Tomahawk (62 page)

“If you mean the nonrelease of information on Tomahawk's employment, you are correct. That wasn't my decision. I would have advocated the widest possible dissemination of this new capability. The policy was decided at higher levels.

“The reasoning, as I understand it, is that historically, the mistake commanders have made with regard to a revolutionary weapon is to disclose its existence too early,
and to use it before sufficient numbers are available to determine the course of battle. Its psychological impact is lost. The enemy has time to develop countermeasures. The next time we use this missile, it will be in overwhelming numbers. We will paralyze the enemy's air defense, destroy his electric generating grid, and decapitate his command structure. Win the war before ground troops are even committed. Vice Admiral Willis has discussed this with the heads of the appropriate congressional committees. Now that they've seen what we can do, the funds will be there.

“So, for now, our direction is not to showcase its employment in this operation. And in fact, that use is classified and will not be discussed outside official channels.”

Dan nodded slowly. It was disappointing. But it made sense.

“At any rate, to return to the matter at hand…. I am also in receipt of a rather… fulsomely complimentary message here from Captain Foster, saying that the raid could not have gone in without you, and that during it you also assisted his officer of the deck in saving the ship from possible damage.”

Dan waited, not responding to that. And apparently, that was the right thing to do, because Niles leaned back and closed his eyes. Dan studied the freckled lids, wondering what was going on behind them. In a moment or two, he'd know. He had a feeling he wouldn't like it, but at least the waiting would be over.

Niles grunted. “You present me with a difficult decision. The response has come back to your letter withdrawing your resignation.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I endorsed it, recommending approval. That, of course, was before this latest defiance of the chain of command.”

“It wasn't defiance, sir.”

“Shut
up!”
Niles's huge hands slammed down flat on the desk, so hard that they boomed like gunfire. “It was defiance and it was disobedience! Don't call it anything else, because you're damned lucky you're not sitting in front of a green table right now! And you still might, if
what I'm trying to satisfy them with is not enough!”

Dan sat motionless, tracking a single drop of sweat as it trickled slowly down from above his ear, down his neck, and under his collar. Finally he bent his head, tongued out the pale core of the Fireball, and cradled the sticky sphere in his palm. Niles stared at him for some seconds, then subsided gradually back into his seat.

“Your letter was approved.”

“The, uh, the one withdrawing my resignation?”

“Correct. But I personally do not think you belong here at JCM. Due to your expressed doubt about nuclear systems, your loose-cannon approach to direction, and also to questions that have been raised about your security clearance.”

“What about my security clearance, sir?”

“There seems to be lingering suspicion you may still be involved in some way with the Chinese.”

He gaped. “ ‘Still involved'—sir, I was the one who notified the FBI of the approach!”

“I understand that, and I think they're mistaken on that score. But Caesar's wife must be above suspicion. We are also vulnerable because of the revelations about Colonel Evans.”

“Colonel
Evans,
sir? I must have missed those. What revelations are—”

“Of course you missed it—you've been overseas. The investigation's still tearing up the roots that lead out from this Tallinger fellow. He's got a lot of associates, a lot of contacts. Some apparently blameless, such as your professor at George Washington. Others who turned away when they realized what he was doing. Like the Cottrell woman. But others who were not so innocent. Including Scott Evans.”

“I'm not sure I understand, sir. Are you saying Colonel Evans was—are you saying
he
was the one passing information to the Chinese?”

“Not directly. But that was the end result. I don't believe for a moment that Bucky knew that was what was actually happening. He was playing the game for his service. Trying to block our touchdown by leaking adverse data to the press and to Congress via Tallinger and his
lobbying association. Even passing certain maps on to those who could use them to embarrass the project, apparently. He didn't do it for himself. He never benefited personally, never took payment or anything like that.

“What Evans didn't know was that Mr. Tallinger was sharing everything he gave him with Beijing. Unfortunately, that's going to cost him his star.”

Dan sat frozen, trying to understand. Trying to visualize the slim, straight fighter pilot as someone who would undercut the project in the interests of his service. “He's not going to be promoted, sir? I thought that was imminent.”

“No. He's retiring, and under a cloud. I'm not condoning what he did. Loyalty pursued too far is as bad as none at all. But it's the way the game is played in this town, unfortunately. Another unfortunate result is that it doesn't look as if Tallinger can be prosecuted.”

Dan sat up, astonished again. “What are you telling me, sir? He passed data to the Chinese; he was there when they abducted me; he advised them on what I gave them.”

“I'm not entirely clear on the specifics, but apparently the evidence wasn't strong enough actually to go to indictment. Or perhaps there are those who don't want it to go to indictment. Whatever the reason, a deal was made: his cooperation for immunity, and the dismantling of what seems to have been a very capable and dangerous espionage apparatus.”

“Wait a minute. You're saying—what? That he walks away?”

“It's a complex matter. But that's not the point. Let's get back to you. The point is, this is too sensitive a program to signal to the security people that I don't take them, and their concerns, seriously.”

“Sir, this is unfair. Whatever I've thought, or done, I've never wavered in my dedication to my country.”

Niles cleared his throat. “I hear you, Dan. And I believe you. But the bottom line is this. In view of all the above, I have requested that you be reassigned. Carol has your orders, transferring you to J-Three as an action officer, effective Monday. Your relief will report aboard tomorrow. You will give him a complete and thorough
briefing, introduce him to your coworkers, and turn over all your files and working documents.”

Dan sat still as stone, unable to speak. Niles heaved himself up and went to the window. He spoke facing away, looking out at the towers of Crystal City, and his voice was different from how Dan had ever heard it before. It was soft, almost sad.

“I'm sorry to have to do this. All in all, you did a good job for me. I will include that in your detachment fitness report. You've damaged your career, but perhaps not irretrievably.”

Silence followed. Till Dan forced himself to his feet. “Am I dismissed, sir?” he said tonelessly.

“Perhaps we will meet again, under happier circumstances. Good luck, Mr. Lenson. That is all.”

He stood in the orange-carpeted corridor, trying to make sense of it.

On the one hand, he was still in the Navy.

On the other, he'd been fired. He remembered how Munford had sat despairing when Dan had relieved him. A relief in midterm meant just one thing. And every selection board saw it in your record.

And what was this bullshit about his clearance? He was the one who'd alerted them to the attempt to penetrate the program! He should have obeyed his instincts, never gotten near the thing.

Yet he couldn't deny a certain irony to it. The machine that sucked in men and dollars and spat out weapons had ingested him. He'd given it his best, and it had chewed him up and now had vomited him out.

Only one man had walked away unscarred.

Moving like a robot, he went down to his office. Sakai was there, packing up his desk. “Sparky. Where you headed?”

“Back to Dahlgren. This project's operational; I'm done here.”

“I guess I'm on my way out, too.” He shook the engineer's hand one last time. “It's been good working with you. Thanks—for everything.”

“No sweat, man. Have a nice life.”

Dan left, not looking back.

Moving like an automaton, he got on the Metro. He rode it unseeing, then got up as the Courthouse exit neared.

Then remained standing. He stayed on past Clarenden and Virginia Square, past Ballston, and got off at Falls Church.

The building was huge and anonymous, set down like a visiting spaceship on what not long before had been rolling farmland. The lobby was pink granite and tinted glass, lofty and shining like some godless cathedral. The list of corporate tenants was engraved in gold.

A carefully coiffed black woman beneath an enormous, vaguely erotic modern painting welcomed him to Kinetic Solutions and asked with whom his business was. He said, “Does Martin Tallinger work here?”

“Dr. Tallinger is one of our principals.”

“Is he in?”

She hesitated, examining his uniform. “Can I ask what it's about?”

“Personal matter.” He held up his briefcase. “I have something for him.”

“Certainly, sir. Second door on the left. Let me announce you.”

But he was already striding down the hushed corridor.

Tallinger was sitting with elbows on his desk, head in his hands, staring at a laptop computer with the battery pack taken out. He wasn't wearing the orange suspenders and bow tie, but a rumpled white shirt and a rep tie. He glanced up when Dan came in, looking boyishly annoyed. Then his eyes widened. “What do you want?” he said.

“A personal matter,” Dan said. “They told me you aren't going to be prosecuted for being an accessory to Kerry Donavan's death, or for helping Li Chenbin spy on my program. So I thought we'd discuss it man-to-man.”

Tallinger cleared his throat. He pushed his chair back. “How did you get in here?”

“Walked in. Like Bucky Evans probably walked in. Not knowing you were turning everything he gave you
over to the Communists. And helping them look for more.”

Tallinger smiled faintly, though he still looked alarmed. “ ‘The Communists.' The Chinese are on our side, Dan. Have been for some time now.”

“Is that right? Talk to me. Make me understand.”

“Well… I suppose you know I was with the government at one point. There's still a linkage there, contacts.” Tallinger ran his hands through his hair, adjusted his tie. “I can explain this, you see. Not about your fiancé, of course. But that wasn't my fault. There are important interests to be promoted. China's an enormous market—for U.S. aircraft, arms, computer equipment. Enormous possibilities.”

He must have read something in Dan's face then, because he added hurriedly, “But strengthening China serves our national security interest, too—as a counterweight, a force for stability in Asia. Part of that is building trust. You build trust with information. Everything I've done was done with the knowledge of key elements of the administration, as well as other governmental leaders and bodies.”

“Building trust with information. Information about missile technology. So they can sell it to Iran, and North Korea?”

“No classified information was passed.”

“Don't say it didn't happen. I saw you in the front seat, just before they handed me over to their executioner.”

Tallinger spread his hands. “Look, Commander, I hope they convict the man who threatened you. Hickey, wasn't that his name? But you've got my role in this wrong. All I ever did was to represent the interests of my clients. That's our business here at Kinetics—to forge profitable linkages instead of competing interests. Our attorneys have met with special agent Attucks. He tried to make a case. And he couldn't persuade his superiors he had one. I would think that ought to convince you that I've done nothing wrong—nothing that would stand up in court.”

Tallinger seemed to have regained his confidence. He smiled up at Dan, his initially apprehensive expression changing second by second into one of triumph.

There was a sound at the door. The receptionist peered in, a wary frown compressing her lips. She was holding two cups of coffee.

He hadn't planned what he was going to do. Hadn't planned any of this. Just gone on from moment to moment. But now, seeing that smile, he sucked the inside of his cheek in and bit down. The pain was incredible as his teeth sheared through the soft flesh. He waited, feeling the salty slickness gather under his tongue as they stared at him.

Then he grabbed the other man's tie and jerked him up over the desk, letting the leash slack for just a moment on the beast that wanted to kill. Computer parts scraped and skittered. Tallinger struggled, but not hard.

His upturned face looked shocked and resigned as Dan spat full into it, spittle and fresh blood mixed.

He rode the Metro back to his apartment. He walked home unseeing through the summer heat, stopping only once, at the 7-Eleven on the corner.

In his apartment, he put the six-pack of beer on the coffee table, went to the bedroom, and took the pistol out of the bureau. He held it for a moment, balancing its solid, deadly weight, then checked the magazine and racked the slide. Loaded. He carried it back into the living room, and laid it, too, on the table in front of the futon. After a second he got up again, found the phone, and carried it over. Then he sat down, facing the three objects.

He could get drunk.

He could pick up the gun.

Or he could pick up the phone and call his AA sponsor.

Was it possible to talk it out, this feeling of doom and waste and grief? He'd fought it since the day Kerry died. It had retreated when he plunged into work with the desperation of one who knows if he ceases to flail, he will sink. But now it was back, cold and choking as an Arctic fog.