Unusual movements of airborne and infantry battalions around Washington, D.C., had roused speculation in some quarters. Publication in The Washington Post of a document allegedly leaked from the office of Air Force General Robert Osmond fueled rumors earlier in the week.
Asked whether the President would address these developments in his Friday speech to the nation, a White House spokesman suggested the topic didn’t warrant further comment.
VANDALISM AT BROOKSIDE
Police are investigating extensive acts of vandalism that occurred last night at Brookside Cemetery.
Vandals apparently entered the cemetery after dark and left several monuments defaced with spray paint. Swastikas and skulls were among the crude emblems left behind.
Cemetery Director William Spung told the Observer that cleaning the headstones will take at least a week and will be “very costly.”
Police Chief Terence McKenna admits such cases are often difficult to solve. “Acts like this are usually committed by adolescents,” McKenna said. Police are considering a “Vandalism Awareness” program for local public schools.
No motive has been suggested for the crime.
“TAIWAN FLU” ON MARCH
According to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, the nation is in the grip of a flu epidemic.
Cases of the so-called “Taiwan Flu” have been reported from all over the country.
The disease is a mild strain of influenza and is not considered dangerous.
“You might consider stocking up on Kleenex,” a spokesman said.
Chapter 5
D.C.
The President adopted a posture of calm repose—elbows on desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin—as the Secretary of Defense was admitted into the Oval Office. “You’re looking well, Charlie,” the President said.
“And yourself, sir,” Charles Atwater Boyle responded… perhaps, the President thought, with just a touch of genuine surprise.
The truth was that Charlie Boyle did not, in fact, look remotely well. His cheeks were patchy red, as if he were running a mild fever—no doubt he was. And he appeared to be nervous about this nighttime meeting, to which the President had summoned him without explanation. Charlie Boyle had matriculated through two bastions of poker-faced reserve, the Marine Corps and the banking industry, and had kept his political balance as well as any member of the Cabinet—at least until now—but the blank exterior was itself a clue to the struggle beneath. His notoriously chilly blue eyes darted periodically to the left, as if he was consulting some presence in the air—a cue card, perhaps. Or wishing for one.
The question becomes, the President thought, of whom is he afraid? Of me—or his dubious allies in this conspiracy?
“Charlie,” the President said, “I want to talk to you about your coup d’etat.”
To his credit, the Secretary of Defense did not so much as blink. “Sir?” Charlie said mildly. “Sit down,” the President said. Charlie sat.
“I shouldn’t call it your coup, should I? I know your position is ambiguous. And I don’t expect you to admit complicity in a plot to overthrow the civilian government. It was General Chafee, wasn’t it, who approached you with the idea that you might act as President pro tern? A Cabinet member, a civilian—an ideal front man. You’d lend them an air of legitimacy in a country where the words ‘military junta’ still have a nasty ring to them.” The President put his palms flat on the desk and leaned forward. The gesture, he knew, was aggressive, imperial. “Quite honestly, Charlie, my sources don’t know how you responded to the offer—only that it was made. And that General Chafee was smiling when he shook your hand.”
“For the record,” Charlie Boyle said, “I deny all this.”
“Noted. But that’s beside the point. Your loyalty is in question, but it’s also immaterial.”
“ The Secretary of Defense frowned. He can’t decide, the President thought, whether he’s been insulted. But he’s curious, too.
“In that case,” Charlie said stiffly, “what is the purpose of this meeting?”
“It’s late,” the President admitted. “You probably want to be home with Evelyn and the kids. I can’t say I blame you. But in times like these I think we can be forgiven for some long hours.” He tapped his desk with the point of a fountain pen while Charlie squirmed. “I’ve known you for five years and I’ve studied your career. You were the Cabinet appointment I was most proud of, Charlie, did you know that? I’m not suggesting you’re a scoundrel. Only that your loyalties may be divided. Is that so far off the mark?”
“You’re asking for a statement I can’t make. For the record, I resent the implication.”
“Forget the record. There is no record. This is in camera.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“You’re supposed to listen.” The President allowed an edge into his voice. The essential fact about Charlie Boyle was that he recognized authority. His life was a long hymn to authority: recognizing it, respecting it, acquiring it. I know you, the President thought. I know your poor-boy Tidewater roots, and I know what the Marine Corps must have meant to the rootless child you once were. More than a stepping-stone into civilian respectability, though it had been that too. All the old totems retained their magic. Charlie may have decided the man in the President’s office was expendable, but the office itself, the idea of the office, the Commander in Chief, still carried a ponderous symbolic weight. And for the moment, at least, the President thought, that weight is mine to wield.
He chose his words carefully.
“I want you to consider that this effort might be futile. Worse, doomed. I want you to consider that the impressive people the JCS may have lined up are not the only impressive people in the country, military or civilian. There is still a powerful sentiment on behalf of representative government. Your uprising would not be unopposed and it would not be bloodless. And it would not be worthwhile.”
Charlie Boyle sat for a long time in the ticking silence. When at last he spoke, he spoke cautiously. “People say you’re in contact with the Artifact. They say you know something you’re not telling. And there are rumors about some kind of disease. There’s been a lid on the CDC since last week. You and the brass at the NIH and nobody’s talking.”
“Maybe I do know something. Maybe I’m preparing to communicate that knowledge in my own good time. That’s my prerogative, is it not?”
“You haven’t said one fucking word to the Cabinet. Even your own advisors, the NSC—”
“Given the climate of the times, is that surprising?”
“People want to know who’s governing the country.”
“Damn it, Charlie, I am!”
“People debate that. People think you might be a fifth-columnist.”
“People who are compelled to seek power are prone to say any damn thing. Political campaigns aren’t conducted without lies. Neither are military uprisings.”
“You could put these rumors to rest.”
“I’m addressing the nation in two days. Isn’t that sufficient?”
“Maybe not.” Lured into too many tacit admissions, Charlie sat stiffly in his chair—the offended Puritan. “You admit you know something.”
“That’s right. I know insubordination when I see it. And I know how to respond to it.”