Hazard (9 page)

His timing was perfect. There were just six weeks left in the fiscal year and every federal agency was concerned with its dollars; not pinching to make do, rather trying to spend what remained of that year's appropriation. The worst thing would be to have money left over, which might cause next year's appropriation to be reduced. A federal agency could lose its standing if it were too conscientiously frugal. It was the season to be prodigal, and Kersh sensed the spirit of waste in the air.

He was led to and through double doors to his appointment with an Assistant Deputy Director of Plans. Kersh wasn't kept waiting, was shown right in to an office that had much the same durable character as the corridors, the most noticeable difference being underfoot—wall-to-wall gray carpeting. In one corner a stanchion held a drooping Stars and Stripes fringed cheaply in gold. On a wall were framed photographs in proper nonpartisan sequence. FDR, Harry, Ike, Jack, LBJ and Dick. Signed but probably not really by them. The only thing on the desk was a gray manila folder, not thick, not labeled. A dossier on Kersh.

The Assistant Deputy Director's name was James W. Mumford. So said a propped-up plastic strip. Mumford was in his late forties. He'd recently taken off twenty-five pounds and looked the worse for it, drawn and sallow. His gray suit hung on him, and his shirt collar, at least a size and a half too loose, was forced into gathers by the shoved-up knot of his tie.

Mumford did his best imitation of a warm smile. He began with some flattery and then got abruptly to the point. He let Kersh do most of the talking. Within fifteen minutes the proposition was laid out.

“Rumor had it that we tried telepathy with the submarine
Nautilus,
” Mumford said.

Kersh remembered hearing about that. Surface to underwater telepathic communication. A futile attempt at best, never verified.

“Not true, of course,” said Mumford. “We think the CIA started the story just to make us look foolish.”

Rivalry between the various intelligence agencies. That was something Kersh was counting on. There were ten separate agencies sharing an annual six-billion-dollar budget. Among them were the
FBI
, the
AEC
, the Treasury Department, and the State Department's Intelligence and Research Bureau. None of these got a very big slice. At least not compared to the National Security Agency, the
CIA
, and the
DIA
. The last had the intelligence divisions of the Army, Navy, and Air Force under its authority making it the biggest spender.

Since the Bay of Pigs fiasco the
CIA
had recouped its losses and apparently was the intelligence agency most favored by the present administration. That left the
DIA
a poor second. Not poor in money but starving for prestige.

The
CIA
had come to be synonymous with U.S. intelligence. Few persons even knew the
DIA
existed. The Defense Intelligence Agency had been formed in 1961 by Secretary of Defense McNamara. The idea was to consolidate the intelligence units of the various military services. The move gave the
DIA
a big edge in personnel under command. The
DIA
was big, so big in fact that it got caught up in its own bureaucracy. It operated like a giant vacuum cleaner, sweeping up raw data gleaned by
DIA
agents over the world, but
DIA
suffered a glut of facts and a poverty of analysis.

Meanwhile, it was the
CIA
that predicted the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia and Israel's blitz victory in the Six-Day War. It was the
CIA
that engineered the putschs and coups like the one in Iran that put the Shah back in power and kept the Russians from getting control of the Iranian oil fields. It was the
CIA
that did the things behind the things that made the headlines. The smaller, trimmer
CIA
used clever footwork, beat its rival agencies to the punch, and had made itself the lightweight champion of the smart-ass, know-it-all division.

That being the case, Kersh believed that not the
CIA
but the
DIA
was his best prospect. He figured the
DIA
had more money to get rid of and would also be more receptive because of its secondary position.

However, after twenty minutes with this
DIA
man, Mumford, Kersh doubted his own strategy. Mumford showed no sign one way or the other; merely sat there riding his swivel chair, noncommittal.

Kersh went to his reserve ammunition.

He let Mumford know he'd only accidentally chosen to come
first
to the
DIA
with this proposition. Implying that his next stop would be
CIA
headquarters across the river at Langley.

That got nothing from Mumford, not even a blink.

Kersh brought in the Russians. He'd boned up on what they were reportedly doing in the field of
ESP
. A surprising amount of information was available in such ethical publications as the
Foreign Science Bulletin.
And Kersh had access to papers written by Russian scientists, extracts of symposiums held at the geophysics department of Moscow University, the Leningrad Academy of Science, and the Kazah State University. Among those involved was Dr. Leonid Vasilev, whom Kersh knew to be a top Soviet scientist. He was holder of the Lenin Prize, a member of the Soviet Academy of Medicine, and chairman of physiology at the University of Leningrad. Excellent credentials. Also participating was Dr. Ya Terletsky, the noted physicist, a chairman at Moscow University, and Dr. M. Bongard of the Biophysics Institute of the Soviet Academy of Sciences in Moscow.

From what was reported, Kersh gathered that, unlike the United States, the Soviet Union had been seriously experimenting with
ESP
for the past twenty years. In 1966 the Russians conducted the first long-distance-telepathy exercise. A receiver-subject in Moscow successfully received several simple-image messages telepathically transmitted by a sender-subject in another city more than a thousand miles away. The exercise was performed under fairly controlled conditions. Since then, more complicated, highly controlled experiments had been conducted in Moscow, Leningrad, Prague, at various state universities, and most recently in Academgorodok, where the elite of Russia's scientists were stationed. Most impressive was the fact that the experiments were supervised by men of Vasilev's caliber. That indicated a priority interest by the state and meant, of course, that the military was also in on it. Evidently the Soviets, not deterred by any religious or other prejudices, had accepted the fact that
ESP
was possible and had gone full speed ahead to develop an understanding of it. In 1969 a center for the preliminary training of telepathic subjects was established at the University of Leningrad. Just a year later another for advanced training was put into operation at the State University in Moscow. Of course there was no way of knowing really how far the Soviets had progressed, but the advantages in using telepathy for security and espionage purposes were obvious.

Mumford acted as though this was last year's news. He told Kersh, “If, as you imply, they've got it, why aren't they using it?”

“Perhaps they are.”

Finally a reaction from Mumford. A thoughtful grin. It occurred to Kersh that possibly Mumford was enjoying a mental picture of someone putting one over on the
CIA
, even the Russians.

“How much money are we talking about?” asked Mumford.

Kersh presented a written estimate of costs. To his way of thinking, it was plenty.

Mumford studied the estimate for several minutes and then told Kersh that he thought the bottom-line figure was inadequate. Too low. His tone had the ring of objective criticism more than interest. He also mentioned that nowhere on the estimate did he see a provision for Kersh's personal salary.

That wasn't an oversight on Kersh's part. It just wasn't of first importance, so he'd left it out of this first presentation.

Mumford insisted that Kersh quote a salary figure.

Kersh thought first of a relatively modest amount but then remembered to triple it, hopefully catering to Mumford's need to spend.

Mumford ended with the vague promise that Kersh might be hearing from him or someone else in a month or two. Along with good-bye he shook Kersh's hand as though he didn't consider it an act of touching another person.

Kersh returned from Washington feeling that he'd failed. Ten days later there was a call from Mumford informing Kersh that the
DIA
had approved his proposal. It had accepted Kersh's original estimate and voluntarily added on thirty percent for contingencies. That extra thirty, Mumford explained, would avoid having to reapply for additional funds later on. It was good to have a little slush, he said. There were some
DIA
stipulations of a minor nature that Kersh would have to agree to, but the important thing, the project itself, had been given the go-ahead and would also be provided for in the
DIA
'
S
budget for the next year.

Kersh got right to it. He acquired the big house in Fair-field and began installing the equipment he'd need. Within six months he was conducting experiments with various
DIA
agents as subjects. That was one of the
DIA
'
S
so-called minor stipulations. Kersh had to use
DIA
personnel exclusively for his experiments. Perhaps the intention was to keep the
CIA
from knowing about the project, but more likely it was just that the
DIA
self-consciously didn't want
anyone
to know it was involved with
ESP
.

Anyway, those initial experiments were not encouraging. At that time Kersh was just getting his own thoughts organized into workable theory. However, he believed the subjects the
DIA
assigned to him didn't help matters. They lacked, for example, the necessary positive attitude.

Kersh complained to Mumford several times, and was finally so adamant that the
DIA
decided to compromise. Kersh could experiment with subjects of his own choosing, but, first, each had to be cleared and enlisted into the
DIA
. Kersh agreed. At least it was an improvement over what he'd had to put up with.

Shortly thereafter, Kersh met socially with a long-time acquaintance and colleague named Albert Benson. He happened to mention to Benson that he was having difficulty finding qualified subjects for his research. Benson, who had been on the faculty at Dartmouth for many years, tried to be helpful. He gave it some thought and recalled a young man who had once attended Dartmouth—a young man with a remarkable mind, an amazing memory, actually a mnemonist. Offhand, Benson didn't remember the young man's name but he found it in the college records and phoned Kersh to tell him it was Hazard.

From a call made to Hazard's father, Kersh got Hazard's current New York City address. But the two letters Kersh wrote to that address received no reply. It was just a long shot anyway and Kersh gave up on it. But then one day while in the city for a meeting with Richland, Kersh had some time and decided to hell with form, he'd look up this Hazard.

He found him in a bathrobe, not yet shaved, hair mussed, sleepy looking and not very hospitable. It was nearly noon. With unconcealed reluctance, Hazard invited Kersh in and as long as he was making himself a cup of instant coffee Kersh might as well have one. Kersh sat in the living room of Hazard's apartment and felt all the more an intruder when his glance into the bedroom caught on part of a bed and the bare legs of a girl, apparently still sleeping. As an afterthought Hazard closed the bedroom door, not quietly.

Kersh told Hazard why he was there. Hazard became interested when Kersh said what Hazard would get out of it. Five hundred a week for putting in only a couple of days a week; some weeks nothing would be expected of him, but he'd still get paid.

Hazard thought there had to be a catch and said so.

Kersh told him the
DIA
requirement of having to enlist.

That cooled Hazard. He wasn't about to be recruited into any branch of the government.

Kersh didn't try to convert Hazard, saw that would be futile. But his instinct told him he'd found a good subject and he didn't want to lose him on a technicality that he also considered absurd. He decided it was the right time to make an exception. He wouldn't flagrantly break the
DIA
rule, couldn't get away with that, but it was worth the risk to bend a little. He suggested Hazard give it a try, say for two or three weeks, just to see how things went. No real commitment to the
DIA
or Kersh.

Hazard didn't jump at the offer, didn't much like the idea of promising any of his time to anyone. Although the five hundred a week sounded like easy enough money.

Kersh waited a while before making a different sort of appeal. “I need your help,” he said.

Don't be a sucker for sincerity, Hazard warned himself. But less than five minutes later he heard himself agreeing, “Five hundred.”

The following Thursday Hazard went up to the Fairfield installation and Kersh ran him through some preliminary tests to measure potential. To put Hazard at ease, Kersh used a deck of ordinary playing cards instead of the usual
ESP
symbol series. He extracted two cards from the deck so Hazard would be working with an even fifty. The cards were preshuffled and put face down into a small box that was placed on a table. Hazard's job was to try to identify the cards in consecutive order according to suit. Top card first and then down through the entire stack.

Hazard acted
blasé
about it and really was only slightly intrigued by the challenge. As he called out the heart, diamond, spade, or club that came to mind, Kersh tabulated each call in sequence on a score sheet.