Rare Mettle: A Silicon Valley Novel, #2

By Ann Bridges

Ann Bridges exposes the Achilles' Heel of the 21st century—a lifestyle and national security wholly reliant on China's willingness to process and manufacture critical rare earth metals for Silicon Valley's breakthrough technologies. The sequel to her acclaimed debut novel, Private Offerings, Rare Mettle is based on exhaustive research and insider disclosures about this obscure issue, with the power to undermine suddenly America's military readiness and economic might.

When China threatens to withhold critical rare earth metals from U.S. defense contractors and high-tech firms, American military veteran and staunch patriot Paul Freeman refuses to give up the search for an undercover agent with key intelligence, missing in the bowels of China's bureaucracy. An ominous warning from a retired Pentagon advisor alerts him to exercise unorthodox methods to procure the needed components-—or risk America's global power.

Treated as a pawn in a global game of chess, the missing agent is entrapped by China's decades-long strategy to exploit rare earth resources for geo-political gain. Paul joins forces with Silicon Valley entrepreneurs, cutting-edge technologists, and elected officials to plan a rescue unlike any other against a backdrop of the looming embargo. His team forces him to face past ghosts, current enemies, and future desires, in a courageous hero's journey from Washington D.C. to China, and home to Silicon Valley.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Bridges
• Release date: Mar 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386855491

Ann Bridges

Silicon Valley author ANN BRIDGES is a native of Chicago and graduate of Stanford University. Settling in San Jose, she embarked on a challenging career spanning operations, finance, and marketing executive positions in the exploding convergence of the technology, communications, and entertainment industries. A published author of both acclaimed fiction and non-fiction with a style that appeals to both genders, her debut Silicon Valley novel Private Offerings was named in Top 10 Best Business Books of 2015; its sequel, Rare Mettle, has proven its relevancy as a lead-in to her most recent non-fiction book Groundbreaking! America’s New Quest for Mineral Independence, co-authored with respected geologist Dr. Ned Mamula. A new series of Daring California novels begins with another mining and freedom theme with National Pen Women's Award winning, Kit's Mine, designed as a sweeping pioneer romance to attract more women to the significance of gold rushes then and now. Ann Bridges is a featured speaker at leading business conferences and universities, talking about the impact of technology worldwide and the emerging role of China. She is also a frequent guest on nationally syndicated radio shows sharing insights on today’s Silicon Valley and the issues affecting consumers, investors, and writers. A fervent believer in mentoring the next generation, she has recently joined ranks with creative organization Taliesin Nexus and think-tank Heartland Institute to promote freedom of ideas and marketplaces. Website: https://www.authorannbridges.wordpress.com/

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RARE METTLE

A Silicon Valley Novel

by

Ann Bridges

––––––––

Copyright 2016

All rights reserved

Rare Mettle: A Silicon Valley Novel

Copyright © 2016 by EndSource Management, Inc.

2017 Revised Edition

All rights reserved

Cover design based on January 28, 2013 DARPA Presentation, in Public Domain

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re–sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

––––––––

Praise and Acclaim for Rare Mettle:

...a gripping fictional account of a serious real world problem...—Robert H. Latiff, PhD., Major General (retired), United States Air Force, Technology Consultant

...a carefully crafted report on an important international materials situation...[p]osing as a novel...—Don Christian, Silicon Valley electric vehicle engineer & entrepreneur

With great intrigue, Rare Mettle showcases the critical role that rare earths play in geopolitics and our lives...—David S. Abraham, Technology, Rare and Electronics Materials Center and author, The Elements of Power: Gadgets, Guns, and the Struggle for a Sustainable Future in the Rare Metal Age

...[Bridges’] depiction of the current commercial and National Security situation is accurate, valid and deeply relevant to U.S. economic standing in the world...—James C. Kennedy, President ThREEConsulting.com, St. Louis Missouri.

"...captures the dragon spirit of both Silicon Valley and China—bold, ambitious, and intelligent...—Margaret Zhao, former Enemy of the State in Mao’s China, Award winning author

...a chilling tale... —Anthony Marchese, Chairman, Texas Mineral Resources Corp.

...as fast-paced and exciting as a Dan Brown thriller... —William DeVincenzi, Executive in Residence, Director of Gary J. Sbona Honors Program and Thompson Global Internship, Lucas College of Business, San Jose State University

...a fascinating insight into the real and complex world of the rare earth industry today...well researched and will give the reader an understanding of how these metals impact our everyday life.—Ian Chalmers, Managing Director, Alkane Resources Ltd., Perth, Western Australia

In the context of a venture capital play book...Bridges writes like she has ‘walked the walk... —Stephen Tritto, Award-winning author and retired Silicon Valley executive

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

CHARACTERS

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Read More from Ann Bridges

About Ann Bridges

Prologue

BARCELONA, SPAIN

Early Evening, November 1

Where the hell are you? Paul Freeman’s voice reverberated through Kay Chiang’s brand new cell phone, purchased just that morning. She had left behind all traces of her former life two weeks ago.

She’d even put off checking in with Paul, her boss at the Defense Intelligence Agency. Since he’d recruited her directly from college, Paul grudgingly granted her a lot of freedom in her undercover roles. But she’d really pushed the limit this time.

Barcelona today. Tomorrow—who knows? She kept her eye on Charlie Wilkins’ back as he bickered with a street vendor for tonight’s dinner. He’d surprised her. He reveled in the back and forth exchange with fishmongers in each tiny port they visited, proud as a schoolboy when he bested them for their prize catches. He even tried his hand at cooking the local dishes for their dinner. Like Kay, he preferred a low profile for now, and tooling around the Mediterranean on a leased yacht was no hardship.

Uncle Sam has been very worried about you, Paul scolded. Du lost a great deal of face with the Taiwanese Maoists when he didn’t acquire the technology you promised him.

All because he assumed a woman was easily controlled. Kay sniffed. Serves him right. She wiped the sheen of perspiration from her brow with her free hand. Even in her skimpiest sundress, the setting sun’s rays set her aflame.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Charlie wave as the fisherman wrapped up his catch in paper. Only a few moments of privacy left.

Listen, Paul, I’m sticking close to Charlie Wilkins for a while. He has a whole network of contacts in China’s black market. He’s really low on funds, so I bet he’ll try blackmail again soon.

Kay waved back at Charlie and lifted one finger to give her another minute alone. With those kinds of military contacts, he could be tied into the biggest technology theft rings we’re tracking.

Doesn’t he need U.S. security clearance for leverage with those contacts?

I’m not sure. Let’s reactivate it so we can use him while I’m his shadow. Give him free rein just to see where he leads us.

Agreed.

I’ll be tracking technologists now, not the financiers. I may run across more of their precious engineers with high clearances who aren’t trustworthy. They’ll have to deal with these leaks somehow.

They’d probably rather not know the truth. Paul sighed.

Tough! They’re not the only ones concerned about national security, Kay retorted. I’ll activate my secure email account so you’ll know where we are, and keep you updated via phone when I can.

I’ll pass that on to the senior division head. He’s been desperate to get someone inside those technology circles ever since we signed that trade agreement with China. It kills him to see our intellectual property pirated.

The Communist Party still doesn’t get it. Intellectual freedom has to be part of the equation. Kay fought to lower her voice, passion rising from her very core. If people are afraid to think for themselves in day-to-day activities, how will anyone feel free enough to innovate? Until free ideas flourish, the country will flounder. After all, isn’t that what my great-great uncle fought for?

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Charlie approaching rapidly. Gotta go!

She swung toward Charlie and opened her arms wide, forcing a welcoming smile. He wrapped her up in a bear hug and she relaxed into her other persona, the one that would keep her alive until she accomplished her current mission. Whenever that was.

Deep in her heart, she knew it would probably take her whole life to bring full freedom to her Chinese compatriots—to those who hadn’t had a chance to flee the tyranny. She intended to help them in any—and every—way she could.

Chapter 1

MOSCONE CONVENTION CENTER

San Francisco, California

Morning, November 1, 1 Year Later

I give you our latest breakthrough phone! Victor Turtino held his arms up in a triumphant stance and stepped to the side of the enormous stage.

Thousands of his throng roared their approval, holding up cell phones and snapping photos. The huge screen behind him flashed stunning pictures of Snazzed Up!’s newest product. Vivid color options and unimaginably thin add-on components danced in a glitzy video trailer, simultaneously fed to the Internet. Accolades poured in from around the world. The comments appeared in bold type behind him, in real-time glory.

Victor grinned at his largest investor, sitting in the front row, applauding with the rest of the audience. The New York banker had railed against Victor’s decision to move all his manufacturing plants to China. But Victor had just proven him wrong.

Snazzed Up!’s quarterly profits shattered all its previous records. China’s cheap labor proved a boon for shareholder returns. And given the crowd’s enthusiasm, Victor could spend his guaranteed year-end bonus on a custom-colored Tesla to match his company’s showcase phone.

He jogged down the stairs leading from the stage and waded into the swarm of admiring fans, shaking hands. This is what he’d worked for all those years: the tributes, the fame, the sheer jubilation from betting it all and making it big. The ballooning bank account didn’t hurt, either.

Business journalists gathered around his chief financial officer, probably prodding her for specific numbers to justify the huge uptick in their stock price. It had been on a hockey-stick trajectory for months leading up to this newest product launch. Victor hesitated. Should he join her and divert them from asking the hard questions? The truth might not go over well with the American consumers who bought his products.

All his newest technology relied on rare earths processed exclusively in China, so why not move the manufacturing line close to the supply chain? He’d made that decision with eyes wide open—it made sense. Besides, auto manufacturers and defense contractors made the same shift years earlier. Everyone applauded their savvy and how it padded their bottom lines.

Other Silicon Valley CEOs warned him he’d pay a price—China’s inevitable, identical replication of the manufacturing facility and his product line. Intellectual property rights held no meaning to the Chinese. Knock-offs were a way of doing business. Had Victor made it easy for them to mimic his success and capture the bulk of the growing middle-class market? So far, relying on China was a one-way street, heading in his direction. He doubted it would change. Not with his new phone the darling of both the holiday season and Wall Street.

Victor shrugged off any worries and greeted the next wave of admirers with high-fives. His innovations always carried the day. No one would dare hold his technology hostage. He was the poster child of Silicon Valley success.

He’ll be on top for decades more to come. 

Chapter 2

DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

Washington, D.C.

Late Morning, December 18, 47 Days Later

How the hell did you lose Kay Chiang, Freeman? Hank Shaughnessy’s rebuke bounced off the conference room’s soundproofed windows, and the distant, snow-capped Washington Monument appeared to shiver in fear. Paul Freeman could relate—his boss’ fiery Irish temper was a thing to behold. And one he’d become adept at avoiding over the past two years. Apparently, this was not his lucky day.

Paul glanced around the polished mahogany table at his co-workers and met only blank stares. The wall-mounted TV’s black screen magnified their unsympathetic expressions. In this town, one kept close to the person in power and avoided any loser like a steaming cow pile. Right now, Paul was undoubtedly the piece of shit in this elite unit.

I didn’t lose her, Paul corrected, keeping his voice confident and almost as loud as Hank’s, doubling down on his bet that he could keep this botched situation from coming under scrutiny. He remembered his high school football coach’s lecture—a good offense was always the best defense. She emailed me a month ago warning me she was going deep undercover and in sporadic contact.

She violated regulations! Hank banged his fist on the table. A dozen encrypted smart phones jumped from the impact. A banana slid from the tempting tower of fruit centered in front of the meeting participants and landed in the cream-cheese tub next to a poppy seed bagel. Weekly check-ins, no exceptions—especially our civilian operatives. She may be dead—or worse.

Really? Paul pushed down the anxious bile rising from his gut. What’s worse than death? He couldn’t stop the sarcastic taunt. Nor fail to notice Hank’s forehead turn an even deeper shade of purple.

Treason, torture, switching to a double agent—and that’s just off the top of my head. Justin Collins just had to chime in with his usual two cents.

Paul raised his eyebrows at Collins’ token comb-over. Collins twisted his jaw, adjusted his ever-present red bow tie, and rearranged the wave over his gleaming bald patch.

Good to know one of those three actually had Chiang’s safety in mind, Paul seethed. Goddamned selfish career bureaucrats. He was the only field liaison with actual military field experience. They thought running a global intelligence network entailed pushing buttons on a computer. The incoming data usually overflowed their capacity—both analytical and technological.

Paul knew better. Highly trained agents and patriotic civilians sacrificed their lives every day outside the protected walls of this insular town, beyond the country’s cozy borders. However, Hank’s ire was warranted. Kay Chiang was definitely a rogue operative. Always had been, always would be—if she survived. Using an alternate email address for her last communique meant she was in even more danger than either had anticipated when she started this unusual assignment.

We’ll talk about this later, Freeman, Hank growled. We have other agenda items to discuss. Everyone look at the file I sent out this morning.

Pulling up the spreadsheet on his computer tablet, Paul squinted at blurry numbers. Damn it...he wasn’t forty years old yet, too young for reading glasses. Hank droned on about budget cutbacks, staff reductions, and all the inevitable nonsense accompanying a new administration promising fiscal discipline. Never once did they cut their own plush, private limousines, or pare their ample staff. Instead, fighting men put their lives on the line ill equipped.

Eyelids drooping, Paul lifted his coffee mug and drained the caffeinated sludge, amazed at the hint of warmth after five long hours. The rest of his image-conscious team patronized the corner gourmet coffee shop multiple times daily, like sailors on a short shore leave visiting a brothel. Paul preferred carrying coffee from home in the thermal mug Tina decorated for him three summers ago. Superimposed on the side was a picture of the two of them clowning it up on the beach in Savannah, their blond curls mingling as they wrestled in the sand. Using it brought a wisp of happiness instead of regret about what couldn’t be. That kind of jolt got him moving these dark mornings.

Hank checked his watch and grabbed the TV’s remote, powering the unit on.

Breaking news, guys. Pay attention to the top story, Hank said. All heads pivoted to watch.

The TV was already pre-set to CNN, which kept its relevance by leaking upcoming stories to the right people in D.C., including the exact time they would first air. Apparently, Hank achieved a coveted spot on its distribution list. Hurrah for ass kissing.

New threats from China put the State Department on high alert this morning, reported the bland, brunette anchor. China pledged to block all future shipments of rare earth elements to the United States if we sell our newest military technology to Taiwan.

Paul leaned forward. His brain raced from the familiar kick of adrenalin.

These refined metals are used in the manufacture of laser-guided missiles and our newest weapons, the reporter continued, among other high-technology products contributing to the booming sales of mobile devices. China’s Northern Province of Inner Mongolia mines and processes over 93% of the earth’s supply of these minerals. We’ll keep you posted as the story develops.

Hank flicked off the TV. Our leaders learned about the possible embargo two hours ago, and are discussing an appropriate response, he stated in official monotone, but the telltale twitch of his nostrils clued Paul into how seriously Hank took this threat. We need to touch base with all our field personnel for insights into potential solutions or risks.

That explained Hank’s focus on Kay. Her last email disclosed advanced military technology using those obscure minerals, hiding under a cloak of tiny Chinese game companies. Kay’s cover as an interpreter for an American venture capitalist in Beijing worked wonders getting her behind closed doors.

Her most recent missive was surprisingly cryptic. But in the last two weeks...nothing. Had whatever she stumbled onto provoked this diplomatic muscle-flex from the Chinese Communist Party? And put her in greater danger, too?

Which elements are so rare? I mean, were these recently added to the Periodic Table of Elements, or did I space out during high school chemistry? Tamara Mostiacelli’s dry comment drew chuckles. The newest and youngest team member, she was the brainiac of the bunch. No one ever stumped her. Tamara tossed her purple-streaked hair over one shoulder, her fingers tapping the screen.

Basically, we’re talking about Elements 21, 39, and numbers 57 through 71, Paul said, striving to simplify his research over the past year. Key elements for defense, for example, are Yttrium, used in laser-based weapon systems; Terbium for advanced radar and sonar; and Holmium, for the latest in directed energy weapons like rail guns. These purified rare metals are the new building blocks for our high-tech military gear.

Paul swallowed hard, stomaching painful memories. However, the broader economic implications could be devastating if China carries through on this threatened blockade. They could potentially shut down every automobile, computer, and cell phone assembly line outside of China. Those firms all rely on some number of purified rare earth components.

Our mission is national security, not to protect the private sector, Collins said. Only defense applications are priority.

And how do you think all this national security is paid for? Paul waved a hand at the state-of-the-art videoconference setup. Taxes collected from successful companies supplying those high-tech products, and from their well-paid employees, that’s how.

The American consumer can get along without a new smart phone every year, and the auto makers should have stockpiled what they need. Besides, they can engineer their way out of it with the older technology. Collins pursed his lips like a disapproving old maid.

But our soldiers won’t survive without the best equipment, Paul muttered.

Gentlemen—enough. Hank ran his hand over his head. Touch base with all field personnel. Let me know if you find anything of use to either the Defense or State Department. Deadline is three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Meeting adjourned.

Paul jumped to his feet and checked his watch. Could he squeeze in a quick phone call? Nope. He’d have to call from the cab.

Freeman, hang on. Hank gripped his arm, pulling him from the milling bodies. We need to talk.

Sorry, it’ll have to wait until after lunch. Damn it, he was a professional, with more important commitments than an ass chewing, no matter how hot Hank was to deliver it.

Freeman, don’t fuck with me today. Hank tightened his fingers. I won’t accept made up excuses for family emergencies, either.

Jerking his arm free and throttling his snide response, Paul headed toward the door. I’ll return at one o’clock, and be in my office all afternoon. Catch me then.

Chapter 3

Opting for the stairwell to avoid the elevator’s piped-in Christmas carols, Paul chanted the reasons he chose this job in time to the rhythm of his thundering footsteps. In return for precious time with his family, he was just a cog in a big wheel, supposedly with no stress. Unfortunately, the Yin of mind-numbing frustration undermined the Yang of teamwork.

Paul tapped his phone directory on the second floor landing, searching for Colonel George DuMont’s home number. Although recently retired, DuMont would probably have a few choice words to say about China’s embargo. Paul relied on his previous team leader’s sage guidance more often than he’d care to admit.

He placed the call, impatient for the sputtering rings within the unreliable stairwell tower to clear up as he made his way to the lobby.

DuMont. The colonel’s gravelly voice had lost some of its power over the years but none of its authority.

Hello, Colonel. Paul Freeman here. Exiting the building, Paul flagged an idling taxi and pulled open the door. Did you catch the news story about rare earths?

Shit yes. DuMont huffed. I warned the procurement officers for almost ten years about China using rare earth for blackmail. Apparently, the higher-ups decided to ignore all my advice.

Good thing you gave me the heads-up. He covered his mouthpiece and pointed in the direction of the Potomac River. Arlington Cemetery—and hustle. The cabbie nodded and accelerated away from the curb.

Paul removed his hand and spoke into the phone. I finally managed to assign a civilian operative in China to monitor this. She’s following developments on any new uses of rare metals in high-tech military applications. I’ve already passed her findings onto my boss for inclusion in his intelligence briefings.

Gonna take more than a civvy’s word to blow open the cover-up going on at the Pentagon, son.

Cover-up? Paul pitched his voice lower. What are you talking about?

Warfare 101, Lieutenant. DuMont took on the sonorous tones of a classroom lecturer. Have you forgotten the basics of your military training? Modern warfare is based on logistics and procurement. How the fuck can we make sure we have the weapons we need if we rely on a foreign power to provide them to us? His heavy sigh echoed in Paul’s ear. At least that’s the argument I made to my CO. Then he handed me my walking papers and wished me a happy retirement.

Are you telling me they pushed you out because you brought to their attention a potential issue of national security? Paul’s brain raced at the implications.

"I’m telling you that the fate of this nation hangs on whether our military can actually get its hands on critical high-tech gear when we need it, not when China decides to process metals for our defense contractors," DuMont barked.

The cabbie revved his engine at a stoplight with matching urgency.

But the rare earth mines that operate outside of China are our back-up! Paul’s protest sounded lame even to his own ears.

DuMont snorted. None of those operations have the metallurgical capabilities the defense industry needs. Only China does.

Which means?

Figure it out, Lieutenant. Your goddamn intelligence services have reported on increases in non-Chinese rare earth production, sure. But they failed to point out that all those producers still send their raw materials to China to be upgraded and refined for our newest weaponry.

So any non-Chinese rare earths production is basically worthless to our defense and technology companies until China gets its hands on it...Whoa...

Paul’s stark statement hung in the air for long seconds. The light turned green and the cabbie darted left onto the main boulevard, filled with the usual lunchtime rush-hour traffic.

Lieutenant, let me be perfectly clear. America and its allies don’t have a single company in this space anymore. We sold all the intellectual property and purification expertise to China years ago.

That doesn’t make sense, Colonel. Why would we do that?

Because a Chinese company offered the highest bid, and the idiots in charge at the time didn’t stop to consider the consequences of transferring this key technology. DuMont paused, as if waiting for his comment to sink in. And by the way, the owner of said, same Chinese company was none other than the son-in-law of the Chinese premiere. How’s that for coincidence?

Politics. It always comes down to who you know, Paul thought with cynicism.

But surely the Pentagon stockpiled enough refined material or necessary components to cover supply-line logistics in case of war. Paul scratched his head. Isn’t there something like the Strategic Petroleum Reserve for this stuff? I mean, with a budget of almost $800 billion, some of that money had to go to procure the rare earth metals we would need, right?

"Doubtful. And nothing guarantees we won’t go to war with China or one of its allies in the future. Then we’re up shit creek without a paddle beyond the first foray. China has two mining cities with a combined population of seventeen million people working in and around their refining industry, no doubt with a goal of advancing its global dominance in rare earths. We wouldn’t stand a chance in any war without China’s cooperation."

Paul winced, staring out the window at snow-dusted trees silhouetted against government buildings. He tuned out the raucous automobile horns, considering the full repercussion of DuMont’s conclusions. And realized he, too, had ignored the elder warrior’s wise anticipations of the worst-case scenario.

What you’re talking about is economic warfare, aren’t you, sir? Paul mused.

That’s nothing new, DuMont answered. War has always been a violent tilt towards a new economic equilibrium. What we’re experiencing today is a radical evolution instead, and the Pentagon’s career bureaucrats are unwilling to accept this new reality. It’s just like boiling frogs—raise the heat slowly, and they never realize the danger they’re in until they’re too lethargic to jump free.

So what option is left if China has already leveled most of our industrial capabilities? Seriously, how do we gear up for war if our defense contractors are reliant on China’s continued willingness to supply these key materials at a price we can afford?

That’s the question I asked, son...and it cost me my career, Dumont said without emotion.

They just ignored you, sir? Paul’s empty stomach clenched. The taxi sped through an open intersection and onto a narrow side street, weaving around double-parked delivery vans. Paul fought back nausea.

Silence.

Paul could picture DuMont wiping his ebony skin of perspiration in his usual fashion, weighing an appropriate, measured response. He hadn’t made it far up the military ranks by flapping his jaws.

Son, what I’m about to tell you is confidential. Do you understand?

Yes, sir. Paul threw an ironic glance up at the Watergate Complex towering above, recalling its tainted history of Washington secrets and political ambitions. For a brief moment, he considered ending the call abruptly and avoiding the truth altogether.

No, DuMont deserved a full hearing after his years of dedicated service.

Last month, I met with the Assistant Secretary of Defense, along with a top metallurgist and one of his own Asia policy experts, DuMont said. Do you know what that asshole said to my face?

I’m assuming you mean the Assistant Secretary, Paul said with a wry twist of his lips.

Actually, they all meet that description. DuMont chuckled. But yeah, the Assistant Secretary had the balls to look me in the eye and tell me that all our weapons still work without rare earths. That’s the official policy of the Pentagon.

In other words, ‘Shut the fuck up.’

Yep. While it’s true that some of our older weapon systems will work in a degraded form without rare earths, none of our laser-based systems will work at all. All those new, precision-guided weapons relying on surgical targeting won’t perform worth a damn. I should know. I spent half of my career searching out the technology to give America’s military a leading edge.

Paul swallowed hard. Sir, I hope you won’t take offense at this, but how the hell can you just retire knowing he flat out lied to you?

Oh, I still have a few friends in Congress who keep a close eye on the goings-on at the Executive Branch. They tracked down whether your agency’s documentation in the Congressional Armed Services Committee reports had ever seen the light of day.

And?

Nope. Edited out. Plus, a staffer told me that asshole Assistant Secretary met with the ranking members of the committee just last week and reaffirmed the Pentagon’s official position on rare earths. So he lied to Congress, too. DuMont tutted.

Holy shit.

DuMont was right. Most of today’s military hardware increasingly relied on rare earth metals. And the Pentagon was engaged in a cover-up that included lying to Congress about their significance and its impact on national security.

The Pentagon, the most respected bureaucratic organization in the world, had lost control of its own procurement process—and to China, no less. Acknowledging that failure could embolden our enemies. The single most important building block of a successful military is logistics, starting with identifying and securing uninterruptable supply lines. No beans, no bullets—no army.

No one’s Beltway career could survive a failure of this magnitude. They had to cover it up.

The taxicab scooted onto the Arlington Memorial Bridge, built decades ago as an honorable passageway for the country’s fallen soldiers. Its graceful, powerful arches supporting the road mocked the reality of today’s military’s weakness.

I just scanned the DOD’s updated Inspector General’s report this morning, sir, Paul said. Based on what you’re telling me, that’s just another whitewash. And, with U.S. and NATO weapon systems one-hundred-percent reliant on China’s good will, the defense industry can’t afford to piss China off. They’d lose their key supplier.

In today’s world of shrinking defense budgets, our contractors can’t stay in business based solely on Pentagon procurement orders. They rely on selling a whole range of products worldwide in order to be profitable. It makes sense the defense industry is in on the cover-up, too.

Paul shook his head. How did this happen?

Son, I pushed this issue to the wall and no one listened, DuMont sighed. I’m a modern-day Cassandra at the Pentagon, and an old man at that. It’s time you youngsters take the lead before we lose our future.

Paul opened his mouth and snapped it shut again. For the last decade, DuMont worked a desk job in Washington while Silicon Valley percolated at warp speed with new inventions. Maybe today’s high-tech companies had more options for America’s defense than DuMont knew. Paul remembered that when DuMont first recommended Paul’s transfer to the DIA, he’d insisted Paul resurrect their old engineering connections. Maybe it was time to give them another call.

Are you volunteering me to rock the boat, sir?

Only if you have the backbone to make it happen, son. No telling what the new military-industrial alliances might do to stop you—in both this country and in China.

Good point. Was China now exploiting the nation’s ultimate weakness—arrogant economic confidence in a borderless world? Paul rubbed his jaw. It seemed painfully obvious that balance sheets and bottom lines had created blurred allegiances. Who was the defense industry defending these days? American citizens, their shareholders, or the new biggest customer in the world: China?

I’ll do my best, sir, and keep you posted when I can. Goodbye. Paul pocketed his phone, his conscience already warring with old, embedded fears. How many more soldiers had to die defending freedom? Too many lives would be in jeopardy if he stepped away from this duty.

The cabbie swung between the gates of Arlington Cemetery and wove past acres of rigid marble saluting heavenward. Paul swallowed back the guilt, bubbling like a science experiment in his belly. What made one man the target and left the other unharmed? Poor leadership, or did God have a special role determining life or death, happiness or heartache for the soldiers’ families?

Paying and dismissing the driver, Paul climbed the final hilltop in the frigid cold and spied Guillermo’s figure towering over Ernie’s gravestone. Paul waved and loped the remaining distance, unwinding his scarf from his neck.

Paul! Hey there! Guillermo’s enthusiastic hug calmed Paul’s inner turmoil. Never recrimination for his brother’s death, only quiet understanding of Paul’s heavy burden of responsibility—and willingness to offer support each year over his grave.

He clenched Guillermo’s broad back, breaking away and scanning the surrounding grounds. Only you and Oscar this year?

Oscar scuttled around the nearby tree with all the impetuousness of his ten years. Guillermo stuffed a knit cap into a pocket of his familiar, worn army jacket and pulled his nephew to his side.

Mom’s getting re-married, Uncle Paul. Oscar’s face scrunched with bewilderment, a mirror image of his father. The same unruly cowlick decorated the crown of his black hair. Mom says I should respect Dad’s memory, but says it’s better if we don’t visit every year. But Uncle Gui wanted to come and tell you what’s up.

A volunteer stepped forward bearing a Christmas wreath, placing it with reverence onto Ernie’s grave with a salute. Guillermo tugged Paul away