"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," said Karp.
"Oh, don't play innocent, for God's sake, Butch! Crane has been doomed for months, ever since those stories broke and he put in that crazy budget, and I've been busting my hump trying to make sure that when the crash came, you'd be wired for the job." He got up from behind his desk and paced in agitation. "Jesus! I've been goddamned horse-trading with half the committee to get you positioned, and now you have the gall to tell me you won't take it?"
He stared at Karp, his blue eyes like gas flames. "What else're you going to do, huh? You have a wife and a child. Hell, I even arranged for free day care for your kid and gave your wife something to keep her busy. God, man, think! You haven't got a dime. What do you think's available to you in this town? A GS-thirteen U.S. attorney job? You know how many of those guys would commit murder for this kind of chance? Running a big investigation-it's a launching platform, it's national recognition: the sky's the limit here, Butch."
Dobbs began to expatiate about how high the sky was, and as he spoke, illumination struck Karp like a slow, painful dawn after a night of bad dreams. He knew this was an important moment in his life, a place of many branchings. Part of him wanted badly to take this job, to be friends with people like Hank Dobbs, and Hank Dobbs's friends, to have a nice house in McLean, or Kalorama, or Cleveland Park, to do this little job they wanted him to do and then wait around for an assistant AG slot when the administration was right, or when it wasn't, a high-visibility job on a congressional staff. He could write legislation; he could go after big-time criminals; the FBI would jump when he cracked the whip; he could even have the FBI some day.
The only hitch was that the part of him that wanted the job would become, should he take it, the whole of him. His father would like that. Karp would know senators. He might even know the president. He would be on television behind the podium with a cabinet agency seal on it, pointing at charts, and he would be driven around in large cars, the kind with the little reading lamp behind the rear seat, provided so that important people might not lose even a few minutes of precious study time as they were driven to and from home during the hours of darkness.
And Marlene, what would she make of the new Karp, the wholly owned subsidiary Karp, the great success? Well, she would get used to it. There would be advantages for her too, she'd already received some and would get more, if she'd only learn how to behave…
Suddenly, almost without consciously willing it, Karp found himself on his feet.
Dobbs stopped talking and looked up at him in surprise.
"No," Karp said, and again, "No. Sorry, but I can't do it." He really was sorry and he really couldn't do it.
Dobbs struggled to control himself, being enough of a politician and student of human nature to realize that shouting and bluster would not work with this one. In a meliorative tone he said, "Butch, come on-sit down, we'll talk it through. If you have problems, or questions, or concerns, I'm sure we can work them out."
Karp remained standing. He said, "Actually, Hank, I do have some questions. I'd like to know who you told that I was going to Miami and who I was going to see there."
"What? What are you talking about?"
Karp ignored this protest. "Whoever you told, he told somebody else, and two critical witnesses were killed right in front of our noses. I know the leak had to come from you because you're the only one besides Bert and my immediate staff who knew why we were going to Miami. I told you myself, dummy that I am, remember? Another question: did you know my apartment was bugged? Your buddy Blake Harrison sure did; he located me over the weekend with information he got from that bug. So he's connected to the people who want this all derailed. What is he, CIA? He was nearly as forceful as you in urging me to take this job. So I've been asking myself why two such well-established and powerful people want me to be chief counsel."
"Butch, sit down…"
"I mean, it's not like I'm going to be allowed to do any real investigation-I don't think that's on anyone's agenda right now. So it can't be my legal brilliance; Bert is brilliant too, and you didn't like him too much."
"Butch, will you just sit down and listen?"
"So it must be you think I'm hungrier than Bert, hungrier and more desperate. The trouble with Bert is that he's from a Main Line family and he's got an independent income and a big law practice. Karp, on the other hand, as you just put it so well, doesn't have a dime-no, wait, I'm almost finished. So you think when you get me in there, with the salary and all the perks, and all the promises, like you just explained it to me, you figure I'll just kind of roll over and let you have the kind of whitewash you want."
Dobbs sprang to his feet as well and slammed his fist down on his desk. "God damn it," he shouted, "that's horseshit and you know it! If it wasn't for me, there wouldn't be a serious investigation at all."
Karp leaned across the desk and placed his face within a foot of Dobbs's. Quietly, speaking quickly in the frozen moment, he said, "Yeah, I know. That's what Bert said too. And I can't figure it out. You want a real investigation; I know you don't believe in Warren; but you're also working a game, Hank. For whatever reason, you're trying to steer the investigation in a certain direction-toward something or away from something, I don't know which. I tell you what, Hank: I'll make a deal with you. You tell me the full story, who you told and who he's really working for, and why you're doing what you're doing, and I'll take the job."
Karp had been staring into Dobbs's eyes as he said this, so he could see the fear come into them.
"My God!" said Dobbs. "You've turned into some kind of paranoid maniac."
Karp stood up and turned to go. Almost as an aside, he said, "By the way, Hank, one of my people saw your boy Charlie Ziller swipe a bunch of evidence from the office a couple of weeks ago. Who did he give it to?"
"They couldn't have-," Dobbs blurted, and then stopped short, his face blanching.
"No? Why couldn't they have? Because he did it late at night? Because he swore that no one was watching? I don't think you ever actually practiced any criminal law, did you, Hank? And for sure you were never a prosecutor. Otherwise, you would've learned that trick the first week. So, who got the package? Harrison? The CIA? It doesn't really matter because I have copies of everything."
In a strangled voice he said, "Get out!"
"Okay, but one thing, Representative Dobbs, some advice. You ought to make sure that whoever you hire to replace Bert is someone who never saw the inside of a courtroom. It'll make things a lot easier on you."
Karp walked back down the Hill through a cold, light drizzle, feeling on the one hand pretty good and on the other like a prize schmuck, not an unfamiliar combo to him.
In the office, he told Crane he'd turned down the job, leaving the other conversation out of it. Then he went to see V.T.
V.T. was on the phone. When Karp walked in he said into the receiver, "Oh, wait a sec, he just walked in." He held the receiver out to Karp. "It's Fulton in Louisiana. He wants to talk to you."
"Clay. You find out anything?"
"Yeah," said Fulton, "I found out folks in Baton Rouge don't like smart nigger cops from New York."
"Ah, shit, Clay, I'm sorry. You got into trouble, right?"
"A couple of the local redneck cops rousted me. I flashed my buzzer, but they thought I stole it. I had to do my Sidney Poitier impression."
"I'm sorry."
"Hey, it was interesting, what can I say? Pete Melchior saved my ass. Anyway, we're still looking into this P. X. Kelly guy. So far, no connections with any Cubans. We're trying to get hold of his bank records-that's what I was talking to V.T. about-to see if we can match those transfers to Guel. What's going on up there? I heard about Crane."