Preserve and Protect (6 page)

“It is already apparent, here in this capital still rocking from the terrible tragedy that has brought a new man into the White House, that the new man may not be so wedded to the Presidential hopes of Secretary of State Orrin Knox as the Secretary would obviously like to believe.

“The tip-off may have come shortly after noon today when Senate Majority Leader Munson, arriving from the West with the widowed First Lady, appeared to be worried and reluctant to discuss Mr. Knox’s prospects with reporters.

“It is being generally assumed here that Senator Munson, who worked in the closest relationship with President Abbott during the latter’s long tenure as Speaker of the House, may possibly know something that Secretary Knox does not know. If this growing conviction among those who study politics day by day should prove to be correct, it may well be that the Secretary’s claim upon the nomination—which he volunteered yesterday scarcely three hours after President Hudson’s tragic death—will turn out to be premature. Add to this growing uncertainty about Mr. Knox’s prospects the equally lively conviction that Governor Edward M. Jason of California now has once again become the major contender for the nomination, and it is easy to see—”

“It’s easy to see, you twisting son of a bitch,” the Majority Leader said quietly in the comfortable home of Orrin and Beth Knox in Spring Valley, “that all you bastards are now out to get poor old Mr. Knox again. Why don’t we just turn you off and enjoy a little silence for a change?”

And reaching forward to the set, he did so and then sat back with a sympathetic look at his host.

“Orrin,” he said, “I’m afraid you’ve got another fight on your hands.”

“When did I not have?” the Secretary of State inquired. “I no longer care, Bob. I’ve got to go ahead living, I can’t afford to let myself be handicapped by that sort of thing. And maybe by now the techniques are so obvious that the public is beginning to be on guard a little. This performance Frankly and Walter and the rest are putting on is typical. You arrived at the airport and refused to talk—”

“I was really worried about getting Lucille back to the mansion before she broke down again,” Bob Munson said mildly. “I also resented all those political questions at a time like that. I haven’t talked to Bill about you.”

“Oh, I know you haven’t. Your crime, you see, was that you didn’t want to answer. So the door was wide open for the broadest possible latitude in interpreting your non-cooperation. This tied in neatly with the general urge to cut me down before I can get started, so the standard techniques went right to work. You heard Frankly:

“The President
‘may not be so wedded’
to my
‘hopes’
as I
‘would obviously like to believe.’
You gave the
‘tip-off’
because you
‘appeared’
to be
‘worried and reluctant’
to discuss my future. Nobody says you actually were worried and reluctant, of course, you just
‘appeared’
to be. Because you have had
‘the closest relationship’
with the Speaker, you
‘may possibly’
—not for sure, but
‘may possibly’
—know
‘something’
that I don’t know.

“If this
‘conviction,’
which naturally is
‘growing’
among
‘those who study politics day by day’
should
‘prove to be correct’
it may be that my claim on the nomination—which I
‘volunteered scarcely three hours’
after Harley’s death, heartless bastard that I am—will turn out to be
‘premature’.

“These same carefully anonymous students of
‘politics day by day’
share the
‘equally lively conviction’
that Ted has
‘once again become the major contender for the nomination’
and so
‘it is easy to see’
—just what is it easy to see, Bob?”

“It’s easy to see that the English language in certain hands these days has become so smooth as to be practically subliminal,” the Majority Leader said dryly. “It’s easy to see that this is the sort of thing that comes out of Washington day in and day out about any person or cause that the major commentators and publications don’t like. All the public has to do is read and listen with an ounce of attention and there they are almost every time you pick up a paper or turn a dial—the little knife-words and knife-phrases that cut a man down. The few earnest but unfashionable correspondents, broadcasters and publications who don’t love Ted Jason aren’t going to be able to do much to stem the tide.…Except, of course,” he said more soberly, “that it’s got to be stemmed.”

“Why does it?” Orrin inquired in an oddly distant, offhand manner. “We’ve got a President in the White House. He’s committed to the policies we believe in. Why should we worry? They’ll have a tough time getting him out if he decides to run.”

“I don’t think he will run,” Senator Munson said slowly. His host gave him a sudden sharp look.

“But you don’t know.”

He shrugged.

“No, I don’t know. But from what I know of Bill, in my long, close relationship, I would find it a little hard to believe.”

“But not impossible,” the Secretary said. “Not impossible. And maybe it would be best, Bob. Maybe all this will work out all right. Maybe I should be the sacrificial lamb, so they can all concentrate on me while Bill goes about lining up the National Committee to give him the nomination. Shall we work for that?”

The Majority Leader studied him for a moment. Then he smiled.

“Who is this noble soul I’m talking to? Is this the Orrin Knox I know from yesteryear, The Man Who Would Be President? Say not so!”

“You can laugh if you like,” Orrin said calmly, “but that’s the way I feel now. That convention wasn’t easy for me, either, Bob. Nor has it been easy to try three times for the Presidential nomination, and lose. I’ve about had it, with politics. I’ll take it if I can get it, certainly, but I don’t think any more that the end of the world is going to come if I don’t. I used to, but I think I’ve been cured. I’m perfectly willing to leave it to Bill, if that’s what he wants. He’s a good man.”

“One of the best,” Senator Munson said. “But I don’t think he’s going to let you get out that easily.”

“What does he want me to do, then, stay where I am and run for Vice President? I’m perfectly willing to do that, too, if that’s what he wants.”

“Now, just how does that jibe,” Senator Munson inquired thoughtfully, “with your ‘volunteering’ for the nomination? What were those headlines I saw last night? SECRETARY KNOX SAYS, ‘I EXPECT TO HEAD THE TICKET’—”

Orrin shrugged.

“I was just establishing my territory. To hold for me, or hold for him, if he wants it. I didn’t think it should go by default.”

“I must say you’re in a funny mood,” Bob Munson told him. “Is it because Beth and Hal and Crystal are still in Carmel, or—”

The Secretary’s face became uncharacteristically somber for a moment.

“I think it’s because of Harley, basically.”

Senator Munson nodded.

“What a hell of a thing,” he said slowly. “Poor Harley. What a hell of a thing!”

“It makes all ambitions seem a little pointless, you know?” Orrin said. “To say nothing of all those other poor devils who died with him. It really was
frightful,
and yet here we sit—”

Senator Munson smiled wryly. “Discussing ambitions.”

“Yes,” the Secretary said somberly. “Yes … But”—and he too smiled for a moment—“he would have understood, bless his heart. You can’t keep politics from going right along, particularly under circumstances like these.”

“For which there are no precedents,” Senator Munson said with a certain grimness, “so I think we’d damned well better make some. Now: you’ve got to proceed on the assumption that the Speaker—the President—isn’t going to run. So get out of this noble mood or whatever it is, and get busy. And don’t you show any signs of weakening, to anybody.”

“Oh, I’m not going to,” Orrin said. “I’m not taking any press calls, so how can I disclose to them how trembling and uncertain I am? Only you, old friend, have The Tip-Off—being one of those who study politics day by day.”

“And don’t get too flippant, either,” Bob Munson said. “This is no picnic. The Jasons are out to win this time. Patsy’s opening an office at 1001 Connecticut Avenue tomorrow morning and the game will be on.”

“You know,” Orrin said in the tone of voice that so many in Washington, even the most friendly, used when discussing the Jasons, “sometimes I simply get speechless at the bad taste of that family. It’s all very well to talk politics, everybody is, right now, but to actually go ahead and open an office and start campaigning before the President is even laid in his grave—only the Jasons would have the gall and the boorishness to do it.”

“They’re quite a crew,” the Majority Leader agreed, thinking of Ted in his big dark-paneled, green-carpeted office in Sacramento; of his aunt, Selena Jason Castleberry, giving her wild parties for wild causes in New York; her sister, Valuela, painting a little, loving a lot, in Portofino; their brother Herbert, Nobel Prize-winning scientist and leader of demonstrations, always ready to march in the name of world peace and the damnation of his own country; Patsy, whirling about in Washington, getting her long-distance divorce from Felix Labaiya down in Panama, devoting her time and noisy concentration to the Presidential ambitions of her brother. Quite a crew, sitting atop their millions that dated back to the Spanish occupation of California: quite a crew, who bought what they wanted if it could possibly be bought, and sometimes bought it anyway. Now, having failed to put Ted over at the convention, they were about to throw their enormous millions once more into the opportunity presented by the catastrophic behavior of Air Force One.

Bob Munson sighed.

“What’s the matter?” Orrin asked.

“Just agreeing with you about the Jasons. But, that means you’ve got to come on strong and stay ahead of them, if you can. What do you plan to do?”

“I thought you’d advise me,” the Secretary said with a smile. Then he became serious. “What I’ve got to do, as I see it, is to continue exactly as I am. I’m going to issue a statement this evening, which I think will push Ted down the front page a little, I hope, to the effect that the United States will continue to fight for freedom and stability in Gorotoland and Panama with all the vigor and power at our command.”

“That sounds quite Presidential,” the Majority Leader said. “Have you cleared this with Bill?”

“Certainly.”

“Oh, you have been in touch with him, then.”

“He called a little while ago.”

“But he didn’t mention the nomination.”

“No. Why should he?”

“There you go again,” Bob Munson remarked, “being whimsical. So all right, you’ve talked to him. How did he sound?”

“Rather Presidential himself. And a little disturbed by the first findings of the commission on the accident. They’ve already discovered, you know, that two of those crew members were in some sort of Communist operation with headquarters in Annapolis. And they found one corpse carrying a loaded pistol with the safety catch off, who also had in his pocket a picture of Ted and a copy of Walter Dobius’ last column on the convention—in which, you may recall, he virtually urged armed rebellion because Harley and I had won. So, who knows?” He shrugged. “I don’t.”

“I doubt very much,” Senator Munson said dryly, “that the last little item—the gentleman with the gun, the picture and the column—will ever see the light of day on the newsstands. It’s the sort of thing that somehow just gets lost somewhere between the copy desk and the street in most publications of the pro-Ted type. Now, if the poor crazy fool had been carrying
your
picture—my
God,
what a sensation.”

“I’m afraid you’re very cynical,” Orrin said. “I’m sure the man will be mentioned in a footnote on Page 3001 of the commission report. Any citizen who wants to read that far will be able to find it. Anyway, Bill sounded as though he had slipped into harness without a hitch. But then, when hasn’t he measured up to the jobs he has had to do? Do you realize how much of the government has depended upon Mr. Speaker in the last twenty years?”

“I do,” Bob Munson said, “but it isn’t an office the public knows too much about. I want to talk to him myself. When’s he coming back?”

The Secretary smiled.

“He said he liked it at Tahoe—the cabin’s on a little point and they can hold it like a fortress against the press. ‘Except my water side,’ he said. ‘My water side’s a little vulnerable, but after I’ve been here a month or two I’ll probably have it fortified.’ I expect he’ll stay out until the funeral. He doesn’t want to be too accessible, and he also wants to let Lucille have the house until she’s ready to go.”

“It won’t be long,” Bob Munson said. “Dolly’s over there right now helping her pack. I expect she’ll be out Wednesday afternoon right after she gets back from Arlington. She told me she didn’t want to spend the night there alone after he left it.”

“And then back to Grand Rapids?”

“I don’t know,” Bob Munson said slowly. “I think perhaps she might want to get involved in the campaign. I’m not sure, of course, but perhaps if you—”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask her,” Orrin said, looking shocked. “Although,” he added honestly, “it would be nice if she did.” He looked around the comfortable room, cool and dark in contrast to the heavy heat outside. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“No, thanks. I really must be running along in a minute. I’ve got to get back to the White House to plan the funeral, as she asked me to. And I’ve also got to do some more telephoning about the National Committee meeting.”

“What’s your guess on when it will be?”

“You mean Bill didn’t tell you?” Bob Munson inquired in mock surprise. The Secretary shook his head.

“And I didn’t ask. I don’t see how he can wait much beyond the funeral, though. Walter Dobius and Company and I agree on that.”

Bob Munson nodded.

“Right, there’s got to be action, and fast. If I know Bill, he’s doing a lot of thinking about how to approach it. What are you going to do for a campaign manager, by the way? Is Stanley going to help you again?”