«I must have missed that day’s paper.»
«Those days. What’s Bonner’s function? Why was he assigned to you? Did you know him before? Did you request him?»
«You talk awfully fast.»
«I’m awfully interested.»
«Taking your questions in order—if I can; Bonner’s merely a liaison with Defense. If I need something he gets it. Those are his words, incidentally, and he’s been damned efficient. I have no idea why he was assigned to me; I’m also aware that he’s not particularly happy with the job. I didn’t know him, so obviously I couldn’t have requested him.»
«Okay.» Bruce kept his eyes on Trevayne. He made small rapid vertical motions with his gold pencil against the air, against nothing. Again it was a gesture, an irritating one. «That checks out; that’s programmed. Now … do you believe it?»
«Believe what?»
«That the ‘killer from Saigon’ is simply a messenger boy? You really believe that?»
«Of course I do. He’s been very helpful. These offices, arranging transportation, reservations all over the country. Whatever his opinions, they have no bearing on what he does around here.»
«You mentioned your staff. Did he help you assemble it?»
«Of course not.» Trevayne found himself raising his voice. His anger, he realized, was triggered because in the beginning Paul Bonner had tried to help him ‘assemble’ a staff. «To anticipate you, Major Bonner holds convictions which differ considerably from my own. We both understand that; neither expects to convert the other. Regardless, I trust him. Not that there’s any reason to use the term; he’s not involved with our work.»
«I’d say he’s very much involved. He’s in a position to know what you’re doing. Who you’re talking to, which companies you’re looking into—»
«That kind of information is hardly classified, Mr. Bruce,» interrupted Trevayne. «Frankly, I’m not sure what you’re driving at.»
«It’s obvious. If you’re investigating a gang of thieves, you don’t rely on one of the biggest crooks in town to help you out.»
Trevayne recalled Walter Madison’s initial reaction to Bonner. The attorney had observed that Defense wasn’t practicing much subtlety. «I think I can relieve your anxiety, Mr. Bruce. Major Bonner is in no way responsible for any decisions here. We don’t discuss our progress with him—except in the most general terms and if I’m not mistaken, usually with humor. He simply takes care of routine details; and as a matter of fact, far less so than at the beginning. My secretary has assumed most of those responsibilities and calls on Bonner only when she has problems. Defense is quite good at securing a difficult airlines reservation or locating a corporation man whose company has a Pentagon contract. I repeat he’s been very helpful.»
«You’ll grant his being here on these premises is unusual.»
«The military is not famous for its sensitivity, Mr. Bruce. I think that’s perhaps a good thing… Look, we’re dealing with Defense economies; we need a liaison. Why the Army assigned Bonner, I can’t presume to say. But it did, and he’s been satisfactory. I won’t say he’s been inspired; I don’t think he has much use for us. However, he’s a good soldier. I believe he’d carry out whatever assignments given him, regardless of his personal feelings.»
«Nicely said.»
«There’s no other way to say it.»
«You’re telling me he doesn’t try to represent the Pentagon viewpoint?»
«On the few occasions when I’ve asked his opinion, he very much represents the military point of view. I’d be alarmed if he didn’t. Wouldn’t you be?… If you’re attempting to unearth some kind of conspiracy, you’re not going to find it. Using your own logic Mr. Bruce, we were aware of Bonner’s reputation. Or became aware of it. Naturally, we were concerned. Those concerns proved unwarranted.»
«You’re not giving me what I want, Trevayne.»
«It seems to me you want a headline for your column that says Bonner’s impeding the subcommittee’s progress. That he’s been assigned here so he can transmit classified information to his superiors. I told you, I’ve read your by-line, Bruce. It was a nice try, very logical. But it’s not true. It’s too goddamned obvious, and you know it.»
«What are some of his opinions? I might settle for that. What’s he said that represents the ‘military point of view’?»
Trevayne watched the diminutive columnist. He was becoming edgy, he was nervous now, as if he sensed he was about to lose something he wanted desperately. Andy recalled Paul Bonner’s harrowing counterstrategy against the hypothetical peace march—the troops, the swift repression—and knew this was the sort of thing Roderick Bruce wanted to print.
«You’re paranoid. You’re willing to settle for just about anything that colors Bonner dirty, aren’t you?»
«You got it, Trevayne. Because he is dirty. He’s a mad dog who should have been gassed three years ago.»
«That’s a pretty strong indictment. If you feel that way, you’ve got the audience; tell them … if you can back it up.»
«They cover for that son-of-a-bitch. They all cover for him. Up and down the line he’s sacred territory. Even with those who hate his guts—from the Mekong to Danang—no one’ll say a word. That bothers me. I’d think it would bother you, too.»
«I don’t have your information. I’ve got enough problems without creating more from half-truths or half-lies. Put plainly, I’m not that interested in Major Bonner.»
«Maybe you should be.»
«I’ll think about it.»
«Think about something else, too. I’ll give you a couple of days. You’ve had conversations with Bonner; he spent a weekend with you in Connecticut. Call me and tell me about them. What he’s said to you may seem inconsequential. But coupled with what I’ve got could be important. You might be doing yourself and the country considerable service.»
Trevayne rose from the chair, looking down at the small reporter. «Take your Gestapo tactics somewhere else, Mr. Bruce. No sale here.»
Roderick Bruce knew through experience the disadvantages of standing up. He remained seated, fingering his gold pencil. «Don’t make an enemy of me, Trevayne. That’s foolish. I can shape that submarine story in such a way as to make you untouchable. People’ll run from you. Maybe worse; maybe they’ll just be laughing.»
«Get out of here before I throw you out.»
«Intimidating the press, Mr. Chairman? Threatening physical violence on a man of my size?»
«Describe it any way you like. Just get out,» said Trevayne calmly.
Roderick Bruce rose slowly, replacing the gold pencil in his breast pocket. «A couple of days, Trevayne. I’ll expect your call. You’re upset now, but things will clear up for you. You’ll see.»
Trevayne watched the little-boy/old-man walk firmly with his short strides toward the office door. Bruce didn’t look back; he grasped the knob, pulled the door, and walked out. The heavy door banged against a chair in its backward path and vibrated slightly.
Brigadier General Lester Cooper slammed his fist on the long briefing table. His face was flushed, the veins in his neck pronounced.
«That little bastard. That goddamned pygmy prick! What the hell is he after?»