Devil's Eye (15 page)

“
It’s foul play all right,” the President muttered, entertaining the guilty thought that it would have been better if some local crime were involved over international terrorism. Less complication.

Several minutes later his secretary announced George Brandon, chief of staff.

“
Send him in,” the President replied while switching channels.

Brandon entered, nodding hello, pushed a chair to one side, so as not to block the President’s view, and sat down opposite him. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the desk and waited for a cue to speak.

“
I see the funeral’s to be at the Church of the Apostles,” the President soon said. He muted the sound on the monitors.

“
Yes, sir, I have the information. Services are to start at ten a.m.”

George Brandon was at ease with his Chief Executive. He was in his forties, but looked older; the result of a dedicated and very active life in local and state politics that brought him to befriend the future President and eventually follow him into the White House as one of his most trusted advisers. He had the paunchy look of a man who spent most of his waking hours in and out of offices, totally consumed with his duties—which were, of course, formidable.

Those who ever had an occasion to deal with Brandon soon realized that his fleshy exterior hid a very quick and practical mind—not brilliant, but somehow tuned into the nuances of mainstream national thinking. He was deferential to his President without being sycophantic, protective, even loving, and for that reason was very demanding and oftentimes brusque with his own subordinates.

He held a note pad, but spoke from memory: “We had to change your schedule for Wednesday morning and cancel the afternoon appointments. The Pakistani foreign minister is set for Thursday at eleven; he’s due at the funeral too. The meeting with Rudolf of the autoworkers’ union is re
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scheduled for Friday—we’ll have an updated briefing for you by Thursday. The 4
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H kids we left as is for Thursday at nine
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thirty. It’s a once
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in
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a
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lifetime trip for them to Washington to see the President.”

“
Good, George. I’d hate to disappoint them. What about Victor?”

“
Sherwyck? He should have been here by now,” the chief of staff commented.

“
Show him to the Cabinet Room when he arrives.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
What about Michelle McConnell? Anything new on her daughter?”

“
Nothing yet, sir. We should know something as soon as our operatives report from Beirut. General Bradley’s informed us that his officers made contact with the Israeli Mossad and they transported them to the rendezvous site near Lebanese waters.”

The President waited expectantly.

“
And that’s all we have so far, sir. The two officers should have made contact by now.”

“
Other developments?”

“
No, sir. The terrorist angle is the only scenario we have. Nothing else pans out.”

“
That’s all we’ve got?”

“
That’s all we’ve got.”

“
No one’s taking credit for a kidnapping?”

“
Not yet, sir.”

“
No announcements? No demands?”

“
No, sir.”

“
That’s a little strange, isn’t it?”

“
Well, sir, there’s nothing predictable about these kinds of groups,” Brandon attempted as an answer. “That’s why our Omega operatives are following the only solid lead we have.”

“
That Warlock connection?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
What about Victor? Nothing from him? Wasn’t he with her last?”

“
So, we understand, Mr. President. No one’s spoken with him.”

“
I will when he gets here. He’s the only one I know who keeps the President waiting. If he wasn’t a friend, I’d kick him you know where.” The President was growing irritated.

“
Yes, sir,” the chief of staff concurred. “You and others in line behind you.”

They both chuckled.

The intercom on the President’s desk sounded with a mellow tone: “Mr. President. Mister McCallister is here. Shall I send him in?”

The President leaned towards his speaker phone. “Yes, Dottie, send him in.”

“
Mr. President,” Paul McCallister acknowledged as he walked in. He strode to an armchair next to George Brandon’s opposite the President.

“
Coffee?” the President invited as he sat down.

“
Thank you, sir.”

McCallister looked fit and confident and had the bearing of a man who had achieved success in life and was recognized for it. His face still had the even tan of frequent winter visits to southern climates and his demeanor was authoritative. His New York brokerage firm was one of the top three in the nation and McCallister knew that his service in the White House would guarantee his position for as long as he wanted, even though he had to temporarily sacrifice salary, stock options, fringe benefits and other perquisites in the multi
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millions of dollars.

Where Brandon had worked his way up with the President, McCallister had been called to service by him, because McCallister had an intricate private network of international contacts through his work with multi
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national corporations. In fact, the President was confident—and for good reason—that McCallister’s network rivaled that of the State Department itself.

“
Mr. President,” McCallister began. He adjusted his tie and suit jacket and leisurely poured himself a cup of coffee. “We did some preliminary investigation and have a list of potential replacements for Secretary Stack. Your apprehension about Philip Taylor, the Deputy Secretary, is well
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founded.”

“
Is that your opinion, Paul? Or your favorite pundits?” the President retorted with a friendly laugh and pointed to the monitors.

“
Well, sir, that’s where the pundits get their information, isn’t it? From us.”

“
It’s a vicious circle,” Brandon added jocularly. “Do we influence them or do they influence us?”

“
Well, I’ll tell you fella’s,” the President said more seriously. “More than once I’ve heard some news analyst give reasons for my actions that never entered my mind. But they sure sounded damn good—so I adopted their rationale.”

The advisers looked at him with knowing approval.

“
Tell me something the media hasn’t said about Philip Taylor as the wrong choice.”

“
Well. Mr. President, not too much actually,” McCallister started. “As you know, his public pronouncements prior to his present appointment would put you in a very awkward situation. If Taylor took over at Defense, the Russians would get mixed signals on our intentions. We’re too far along on some real progress in arms control that would be good for our defensive posture and some real peace of mind; at least for a number of years to come. Taylor is definitely out.”

McCallister turned his gaze to George Brandon, who nodded agreement, then turned his gaze back to the President.

“
I know, Paul,” the President declared. “That’s what I was saying yesterday. So, let’s get to the alternatives.”

“
We have four good possibilities,” George Brandon said, looking towards McCallister.

“
Former Senator Farris is probably the best choice,” McCallister began.

“
Let me decide that. Who else do you have?” the President interjected.

“
Yes, sir,” McCallister replied. “Besides James Farris, we have Evelyn Allport of the America Foundation. She’s had a very good public profile over the last couple of years. Her strategic analyses are widely read. She was right on the money on the track that space weaponry would take. Very prophetic. I think she commands tremendous public trust.”

“
She’s clean too,” the chief of staff added.

“
A rare quality, indeed,” the President said with emphasis. “Nowadays that trait seems more valuable than talent.”

“
All four have very good backgrounds, Mr. President,” George Brandon assured.

“
They damn better,” the President declared with growing intensity. “I want no more fiascos about Presidential appointments. It’s as if the last couple of Administrations were jinxed or something. Scandals. Resignations. Financial frauds. High level crooks with tentacles reaching into the White House. I’ll tell you again, gentlemen—” The President was now preaching. “There’ll be none of that while
I’m
in the White House. I may not go down in history as the best President this nation has had, but I’ll be damned if I’m ever accused of betraying the public trust.”

Brandon and McCallister both shifted in their seats and looked at the President somberly.

“
And no bimbos buzzing around members of my Administration.”

“
Certainly not, Mr. President,” the chief of staff felt compelled to assure.

“
It goes without saying, Mr. President.” McCallister emphasized in a tone that suggested he was affronted at the very thought.

“
I know, gentlemen, I know. I’m just re
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emphasizing my convictions.”

“
Yes, sir,” George Brandon continued. “William Cobb is another good choice. He’s a retired general and his present position as U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations makes him a perfect blend of warrior and peacekeeper.”

“
That’s a thought,” the President replied and leaned back in his plush leather chair, as if some burden had just been lifted from him. “In fact, Cobb sounds very good. He’s solid, intellectual, faithful to his uniform. But he was never a slave to the military mind. That’s why I picked him for the United Nations. He’s an excellent candidate, gentlemen.” The President leaned forward again and rested his arms on his desk.

Both the chief of staff and senior presidential adviser smiled with satisfaction, pleased that they had screened at least one replacement for the Secretary of Defense who had immediately caught the President’s interest.

“
Who’s the fourth?” the President asked. He arose from his chair and walked towards the window overlooking the Rose Garden.

“
Gordon Thomas,” McCallister and Brandon replied almost in unison as they rose from their own chairs and followed.

“
Gordon Thomas. Yes. Possible. Thomas is a ranking member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Jimmy Farris is a former Senator, good connections with military brass.”

“
They both have a good grasp of our defense needs,” Paul McCallister offered.

“
Certainly, Paul,” the President replied. “I’d say they’re a toss up. I guess the only advantage Thomas may have is that fatherly shock of white hair.”

McCallister and Brandon both smiled at the President’s remark.

The President unconsciously stroked his own snowy hair along his temple and thought to himself whether that wasn’t the only visible reason why he, himself, was popular.

“
Well, at least we all agree on Philip Taylor,” the President said jovially. “He can’t be the one, even though he would seem a natural choice as the next most senior official in the Defense Department.”

“
Would you like some other names, sir?” the chief of staff offered.

“
No. I think any of these four are good choices. I’ll let you know my decision. It’s too bad we have to decide at all,” the President said after a thoughtful pause. “Ron was an outstanding public servant. What a weird accident. It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

George Brandon and Paul McCallister nodded their heads in silent, solemn agreement.

The intercom sounded again. “Mr. President?”

“
Yes, Dottie.”

“
Stanford Howard is here. He says he has some urgent news.”

“
Send him in.” He turned to his chief of staff. “Some national security issue?”