Authors: Mario Puzo
The Fourth K (17 page)
Their smiles gave light, their godhead flashed knowledge and command from their eyes, the magnetism radiated from their bodies. And with all this they took the time to play with the little boys and girls who were their sons and daughters, their nieces and nephews, playing with the utmost seriousness, gods who visited tiny mortals in their keeping. And then. And then …
He had watched on television, with his weeping mother, the funeral of Uncle Jack, the gun carriage, the riderless
horse, the millions of grief-stricken people, and had seen his little playmate as one of the actors on the world stage. And his uncle Bobby and his aunt Jackie. His mother at some point took him into her arms and said, “Don’t look, don’t look,” and he was blinded by her long hair and sticky tears.
Now, the shaft of yellow light from the open door cut through his memories and he saw that Jefferson had wheeled in a fresh table. Kennedy said quietly, “Take that away and give me an hour. Don’t interrupt me before then.” He had rarely spoken so abruptly or sternly and Jefferson gave him an appraising look. Then he said, “Yes, Mr. President,” and wheeled the table back out and closed the door.
The sun was strong enough to light the bedroom yet not strong enough to give it heat. But the throb of Washington entered the room. The television trucks were filling the streets outside the gates and countless car motors hummed like a giant swarm of insects. Planes flew constantly over-head, all military—airspace had been closed to civilian traffic.
He tried to fight the overwhelming rage, the bitter bile in his mouth. What was supposed to be the greatest triumph of his life had proved to be his greatest misfortune. He had been elected to the presidency and his wife had died before he assumed the office. His great programs for a utopian America had been eroded by Congress. And now his daughter had paid the price for his ambition and his dreams. Nauseating saliva made him gag as it ran over his tongue and lips. His body seemed to fill with a poison that weakened him in every limb and the feeling that only rage could make him well, and at that moment something happened in his brain, an electric charge fighting the sickness of his bodily cells. So much
energy flowed through his body that he flung his arms outward, fists clenched to the now sun-filled windows.
He had power, he would use that power. He could make his enemies tremble, he could make their saliva bitter in
their
mouths. He could sweep away all the small insignificant men with their cheap tubes of iron, all those who had brought such tragedy into his life and to his family.
He felt now like a man who, long enfeebled, is finally cured of a serious illness and wakes one morning to find he has regained his strength. He felt an exhilaration, almost a peace he had not felt since his wife died. He sat on the bed and tried to control his feelings, to restore caution and a rational train of thought. More calmly he reviewed all his options and all their dangers and then finally he knew what he must do and what dangers he must forestall. He felt one last thrust of pain that his daughter no longer existed.
III
8
Wednesday
Washington
At 11:00
A.M
., Wednesday morning, the most politically significant people in the government gathered in the Cabinet Room to decide what course of action the country should pursue. There was Vice President Helen Du Pray, there were the members of the Cabinet, the head of the CIA, the chief of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, not usually present at such meetings but instructed to attend by Eugene Dazzy following the President’s request. When Kennedy entered the room they all rose.
Kennedy motioned to them to sit down. Only the Secretary of State remained standing. He said, “Mr. President, all of us here wish to express our heartbreak at your loss. We offer our personal condolences, our love. We assure you of our utmost loyalty and devotion in your personal crisis and this crisis in our nation. We are here to give you more than our professional counsel. We are here to give you our individual
devotion.” There were tears in the eyes of the Secretary of State. And he was a man noted for his coolness and reserve.
Kennedy bowed his head for a moment. He was the only man in the room who seemed to show no emotion except for the pallor of his face. He looked at them all for a long moment, as if acknowledging every person in the room, their feelings of affection and his gratefulness. Knowing that he was about to shatter this good feeling. He said, “I want to thank all of you, I am grateful and I am counting on you. But now I beg all of you to put my personal misfortune out of the context of this meeting. We are here to decide what is best for our country. This is our duty and sacred obligation. The decisions I have made are strictly nonpersonal.” He paused for a moment to let the shock and recognition sink in that he alone would control.
Helen Du Pray thought, Oh Christ, he’s going to do it.
Kennedy went on. “This meeting will deal with our options. I doubt that any of your options will be taken but I must give you your opportunity to argue them. But first let me present my scenario. Let me say that I have the support of my personal staff.” He paused again to project all his personal magnetism. He stood up and said, “One: The analysis. All the recent tragic events have been the dynamic of one boldly conceived and ruthlessly executed master plan. The murder of the Pope on Easter Sunday, the hijacking of the plane on the same day, the deliberate logistical impossibility of the demands for the release of the hostages, and though I agreed to meet all those demands, finally the unnecessary murder of my daughter early this morning. And even the capture of the assassin of the Pope here in our country, an event far beyond the realm of any chance of destiny, that too was part of the overall plan so that they could demand the
release of the assassin. The evidence supporting this analysis is overwhelming.”
He could see the looks of disbelief on their faces. He paused and then went on: “But what could be the purpose of such a terrifying and complicated scenario? There is in the world today a contempt for authority, the authority of the state, but specifically a contempt for the moral authority of the United States. It goes far beyond the usual historical contempt for authority exhibited by the young, which is often a good thing. The purpose of this terrorist plan is to discredit the United States as an authority figure. Not only in the lives of billions of common people but in the eyes of the governments of the world. We must at some time answer these challenges and that time is now.
“For the record. The Arab states have no part in this plot. Except for Sherhaben. Certainly the worldwide terrorist underground known as the First Hundred gave logistical and personnel support. But the evidence points to only one man in control. And it seems that he does not accept being controlled except perhaps by the Sultan of Sherhaben.”
Again he paused.
“We now know for certain that the Sultan is an accomplice. His troops are stationed to guard the aircraft from outside attacks, not to help us with the hostages. The Sultan claims to act in our interest, but in reality is involved in these acts. However, to give him his due, there is evidence that he did not know that Yabril would murder my daughter.”
He glanced around the table to again impress them with his calmness. Then he said, “Second: The prognosis. This is not the usual hostage situation. This is a clever plot to humiliate the United States to the utmost. To make the United States beg for the return of the hostages after suffering a series of humiliations that make us seem impotent. It is a
situation that will be wrung dry for weeks with media coverage all over the world. And with no guarantee that all the remaining hostages will be returned safely. Under those circumstances I cannot imagine anything but chaos afterwards. Our own people will lose faith in us and our country.”
Again Kennedy paused, he saw that he was making an impression now, that the people in this room understood that he had a point. He went on: “Remedies: I’ve studied the memo on options we have. I think they are the usual lame recourses of the past. Economic sanctions, armed rescue missions, political arm-twisting, concessions given in secret while maintaining that we never negotiate with terrorists. The concern that the Soviet Union will refuse to permit us to make a large-scale military assault in the Persian Gulf. All these imply that we must submit and accept our profound humiliation in the eyes of the world. And in my opinion more of the hostages may well be lost.”
The Secretary of State interrupted. “My department has just received a definite promise from the Sultan of Sherhaben to release all the hostages when the terrorists’ demands have been met. He is outraged by Yabril’s action and claims he is ready to launch an assault on the plane. He has secured Yabril’s promise to release fifty of the hostages now to show good faith.”
Kennedy stared at him for a moment. The cerulean-blue eyes seemed veined with tiny black dots. Then in a voice cold with taut courtesy, and so controlled that the words rang metallically, he said, “Mr. Secretary, when I am done, everyone here will be given time to speak. Until that time, please do not interrupt. Their offer will be suppressed, it will not be made known to the media.”
The Secretary of State was obviously surprised. The President had never spoken so coolly to him before, had never so
blatantly shown his power. The Secretary of State bowed his head to study his copy of the memo; only his cheeks reddened slightly. Kennedy went on: “Solution: I hereby instruct the chief of staff to direct and plan an air strike on the oil fields of Sherhaben and their industrial oil city of Dak. The mission of the air strike will be the destruction of all oil equipment, drilling rigs, pipelines, etc. The city will be destroyed. Four hours before the bombing, leaflets will be dropped on the city warning the inhabitants to evacuate. The air strike will take place exactly thirty-six hours from now. That is, on Thursday, eleven
P.M
., Washington time.”
There was dead silence in the room that held more than thirty people who wielded all the arms of power in America. Kennedy went on: “The Secretary of State will contact the necessary countries for overflight approval. He will make it plain to them that any refusal will bring about a cessation of all economic and military accommodations with this country. That the results of a refusal will be dire.”
The Secretary of State seemed to levitate from his seat to protest, then restrained himself. There was a murmur through the room of surprise or shock.
Kennedy held up his hands, the gesture almost angry, but he was smiling at them, a smile that seemed to be one of reassurance. He seemed to become less commanding, almost casual, smiling at the Secretary of State and speaking directly to him. “The Secretary of State will send to me, at once, the ambassador from the Sultanate of Sherhaben. I will tell the ambassador this: The Sultan must deliver up the hostages by tomorrow afternoon. He will deliver up the terrorist Yabril in a way that he will not be able to take his own life. If the Sultan refuses, the entire country of Sherhaben itself will cease to exist.” Kennedy paused for a moment; the room was absolutely still. “This meeting has the highest security classification.
There will be no leaks. If there are, the most extreme action under the law will be taken. Now you can all speak.”
He could see the audience was stunned by his words, that the staff looked down, refusing to meet the eyes of the others in the room.
Kennedy sat down, sprawling in his black leather chair, his legs out from under the table and visible to the side. He stared out into the Rose Garden as the meeting continued.
He heard the Secretary of State say, “Mr. President, again I must argue your decision. This will be a disaster for the United States. We will become a pariah among nations by using our force to crush a small nation.” And the voice went on and on, but he could not hear the words.
Then he heard the voice of the Secretary of the Interior, a voice almost flat and yet commanding attention. “Mr. President, when we destroy Dak, we destroy fifty billion American dollars, that’s American oil company money, money the middle class of America spent to buy stock in the oil companies. Also, we curtail our sources of oil. The price of gasoline will double for the consumers of this country.”
There was the confused babble of other arguments. Why did the city of Dak have to be destroyed before any satisfaction was given? There were many avenues still to be explored. The great danger was in acting too hastily. Kennedy looked at his watch. This had been going on for over an hour. He stood up.
“I thank each of you for your advice,” he said. “Certainly the Sultan of Sherhaben could save the city of Dak by meeting my demands immediately. But he won’t. The city of Dak must be destroyed or our threats will be ignored. The alternative is for us to govern a country that any man with courage and small weapons can humiliate. Then we might as
well scrap our Navy and Army and save the money. I see our course very clearly and I will follow it.
