Pa'an
Saxton Hornsby

The card said Senator Saxton Hornsby, Jr, Independent, Vermont, under the raised print of the official Congressional seal. He looked up from the card and into the mirror over his credenza. The familiar long weather-beaten face stared back, hair gone totally gray. It was an older version of the face he vaguely remembered growing up on a dairy farm. The card still said, “Senator,” Hell, it was a thin call on any kind of clout or influence among 535 congressional members. Sax Hornsby was not the chairman of any powerful committee, although, in his twelve year tenure he had racked up a few committee memberships. It was the fate of being from a small state, and being without majority party affiliations.

“Sax, your 10 o’clock visitor from the British Home Office is here.”

“I’m ready. See if he’ll have some tea or coffee, will you Maxine?” He moved to the small sitting area in the alcove of his office.

Maxine turned to reveal a tempting profile, hip-shot, tossed her hair and opened the door to a gentleman in a tweed suit and bow tie. The gentleman promptly strode in, carrying a battered leather portfolio. “Good morning, Senator. Thank you for allowing me to intrude on your busy schedule.”

“We have coffee, tea, and soft drinks, Mr. Clemson,” Maxine responded from the door, leaning against the frame and holding the door ajar with her outstretched hand.

“Coffee – I don’t know how you Americans can drink that awful bitter stuff. Do you have any decent tea?”

Maxine smiled and returned with a cup of hot water with a teabag dangling from it. Clemson winced, but took it gratefully.

“Mr. Clemson, welcome to my humble office.” Sax waved him to one of a pair of leather armchairs. “Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Forgive me for being a blunt American, but isn’t it a bit unusual to send a Home Office undersecretary on a diplomatic visit?” Sax leaned back in one of the leather armchairs and sipped his coffee.

Clemson was obviously not going to make himself comfortable. He perched on the edge of his armchair with his cuppa balanced on a bony knee and leaned forward, speaking in a confidential quiet voice.

“Senator, is this office quite secure?”

“Leaky as a sieve, but the NSA sweeps it regularly for bugs.”

“I’m here to talk about nuclear proliferation.”

“I don’t have anything to do with weapons or military procurement, Mr. Clemson. I’m sure the Home Office knows that.”

“Please call me Edward, Senator. Technically, I’m not here, or rather, I’m here to visit my daughter who is in an exchange program at Georgetown University. I’m not, as we say, carrying a diplomatic portfolio. And I’m sure you know the Home Office would not be sending the likes of myself on a diplomatic mission.”

“Well then, Edward, I’m mystified. A Senator from Vermont is not exactly an official channel to the State Department either.”

“Hmm. Let me get right to the point. Some outside agency is pushing nuclear weapons development on third world countries. Missiles in PyongYang, fast breeder reactors in Damascus, computers for nuclear weapon simulations in Tehran. They are exchanging components and technology between these centers with the kind of secrecy and efficiency that only well organized governments are capable of arranging.”

“That much I already know, Edward. Ever since the U.S. signed the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty it seems that the only nation being disarmed is the U.S. Tell me something new.”

“You know that all high level fissile material, such as bomb-grade U235 and plutonium, are now being shipped to secure storage facilities inspected by the International Atomic Agency Commission. Without weapons grade fissionables, there should be no atomic weapon building activity. But there is. Restricted materials are being exchanged through clandestine means. The exchange program is using secure facilities in Russia, Germany, Great Britain, and…” he paused and gave Sax a significant look, “the United States.”

The senator raised an eyebrow, but kept quiet.

“We have detected movement of restricted materials to Cuba, Pakistan and Venezuela.”

“But the Pakistanis already have the bomb!”

“They haven’t updated their arsenal in decades. This is new technology. A deliverable weapon has to fit on a missile warhead and be robust enough to take the stress of launch and re-entry. There is evidence that it’s going to Afghanistan and Chechnya. But, for some strange reason, the bulk of the material has not left the United States but nevertheless remains missing.”

“Missing and still in the U.S.? Distributed to Afghanistan and Chechnya? Bizarre. What evidence do you have?’

“Corroboration from several classified sources, but I can give you this document that our U.N. emissary received from the IAEC.” He opened the portfolio and handed over a blue-bound document with the U.N. globe on the cover. “Victor Zimmer, the inspector who released this report, is dead - radiation from heavy radioisotopes, probably plutonium. Severe radiation burns across the neck and throat. Ever hear of a radiation rosary?”

“My God! You say the man died producing this document?”

“Not only was he executed, but his murderers wanted us to know how it was done. Azerbaijan, the country where he died, should not have that plutonium isotope.”

Sax twisted uncomfortably in his chair. There were too many open questions in the scenario, leading to more open questions. He was a Vermont Yankee by heritage and inclination – blunt in the New England style, with distaste for the fancy footwork of a professional diplomat. He knew in a more contentious constituency he would never be elected, but in Vermont his directness won votes and loyalty. Furthermore, why would an unlikely official from an unlikely agency approach such an unlikely Senator with a story of such import?

“Edward, while I appreciate your confidence in me, I’m puzzled. Why aren’t you going to the State Department, or your MI6 liaison with the CIA? And why me? I don’t sit on any relevant committees for this. Shouldn’t you be visiting Decker in Homeland Security or Pellorini in Defense?” He raised an eyebrow and watched Clemson take a thoughtful sip from his cup, put it down and look Sax in the eye.

“We believe our customary contacts, both here and at home, may be compromised. My charter comes directly from the P.M. We don’t know how wide the conspiracy is, but it’s big. You have a fair background in physics and a practical mind that sorts through things without political blinders. You have no pressures from opposing candidates. Most important, you are far enough off the main road to be an unlikely suspect, yet close enough to the action. You are vice-chair of the Nuclear Regulatory Committee, well connected to Energy and in a position to access movements of weapons-grade nuclides. You probably know something about how a modern bomb is made, what is critical, what is dual use. You don’t need to surround yourself with susceptible assistants. Senator, we badly need a trusty hand across the pond. We think you’re our best man here.”

“Edward, you’re handing me quite a burden. I don’t know what I can do. I’m certainly not in a position to make promises. Furthermore, I must ask you not to make my involvement known to anyone else in Congress. You may need to approach others. I don’t want to know who they are either.”

“Agreed. And, Senator, thank you. Chances are you will never speak to me again on this subject. May I suggest a code phrase for my replacement?”

“Sure. Trust my memory.”

“None other. You will say, ‘Blue tulips in Mayfair’. The counterphrase is ‘A whale swims up the Thames’. Please repeat them.”

“ ‘Blue tulips in Mayfair’ .” And ‘A whale swims up the Thames.’ ”

“Very good, Senator.” Clemson visibly relaxed, finished his tea, got up and left. Sax put his chin in his hand and thought for a while. Then he went to the door and asked Maxine to arrange an appointment with Dr. Hapgood at D.O.E.

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