‘It’s greatly appreciated, Evan. Stop in and see me before you leave. I’ll be in my office.’
The Vice President of the United States left the book-lined room, and like jackals descending on their prey, the contributors turned to the congressman from Colorado. ‘We level now, son,’ said the six-foot-five yachtsman, his arm on the mantel like a leaning, angry weed.
‘I’m not a relative of yours, thank you, and I resent the familiarity.’
‘Big Tom always talks like that,’ chimed in the florid Bostonian. ‘He don’t mean no harm by it.’
‘The harm is in his presumption with a member of the House of Representatives.’
‘Oh, come on, Congressman!’ interjected the obese man in the navy blue blazer.
‘Let’s all relax,’ said the small-framed, pinched-faced man sitting down in the overlarge armchair. ‘We’re all here for the same purpose and, courtesies aside, let’s get on with it… We want you out, Kendrick. Do we have to be clearer?’
‘Since you’re so adamant, I think you’d better be.’
‘All right,’ continued the short contributor, his legs barely touching the carpeted floor. ‘As someone said, let’s be honest—doesn’t cost a damn thing… We represent a political philosophy every bit as legitimate as you think yours is, but because it’s ours we naturally feel it’s more realistic for the times. Basically, we believe in a far stronger defence-oriented system of priorities for the country than you do.’
‘I believe in a strong defence, too,’ broke in Evan. ‘But not in budget-crippling, excessively offensive systems where 40 per cent of the expenditure results in waste and ineffectiveness.’
‘Good point,’ agreed Kendrick’s undersized opponent from the large chair. ‘And these areas of procurement will be rectified by the marketplace.’
‘But not until billions are spent.’
‘Naturally. If it were otherwise, you’d be talking about another system of government that doesn’t permit the Malthusian law of economic failure. The forces of the free market will correct those excesses. Competition, Congressman Kendrick. Competition.’
‘Not if they’re rigged in the Pentagon or in those boardrooms where there are too many alumni from the Defense Department.’
‘Hell!’ exclaimed the yachtsman from the fireplace mantel. ‘If they’re that fucking obvious, let ’em hang!’
‘Big Tom’s right,’ said the florid-faced Bostonian. ‘There’s plenty to go around, and those nickel-and-dime colonels and generals are just lubrication, anyway. Get rid of them if you like, but don’t stop the treadmill, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Do you hear that?’ asked the gold-buttoned blue blazer. ‘Don’t stop until we’re so strong no Soviet leader would even think about a strike.’
‘Why do you think any of them would consider it, consider blowing up a large part of the civilized world?’
‘Because they’re Marxist fanatics!’ roared the yachtsman, standing erect in front of the mantel, his arms akimbo.
‘Because they’re stupid,’ corrected the short man from his chair calmly. ‘Stupidity is the basic road to global tragedy, which means the strongest and the smartest will survive… We can handle our critics in the Senate and the House, Congressman, but not in the administration. That we can’t tolerate. Am I clear?’
‘You really think I’m a threat to you?’
‘Of course you are. You get on your soapbox and people listen, and what you say—very effectively, I might add—is not in our interests.’
‘I thought you had such respect for the marketplace.’
‘I do in the long run, but in the short run excessive oversight and regulation can cripple the country’s defence with delays. This is no time to throw the baby out with the bath water.’
‘Which means throwing away profits.’
‘They go with the job, as you so rightly explained regarding the office of Vice President… Go your way, Congressman. Rebuild your aborted career in Southwest Asia.’
‘With what?’ asked Evan.
‘Let’s start with a credit line of fifty million dollars at the Gemeinschaft Bank in Zurich, Switzerland.’
‘That’s very convincing but they’re only words. Who’s putting up the collateral?’
‘The Gemeinschaft knows. You don’t have to.’
It was all Kendrick had to hear. The full weight of the United States government bearing down on a Zurich bank with known connections to men who dealt with terrorists from the Baaka Valley to Cyprus would be enough to break the Swiss codes of secrecy and silence. ‘I’ll confirm the line of credit in Zurich in twelve hours,’ he said, getting up. ‘Will that give you sufficient time?’
‘More than sufficient,’ replied the small man in the large chair. ‘And when you have confirmation, you’ll do Vice President Bollinger the courtesy of sending him a copy of your telegram to Chicago irrevocably withdrawing your name for consideration on the national ticket.’
Kendrick nodded, glancing briefly at the three other contributors. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said quietly and then headed for the library door.
Out in the hallway a black-haired, muscular man with sharp, clean-cut features and the green dot of the Secret Service in his lapel rose from a chair beside a pair of thick double doors. ‘Good evening, Congressman,’ he said pleasantly, taking a step forward. ‘It’d be an honour to shake your hand, sir.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘I know we’re not to say who comes and goes around here,’ continued the member of the Treasury Department detail, gripping Evan’s hand, ‘but I may break that rule for my mother in New York. Perhaps it sounds crazy, but she thinks you should be Pope.’
‘The Curia might find me lacking… The Vice President asked me to see him before I left. He said he’d be in his office.’
‘Certainly. It’s right here, and let me tell you he’d welcome the interruption. He’s got an irritated man in there with such a short fuse I didn’t trust the machines and nearly strip-searched him. I wouldn’t let him take his bag of paraphernalia inside.’
For the first time, Kendrick saw the garment bag draped across the chair at the left of the double doors. Beneath it, on the floor, was a bulky black case commonly referred to as a medical bag. Evan stared at it; he had seen it before. The inner screen of his mind was jolted, fragments of images replacing one another like successive explosions! Stone walls in another hallway, another door; a tall, slender man with a ready smile—too ready, too ingratiating for a stranger in a strange house—a doctor casually, amusingly stating that he would merely thump a chest and take a sample of blood for analysis.
‘If you don’t mind,’ said Kendrick, somehow through the mists, realizing that he could barely be heard, ‘please open the door.’
‘I’ve got to knock first, Congressman—’
‘No, please!… Please do as I say.’
‘The Vipe—the Vice President—won’t appreciate that, sir. We’re always to knock first.’
‘Open that door,’ ordered Evan, his rasping voice a whisper, his eyes wide, fixed briefly on the Secret Service man. ‘I’ll take full responsibility.’
‘Sure, sure. If anyone’s entitled I guess you are.’
The heavy door on the right swung silently back, the words hissed by a tight-throated Bollinger clearly heard. ‘What you’re saying is preposterous, insane!… Yes, what is it?’
Kendrick walked through the terrible space and stared at the shocked, panic-stricken face of ‘Dr. Eugene Lyons’.
‘You!’ screamed Evan, the isolated world inside his head going mad as he lunged, racing across the room, his two hands the claws of a maniacal animal intent only on the kill—the kill! ‘He’s going to die because of you—because of all of you!’
In a blur of violence, arms gripped him; hands chopped into his head, and knees crashed up into his groin and his stomach, his eyes bruised by experienced fingers. Despite the agonizing pain, he heard the muted screams—one after another.
‘I’ve got him! He’s not going to move.’
‘Close the door!’
‘Get me my bag!’
‘Keep everyone out!’
‘Oh, Jesus, he knows everything!’
‘What do we do?
‘… I know people who can handle this.’
‘Who the hell are you?
‘Someone who should introduce himself… Viper.’
I’ve heard that name. It’s an insult! Who are you?’
‘For the moment I’m in charge, that’s who I am.’
‘Oh, Christ…!’
Darkness—the oblivion that comes with the deepest shock. All was black; nothing.
* * *
Chapter 40
He felt the wind and the spray first, then the motion of the sea, and finally the wide cloth straps that constricted him, binding him to the metal chair bolted into the deck of the pitching boat. He opened his eyes in the moving darkness; he was in the stern, the foaming wake receding in front of him, and was suddenly aware of cabin lights behind. He turned, craning his neck to see, to understand. Abruptly, he was face to face with the dark-haired, swarthy Secret Service guard whose mother in New York thought he should be Pope… and whose voice he had heard proclaiming himself to be in charge. The man sat in an adjacent deep sea fighting chair, a single strap across his waist.
‘Waking up, Congressman?’ he asked politely.
‘What the hell have you done?’ roared Kendrick, struggling against the restricting straps.