Sam Vicarson was pacing up and down outside the subcommittee’s offices when Andrew emerged from the elevator into the corridor.
«Good God, am I glad to see you! I called Arlington and left messages at half a dozen places.»
«What’s the matter?»
«We better go inside so you can sit down.»
«Oh, Jesus! Phyllis—»
«No, sir, I’m sorry … I mean, I’m sorry if I made you … it’s not Mrs. Trevayne.»
«Let’s go inside.»
Vicarson closed the door of Trevayne’s office and waited until Andy took off his overcoat and threw it on the couch. He began slowly, as if trying to recall the exact words he should repeat.
«The chief of the White House staff telephoned about forty-five minutes ago. Something happened this morning—it hasn’t been released to the press yet, at least it hadn’t been a half-hour ago—that caused the President to make a decision you should be aware of… He temporarily exercised executive privilege and had the copies of the subcommittee’s report impounded.»
«What?»
«He had them intercepted at all four destinations—the Defense Commission, the Attorney General’s office, and the offices of the chairmen of the Senate and House committees; that’s Appropriations and Armed Services… He’s talked to the four principals personally, and they’ve accepted his explanation.»
«What is it?»
«Robert Webster—you remember, the White House—»
«I remember.»
«He was killed this morning. I mean, he was murdered. Shot in his Akron hotel room… A maid who was in the hallway gave the police a description of two men she saw running out of the room, and someone at the hotel had the presence of mind to call the White House. I mean, Webster was a hometown boy who made good and all that… The White House went to work. Got the papers and the wire services to keep it quiet for a few hours…»
«Why?»
«The description of the killers. It fit two men the White House had under surveillance… That’s not right. They had Webster under surveillance, and spotted them following Webster.»
«I don’t understand you, Sam.»
«The two men were from Mario De Spadante’s organization… As I said, White House security went to work. Did you know that every conversation on every 1600 telephone, including the kitchen, is automatically put on a microtape and housed in the communications room; checked out, discarded, or kept every six months?»
«It doesn’t surprise me.»
«I think it would have surprised Webster. 1600 said it isn’t common knowledge. But they had to tell us.»
«What’s your point? Why was the report impounded?»
«Bobby Webster was up to his ass with De Spadante. He was a paid informer. He’s the one who removed the men in Darien. According to one conversation, you asked Webster for material on De Spadante.»
«Yes. When we were in San Francisco; Webster never delivered.»
«Regardless, the President thinks Webster was killed because De Spadante’s men believe he was working with you. That he chickened and gave you the information that got De Spadante killed… The assumption is that they cornered Bobby in the hotel room, forced him to tell them what was in the report, and when he couldn’t, or didn’t, they shot him.»
«And if the report involves De Spadante, his loyalists will go after me next?»
«Yes, sir. The President was concerned that if any details of the report were leaked, you might become a target. No one wanted to alarm you, but a security detail picked you up in Arlington. Or they were supposed to.»
Trevayne thought of the automobile behind his taxi; the brown sedan that had held up traffic. His brow creased in doubt; he looked at Sam. «Just how long is this solicitous concern for me supposed to last?»
«Apparently until they catch the men who killed Webster. De Spadante’s loyalists.»
Trevayne sat down behind his desk and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He had the feeling that he was careening around a steep downhill curve, struggling to hold a wheel nearly out of control.
Was it possible? Was it possible, when he let the sunlight come into the dark corridors of his mind, that he was right, after all?
«As Paul Bonner would say,» said Trevayne softly, «‘horseshit.’»
«Why? The concerns seem legitimate to me, sir.»
«I hope you’re right. I pray you’re right. Because if you’re wrong, Sam, a dying man is trying to protect his place in history.»
Vicarson understood; and the look on his face showed that his understanding was the most serious comprehension he’d ever experienced. «Do you think the President is … Genessee Industries?»
«Get General Cooper on the phone.»
49
Brigadier General Lester Cooper sat in front of Andrew Trevayne’s desk. He was exhausted—with the fatigue of a man who’d reached the limits of his ability to cope.
«Everything I’ve done, I consider it a privilege to have been in my province to accomplish, Mr. Chairman.»
«There’s no necessity for that title, General. The name’s ‘Andy,’ or ‘Andrew,’ or ‘Mr. Trevayne,’ if you insist. I respect you enormously; I’d consider it a privilege if you’d be less formal.»
«That’s kind of you; I’d prefer the formality. You’ve manifestly accused me of dereliction, conspiracy, and disregard of my oath…»
«Goddamn it, no, General. I did not use those words. I wouldn’t use them… I think you’ve operated in an impossible position. You have a hostile electorate that begrudges you every dollar of your budget. You have an Army that demands attention. You have to reconcile those two extremes in an area I know very well. Supply!… I’m only asking you if you made the very same compromises I would have made! That’s neither dereliction nor conspiracy, General. That’s goddamn common sense! If you didn’t make them, that would be a violation of your oath.»
It was working, thought Trevayne with sad feelings of misgiving. The General was being primed. He stared at Trevayne, his look one of supplication.
«Yes… There’s really nowhere to turn, you know. You know, of course. I mean, after all, you of all people …»
«Why me?»
«Well, if you are what they say you are …»
«What is that?»
«You understand… You wouldn’t be where you are if you didn’t. We’re all aware of that… I mean, you’ll have our complete, enthusiastic endorsement. It’s far-reaching, but, of course, you know that…»
«Endorsement for what?»
«Please, Mr. Trevayne… Are you testing me? Why is that necessary?»
«Perhaps it is. Maybe you’re not good enough!»
«That’s not right! You shouldn’t say that! I’ve done everything—»
«For whom? For me?»
«I’ve done everything I was told to do. The logistics have gone out.»
«Where?»
«Everywhere! In every port, on every base. Every airfield. We’ve covered every spot on earth!… Only the name. Only the name has to be supplied.»
«And what is that name?»
«Yours … yours, for God’s sake! What do you want from me?»
«Who gave you those orders?»
«What do you mean—»
«Who gave you the orders to put out my name?» Trevayne slapped the flat of his hand on his desk, flesh against hard wood, the sound sharp and distracting.
«I’m … I’m …»
«I asked you who?»
«The man from … the man from …»
«Who?»
«Green.»