"He must have had that case in his hand when the plane crashed," Whitney said.
"Yes, he would have been trying to save it," Lyman said, almost to himself. Then, to Whitney: "We were very close, Mr. Whitney."
"I'm sorry, Mr. President."
Lyman forced himself back to questioning.
"So you didn't inform Ambassador Lytle?"
"No, sir." Whitney's blue eyes held Lyman's without blinking and there was no apology in his voice. "After reading the paper, I gave the box with the other stuff to a Trans-Ocean man, and then just drove to Madrid and got on the first plane to the States. I ... well, I don't even have a clean shirt with me."
Lyman waved away the sartorial reference. "I don't need to tell you that this is the most important paper handed to me by any State Department officer this year. You did the right thing. I don't suppose I need to tell you, either, that you must never mention what you read to anybody."
"I realize that, sir."
"And that you are never to disclose, or even hint at, its existence."
"No, sir."
"I emphasize the word 'never.'"
"Yes, sir."
"I have your word on that, Mr. Whitney?"
"Absolutely, sir."
Lyman spoke slowly. "Nothing like this"-he tapped his pocket-"has ever happened in this country. Needless to say, I don't want it to happen, but just as important, I don't want anyone ever to think that it might have happened. Thanks to you, I can now hope to deal with this privately."
"I understand, sir."
"Good." Lyman smiled. "Mr. Whitney, I think you have something of a future in your profession."
"Thank you, Mr. President. I hope so."
Whitney stood up, sensing that the President had neared the end of his questions. Lyman searched the diplomat's thin features for a clue to his reactions to this strange conversation, but found none. He merely stood politely, awaiting the President's next move.
"Now, you go clear yourself with the department. Make up any story you want to, and if they give you any trouble, just call Miss Townsend. She's a wonder at helping people. By the way, how did you get to her?"
"Well, to be honest, sir, the only names I knew in the White House-besides yours, of course-were Frank Simon and Esther Townsend. Under the circumstances, I thought I ought to talk to Miss Townsend. It took quite a while to get through to her."
"Good man. You go get some sleep now and forget all about it."
"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?"
"That's all, yes. Except, again, thank you."
Lyman escorted Whitney to the elevator, waited until he started down, then walked swiftly back to the study. He threw open the door.
"Break out the Scotch!" His voice was suddenly triumphant. "Drinks are on the house!"
Todd stared at him, for once stripped of his poise. "My God! Did he bring it?"
Lyman pulled the case from his pocket and held it up.
"All there," he said. A real smile, the first in four days, spread across his face. "I think we're out of the woods, thanks to Brother Whitney"-he looked at the case again, then added gently-"and Paul."
"Mr. President," said Clark, shaking his head, "you're nothing but a goddam luckpot."
"Does it say everything you need?" asked Casey anxiously. "The paper, I mean?"
"This is the damnedest thing I ever read," Lyman said. "Let's just say it's enough to get a resignation from Scott."
Lyman wanted to take Ray Clark next door into the Monroe Room and go over the memorandum, sentence by sentence. But protocol-and Todd's presence-said the Secretary of the Treasury had to see it first.
"Chris, read through it," the President said. "Then I want the others to take a good look at it too."
The silver case opened more easily this time. The President extracted the papers and handed them to Todd. As the Secretary read, Lyman gestured to the others, offering drinks. Clark shook his head. Todd, deep in the memo, picked up his glass without looking at it. The President touched his own glass to Casey's and smiled at the Marine.
Todd read it through twice, slowly.
"I agree, Mr. President," he said. "This is indeed the God-damnedest thing I ever read. It tells quite a lot about Barnswell, too. He's slippery, all right. I'm glad we didn't call him."
Clark also read the papers while the others remained silent. But when it was Casey's turn, he shook his head.
"Sir, if you don't mind, I'd just as soon not. I take it there's enough there to meet your needs, and I don't think I need to see it all. In case anybody ever asks me, I'd rather say I haven't any idea."
Lyman grinned. "Jiggs, as that script writer said to you in New York the other day, you're kind of neutral."
"Sir, I'm still a Marine. And if any guy sticks his neck out farther than I already have, he'll be a giraffe."
For a few minutes the atmosphere of the room, which had been leaden for so long, lightened as the four men relaxed. Clark offered another Georgia political story. Lyman recalled the time, during his campaign for governor of Ohio, when he received a call from one of his opponent's advisers by mistake and poured forth counsel which thoroughly confused the opposition. Even Todd let down and told how his sloop once lost the Bermuda race because some pranksters bribed a Newport lady of easy virtue to stow away.
But Todd also brought the group back to reality with a law-school definition of "enthusiast": "One who believes without proof-and whose proof nobody will believe."
"The question is," he said, "what do we enthusiasts do now?"
"I've decided that, Chris," said Lyman without hesitation. "I'm going to call Scott tonight and tell him I've decided to go to Mount Thunder after all. I'll get him over here to give me a briefing. Then we'll have a little talk and I'll get his resignation."
"Sounds too easy," Todd said doubtfully. "How are you going to do it?"
"I intend to confront him with ECOMCON, with holding Ray a prisoner, with kidnaping Henderson, with sending out a fake message that actually was a code for a military take-over-the whole ball of wax."
Todd and Clark objected simultaneously.
"How about the tax return?" asked Todd.
"You mean you aren't going to use the Girard paper?" said Clark.
"Miss Segnier's tax return is out," Lyman answered. "I said that before, and I meant it. That's Scott's private business."
He tapped his glass on the arm of his chair and spoke almost as though to himself. "As for that memorandum, the less said about it the better. If I use Paul's report, Scott will know we have it, and it would be that much harder to keep it secret over the long run.
"We've still got a long way to go on the treaty, one hell of a long way, and I don't want to muddy it up with this. There are enough problems already without tossing in a military coup too. And even if there weren't, I can't afford to let that kind of poison get around."
The president paused and stared at Clark before continuing.
"Look, I hope the people of this country feel the way I do-that what is outlined in that paper is unthinkable here. Ray, you know how I feel about politicians who don't tell the truth. But I promise you right now that I'll lie about this one without the slightest hesitation if I have to. I think it's that important that the public never even suspects this kind of thing was attempted."
"Then why, for God's sake, all this fuss about getting the memorandum?" Clark asked. "If you aren't going to use it, why are we all as happy as goats in a junk yard?"
Lyman smiled. "Because it's insurance, Ray. Because I'm going to feel a whole lot better with it in my pocket."
"Suppose he denies everything?" asked Todd. "Or claims he had nothing to do with it?"