Decency (16 page)

So, NSA had always understood it needed psychological expertise to both recruit and select the right people and to identify problems with them as they developed. So, it always had some kind of psychological evaluation.

But in the beginning the personnel who performed the psych evals were way too few in number to really do any good and their functions were somewhat ill-defined. Generally, they provided advice to management about a variety of issues.

In 1960, the proverbial stuff hit the fan. Two of NSA’s people defected and went to Moscow. The result was not a pretty sight. NSA superiors lost their jobs. And Congress did a rain dance.

There was a Commission to study the problem. One of the recommendations was to revamp the psychology assets. They added more, both psychiatrists and psychologists. They more clearly directed them toward screening of applicants, designing pre-employment tests, designing post-employment evaluation tools and techniques, and the like.

Eventually, the psychiatrists left, apparently because NSA did not differentiate them from psychologists. For a good while, there was a tidy battle between two basic functions, one represented by industrial psychologists and one represented by clinical psychologists, as to who was in control. This still continued to some extent, but the two had largely settled into their spheres.

The industrial psychologists designed qualifications, pre-employment testing and post employment measurement tools. The clinical psychologists did the evaluations of individuals referred to them by management to determine continued reliability. There was a third group that dealt with treatment of individual employees.

But the bottom line was the clinical psychologists did not see themselves as called upon to do anything but evaluate individuals that management referred to them and to report back to management.

Yoakum stopped speaking and it caught Kelly by surprise. Slowly Kelly formed a thought. An awful thought.

“Dr. Yoakum…John…am I to understand that there is no incentive for the psychologists doing the evaluations at NSA to do anything other than what management wants them to do?”

Yoakum’s gaze was utterly unflinching and he did not speak.

“My God…!

“Kelly, that’s not quite all there is.”

“What?”

“Put yourself in a government worker’s shoes. The thing you fear most of all after you have a few years under your belt is losing your pay and pension. To many, losing that or the threat of it is worse than the threat of death. Death is an end, maybe with life insurance to take care of surviving loved ones. Losing financial security is worse because you don’t know if it will end. It’s not too strong to say it’s a threat of economic torture.”

“So…a psychologist…answering to management…can take your job with a bad evaluation…”

“From the worker’s perspective it’s sort of like the Inquisition.”

…Stalin’s political purges…?

“John, I don’t intend this to sound mean, but how much can a psychologist fake?”

“Was it Brandeis who said the lawyer who defines the facts wins the case?”

“I think so. How do you know that?”

“See these books.” He gestured to the wall behind him. “Morbid curiosity about a lot of things. Law is one of them. Psychology and law have Brandeis’ point in common. The conclusions one draws in either area depend on analysis. The analysis depends upon facts. The facts depend on the perception of the analyst. So you have facts scuttling over and around each other like a basket of Maryland crabs. One or two catch holds change and the facts totter among each other and the analysis swings off in another direction. The analyst is in control of the perceptions, and therefore, of the facts, the analysis and, perforce, the conclusions. The analyst controls the conclusions.”

…Samantha’s description of psych evals easily fit the general pattern…

“Thanks, John, I think. That’s what I need to know for now. I hope I can call on you again.”

“Kelly, I’ll be happy to tell you anything I
can
tell you. Call me any time.”

…no incentive to buck management, threat of economic torture, and control…

13

Sitting in the Old Post Office Pavilion, sipping good coffee had become a favorite escape. The Pavilion was one of the successful Pennsylvania Avenue redevelopment projects. The huge interior space was beautifully executed and was a good place to stop and unwind. It offered diversion in the form of people-watching and relaxation in the form of anonymous isolation.

You could easily get hooked on this. Wonder if that is what happens to you when you lose something important? Can you just drift away from daily obligations? Is that happening?

A friendly man, probably just shy of fifty, abruptly sat down at the same table, murmuring, “Mind if I join you?”

But he did not wait for permission. Typical.

“No. Fine. I’m about to leave anyway.”

Swathed in a nondescript charcoal suit, his smart burgundy silk tie shone against a gleaming white shirt like blood on snow. He was finely groomed and had an air of authority. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, smiling.

“Ms. Hawkins, you are entering Wonderland, where nothing is as it seems.”

The statement struck like a rifle shot. He might just as well have said, “The back of your chair is on fire.”

“What…?”

“Sorry to jump you.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because I believe you could do great good but could suffer great harm in the process.”

“What the hell does that mean, and who the hell are you?”

“If you will permit me, I am simply here to warn you…”

“Not if you jump me this way. You’re here to make me think there is something to be warned about. You can ‘warn’ me after introducing yourself.”

“I take your point. Again, I apologize for the…surprise. But hear me out.”

He paused, apparently calculating his words.

“Simply put, I know that you represent the parents of a deceased NSA employee…”

“Wait a minute. How do you ‘know’? It’s not a secret, but outside of my firm only the parents themselves know that.”

“Elaborating on that point will not serve you at all. Please, just hear this and you may understand.”

“Did the parents tell you?”

“That is not important. You need to understand you will be dealing with matters that will not be static and will not be capable of being brought to light in normal legal processes.”

“Look, ‘oblique’ is not winning any points with me.”

“Ms. Hawkins, are you prepared to become the instrument by which your clients discover their daughter was a traitor?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Hopefully, it will never happen. If you listen to me, you might avoid the possibility of it happening. But as I said, you are entering an area where nothing is as it seems.”

The tension reached boiling. She struggled to control her voice.

“If you’re trying to scare me off, why not just go scare the parents?”

“Because I am not seeking that objective. Remember, I said you might do great good.”

…maybe he’s got something I can use…

“Go on.”

“I emphasize, the scenarios you might encounter are nearly endless. You might find yourself confronted with the appearance that the daughter was traitorous. You might also find yourself under suspicion of any manner of law-breaking. You might even be accused of complicity in the daughter’s death…”

“Hold it right there. You’re just getting way off base…”

A look of exasperation crossed the man’s face and he raised his palm.

“Ms. Hawkins, open your mind. You will only get through this with an open mind. And you will not accomplish anything without it. You will be dealing with people who have immense power and capabilities that you presently know nothing about. They are perfectly able and willing to create nearly any appearance to serve their purposes.”

“Okay, look, assuming you are as genuine as you say you are, you’re telling me I have to think the whole NSA is evil to the core. I’m just not convinced.”

“You are right about that.”

“Then I’m not sure I follow you at all.”

“It’s not that complicated. Their motives are often pure. What they do out of those motives is not always so pristine.”

“I think you’re talking around in circles. I have a client. I’m not sure how you know about it, but for me it is just that. A client has asked me to determine if there is a legal case. What you’re telling me is mainly irrelevant to me.”

“I understand. Ms. Hawkins, have you looked at the police case file yet?”

“No.”

“When you do, you will find it very thin…”

“Isn’t it a crime to interfere with an investigation.”

“Think. What interference? What investigation? What evidence of that exists?”

He is damnably confident.

“Go on. You have my attention but I still don’t like the way you got it.”

“I have said what I came to say. You must be prepared to encounter any sort of suspicion or allegation. If you are to do any good here you must avoid them if possible and deal with them as they arise. If you are successful, you just might serve a cause greater than you currently imagine is involved.”

With that, the man stood, nodded goodbye, and soon disappeared among the morning pedestrians.

Walking toward the office, Kelly’s thoughts ran riot.

That was surreal. Just what the hell did he mean by serving a “greater cause,” or by any of it for that matter? Who, or what, would he likely be? Why would he make the effort to “warn” me? What’s his own agenda? What could possibly be going on that would make sense of the answers to these questions? As it turned out, this morning coffee was the opposite of escape…it was, what…?

“Abe, got a minute for me and Bonnie?”

Abe’s office was famous for it’s seeming dichotomy. Just inside and leading to within five feet of the desk, it was as neat as a pin, not a paper or even the distraction of a magazine on the coffee table surrounded by antique leather covered sofas. Legend had it the sofas were made of reindeer hide in Russia and smuggled out at the Revolution. Starting at five feet distance from the desk, walls of files formed barricades around him from which he could pluck seemingly anything at any time.

Abe emerged from his fortress and joined them on the sofas.

“Abe, we might have a problem in the Pierce case. I’ve asked Bonnie to join us because, as far as I know, we are the only three in the firm who know the Pierces have a case involving the NSA. That is, aside from Jannie who has only talked to the Pierces themselves. This morning while I was having coffee in the Pavilion, a complete stranger sat down with me and said he knew about it.”

“Kelly, have you asked the Pierces who they told?”

“Yeah. No one. They didn’t even tell their banker what the wire transfer was for. For all anyone in their town knows, they could be buying real estate with the money.”

“Hmmm. How about Yoakum? When I talked to him, I didn’t mention the client name. Did you?”