“ ‘While reaching my final decision, there came to my mind a curious recollection. I remembered the two little old ladies who walked in Versailles. They, so you told me, were possessed of the gift to see into the past. But for us, to see into the past is useless, for we no longer have much to learn from it, because in the past mankind never had the power to destroy itself. Then I held another recollection. I remembered two leaders of the world’s two foremost nations who also walked in Versailles. It occurred to me that perhaps they were gifted to look into the future. Would they see a barren earth come to an end through pride and madness? Or would they see, as one of them saw, as I saw in that clear vision hours ago, a world surviving and immortal, populated by independent nations coexisting as good neighbors in peace and harmony and mutual prosperity?
“ ‘This, Mr. President, is the world I saw ahead, and by my making the first step toward reaching it, I hope you shall see it, too.
“ ‘Therefore, I have dispatched Marshal Borov and his military staff to Africa, under instructions to carry out and facilitate, immediately, the complete disbandment and dispersal of native African Communist militia who respect our advice and who have been gathering at the Barazan frontier. I have ordered that any weaponry in their hands be surrendered or returned to the sources from which the arms were purchased. I have ordered that our Soviet technicians and educators, working with these native groups, be recalled at once to the Soviet Union. All of this activity, in the interests of peace, is taking place at this time, even as this note is being read to you.
“ ‘In return for our forward-looking act of peace, I request only that you display America’s similar desire for peace by responding in kind. I ask the immediate dispersal of African Unity Pact forces gathered in and around Baraza, and the immediate withdrawal of all United States military forces and equipment from Baraza.
“ ‘Mr. President, let us remain the two men we were at Versailles. Let us look into the future, the future of this day, all days to follow, and let us see only peace.
“ ‘With every good wish, I am, Yours, Nikolai Kasatkin, Premier, U.S.S.R.’ ”
Ambassador Rudenko had finished, and his words hung in the room. Then he placed the note on the President’s desk, and, busily, he closed his attaché case.
Dilman sat stunned, hands clenching the arms of his chair, trying to absorb what he had heard.
The telephone beside him was ringing. It was, he saw, the direct Pentagon line. He answered the telephone, listened to Steinbrenner’s excited exclamations, and then he spoke a few words and hung up.
Dilman came to his feet. “That was my Secretary of Defense. Premier Kasatkin’s notification of total withdrawal of Communist forces from the Barazan frontier has just been confirmed by President Amboko and by our Ambassador to the United Nations. The United Nations, I understand, is this afternoon flying a team to Baraza to supervise the Communist withdrawal. We have instructed our Ambassador Slater to inform the Security Council that we will pull out our own forces within twenty-four hours after your forces are gone. Your delegation has agreed to this.”
“Yes.”
“Very well, Ambassador Rudenko. This is a happy day for the world. Please inform Premier Kasatkin that I have heard his note, and that on behalf of my countrymen and all who believe in peace, I am relieved and delighted, and tell him-tell him it is my hope, too, and my belief, that enduring peace is possible, that we shall walk arm and arm into the future-into a world that shall remain immortal.”
“I shall convey your message, Mr. President. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.”
Dilman saw Rudenko through the French door, watched him depart up the colonnaded walk with the now cheerful General Jaskawich, and then he swung around and bounded back into the Oval Office.
Nat Abrahams was waiting, beaming as Dilman was beaming. The two men embraced, pounding each other on the back in their excitement.
“We won! We won the big one!” Dilman chortled. “We’ve got to get Tim Flannery-got to tell the whole world!”
He had broken away to summon Flannery when he stopped, and slowly came around to face Abrahams again.
“The big one,” he murmured, with wonder. Then he said, “What about the small one, Nat? Will this make the difference in-in the Senate?”
“I can’t promise it’ll make the difference,” said Abrahams, suddenly solemn. “I can only promise you this-it’ll make it a contest, a real contest, for the first time.”
IT was a quarter after two o’clock in the afternoon, and although Chief Justice Johnstone’s reluctant gavel had sounded several times, the Senate had not yet been convened as a court of impeachment.
In all the days of the trial, Nat Abrahams had never once observed a scene in the Senate such as the one that spread before his eyes. Weakly, he smiled and shrugged at Tuttle, Priest, Hart, and received their nervous smiles in reply, and then, again, he tried to take in what was going on before him.
If the galleries had been filled every day, and filled to overflowing during the occasion the President had been on the witness stand, the galleries seemed bent and sagging with vociferous humanity on this afternoon of final judgment.
On the floor of the Chamber itself, few senators were at their mahogany desks. Most of them had spilled into the narrow aisles, clustering in groups, reading the bold headlines of the special editions of the Washington newspapers or listening to the steady chattering of commentators on their transistor radios, reading, listening, and then discussing the sensational news of President Dilman’s victory, of Soviet Russia’s backdown and retreat, of peace on earth once more.
Abrahams’ keen eyes tried to follow the activity of both sides, that of the senators who were known to be in the camp against the President, determined to convict and remove him, led by aging Senator Bruce Hankins, who was everywhere, and that of the senators who were known to be in the camp supporting the President, determined to acquit him, led by the spry former labor union executive, Chris Van Horn, senior senator from Dilman’s own state.
Had a single vote changed from guilty to not guilty, even one? Abrahams could not tell. The partisans were easy to read. The independents were independent still, and unreadable. Only one emotion in common was evident in all faces, all stances, all movement: intense excitement.
At last, in his carved chair on the rostrum high above, Chief Justice Johnstone slid forward and rapped his gavel down hard once, twice, three times on the oak board, and the sound reverberated throughout the Chamber and stilled it, and gradually the Senate members began to empty the aisles and return to their individual desks, with their personal decisions already made or soon to be made.
“All caucusing will come to an end, and the senators will resume their seats and be attentive,” the Chief Justice commanded. He waited for his order to be obeyed, and it was obeyed. Satisfied, in a louder voice he announced, “The Senate is now organized for the purpose of proceeding to the trial of the impeachment of Douglass Dilman, President of the United States. The Sergeant at Arms will make the proclamation.”
The Sergeant at Arms jumped to his feet. “Hear ye! Hear ye! All persons are commanded to keep silence on pain of imprisonment while the Senate of the United States is sitting for the trial of the Articles of Impeachment against Douglass Dilman, President of the United States.”
Abrahams saw a rangy figure rise behind his desk near the aisle. It was Van Horn, the vigorous outspoken senator from Dilman’s state. His arm was uplifted.
“Mr. Chief Justice, I move that the Senate proceed by voice vote to the consideration of the order that I submitted to the bench a short time ago, as to the reading of the Articles of Impeachment.”