The Planner

Chapter Eleven: The Park

Planner was back home in Maryland. He had caught the crowded Friday evening flight arriving back home before 9pm. There was too much information to process, he had reached information overload; And emotional overload. He thought he gone through the six stages of grief: Denial, Isolation, Anger, Regrets, Depression and Acceptance; But a new stage, that of “Realisation”, he considered, could tear him apart.

He paced around the house several times; he had to block out distracting thoughts. He cursed himself for not thinking through his wife and daughter’s death more fully. He could have obtained evidence!

While paranoia was indeed a possibility, there were two pieces of evidence that confirmed his suspicion that was murder, information that was always there but just not connected; the broken exterior light and the crash barrier. He never had replaced the broken light. He took a stepladder from the garage and went outside to examine the light. He climbed the ladder and with a torch examined the bulb without touching it. He saw nothing unusual; a dud bulb and spider webs.

He put the stepladder away and considered driving to the spot of the crash. But no, there would be no point. The barrier would have been replaced. There would be nothing to see. He realised that no-one collects evidence for murder when they accepted death as an accident. He knew that. The CIA knew that. Whoever murdered his wife and daughter knew that.

Planner went to his drinks cabinet and took out the whisky bottle. There was hardly any left; mainly downed during the Depression stage of grief, he recalled. He had not been attentive enough to refill his stockpile. He finished what was left of the Scotch. He decided that it was best not to make a cocktail from the assortment of spirits and liqueurs at the back of the cupboard.

He switched on the TV but did not sit down to watch it. He just wanted distraction. He had to find a way to not think of her, of them, of how they died. He had to channel his energies onto a productive course; he needed to keep busy. Opening his filofax, he went down his To-Do list. After writing down a list of actions and re-reading them, he crossed most of them out. Finally adding another in capitals: “Phone Katherine!” Then he read down the list again. There were many notes that he had made earlier in the day. Then he found just the thing to keep his emotions at bay.

He unpacked his laptop and booted up the Windows 2000 operating system. Slipping in the CD-ROM disk that Digger had given him after the Snow White meeting, Planner accessed new data within his Nastran software; a 3D model of WTC7. Like many New York Buildings, its design is highly constrained by the city environment in which it exits; for example, WTC7 had a trapezoidal cross section, a very strange shape for any building, to fit within the haphazard lower Manhattan street plan. It was 47 stories high and would have stood out in most cities in the USA, it would have been the tallest building in 32 states. However, in New York, it was dwarfed by its proximity to the 110 story twin towers. The North Tower, WTC1, was 355 feet away and WTC2 was 600 feet. In between WTC7 and WTC1 was one eight storied building, WTC6, which, he realised also needed to be destroyed. What team was going to be doing that?

Planner searched for more information on WTC7 using the state-of-the-art, Lycos internet search engine and discovered some interesting facts: Massive building works were undertaken two years after WTC7 was built, to withstand the load of heavy computer equipment. These new areas, built at a cost $200million, were regarded as a “building within a building”. And there were other expensive changes in the following years: the CIA office facilities and its secret entrance via the Defense Department and Mayor’s Emergency Command Center. A name cropped up “Larry Silverstien”: his company had not only built the original tower but also undertook all the renovation and improvement work. ¹⁰⁴

Planner drummed his chin. Where had he heard that name before? It finally came to him; Silverstien was in the process of bidding for the 99 year lease on the rest of the World Trade Center. He was the winner of the contest despite offering less, but won when his ex-brother-in-law, Bernard Mendik, pulled out of the competition. And then Mendik died of a heart attack;¹⁰⁵ unlucky Mendik, lucky Silverstien. Planner was reminded of the CIA Heart Attack Gun that was developed in the 1960s: another murder-without-consequences¹⁰⁶ weapon in a similar vain as the Boston-Brakes devices. Considering his own job, Planner could not be too self-righteous about the morality of such action; just suspicion and a reminder of his own pledge of allegation, until death, to his lodge and brother Masons.

Planner extracted large paper blueprints from his brief case. He decided to compare the Nastram model with Blue Prints of the building he had come across in the Rainbow Office. He printed out a report describing the structural strength of the components within the model and compared them with the blueprints. He yawned. He decided to finish the analysis in the morning but he dashed off an email before going to bed.

He wrote: “Digger. Looks like the model does not fully account for the extra strengthening undertaken in 1989 when 350 tons of steel was added to WTC7. Can I suggest some further changes to the model? Regards Planner”

He pressed a button to encrypt the message and then another to send it.

* * * *

Planner was asleep. In his dream he imagined the mechanism under his wife’s car activating and turning the wheel sharply, plunging it over a cliff. Falling… He heard the Lodge Master saying, “Tragic. Your wife was such a caring and intelligent lady”. Caring? Intelligent? Why those words? How did he know?

He imagined a bomb explosion destroying four levels in the basement of the North Towers, and the building slowly toppling, falling into the second tower, the floors locking together, and drawing out a huge gash down the side of the other tower, with thousands of people sliding out the building, hanging onto the columns on the outer wall until they no longer were able to hold on any longer.¹⁰⁷ He dreamt he was in the Plaza and witnessing the building as it toppled, whole, down towards him.

Planner woke up with a start. He turned and saw his wife in bed with him asleep surrounded by dappled sunlight. This startled him again and he awoke again. He was alone at home. This time, he was certain he really was wake. He rolled over looked at a picture of his wife and young daughter. The emotional dam burst; he held his head and wept.

He recovered his composure in the shower. Returning back to the bedroom in his dressing gown, Planner looked at the clock and sighed. It was already mid-morning. Sitting on his bed, he arranged his cell phone next to his landline phone and sighed again. He took out a new sim-card, inserted it into his cell-phone and made a call.

“Hello?” answered an uncertain female voice.

“Hi, Katherine. It’s Robert. I hope you don’t mind me calling you… er, at home,” said Planner, grabbing a tissue to mop his nose.

“No, hey. This is a… surprise,” stammered Katherine on the phone. “Er… no problem. I’m glad you called. In fact, I was hoping you would. We’ve both been kind of busy, haven’t we?”

“It’s been real crazy. Crazy bad. Can you talk?”

“A short while. What’s up? You sound tense,” she said.

“I’ve just had some bad… er… feelings. About my job. About your job too,” confided Planner.

“Oh? Can you explain?”

“I’m almost lost for words on this, you know, without my powerpoint slides,” he tried to joke.

“Well, ok. We’re on-the-phone. Give it a try,” she said patiently.

“Perhaps it’s because it is on the phone. All those potential ears on the air waves. At the exchange. Along the line,” Planner said with a cringe.

“Ok. I think you can talk to the main bullet points,” she suggested.

“Ok. I just wanted to make sure that you have copies of all your files. From work.”

“About… the Jerks?”

“Yeah. The Texan Jerks. You know who I mean?” he said.

“I do have them backed up. Stored very securely,” she said.

“Where?”

“At work,” she stated.

“You may need them elsewhere,” Planner suggested helpfully.

“Elsewhere? At home?”

“Or mail them to friends or family. Someone you can trust.”

“Like you?”

“I mean really trust.”

“Still you.”

Planner smiled. “Well, thanks. But, probably not me.”

“I’ve got to go. But we need to talk. How are you with ten year olds? Can you meet me at Rock Creek Park after lunch?”

They agreed to meet later. Planner walked over to an antique desk in his living room and opened the roll top shutter. His Amish desk had many individual storage compartments and drawers including a secret compartment. By sliding a block of wood, a drawer popped open on the side of the desk, which held a set of keys. He took the keys back to his workroom where he had his laptop, books and other assorted clutter, poorly arranged on shelves. Planner opened a filing cabinet and extracted a metal box. Within the box was his bug detection kit. This was standard issue equipment for the CIA operatives in covert missions. It was old equipment, surplus to requirements. Planner inherited the equipment when more sophisticated equipment was issued. Planner replaced the 9 volt battery and switched it on. He adjusted the sensitivity button and patrolled the house. It does not take long to scan for active bugs.

Planner found no active bugs. He was about to put the detector back when he decided to do another scan using the non-linear junction detector function¹⁰⁸. By making it actively sweep at particular radio frequencies, the device can detect inactive bugging devices as well as active ones: those devices that are currently transmitting signals. Since this generates a lot of “false positives”, that is, alerts generated from ordinary pieces of equipment, it takes longer to perform the sweep. He checked out the TV, the laptop computer, the cell phone, the microwave cooker, the landline phone… Planner paused. That reading was not quite right. He checked the landline telephone again. The detector bleeped urgently when moved close to the receiver. Planner took a pocketknife from his desk and carefully prised the plastic handset apart. It popped open quite easily revealing the components and wires expected in such a device. But beside the receiver loudspeaker was a small, disconnected component no bigger than a quarter. It consisted of a hearing-aid-style, flat battery, an integrated circuit and a plastic blob, probably a microphone. This was a state-of-the-art, professionally made listening device, obviously left in the room some time ago. Planner knew from his own experience that the batteries could operate for between one month and three. So in all probability, Planner reckoned, the bug must have been installed around the time of his wife’s death. Planner used tweezers to pick up the item and placed it in a plastic bag. He reassembled his phone and wrote a note of date and time and stapled the note to the bag.

Planner resumed his search around the house but found nothing more.

* * * *

Planner and Katherine sat on a park bench at Rock Creek Park on a slope overlooking a baseball diamond where a team of young, uniformed girls were playing baseball under the supervision of some adults.

“So which one is Beth?”

“She’ll be coming into bat shortly.”

“That professional looking one?”

Katherine aimed a fake slap on Planner’s shoulder, “Oh, stop it.”

“So is that her?” he said as the new batter appeared.

“Yes, that’s my darling.”

Planner nodded.

“So, we’re here to talk about work? You were saying it wasn’t going well?” she said.

“There’s a situation at work,” Planner frowned.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“You’ll just think I’m paranoid,” Planner looked down.

“Try me.”

“A colleague died at work the other day. In a car accident. In the same way my wife died,” Planner said coldly.

“That’s shocking. It must been dreadful; digging up old wounds. The same way?”

“Uncannily the same,” Planner said.

“What a horrible coincidence,” said Katherine looking away.

“Coincidences rarely happen. In my job, they never do,” said Planner.

“Rarely? But…” said Katherine.

“Oh they are reported all the time in the newspapers. But coincidences are not part of police work. And not part of my work.”

“Hmm, so what sort of secret defence contract are you doing?” she said, restoring eye contact.

“Secret secret,” said Planner.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“No. Quite the reverse,” sighed Planner.

“Ah… I don’t understand, of course. Are you saying your wife had enemies?” she said.

“No,” said Planner, but then, unusually, he changed his mind. “I don’t know.” Planner stammered and looked away.

“Can you tell me about her? You’ve hardly ever mentioned her. I understand that you don’t really want to,” cajoled Katherine gently.

“We met through a mutual friend. She was a wild child of a rich family. Disowned them. She loved life, animals, nature. She spoke her mind. Had lots of friends, no enemies that I can really think of.”

“So family? Were they out to get her?”

“No, all reconciled,” said Planner, finding eye contact hard.

“But you think there may be something, someone?”

“She campaigned for electric cars. The children’s health angle.¹⁰⁹”

“Electric cars? Hardly radical!”

“That’s what I thought. But she was good. She knew people on the California Air Resources Board. They were the people that could say yes or no to electric cars. They made the laws. And when I said that she knew them, I meant she had real hold over them.”

“Blackmail?” Katherine whispered.

“Could be. Nothing too serious, I expect. Probably just making them remember why the legislation was required,” Planner smiled grimly.

“So someone on the board took a contract out on her?” gasped Katherine.

“Maybe a tip off. Or hinted. I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve seen what vested interests are prepared to do. And how easily triggered they are into drastic actions,” said Planner struggling with the words.

“Vested interests. Like what?”

“Like… just like what you’ve seen with Enron,” said Planner uncertainly.

“So, you think… maybe Big Oil is behind it?”

“Could be. I’ve no way of telling,” sighed Planner.

“And you’ve only just had this realisation?” she asked.

“I guess I’ve suppressed any suspicion until this recent colleague’s death. It flooded out, I kind of collapsed with the epiphany, and then, an hour later, I was effectively given a promotion… or at least a huge chunk of responsibility. But in the meantime, my confidence in my work, has vaporised.”

“Really? Oh no.”

“It felt… very bizarre. Sorry, I’m feeling like a fool,” he confessed.

“You say you’ve lost confidence? Has your boss found out?” she said.

Planner said, looking at the ground, “It’s not quite like that. There’s an unwritten pact between us. I do bad things, Katherine.”

“And you might lose your job?” she said, confused.

Still looking at the ground, he said, “No, I do bad things for my job. And they promote me for it. It’s kind of sick. I can justify my past actions; making omelettes by breaking eggs… Loyalty to colleagues; to a cause; my family. But my job has never been pretty.”

Katherine gulped.

“But the needs of many outweigh the needs of the few,” sighed Planner.

Katherine took this opportunity to break the gloom, “That’s from Star Trek, right?”

Planner smirked back at her, “Now I know I am cracking up,” he said grimly.

They made eye contact again and they both fell silent and looked at each other for a long couple of seconds. Katherine broke the spell and asked a more serious question, “You’re saying the end justifies the means, perhaps?”

Planner relaxed a little more, “Yes, I think the real philosophy is supposed to be the greatest good to the greatest number of people. But I’m thinking… there comes a point when the immoral becomes evil and actually poisons the well. So actually, the end doesn’t justify the means. And I’m used to being ruthless about such matters. Like you wouldn’t believe. Like a pilot sent out to bomb the enemy and finding out you’ve bombed refugees. I’ve done similar bad things and justified it for the sake of the mission or blamed it on war. But I hadn’t thought through the bigger picture.”

“I thought you thought big,” she said.

“I had big thoughts for our country. But not for humanity.”

“Whoa,” said Katherine inadequately. It was a difficult to know how to respond to such a statement. After a pause, she said meekly, “So… criminal things?”

“Government sanctioned but pretty immoral. Is it a crime if it is authorised by the President?” said Planner.

“This is pretty heavy stuff, Robert,” she stammered, as tears welled up in her eyes. “Are you sure you should be telling me this? Just how bad is bad in your books?”

Planner looked down again, “I understand that you may not want to see or speak to me again. That would be very rational of you.”

“Can you resign? This isn’t like the Mafia, right?” she said.

“No, but it feels like it at times. They have a pretty binding contract. I probably could resign. I’d have to give three months notice though and have a good reason to go. And the non-disclosure agreements: more than you’d believe. But I still wouldn’t be able to get out of my current job.”

“Then at least try to resign. Especially, if you’re worried about… er… Death Squads.”

Planner looked at her again, “Right. You got that then?”

“That is what your implying, right?” she said with tears.

“Well, yes.”

“You’re serious?”

“You can read about them in the newspapers?” he said.

“Really?”

“And on the internet.”

“So conspiracy theories?” she said with a trace of venom and drying her eyes.

“Backed by official documentation. I just never imagined them so close to home. My wife, for instance? I’m incredulous about it, so I can hardly imagine what you must be thinking.”

“Could they be after you?”

“Considering what I am doing at the moment, no. But if my paranoia is correct and she was targeted then they must have been intercepting our calls. Her calls, at least,” said Planner.

“And they would have found out what you did?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. I don’t do the sort of job where the work I bring home is scattered about. Or talked about on open lines.”

“So you are doing something bad? For them?” she said.

“I really can’t say anything. It started off just as an extension of my normal… job. Doing something good for my country,” said Planner, struggling with his inner dilemmas.

“It’s Black Ops, isn’t it? I don’t know what that means exactly but its clandestine stuff,” she said.

“We’re getting into twenty questions here. It’s not fair on either of us to discuss this. This isn’t supposed to be about me. It’s not good subject to discuss. I’m worried about you. And Enron.”

“Do you realise just how crazy this all sounds?”

“I know. I know. At least, I think I do. Crazy or not… And even if we never speak again, I really came here just to ask one small, albeit, strange favour from you?” said Planner, back in control of his emotions.

“Is this going to be sexual?” she said in a nasal voice, holding a handkerchief to her nose.

Planner laughed, “No.”

Katherine pocketed her handkerchief and looked back attentive but unsmiling.

Planner inhaled and said, “Could you just do this one thing and honestly, if you don’t want to see or speak to me again then I perfectly understand. Can you make sure that you don’t go into the office unless your CEO is there?”

Katherine was surprised. “But the CEO isn’t my boss,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter. It has to be the CEO,” said Planner.

“Can you tell me why?”

“No, I can’t do that,” he said trapped by his oath of secrecy and fear of not being believed. “Just check your CEO’s calendar and confirm that he’ll be in the office. Make any excuse if he’s not. Just for the next month.”

“Ok. I think we have now established that you are cracking up,” she joked. “You seriously can’t tell me what this is about. How do you know all this?”

“As you said, it is a small community in Wall Street. Your work may have kicked up quite a bit of a storm.”

“My work?” exclaimed Katherine.

“And it is soon going to be thrown into a whirlwind. I just couldn’t bear to see you hurt,” said Planner nervously.

“Some sort of raid? On Marsh McLennan?” Katherine continued to exclaim.

“Twenty questions again. Sorry, I’ve said too much as it is,” said Planner averting his eyes.

In the distance, further down the slope, Katherine could see the baseball game, breaking up. “Can we talk again? Say next week? This isn’t a great place to talk.”

“I’m afraid I’m in Washington next week then on a training course for the next couple of weeks after. In Oklahoma.”

“Training course? Hey, and I was worried about your stress levels.”

“It’s going to be quite a course.”

Katherine sighed, “You’ve set me quite a puzzle here. And you seemed like a nice guy.”

Planner said, “I think I may have a superman-complex; trying to save the world. But finding out I’ve been working for the lizards of Krypton.”

Katherine tapped her teeth for a few seconds, “I think I have the answer to your problem though.”

“Oh?”

“Do your job,” she said. “If you have to… and no I don’t approve… But do it badly! It seems to work for the SEC.”

Planner smiled and nodded, “That sounds like some decent kryptonite!”

At that point a blonde, ten year old girl came running up the slope carrying a heavy bag.

“Mummy, Mummy, did you see how I hit the ball? First stroke!” she said.

“I missed it! Ohhhh Nooo! Well done, though. Well done,” Katherine replied maternally.

Katherine introduced her daughter to Planner, the first of her man friends she had ever introduced to her. The three of them threw the baseball around and laughed and chatted, like their previous conversation had never happened. Once it seemed like the right time to leave, Planner said goodbye, waving from a distance and walked back to his car.

The ground felt springy, the air was light, the sun was warm. Planner smiled and started to hatch a plan.