Read Someone Else's War: A Novel of Russia and America Page 4
CHAPTER THREE, LOS ALAMOS, EARLY SPRING 1994: AMERICA
Los Alamos birthed the atom bomb in three years during World War II. “Now I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds,” thought J. Robert Oppenheimer as he witnessed the first test explosion. From time to time, Olivia had wondered what he might have said about the current lab. She’d long ago concluded that, “So…what have you done lately?” would have been the most polite way he might have expressed his disdain.
She passed the weeks leading up to her exit debriefing from Los Alamos in a slight daze, experimenting with a mixture of pain killers and tranquilizers. A small dose of valium combined with a small dose of codeine, taken as needed, seemed to work best. She knew from experience that seeking to eliminate the pain rendered her ditzy, a word she’d kept from her high school days, even though her work rarely suffered and her colleagues never noticed. But since DC, she had become interested only in distancing herself from the pain when it crossed the threshold into suffering.
Her success in gaining some distance from her pain meant that she had also succeeded in gaining some distance from the world around her, and she was not slow to recognize the benefits when it came to being polygraphed. Having been “polyed” several times in her career, she knew what to expect, including the questions she’d be asked. She also knew her examiner, a brush-cut, bespectacled former Marine and retired FBI agent named Barry O’Dwyer. She was hardly fooled by his mild, professorial demeanor. A polygraph is not an interrogation, but it may lead to one, and while most polygraphists were not skilled interrogators, O’Dwyer had been and still was.
The room was barely furnished with a few nondescript items. Nothing on the walls, not even the official government photos of the whores and hacks and high-level non-entities du jour, from the president on down, who were presiding over the country’s slow decay. No distractions. Nothing much to focus on. As she approached the straight-backed government-issue chair, which looked a little like an old-fashioned electric chair with padding, she nodded to him to begin. He nodded back, then went into the prescribed routine. After he hooked her up, he explained, as part of the procedure, how the polygraph could detect a lie. But they both knew that his explanation was meant to inspire fear in her, less the fear of being caught in a lie than the fear that the machine would start registering false positives and become her tormentor—a tormentor with a human attached.
She knew that the control questions he asked were meant to measure her fear level, trigger her sense of scrupulosity, and establish her patterns under stress: patterns that could be compared with previous tests, should the need arise.
Before she went into the interview, Olivia had taken a light mixture of valium and codeine, and had so informed O’Dwyer. The reason was physical. She had great difficulty remaining stationary for any length of time and prolonged sitting was almost intolerable. Of course, the drugs combined with the pain she would experience from sitting motionless for so long would skew her reactions to the whole procedure. Including her reaction to the critical question.
Since your last polygraph, have you been approached by a known agent of a foreign government or organization?
O’Dwyer considered Olivia to be somewhere between curiosity and challenge. He’d polygraphed her before her injury, and even then he had found her hard to read because she was both calm and intense. So he went back to all her tests, including ones that he hadn’t done, and reviewed them. One of the polygraphists had deliberately provoked her in an attempt to get a clear read on her. He had succeeded with a few unauthorized questions on what she liked in men. But even clearly very angry, Doctor Tolchin’s physiological responses were subdued. She didn’t work herself into a sweating lather. Her breathing, heart rate and blood pressure stayed relatively normal. Nothing spiked.
This time, her responses to control and relevant questions, and even when giving answers O’Dwyer knew were factually true or false, were virtually identical. No doubt, a result of the drugs. Still, her readings, while definitely influenced by the drugs, were consistent with her fundamental character.
The control questions had gone smoothly. Is your name Olivia Lathrop Tolchin? Yes. Are you thirty-four years old? Yes. Do you hold a Ph.D. from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology? Yes. Have you ever stolen anything?
Yes. That box of pretty plastic paper clips two years ago.
Lie to me, Doctor Tolchin. Have you ever stolen anything?
No. Silly request.
Same readings.
Then on to the questions to determine whether she had become a security risk, vulnerable to blackmail or other pressures, or a loyalty risk: someone who had or might intentionally betray her country for money or other reasons.
Since your last polygraph:
Have you had sex with a woman?
Of course not. Aldrich Ames did that.
O’Dwyer laughed in spite of himself. Just yes or no, please, he reminded her. They grinned at each other a bit, then proceeded.
Are you currently involved in a relationship with a man?
No.
Are you in debt beyond your ability to manage?
No.
Do you drink alcoholic beverages to excess?
No.
Have you taken any drugs not prescribed by a physician?
No.
Do you gamble?
No.
Is there anything in your life that might make you vulnerable to blackmail?
No.
Are you in unauthorized possession of any classified material?
No.
Have you transferred any classified information or material to any unauthorized person?
No.
Have you approached any unauthorized person for the purpose of doing so?
No.
Have you been approached by a known agent of any foreign government or organization?
No.
Is it your intention to travel abroad after leaving Los Alamos?
Yes.
Where?
A conference in Vienna. I have already received permission through the security office here.
Then it was done. Nothing. He signed off on her poly.