«Who’s Green?»
«You know! … Genessee. Genessee Industries.» Brigadier General Cooper slumped in his seat, breathing hard.
But Trevayne hadn’t finished. He leaned across the desk. «How long ago? Were you in time, General? Were you on schedule? How long ago?»
«Oh, my God!… What are you?»
«How long ago?»
«A week, ten days… What are you?»
«Your best friend! The man that gets you what you want! Would you like to believe that?»
«I don’t know what to believe… You people … you people drain me.»
«None of that, General… I asked you if you were on schedule.»
«Oh, Jesus!»
«What were the other schedules, General? Were you on schedule with everyone else?»
«Stop it! Stop it!»
«Answer me.»
«How do I know? Ask them!»
«Who?»
«I don’t know!»
«Green?»
«Yes. Ask him!»
«Hamilton?»
«Yes, of course.»
«What can they guarantee?»
«Everything! You know that!»
«Spell it out, you latrine private!»
«You can’t say that. You have no right!»
«Spell it out.»
«It will be what you need. The unions. Management… All the psychological profiles in every section of the country … we’ve got them in Army computers… We’ll act in concert.»
«Oh, my God… Does the President know?»
«Certainly not from us.»
«And nobody’s countermanded those orders within the last five days?»
«Of course not!»
Trevayne suddenly lowered his voice as he sat back in his chair. «Are you sure, General?»
«Yes!»
Trevayne brought both his hands to his face and breathed into his palms. He had the feeling that he’d spun wildly off that long, steep downhill curve and was plunging uncontrollably into the turbulent waters below.
Why should there always be the sea?
«Thank you, General Cooper,» said Trevayne gently. «I think we’ve finished.»
«I beg your pardon?»
«I meant what I said. I respect you. I don’t know that I would have if it hadn’t been for Paul Bonner… You’ve heard of Major Bonner, General? I believe we’ve discussed him… Now, I’m going to offer you some unsolicited advice. Get out, Cooper. Get out quickly.»
Brigadier General Lester Cooper, his eyes bloodshot, looked at the civilian who covered his face with his hands.
«I don’t understand.»
«It’s come to my attention that you anticipate retiring soon… May I respectfully suggest that you formally write that letter of resignation first thing tomorrow morning?»
Cooper started to speak and then stopped. Andrew Trevayne took his hands away from his face and looked into the General’s tired eyes. The officer made a last West Point gasp at control, but it couldn’t work.
«You’re not … you haven’t … Am I free?»
«Yes… Christ knows you deserve it.»
«I hope so. Thank you, Mr. Chairman.»
Sam Vicarson watched the General walk out of Trevayne’s office. It was nearly six-thirty. Andrew had timed the meeting with Cooper to begin after five; no one but the three of them would be in the subcommittee’s office, and Sam could bar any late visitors or staff members who might unexpectedly show up.
The Brigadier General looked at Vicarson, but there was no recognition in his eyes, no sense of contact. Cooper stood motionless for several moments, his vacant, absently hostile expression concentrated on the young attorney. And then he did a strange—for Sam, a strangely terrible—thing. He stood erect and brought his right hand up to his visor and held it in a salute. He held his right hand in place until Sam Vicarson acknowledged by nodding his head silently. Only then did the General lower his hand, turn, and go out the door.
Sam walked quickly into Trevayne’s office. The chairman of the subcommittee for the Defense Allocations Commission looked as exhausted as the decorated legend he had just confronted. Andrew was slumped back in his swivel chair, his chin resting in the palm of his right hand, his elbow on the arm of the chair. His eyes were closed.
«That must have been something,» said Sam quietly. «I thought for a few minutes I should call for an ambulance. You should have seen Cooper outside. He looked as though he’d run head-on into a tank.»
«Don’t sound so satisfied,» replied Trevayne, his eyes still shut. «There’s nothing to gloat over… I think we owe a lot to Cooper, to all the Coopers. We ask them to accomplish the impossible; give them no training—training, hell, we don’t even warn them—on how to handle the political messiahs we force them to deal with. Finally we hold them up to ridicule when they try to cope.» Trevayne opened his eyes and looked up at Sam. «Doesn’t that strike you as unfair?»
«I’m afraid it doesn’t, sir,» answered Vicarson, only slightly mitigating his refusal to agree. «Men like Cooper—men who get that high—can find plenty of soap boxes, a lot of free time on television and radio on which to complain. At least, they can try that before going with Genessee Industries.»
«Sam, Sam …» said Trevayne wearily. «You wouldn’t ‘yes’ me if my sanity depended on it. I suppose that’s an asset.»
«Sure, I would. I may need a job someday.»
«I doubt it.» Trevayne got out of his chair, walked in front of his desk, and leaned back on the edge. «Do you realize what they’ve done, Sam? They’ve structured my so-called candidacy in such a way that to win means I win, as their candidate. Cooper was the proof of that.»
«So what? You didn’t ask for it.»
«But I would have accepted it. Knowingly, consciously, I tacitly became an intrinsic part of the corruption I’ve claimed to be against… To smite Lucifer is to smite myself.»
«What?»
«Nothing. A little excess employed by Armbruster… Do you see, now? Caesar’s wife, Sam. The Calpurnia complex. If elected—or even halfway into the campaign—I couldn’t turn on Genessee Industries because I’m as guilty as it is. If I try before the election, I guarantee my loss; if after, I erode the public’s confidence in me. They have the ammunition to cripple me: the amended report; they waded me out. It was extraordinary strategy… Thanks to Paul Bonner and a confused, overextended brigadier general, I found out before it was too late.»
«Why did they do it? Why did they pick you?»
«For the simplest of all reasons, Sam. The twentieth-century motif. They had no choice. No alternative… I was out to destroy Genessee Industries. And I could do it.»
Vicarson stared down at the floor. «Oh, Jesus,» he said softly. «I didn’t understand… What are you going to do?»
Trevayne pushed himself off the edge of the desk. «What I should have kept my mind on in the first place. Rip out Genessee… Root by goddamn root!»
«That blows your candidacy.»
«It certainly does.»
«I’m sorry about that.»
Andy stopped on his way back to the chair. He turned and looked in Sam’s direction, but not at Sam. He looked beyond him to the windows, to the descending darkness that soon would be night in Washington, D.C. «Isn’t it remarkable? I’m sorry, too. Genuinely sorry. How easily we convince ourselves… How much easier still are we mistaken.»
He continued back to the chair and sat down. He tore off the top page of a memorandum pad and picked up his Mark Cross pencil.
The telephone rang.
«I’ll get it,» said Sam, getting up from the couch and crossing to the desk. «Mr. Trevayne’s office… Yes, sir? Oh? Yes. I understand. Just one minute, please.» Vicarson pushed the «hold» button and looked at Trevayne. «It’s James Goddard… He’s in Washington.»