Trevayne (56 page)

“I saw the light on two; anything I should take care of, Marge?”

“The Government Printing Office, Mr. Trevayne. I didn’t know what to say. They wanted to know when you’d be sending over the subcommittee report. They’re getting backlogged with congressional stuff and didn’t want to disappoint you. I started to tell them it was completed and sent out late this morning, but I thought perhaps there was some kind of protocol we didn’t know about.”

Trevayne laughed. “I’ll bet they didn’t want to disappoint us! Lord! The eyes are everywhere, aren’t they?… Call them back and tell them we weren’t aware they expected our business. We saved the taxpayers’ money and did it ourselves. All five copies. But first get me a cab. I’m going over to Arlington. To Bonner.”

During the ride from the Potomac Towers to the Army BOQ, Arlington, Andy tried to understand Brigadier General Lester Cooper and his legion of righteous indignants. Cooper’s letter—the reply to his inquiry about Bonner—had been couched in Army jargon.
Section
this,
Article
that; Army regulations pertinent to the disposition of authority under the conditions of limited responsibility.

“Horseshit,” as Paul Bonner said—far too often for his own good.

The threat of the court-martial charge wasn’t the Army’s abhorrence of Bonner’s behavior; it was its abhorrence of Bonner himself. If it was explicitly the behavior in
principle
, far more serious charges would have been filed against him, charges that could be argued back and forth. As it was, the Army chose the lesser indictment. Dereliction. Misprision, or concealment of intentions. Charges from which there would be no hard-won vindication. Not a slap-on-the-wrist; more a strap-on-the-back. It left the defendant no choice but to resign; there was no career left for him in the military.

He simply couldn’t win the fight, because there was no fight. Just a pronouncement.

But
why
, for God’s sake? If ever there was a man made for the Army, it was Paul Bonner. If ever there was an army that needed such a man, it was the demoralized Army of the United States. Instead of prosecuting him, Cooper and the rest of his “Brasswares” should be out beating the bushes for Bonner’s support.

Beating the bushes
. What had Aaron Green said about “beating bushes?” Beating bushes was an undesirable tactic, because the quarry could turn on the hunter without warning.

Was that what the Army was afraid of?

That by supporting Paul Bonner, acknowledging his participation, his commitment to the military, the Army was exposing its own vulnerability?

Were Lester Cooper and his uniformed tribunals afraid of a surprise attack?

From whom? A curious public? That was understandable. Paul Bonner was a knowledgeable accessory.

Or were they afraid of the accessory? Afraid of Paul Bonner? And by discrediting him, they conveniently pushed him out of the picture, out of any frame of reference.

A nonperson.

Banished.

The taxi came to a stop at the gates of the BOQ. Trevayne paid the driver and started walking toward the huge entrance with the gold eagle over the double doors and the inscription: “Through These Portals Pass the Best Damned Men in the Field.”

Andrew noticed that to the right, underneath the inscription, was the date of the building’s construction: “April, 1944.”

History. Another era. A lifetime ago. A time when such inscriptions were perfectly natural, properly heroic.

The days of the disdainful cavaliers.

They were no more. They seemed a little silly now.

That, too, was unfair, thought Trevayne.

The guard outside Paul Bonner’s room acknowledged Trevayne’s presence, his standing access to the officer under barracks arrest, and opened the door. Bonner was seated at the small steel desk writing on a sheet of Army stationery. He turned in the chair and glanced up at Trevayne. He did not stand or offer his hand.

“I’ll just finish this paragraph and be right with you.” He returned to the paper. “I think I’m considered a spit-and-polish moron. Those two lawyers you hired are making me put everything I can remember down in writing.
Said one thought leads to another if you see it in front of you, or something like that.”

“It makes sense. The sequence of thoughts, I mean. Go ahead; no hurry.” Trevayne sat down in the single armchair and kept silent until Bonner put down his pencil and shifted his position, throwing his shoulder over the back of the chair as he looked at the “civilian.”

And he was looking at a “civilian”; there was no mistaking the insult.

“I’ll pay you back for the legal fees. I insist on that.”

“Not necessary. It’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t want you to do it. I asked them to bill me directly, but they said that wasn’t possible. So, I’ll pay you.… Frankly, I’m perfectly satisfied with my Army counsel. But I suppose you have your reasons.”

“Just added insurance.”

“For whom?” Bonner stared at Trevayne.

“For you, Paul.”

“Of course. I shouldn’t have asked.… What do you want?”

“Maybe I’d better go out and come in again,” said Andrew with a questioning harshness. “What’s the matter with you? We’re on the same side, remember?”

“Are we, Mr. President?”

The sound of the words was like the crack of a lash across Trevayne’s face. He returned Bonner’s stare, and for several moments neither man spoke.

“I think you’d better explain that.”

So Major Paul Bonner did.

And Trevayne listened in astonished silence as the Army officer recounted his brief but extraordinary conversation with the soon-to-retire Brigadier General Lester Cooper.

“So nobody has to tell any elaborate stories anymore. All those complicated explanations aren’t necessary.”

Trevayne got out of the chair and walked to the small window without speaking. There was a contingent—a platoon, perhaps—of young second lieutenants being lectured to by a wrinkle-faced full colonel in the courtyard. Some of the young men moved their feet, several cupped their hands to their lips, warding off the December chill in
Arlington. The Colonel, open-shirted, laconic, seemed oblivious to the climate.

“What about the truth? Would you be interested in that, Major?”

“Give me some credit,
politician
. It’s pretty goddamned obvious.”

“What’s your version?” Trevayne turned from the window.

“Cooper said the Army couldn’t afford me. The truth is that
you
can’t.… I’m the lodestone around your presidential neck.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Come off it! You ensure the trial, I’m acquitted—which I should be—and you’re clean. Nobody can say you ran out on the soldier boy who was shot at. But that trial is controlled. No extraneous issues; just the pertinent facts, ma’am. Even the Army lawyer made that clear. Just Saturday night in Connecticut. No San Francisco, no Houston, no Seattle. No Genessee Industries!… Then I’m quietly drummed out by kangaroos, the world goes on, and no one has to be embarrassed any longer. What pisses me off is that none of you can come out and say it!”

“I can’t, because it’s not true.”

“The hell it isn’t! It’s all wrapped up in a neat package. Man, when you sell out, you sell out
high
. I’ll give you credit, you don’t take second best.”

“You’re way off, Paul.”

“Horseshit! Are you telling me you’re not in the sweepstakes? I even hear you’re going to get a seat in the Senate! Goddamn convenient, isn’t it?”

“I swear to you I don’t know where Cooper got that information.”

“Is it true?”

Trevayne turned his back on Bonner, looking once again out the window at the platoon of second lieutenants. “It’s … all under consideration.”

“Oh, that’s beautiful. ‘Under consideration.’ What do you do next? Run it up a flagpole and see if it gets off at Westport? Look, Andy, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Cooper. I don’t like this big new wrinkle—this sudden first-team switch—any more than I like a lot of the things
I’ve found out during the past several months. Let’s say I’m square enough to disapprove of the
M.O
.’s. The methods of operation. I think they smell.… On the other hand, I’d be a first-class hypocrite if I started getting moralistic at this late date. I’ve spent my career believing that military goals were their own justifications. Let the elected civilians worry about the morals; that’s always been a distant area to me.… Well, this is the
big game plan
, isn’t it? I don’t play in that ball park. Good luck!”

The platoon of second lieutenants was dispersing in the courtyard below; the open-shirted Colonel was lighting a cigarette. The lecture was over.

And Trevayne felt suddenly exhausted, weary. Nothing was as it seemed. He turned to face Bonner, who still remained insultingly casual in the desk chair.

“What do you mean, ‘game plan’?”

“You’re getting funnier by the minute. You’re going to make me blow any chance I may have for executive intervention.”

“Cut the clowning! Spell it out, Major.”

“You bet your ass, Mr. President! They’ve got you, they don’t need anyone else! The independent, incorruptible, Mr. Clean. They couldn’t have done any better if they called down John the Baptist, backed up with young Tom Paine. The Pentagon’s worries are over.”

“Had it occurred to you that they may have just begun?”

Bonner lifted his shoulder off the back of the chair and laughed quietly—with maddening sincerity. “You’re the funniest nigger on the plantation, massa. But you don’t have to tell those jokes; I won’t interfere. I don’t belong up there.”

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer. You’re implying that I’ve been bought; I deny it. Why do you think so?”

“Because I know those boys in ‘Brasswares.’ They’re going to ensure your investiture. They wouldn’t do that unless they had ironbound guarantees.”

Trevayne ordered the taxi to let him out nearly a mile from the Potomac Towers. It was a time to walk, to think, to analyze. To try to find logic within the illogical.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of automobile horns, blowing angrily at a brown sedan that seemed lost, unsure of its direction. The irritating cacophony fit his own sense of frustration.

Had he really been so naïve, so much the innocent, to have been used so completely? Had his confrontation with Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green been no more than an indulgence—on their part? A sham.

No, that wasn’t so. It couldn’t be.

Hamilton and Green were frightened men. Hamilton and Green called the shots for Genessee Industries and Genessee ran the Pentagon.

A
equals
B
equals
C
.

A
equals
C
.

If he, as President could control Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green—make them bend to his demands—then it was only logical that he could control the Pentagon. The means of that control would be in the dismembering of Genessee Industries, cutting the monolith down to size.

He had stated that clearly as his prime objective.

Yet, if Paul Bonner was to be believed—and why not? He couldn’t have invented the scenario—Lester Cooper and his colleagues were throwing the full weight of the Pentagon behind his proposed candidacy.

And since their military opinion was formed in the conglomerate thought process of Genessee Industries, their support had to be directed—at least endorsed—by Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green.

A
equals
B
.

Why, then? Why would Brigadier General Lester Cooper and his legion of brass willingly oversee the burial of their own strength? Why would they be
ordered
to?

A
equals
C
.

It was one thing for Hamilton and Green to fade out—they had no choice—it was something else altogether for them to turn and instruct the Pentagon to support the candidate who was admittedly destroying them.

Yet apparently they had done just that.

Unless that support was ordered
before
the Waldorf confrontation.

Ordered and put into action before his threats ended the stately pavane high up in the Waldorf Towers.

In which case, Andrew realized that he was not what he thought he was. He wasn’t the strong alternative, the man good political men had turned to; he wasn’t the considered choice of seasoned professionals who looked into their smoke-filled crystal balls and determined him fit.

He was the candidate of Genessee Industries, personally selected by Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green. And all their talk of bitter disappointment was just that, talk.

Christ, the irony of it! The subtlety!

And the conclusion to be drawn; that was the most frightening part of the whole charade.

It mattered not one whit who held the office of the presidency. It mattered only that no one made waves through which the good ship Genessee could not navigate.

He had provided just that.

He had
delivered
just that.

Four hours ago he had delivered an extraordinary report, made more extraordinary by the fact that vital, incriminating evidence had been withheld.

Oh, Christ! What the hell had he done?

He saw the outlines of the twin steel-and-brick structure of the Potomac Towers in the distance. Perhaps a half-mile away. He began walking faster, then faster still. He looked up and down the avenue for a taxi, but there were none. He wanted to get to his office quickly now. He wanted to find out the truth; he
had
to find out.

There was only one way to do it.

Brigadier General Lester Cooper.

*   *   *

Sam Vicarson was pacing up and down outside the subcommittee’s offices when Andrew emerged from the elevator into the corridor.

“Good God, am I glad to see you! I called Arlington and left messages at half a dozen places.”

“What’s the matter?”

“We better go inside so you can sit down.”

“Oh, Jesus! Phyllis—”

“No, sir, I’m sorry … I mean, I’m sorry if I made you … it’s not Mrs. Trevayne.”

“Let’s go inside.”

Vicarson closed the door of Trevayne’s office and waited until Andy took off his overcoat and threw it on the couch. He began slowly, as if trying to recall the exact words he should repeat.