"Those in possession of absolute power can not only
prophesy and make their prophecies come true,
but they can also lie and make their lies come true."
Eric Hoffer
Ben Emerson entered the florist shop in the lobby of the Belmont Towers apartment complex, glancing at his watch to see how much time he had. He smiled at Eliza Gaskell, the owner of the florist shop. "My usual order, only I'll take it with me," Ben said.
Eliza had opened her shop several years earlier. From her business dealings, she knew a great deal about the inhabitants of the Belmont Towers. Washington D. C. was the magnet that attracted the professionals who dwelled here, and Eliza knew from her delivery ledger who was having a dinner party, who was keeping a mistress, who was thanking a Washington hostess, which lobbyist was currying favor with a congresswoman, and which couples were celebrating anniversaries. Ben Emerson was one of her favorite customers, and from his order she knew that he was doing none of these things.
Ben had leased his apartment in Belmont Towers shortly after Eliza opened her shop. Eliza had liked him on sight. He was a special blend, arousing both her maternal and carnal instincts. Although he had a tall, muscular body and eye-catching chiseled facial features, Eliza thought he was not in the least stuck on himself, being so soft-spoken and considerate and all. Maybe even a little too self-effacing, if that was possible.
For several years he had sent his mother a bouquet of pale pink roses for public holidays and personal celebrations. This evening he was carrying the bouquet himself, so Eliza assumed that he was meeting his mother at the airport. The poor woman would need some cheering up. If CNN was to be believed, Ambassador Pamela Emerson was in some deep kind of trouble.
As far as Eliza was concerned, Ben Emerson had already had his share of troubles, and it wasn't fair that his mother's woes would bring additional unhappiness into his life. That snit of a girl he'd been married to a few years back had done enough of that. He'd bought her flowers, too, red roses. She never deserved them, the way she carried on.
"There you are, Dr. Emerson," Eliza said, thrusting a small bouquet of pale pink roses into his hand. "You'd best button up proper. There's a wind out there will go right through you."
Ben thanked her with a shy smile that melted her maternal or carnal heart, she wasn't altogether clear which.
The crisp February wind whipped up Ben's coattails as he passed through the glass door of the Belmont. Stamping his feet beside a newsstand and raising the bouquet to his nose to catch a whiff of roses, he peered at a puzzling headline: Emerson PROBE.
At least that's what Ben thought he read through the swirling mist of his warm breath. He focused again after the vapor had dissipated, but the black letters didn't change.
Under the dome light of his Corvette, Ben scanned the news story rapidly. He was meeting his mother at Dulles Airport and he would regret buying her flowers if the few extra moments made him late. He read:
Pamela Emerson, U.S. Ambassador to Luxembourg, will appear before the House Committee on Foreign Affairs next week. Emerson may have exceeded her authority, according to a source close to the White House, in denying U.S. support for Luxembourg's planned entry into the Expanded European Currency Union.
Why hadn't his mother told him about this? Probably not too serious, Ben thought. Some congressional hot shots wanting their mugs on C-Span. He changed his mind half an hour later, when he looked out through the bronzed glass windows of Dulles and saw his mother approaching on the people-mover. Something was up. His mother looked dazed, snow-blind.
Pamela Emerson was so deeply preoccupied that her three-person entourage arranged the details of deplaning without consulting her. There was nothing untoward in her appearance. Her graying blonde hair was a perfectly coifed helmet; rouge blended along her high cheekbones simulated a healthy glow; a russet shaggy wool coat closely followed the long lines of her angular body. Clearly, she was her usual well-groomed self. Yet her robotic movements and her frozen expression were those of a person in shock.
Ben rushed forward to embrace her and felt almost rebuffed. His mother's eyes flickered briefly. She greeted Ben with a wan smile and a peck on his cheek. She vaguely glanced at the bouquet and dangled it by her side.
Ben had not seen his mother for almost ten months. They had visited with each other infrequently since she'd been posted to Luxembourg. And now, instead of the joyous reunion he'd expected, there was this unaccountable silence, his mother wordlessly leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked, a heavy weight on his heart.
"I'm afraid, Ben," she said at last.
Gently, Ben took her hand in his. "What are you afraid of, dear?"
She shook her head. The words wouldn't come. Ben could see that something incomprehensible had befallen her, some enormity that her mind couldn't assimilate. He'd never seen her like this before. Though widowed three years earlier, she'd managed to make a place for herself in the academic and diplomatic worlds without neglecting her son.
On the drive to his mother's Georgetown condominium, Ben abandoned his attempts to engage his mother in conversation. She didn't utter a sound until she passed the threshold of her livingroom. A faint, flickering smile expressed her pleasure at being in familiar, homey surroundings. What would look like a roomful of antiques to a casual visitor, to Pamela and her son were the comfortable old bureaus, cabinets, and tables she'd inherited from her grandparents. Unlike many of her friends, Pamela had never developed a collector's yen for furniture, paintings, or art objects. She'd continued to postpone upholstering the sofa and armchairs until they were threadbare, but she couldn't be bothered making alterations merely to impress guests.
"From what I read in the paper, the politicians are sharpening their long knives, Mother. You can't play into their hands. Tell me what happened. I'm sure there's something we can do."
In a dreary, exhausted voice, she replied, "You don't understand. There's nothing I can do."
"Of course there is. You were, you are, a good diplomat. You know the rules. You played the game."
Ben was surprised to hear a dry chuckle. "Yes, I played the game, but I thought I was a knight. Actually, I was only a pawn. A very expendable pawn, thanks to Dr. Lyman Gorgon."
Ben suddenly remembered the name - the man Wally Globus had accused of fixing the Super Bowl. "You mean the doctor accused of the Super Bowl scandal?" he asked.
His mother suddenly looked at Ben with an expression of terror. "Forget what I said, please. There's nothing you or I can do . . . "
"Why not? You mentioned this Gorgon. Is he a medical doctor?"
His mother shook her head slowly. "No, no. I didn't mean to say that. It's just a name. Forget it."
Ben didn't believe her, but he knew it was futile to question her further. Something or someone had traumatized his mother. What did she mean about being a pawn? Something to do with this Gorgon. Something that had frozen her with fear.
After his mother was in bed and Ben had made sure she was asleep, he returned to his apartment. Driving home he thought to himself, Whatever it takes, I'm going to find out who this Gorgon is and what he's done to my mother. Then I'll take care of him.
It had been almost a month since Ben had sent in his self-analysis to Cartwright's institute. Finally he received a concise note:
Dear Mr. Emerson,
You are currently engaged in a struggle against a man whom you consider to be an evil force in the world. While engaged in this struggle, you will lack sufficient uncommitted attention to carry out a genuine study of Dr. Cartwright's teachings.
However, during this time, it might prove helpful to reflect on this statement from one of Dr. Cartwright's books:
"People come to me who are intent on saving the world from some world-destroying evil force. They do not ask two important questions:
 Do I know enough to determine what is evil and what is not?
Do I know enough to be able to set the world straight?
Wallace Tailor
|
The letter knocked Ben for a loop. He couldn't imagine how Cartwright knew that he was the recent sworn enemy of Gorgon. He was a bit put off by the letter. I surely know enough to determine that Gorgon is an evil force! That's for sure. He thought to himself. I don't claim to know enough to set the world straight--just enough, maybe, to rid it of this evil man who wants to turn everyone into a robot!
Ben realized how exasperated he was with this letter from Cartwright. Who is he to question my capability, how does he know how much 'uncommitted attention' I have? What's he doing to improve the world? I don't see him even making himself aware of what someone like Gorgon is doing. It's all very well to write ponderous tomes on enlightenment and spiritual sweetness, but meanwhile the world is going to hell in a handbasket!
It puzzled Ben to realize that Cartwright must know of his struggle against Gorgon. He wondered why Cartwright would question his struggle. Earlier that week Ben had read a story in one of Cartwright's books entitled Khidr and Moses. I wonder if the story is a way of saying to me that there is another dimension which has priorities which don't seem to make sense in this terrestrial dimension? Ben had researched the story in the book to find that it was a re-telling of a story from the Koran.
*****
He sat at his computer in his office, leaning back reflectively in his swivel chair. His work as Director of Personality Simulation for ASTRA, the Agency for Strategic Analysis, was often exasperating, but always interesting. Ben was putting the finishing touches on a monograph, a study of the psychological aspects of political deception, when his phone rang.
"Hello, this is Joan Kendall. Do you remember me?"
"No. Should I?"
"I was Angela's roommate at Bryn Mawr. We met at a party once, some Washington bash for a new senator, I think it was."
"Oh, the TV reporter." Ben vaguely remembered a face and an introduction. Nothing special.
"I have my own show now, on PBS, a talk show"
"Congratulations." He wasn't sure what she expected him to say.
"I'm calling to see if you'll be on my show in two week."
Ben quickly responded. "No, I don't do TV. I barely do lectures."
"I'm doing a show on the NFL scandal. You've heard about it?"
"Vaguely. But why would you want me to be on the show? Why not Frank Wilson. He was on the Larry King show you know."
"Yes, I know." She paused for a moment to phrase her words. "I want someone new on my show. And from what I've heard you're as much an expert on mind-control as Colonel Wilson."
"I'm sorry but I'm really tied up, I just don't have the time. And I'm not really a public speaker--certainly not TV-style."
"This could be fun for you. You'd get really good exposure. It's going to be in prime time. And I really need an expert of your caliber."
"Look, I appreciate your invitation, and it's nice talking to you again. But I must decline. My schedule just won't let me do something like that."
"Well, it's a shame, because I think you could do the best job in this debate."
"Debate? I thought it was just a talk show."
"Well, it is. But it's going to be something in the line of a debate."
"That would take even more time to prepare for a debate. I really couldn't do that at all. Thanks anyway."
"Well, I'm sorry, because I think you'd be the best one to go up against Dr. Gorgon. But I underst . . . "
Ben abruptly interrupted her. "Who?"
"Dr. Lyman Gorgon. He's going to be the other one on the talk show--the debate. He's the person Wally Globus accuses of influencing him. I never thought he'd agree to be on the show, but he has." She waited to see what he would say.
"I'm intrigued."
"I thought you might be. Dr. Gorgon even suggested you as his opponent
"Oh he did?"
"Yes. And he made some strange remark about your refusing."
"What was that?"
"Well, he predicted you wouldn't want to go up against him, especially after your Mother's problem. I didn't know what he meant."
"He actually said that?"
"Yes, strange isn't it?"
"I might just agree to be on your show. Can I give you my answer tomorrow?"
"Yes, but I can't wait beyond tomorrow because the show's a week from Thursday."
"I understand. I just want to make a few inquiries before I say yes or no. Okay?"
"Okay, no later than 5 PM tomorrow. And thanks."
"Yes, well, thank you. Oh, what's a number where I can reach you?"
After getting the number from Joan Kendall, Ben quickly looked through the address and phone number section of his weekly schedule book. He dialed a long-distance number and waited for the reply.
"Frank?"
"Is that you, Ben?"
"Yes, and you'll never guess what I'm thinking of doing. Going up against Lyman Gorgon in a TV debate!"
"Whoa. Back up. Start at the beginning. What are you talking about? And, Ben, what's happening with your mother? I read about it in the paper," Frank said.
"I'll tell you about that in a minute. I've just been asked by Joan Kendall to be on her talk show next week. She's the gal who took over when Charlie Rose got canned for having Kissinger on his show three nights in a row. She runs a good talk show. I'd be debating Gorgon, she says. What do you think?"
"I'd jump at the chance to crush that monster, especially after what we've discovered about him. I'd massacre the son of a bitch, whatever it took." Frank suddenly realized how carried away he had become. "Guess you see how I feel about him."
"What have you discovered? What do you mean?"
"Gorgon's got Angela wrapped around his little finger. She's in therapy with him and evidently living with him as well. The son of a bitch."
"Wait till I tell you what my mother said about him. He was responsible for her dismissal."
"What?" Frank exclaimed.
"I don't want to go into detail on the phone. But I want us to get together as soon as possible."
"Yea, sure," Frank responded, hesitating somewhat. They hadn't spoken to each other for over a year. "Are you sure you want to go up against Gorgon?"
"Sure I'm sure. Especially now that I've heard about Angela--in addition to my mom's problem. But I'm terrified at speaking on television. I get cold sweats lecturing to more than ten people. But I thought maybe if we could put our heads together and devise a plan then maybe I could do it. I really would like to destroy him on that show. Would you be interested?"
"Absolutely. I appreciate your inviting me to help. I'll get everything I can on him, from all the intel sources at my disposal."
Ben thought for a moment. "We'll need to get together and design a sophisticated strategy. We can put all the information we get into a psychological profile. That should tell us how to attack him, pull his strings."
"Do you have anything specific in mind?" Frank asked eagerly.
"I want to goad the bastard into boasting about his exploits, so people can see just how depraved he is." Ben realized he was pumped up over the prospect of defeating Gorgon, but he felt a deep dread at the prospect of speaking on television.
"Yea, a good approach. The little I know about him, he's a total egomaniac."
"Look, Frank, thanks for helping me with this. Today's Friday. What's say I call you on Sunday? We can talk on the phone, then make plans to get together for a strategy session."
"Sounds like a winner. I'll get busy right away. I can make some calls tonight. Oh, Ben, my research turned up someone who might be of help to us. A computer geek, working in D.C. He and Gorgon got into it when Gorgon was doing some black intel work at a Parallax Corporation field laboratory. Seems this black guy Tim Keller was one of Gorgon's guinea pigs in a mind-control experiment, code name Robot Man, if you can believe it. This is all highly classified stuff, remember. Gorgon was programming mercenaries to be completely insensitive to anything but killing a target. He'd put them in a live simulation and give them a target person they were supposed to kill. During the experiment, the subjects were actually shot in the leg or the arm--and yet remained completely unaware of their injury. Once they 'shot' their target, with an unloaded gun, they collapsed from shock from their injury.
"Seems Keller's programming didn't 'take' and he went after Gorgon. Damn near killed him from what I can tell. Keller wound up unconscious in Mexico with a flesh wound in his left leg. He managed to get some medical help and returned to the U.S. He's been waiting to get back at Gorgon. Just our kind of guy. I met him through an intel officer I know at Ft. Bragg. Anyway, Keller's now working for a computer security firm in Washington, D.C. He might be an ally."
"Sounds likely. Do you have his number?"
After writing down the number Frank gave him, Ben hung up and began to think of where he would go for information on Gorgon.
Ben called Joan the first thing the next morning and accepted the invitation to appear on her talk show. She informed him where and when the debate would take place, then something of the ground rules for the debate itself. As she outlined how the interaction would take place, Ben could feel his anger rising. I'm going to annihilate the son of a bitch. For what he did to my mother and now to Angela. I'll destroy that monster! -- And I'm going to be a nervous wreck!
*****
"Thanks for coming down from Carlisle," Ben greeted Frank at the door to his apartment. They'd decided to meet at Ben's place, because of the overload of material. Frank was carrying a large box of papers as he entered. "Here, put that on the table." Ben said. "That's where we'll be working."
Ben had asked Frank if he would go with him to visit his mother after they'd had a chance to go over the material Frank had brought.
The eastern seaboard had experienced a light snow overnight. Frank pulled off his gloves, neck scarf and overcoat, throwing them on Ben's livingroom sofa.
"You're not going to believe what we've got on Gorgon," Ben said excitedly. "Keller and I got the information yesterday. It's unbelievable, Gorgon's so insane that he's trying to take over the United States--the world! He's creating an organization of plutocrats to seize the presidency, change the constitution, and manipulate the American people into subservient robots."
"Whoa!" Frank said. "Start at the beginning."
"Keller and I got information from Gorgon's computer about this plot to take over the U.S. government. Some organization called the World Geopolitical Council, a bunch of billionaires, some politicos, a think tank guru, an ex-military general, and Gorgon's mind-control hocus pocus. Incidentally, thanks for putting me in touch with Keller. He's fantastic. "
"Do you have any details? Any hard evidence?" Frank asked.
"No, we just saw sketches of this stuff on Gorgon's computers," Ben continued excitedly.
"What do you mean, saw sketches on his computer?"
"I'll tell you about the method later. Can't you see we've got the bastard! He's planning a political coup d'etat. If we don't stop him he'll put his puppet into the presidency and take over the whole damned country--the world!"
Frank sat down in the chair facing Ben. Ben hadn't done much with his apartment since Angela had left. A huge painting hung on one wall, a multicolored splash of color. The entertainment system took up one wall, an impressive array of a fifty inch television screen, CD-ROM player, hi-fi radio player, huge speakers on either side, a camcorder shelved in one of the cubicles.
Ben began by telling Frank about the episode he'd had with his mother and about what Keller had told him about Gorgon's programming Ben's mother for her fiasco.
"Son of a bitch," was all Frank could say.
"This is volatile stuff, Ben, but we've got to be realistic. We'd have to prove all this."
"You're right. But we can get hard evidence. I know we can." Ben smiled at Frank. He realized he was over-eager. "I appreciate your help. It's good to have two of us on the debate team."
"I'm happy to be a player. This is unbelievable stuff about Gorgon's plot. I haven't seen anything about that at all. If we can get solid proof, we can nail the bastard. I only wish we could both gang up on him on that talk show. But we'll get you primed to slaughter the bastard! From my research, he's going to be a very strong adversary."
Ben looked seriously at Frank. "I came to the same conclusion from my research."
Frank continued. "I watched a couple of debates he's been in. One with William Buckley--he murdered Buckley, and that's not easy to do. The other one wasn't tagged as a debate. He appeared on a talk show with Henry Kissinger. He cleaned Henry's clock. Kissinger didn't even know what hit him. He showed up Kissinger as the vacuous, pretentious flunkey that he is. Gorgon kept saying that Kissinger had this reputation as a deep thinker. Then he'd get him into an international political issue and show that Kissinger didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Gorgon was smooth as silk. Kissinger actually thought Gorgon was complimenting him. Gorgon didn't make a big show of defeating Kissinger, it was very subtle. But anyone who isn't intimidated by Kissinger's reputation would have seen him as the arrogant charlatan he is."
Ben was somewhat taken aback by Frank's description. Frank could see it on his face. "Don't worry. You've got more intelligence in your little finger than Kissinger or Buckley. And you certainly know your way around an intellectual combat zone. I've seen you plenty of times wipe someone out with a deft phrase or a probing question. You'll do fine."
The background material on Gorgon was interesting. His father had been a Lutheran minister, a sadistic, anti-intellectual with ice water in his veins. The father had been abusive to his wife and son, beating Gorgon for the least presumed infraction. Gorgon had been a weak, brainy kid who'd been picked on by larger boys. He'd retaliated by being smarter than they were and manipulating their weaknesses. At age sixteen, he had come into his parents' bedroom as his father was slapping his mother around--a regular pattern, evidently. The sixteen year old Gorgon had beaten his father to a pulp. He left the house and never returned. From that day he had never spoken to either of his parents. His father had died seven years ago; his mother lived with Gorgon's sister.
Gorgon took a B.S. in pre-med and psychology from Ohio State. He entered medical school at Syracuse University, specializing in psychiatry. He interned and did his residency at Yale. Then completed a Ph.D. in clinical psychology at George Washington University, while working at GW Medical School. His doctoral dissertation was entitled: "Behavioral Engineering with Psychiatric Patients: Producing Anti-Social Behavior."
"This is not a nice man," Frank said, as they were reviewing the material on Gorgon.
"But he has a lot of people buffaloed," Ben replied, "there are glowing reports on what a genius this bastard is. Accolades from people you'd think would know better. He was on the Nightline show with people like Colin Powell and Brent Scrowcroft. Gorgon seems to have been a particular favorite of Ted Koppel. Even though Koppel was a Kissinger disciple."
"Gorgon's a slippery son-of-a-bitch," Frank said, "but I think you can use his insane ego-obsession to trip him up. From what information I've seen, he has to be the winner in any encounter. Probably still trying to get even with his sadistic father. He's extraordinarily vain, wants people to know how smart--and powerful--he is. If you can get him talking about himself, then challenge his ego--maybe question his intelligence--you could send him into outer space."
"I think that's exactly right," Ben said, "challenge his feeling of intellectual and psychological superiority. Here's the profile I developed on him:
- Studied with Kenneth Colby after Colby had left Stanford
- Developed a method of computer-based mind control
- President of a company which uses his methods in advertising and political campaigns
- Has been campaign manager for several U.S. senators, congressmen, and governors - with a no-loss record
- Weaknesses:
- Knowledge-proud; believes he's invincible
- Ruthless, insensitive, uses people; people are objects to him
- Obsessed with power and showing how much power he has
- Egomania; has to be right, probably still trying to get back at his father
- Manipulation for its own sake"
Frank thought for a moment as to how to phrase what he wanted to say. "You've got to be very careful that he doesn't get you going. He's a master at manipulating feelings, goading you with some totally unexpected accusation or question."
"What do you think he might try to use against me?" Ben asked, looking seriously at Frank.
"He'll figure you know something about what he did to your mother and what he's doing to Angela. If he gets into those areas, do an end run; don't even try to meet him head on. You're too emotionally invested."
"Maybe you're right. I'll evade and counterattack, dominating maneuver and precision strike. Isn't that what you guys teach up there at the War College?"
"And, Ben . . . " Frank began, then stopped. He couldn't think of how to say this.
"Yea, what?"
"Nothing, everything's going to be fine."
"No, go ahead. Whatever it is."
"Look, Ben, you and I have disagreed about this before, about your being too weak sometimes." He looked seriously at Ben. "I want to apologize about what I said about Angela. You did your best with her. I was being an asshole. And, yes, I found out the things she said about our dad were true. The son of a bitch did molest her when she was a kid!" Frank glanced at Ben again. "But you do have a tendency to be too gentle sometime. You know what I mean?"
Ben nodded. "I guess."
"Well, you're going up against a real monster. He'll pull no punches. So you've got to use your killer instinct. I know you can, I've seen you when you get pissed enough. But sometimes you hesitate to go after the jugular--when it's necessary. Why is that?"
Ben groaned. He didn't particularly want to go into this right now. "It's a long story, Frank."
"So, who's in a hurry?"
Ben sat down on the couch. "Well, it started back in my roaring twenties, when I was a real cocksman. If you can believe that."
"I can believe it." Frank smiled.
"I was at a stage when I just didn't give a shit about women, just who would be my next sexual conquest. I ran through dozens of girls. I think it had something to do with my being hurt very deeply in high school. Fell madly in love with a girl two grades ahead of me, and she opted to become the steady girlfriend of the star quarterback. She'd led me on and then ditched me when Mr. Touchdown came along.
"Anyway, I was determined no woman would ever hurt me again. I'd beat them to the punch. So I was pretty brutal. Then I met Nadine. She was a knockout. But I wouldn't let myself feel anything deep for her, or at least I tried to pretend I didn't. And she fell for me like a ton of bricks. So when I went on to my next sexual conquest with another girl, Nadine tried to commit suicide.
"That was an emotional earthquake. It scared the shit out of me. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I felt I'd almost killed someone because of my callous, brutal behavior. I vowed never to hurt a woman again--never.
"I told you it was a long story."
"Explains a lot." Frank looked wistfully at Ben then spoke in a gangsta accent. "But Gorgon ain't no woman, man, so you can beat the crap out of him and it's okay."
They both laughed.
"Okay, I'll do my best," Ben said.
"Hey, you and Keller got some hot stuff on Gorgon. I'm dying to see if we can get enough evidence to nail him."
"Thanks for telling me about Keller--or Tim as he likes to be called," Ben said. "He's dynamite! The moment I told him about my debate--and why you and I are going after Gorgon--he jumped at the chance to be a part of our team. He's just been waiting to get the guy. He already had some stuff, even more that you and I found. Frank," Ben looked eagerly at him, "this Keller has technological capabilities I didn't even know existed."
