«You’re speculating.»
«I certainly am. Over unbelievable amounts of petty cash. Year after year… Does Green hold the reins?»
«Goddamn, son, you’re looking for villains! ‘Account men,’ ‘rulers,’ ‘kingdoms,’ ‘holding reins’… ‘Fifty-first state’!» Armbruster tapped his pipe violently against the railing, clearing out the bowl. Several specks of burning tobacco fell on the back of the Senator’s hand, which shook in anger, but Armbruster did not seem to feel the pain. «Listen to me. For all my political life I’ve clashed with the big boys! I haven’t shrunk. Read over some of those speeches I’ve made at conventions! I’ve set policy! If you recall, a whole goddamn contingent of right-wingers walked out on me—walked out—in the fifty convention! I didn’t waver; I was right!»
«I remember. You were quite a hero.»
«I was right! That’s the important thing… But I was also wrong. You didn’t expect me to say that, did you? I’ll tell you where I was wrong. I didn’t try to understand; I didn’t try hard enough to get to the roots of their thinking, their fears. I didn’t try to use the powers of reason. I just condemned. I found my villains, raised my sword of wrath, and smote the hordes of Lucifer… Some awfully good men went out of the hall that day. They never came back.»
«Are you drawing a parallel?»
«Of course I am, young man. You think you’ve found your villain, your emissary from Lucifer. Your villain is a concept—bigness. And you’re prepared to impale anyone who accepts any aspect of it with your sword of wrath… And that could be a tragic error.»
«Why?»
«Because Genessee Industries has been responsible for a great deal of social good. Very progressive accomplishments. Did you know, for example, that there are drug clinics, day-care centers, mobile medical units in the hearts of some of California’s worst ghetto areas, thanks to Genessee? A retraining center for ex-convicts in Cape Mendocino that’s considered a model rehabilitation operation? Genessee financing, Mr. Trevayne. There’s even the Armbruster Research Cancer Clinic in San Jose. Yes, my name, Trevayne; I convinced Genessee to donate the land and much of the equipment… Lower your sword, young man.»
Trevayne turned away, just enough to avoid having to look at Mitchell Armbruster. To avoid watching a man who’d traded the voting strength of millions for tax-deductible marbles.
«Then there’s no harm in bringing it all out in the open. Let the country know how it’s twice blessed. It gets Genessee’s superior products as well as its charity.»
«You do that, and they’ll phase out the programs.»
«Why? For being publicly thanked?»
«You know as well as I do that whenever the business community takes on these projects it reserves the right to release only the information it wishes. They’d be swamped.»
«They’d be suspect.»
«Whatever. The losers are in the ghettos, the barrios. Do you want to be responsible?»
«For God’s sake, Senator, I want someone to be responsible!»
«Not everyone’s as fortunate as you, Trevayne. We can’t all sit in our lofty perches and look down with such impunity—and, I suspect, no little disdain—at the struggle beneath us. Most of us join in that struggle and do the best we can. For others as well as ourselves.»
«Senator, I’m not going to argue utilitarian philosophy with you. You’re a debater, I’m not. Maybe we have no quarrel. I don’t know. You said your term expires in two years; I’ve got about two months. Our report will be finished by then. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve accommodated in good faith; you’ve contributed a great deal of good to a great many people. You may be on the side of the angels, while I’m the one making pacts with Lucifer. Maybe.»
«We all of us do what we can. The best way we can.»
«Again, maybe. Don’t interfere with my two months, and I’ll do my damnedest not to create any problems for your two years. A simple accommodation, Senator.»
Trevayne’s Lear jet climbed rapidly to its cruising altitude of thirty-eight thousand feet. He’d be landing at Westchester airport in a little over an hour. He had decided to surprise Phyllis at the Darien Hospital. He needed the rest, needed the comfort of her gentle humor, her essential reasonableness. And, too, he wanted to allay her fears; she’d been afraid but was too unselfish to burden him.
Then tomorrow morning or afternoon or evening there was Aaron Green.
Four down, two to go.
Aaron Green, New York.
Ian Hamilton, Chicago.
26
Major Paul Bonner found himself actually issuing orders to Brigadier General Lester Cooper. Orders to use only the best CID undercover men and have them span out through Pasadena, Houston, and Seattle. To reach Genessee or Bellstar personnel substantively related to any of the issues raised at the San Francisco conference. In Houston, since it was already established that Ryan hadn’t gone to the labs, the agents should check with NASA high-level personnel. There had to be any number who knew Ryan; perhaps leads could be unearthed.
Bonner even suggested covers for the agents to use. The men should state that the subcommittee had received threatening communications—letters, telephone calls, et cetera.
It was the sort of cover that led easily into expansive conversations. Civilians were always eager to help the military when it was protecting someone. The mere confidence broke down reticence, especially when the inquiries had nothing to do with them.
Something was bound to turn up.
And if and when it did, Bonner asked the General to please alert him before taking action, before confronting anyone. He knew Andrew Trevayne better than Cooper did, better than anybody at Defense. He might have suggestions.
The Brigadier was delighted to share his responsibility with the Young Turk.
The last request Bonner made of his superior officer was to have a fighter jet sent down from the Air Force base at Billings, Montana.
If it became necessary, he was going to follow Andrew Trevayne.
It would become necessary if he could learn who Trevayne had gone to see. That he’d left for Washington, Bonner knew; the Lear flight plan had been filed with Ada County Traffic Control.
But who in Washington?
There was a chance of finding out, but it would have to wait until morning. He was having breakfast with Alan and Sam; he wondered if Mike Ryan would be there. After breakfast Martin and Vicarson had a final short meeting in Boise; they were all meeting at the airport for a noon plane to Denver.
During that hour or two, Major Paul Bonner would do some reconnoitering.
Paul watched Alan Martin and Sam Vicarson leave the hotel dining room, off to their final Boise conference.
He waited until they’d gone through the dining-room door, then rapidly left the table and followed them into the lobby. Martin stopped at the newsstand, while Vicarson went to the information desk. Bonner kept his back to them, pretending to look over the «Nightly Entertainment» case. Thirty seconds later Vicarson joined Martin at the newsstand, and the two men walked toward the front entrance. Bonner went to the lobby window and watched them get into a cab.
He’d try Vicarson’s room first. Sam seemed closer to Trevayne—or at least the one Andy delegated more authority to. If the front desk balked, he’d give a simple explanation that Sam forgot important papers. The clerk was the one on duty when they’d checked in together. If the clerk proved difficult, Bonner would produce several plastic identifications that would scare the hell out of him.