“Certainly war in any form is a terrible and completely irrational means of settling disputes between nations or any other political bodies. And unfortunately weaponry has been advanced to the point where we are in a position to exterminate ourselves if we aren’t very careful. The approximately one hundred men on board the Ramon Magsaysay have the power, self-contained within themselves, to wipe several whole nations completely off the face of the globe.”
“But dammit, woman, that’s what I’ve been saying all along!” He paused. “I’m sorry if I spoke intemperately; please excuse me.”
Mrs. Smith dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “I am fully aware of what you have been saying, senator, and I am glad that you agree with me so far. Now we come to a salient point which, among other things, accounts for the fact that we have met and that you are sitting where you are at this moment. It is this: no rational nation fortunate enough to have responsible leaders ever chooses to go to war except for one reason — because the alternative to it is even more unacceptable than the horrors of the conflict itself. After Pearl Harbor was attacked, the United States was faced with a clear choice — either engage in war or submit to the rule and dictation of the militant fanatics who were in control of Japan at that time. In short, surrender.
“Now, any party to a war action can presumably bring it to a close at any time by submitting to the will of the enemy. But can you visualize what it would have been if World War II had been won by Germany and Japan? In the case of the Japanese we were at that time a hated foreign race, and to a considerable degree we had brought that upon ourselves. Their treatment of us, had the regime then in power won their victory, is something I doubt that either of us can imagine accurately. But it would not have been pleasant.”
“Mrs. Smith, I don’t think…”
She silenced him by raising her hand. “Now you can ask yourself if nonresistance is so precious to you that you would be willing to permit our enemies to continue as they have been doing, to continue the massacre of people and to exterminate freedom as we know it from the map of our country.”
Fitzhugh leaned forward and tapped the tips of his fingers against his knee. “But, Mrs. Smith, you forget that your daughter and my son would be alive and well today if they had not engaged in underground activities! There was no need for them to be involved, but they were — and eight young people died. I’m not altogether satisfied that it wasn’t to a considerable degree your fault.”
Mrs. Smith rose to her feet. Her voice did not change and the expression on her features remained composed. “Senator, I credited you with holding your convictions honestly and believing in what you said and did. I am now forced to alter my opinion; you suffer from one of the worst faults that can beset a human being. You are pigheaded, senator, anxious only to expound your own viewpoint and unwilling to give a hearing to any other. I believe that you were once advised to cut your throat. I am impressed with the wisdom of that proposal.” Mrs. Smith rose and walked out of the room.
The senator got to his feet, his body tense with anger as she left. When he was once more alone he sat for some time in thought. Then he picked up the speech that had been left with him and began to read. He turned the pages very slowly at first, then a little more rapidly as he began to get into the text. When he had finished it all he put it down again.
He leaned back, shut his eyes, and took refuge for a moment in the remembrance of his son. It was almost as if Gary had been able to return to him once again for a few brief moments. He saw no images, he only felt the illusion of a presence. And then, when his tortured brain could think of nothing else to do, he tried to ask his son what he should do.
He received no answer, of course, but in his pain he had succeeded in conjuring up the shadow of something that once had been, and was well remembered. And he knew what Gary would have done. What he had done. It was not humanity, then, it was not the United States of America, it was not even the people of the state that had so narrowly returned him to his seat in the Senate. It was Gary, his boy, his son, his hope for posterity and thereby a measure of immortality that could not be realized now. He had blamed Mrs. Smith in what he had conceived of as a burst of righteous anger. Now, in the cold reality of what he had read, he knew that he could no longer avoid and deny the truth. In the bitter dawn of his enlightenment he knew at last that at least in small part he also had himself to blame.
When Raleigh Hewlitt arrived for work the following morning his first action was to ask Major Barlov if there was any news concerning Zalinsky.
“Yes,” the major told him in his own language. “Mr. Zalinsky underwent surgery during the night. His gallbladder was removed. The operation was successful and he is resting as comfortably as could be expected this morning.”
“Good,” Hewlitt said.
Major Barlov appeared ready to say something else to him, but apparently changed his mind and walked away. Hewlitt considered it briefly and then dismissed it from his mind. The White House grapevine was still highly efficient, and whatever was going on, if anything was, he would hear of shortly.
There was one matter that occupied his mind and which he knew that he should think out to its conclusion. With Zalinsky in the hospital, and probably under the effect of sedation, the ultimatum that had baen handed down to him by the First Team could well be thrown off schedule. Through Frank he would have to get word of what had happened to Percival; the illness of the administrator might very well be something that was being kept secret for the time being. As soon as the fact was known, if it was not already, he probably would receive revised instructions. He was still turning this situation over in his own mind when, to his surprise, the buzzer which summoned him to the Oval Office sounded once briefly. He picked up a pad and pencils, opened the door, and went inside.
Seated behind the desk was a man whose hair was cropped close to his skull, revealing a white scar running above one ear. He was a considerably bigger person than Zalinsky and, although he had a substantial frame, there was no evidence of fat. He wore his clothes better than Zalinsky did, although the material and cut were of the same indifferent quality. All this Hewlitt saw, but his attention was captured and held by the man’s face. It was venomous; severe in the way that the skin was stretched across the bones, and viciously cruel. The eyes of that face burned into him and Hewlitt felt that they saw clear through into his soul.
“Good morning, Colonel Rostovitch,” he said. That was a minute victory, since the man did not have to tell him who he was.
Rostovitch looked at him for a full half minute without saying a word. Hewlitt waited until the scrutiny was half over, then he calmly sat down. He knew that the first moment he showed fear or allowed himself to be put on the defensive he would be destroyed. He was on a shaky raft, but it was afloat and he intended to keep it that way.
The voice of Rostovitch bit through the air like a living thing. “I did not tell you to sit down.”
Hewlitt fought down the temptation to yield; if he stood up again he would be a defeated man and he knew it. “I always sit down when I come in here,” he answered. “Mr. Zalinsky prefers it that way.”
Rostovitch ignored that as too trivial to notice. “You are an agent; as soon as I finish with you, you will be taken out and shot.”
Hewlitt lifted his shoulders and let them fall. He believed it, knew that it was true, but refused to give the man before him the least satisfaction. That gave him the courage he needed.