The Minotaur (50 page)

Sam Strader’s avowed passion was the military. Every officer in
the Pentagon knew what that meant. She hated them. With an
excellent mind, a quick wit, and a tongue to match, she was a
formidable opponent.

Today, at this closed hearing of the black projects subcommittee
of the House Appropriations Committee, she adjusted the micro-
phone in front of her and gazed at Jake Grafton as though looking
through a dense smoke screen. “Captain, please justify, if you can,
the acquisition of another very expensive major weapons system by
the U.S. Navy when Chairman Gorbachev is cutting the Soviet
military budget drastically, reducing manpower levels by ten per-
cent, slashing new ship construction, cutting navy steaming tune.”

“Congresswoman,” Jake said, trying to digest the question. “I
don’t think I’m qualified to address that. I’m here to testify about
the merits of the prototypes evaluated by the Advanced Tactical
Aircraft program for production as the A-12.”

“Didn’t Secretary Ludlow send you over here to testify?”

“Yes, ma’am. He did. And this panel questioned him for two
hours this morning.”

“Now it’s your turn. Answer the question, if you can.”

“As I’ve already said, we need the A-12 because the A-6 is
wearing out. The A-6 has an airframe designed in the 1950s and is
already past the end of its service life. The carriers must have a
viable all-weather attack capability or they are obsolete and—“

“But what about the Soviet initiative?”

“Congresswoman, he’s trying to answer your question.” The
chairman of the House Appropriations Committee was a Texas
Democrat. Just now he looked bored. No doubt he was faking.
Rumor had it he had underestimated Sam Strader once too often in
the past. That was a mistake Jake Grafton had no intention of
making. He was sitting at attention, listening carefully.

Strader ignored the chairman. “Captain Grafton, I want to
know when the navy is going to realize that the Soviet threat is
diminishing and accordingly lower its requests for funds from this
Congress.”

“The navy doesn’t make budget requests of Congress. The ad-
ministration does. Be that as it may, you assume the Soviet threat
is diminishing significantly. I disagree. And the Soviets are only
one of our possible adversaries. They still have four million men
under arms. They have a formidable, capable navy. We are buying
the A-12 to provide an all-weather attack capability for our aircraft
carriers for the next thirty years. We must provide a strong Sunday
punch for our fleet regardless of the twists and turns of Soviet
policy or the ups and downs of this or that communist politician.”

“If the threat is diminishing, can we then scrap a carrier or two
and cut back the A-12 buy order?”

“Congresswoman, the Warsaw Pact still has over fifty thousand
tanks, four times as much artillery, and twice as many planes as
NATO can muster. The Soviet army is three times larger than
ours. We are a sea power. Over fifty percent of our oil is imported-
I think any reduction of our naval capability when faced with these
realities would be very unwise.”

“Captain, it seems to me that both we and the Soviets have spent
more money on the military than either nation can afford, and now
we have a perfect opportunity to reduce that expenditure. If we
deterred them with what we had before they made a ten percent
reduction, we can deter them just as well in the future if we make a
ten percent reduction.”

“You persist in assuming the Soviet Union is our only possible
opponent in a world in which we have global commitments. In the
last forty years the navy has seen action in Korea, Vietnam, Gre-
nada, and Libya and Lebanon several times. We’ve had to meet
those commitments and deter the Soviets too.”

“And more gadgets are going to enable the navy to continue to
do that?”

“I wouldn’t characterize the A-12 as a—“

“I would! You people are gadget-happy. The attitude in the Pen-
tagon seems to be that gadgets will keep us free. In the meantime
our schools are atrocious and our bridges and highways are disinte-
grating. We desperately need a nationwide chud-care system for
working mothers and a long-term healthcare system for the el-
derly. The damage that drugs are doing to the children of America
is a national disgrace. We need to greatly expand our drug educa-
tion and law enforcement efforts. Yet we can afford none of this
because we keep borrowing money to buy grotesque gadgets to kill
people with. And this at a time when the Cold War is over!”

“I’m not testifying to that,” Jake said tartly, and felt Toad Tar-
kington kick him under the table- “The choices are difficult,” he
added. “I don’t envy you your responsibilities.”

“Congresswoman Strader.” the chairman rumbled. “This is a
closed hearing. Your remarks will not leave this room, so I am at a
loss as to why you are making a stump speech to Captain Grafton,
who, unless I am mistaken, doesn’t vote in your district”

Strader shifted her squint back to Grafton. “Just when will the
navy’s budget requests reflect the new geopolitical realities?”

Jake answered carefully. “The navy’s budget requests to the ad-
ministration are based on the needs of the navy in light of the
commitments the government has assigned the navy. As for geopo-
litical realities, I think the political ferment that is occurring in the
Soviet Union is the most hopeful development in that nation in this
century. But who knows if Gorbachev will prevail? He may be
assassinated. There may be a coup- He may just be booted out by
his colleagues. We can’t sink the U.S. Navy this year and hope for
the best.”

“Time will tell. Is that your testimony? We should let the real
human needs of our citizens go unmet so we can continue to fund a
military establishment that is a travesty in a world seeking real
peace?”

“Your admiration for Chairman Gorbachev is in many ways
reminiscent of Neville Chamberlain’s warm regard for Adolf
Hitler.I hope you don’t have reason later on lo regret your enthu-
siasm, as Chamberlain did.”

Toad’s shoe smacked on his shin again as Strader snarled, “I
deeply resent that remark. Captain. I—“

The chairman cut her off. “Congresswoman Strader, this is not
the time and place for a political colloquy with Captain Grafton.
Please address your questions to the issue at hand. I must insist.”

Strader stared at Grafton. She was furious. “Why is the A-12 a
black project?”

‘The technology involved is—“

“No! I reject that. The air force used that explanation for the B-2
bomber—$516 million each—and going higher—and the F-117A
—$62 million each. They’ve acquired unproven airplanes with lim-
ited capabilities, airplanes that must be operated from paved run-
ways that will be the Soviets’ first nuclear targets in the event of
war- No, Captain Grafton. Public debate is what the administra-
tion and the Pentagon seek to avoid.” Her gaze shifted to the
chairman. “Public debate is what you wish to avoid, Mr. Chair-
man, so that your state can secure another bloated, outrageous
defense contract for technology that may well not do what those
hogs at the Pentagon—“

“Time’s up.” The chairman smacked his gavel.

Strader was just getting up steam. “. . . that those money-hun-
gry swine at the Pentagon have carefully steered to your state so
that—“

“You’re out of time, Congresswoman,” the chairman said, his
voice rising, “and out of order. Thank you for your testimony,
Captain Grafton. You’re excused.”

Strader kept talking. Jake packed his briefcase and handcuffed it
to his wrist “. . . these machines are being purchased to fight
wars that everyone knows will never occur. Billions of dollars
down the sewer! It’s obscene,”

Jake rose and walked for the door with Tarkington at his elbow.
Behind him Strader and the chairman were shouting at each other.

“You ever kick me again, Tarkington, and you’ll need a proctol-
ogist to surgically remove that shoe.”

“Yes, sir.”

When the door closed behind them and they were walking down
the corridor, Jake said, “I really lost it in there, didn’t I?”

“Yes. sir. You did.”

“Well, if they’ll just vote the funds now, we’ve done the navy a
pretty good job.”

“I suppose.”

As they went down the outside steps of the Capitol, Jake said, “I
hope she’s right. I hope the wars never occur.”

“Yeah. And I hope I live forever,” Toad Tarkington said, and
signaled to the transportation pool driver, who was standing beside
the car a hundred yards away.

As the car pulled up. Toad climbed into the front seat, Jake into
the back. They had just pulled the doors shut when the rear door
opened again. Jake looked up. The man standing there had a pistol
pointed at him. “Slide over, Captain.”

Jake hesitated for just a second and glanced into the front seat.
The driver had a gun pointed at Toad. Jake scooted.

The man outside took a seat and pulled the door shut.

“Gentlemen, as you can see, we are both armed. You are going
to be our guests for a little while. Mr. Tarkington?”

When Toad didn’t respond, the man beside Jake nudged Toad in
the neck with the barrel of his gun. “Mr. Tarkington?”

“Yeah.”

“I have a gun too, and it is pointed at Captain Grafton. The
gentleman behind the wheel is going to put his gun in his pocket
and drive. If you twitch, if you shout, if you open your door or
reach for the wheel or ignition key, I will first shoot Captain Graf-
ton, then I will shoot you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel heroic?”

“Not especially.”

“That is very good. You and your captain may live through this
experience if you do exactly as I say, when I say it.”

Tarkington said nothing.

“Put on your seat belts and lock your doors.”

Jake and Toad obeyed.

“Okay, if everyone understands the ground rules, we go.”

The driver put the transmission in drive and fed gas.

The gunman in the backseat was in his fifties, with short hair.
He was tanned, stocky, and wore a well-fitting dark suit.

“Where is the sailor who was driving this car?” ‘T

“Captain, I warn you for the last time. You will sit absolutely
quiet. One word, just one more word, and I will hurt you very
badly.”

Jake Grafton looked at the gunman, then at the back of the
driver’s head. Toad sat rigid, staring straight ahead.

The car went out onto Independence Avenue and crept west in
stop-and-go traffic. Jake eased the briefcase on his lap and felt the
gun dig into his side. He sat very still and eventually the gun went
away.

Okay, so he wasn’t going to whack this guy with the briefcase
and bail out of the car. That stuff only works in movies. He was
going to sit very still and hope this guy didn’t blow his brains out,
or Tarkington’s.

In spite of the air conditioning, Jake was perspiring profusely -
He felt the moisture form rivulets on his face.

He tried to think. Here he was in the backseat of a navy Ford
Fairmont sedan rolling through the streets of Washington. At the
curbs buses were loading and unloading tourists, hordes of people
from Nashville and Little Rock and Tokyo. People in cars with
plates from the Midwest and South rubbernecked, and the drivers
ignored the traffic signs, seeming to delight in suicidal lane changes
and illegal turns onto one-way streets. Kids were running and
shoving and demanding pop, mothers were calming squealing in-
fants. and everyone was waiting in line or looking for a restroom.
Yet in the middle of it all Jake Grafton and Toad Tarkington had
guns in their ribs.

Maybe this guy was X. Maybe he was an Ivy League
political appointee who had sold out for some reason only a psychi-
atrist would understand. Yet the way he handled that pistol—Jake
knew competence with a weapon when he saw it.

The driver swung left on Fourteenth Street and began to acceler-
ate as he jockeyed with traffic. He crossed the Potomac on the
George Mason Memorial Bridge and took the ramp down onto
George Washington Parkway northbound.

“You can drop us anywhere along here,” Toad said, “and we’ll
walk back to the office.”

Jake winced at the sound of his voice. The gunman beside him
paid no attention.

“Glad we could give you guys a—” The driver’s right hand
flicked into Toad’s face with a sickening smack, which knocked his
hat off. The car didn’t even swerve.

Toad sagged against the window, then slowly raised his head.

The car continued up the parkway. The river was visible be-
tween the trees on the right. They passed the entrance to the CIA
complex at Langley and continued on at fifty-five miles per hour,
the traffic flowing around them at least ten miles over the speed
limit

Traffic on the beltway was thickening as the first surge of rush
hour emptied from the city. The man at the wheel kept the car in
the middle lane. On and on they rolled, past the Frederick cutoff,
east now across the northern edges of the city.

Jake Grafton was bitterly regretting the impulse that had made
him mail two letters to when the driver finally edged
into a gap in the right lane and took the ramp down to New
Hampshire Avenue, where he caught the green light and turned
left, northward. They passed the Naval Surface Weapons Center
and turned left, into a residential area. After four or five turns
down shady streets with cars parked at the curbs and in driveways,
the man at the wheel slowed. From a pocket he produced a garage-
door opener. He aimed it as he swung left into a driveway. The
door rose obediently. The car coasted to a stop inside the garage
and the driver triggered the remote-control device again. The ga-
rage got very dark as the closing door shut out the light.

“Okay, gentlemen- We are here. We will sit here very quiet and
still while the driver checks out the house.” The driver was already
out of the car. He fiddled with the knob on the inside door, used a
key or pick, and had it open in a few seconds. Before he entered he
took out his pistol. In about a minute he was back. He nodded.