“Perhaps,” replied Mark quietly.
They watched him leave. So did three other people. One of them left to make a phone call.
“Mark, what’s come over you? Why were you so brusque with my father? I especially wanted you to meet him.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”
“Or is there something you’re not telling me?” said Elizabeth.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I don’t know, let’s forget it,” said Mark. “Why did you want to see me so urgently?”
“Simply because I wanted you to meet my father. What’s so strange about that? Why the hell did I bother?”
She began to walk away down the corridor, pushing her way quickly through the revolving door at the entrance to the hotel. Three men saw her leave. One followed her, two stuck with Mark. He walked slowly toward the doors. The doorman saluted him punctiliously.
“Cab, sir?”
“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”
The Director was on the phone when Mark returned and waved him into the large leather chair by his desk. He sank down in it, his mind fuzzy. The Director put the phone down and looked directly at him.
“So now you’ve met Senator Dexter, and I must tell you that either Dr. Dexter knows nothing or she deserves an Oscar for her performance at the Mayflower.”
“You saw everything,” said Mark.
“Of course, and more. She was just involved in an automobile accident, two minutes ago. That phone call was the details.”
Mark jumped out of his seat.
“She’s all right. A couple of hundred dollars’ worth of damage to the front of her little Fiat and not a mark on the bus she hit. Sensible girl. She’s on her way to work now in a cab, or rather, she thinks it’s a cab.”
Mark sighed, resigned to whatever would happen next. “Where is Senator Dexter?” he asked.
“He’s gone to the Capitol. Made one phone call when he got there, but it didn’t turn out to be of any significance.”
Mark was beginning to feel like a puppet. “What do you expect me to do now?”
There was a knock on the door and the anonymous man appeared. He handed a note to the Director, who read it quickly.
“Thank you.”
The anonymous man left. Mark feared the worst. The Director placed the note on the desk and looked up.
“Senator Thornton has called a press conference at 10:30 in Senate Committee Room 2228. Better get down there immediately. Phone me as soon as he has said his piece. The questions from the press afterwards will be irrelevant; they always are.”
Mark walked to the Senate, once again hoping it would clear his head. It didn’t. He wanted to ring Elizabeth and ask if she were all right after the accident; he wanted to ask her a hundred questions, but he only wanted one answer. Three men also walked to the Senate, two of them taking a half of the route each, and the third walking the whole way. All three of them arrived eventually in Room 2228; none of them was interested in Senator Thornton’s statement.
The room was already well lit by the large Idreg lights especially set up for the television cameras, and the members of the press were chatting among themselves. It was a packed house, even though Senator Thornton had not yet arrived. Mark wondered what he had to say, whether it would throw any light on his own questions. Point the guilty finger at Thornton perhaps, supply a motive he could return with to the Director. He thought, as he looked at the senior reporters, that they might have a shrewd idea or even a tip from one of Thornton’s staff as to the contents of his statement. But he didn’t want to ask them any questions for fear of being remembered. With an entrance that would have pleased Caesar himself, Senator Thornton came in, accompanied by three aides and a private secretary. He certainly was making the most of it. His dark hair was covered with grease, and he had put on what he obviously imagined to be his best suit, green with a blue pin-stripe. No one had briefed him on what to wear when facing color television — only dark clothes, as plain as possible — or if he had been briefed, he hadn’t listened.
He sat in a large throne of a chair at the far end of the room, his feet only just touching the ground. He was now surrounded by arc lights and the TV acoustics men put microphones all around him and in front of him. Suddenly, three more vast Idreg lights were switched on. Thornton was sweating already, but still smiling. The three television networks agreed that they were ready for the Senator. Thornton cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press...”
“That’s a pompous start,” said a correspondent in front of Mark, writing every word down in shorthand. Mark looked more closely, he thought he recognized the face. It was Bernstein of The Washington Post. Senator Thornton now had complete silence from the room.
“I have just left the White House after a private session with the President of the United States and because of that meeting, I wish to make a statement for press and television.” He paused. “My criticisms of the Gun Control bill and my vote against it in committee were motivated by a desire to represent my constituents and their genuine fear of unemployment...”
“...and your own genuine fear of unemployment,” remarked Bernstein, sotto voce. “What bribe did the President offer you at dinner on Monday?”
The Senator cleared his throat again. “The President has assured me that if this piece of legislation is passed, and domestic production of guns is prohibited, she will sponsor legislation to give immediate financial assistance to gun manufacturers and their employees, in the hope that the facilities of the gun industry can be turned to other, less dangerous uses than the production of weapons of destruction. The President’s concern has made it possible for me to vote in favor of the Gun Control bill. I have for some considerable time been in two minds...”
“True enough,” said Bernstein.
“...concerning this bill, because of my genuine fear of the freedom and ease with which criminals can obtain firearms.”
“It didn’t worry you yesterday. Just what contracts did the President promise,” murmured the correspondent, “or did she say she would help you win re-election next year?”
“And the problem for me has always been in the balance...”
“...and a little bribe tipped that balance.”
Bernstein now had his own audience, which was enjoying his offerings far more than those of the Senator from Texas.
“Now that the President has shown such consideration, I feel able to announce with a clear conscience...”
“...so clear we can see right through it,” more Bernstein.
“...that I am now able to support my party’s position over gun control. I will, therefore, not be opposing the President on the floor of the Senate tomorrow.”
Wild applause from scattered parts of the room, sounding — and looking — suspiciously like aides placed in strategic spots.
“I shall, ladies and gentlemen,” Senator Thornton continued, “rest an easier man tonight...”
“And a re-elected one,” added Bernstein.
“I should like to end by thanking the members of the press for attending...”
“We had to; it was the only show in town.”
Laughter broke out around the Post correspondent, but it didn’t reach Thornton.
“And I would like to say that I will be delighted to answer any questions. Thank you.”
“Bet you don’t answer any of mine.”
Most of the other reporters left the room immediately, in order to catch the early editions of the afternoon papers, already going to press right across the country. Mark joined them but glanced over the famous journalist’s shoulder. He had been scribbling in longhand.