(1976) The R Document (2 page)

Young shook his head.

‘Then let me tell you,’ said Collins. ‘Peoria, Illinois. The police department. The morning shift finished its briefing and assignments, and the officers started outside to their motorcycles and squad cars, when they were ambushed by a gang lying in wait for them. Just ripped to shreds - a bloodbath. At least one-third of the force dead or injured. How do you handle that? Or the fact - a mathematician came up with this today - that one out of every nine persons born in

Atlanta this year, if they stayed on in that city, would wind up dead by murder? I repeat, we’ve never had a crime crisis like this in our entire history. How would you propose to solve it? What would you do?’

Plainly, this was a subject Ishmael Young had discussed before, because he was ready with his answer. ‘I’d put our house in order by rebuilding it. From the bottom up. As George Bernard Shaw said, “The evil to be attacked is not sin, suffering, greed, priestcraft, kingcraft, demagogy, monopoly, ignorance, drink, war, pestilence, nor any of the other consequences of poverty, but just poverty itself.” I’d take drastic measures to get rid of poverty, get rid of economic oppression, inequality, injustice - to get rid of crime -‘

‘There’s no time for the total overhaul now. Look, I don’t disagree with you on what must basically be done. That’ll all come about in due time.’

‘It’ll never come about once the 35th Amendment is passed.’

Collins was in no mood for further debate. ‘I’m curious, Mr Young. Do you talk like this when you work with Director Tynan?’

Young shrugged his shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t be here now if I did. I talk like this with you because - because you seem to be a nice guy.’

‘I am a nice guy.’

‘And - I hope you don’t mind my saying this - I simply can’t figure out what you’re doing with that crowd.’

This hit a nerve. Karen had made the same point, over a month ago, when he had decided to accept the job of Attorney General. He had had some answers for her then, but he was not going to bother to repeat them to a virtual stranger. Instead, he said, ‘Would you like to see someone else in this job? Someone Director Tynan recommended? Why do you think I took this job? Because I believe nice guys can finish first.’ He glanced at his wristwatch again, and stood up. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Young. We’ve run out of time. I told you when you came in, I have a stack of cases to review. Then I’ve got to get over to the White House. Look, I’ll know a good deal more, perhaps be able to help you

further, in a few months from now. Why don’t you give me a ring then?’

Ishmael Young was on his feet, putting away his note-paper, taking up his tape recorder and shutting it off. ‘I will call you. If you’re still around. I hope you are.’

‘I’ll be around.’

Then I’ll be calling. Thanks a lot.’

Chris Collins reached over and shook the writer’s hand, and then watched him waddle toward the conference room that led to the reception room and the hall elevator.

Suddenly, he was inspired to ask the writer something he had neglected to ask before. ‘By the way, Mr Young, how long have you been working with Director Tynan?’

Ishmael Young halted in the doorway. ‘Almost six months. Once a week for six months.’

‘Well, you haven’t told me - what do you think of him?’

Young offered a weak half-smile. ‘Mr Collins,’ he said, ‘I’ll cop the 5th.’ He grinned. There still is a 5th, isn’t there?’ Then he added, This work is my bread and butter. I never risk that. Besides, I was sort of pressured into taking this assignment. Thanks again,’

He was gone.

Collins remained where he had been standing, thinking about their exchange, about the crisis in the country, about the new Amendment that was to stop all that, about Director Tynan himself, assessing in turn what he felt about each of these. Then he realized it was taking too long, and there was too much to do. Finally, he settled down in his chair, rolled it up to his desk, and began to examine the papers lying there.

Soon he had forgotten his visitor completely. He was utterly absorbed by the cases that required his immediate attention - an interstate kidnapping, a violation of the Atomic Energy Act, an Indian Lands claim, an antitrust suit, a tremendous narcotics case, an appointment of a Federal judge, a subversive plot against Congress, a deportation, a number of riot problems, a series of leads on five conspiracies aimed at disrupting or overthrowing the Government.

Absorbed though he was, Collins was acutely sensitive to

sound. Now, in the stillness of the huge seventy-foot office, he could hear the brush of her footsteps on the thick Oriental rug. He looked up from his two stacks of papers to see Marion Rice, his secretary, coming hastily toward him from her adjacent office. She was holding up a large manila envelope,

‘Just came in - hand-delivered - from across the street,’ she said.

Across the street meant across Pennsylvania Avenue -the J. Edgar Hoover Building and the FBI and the FBI Director.

‘It’s marked Confidential and Important,’ she added. ‘It must be from the Director.’

‘Odd,’ said Collins. ‘He usually has everything in before noon.’

She handed the manila envelope across the desk to him, and hesitated. ‘Unless there’s something else, Mr Collins, I’ll be leaving now.’ He was surprised. ‘What time is it?’ ‘Twenty after six.’

‘My God. I’m not even half through yet. I shouldn’t have let that writer fellow take up so much of my time.’ He thought about it. ‘Well, maybe it was useful. He was interesting.’ Ruefully, he looked down at the first stack on his desk. ‘I guess I’ll have to take most of this home. Okay, Marion, you can lock up and go.’

‘You’ll have no more time for work now. Don’t forget, you have a dinner date tonight, seven fifteen, the White House.’

He grimaced. ‘That may be work, too.’ She still hesitated, and then a reticent smile surfaced on her plain, elongated face. ‘I just want to say, Mr Collins, congratulations on your first week’s anniversary as Attorney General. We’re all happy you’re here. Good night.’ ‘Good night, Marion. I appreciate that.’ After she had gone, and he was quite alone, he considered the large manila envelope that Marion had given him. There was rarely good news from the FBI these days, so it was with reluctance that he unsealed the package. He withdrew what appeared to be a half dozen pages

of typed statistics. Attached to them was a covering letter, a handwritten note really. From the crabbed hand already familiar to him, from the erratic punctuation (mostly dashes), the impatient abbreviations, he knew that the note had been written by Director Vernon T. Tynan even before the signature confirmed it. His curiosity aroused, Collins began reading the note.

Dear Chris -

Heres the latest figures on last months nat’l crime statistics - the worst yet by far -the worst in our history - I’m sending a copy to the Pres and one to you so that you get it before we see the Pres tonight. Note the jump in murders, riots, armed robbery, interstate kidnapping. See my addendum on leads to probable conspiracies and organized revolutionaries - we’re really in a stew and we’ll be cooked, and the only thing that can pull us out is final passage of the 35th Amend - pray for it tonight. I already had these latest statistics phoned in to legislators in Albany, NY, and Columbus, O, so they know the true situation before they vote tonight. Hate to give you this terrible report, but feel its vital you are up to date before seeing the Pres. This is in rough form - will check it out thoroughly before making it public tomorrow - see you at the TV dinner in a few hours.

Best,

Vernon

Folding back Tynan’s note, Collins glanced through the Uniform Crime Reports, slowly turning the pages. In the past month, compared with the previous month, violent crimes, including murder, had gone up 18 per cent, forcible rape had gone up 15 per cent, robbery and aggravated assault up 30 per cent, riots up 20 per cent.

He laid down Tynan’s pages. He went over some other statistics in his own mind. Because of this growing lawlessness, prisons were filled to bursting. Five years earlier, there had been two million persons, at one time or another, in the 250 major prisons and reformatories in a given year. Despite

a stepped-up effort to put the lid on lawbreakers, despite the 45,000 lawyers and FBI agents working for the Department of Justice, despite three special divisions of Army troops assigned to domestic control by the Pentagon, despite the 22 billion dollars that wouid be spent on law enforcement this year (it had been only 31/2 billion in 1960), the crime rate continued to spiral upward. The cancer could no longer be kept in remission by force, it seemed. In another year it might be terminal, heralding the death of organized society.

He sat back in his chair, hands and fingertips together on his chest, as if in prayer. It was the darkest period in American history since the Civil War, of this he was certain. Anarchy and terror dominated every new day. When you woke in the morning, you did not know whether you would see the night. When you went to sleep at night, you did not know whether you would wake in the morning. Every day when he kissed Karen good-bye before going to work, he felt the frightening uncertainty that he might not find her (and the child she was carrying) alive when he came home.

He felt the invisible fist of fear grip his stomach. It was not the first time. Momentarily, his thoughts shrank from the chaos in the streets beyond his window to personal pity for himself. Certainly, he - he and Tynan - had the worst, most hopeless, jobs on earth.

Self-pity led to morbid self-fascination. Then why had he, Christopher Collins - thoughtful, self-effacing, withdrawn, sometimes selfish (he could be objective, too) - taken this impossible job as the nation’s number one law-enforcement officer and the head of the nation’s largest law firm?

Had he come here, without passionate convictions (except, as Ishmael Young had suggested, that democratic society had to be restructured) or solutions, because of a desire for power? Or had it been for ego gratification? Or had it been to fulfill a patriotic duty? Or had it been from a chivalrous feeling that he could do some good? Or had it been that he was the victim of a masochistic, even suicidal, strain in his make-up?

He did not know. At least, not tonight.

An then he heard his telephone ringing. He spun to his left, facing the oak cabinet on which rested the bank of

buttons, and saw that his personal button (for Karen, for friends, as distinct from other buttons for the President, the Director, his Deputy, Ed Schrader) was fighting up.

He lifted the receiver. ‘Collins here.’

‘Darling. I hope I’m not interrupting something … ‘ It was Karen’s voice.

‘No, no. I was just going through some last-minute things. How are you, honey?’

She didn’t answer directly. She said, I know we’re going to dinner tonight. I wanted to check on the time your driver is picking me up. Is it seven?’

‘A quarter to seven. You’ll be meeting me at seven. We’re due at the White House fifteen minutes after that. The President wants us to be on time. We’re all watching the TV specials from New York and Ohio. Are you dressed?’

‘I’m dressed underneath. And all made up. I just have to slip into something. What’s it going to be like? Can I wear the red knit?’

‘Wear whatever is casual. His secretary said this was going to be very informal.’

‘I guess the red knit will do. It’s almost the last time I can wear it before my stomach starts showing.’

‘Any action today?’

“Where? Oh, you mean there. A few tentative kicks.’

‘Good. The Redskins need a punter. You still haven’t told me - how are you otherwise?’

‘I’m fine, I guess. All things considered.’

‘What things considered?’ He knew, but he had to ask anyway.

‘Well, you know how I feel about those big protocol affairs. I’ve been to the White House with you only once, that time in the State Dining Room when we went with the Baxters. That was bad enough. But this one - you said this one was a small affair, intimate - that’s doubly scary. I won’t know what to say.’

‘You won’t have to say a darn thing. We’ll all be watching television.’

‘Why do you have to be there? What’s so important about you being there?’

‘Don’t you remember? I told you this morning.’

‘I’m sorry -‘

‘Never mind. I’ll tell you again. First of all, the President wants me there. That’s reason enough. In the second place, I am the Attorney General - and the 35th Amendment is up for a crucial vote tonight, and that falls in my province. I’m supposed to be very interested. There are special late sessions of the New York and Ohio lower houses tonight, being televised live, and since two of the three states that haven’t voted yet are voting tonight - and only two more states are needed to pass the 35th and make it part of the Constitution - this is a big deal. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, I understand. Don’t be angry with me, Chris. I just didn’t realize so much was going on tonight.’ She paused. ‘Do you want it to pass? I’ve read some bad things about it’

‘So have I, honey. I don’t know. I really don’t know what’s right. The Amendment can be good if good people are running the country. It can be bad if there are bad people. I can only say, if it passes, it’ll make my job easier.’

‘Then I hope it passes.’ But her voice carried no conviction.

‘Well, as they say in the mysterious Mideast - what is to be, will be. Let’s just eat the President’s food and look and listen.’ He checked the time. ‘You’d better get into the red knit. The driver’ll be there any second. Love you. See you soon.’

After hanging up, placing one stack of papers in the Out tray on his desk, stuffing the rest into his briefcase, he sat thinking of Karen. He was sorry he had been even passingly gruff with her. She deserved better, his best. He knew the evening ahead would be an ordeal for her. She had been against the change from the start, against the job as Deputy Attorney General, against the move from his private practice in Los Angeles to public office in Washington, and even more vehemently against the Cabinet post as Attorney General.

While she was not outspoken generally, and pretended to be apolitical, he knew where Karen stood. It had all come up before he entered the Justice Department. She did not like or trust the people he would be associated with, from