The General's President (34 page)

Tallmon dared another glance; Massey's face was rigid now. Oil formed the most important single element of his wealth.

"To get around these barriers," Haugen was saying, "we used creative imagination of a different sort." He grinned broadly. "At that time, of course, I hadn't even imagined being president, so I had to be sneaky. I came up with a two-part plan. I would secretly make a number of converters and present some of them quietly and secretly to several communities and businesses on terms they couldn't refuse. In the United States and also in foreign countries. And then, to make sure, I would franchise it to various other nations, to make them there. That would almost ensure that we could make and sell it in America.

"Today the town of Bear Forks, Minnesota, has a GPC in place on its municipally-owned power distribution systern. In fact, it went on line at 7 p.m. this evening, Central Time, providing all the electricity for the town, its huge taconite refinery, and the rural area immediately around it.

"And the generator was hauled there on a bobtailed ton-and-a-half truck.

"Converters have already been shipped, air freight, to the six countries I visited recently, with technicians to help install them. Within the United States, dozens more are ready to ship to areas now being served by nuclear generators. I expect all nuclear power plants in the country to be closed down as obsolete within months.

"This is vastly more effective than demonstrations and picketing. And infinitely less destructive than the nuclear bombing carried out by psychotics in Maryland the other day.

"And the GPC is only the beginning, because it is based on discoveries new to basic physics. Scientific and technical descriptions will be in the mail tomorrow to colleges and universities, to private and governmental research facilities, all over the world."

The president paused, sipped lemon and water again, looked thoughtfully over his half glasses, and went on. "There is another side to this, of course. Bear Forks will no longer buy power from the coal-burning plant belonging to North Shore Edison. Which presents that company with a problem that will get worse as the towns of Duluth, Two Harbors, and all the rest get GPCs.

"And now you can see one reason that the financial establishment resists revolutionary new developments, unless it can see a way of controlling them and getting richer from them. And why I made it available all over the world so they couldn't suppress it."

Excitement had sneaked up on Tallmon as he listened. It was an unfamiliar feeling, yet he was too absorbed to notice.

"So what will this mean to the people who work for North Shore Edison?" Haugen asked. "It will mean a whole new set of industries and new jobs. Small villages can afford a GPC. Numerous businesses, and they don't have to be big, will be building the GPC before long. Which means jobs and payrolls. Smaller models have been built and tested and can be cheaply manufactured, that will be affordable for use on farms and ranches and ships. For example, a small GPC will soon cost less than a new tractor, and provide more power.

"Furthermore, the high-performance, smog-free, relatively cheap electric car and tractor is now possible. A prototype has been tested and works beautifully. Any automaker can build it, and releases giving details are now being provided to the news media. Our cost analysis indicates that a family-size car can be sold at prices in the neighborhood of $4,000, in terms of last year's dollars.

"And we've only begun to explore the new physical principle that this grew out of. Research facilities of all lands will soon be turning physics inside out, and within a very few years, new industries should be springing up all over."

The president sat silent for a moment then, as if to let what he'd said sink in.

"Of course, this won't mean the end of problems. I doubt that people will ever run out of problems. But it means the end of some serious old problems, and more important, it marks the beginning of a new advance in human achievement.

"To further help that advance, I'm setting up the Office of Scientific and Technical Innovations. Its purpose is to
test
—not simply read and pass upon, but test—proposals for new scientific and technological directions and developments. Its director will be Dr. Eddie Wing, a science consultant, and Eddie will be looking for new approaches and ideas, especially the kinds that open whole new areas, like the transistor, the microchip, the geogravitic power converter.

"Eddie's staff will receive bonuses for valid innovations found and supported. Nothing will be rejected out of hand on the basis that it's too far out, too unorthodox. Validity will be decided by tests—does it work or doesn't it?—and not by compatibility with current scientific orthodoxy. So any proposal you submit had better include practical tests that can be run on the principles involved.

"And for staff, we are not necessarily looking for authorities in the various scientific and technological fields. But competence, open minds, and active imaginations are a necessity."

The president steepled his thick fingers and seemed to contemplate them for a moment before looking again at the camera.

"You might ask
why
such an office," he went on. "Why shouldn't people with innovative ideas take them to some corporation? They can, of course. But in too many corporations, the truly innovative is not welcome and may not even be recognized. Had I not been able to manufacture the GPC myself, but taken it instead to some major corporation, it would quite possibly have been buried as something that might hurt other areas of corporate investment. Or corporate interests might have handled it to maximize profit and corporate power, rather than human benefit.

"Mainly what we're trying to avoid here is valuable new ideas getting buried in corporate limbo. To get them developed and financed, or contracted out for manufacturing with requirements that will see them available for wide and beneficial use at honest prices.

"And that's all I have to say this time. In the future I'll be talking to organizations like the American Bar Association and the American Medical Association, but when I talk to them, I'll be talking to you at the same time.

"Thank you for listening."

The president got up then and walked off camera, and the picture cut to a New York studio where Weldon Germaine and Connie Cartwright sat waiting to comment on the speech. Massey touched a key and the picture flicked off; for a long half minute the two men sat in the semidark. Tallmon was looking openly at Massey now, waiting. The face he watched was set in granite, veneered with gray wax.

"That man is incredibly dangerous." Massey said it without looking at his lieutenant. "I want him dead. See to it. Make sure. Let as many contracts on him as it takes."

He didn't move to get up though, and Tallmon, sensing that his master wasn't done, kept his seat, waiting for the rest of it.

"Meanwhile, see that the media increase their attacks. I cannot have this nonsense taking root among the masses."

THIRTY-ONE

The president was swimming slow-paced powerful laps in the White House pool, the breast stroke in one direction and a side-wheeling backstroke in the other. He'd been swimming daily for several days, and his endurance was improving, though less than he'd expected.
Getting old
, he thought. Swimming parallel to him along the opposite side was Stephen Flynn. Their laps were out of phase—Flynn was swimming on his side, and the president did a modified racing turn at each end. The sound of their strokes and exhalations were loud in the enclosed space.

Lester Okada had entered the natatorium, and stood watching for two or three minutes without making himself known. The room was warm and steamy, and Okada felt a fine dew of sweat form on his face. Then the president stopped at the deep end, breathing heavily, and after a moment hoisted himself onto the pool deck. It was then he became aware of Okada.

"Good morning, Les. Something?"

Okada grimaced slightly. "There's always something, Mister President. I need to ask you some questions before I talk to the ladies and gentlemen of the Fourth Estate this morning."

"Go ahead."

"Mister President, I know these people pretty well; I know how they think. After all, I was one of them a few years ago. Some of them are going to take the position that your talking about the geogravitic power converter, in your last speech, amounted to using your position to promote your commercial products."

The president's brows formed a gnarled ridge above his eyes, then gradually relaxed. "If anyone asks that question, tell 'em it's too stupid to dignify with an answer."

Okada waited a moment before responding. "Do you really want me to tell them that?"

The president grinned. "Sure. Tell them you asked me, and that's what I told you. And if they seem unhappy with that, ask 'em: Does that bother you? And if one of them says yes, tell him he needs to develop a thicker skin. Tell them they insult politicians and other public figures often enough, and that what
I
said was at least the truth. Okay?"

Okada looked at the president. "I'm not sure if you're kidding me or not, sir."

Haugen's eyebrows arched this time; then he laughed. "No, I really mean it. You can reword it if you'd like, to suit your style, but that's the message. That's probably what I'd tell them if they asked me."

He got up from the edge of the pool deck, and at the other end, Father Flynn got up too. "Anything else, Les?" Haugen asked.

"Yes sir. Last night you didn't address the rumors about the OSS. The rumors that you've got everything over there in a turmoil, and that the FBI is running a purge there."

"Okay. Don't answer any generalities unless there's an advantage in it. If someone says something about 'everything in a turmoil over there,' ask them what they mean by 'everything in a turmoil.' " The president made quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "And then don't answer any more questions till one of them's answered yours. When they have, then pin them down on the next generality, like what they mean by a purge. Or however they put it. Tell them the FBI has been investigating one person there, ex-Director Blackburn."

"Suppose they ask about Blackburn, sir?"

The president stood thoughtfully for a moment. "If they ask the question, tell them the truth. This is one we don't want to be cagey about. Just don't let them walk on you. Don't answer bullshit questions; pin them down to real-world questions and answer those.

"And don't let them play prosecuting attorney with you. Take a lesson from Wheeler. When that arrogant asshole Samuelson got too offensive, he had him removed and never let him back in. And 200 million people applauded."

The president paused. "And speaking of the real world, better check with Dirksma at the FBI first, and make sure it's still just Blackburn he's investigating in the OSS; he hasn't updated me the last couple of days. But I think he's finished asking questions across the river anyway."

Okada nodded, not entirely happy. "Another thing, sir. Is there anything further I should know about the State Department? I expect I'll get more questions about it, too."

"Tell them you've said all you have to say about that. That Mr. Tyler and I had serious disagreements on his performance in Poland, that our discussion became heated, and that he said he could no longer function as ambassador there. That I then relieved him from duty and he has since resigned from the State Department. That's what you told them yesterday, right?"

"In substance, yes sir."

"Good." He looked the press secretary over. "You're doing a good job, Les, and I appreciate your staying on here. If they surprise you with something, trust your judgment, whether it agrees with mine or not. Chances are you'll say the right thing. And I'm seldom hard on honest mistakes."

***

Then the president and Flynn went to the dressing room.

"Mr. Okada's afraid of you, Arne," said the Jesuit.

"You're right, he is, a little," Haugen answered. "But mainly he's afraid of the White House press corps. What scares him about me is that I ask him to be tough with them. He's a good, decent man, Steve, and he's capable. He's even shown he can be hardnosed in a pinch. But he has this consideration that he has to be nice to people." The president pulled off his trunks, wrung them out, and hung them on a peg. "And it's preferable to be nice to people," he went on. "It really is. But it's trouble when you feel as if you
have
to be."

"What are they going to say when you announce that you're firing Secretary Coulter? After saying the trouble was with Ambassador Tyler."

The two men walked into the well-lit, white-tiled shower room.

"Tyler and Coulter are two separate troubles. And I can't tell the press I'm firing Coulter until I tell Coulter. That would be a helluva thing to do."

Haugen turned the water on and gave his attention to adjusting the temperature, then ah-ahed with pleasure as the coarse hard spray beat on his back. "I should have another report on Coulter from Dirksma today," he added. "Then I'll know what I can say about my reasons. And I can contact my selection to replace him. Rudolfo Valenzuela."

"I don't know him."

"He's the Dean of International Studies at Miami of Florida. Milstead put together an interesting dossier on him."

"At Miami. Is he Cuban?"

"His parents were; they left during the Batista regime and settled in Puerto Rico. He started out as a poor black kid quarrying marble with his dad. Heavy damn labor." Through the spray, Haugen grinned at Flynn. "Reminds me of me; maybe that's one reason I like him so well. Then he joined the army—101st Airborne; served in Viet Nam. Decorated, made first sergeant, then went to school on the GI Bill, like a lot of guys." The president turned off the water, and stepping out of the shower room, took a towel from a stack of them. "He was Deputy Secretary for African Affairs under Wheeler, and served as Wheeler's envoy to Cuba after Castro died. He's the one who worked out the agreement that Wheeler closed with Colonel Lopez."

Valenzuela sounded to Flynn like a good choice—experienced and effective. And being black
and
Hispanic, he'd have certain advantages at home from the political point of view. It occurred to Flynn then to wonder why Coulter had been appointed secretary—what his qualifications had been. He asked the president.