Sunday, November 30, 2008

Chapter 35

Oak Ridge, TN – Monday, May 30th, 1983 – 5:45 PM

Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito was immaculate. There was no better word to describe him. His office was so clean that the normally dull standard-issue government office furniture gleamed. There was no dust, nothing on the floor, no papers out on his desk. Every book and file on his shelf was perfectly aligned. Even the few pictures—mostly, it appeared, Dr. Yukito with colleagues—were aligned and arranged just so.

With just one exception, the man himself was as immaculate as his office. His black hair was lightly salted with white, and was cropped short and combed perfectly straight. He wore a white lab coat, which was completely without blemish or stain, and under it Richard could see his blue Oxford shirt and red pin-stripe tie, both looking brand-new and freshly pressed. His shoes were polished black Allen Edmonds, and there was not a speck or a scuff on them. Even his ID badge looked brand new, though the guest badge Richard was wearing, and the other badges he had seen, all showed clear signs of daily wear and tear.

When Tsukishiro shook hands with Richard, his grip was firm—Dr. Yukito was one of those men who gripped a little too hard when shaking hands—and his hand was not soft, but the skin was smooth. Richard looked at Dr. Yukito’s hands, noticing the absence of a wedding band but the presence of a high school or college ring, though he could not make out from where. He also noticed how perfect the man’s cuticles were—he clearly had his nails manicured.

The one exception to his flawless appearance was the right side of his face, which had a patch of gauze neatly taped across his cheek and eye, and reddish scar tissue clearly visible around the edges.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Dr. Yukito,” Richard began. “I know you are a very busy man, and your time is valuable. I’m sorry I’m late, but I am staying with an old friend of mine, and her son knew Dr. Bernhard—he lived in the neighborhood. Their neighborhood. I was just trying to find out if he knew anything, or had seen anything, or had noticed anything odd. A stretch, but you never know.”

Tsukishiro smiled. “It is my honor to talk with you, and to shed any light I may on the unfortunate circumstance of Dr. Bernhard’s disappearance.” His accent was clearly Japanese, but it was very light. He spoke carefully and clearly, and though the accent was there, his tone was one of someone who had labored diligently for many years to master his second language. “I apologize for my appearance. I do some work with chemistry in our laser research, and I’m afraid I failed to observe a proper safety precaution regarding my protective gear. It was much, much worse a month ago.” He gently tapped the piece of gauze. “I can assure you, it is a mistake I will not make twice.”

“I am sorry to hear about that,” Richard said. “When you had the accident, did it have anything to do with the project that you were working on with Dr. Bernhard?”

Dr. Yukito smiled and nodded. “Everything I do here has revolved around Dr. Bernhard’s project. My job, since he has been gone, has been to try and salvage some of our most important advances, and determine what he may have sold to our enemies, or possibly sabotaged or destroyed.”

“Did he destroy anything, that you know of?”

“Not that we have direct evidence of, though several of our lasers and microscopes have turned out to be damaged, since his disappearance, and I believe that to be related.”

“What exactly was Bernhard working on? What is the project here?”

Richard liked the direct question, though he expected to get some hemming and hawing and have to return to it, more diplomatically, later. But, instead, Dr. Yukito answered plainly: “You are familiar with the Strategic Defense Initiative, or SDI?” he asked. “Our project is—forgive me, I did not choose the name—‘code name: Yoda’. It only encompasses a small portion of the overall SDI project, but it is a critical component—”

“I didn’t think funding had been approved yet for SDI.”

Dr. Yukito smiled patiently. “We have funding. At this point, we are doing general defense research.”

“I see. Now, ‘Yoda’ was the project Dr. Bernhard was heading up? What exactly was project ‘Yoda’ supposed to accomplish?”

“The goal was to use satellite and laser technology to better track where nuclear material may be stored or hidden in hostile nations. Both for nations not abiding by treaty terms, which would be most nations other than the US, but also for rogue or openly hostile nations who may, for example, have mobile launchers. We were also interested in developing tracking technologies for incoming ballistics, so that that data can be used defensively, whether it is an outcome of destroying incoming warheads by laser while they are in space, or guiding smart missiles to incoming ballistic targets, either of which would be useful defensive strategies.”

Richard was writing furiously in his yellow pad. “I must admit,” he said after he was done. “I didn’t expect quite this level of candor. I had heard rumors that you were working on SDI or related satellite technologies—”

“There is nothing confidential or top secret about what we are doing here,” Dr. Yukito explained patiently. “If you read the final U.S. defense budget for 1981, much more than what I have told you is detailed. Additionally, much of what are working on was proposed in 1979 and 1980, and is in the original budgets, but funding was eventually eliminated in the budgeting process. Exactly how we accomplish this, and how much progress we have made is, of course, confidential, and I cannot comment on any questions pertaining to those issues. But the fact of our research is not and never has been confidential.”

“I understand,” Richard said, writing down on his legal pad that he needed to remember to see if he could get a copy of the 1981 defense budget. “Now, I’ve heard rumors that there is additional research—weapons grade lasers. ‘Killer satellites’ is a term that has been used—”

Dr. Yukito laughed. “I have read some of the accounts of our work in the conspiracy press,” he said, his modulated accent positively avuncular. “They are very imaginative. And they build from a solid foundation. Their conclusions are wild speculation, yes, but they do their initial research well. Of course, we are doing research into weapons grade lasers—specifically, their application in detonating incoming ballistic missiles armed with conventional or nuclear warheads. We will not being stopping incoming nuclear warheads with the sort of laser in your average barcode scanner, Mr. Mathers. We are also investigating how the same technology might be used to deflect, redirect, or incinerate incoming warheads armed with biological or chemical weapons. We are also open to other applications of weapons grade lasers, whether deployed in space or from the ground, in prematurely detonating all kinds of ordinance. I personally believe that we might be able to one day detonate explosive shells from any standard artillery cannon—perhaps at point-blank range to the enemy weapon. It is worthy research.”

Richard nodded, writing, trying to keep his elation under control. This was great stuff. He had denied the most outlandish speculation—of course he would, even if it were true—but he had acknowledged they were working on SDI, that they were researching weapon’s grade lasers for deployment on satellites. This was choice stuff. He might not get Dr. Yukito to admit that it was all a plot so Ronald Reagan could assassinate Yuri Andropov from space, but it was more than enough to draw a few of his own modestly speculative conclusions. And once he did that, he’d have one hell of a story.

“But part of your work does involve research into weapon’s grade lasers, is that correct?”

“Necessarily so,” Dr. Yukito said, nodding. “We are far from where we need to be, so it is one of the most critical elements of our research. Although, of course, some imaginative people have speculated our goal would be to assassinate undesirable political or strategic enemies from space, I assure you that that is little more than science fiction. There are numerous practical limitations—I can tell you, it will be much easier to target and destroy thousands of incoming intercontinental ballistic missiles as they reach their apogee at the point of re-entry than it would be to target and successfully hit a single individual on the ground. And we are a decade away from that, at the most optimistic estimate.”

Richard flipped the page of his legal pad, writing and writing. This was great. Jon Edmonds had really been kind of disappointing, when it came down to it, but he had known from the beginning the idea of a kid having any useful information would be a stretch. But Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito was a font of information, and without prompting was talking about weapons grade lasers and assassinations, giving time windows for development of the technology—even though he had said he couldn’t talk about their methods or progress, he seemed to be painting a pretty clear picture of what their progress was to Richard. Excellent.

“Such weapons grade lasers could legitimately be used to detonate ordinance on enemy vessels, air craft, or ground equipment, such as tanks or mobile missile launchers. With triangulated coordinates provided by ground recognizance, which we would necessarily have if engaged with enemy troops in battle, we could used satellite-based weapon’s grade lasers against such targets. But the political, physical, and pragmatic limitations on using such technology against individuals—such as assassinating an undesirable world leader—are insurmountable. Any development of SDI type applications for such individual assassination may happen, but they will not happen in America. Most likely, they winn occur in countries without free elections or a free press.”

Richard kept writing. He couldn’t do it—could he?—but he kept hearing sentences in mind like: Dr. Yukito hotly denied charges of developing super-assassination laser satellite weapon. “Will be used to destroy ships and planes of enemy instead,” he says. This was going to be great. Robbie Deaton was going to love it. Love it. He’d be giggling like a school girl all the way to the bank, with the article Richard was going to deliver.

“Okay, okay,” Richard said after he’d finally written the last bit about how other countries would be the ones developing super assassination lasers, not the US—of course, he worked for the government, what else would he say? “Did Bernhard give you any indication that something might be wrong? That he might have doubts about what he was doing? Or that he might be unstable?”

“Some,” Dr. Yukito said. “He assigned a lot of busy work. Often kept technicians and researchers and assistants busy on things that needed not be done at all, which everyone complained about, but may have been meant as a distraction.”

“A distraction from what?”

“Whatever else he was doing. Whether he was making copies of documents or stealing originals or something else, most of us on his team were too busy working on the pointless assignments he saddled us to notice what he may or may not have been doing. Which may have been the point.”

“Huh,” Richard said. “Interesting. Did you talk to him much? Did you ever talk about things other than work?”

Tsukishiro nodded. “Some. He talked about his wife on more than one occasion, and his life at Berkley, which I understand to have been unpleasant for him.” He paused. “He also mentioned how he enjoyed the companionship of his young friend—I am sorry, I have forgotten his name, but there was a boy that he knew—”

“Jon Edmonds?” Richard asked.

Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito nodded slowly, smiling. “Yes, that was his name. Jon Edmonds. I do not believe he ever mentioned the boys parents—”

“Parent,” Richard said, shaking his head ruefully. “Just his mom. His dad apparently left when Jon was just a baby. You know, I just don’t understand that—”

“Yes, he never talked as if he was close to the boy’s mother, though.” Dr. Yukito paused, appearing to carefully consider his next words. “You don’t suspect that he was—he was a deviant in some way, do you?”

Richard laughed. “You sound like Doreen. She said the same thing, about a man Bernhard’s age spending so much time with a teenage boy. Which does sound a little suspect, I guess.”

“Yes,” Dr. Yukito agreed, nodding gently. “It does indeed. But whatever else Dr. Bernhard may have been, I do not believe he was—perverted, shall we say.”

Richard chuckled. “Jon did some odd jobs for Dr. Bernhard—and apparently watched a lot of TV with him. From talking with Jon, it sounded like the death of his wife was a big deal for Bernhard. I don’t know—I’m wondering if maybe it left him, I don’t know, emotionally unstable? Do you think that’s possible? That whatever he did was because he was having a nervous breakdown?”

“If he was unstable, he hid it well. I do believe he missed his wife and was very devoted to her. I don’t believe he ever had any children, did he?”

Richard shook his head. “No. I don’t know why but apparently, no, they never had children.”

“Perhaps he was looking to experience a taste of fatherhood—with this fatherless boy. He spoke of Jon often, and it seemed they spent a lot of time together, from the way it sounded.” Dr. Yukito blinked at Richard expectantly.

“Um, yes,” he agreed. “It sounds like they got to know each other pretty well.” He paused for a moment, then looked down at his yellow pad. “Did Dr. Bernhard ever bring Jonathan up here? Up to the lab? Or anybody?”

Several seconds passed before Dr. Yukito answered, as he sat there, looking at Richard impassively. “The boy, no,” he replied finally. “Not that I ever saw. I am trying to think, but the only time he brought anyone to the lab, he was showing a suit from the Defense Department around, which I believe would have been an onus put upon him from above. Not the sort of thing he would have done on his own, or volunteered for.”

“I see,” Richard said. “Did he take anything when he left? Steal anything from the lab? Files or papers? Did he have easy access to a copier?”

Dr. Yukito was again slow to answer, gazing at Richard impassively for a good thirty seconds before replying. “No, he did not steal anything that I know of. Not even a pencil. He did have access to a copier on his level, and there were thousands upon thousands of copies made, evenly distributed over all of the research staff copier codes. Although follow up revealed, of course, that no one in the research staff had been making hundreds or thousands of copies of anything. We do expect he made copies of classified documents and research, but we have no way of knowing what.”

“Do you know who he would have been in Los Angeles to see? Why might have been at the Four Points mall?”

“He knew many people in California. He had no specific reason to be there, that I know of.”

“Did he ever strike you as—well, suicidal? Manic-depressive? Clinically depressed?”

Dr. Tsukishiro Yukito smiled. “Not at all. He generally seemed quite cheery. In the final months, he was something of a task master, and would complain about the amount of work getting done, while assigning every staff member more, most of it completely pointless.”

“Including you, I assume?” Richard said.

“Most definitely including me. He wasted much of our time.”

“As a distraction, you suspect,” Richard said. “Do you have any idea what he might have copied? Or who he might have been talking to?”

“There were weekly reports and daily analysis he could have copied. He had access to progress reports and specific technical information, so he could have copied that. The amount of copies made would seem to indicate that he copied most everything. I do not know who he would have been dealing with or why, but I would guess the issue may have been money, as is not unusual in cases of espionage.”

“So you do believe that he was engaged in espionage?”

Dr. Yukito nodded slowly. “Those who would be willing to pay for classified information regarding our research would most likely be hostile to the United States.”

“Did he behave ostentatiously at all? Buy new cars, new clothes—that sort of thing?”

“No, not that I know of. But he was an intelligent and careful man, and I suspect he would have known better than to have tipped his hand with extravagant shows of wealth, at Oak Ridge or outside of it.”

Richard nodded, writing. “I see. None of my other sources has indicated that payments or additional moneys were found in his belongings or his bank account—”

“I suspect he would had set up a separate account, probably a Swiss bank account, and destroy any transaction records.”

“Do you have any reason to believe that he did that?”

“Only that I know he was careful and intelligent, and would have taken numerous precautions, as he apparently did in regards to his espionage. Having funds deposited to a Swiss bank account would have, no doubt, been the best way to preserve any payments he might have received once caught, or if he found himself on the run.”

“Which he did. For someone as careful and intelligent as you describe, getting cornered at a mall in L.A. seems a little—well, sloppy. Doesn’t it to you?”

“I do not know how he was found, so I don’t know that I can comment, one way or the other.”

“And then he ended up dead. A massive coronary. No indication that he was preparing to leave or trying to get out of the country, that I’ve heard of. Did Dr. Bernhard suffer from a heart condition? Or any other health problems?”

“Not that I know of. If he had been, I don’t think he would have told anyone, even if he knew.”

“Did he have any political affiliations that you know of? Did he ever discuss politics?”

“No. Never.”

“Did he need to go to Washington, DC on a regular basis, in regards to the project, that you know of?”

“He did report to the Pentagon. I was not involved in that process.”

“Would he had had any reason to make repeated trips to the Soviet Embassy, that you know of?”

“No. Except to engage in acts of espionage.”

“Did he—”

Dr. Yukito cleared his throat. “If you pardon me, Mr. Mathers, it is getting late and there are things I need to attend to. If you would like, I can give you the public tour of the facility, after which I must return to my work.”

“Oh,” Richard said. “I understand. Can I call you, or—”

“Of course. Also, something may occur to me that has not yet. If you could give me the phone number of the hotel you are staying at—”

Richard laughed. “It’s not exactly a hotel. It’s a good thing reporters aren’t dealing with national security, or we’d be on the take all the time. Just so we could buy lunch. I’m staying with a friend of mine—the mother of the boy I mentioned. A lot more affordable than a hotel—”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Jon Edmonds. May I have the phone number there, so that I am able call you if something else occurs to me that might be of use to you? In your report?”

“Of course, of course,” Richard said, tearing off a scrap of yellow paper from his legal pad and quickly scribbling Doreen’s phone number on it. “I’ll be there at least until tomorrow morning. Unless you can get me an interview with some of the other members of the staff. Hint, hint.”

Dr. Yukito smiled. “I will see what I can do. Have a good evening, Mr. Mathers.”

“I’ll do my best. You have a good one, too, and thanks for everything.”

“Oh no, Mr. Mathers,” Dr. Yukito said with a smile. “Thank you.”

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