Trevayne (59 page)

“
The
truth, Mr. Hill.”

“It wasn’t the truth when you submitted your report. The truth changed. The judgment was altered.”

“Yes. Because the facts weren’t known.”

William Hill lowered his voice and spoke with no apparent feeling. “What facts? Or was it a
single
fact? The fact that you’d compromised your subcommittee for what you discovered was a hollow offer. The presidency of the United States.”

The muscles of Andrew Trevayne’s stomach tensed. He looked at the President.

“You knew.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“Strangely enough, I hadn’t given it much thought. I suppose that’s asinine.”

“Why? It’s not a betrayal of me. I asked you to do a job; I didn’t demand political fidelity; or adherence.”

“But you did demand integrity, Mr. President,” said Hill with conviction.

“Whose description of integrity, Mr. Ambassador?” shot back the chief executive. “Must I remind you of your own admonitions regarding truths and absolutes?… Oh, no, Mr. Trevayne, I’m not being kind. Or solicitous. I’m only convinced that you conducted yourself in good conscience—
as you understood it
.… Which makes my job easier. For the reason I intercepted the subcommittee report—my sole purpose in exercising privilege—was to
stop you from tearing this country apart.… From using Genessee Industries as the means to destroy a large section of the economy unnecessarily. Depriving livelihoods, ruining reputations indiscriminately. You can imagine my astonishment when I read what you’d written.”

Andrew Trevayne returned the President’s stare. “I find that an extraordinary statement.”

“No more extraordinary than I found your report. And the fact that you refused to announce—at least to any of the proposed recipients—the exact date when you’d deliver the report. You made no arrangements with the Government Printing Office; you did not, as is customary, avail yourself of Justice Department attorneys prior to the final assembling—”

“I was not aware of those customs; and if I had been, I doubt I’d have complied.”

“Courtesy, expediency, and simple protection might have made you aware of them,” interjected Hill. “As I gather, your mind was on other, more vital matters.”

“Mr. Ambassador, you’ve been pressing me against the wall since I walked in. I don’t like it! Now, with all due respect, I ask you to stop it.”

“With very little respect returned, Mr. Trevayne, I shall be guided by my chosen vocabulary until the President asks otherwise.”

“Then I do ask it, Bill.… Mr. Hill has worked closely with this office, with a number of my predecessors, Trevayne. He looks upon your action more severely than I do.” The President smiled gently. “The Ambassador is not, nor will he ever be, a politician. He believes, quite simply, that you’re trying to rob me of my second term. I wish you luck; I don’t think you can. Or ‘could have,’ I assume, is more proper.”

Trevayne took a silent breath before speaking. “If I had believed for one minute that you were going to run for re-election, none of this would have happened. I’m sorry. Sorrier than I can ever express to you.”

The President’s smile diminished and was no more. Hill began to speak but was stopped by the President’s hand, held up firmly, commanding silence. “I think you’d better explain that, Mr. Trevayne.”

“I was told you would not seek a second term … the decision was irrevocable.”

“And you accepted that.”

“It was the basis of my discussions. Finally the only basis.”

“Were you told why?”

“Yes.… I’m sorry.”

The President searched Trevayne’s face, and Andrew felt sick. He didn’t want to look at this good, fine man, but he knew he could not waver.

“My health?” asked the President simply.

“Yes.”

“Cancer?”

“I inferred that.… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a lie.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“I said it’s a lie.”

“Very well, sir.”

“You’re not reading me, Mr. Trevayne. It
is
a lie. The simplest, crudest lie that can be used in the political arena.”

Trevayne’s jaw fell slack as he looked at the maturely lined, strong features of the man behind the desk. The President’s eyes were steady, conveying the truth of his statement.

“Then I’m a damn fool.”

“I’d rather that than face the diminishing returns of cobalt.… I have every intention of assuming the standard of my party, campaigning, and being returned to office. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Trevayne.” William Hill spoke softly. “Please accept my apologies. You’re not the only damn fool in this room.” The old man attempted a tight-lipped smile. “We’re neck-and-neck on a slow track for last place.… We’re both a little ludicrous.”

“Who specifically read you my premature obituary?”

“It was read twice. The first time was at the Villa d’Este in Georgetown. I went there a skeptic—to see who would try to buy off the subcommittee report. To my
astonishment, no one did; quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. I emerged a three-quarters candidate.”

“You still haven’t—”

“Sorry. Senator Alan Knapp. In what I think was called ‘true bipartisan spirit,’ he made the announcement that you were leaving at the end of your present term. And the good of the country came first.”

The President, turning his head only slightly in Hill’s direction, spoke. “You’ll follow this up, Bill?”

“The energetic Senator will retire before the end of the month. Consider it a Christmas present, Mr. President.”

“Go on, please.”

“The second instance was in New York. At the Waldorf. I held what I believed was a showdown with Aaron Green and Ian Hamilton.… I thought I’d won; therefore, the report as you read it. Hamilton said you wouldn’t live out a second term; you were putting up either the Vice President or the Governor of New York. They couldn’t accept either one.”

“Scylla and Charybdis strike again, eh, Bill?”

“They’ve gone too far!”

“They always do. Don’t touch them.”

“I understand.”

Trevayne watched the short interplay between the two older men. “Mr. President,
I
don’t understand. How can you
say
that? Those men should—”

“We’ll get to that, Mr. Trevayne,” interrupted the President. “One last question. When did you learn that you’d been manipulated? Manipulated brilliantly, I might add, now that I see the pattern.”

“Paul Bonner.”

“Who?”

“Major Paul Bonner—”

“From the Pentagon,” said the President as a statement of fact. “The one who killed that man up at your house in Connecticut?”

“Yes, sir. He saved my life; he’ll be acquitted of the murder charge. He then faces court-martial; he’s being drummed out.”

“You don’t think that’s justified?”

“I do not. I don’t agree very often with the Major, but—”

“I’ll review it,” cut in the chief executive as he hastily scribbled a note on his desk. “What did this Bonner tell you?”

Andrew paused briefly; he wanted to be precise, completely accurate. He owed that to Bonner. “That a brigadier general named Cooper, in a state of depression, anxiety, told him I was the Pentagon’s candidate; that the irony of the Major’s situation was that in the final analysis …” Trevayne paused again, embarrassed by his own words. “Bonner’s court-martial might be rescinded by executive intervention.… My intervention.”

“Good Lord,” uttered Hill almost inaudibly.

“And?”

“It didn’t make sense. I looked upon my meeting with Hamilton and Green as a success, a capitulation on their part. I was sure of two things. The first was that I was not their candidate; the second, that they accepted my terms. They were getting out.… Bonner’s information contradicted everything I believed.”

“So you called in Cooper,” said the President.

“I did. And I learned not only that I was the Pentagon’s—Genessee Industries’—candidate, but I had been from the beginning. Every resource of the military—Army intelligence data banks, industrial collusion, even interservice voting indoctrinations—they’d all be used to ensure my election. Management, labor, the service ballot; voting blocs guaranteed by Genessee. There was no capitulation in New York; they weren’t getting out. They were
wading me
out. If I got the nomination—God forbid the office—I’d be hanged. To be independent, to expose them at that point, would be to expose myself.”

“At which juncture—junctures—you’d destroy your candidacy or—God forbid—the national and international confidence of your administration,” completed the President.

“They took considerable risks,” said William Hill. “It’s not like them.”

“What alternative did they have, Bill? He couldn’t be bought. Or persuaded. If our young friend hadn’t gone to them, they would have come to him. Same solution, on
the surface. Orderly retreat as opposed to economic chaos. I would have subscribed; so would you.”

“You talk as if you know all about … 
them.
”

“A great deal, yes. Hardly ‘all.’ I’m sure there are areas you’ve covered that we’re not aware of. We’d appreciate a full briefing. Classified, of course.”

“Classified? This material can’t be classified, Mr. President. It’s got to be made public.”

“You didn’t think so twenty-four hours ago.”

“The conditions weren’t the same.”

“I’ve read the report; it’s entirely satisfactory.”

“It’s
not
satisfactory. I spent five hours last night with a man named Goddard—”

“Genessee. President, San Francisco Division,” said William Hill quietly, in response to the glance from the man behind the desk.

“He walked out of San Francisco with four briefcases filled with Genessee commitments—extending for years. A good percentage of which have never been
heard
of before.”

“I’m sure you’ll cover that in your briefing. The report stands as submitted.”

“No. It can’t! I won’t accept that!”

“You
will
accept it!” The President’s voice suddenly matched Trevayne’s. “You’ll accept it because it is the decision of this office.”

“You can’t enforce that decision! You have no control over me!”

“Don’t be so sure of that. You submitted—
officially
submitted—your report to this office. The document is over your signature. Incidentally, we have in our possession four copies with the seals unbroken. To speculate that this single report is not authentic; that it must be recalled because it’s been tampered with, shaped by the political ambitions of the subcommittee’s chairman, would raise the gravest issues. To allow you to recall it—for whatever the stated reasons—would also make my administration suspect. Our adversaries would claim we demanded changes. I can’t permit that. This office deals daily with both domestic and foreign complexities; you will not compromise our effectiveness in these areas because
your
ambitions have been thwarted. In this instance, we must remain above suspicion.”

Trevayne’s voice conveyed his astonishment. He could hardly be heard. “That’s what they would have said.”

“I have no compunctions stealing someone’s strategy if it has merit.”

“And if I stand up and say it’s not authentic, not complete?”

“Outside of the personal anguish—and ridicule—to which you subject yourself and your family,” said William Hill quietly, staring at Trevayne, “who would believe you?… You sold your credibility when you sent out that report yesterday morning. Now you wish to substitute a second? Perhaps there’ll be a third—if a group of politicians recommend you for the governorship. Even a fourth—there are other offices, other appointments. Where does the flexible chairman stop? Just how many reports are there?”

“I don’t care about other people’s opinions. I’ve said it from the beginning—over and over again. I’ve nothing to gain or lose.”

“Except your effectiveness as a functioning, contributive individual,” said the President. “You couldn’t live without that, Mr. Trevayne. No one with your abilities could. And it would be taken from you; you’d be isolated from the community of your peers. You’d never be trusted again. I don’t think you could live that existence. We all need something; none of us is totally self-sufficient.”

Andrew, his eyes locked with the President’s, understood the essential truth of the man’s words. “You’d do that? You’d have it come out that way?”

“I most certainly would.”

“Why?”

“Because I must deal in priorities. Quite simply, I need Genessee Industries.”

“No!… No. You can’t mean that. You know what it
is!
”

“I know it serves a function; I know it can be controlled. That’s all I have to know.”

“Today. Perhaps tomorrow. Not in a few years. It’s out to destroy.”

“It won’t succeed.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

The President suddenly slapped his hand on the arm of his chair and stood up. “No one can guarantee anything. There are risks every time I walk into this room; dangers every time I walk out.… You listen to me, Trevayne. I believe deeply in the capacity of this country to serve the decent instincts of her own people—and of mankind. But I’m practical enough to realize that in the service of this decency there must often be indecent manipulations.… Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. For surely you know not all the weapons will be turned into plowshares; Cain will murder Abel; the locusts will plague the land; and the oppressed will get goddamn sick and tired of looking forward to inheriting the creature comforts of an afterlife! They want something down here! And whether
you
like it or not—whether
I
like it or not—Genessee Industries is doing something about these things!… It’s my considered judgment that it is not a threat. It can and will be contained.
Used
, Mr. Trevayne.
Used.
”

“With every turn,” said Hill with compassion, seeing the look of shock on Trevayne’s face, “there’s the constant seeking of solutions. Do you remember my telling you that? That
search
is the solution. It is continuously applied to such entities as Genessee Industries. The President is right.”