CHAPTER 1 June 30, 1947 The Pentagon Washington, D. C. It was a strange meeting, held in a conference room in the bowels of one of the inner rings of the Pentagon that had only a single entrance with a vault-like door and no external windows. It was a plush conference room with high-backed leather chairs, a carefully polished table of the finest mahogany that held a shining sterling silver tea service, and carefully created metal nameplates for all the participants. There was a thick, light blue carpeting on the floor that showed no trace of dirt or wear. The room was paneled in rich, dark wood, and original oil paintings in ornate frames hung on the wall. These were not the mass-produced lithographic prints that graced so many other offices and conference rooms at the Pentagon but authentic, original paintings of military heroes and famous battles. Although there were chairs for twenty around the table, there were only a half dozen people seated in the room.
The door was guarded, on the outside, by an armed, burly MP, his khaki uniform immaculate, and unlike military guards in similar circumstances, his role was not ceremonial. His weapon was fully loaded and he was authorized to use deadly force. Although the man seated in one of those side chairs, an Army Air Forces major general, thought he should be seated at the head of the table, he was not. Instead, sitting there, wearing a thousand-dollar Saville Row suit, thick glasses with dark frames, and a gleaming white shirt, was a balding man. The hair that remained was salt and pepper. He had a large nose, thin, bloodless lips, and an unhappy look. He toyed with a fountain pen that had a solid gold clip, a gold band around the edge of the cap, and a golden point. In front of him was a thick leather folder.
There was no nameplate at his place and even if he revealed his name, none of the others would have recognized it. Dr. Jonathan David Moore was not well known outside his scientific speciality of psychology and was virtually unknown in Washington or the Pentagon. It was the way that he, and his superiors, liked it. He looked from person to person, as if taking a silent roll, and asked, "Does everyone here know everyone else?" The Army Air Forces major general, his eyes on Moore, shook his head slowly. He was a stocky man with a thick, unruly clump of black wavy hair and bulldog features. The ribbons denoting his combat and service decorations climbed from the top of the left breast pocket to nearly his shoulder. They were topped by the silver wings of a command pilot.
He was leaning back in his chair, eyeing the lone woman at the table as he idly unwrapped a thick cigar. He pointed with his cigar. "I don''t know her." "Ah. That is Dr. Danni Hackett." Moore glanced at the woman who nodded once, slightly, at the introduction. She was a young woman, no more than twenty-five or thirty, with light brown hair, blue eyes, and thin features.
She sat leaning forward, as if interested in everything that was going on around her. She wore a severe suit of charcoal gray that had wide lapels. There was a small brooch on one of them that looked for all the world like a deformed golden spider with three bright ruby-colored eyes. The general asked, "Why is she here?" Moore rocked back in his chair and touched his pen to his lips. "You have a problem with her, General?" "Is she properly cleared?" "I would think that you would realize that if she is in this room, at this time, with me sitting here, fully cognizant of each of the others in here and of the reasons for us to be here, that she is properly cleared." "That means nothing to me. Is she cleared?" There was a hint of annoyance in the general''s voice. "She has a top secret clearance.
She has been working at Los Alamos as a biologist. Because of that work, which is of no concern to you, the proper background investigations and appropriate clearances have long ago been completed, granted, and are on file here and with the Army. That makes her position unique and important to us. You may review her clearances later, at your convenience, if you feel that my verbal assurance is somehow inadequate." The general stared at Moore. There was anger in his eyes, but he kept his voice quiet. Calm. "I''m not sure if that is good enough because I don''t know you.
" Moore grinned broadly. "Wouldn''t you assume that since I am sitting at the head of the table, and we are deep in the Pentagon, that I have both the sufficient clearances and that I can vouch for the others in the room?" "No, sir, I would not. It simply doesn''t work that way." Moore reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled a white envelope from it. He slid it across the table so that it stopped in front of the general. "Open it." The general did as told. He pulled out the paper and unfolded it.
The White House Washington, D.C. 27 June 1947 Dr. Jonathan Moore, special Scientific Advisor to the President, has been directed to investigate scientific questions for the President. United States military forces, as well as all elements of the executive branch of the federal government, will provide such support as he may request. Dr. Moore has an unrestricted top secret security clearance. All questions concerning his clearances and/or authority should be directed to the Chief of Staff at the White House.
The letter was signed by the President. The general had seen enough documents signed by the President to recognize the signature as authentic. Moore waited while the general examined the paper and when he glanced up, Moore asked, "Will that be sufficient?" "Certainly, Doctor." The general shrugged. "You must understand." "Of course, General. If we may continue?" Major General Curtis LeMay knew that he had lost the test of will, but cared little. The battle had been meaningless other than establishing his authority for those others in the conference room.
They would know that he was important enough that even the president''s personal representative had to acknowledge, and respond to, his questions and criticisms. LeMay knew that it was important to establish the lines of authority early on so that questions about who held what power would not develop later. This all provided him with an added edge if he found it necessary to deal with any of these people, individually, at a later date because these people probably didn''t know who he was. To them, LeMay was just another Army general, no more important than the hundreds of others who had fought the Second World War. They wouldn''t know that he had survived the reduction in force after the war that saw many generals reduced in grade to captains or majors, and in a few extreme cases, to master sergeants. He was responsible for designing the air campaign against the Japanese that saw the fire bombing of their cities in which tens of thousands of civilians were killed. LeMay''s attitude had been one of total war and total destruction. Destroy everything that the Japanese had.
Burn their factories, bomb their farms, destroy their capability to manufacture war materiel, obliterate their cities and kill everyone who was part of the Japanese war machine whether they were military men or just civilians who allowed the military to attack. Complete and utter destruction until enough of the country was a smoking waste and enough civilians had been killed that they would surrender unconditionally. He didn''t care how it was done, as long as it was done. This concept of total war was one that he would carry on later, when he was elevated to command of SAC. He would implement rules and regulations that demanded total obedience and keep families apart for so long that they disintegrated. He wouldn''t care because his job was to ensure that the American bomber force was ready to take off in fifteen minutes, and that his job would be the total annihilation of the Soviet Union. His attitude was one of complete and total victory or one of complete and total defeat. There were no half measures anywhere and he would do all that was necessary to obtain his goals, no matter what those goals might be, or who might be standing in the way.
He knew of only one way to operate and that was full-out, balls to wall. Sitting next to LeMay was a fairly young man who dressed like a graduate student. A poor graduate student. He was not wearing a suit and tie, but a light green shirt open at that neck. His pocket held a number of pens and pencils. He had long hair that had been heavily greased before it was combed back, dark eyes, and a look that suggested he was half asleep. Jacob Wheeler had been selected from Georgetown University because his father had a high, important role in the Pentagon, and because of that, they believed he, the younger Wheeler, understood the need for government secrecy. His father''s background investigations had revealed nothing that would suggest that Wheeler couldn''t be trusted.
It was a clearance by inheritance. It hadn''t hurt that Wheeler, who looked much younger than his actual age, was himself a veteran of the Second World War and had held a low level clearance during the war. The process of checking his background had been rapid, completed in a matter of hours rather than weeks or months. Next to Hackett, on the other side of the table, was another nondescript man in a gray suit that looked expensive but not as expensive as that of their leader. His name, according to the metal plate in front of him, was Johnson. His red hair was combed and his blue eyes sparkled. He looked as if he was excited by the meeting, but if they had met him in the hall, they would have thought that he was excited by being in the hall. He had.