switched on his tape. “First, who is financing you? I see in your hand-out material that you have about thirty million dollars' worth of computer equipment here. That takes some funding.”

“Of course,” Letovsky said, brushing a bit of ash from his floral Dior tie. “Academies and institutions in the Soviet Union and the United States are our biggest supporters. But there are many others from many countries that want membership with us. There are several on the waiting list. It would not, you will understand, be prudent for me to name the smaller contributing nations at this time.”

“Where are all the scientists from?”

“Mainly the institutions that support us.”

“In proportion to their financial support?”

“Yes.”

The next question had to be as offhand as possible.

“I see that the Brogan Foundation, which is entirely financed by Lasercomp, is down as a contributor. Is it the biggest, Professor?”

“One of the biggest.”

Graham nodded. “And,” he began, as he frowned and scratched his head, “one of the things I noticed was the rather strong contingent of guards around the palace, and even armed guards on the bus that brought me here. Why is that necessary?”

Letovsky leaned forward and flicked ash into a tray. “We have top-secret assignments here,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Well, for example, right now we have two clients, both governments, looking for nuclear-power-plant locations. We work out progress on computer to calculate the best location in a country to avoid pollution.”

Graham nodded as if he accepted the reply. “That leads me to the next question. Could you explain how IOSWOP functions?”

The question seemed to have relaxed Letovsky. “We work at solving world problems, like the one I mentioned. To solve these important problems, our people need information to work on. Our computer people have devised an excellent system based on three big computers and two smaller ‘minis.' It allows information to flow from important sources anywhere in the world. If we have a problem, and the data needed to solve it are in some far-off academy, say in Warsaw, our man here can request the data via a terminal connected to a satellite, which in turn is connected to a computer in Warsaw. The data can be bounced to us here.”

“Who is linked into this system?”

“All major academies funding us.”

“I see,” Graham said thoughtfully.

The professor plowed on. “The real beauty of our operation is that we transcend national boundaries,” he said haughtily, “but of course, we only suggest solutions. If an institution such as the United Nations likes what we suggest, then pressure might be brought to bear on the problem in a practical way.”

Graham decided to move on to the topic that would be sure to arouse Letovsky's suspicions.

“I'd like to change the subject, if I may,” he said. “It is rare that a Western journalist has such an opportunity.”

“Well, I'm afraid we have not much time, Mr. Graham,” Letovsky said. “But please …”

“Thank you. At a recent Soviet Party Congress it was announced that the Soviet Union would produce a major new series of computers in a long-term plan. But at your last Congress, there was no mention of its progress. Has it been dropped?”

There was an almost imperceptible flicker of uncertainty from the professor. But it was there. Leaning back in his chair, he said coldly, “I am not involved in this area, but it was endorsed by the Party. As far as I know, the plan went ahead.”

“Then it is continuing?”

“Yes.”

“You are manufacturing all your own equipment?”

“Of course.”

“How many computers are involved?”

Letovsky paused. Until now he had been arrogantly self-assured. Suddenly his manner changed. He shifted in his seat. “I have no idea,” he said slowly. “I said before, Mr. Graham, I am not involved in the planning.”

Letovsky was on the defensive now, so Graham decided it would be prudent to stop. The Australian closed his notebook and switched off the tape. “Thank you very much, Professor,” he said evenly; “that about covers the questions I had.”

“May I ask you something, Mr. Graham?” Letovsky said. “Why are you so interested in Soviet computer production?”

“Anything new the Soviet Union produces makes news in the West,” Graham replied nonchalantly.

“I would expect that you will submit your writings to us before they go to press,” Hart said.

“I have a policy, gentlemen,” Graham replied firmly as he stood up. “I always refer back to source if there is any doubt.”

“I would like to see it, please,” Letovsky said firmly, “in any event.”

Graham stood his ground. “I cannot guarantee that, Professor. If you want public relations, write it yourself.”

Letovsky looked annoyed, but said nothing. Hart, in a real dither, opened the door.

Graham turned to the professor. “Thank you for the interview,” he said. “You've been most helpful.”

Letovsky had not got up to shake hands.

George Lionel Revel, chief prosecuting lawyer for the U.S. Justice Department, was unexpectedly alerted to the strain in the normally confident tone of his opposite number in the Lasercomp defense.

Perhaps no one else in the packed New York courthouse sensed the change in David L. Cartwright, the usually superconfident gentleman for the defense in his elegant lightweight suit of conservative gray. Suddenly he seemed to be feeling the heat. For the last thirty minutes he had droned on about the virtues of Lasercomp's importance to America's economic health through
employment, and income from massive sales abroad, and the “great” technology it must be allowed to bring the nation and the world. Now he conferred earnestly at the prosecution lawyers' table before he turned to the judge once more. “Your Honor,” he said, blinking several times, “throughout this case the government has seemed to want to sacrifice ingenuity, ability and progress—the very qualities that made this nation great. It seems to have a formula for mediocrity, incompetence and failure, which will ultimately reduce our great nation to the level of a banana republic. The defense firmly believes that this lawsuit is part of a socialist conspiracy by certain members of the present administration in Washington to destroy free enterprise in this country”—he paused as several people in the packed public gallery voiced their disapproval. He spoke louder—”by attacking corporations that have been successful!”

There were more groans from the public gallery. Judge Peter K. Shaw called for order.

“Yes, a conspiracy. And I submit to Your Honor that it stems from the White House itself!”

Revel, his large gray eyes and sharp features alert, was on his feet, bumping the table in his haste to be heard.

“Objection, Your Honor,” he yelled. “Apart from being absurd, this is totally irrelevant to the case.”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “All reference to a conspiracy shall be stricken from the record. The defense will kindly refrain from red herrings and irrelevancies.”

The damage had been done, and the defense's outburst would be sure to bring into the open the festering conflict between the President of the United States, Everett Rickard, and Lasercomp. “Conspiracy” may have been misleadingly emotive, but the defense had highlighted a point. Everett Rickard had been the first President to attempt to bring justice to the marketplace, dominated by the major corporations. He was telling the multinationals to come to heel, and they were not liking it.

Lasercomp had always been his prime target. With the election close and incidents like this, the battle was being drawn into the open. A victory for Rickard would boost his stakes on polling day. A win for Lasercomp would be a major blow for Rickard and leave the corporation all but invincible.

For George Revel, it too was an important battle, on a personal
level. Revel had come from a lower-middle-class Jewish family in the Bronx. His father, a refugee from Hitler's Germany, was a poetic dreamer who barely managed to support his family as a tailor, but instilled in his son a burning desire for knowledge and a deep respect for intellect. His mother, like her husband a refugee from Nazi tyranny, was a shrewish, domineering woman who constantly nagged her husband for his failure to rise in the world. From her, Revel acquired a lifelong drive to excel. Graduating from America's number-one public high school, the Bronx High School of Science, at seventeen, his outstanding academic record earned him a scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. At twenty-one he had already earned his master's degree in engineering and was working on a doctorate. Then the reaction set in. He had come to loathe the cloistered world of the academic.

Abandoning his original plan to finish his doctorate and to teach at MIT or Harvard, he was lured into the intriguing world of computers by Lasercomp, which scoured the campuses for talent. At first he enjoyed the challenge of being at the creative forefront of one of man's greatest inventions. He was quickly acknowledged for his ability and shot up the Lasercomp ladder until his superiors were forced to give him managerial responsibility and steer him into the marketing side. Then things began to sour. When he got the sniff of the Lasercomp modus operandi, it sickened him. The forces behind the façade were not what he expected, or wanted to be associated with. After nine years he eased his way out. Disillusioned, and now past thirty, Revel left his wife and two young daughters to travel to Europe, Asia and Australia for eighteen months. He began to search for a new career.

It was law—the only other professional area that had always fascinated him. After three years at Harvard, where he topped every examination and was an editor of the Law Review, he again tried the business world and corporate law.

At thirty-five, his first legal job was with a medium-sized New York law firm. Revel soon found himself defending a company that was polluting the river and countryside of Virginia. He won the case, and every one like it that followed.

Soon he was the number-one choice for the defense in the big money cases. And, as before at Lasercomp, he began to hate
his work. He cried out for a chance to excel at something socially redeeming in law. He left the firm.

Simultaneously, President Rickard appropriated more funds to the Justice Department for its fight against Lasercomp. More money meant more people on the undermanned prosecution team. George Revel applied for one of those jobs. The Justice Department was very pleased to have such a wealth of experience to add to its team. Not only was he outstanding in court, but he could offer an unparalleled knowledge of the defendant. Lasercomp, in a predictable move, objected strongly to the presiding judge, but failed to block Revel's move onto the case. Within eighteen months he became chief prosecuting lawyer and changed the face of the trial. After the years of legal charade, in which the eventual result seemed only a formality, there was suddenly a feeling in American legal circles that Lasercomp could be in trouble. The possibility of its being beaten in the case and fragmented was now conceivable.

For this reason, the mention of the President of the U.S. being involved in a conspiracy reminded George Revel that it was Everett Rickard who had given him the chance to stretch his talents to the full.

Professor Letovsky was concerned about his interview with Graham. Five hours after it, he called Hans Hart to his office. “I want a complete check on that journalist's background, employers, the lot.”

“What's wrong, Professor?”

“Three days ago he met a trucking contractor, Joachim Kruntz. This man used to make Znorel-Lasercomp consignment runs to the border. The journalist has paid him for information.”

Hart blanched as Letovsky added, “I hope you did not disclose anything before he met me.”

Hart shook his head as he thought quickly through the questions Graham had asked him.