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Authors: Robert Ludlum
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great. We believe the distortion of the radio beams beyond certain altitudes varies with temperatures and land-mass curvatures. The solutions lie in alternating compensations. Our experiments continuously narrow that field.… Our rate of progress would be more rapid were it not for constant interferences.”
Gian Spinelli stopped and shifted his grotesquely magnified eyes to Howard Oliver, whose thick neck and jowled face were suddenly flushed with anger.
“You’ve had no interference from
us!
”
“And certainly not from Packard!” chimed in Craft. “We’ve stayed in almost daily contact. Our concerns have never flagged!”
Spinelli turned to Craft. “Your concerns … as those of Meridian … have been exclusively budgetary, as far as I can see.”
“That’s preposterous! Whatever financial inquiries were made, were made at the request of the … contractor’s audit division.…”
“And totally necessary!” Oliver could not conceal his fury at the small Italian. “You
laboratory
… people don’t reconcile! You’re
children!
”
For the next thirty seconds the three agitated men babbled excitedly in counterpoint. Swanson looked over at Vandamm. Their eyes met in understanding.
Oliver was the first to recognize the trap. He held up his hand … a corporate command, thought Swanson.
“Mr. Undersecretary.” Oliver spoke, stifling the pitch of his anger. “Don’t let our squabbling convey the wrong impression. We turn out the products.”
“You’re not turning out this one,” said Swanson. “I recall vividly the projections in your bids for the contract. You had everything
turned out then.
”
When Oliver looked at him, Alan Swanson instinctively felt he should reach for a weapon to protect himself. The Meridian executive was close to exploding.
“We relied on subordinates’ evaluations,” said Oliver slowly, with hostility. “I think the military has had its share of staff errors.”
“Subordinates don’t plan major strategies.”
Vandamm raised his voice. “Mr. Oliver. Suppose GeneralSwanson were convinced it served no purpose withholding funds. What kind of time limits could you
now
guarantee?”
Oliver looked at Spinelli. “What would you estimate?” he asked coldly.
Spinelli’s large eyes swept the ceiling. “In candor, I cannot give you an answer. We
could
solve it next week. Or next year.”
Swanson quickly reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew a folded page of paper. He spread it out in front of him and spoke swiftly. “According to this memorandum … our last communication from ATCO … once the guidance system
is
perfected, you state you need six weeks of inflight experimentation. The Montana Proving Grounds.”
“That’s correct, general. I dictated that myself,” said Spinelli.
“Six weeks from next week. Or next year. And assuming the Montana experiments are positive, another month to equip the fleets.”
“Yes.”
Swanson looked over at Vandamm. “In light of this, Mr. Undersecretary, there’s no other course but to alter immediate priorities. Or at least the projections. We can’t meet the logistics.”
“Unacceptable, General Swanson. We have to meet them.”
Swanson stared at the old man. Each knew precisely what the other referred to.
Overlord.
The invasion of Europe.
“We must postpone, sir.”
“Impossible. That’s the word, general.”
Swanson looked at the three men around the table.
The enemy.
“We’ll be in touch, gentlemen,” he said.
3
SEPTEMBER 12, 1943, THE BASQUE HILLS, SPAIN
David Spaulding waited in the shadows of the thick, gnarled tree on the rocky slope above the ravine. It was Basque country and the air was damp and cold. The late afternoon sun washed over the hills; his back was to it. He had years ago—it seemed a millennium but it wasn’t—learned the advantage of catching the reflections of the sun off the steel of small weapons. His own rifle was dulled with burnt, crushed
Gian Spinelli stopped and shifted his grotesquely magnified eyes to Howard Oliver, whose thick neck and jowled face were suddenly flushed with anger.
“You’ve had no interference from
us!
”
“And certainly not from Packard!” chimed in Craft. “We’ve stayed in almost daily contact. Our concerns have never flagged!”
Spinelli turned to Craft. “Your concerns … as those of Meridian … have been exclusively budgetary, as far as I can see.”
“That’s preposterous! Whatever financial inquiries were made, were made at the request of the … contractor’s audit division.…”
“And totally necessary!” Oliver could not conceal his fury at the small Italian. “You
laboratory
… people don’t reconcile! You’re
children!
”
For the next thirty seconds the three agitated men babbled excitedly in counterpoint. Swanson looked over at Vandamm. Their eyes met in understanding.
Oliver was the first to recognize the trap. He held up his hand … a corporate command, thought Swanson.
“Mr. Undersecretary.” Oliver spoke, stifling the pitch of his anger. “Don’t let our squabbling convey the wrong impression. We turn out the products.”
“You’re not turning out this one,” said Swanson. “I recall vividly the projections in your bids for the contract. You had everything
turned out then.
”
When Oliver looked at him, Alan Swanson instinctively felt he should reach for a weapon to protect himself. The Meridian executive was close to exploding.
“We relied on subordinates’ evaluations,” said Oliver slowly, with hostility. “I think the military has had its share of staff errors.”
“Subordinates don’t plan major strategies.”
Vandamm raised his voice. “Mr. Oliver. Suppose GeneralSwanson were convinced it served no purpose withholding funds. What kind of time limits could you
now
guarantee?”
Oliver looked at Spinelli. “What would you estimate?” he asked coldly.
Spinelli’s large eyes swept the ceiling. “In candor, I cannot give you an answer. We
could
solve it next week. Or next year.”
Swanson quickly reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew a folded page of paper. He spread it out in front of him and spoke swiftly. “According to this memorandum … our last communication from ATCO … once the guidance system
is
perfected, you state you need six weeks of inflight experimentation. The Montana Proving Grounds.”
“That’s correct, general. I dictated that myself,” said Spinelli.
“Six weeks from next week. Or next year. And assuming the Montana experiments are positive, another month to equip the fleets.”
“Yes.”
Swanson looked over at Vandamm. “In light of this, Mr. Undersecretary, there’s no other course but to alter immediate priorities. Or at least the projections. We can’t meet the logistics.”
“Unacceptable, General Swanson. We have to meet them.”
Swanson stared at the old man. Each knew precisely what the other referred to.
Overlord.
The invasion of Europe.
“We must postpone, sir.”
“Impossible. That’s the word, general.”
Swanson looked at the three men around the table.
The enemy.
“We’ll be in touch, gentlemen,” he said.
3
SEPTEMBER 12, 1943, THE BASQUE HILLS, SPAIN
David Spaulding waited in the shadows of the thick, gnarled tree on the rocky slope above the ravine. It was Basque country and the air was damp and cold. The late afternoon sun washed over the hills; his back was to it. He had years ago—it seemed a millennium but it wasn’t—learned the advantage of catching the reflections of the sun off the steel of small weapons. His own rifle was dulled with burnt, crushed
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