The Governor of Connecticut was prepared to offer Trevayne the appointment—provided, of course, that Andrew immediately enroll in the party. «Immediately» meant within the month. Before the fifteenth of January.
By fulfilling the unexpired Senate term Trevayne would be propelled into the national spotlight. His political springboard was assured.
It had happened before; to lesser men, usually. The extraordinary man could capitalize on it brilliantly. The forum was ready-made. Positions could be established swiftly, with strength. Papers would be issued, making irrevocably clear the beliefs of Andrew Trevayne.
For the first time, Andrew faced the concrete reality.
It was possible.
Yet what were his beliefs? Did he believe in the checks and balances and independent judgments he so readily espoused? Did he believe—really believe—that the Washington talent was superior talent, needing only to be freed from contemptible influences such as Genessee Industries? And was he capable of leading that superior talent? Was he strong enough? Could he impose the strength of his own convictions on an immensely powerful adversary?
Much had been made at the Villa d’Este meeting of his work for the State Department. The conferences in Czechoslovakia, where he’d brought seemingly implacable opponents together.
But Andy knew that Czechoslovakia was not the test at all.
The test was Genessee Industries.
Could he himself—alone—bring the company to heel? That was the test he wanted, needed.
43
Paul Bonner stood at attention as Brigadier General Cooper came through the door of his small room in Arlington. Cooper waved his hand, half in salute, half in a gesture of weariness, indicating that Bonner should relax, sit down again.
«I can’t stay long, Major. I’m due at O.M.B. shortly; there’s always a budget crisis, isn’t there?»
«As far back as I can remember, sir.»
«Yes… Yes. Sit down. If I don’t, it’s only because I’ve been sitting all day. And most of this past weekend. I’ve been up to our place in Rutland. Sometimes it’s even more lovely with the snow. You should visit us there sometime.»
«I’d like that.»
«Yes… Yes. Mrs. Cooper and I would like it, too.»
Paul sat down in the chair by his bare steel desk, leaving the single armchair for the General. But the Brigadier would not sit down. Cooper was nervous, agitated, unsure of himself.
«I gather you haven’t brought very good news, General.»
«I’m sorry, Major.» Cooper looked down at Paul, his mouth drawn, his brow wrinkled. «You’re a good soldier, and everything will be done for you that can be done. We expect you’ll be acquitted of the murder charge…»
«That’s nothing to be sorry about.» Bonner grinned.
«The newspapers, especially that little prick Bruce, have stopped demanding your neck.»
«I’m grateful. What happened?»
«We don’t know, and nobody wants to ask. Unfortunately, it will have no bearing.»
«On what?»
Cooper walked to the small double window overlooking the BOQ courtyard. «Your acquittal—if it’s that—will be in a civil criminal court with military as well as civilian attorneys… You are still subject to an Army court-martial. The decision has been made to proceed with dispatch immediately following your trial.»
«What?»
Bonner got out of his chair slowly. The gauze around his throat was stretched as his neck muscles expanded in anger. «On what basis? You can’t try me twice. If I’m acquitted … I’m acquitted!»
«Of murder. Not of gross neglect of duty. Not of disregarding orders, thus placing yourself at the scene of the trouble.» Cooper continued to look out the window. «You had no right being where you were, Major. You might have jeopardized the safety of Trevayne and his housekeeper. And you involved the United States Army in areas beyond its province, thus impugning our motives.»
«That’s goddamn double-talk!»
«That’s the goddamn truth, soldier!» Cooper whipped around from the window. «Pure and simple. You may have been shot at, legally constituting self-defense. I hope to Christ we can prove that. No one else was!»
«They’ve got the Army car. We can prove it.»
«The Army car. That’s the point! Not Trevayne’s car, not Trevayne… Goddamn, Bonner, can’t you see? There are too many other considerations. The Army can’t afford you any longer.»
Paul lowered his voice as he stared at the Brigadier. «Who’s going to do the shithouse detail, General? You?… I don’t think you’re up to it, sir.»
«I won’t say that’s not called for, Major. From your point of view, I suppose it is… However, it may have struck you that I was under no obligation to come here this afternoon.»
Bonner realized the truth of Cooper’s statement. It would have been much simpler for everyone except him had the General said nothing. «Why did you, then?»
«Because you’ve been through enough; you deserve better than you’re getting. I want you to know I know that. Whatever the outcome, I’ll make sure you’ll … still be able to come and visit a retired superior officer in Rutland, Vermont.»
So the General was getting out, thought Paul. The commander wasn’t commanding anymore, just making his last deals. «Which means you’ll keep me out of the stockade.»
«I promise you that. I’ve been given assurance.»
«But I lose the uniform?»
«Yes… I’m sorry. We’re approaching a very sensitive situation… We have to go by the book. No deviations. We can’t afford the Army’s motives to be subject to question. We can’t be accused of covering up.»
«There’s that double-talk again, General. You’re not very good at it, if you don’t mind my saying so.»
«I don’t mind, Major. I’ve tried, you know. I’ve tried to get better at it during the past seven or eight years. I don’t seem to take to it; I just get worse. I like to think it’s one of the better traits of us old-line men.»
«What you’re telling me is the Army wants me conveniently tucked away somewhere. Out of sight.»
Brigadier Cooper slumped into the armchair, his legs extended, the repose position of a combat officer in his tent. The way most of them slept after a rotten day at a fire base. «Out of sight, out of mind, out of the picture, Major… If possible, out of the country; which I will propitiously suggest to you, once the court-martial is commuted.»
«Jesus! It’s all been programmed, hasn’t it?»
«There’s one possibility, Bonner. It struck me as amusing the other day, around noontime in my backyard … with all the snow. Not funny, just ironic.»
«What is it?»
«You might get a presidential reprieve. An executive reversal, I think it’s called nowadays. Isn’t that ironic?»
«How would that be possible?»
Brigadier General Cooper got out of the armchair and walked slowly back to the window overlooking the courtyard.
«Andrew Trevayne,» he said quietly.
Robert Webster didn’t say good-bye to anyone for the simple reason that no one other than the President and the head of the White House staff knew he was leaving.
The sooner the better.
The press release would read that Robert Webster of Akron, Ohio, for nearly three years a special assistant to the President, was relinquishing his post for reasons of health. The White House reluctantly accepted his resignation, wishing him well.