At last Dawson turned to the general and said, “Ernst, what do you think of subliminal advertising?”
The general had anticipated this abrupt shift from relaxation to business. “Fascinating stuff.”
“You have no doubts?”
“That it exists? None whatsoever. Your man here has the
proof. But he didn’t explain what subliminal advertising has to do with me.”
Sipping brandy, savoring it, Dawson nodded toward Salsbury. Putting down his own drink, angry with Klinger for referring to him as Dawson’s man and angry with Dawson for not correcting the general, reminding himself not to address Klinger by his military title, Ogden said, “Ernst, we never met until this morning. I’ve never told you where I work-but I’m sure you know.”
“The Brockert Institute,” Klinger said without hesitation.
General Ernst Klinger supervised a division of the Pentagon’s vitally important Department of Security for Weapons Research. His authority within the department extended to the states of Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine. It was his responsibility to choose, oversee the installation of, and regularly inspect the traditional and electronic systems that protected all laboratories, factories, and test sites where weapons research was conducted within those fourteen states. Several laboratories belonging to Creative Development Associates, including the Brockert facility in Connecticut, came under his jurisdiction; and Salsbury would have been surprised if the general had not known the name of the scientist in charge of the work at Brockert.
“Do you know what sort of research we’re conducting up there?” Salsbury asked.
“I’m responsible for the security, not the research,” Klinger said. “I only know what I need to know. Like the backgrounds of the people who work there, the layout of the buildings, and the nature of the surrounding countryside. I don’t need to know about your work.”
“It has to do with subliminals.”
Stiffening as if he had sensed stealthy movement behind him, Some of the brandy-inspired color seeping from his face, Klinger said, “I believe you’ve signed a secrecy pledge like everyone else at Brockert.”
“Yes, I have.”
“You just now violated it.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Are you aware of the penalty?” “Yes. But I’ll never suffer it.”
“You’re sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Damned sure,” Salsbury said.
“It makes no difference, you know, that I’m a general in the United States Army or that Leonard is a loyal and trusted citizen. You’ve still broken the pledge. Maybe they can’t put you away for treason when you’ve only talked to the likes of us- but they can at least give you eighteen months for declassifying information without the authority to do so.”
Salsbury glanced at Dawson.
Leaning forward in his chair, Dawson patted the general’s knee. “Let Ogden finish.”
Klinger said, “This could be a setup.”
“A what?”
“A setup. A trap.”
“To get you?” Dawson asked.
“Could be.”
“Why would I want to set you up?” Dawson asked. He seemed genuinely hurt by the suggestion.
In spite of the fact, Salsbury thought, that he has probably set up and destroyed hundreds of men over the last thirty years.
Klinger seemed to be thinking the same thing, although he shrugged and pretended that he had no answer to Dawson’s question.
“That’s not the way I operate,” Dawson said, either unable or unwilling to conceal his bruised pride. “You know me better than that. My whole career, my whole life, is based on Christian principles.”
“I don’t know anyone well enough to risk a charge of treason,” the general said gruffly.
Feigning exasperation-it was a bit too obvious to be real- Dawson said, “Old friend, we’ve made a great deal of money together. But all of it amounts to pocket change when compared to the money we can make if we cooperate with Ogden.
There is literally unlimited wealth here-for all of us.” He watched the general for a moment, and when he could get no reaction he said, “Ernst, I have never misled you. Never. Not once.”
Unconvinced, Klinger said, “All you ever did before was pay me for advice-”
“For your influence.”
“For my advice,” Klinger insisted. “And even if I did sell my influence-which I didn’t-that’s a long way from treason.”