`One ought to say,’ Phelps said, `that the data bank being tapped by Sigma was a Defence bank.’
`Yes,’ Venn said. `It was a Defence bank. With two or three taps a week at about ten PM. That was all I knew when I began. However, I made some simple assumptions. First, you’ve got to have a computer terminal in order to tap the system. That is, once you’ve called the number that links you to the computer, you must use a teletypewriting or CRT apparatus compatible with the Defence system.’
`Are those terminals common?’
`No,’ Venn said. `They are quite advanced and fairly uncommon. I started with a list of them.’
Graves nodded.
`Then I considered the timing. Ten PM Eastern time is seven rht in California, where most of these sophisticated terminals in defence industry applications are located. If an employee were illegally using a terminal to tap into Defence, he couldn’t do it during office hours. On the other hand, it requires an extraordinary access to get into an East Coast terminal location at ten at night – or into a Midwest location at eight or nine. Therefore Sigma was probably on the West Coast.’
`So you checked the West Coast terminals?’
`Yes. Because in order to hook into the Defence system, you’d have to unhook from your existing system. What corporation, R&D group, or production unit had a terminal that was unhooked at seven Pm Western time twice a week? Answer: None. New question: What group had its terminals repaired twice a week? Repairing would entail unhooking. Answer: The Southern California Association of Insurance Underwriters, a company based in San Diego.’
Graves said, `So you investigated the repairman and you found -‘
`We found our man,’ Venn said, looking slightly annoyed with Graves. `His name is Timothy Drew. He has been doing repair work on the SC Association computers for about six weeks. It turns out nobody authorized those repairs; he just showed up and -‘
`But you haven’t picked him up.’
Phelps coughed. `No, actually. We haven’t picked him up yet because he’s -‘
`Disappeared,’ Graves said.
`That’s right,’ Phelps said. `How did you know?’
`Tim Drew is a friend of John Wright. He’s had dinner with him several times a week for the last month or so.’ As he spoke, Graves had a mental image of Drew – early thirties, blond-looking, muscular. Graves had run a check on him some weeks back and had discovered only that Drew was an ex-Army lieutenant, discharged one year before. A clean record in computer work, nothing good, nothing bad.
`We weren’t able to find him,’ Venn said, `but we’re still looking. We thought -‘
Graves said, `There’s only one thing I want to know. What information did Drew tap from the classified files?’
There was a long silence around the cable. Finally Decker said, `We don’t know.’
`You don’t know?’ Graves lit a cigarette. `But that’s the most important question -‘
`Let me explain,’ Decker said. `Drew was an exArmy officer with knowledge of computer systems. He knew that he couldn’t call in on any old number. The call-in numbers are changed at irregular intervals, roughly once a week. But the possible permutations of the call-in number aren’t great. With trial and error, he might have found it.’
`You know he found the number,’ Graves said, `because you know he tapped in. The question is, what did he tap out from the system?’
`Well, once he was hooked up, he still had a problem. You need subroutine codes to extract various kinds of information, and -‘
`How often are the codes changed?’
`Not very often.’
Graves found himself getting impatient. `How often are the codes changed?’
‘About once a year.’
Graves sighed. `So Drew might have used his old codes to get what he wanted?’
`Yes.’
`Then we want to know what codes he knew. What sort of work did Drew do when he was in the Army?’
`He did topological work. Surface configurations, shipment routings, that sort of thing.’
Graves glanced at Phelps. `Can we be more specific?’
`I’m afraid not,’ Phelps said. `Defence is unwilling to release Drew’s work record to us. Defence is a little defensive, you might say, about the fact that this tap occurred in the first place.’
There was a long silence. Graves stared at the men around the table. There were times, he thought, when working for the government was an exercise in total stupidity. Finally he said, `How can you get Defence to release the information?’
`I’m not sure we can,’ Phelps said. `But one of the reasons you’re being briefed is that we were hoping you might be able to shed light on the situation.’
`I might?’
`Yes. Drew was working for Wright, after all.’
Before Graves could answer, the telephone rang. Phelps answered it, and said, `Yes, thank you,’ and hung up. He looked at Graves. `Do you have any thoughts about this?’
`None,’ Graves said.
`None at all?’
`None at all.’
`Well,’ Phelps said, `perhaps something will occur to you in the next hour.’ He gave Graves a heavily disapproving look, then stood up and turned to Decker and Venn. `Thank you, gentlemen,’ he said. And to Graves: `Let’s go.’
HOUR 11
LOS ANGELES
6 AM PDT
Another conference room, another group. This room was decorated entirely in Tahiti posters; it occurred to Graves that whoever had owned the travel agency before it went bankrupt was a Tahiti-nut. Perhaps he was himself Tahitian. Graves began to wonder why the Tahitian owner had gone out of business. Too much time away from the office, basking in the sun? Discrimination against him by Angelenos? Some rare disease carried by coconuts which had made him an invalid?
`Gentlemen,’ Phelps said, and cleared his throat. Graves was snapped back to the present. He looked around the room. There were, he saw, a number of high-ranking Washington people. They all looked tired and disgruntled. Phelps had brought them out to California on a red-eye flight, let them sleep a few hours, then dragged them up for a meeting with . . . John Graves?
`John Graves,’ Phelps said, `has come up from San Diego this morning to brief you on John Wright. Mr Graves has been in charge of Wright’s surveillance in New York and San Diego for the past three months.’ Phelps nodded to Graves, and Graves stood.
`We have some footage which is quite revealing,’ Graves said. `I thought we’d begin with that, if we can screen it. . .’
The men in the room looked confused. Even Phelps, who never lost his aplomb, seemed uncertain. Graves settled it by tearing down several Tahitian posters from the wall, clearing a blank white space. He was embarrassed for a moment – the tearing noise sounded somehow indiscreet with all these Washington guns, and the whole business emphasized the makeshift nature of the surroundings.
Phelps seemed to sense it, too. `You must excuse us,’ he said, `but these are temporary quarters for the duration of the Republican Convention.’
Graves stepped to one side as the room lights dimmed. A black-and-white image was projected on the wall. It showed a dapper, rather handsome man standing at a podium. For a moment there was no sound, and then it came on abruptly. The voice was sharp, vigorous, and slightly petulant.
`- can a person do in the twentieth century? The question is not rhetorical, my friends. Each and every one of us is powerless in the face of giant corporations, giant institutions, giant government. Do you think automobiles are badly made? Do you think your electricity bill is too high? Do you disagree with the nation’s foreign policy? Well, there’s nothing much you can do about it. No matter what you think, or I think, the wheels continue to spin of their own inertia.’
The film image of John Wright paused to take a drink of water. `Perhaps you think that a few people have power – high government officials, high corporate executives, wealthy individuals. But that also is untrue. Everyone is locked into a system which he has inherited and is powerless to change. We are all trapped, my friends. That is the meaning of the twentieth century. It is the century of impotence.’
Wright’s voice dropped lower, became more ominous. Isis face was grim. `Impotence,’ he repeated. `Inability to act. Inability to be effective. This is what we must change. And with the help of God, we shall.’
There was some applause on the sound track before the film ran out of the camera and the room lights came back on. Graves lit a cigarette and flipped through the pages of his own file on Wright before speaking.
`I showed you that film for psychological, not politcal, reasons,’ he said, `because it summarizes most of what we know about John Wright’s mental state. The speech was given last year before the annual conference of the Americans for a Better Nation, an- extremist group which Wright started and still leads. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s small, and has no significance whatsoever in national politics. Over the last few years, Wright has poured 1.7 million dollars into the organization. The money apparently doesn’t matter to him. But the lack of impact – the impotence – matters a great deal.’
He paused and glanced around the faces at the table. They seemed to be paying attention, but just barely. Two were doodling on the pads before them. `John Wright,’ he said, `is now forty-nine years old. He is the son of Edmund Wright, of the Wright steel family. He is an only child. His father was a crude, domineering man and an alcoholic. John grew up in his shadow, a very strange child. He was a good student and learned quite a lot of mathematics, even made a minor reputation for himself in that field. On the other hand, he was an inveterate gambler, horse racer, and womanizer.’
The assembled men began to fidget. Graves nodded to the projectionist, who began flashing up slides. The first showed Edmund Wright glaring into the camera. `Edmund Wright died of cirrhosis in 1955. John Wright changed completely when that happened. He moved to New York from Pittsburgh and became a kind of local celebrity. He was married four times to well-known actresses; all the marriages ended in divorce. The last divorce, from Sarah Layne, occurred in 1967 and coincided with a six-month nervous breakdown for Wright. He was hospitalized in McClain General outside Atlanta for paranoid ideation and feelings of impotence. Apparently he had been impotent with his last wife.’
A picture of Sarah Layne flashed up. The men all stirred uncomfortably as they stared at the image: handsome, but haughty and undeniably challenging.
HOUR 11 LOS ANGELES 6 AM PDT 2:
‘Wright left the hospital against doctors’ advice and plunged into the political organization he formed: Americans for a Better Nation. For the next four years he gave speeches and wrote pamphlets. In 1968 he worked hard to influence the national elections on every level – mostly without success. He fell into a depression after that.
`Recently, his interest in politics dropped sharply. He seems to have withdrawn from any kind of public life; he no longer holds large parties and no longer participates in the social life of New York. According to all information, he has been intensely studying a variety of subjects that are rather ominous. These include sociology, radiation theory, physics, and some aspects of biology. He has interviewed experts in several different areas -‘ Graves flipped the pages of his file `- including cancer experts, civil engineers, horticulture specialists, and aerosol spray-can designers. He -‘
`Aerosol spray-can designers?’ someone asked.
`That is correct.’
There was some head scratching among those present.
`He also became interested in the meteorology of the Southwest.’
The men were listening now and looking very puzzled. All the doodling had stopped.
‘Wright was listed as a Potential Surveillance Subject at the end of 1968, after he had engaged in some questionable activities to influence the national election. As a PSS he did nothing out of the ordinary until six months ago. Then two things happened.
`First, Wright began to transfer large amounts of money from various accounts in this country and in Switzerland. As you know, we keep an eye on private capital transfers in excess of $300,000. Wright was moving much more than that. Secondly, he began to be seen with known underworld figures. The pattern of behaviour suggested a courtship, and we became very concerned at that point.’
The slides changed again several times in rapid succession, showing smooth-faced businessmen. `Robert “.`Trigger” Cannino. Sal Martucci. Benny Flick. Gerald “Tiny” Margolin. These are some of the men he saw during that period.’
The slides now showed Wright in restaurants, at taxi stands, and in Central Park with these men.
`Active surveillance began in June 1972, when Wright left New York for San Diego. He was clearly making plans for the Republican Convention, but their nature was not clear, and he was giving himself much too much time. I ran the surveillance from the start. During the surveillance period his contacts with organized crime have substantially decreased. He has been seeing only one person consistently – this man.’
The screen showed a bald, glowering face.
‘Eddie “The Key” Trasker, fifty-three, a resident of Las Vegas who lives mostly in San Diego. He is reputed to be the power behind the Teamsters, and his influence over all forms of interstate transportation is enormous. Wright has seen him nearly every week, often during the early hours of the morning.
`He has also come in contact with this man, Timothy Drew, an ex-Army officer with a background in computers. The meaning of that association was unclear to me until this morning. Drew clearly represents Sigma Station; Drew tapped out classified Defence information for Wright. We do not know what kind of information, or why it was stolen.’
Graves sat down and looked at the faces. Phelps said, `Questions, gentlemen?’
McPherson, from the President’s staff, cleared his throat. `I gather from Mr Graves’ excellent but rather psychologically oriented presentation that we have no damned idea what Wright is up to. Is that substantially correct?’
`Yes, it is,’ Graves said.
`Well then,’ McPherson said, `I’m afraid we can do nothing. Wright has acted suspiciously and is quite probably deranged. Neither is a crime in this country.’
`I disagree,’ Corey said, sitting back in his chair. Corey was Defence liaison; a heavyset man with thick eyebrows that joined over his nose. `I think we have plenty of reason to apprehend Wright at this time.’
`Plenty of reason,’ McPherson said, `but no evidence, no charges . . .’
Whitlock, from the justice Department, straightened his tie and said, `I’m sure we all agree this is an unpleasant sort of meeting. Mr Wright is a private citizen and he is entitled to do as he pleases so long as he does not commit a crime. I’ve seen and heard nothing that suggests a crime has been or will be committed, and ‘
`What about the underworld contacts?’ Corey said.
Whitlock smiled. `What about them?’
`I think that’s very suggestive -‘
`But he has broken no law,’ Whitlock said. `And until he .does . . .’ He shrugged.
Corey frowned, pushing his eyebrows into a black, ominous V. `An interrogation would be useful, even without a criminal act,’ he said. `I think we have a basis for interrogation here – Wright’s association with Timothy Drew, who has stolen classified information, probably for Wright. Can’t we pick him up on that?’
`I feel we should,’ Phelps said, speaking for the first time.
Graves spun around to look at Phelps.
`I disagree,’ McPherson said.
Whitlock made some notes on the pad in front of him. Finally he said, `Perhaps an interrogation is the safest route. I think we need to know what was tapped out by Sigma Station. Mr Corey?’
`Pick him up.’
`Mr Phelps?’
`Pick him up.’
`Mr McPherson?’
`Opposed.’
Whitlock spread his hands. Graves said nothing. The meeting was over.
`If there are no further questions,’ Phelps said, `we can adjourn.’
`You didn’t like that, did you?’ Phelps said, as they walked back through the travel agency.
`No,’ Graves said. `I didn’t.’
`Still,’ Phelps said, `I think it’s best. Arrest him today, on suspicion of conspiracy to commit grand larceny involving classified information.’
`Isn’t it robbery?’
Phelps sighed patiently. `Robbery and larceny are different crimes.’
Graves said, `How long can I wait?’
`A few hours. Play with him if you want, but pick him up by evening. I want to get to the bottom of this.’
Graves couldn’t make the arrest himself. He’d need federal marshals. `You’ll notify the marshals in San Diego?’
`They’re waiting for your call,’ Phelps said, and smiled. As much as he ever did.
Graves had fifteen minutes before he had to return to the airport. As he walked out of the travel agency, he heard a room filled with mechanical chatter. Curious, he paused and opened the door. He found that one office had been converted into a temporary hardware room. It had once been somebody’s office, but now there were six teletypes and computer consoles installed there. He was reminded that the State Department (Intelligence Division) and the NSA had more computers than any other organizations in the world.
The room was empty at this hour. He glanced at the teletypes, noting their colour. When he first started working at State in the early sixties, rooms like this had contained five red teletypes and one blue teletype. The red machines recorded information from over-seas stations and embassies; the blue was for domestic data. Now, four of the machines were blue and only two were red.
There had been a shift in orientation for State Intelligence. Nobody cared any longer about the movements of an eighth assistant deputy minister in the Yugoslav government. They were much more interested in the number five man in the Black Panther Party, or the number three man in the John Birch Society, or the number six man in Americans for a Better Nation.
He sat down at a computer console, stared at the blank TV screen, and began typing in Wright’s call numbers. The screen glowed and printed out the categories of stored information:
WRIGHT, JOHN HENSEN
001 FILE SUMMARY
002 PERSONAL APPEARANCE, COMPLETE
003 PHOTOS
004 PERSONAL HISTORY, COMPLETE
005 RECENT ACTIVITIES (2 WEEK UPDATE)
006 FINANCIAL HISTORY, COMPLETE
007 POLITICAL HISTORY, COMPLETE
008 MISCELLANEOUS
009 CROSS REFERENCES LISTING, COMPLETE
Graves stared at the categories with some distaste. It was disturbing that the government should have so much information on a private individual – particularly one who had committed no criminal act at any time.
Then on an impulse he pushed the `Wipe’ button and the screen went blank. He typed in `Graves, John Norman’, followed by his own call-up number. He sat back and watched the numbers print out on the screen:
GRAVES, JOHN NORMAN 445798054
INTELLIGENCE, DEPT STATE/INVESTIGATIONS (DOM)
TELEPHONE: 808-415-7800 X 4305
FILE CONTENTS CANNOT BE DISPLAYED ON THIS
CONSOLE WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION VQ
He hesitated, then punched `Auth: VQ’
AUTHORIZATION VQ RECORDED
STATE NAME
After another hesitation, he punched `Phelps, Richard D’.
RECORD CALL-UP NAME AS PHELPS, RICHARD D. FILE CONTENTS CANNOT BE DISPLAYED ON THIS CONSOLE TO THE ABOVENAMED PERSON. CALL-UP PERSON IS ADVISED TO ACQUIRE NTK AUTHORIZATION FROM DEPARTMENT HEAD.
Graves smiled. So even Phelps couldn’t call up Graves’ file without a special need-to-know authorization. Who could call it up? Feeling whimsical, he typed out `This is the President of the United States.’
The screen glowed:
RECORD CALL-UP AS PRESIDE NTOFTHEUNITEDSTATES IS THIS A CODE NAME
STATE GIVEN NAME
Graves sighed. Computers just didn’t show any respect. He pressed the `Wipe’ button and returned to the question of Wright.
He didn’t really know what he was looking for. Graves had supplied most of the computerized file contents himself. But perhaps someone else had added to it. He pushed the 008 sequence calling up miscellaneous information. That category had been empty two weeks ago. Now it contained an academic history of Wright’s work in mathematics, prepared by `S. Vessen, State/Anal/412′. Whoever that was. He had a moment of pleasure at the thought that State’s analysis people were abbreviated `anal’. It was fitting.
He turned to the information itself:
HX ACADEMIC – JOHN WRIGHT IBIBLIO FOLLOWS:
008/02)
WRIGHT STUDIED MATHEMATICS AT PRINCETON
UNDER REIMANN. FROM THE START HIS INTEREST,
LIKE THAT OF HIS TEACHER, WAS HEAVILY
STATISTICAL AND PROBABILISTIC. HIS FIRST PAPER
CONCERNED STOCK MARKET FLUCTUATIONS. THIS
WAS WRITTEN IN 1942, BEFORE HIGH SPEED DIGITAL
COMPUTERS WERE AVAILABLE. HOWEVER, WITHOUT
SUCH TOOLS WRIGHT DECIDED THAT THE STOCK
MARKET WAS TOTALLY RANDOM IN ITS BEHAVIOUR.
(THAT IS, THE CHANCE THAT A GIVEN STOCK WOULD
GO UP OR DOWN ON ANY DAY BORE NO
RELATIONSHIP TO WHAT IT HAD DONE THE PREVIOUS
DAY.) THIS FACT WAS FINALLY CONFIRMED BEYOND
ALL DOUBT IN 1961
WRIGHT WAS ALSO INTERESTED IN SPORTS AND GAMBLING. IN 1944 HE WROTE AN AMUSING SHORT ARTICLE ‘ON BEING DUE’. IN IT HE ARGUED CORRECTLY THAT THE ORDINARY NOTION THAT A MAN IS ‘DUE FOR A HIT’ IF HE HAS BEEN RECENTLY UNSUCCESSFUL AT BAT IS TOTALLY FALLACIOUS. EACH TIME AT BAT IS A SEPARATE EVENT.
HE WAS ALSO INTERESTED IN HISTORICAL CONTEXTS: THE FACT THAT JOHN ADAMS, JAMES MONROE, AND THOMAS JEFFERSON ALL DIED ON JULY 4th, AND SO ON. HE WROTE A PAPER ON ASSIGNING CAUSATION TO HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL EVENTS. IN THIS WORK HE WAS STRONGLY INFLUENCED BY THEORETICAL PHYSICISTS.
HE SHOWED THAT YOU CAN NEVER DETERMINE ‘THE CHIEF REASON’ FOR THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, NAPOLEON’S DEFEAT AT WATERLOO, THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE, OR ANY OTHER HISTORICAL EVENT. THE CHIEF REASON CANNOT BE KNOWN IN ANY PRECISE SENSE. FOR ANY EVENT THERE ARE HUNDREDS OR THOUSANDS OF CONTRIBUTING CAUSES, AND NO WAY TO ASSIGN PRIORITIES TO THESE CAUSES. HISTORIANS HAVE ATTACKED THE WRIGHT THESIS VIGOROUSLY SINCE IT TENDS TO PUT THEM OUT OF A JOB. HE WAS, HOWEVER, MATHEMATICALLY CORRECT BEYOND DOUBT.
FINALLY WRIGHT TURNED TO THE GENERAL THEORY OF INTERACTIONS. FOR SIMPLICITY HE STUDIED TWO-COMPONENT INTERACTIONS LEADING TO A SINGLE EVENT OR OUTCOME. HE BECAME QUITE KNOWLEDGEABLE IN THIS AREA.