Binary - Michael Crichton [6]
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. His face was grim.