Thus, the basis for contention number one in both AT amp;T’s and Sprint’s protests. Why had said waiver been granted?
Contention two was more open-ended, and long-winded, the long and short of it challenging how Morris Networks could conceivably perform the work at the price it had bid.
I closed the last document and looked up. Sally, beside me, was still thumbing through the pages. She had started at least the day before and still hadn’t finished. Good lawyers read fast-it’s a fact. I recalled Cy informing me she had barely made the top half of her law school class, and I found myself wondering how she had made any half.
I looked at Cy and commented, “This is very interesting.”
He laughed. “We deserve six hundred an hour just for reading through that verbose horseshit.”
“Six hundred an hour?”
“That’s my going rate.”
Wow. I mean, wow. Cy made more in a morning than my monthly salary. I asked, “Could I pose a few questions?”
Barry smiled in his unctuous way and replied, “Sure. What part confuses you, Sean?”
“Barry, did I say I was confused?”
“Uh… no. Sorry if I offended you.”
He wasn’t sorry, and I was contemplating the precise manner of his death when Cy shot me a black look.
I wasn’t really in the mood for another lecture about how we should all be big pals, and share jockstraps and so forth, so I asked, “Why did Defense waive the clearance requirement?”
“It was unnecessary,” replied Barry. “Whoever wrote the bid apparently didn’t understand how networks are run. Typical for government and military people, really.”
Perhaps a garrote for Mr. Bosworth. Gradually tightened, exquisitely painful… But I asked, “Did Morris approach the Department to have it waived?”
“Did you read the whole requirement?” Cy asked me.
“I did.”
“You saw it’s a twenty-four/seven network that extends to fifteen hundred sites?”
“Yes.”
“And do you recall the manpower requirements?”
“It varied by bid. Between a hundred and fifty and five hundred network managers and administrators.”
“Very good,” Barry commented. Just for the record, I needed neither his approval nor his condescension, and I rejected the garrote. He should hang by his Gucci necktie, I decided. In fact, his feet were kicking and his eyes were bulging as he added, “Top Secret clearances cost approximately two hundred and fifty thousand per head, and take a year or longer to obtain. That adds tens of millions to the cost of the program.”
“So?”
“So Morris simply pointed out that the requirement was unreasonable. An absurd waste of taxpayer dollars.”
“That was it?”
Barry replied, “Procedures are built into the contract that allow the Defense Department to check Morris’s security, so it’s also superfluous. It didn’t hurt that the contracting people wanted the low bid.”
Sally peeked up and said, “That makes sense to me.”
But it still didn’t make sense to me, and I asked, “Then why are AT amp;T and Sprint protesting?”
The two men exchanged intriguing glances. After a brief pause, Cy informed me, “About a year ago, Jason hired Daniel Nash as a board member.”
“I see.”
“But Danny had nothing to do with this,” he swiftly added. “Danny’s not stupid. Nor is Jason, who well appreciates the need for firewalls between Danny and the Department.”
Incidentally, the Daniel Nash who’d just entered the conversation had spent two years as Secretary of Defense under the previous administration, a former congressman whose most remarkable quality turned out to be his utter lack of remarkable qualities. After a long career on the Hill poking his nose into defense issues and spouting off like a defense expert, he had, to put it generously, been a big flop as Secretary of Defense. Mr. Nash turned out to be great at throwing barbs and javelins at the Pentagon, and not quite so good at dodging them.
Yet he was not entirely without talents. In fact, he turned out to be quite good at wallowing in a lifestyle money can’t buy: traveling in his luxuriously outfitted 747, staying at five-star hotels, and hobnobbing in regal milieus with an assortment of corporate leaders and foreign bigwigs. His deputy was reputed to be the most overworked man in Washington.
Were one possessed by a cynical nature, one might even suspect Mr. Nash was feathering his nest for a prosperous afterlife, stuffing his Rolodex to exploit after he returned to the private sector; for instance, as a board member of Morris Networks, which clearly hadn’t hired him for his managerial competence.
I allotted a respectful silence to contemplate Cy’s assurance before suggesting, “However, it’s possible we have at least the appearance of a serious violation, right? There’s what?… a two-year ban on Nash trying to influence his former department?”
Cy chuckled. After a moment, he replied, “They’ll damn sure make that case. But Danny swears he kept away from the whole damn thing.”
“No doubt.”
Slightly put out that I didn’t seem to be swallowing the assurance of an esteemed firm partner, Barry said, “Daniel even volunteered to take a lie detector test. We’ve advised him against it, but the offer’s still on the table. Would a guilty man do that?”
I always love that question. And why did I suspect that if the government actually said, Okay, Danny boy, let’s go ahead and hook your ass to the dirty liar meter, the boys and girls from Culper, Hutch, and Westin would prevail and the offer would be abruptly withdrawn?
I muffled that suspicion, however. For the time being, I was one of those boys and girls, and therefore was expected to know where my bread was buttered. Though it was their bread being buttered. And the department I worked for getting screwed. I can’t tell you how much I love being thrust into situations where I have conflicting loyalties.
It was time to move past this point, however, so I asked, “Exactly how does Morris Networks come in so much cheaper than the competition?”
“A number of factors,” Barry explained. “For starters, Morris Networks is a much newer company.”
“Oh… newer.”
Barry smiled coolly. “Its entire network is state-of-the-art and not bogged down with old legacy systems, like Sprint and AT amp;T. Newer systems are more reliable, less manpower intensive, cheaper to operate and maintain.”
“And that accounts for a twenty-five percent advantage over the next nearest competitor?”
“Partly. Jason also runs a flatter, leaner organization. He’s a more efficient manager, without the huge overhead of the bigger companies. Trim off that fat and you don’t have to spread the costs as far.” He smiled and added, “But you obviously lack business experience, so this is probably over your head.”
Cy apparently decided to head off a murder and swiftly said, “But these are good questions, Sean. Spend some time with Jason’s people. You’ll end up a believer.”
I said, “I’ll bet you’re right.” But I was lying.
I mean, having a key requirement waived for a company with a former Secretary of Defense in its pocket does tend to stretch the imagination in certain directions.
When it comes to Defense Department contracts, industry loves this little game that kicks off with the lowball bid. A few years later, the winner returns to the Department and says, “Whoops, hey, boy, this is embarrassing, but a funny thing happened on the way to fulfilling the bid. There were… well, a few unforeseeable problems… cost overruns… adjustments for things you guys failed to clarify in your request for bid… one or two acts of God, and, uh… we mentioned this is embarrassing, right?… Could you guys wrench that money spigot a bit more to the right?”
Sometimes, the Department tells them to shove it and cancels the contract, or, when it’s really smelly, sics a squad of federal fraud investigators on their asses. I think there was once even a conviction. Nearly always, the government considers the near impossibility of proving fraud, and then says, “You’re right, this is embarrassing… only it concerns a real vital program and an interruption or, God forbid, outright termination will be disastrous to national security. But, uh… let’s see if we can keep this off the front pages, shall we?”