The uncertainty Lyman had noticed earlier seemed to take hold of Scott more strongly now. His eyes sought out the scorched papers and the list in Lyman's hand, then searched the President's face.
"Perhaps fake was too strong a word," he conceded. "But there is no proof of the authenticity of those papers."
"No, General, I'm afraid that won't wash," Lyman said. "This has been signed by two men, one of whom is still alive. Girard called me to say he had obtained a written statement and was placing it in his cigarette case for safekeeping. A Spanish police officer found the case and turned it over to an American foreign service officer. That officer is in Washington now. He gave it to me this afternoon."
"His name?"
"I am not going to tell you," Lyman said. "But you may be assured that he has read the contents and would so testify. The Spanish police officer could, of course, identify the cigarette case. As for the document itself, there are handwriting experts."
Scott smiled wanly. "Is this at the trial you accuse me of inviting, Mr. President?"
Lyman said nothing. Scott sat motionless. There was no change in his bearing, but his eyes gave him away before he spoke.
"If I submit my resignation, will you destroy that paper?"
Scott was bargaining now. Lyman, who hadn't considered the possibility, thought for several minutes. The only sounds in the room were the breathing of the two men and the intermittent hum of traffic through the open window.
"Yes, I will, General," Lyman said. "Not for the reason you have in mind, but I will. In fact, I think that's the only thing to do with it. I will burn it, in that fireplace, with you watching if you wish, as soon as I have those four resignations in my hands."
Scott stood up. He stared down at the President, and Lyman for a moment had not the least idea whether the General was about to surrender-or stalk from the room. The two men eyed each other. Then Scott spoke quietly.
"May I use your writing desk?"
"Certainly."
Scott straightened his shoulders and stepped briskly to the little walnut desk against the wall. Lyman, holding his knee against the lower drawer to make sure it remained shut, pulled open the top drawer for Scott. The General took out a single sheet of stationery, and under the gold presidential crest he wrote:
17 May
I hereby tender my resignation as Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the United States, effective immediately upon its acceptance.
James M. Scott, General USAF
Lyman took the sheet, blew on it to dry the ink, leaned over the desk and scribbled across the bottom:
Above resignation accepted, May 17, 9:39 p.m.
Jordan Lyman
The President picked up the sheet of paper and went to the telephone.
"Esther," he said, "General Scott will be using this phone for a few minutes to call several of his colleagues. Please put through any call he wishes. But first, please connect me with General Rutkowski at the Joint War Room."
Scott, standing in the middle of the study, could not hide his surprise when he heard Rutkowski's name.
"Barney," Lyman said, "this is Jordan Lyman. General Scott has just tendered his resignation and I have accepted it. Please send out an urgent message to all commands, signed by me as commander in chief, stating that an alert scheduled for tomorrow afternoon has been canceled. And, Barney, order those K-212's to remain at Fort Bragg. If they've left already, get them diverted or turned back in flight. If you have to, put my name on that too."
Lyman hung up and turned to Scott. The General wore a bleak smile. You can't be sure, Lyman thought, but I believe there's actually some reluctant admiration there.
"General, I don't propose that the country ever know the real reason for your resignation," he said. "I don't know whether you appreciate that or not, but that's the way it's going to be."
"You're assigning a reason, then?"
"Yes. Our differences over the treaty. God knows they are real enough. I will make a speech to the country tomorrow, saying that I asked for your resignation and the other three because you insisted on opposing settled national policy on a vital matter after the decision was made final."
"Suppose I say otherwise?"
"You may, of course, say whatever you please. The Constitution remains in force, and so do its guarantees of free speech." Lyman smiled. "But if you mention the real reason, I'll deny it from every soapbox I can climb up on."
Scott drew himself up in front of the President.
"Mr. President, there is no 'real reason,' as you call it. I have done absolutely nothing wrong, or illegal, or seditious, as you have implied. My resignation was forced by a man who has lost his ... bearings."
"Have it any way you want, General," Lyman replied, "but I must have your word that you will say nothing until I have announced this. Otherwise, I shall be required to keep you in this house through tomorrow."
"You have my word on that," said Scott. "When I speak out, if I do, it will not be until the public is thoroughly familiar with the facts in this matter."
Lyman moved toward the door.
"I'll leave you alone for a while, General. Please tell Riley, Hardesty and Dieffenbach to come to this room at once. They can come in by the back gate as you did. When any one of them is here, call Miss Townsend on the phone. She'll get me."
Lyman stepped out into the hall, closed the door behind him, and gave Corwin an all's-well signal with circled thumb and forefinger. Then he stepped to the door of the Monroe Room. He threw it open and was about to call "Ray!" when he saw that the room was empty.
The President beckoned to Corwin.
"Art, where's Ray? He was supposed to be standing by in here."
"Oh, he hasn't been there in over an hour," said Corwin. "He's down in the Cabinet room with Secretary Todd."
As he rode down in the little elevator, Lyman thought: Ray wasn't there at all in the clutch. What if I had needed him? But I didn't need him. Maybe he knew I wouldn't ... Lyman felt like whistling as he hurried along the covered passageway past the rose garden to the west wing.
The President stepped into the Cabinet room as his two associates came forward anxiously. Lyman stood there smiling, awkward and angular as always, but obviously in command. He pulled the sheet of stationery from his pocket.
"General Scott has resigned," he said.
Todd's gray eyebrows arched upward, but his look was anything but disapproving. He grasped the President's hand.
"You weathered the point, Mr. President," he said. "The rest is smooth sailing."
Clark feinted a punch off Lyman's jaw and grinned at his old friend. His eyes were serious-and admiring.
"You did it, Jordie," he said. "Nice going, Yankee boy!"
Friday, 11 P.M.
Cleaning up the "sad debris of surrender," as Todd called it, took time. Corwin, Todd, Casey and Rutkowski-the last two hastily recalled from the Pentagon- milled around restlessly in the Monroe Room as President Lyman officiated alone at the stiff and painful business in the oval study.
Hardesty of the Air Force, smooth, outwardly untroubled, came first. Only a single, self-conscious sweep of a hand through his wavy brown hair indicated his concern.
As soon as Hardesty left, Lyman slipped back next door and appointed General Bernard Rutkowski as the new Air Force Chief of Staff. The one-time Polish slum kid from Chicago stood with one hand on the President's boyhood Bible while Secretary Todd swore him in.