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LIE
DETECTION
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"Is your name Jacob Foxx?" McNab
asked, one word at a time.
"You know damn well it is," snarled Foxx. Turning around,
he could see McNab nibbling a chocolate. He was addicted
to M&Ms
"Just answer yes or no to each question ... and please
look straight ahead at the wall, and be very still-otherwise,
it throws the machine off," McNab instructed him.
Foxx sat very still and stared at the blank wall in front
of him. A cloth cuff, which reminded him of what doctors
use to take a patient's blood pressure, was wrapped around
his right wrist. A corrugated rubber tube, which looked
like a vacuum cleaner hose, was coiled around his chest.
A metal plate was pressed fast against the palm of his
left hand.
McNab had explained to him that the cuff would measure
changes in his blood pressure, the hose, changes in his
breathing pattern and the metal plate, changes in his
perspiration rate. As he answered the test question, he
could see the results recorded by three pens on a slow-moving
roll of graph paper. Could these wavering lines tell whether
he was telling the truth or lying? He asked, "Is this
contraption supposed to do anything but intimidate me?"
"A polygraph test measures emotional stress that is frequently
associated with lying," Tracy, who was supervising the
test. explained. He was slightly frayed by Foxx's question.
"In the CIA, getting fluttered with the polygraph is standard
procedure." "Fluttered," Foxx repeating, thinking how
people who live in a secret world bond themselves with
absurd jargon. "I'm not in the CIA, why do I need this
fluttering, if that is what you call it."
"I thought I made this clear this morning. You're now
a witting asset, you'll need a clearance level. That requires
fluttering."
"Witting asset" and "Clearance Level," Foxx interpreted
as more of the CIA's jargon. Like children's secret handshakes,
it helped them bond. Tracy had summoned him to Washington
the previous day, talking about "compromises in national
security" and "the integrity of the operation." Even more
disturbing to Foxx, he had said that there was also a
question about Foxx's "academic conduct." Could he be
alluding to his tryst with Arabella? To be sure, Tracy
had also offered him a carrot, saying "we should discuss
an opening in the Government Department at Yale." But
when he had arrived this morning, Tracy sprung the lie
detector test on him. He now regretted agreeing.
Tracy snuffed out one cigarette and lit another. He no
longer trusted Foxx, but Roosevelt had decided it was
best "to keep him in the tent, pissing out" as put it.
"Is your name Jacob Foxx?" McNab repeated patiently. He
knew that the prime virtue required of a security officer
in the CIA was neither intelligence nor imagination, but
patience.
"Yes."
"Did you know your father's identity?"
"No." Foxx knew they were trying to get a jiggle out of
him by asking about a father whose name he never even
knew. He had already told Tracy that his mother had concealed
his father's identity from him.
"Did your mother use the name Julie James?"
"Yes." That had been her stage name, and then her movie
name. She lived in lights-from neon- rise to neon-set,
she once told a Broadway columnist. Foxx had learned to
live in her flickering shadow. And now that he had just
begun to make a name for himself at Harvard, he was threatened
by scandal. No matter how far he progressed, it seemed
he was always being driven back to a secret life.
"Did you work for the Coordinator of Information in Venezuela
during the war?"
"Yes." He thought it was there that he had learned the
trick of turning shadows into reality.
"Did you make a film in Venezuela called "Yankees abroad"?
"Yes." He had come up with the idea of producing a fake
Nazi propaganda film that would enrage the Venezuelans.
He had quickly assembled it, intercutting a real Nazi
film, which depicted American exploitation of Venezuela,
with some counterfeited scenes that purported to show
leading Venezuelan politicians being corrupted by blonde
American prostitutes. The film was then sent to German
cultural clubs and business establishments in Caracas.
As planned, the mailings was intercepted by the Venezuelan
police. When the Minister of the Interior saw himself
edited into a sex party, he ordered the immediate expulsion
of three hundred Germans from Caracas. Everyone in psych
warfare complimented Foxx on his success, and he suddenly
realized the case with which governments could be manipulated.
"Have you ever been a member of a subversive organization?"
"No."
"Have you ever had a homosexual experience?"
"No."
"Do you have a student at Harvard named Brixton Steer
at Harvard?" "Yes" He now knew that Steer had been Arabella's
lover, or, as Tina put it, "designated incumbent," for
nearly a year. "Did you ever tell Steer about the Gaming
Center, or any of the individuals involved it in its operations?"
"No" Foxx assumed from the question that Tracy and his
co-conspirators were concerned that Ambassador Steer would
learn of their plans. Did that mean that the State Department
was also in the dark about the coming coup d'etat? "Do
you have a student named Arabella Winchester?" "Yes" Tracy
of course knew that. Tina had told him on the dance floor
about Arabella going to Iran to provoke him. She had explained
to Foxx back at the hotel. "You should have seen Tracy's
face freeze when I said Iran,, It was as if I had mentioned
his secret mistress."
"Did you ever tell Arabella Winchester about the Gaming
Center, or any of the individuals involved its operations?"
"No," he half-lied. He had told Arabella he was consulting
with the State department on a game, but he had not used
the term Gaming Center. He saw McNab examining the squiggles
on the graph more closely. Had his half-lie worked? "Did
you have intercourse with Arabella Winchester?"
"Yes. She was in my course. It was on Pathological politics.
So was Steer."
"Not your course, intercourse. In and Out Sexual penetration,"
McNab clarified.
"What the hell kind of question is that," Foxx shouted
at Tracy.
"We are just trying to get a base line response, Jake,"
Tracy said, lighting up his third cigarette. "Just Answer
Yes or No."
"Did you have sexual relations with Arabella Winchester?"
McNab savored a M&M while repeating the question.
"No." Foxx rationalized that sex during a tutorial did
not constitute a sexual relation. It was more of an intellectual
relation with sex sandwiched in. In any case, he was not
going to make an admission which Tracy could use to blackmail
him. He wondered if the machine would be recording the
stress he felt.
"Do you know Christina Winchester, also known as Tina
Winchester?" "Yes." "Did you ever tell Christina Winchester
about the Gaming Center, or any of the individuals involved
its operations?"
"Yes." No point lying, he reasoned. She had mentioned
Zemblia to Tracy as part of her provocation. Did she spend
the night of January 21st in your suite at the Hay-Adams
hotel?"
"Yes." Why hide what Tracy already knew. He had paid the
bill, which must have been record-buster for an academic.
He pictured Tina that night greedily ordering from room
service caviar, creme frache, blinis, creme brulee and
a magnum of champagne. By the time it arrives, she performed
a her version of a strip-tease for him, pantomiming a
starving waif begging for morsels of food. With each caviar
blini he fed her, she handed him an articles of clothing
dress, shoes, stockings, bra, panties. Then, naked, she
had licked the creme brulee from her fingers
"Did you have intercourse sexual intercourse with Christina
Winchester that night?"
Just thinking about that delicious night aroused a reaction
in him he knew he couldn't hide from the machine. However
sex defined, he guilty as charged. He had made love to
Tina on the hotel room floor, in the marble shower that
shot water from a dozen spigots, and in the King-sized
bed. The configurations they found made him feel like
a Raj in the illustrations from the Karma Sutra.
"No," he lied.
McNab drew Tracy aside. He pointed to the graph.. " Foxx
is lying," he whispered.. "He had sex with both sisters.
I'd call that incest."
"I'd call it opportunism." Tracy smiled. He knew Foxx
was lying, and he had snapshots from a hidden camera in
the Hay-Adams to prove it. He wanted Foxx to lie and ensnare
himself in a tangled web of deception. It was how he would
control him. He held his hand up. "That's enough fluttering.
You passed with flying colors, Jake."
As McNab unstrapped him from the machine, Foxx could see
how wildly the squiggles on the graph diverged on his
last answer. Idiotic machine, he thought. He scrambled
to his feet, stretched his arms, and started out the door.
He had to rush back to Cambridge. Tina had told him on
the phone that she had received an "astounding offer"
from the Gulbenkian Foundation. It had offered her a job
in Lisbon curating its pre-Raphelite collection. It was,
as she put it, "am opportunity I'd do anything for." He
had to see her before she left for Lisbon that evening.
Tracy caught up with Foxx in the corridor. "I'll drive
you to the airport. We have to discuss the Yale situation."
Foxx followed Tracy through a maze of doors and corridors,
emerging into an underground parking garage. Tracy led
him to his black Mercedes. They drove up Pennsylvania
Avenue. On the car radio John Foster Dulles, the new Secretary
of State, was saying "In this war for the minds of men,
every nation must choose between democracy and communism.
Neutrality is immoral." Foxx reasoned, as he listened,
the dichotomy itself was illogical. There was nothing
immoral about not making a choice.
"We've made our choice, Jake. Intellectuals can't cop
out of the Cold War-we're involved whether we want to
be or not. I just spoke to Lazbloom..."
Foxx had not met Professor Isaac Lazbloom. But he knew
that he was Chairman of the Government Department at Yale,
author of a dozen books, and extremely influential.
"Lazbloom is familiar with your work. He wants you at
Yale next Fall. There is a position opening up in his
department. Full professor. Tenure. Are you game?"
"My contract at Harvard ends August 31st," Foxx said.
A tenured Professorship at Yale was his dream. Could Tracy
really get it for him? At what price?
"I am on your side, Jake. I covered up for you today in
that absurd Flutter test. I realized your white lies were
meant to avoid compromising Miss Winchester's reputation.
Delightful young lady. You were a little naughty on your
expense account, but we'll forget that. Hell, there are
virtues to deception"
Foxx realized that wrapped in Tracy's benevolent words
was a subtle threat: future disclosure about sex and expense
fiddling.
"Your sex life does not concern us. Ajax does. At this
moment it is nothing more than a contingency plan meant
to protect our interests in Iran," Tracy steered the car
through the traffic circle. "I hope we will never need
to use it. But if things go wrong there, we will have
to protect our lifeline to the oil there. You understand
how critical that is to the West?" "I understand it is
critical to the oil companies." "No difference. America
needs their oil. I have to know the answer now: can we
count on you?" Foxx understood the consequences of a negative
answer. Tracy would wreck his career at Harvard. He also
understood the consequences of a positive answers, he
would become a tenured Professor at Yale.
They passed the obelisk dedicated to George Washington,
and then sped onto the highway to National Airport. "Right?"
Tracy repeated.
"Right," Foxx replied, becoming, with that word, a witting
asset of the CIA. |
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