Obviously, it would further fuel his paranoid delusions and I’d be out on my ass.
But I said, “Jim knows I’m not terribly particular about who I work for.”
Pearson selected another cookie. “And does he know your loyalty is to the dollar?”
“Now you’re being unkind. But then that’s your stock-in-trade, isn’t it?”
He bristled a little, leaned back in the chair. “My stock-in-trade is telling the truth, and letting the chips fall where they may.”
Chocolate or otherwise.
“Telling the truth, Drew, like that story about Forrestal running away from robbers who stripped his wife of her jewels and money? The truth is, Jo Forrestal was on her way home from a party, with another man, and Forrestal wasn’t even at the scene. You knew that and printed the lie, anyway.”
He shrugged, rocking gently, nibbling his cookie. “It could have been worse-I could have told the real truth: that he and his wife live a sham marriage.”
I laughed, once. “You can say that with a straight face, while Miss Yugoslavia 1946 is out in the other room buttering your scones?”
He frowned and his close-set eyes almost crossed. “I’m not a public official.”
“Jesus, Drew-can you imagine, a proud guy like Forrestal, responsible for the safety of his country, how a false accusation of base cowardice could affect him?”
The smile returned; he looked like your rich uncle. “Please, Nathan. You don’t wear moral indignation very well. Come on, man! People forget that I’m trying to do something for my country, and the world.”
“By lying to ruin a man’s reputation?”
“In politics, questionable actions are often employed for desirable goals.”
“The ends justify the means, you mean.”
“Isn’t that how you operate? I’m well acquainted with your mode of operation, Nathan.”
I sat forward. “What the hell’s the idea of putting all your muscle behind destroying an able, dedicated guy like Jim Forrestal?”
“Sure he’s able,” Pearson huffed. “Of course he’s dedicated. But to what? He’s a man who lives only for himself. He’s broken his word, turned his back on his friends …”
This was rich, coming from the guy who stole “Washington Merry-Go-Round” from Bob Allen.
“… and he’s driven by one ambition and one ambition only: to be top man, first of Wall Street, then the cabinet, and now he’s got his eye on the presidency. And were he president, with his worldview that the godless, evil Soviet Union is on the verge of invading us, we’d find ourselves in a catalysmic world war. He has to be stopped. I have stopped him.”
“You’ve crushed him, Drew.”
“Then good for me.” Pearson was shaking his head. “He’s been a law unto himself, Nathan, and behavior like that can’t be countenanced.”
“From a public official, you mean. It wins columnists Pulitzers.”
“Listen, my friend, Jim Forrestal has nurtured, has created, this nightmarish Central Intelligence Agency, and mark my words, America will suffer the consequences for decades. And before he had that charming organization up and running, peddling its counterintelligence and counterinsurgency around the world, he would step in himself, raising huge funds from his rich friends to pay off railroad strikers in France, to buy off politicians in Italy-”
“Save it for the broadcast.”
He arched an eyebrow. “All right. Since you seem disapproving of my campaign-successful campaign-to induce Harry S. Truman to remove James V. Forrestal, I have to ask: why did you want to see me today?”
“Why were you willing to see me?”
The smile turned sly again; he stroked his purring pussy and said, “Well … I thought, as someone who’s spent time with Forrestal … who has his ear, his trust … you could, you might, let me know just how far around the bend he is.”
“Why, so you can put it on the radio tonight?”
“Yes,” he said, with no shame. “It appears to me that Forrestal has gone off his rocker. That he’s mad as a hatter. And if I could say that, with confidence, on the air, it would be a great service to our country.”
“Jesus! Suppose the guy has lost his marbles … and I’m not confirming that, mind you … what purpose does it serve humiliating him further? You won, Drew! Isn’t that enough?”
“You don’t think the country has a right to know that its Secretary of Defense is a madman? I want to know how long he’s been demented, I want to know what orders, policies, security breaches might be ascribed to his mental state! If a raving lunatic has made government policy, mightn’t we want to undertake a critical review of those policies?”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I haven’t seen a ‘raving lunatic’-just a man battered down by years of hard work for his country, and maybe buckling a little under your barrage of bullshit.”
He rocked gently. “I ask again, Nathan: why did you want to see me today?”
“To ask you, out of common decency, not to broadcast any speculation about Jim Forrestal’s mental condition. He’s quitting tomorrow-give him a chance to go out with a little goddamn dignity.”
Both eyebrows lifted. “This is unexpected, Nathan.”
“What is?”
“The milk of human kindness in one so monetary.”
“Why don’t you surprise me, Drew, and behave like the liberal lover of mankind you pretend to be: give the guy a fucking break.”
He thought about that, as he scratched his cat’s neck. Finally he said, “All right. But if Forrestal gets back into the political fray, all bets are off.”
I hadn’t expected it to be this easy; frankly, I hadn’t expected him to go along with me at all.
“Understood,” I said.
“But … I need a favor of you, in return.”
So much for the milk of human kindness.
“What kind of favor?”
“Your presence in Washington is fortuitous, Nathan.”
“It is?”
“Yes. I’d like you to do a job for me. Today. This afternoon.”
“… What kind of job?”
He folded his hands prayerfully on the desktop. “I want you to talk to somebody for me. I don’t want to be seen talking to this individual myself, and I don’t even want my staff knowing about this particular … subject matter.”
That didn’t surprise me. Pearson had a conspiratorial managing style, never letting an investigator or legman know what each other was up to.
I asked, “What subject matter is that?”
He spoke very softly: “In researching your client, Secretary Forrestal, I stumbled onto some information that is either the biggest story of the century … or an attempt to make such a fool out of me that I would be discredited, once and for all.”
“All right. You’ve got my attention. But, favor or no favor, my fee is a hundred a day.”
Immediately, he reached in a desk drawer, withdrew a checkbook and began filling out a check, asking, “You want that made out to the A-1 or to yourself?”
“A-1 will be fine … but make it four hundred, to bring your account up to date.”
Pearson shrugged. “All right.”
My jaw dropped. “Now you really have my attention….”
He handed the check across to me, its black ink glistening wetly. “No further expenses, though … for right now, this is a one-day affair, and you can buy your own damn meals.”
“Fair enough. Who do I talk to, and on what subject?”
He rocked back, folded his arms. “Let’s start with the subject. Nathan … what do you know about flying saucers?”
I winced. Weren’t Commies, Zionists and Nazis enough? Must I add spacemen to the list?
“Nathan, please … answer the question.”
Money was money. “Well … last year or two, there have been a lot of sightings of flying saucers, flying discs, flying cigars, whatever, some of ’em by fairly reputable types. I figure it’s some kind of postwar hysteria-like the gremlins pilots in the war talk about seeing. I saw ’em myself.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, in Bugs Bunny cartoons.”