He had had it made then except for the lousy Korean pig. Who in hell expects a Korean to be on an airplane anyway! His gun had scared every lily white bastard to death and they were already over the water on the way to Cuba when the Korean pig had had to go to the can. He had let him, and for thanks the pig had jumped him with his goddamned karate or something, mocking the authority of his gun, and the pilot had turned back toward the mainland.
Mao had said that power came from the barrel of a gun, and he knew that that was right, only the frigging Korean pig that he had been nice to had betrayed him. And now he was in this goddamned hole, waiting to get out and dying every minute that he wasn’t out and tasting the power that he had been promised. For a month the pigs had been eating dirt and nobody had come for him yet. When they did, he’d show them who was the big man! He rushed to the bars of his cell, grabbed them hard in his powerful hands, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “PIGS! PIGS! PIGS!”
During the month that he had been on his new job Hewlitt had learned a great deal. With the initial shock of the conquest over and dissipated, the remaining members of the White House staff had settled down to what was substantially a waiting game. Cedric Culp, the former press aide of the President, was now doing the same job for Zalinsky; in addition he was an active member of the underground cell. Both Barbara and Mary remained on the roster, and there were now three others. The orders routed through Frank had been specific; wait. Pick up any available information, report it through channels, but take no individual actions without direction. All of them had played the game exactly that way, but Hewlitt could not help wondering from time to time how much his colleagues would be influenced if they knew that the directions which he was faithfully passing on to them were being routed through a Negro taxicab driver.
However, if it seemed hard to credit at times, that was all to the good, because it would confuse the enemy even more. “Protective coloration” was the phrase that Frank had used, and it was valid.
The one most encouraging thing was the knowledge that something was being done. Hewlitt was satisfied as to that. You had to believe in something, he told himself, and wondered if the day would come when Frank’s invisible boss would establish a direct contact.
The intercom light went on, indicating that Zalinsky wished to see him. He picked up paper and pencil as always, if for no other reason than to cover the fact of his well-trained memory, and went into the Oval Office. Zalinsky worked with his coat off a good part of the time now, and while Hewlitt was not privy to much that crossed the administrator’s desk, he was aware from the man’s general manner that not everything was going as he would have liked.
“Sit down,” Zalinsky said.
“Yes, Mr. Zalinsky.” He sat in the usual place and waited.
The administrator looked at him. “Why for is it that always you say the same thing to me?”
“Because that was your order,” Hewlitt answered. “You said that you were to be addressed in no other way. Major Barlov said it too.”
Zalinsky brushed a hand through the air. “It will be changed, I am not so anxious that I hear the sound of my own name all the time. I do not like it that much.”
Hewlitt debated his next question before he put it, but he wanted to measure the reaction. “Speaking of names, do you have a first name? You must, but no one seems to know what it is.”
“It is Feodor,” Zalinsky said, “but, like you, I do not use it. I now ask you something: you read our language, you must have read some of our propaganda.”
“A lot of it. It was my job.”
“But you are not yet convinced that we are right?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because your system doesn’t work.”
“It worked well enough that we won the war.”
“You won it,” Hewlitt said, “by deceit.”
Zalinsky smiled. “That is part of the system.”
“I shall remember that,” Hewlitt told him. “You wanted to see me.”
Zalinsky moved his hands on the top of his desk. “I have an embarrassment,” he said. “It is because of your Senator Fitzhugh. You are knowing him?”
“I have never met the senator,” Hewlitt said.
Zalinsky ignored the response. “The senator, he is a fool. He has now written a letter to our premier that is a nuisance to him. This Fitzhugh, he proposes to make peace for the United States.”
“On his own?” Hewlitt asked.
“I do not understand.”
“I mean, does he propose to make peace all by himself? Does he mean to speak for the President and the whole country?”
“President you have not,” Zalinsky said. “He has made himself absent and I sit here in his place. But yes, it is that Fitzhugh sees himself that he is now the person to speak for the country.”
“I doubt that,” Hewlitt said.
Zalinsky leaned back. “It is good that you say that, because it is that I wish you to see him. I do not want to having him here, I have no time for him. But you go, you explain.”
“Explain what, Mr. Zalinsky?”
“You have not stupidness, you should understand. This Senator Fitzhugh, he believes that he remains a fragment of the government. He does not understand that he is now nothing. He is allowed that he sits in his office, but he is playing with shadows.” “What you want me to do is to tell him that he’s through.” “Exactness. Also, please explain to him that he was granted interview because we wanted him to make a bigger face, as say the Chinese, and become reelected. That is absolutely all.”
Hewlitt pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. “If you want me to talk to him, Mr. Zalinsky, I will — of course. I suspect that it will make him… I mean, it will break him up completely.”
“It is overdue that he think badly of himself. Please to do this.” Hewlitt made an unnecessary note on the pad before him. “I’ll call the senator immediately for an appointment,” he said. “He will probably keep me waiting for a day or two; it’s usual.”
Zalinsky shrugged. “Only please to make it clear to him that he is not to annoy our premier with any more letters. If he does, we may have to take his toys away from him.”
“I’ll make it clear,” Hewlitt promised.
He was on his way from his office to the West Gate when a man he did not know fell in step beside him. He was a youngish type in Air Force uniform. He wore the twin bars of a captain, a rank of minimum importance in the military environment of Washington. “You’re Hewlitt, I believe,” he said.
Hewlitt looked at his unexpected companion and nodded.
“I’m Phil Scott,” the captain said. “Please, may I come by and see you about six-thirty? I know where.”
“O.K.,” Hewlitt said. He lifted his left arm, looked at the dial of his watch, and gave the exact time as he had it to the captain. Scott took off his own watch and made a pretext of resetting it. They went through the check-out gate one behind the other, then Hewlitt climbed into Frank’s waiting cab and was driven out into the traffic as usual. He did not look behind him to see what the captain had done or where he had gone.
Frank bent down and turned on the radio, keeping the volume reasonably low. “Might be something on the news,” he explained. “I’m kinda lookin’.”
“Good,” Hewlitt said.
“Your girl friend come through yet?” Frank asked.
“I want to ask about an Air Force captain,” Hewlitt said. “His name is Scott, Phil Scott. I don’t know him, although I’ve seen him around once or twice. He came up to me just as I was leaving and asked to see me this evening at six-thirty. He said that he knew where I lived.”