Sigma One (6 page)

Both Pat and the escort continued to walk and in about a hundred yards turned right and went up two flights of stairs. At the head of the stairs, they turned right again and came to the vault door. Jennings reached for the black telephone hanging on the wall and spoke into the receiver.

"Captain Jennings here. I have Mr. Huxley. Please buzz us in." Two or three minutes elapsed before the buzzer sounded and the grey steel door swung open. Pat entered. Captain Jennings stayed outside.

"I'll be back to escort you out later. I was told the meeting would be over in a half an hour."

Pat nodded his head in agreement. "Thanks, Captain Jennings. I'll call if the meeting goes longer than you were told."

The door slammed shut with a metallic thump after which, Pat went down another hall and entered the meeting room.

As Pat opened the door, the stale smell of cigar smoke filled his nose. The room was dark except for the dim light reflecting from the overhead projector as it shone on the mustard colored walls. Pat's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark and when they did he took his place at the back of the room. Seated around the table were representatives from the Army, the Air Force, the Navy, and a few other people whose organizational identities were indeterminable. These people were dressed in business suits much like himself. The room was crowded, hot and cramped.

After Pat was seated, Senator Radcliff got up, went around the table and took a place right behind him. He put both hands on Pat's shoulders as a show of good faith. He was glad that Pat had made it. He was having difficulty answering the penetrating questions that were being thrown at him. He leaned forward and whispered into Pat's ear.

"These guys are out for blood, Pat. They're really feeling the budget crunch, so I hope you're prepared."

Pat nodded.

The senator took his hands off Pat's shoulders and then raised his voice and addressed the members of the committee. "Gentlemen. Let me introduce you to Mr. Patrick Huxley, Project Manager for SIGMA ONE. I'm sure he can answer any technical questions you have."

Pat got up, hobbled to the podium, still carrying his briefcase handcuffed to his arm. He overemphasized his limp as he passed by the various members, hoping for sympathy. He knew he would need every bit of help he could get to keep SIGMA ONE alive, and he wasn't above a little grandstanding. Reaching the podium, he put the briefcase down, reached into his pocket, unlocked the handcuffs and then spun the dial on the front and opened it.

"Good morning, gentlemen. If you will bear with me for a moment, I'm a little out of breath. I'm sorry if my delay caused any interruptions in your busy schedules."

The Army Colonel at the end of the table scowled at him and continued chewing on his cigar without saying a word.

Pat looked at him and knew this would be one adversary he would have to deal with before the morning was over. Pat then scanned the room, checking the body language of those seated at the table, trying to determine who might be supportive and who might be the enemy.

The Navy Commander was perched in his seat and intently leaning forward. From his young face and piercing blue eyes, he looked more to Pat like a fighter jock than a scientific advisor. Pat was glad of that and hoped he was a flyer. Fighter pilots are a breed unto themselves and always look out for one another. Pat hoped this one would be on his side today.

The older gentleman seated next to the navy man, was at least sixty or seventy years old. Pat couldn't tell. His face was weathered, but behind his bifocals, Pat could sense he was a humanitarian. His face reminded Pat of the kindly old pediatrician who had delivered his daughter, Sarah.

Seated next to the old man was a young, attractive lady in her early thirties. Her brown hair was pulled tightly back against her head. She had a business suit on which was very stylish, but not overbearing. Her eyes were steel gray and had a somewhat masculine intensity to them. The furrow in her brow indicated she was deep in thought, but by her dark tan Pat thought she looked like she'd be more comfortable on a ski lift than seated there in the meeting.

Pat shifted his eyes to the left to the three other men seated next to the young lady. The first was grossly overweight and had a pudgy, baby face, except for his big bushy eyebrows. The contrast was comical. The man was much younger than Pat, maybe in his early or mid-twenties. He had on thick glasses which hid his eyes making it hard for Pat to tell exactly how old he was. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his tie was loose. The man obviously didn't read the book Dress for Success. Pat figured him to be a representative from the Office of Management and Budget. He reminded Pat of an accountant.

Next to "baby face" sat a man who looked to be in his early forties and who looked like he belonged in the military even though he didn't have on a uniform. He had a crew-cut and kept darting his eyes back and forth sizing up the other people in the room. He did this without moving his head. His stare was icy and Pat suspected he might be from one of the national security agencies. From the past experience of having applied for a job at one particular agency, he knew that the agencies oftentimes hired ex-military men and this guy fit the mold to a tee.

Rounding out the group of civilians was a man Pat pegged at being in his mid-fifties. He too, like the fat man, was unkempt and wouldn't be winning any fashion shows in the near future. He had on a plaid, wrinkled shirt and a paisley tie which horribly clashed with it. This man was also a heart attack waiting to happen and was chain smoking one cigarette after another, all the while fidgeting in his chair and rolling a pencil back and forth on the table in front of him. Pat couldn't determine what his affiliation was, but sized him up to be some sort of scientist because of the plastic pocket liner filled with pens he had stuffed in his shirt pocket.

Seated next to the civilians were the three military men lined up just like in the commercials--Army, Navy, and Air Force. (The Marines were missing from the group, ending the simile.)

Before Pat could begin his briefing, the senator got up and as he did everyone turned their attention toward him. It was, after all, the senator's meeting.

"Pat," Radcliff said aloud from across the room. "Before you get started, I'd like to introduce you to everyone. It's only fair you should know the players involved in your continued funding."

Pat agreed, but stood silent at the podium, waiting and watching for some indication of the mood of the players seated before him.

Radcliff began the introductions. "First on my right is Dr. Gandliong. I'm sure you've heard of him Pat. He has written numerous books on parapsychology and is currently associated with the University of Chicago. He is also on the board of directors at Cedar Sinai in Los Angeles and is responsible for syphoning off millions of dollars of aids research monies earmarked for them and then laundering the funds and providing them to SIGMA ONE."

Pat looked over at the doctor and felt a strange sense of pride. After all, here was a person who had taken an oath to save lives, diverting funds from much-needed research to find a cure for a proven killer, to his unproven dream of complete nuclear disarmament. Pat was happy the doctor apparently believed in his dream, but he couldn't help wonder if Gandliong ever felt guilty for his part in SIGMA ONE.

Gandliong smiled at Pat, gave him a stern look of approval, but said nothing. The sternness didn't bother him, to Pat he still looked like his daughter's pediatrician.

Radcliff continued the introductions.

"Pat," Radcliff said, referring to the young lady seated next to Gandliong, "this is Gloria Robinson. Ms. Robinson represents Green Peace."

"Green Peace?" Pat said aloud. "What does Green Peace have to do with SIGMA ONE?" Pat addressed his question to Ms. Robinson.

Ms. Robinson pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, and up and up. She must have been six foot six. After standing, she then began to unbutton the top of her business suit, exposing a neatly cut white silk blouse.

"It's rather hot in here gentlemen. I hope you don't mind if I take this off."

None of the men argued. They just stared.

When Ms. Robinson finished taking off her jacket, each and every man in the room couldn't help but notice it had hidden a perfectly statuesque figure. Now revealed, it became the center of attention. Crew-cut's jaw dropped, the only emotion he had shown all day.

Ms. Robinson folded her jacket neatly and placed it on the spare chair behind her and then returned to the table and faced Pat before beginning to speak.

"Mr. Huxley, as you are aware, Green Peace has a mission to clean up and save the world's environment. For years we have often been considered by some governmental groups as being almost radical." She paused briefly to allow them to reflect on what she had just said and then began again. "And I suppose in our early years of operation we were radical. Radical things were happening to the environment, and radical action was necessary, and still is, as far as I'm concerned."

The men all nodded in agreement. Each had seen the news broadcasts of the past few years showing, on numerous occasions, bold environmentalists charging their small rubber rafts toward much larger Japanese fishing boats, risking drowning.

Robinson continued. "Today, however, Green Peace has found that by working with, rather than against the government, that our mission can be accomplished at much less expense and at much smaller risk. Senator Radcliff has been a longtime supporter of ours and it was through him that our organization became aware of your project five years ago. It was his influence, as well as the goal of the project itself, that convinced our board of directors to provide seed monies to you as, at the time, your project did seem like it had the potential to make our world a safer place for everyone."

The connection seemed logical enough to Pat. But he wondered if all the millions of supporters knew how their contributions were being spent. He didn't really care as long as he got his.

Ms. Robinson reached down and picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, before continuing.

"As I was saying, Mr. Huxley, Green Peace views your project as part of its long term plan to stop man's destruction of this planet." Her tone of voice was strained. She was beginning to get emotional and it was obvious. "But, my reason for being here today is not to praise SIGMA ONE, rather it is to determine whether or not our funds which are spent on SIGMA ONE, could be better spent elsewhere, on other projects with similar goals as yours. We have provided our support for five years now, and, to be quite frank, your achievements have not been satisfactory to date. If continuation of funding is what you expect, Mr. Huxley, you had better be able to shed some light today on just what your team has accomplished with our money. And you had better be able to give us some assurance, some evidence of progress."

Pat surveyed the room quickly to see what affect her words had on the rest of the group. To his distress, he saw agreement in each of their farms. He cringed. He had thought earlier Ms. Robinson was going to be a supporter. Now he was sure she was not; not that she couldn't be swayed to his position, just that it would take some interesting truth bending on his part to do so.

In order not to let Ms. Robinson's words remain the subject of thought too long in the other member's minds and potentially weaken his position, Pat spoke up. "Ms. Robinson. I understand your concern and have sent a full status report to the senator which, after you read it, I'm sure will assuage any doubts you have."

Pat hoped this maneuver would buy him some time and diffuse the situation.

Ms. Robinson was not to be put off so easily and added, "Mr. Huxley, I hope you will be able to provide a verbal summary of what is in that report today. The budget hearings will be over shortly, and I need to make a recommendation to my management tomorrow."

Pat breathed a sigh of relief. He was sure he could provide a good-enough-sounding story to convince her and the others. All he needed was to buy enough time to get through this budget cycle. He was sure shortly he would be able to show them all the progress they wanted.

"After the introductions, Ms. Robinson, I'll be able to answer any questions you have. I've even got some data in these charts which I'm sure your group will find interesting." Pat motioned to his stack of viewgraphs. The data wasn't there, of course, but Pat was confident he could snow her by playing to her emotions.

"Very well, then." Ms. Robinson replied and sat back down.

The Senator, silent for the past few moments round of verbal volleyball between Pat and Ms. Robinson continued with the introductions again. This time he pointed to "baby face". "Pat, this is Mr. Butterworth. He is from the Senate finance committee and is here to get a financial update on the project."

Butterworth grunted, and wedged himself out of the chair to stand. Pat laughed to himself. Butterworth certainly fit his name.

In a soprano voice of a preadolescent, Butterworth introduced himself, said how happy he was to be there and that he was sure everything was in order. Pat was sure he could pull one over on Butterworth. He didn't look too bright.

Next to Butterworth, sat Crew-cut. The Senator motioned for him to stand up, which he did, briskly pushing his chair back and cutting the Senator off before he could finish the introduction.