to Andrews Air Force Base, where the scarlet-and-silver jet airplane, with its Presidential emblem still on the door, would take him on his five-day inspection and speaking tour of the nation.
Eager as he was to escape the maelstrom of impending scandal, he had been made to reconsider his flight one hour ago. A distressed Tim Flannery had felt that leaving the scene of the impeachment fight at this time might be a tactical error. Since the debate would not be a trial, but the airing and consideration of an indictment, Flannery felt that the President would have no place to respond to the charges against him except in the press. From the Oval Office he might best, and most effectively, ridicule and refute the resolution for impeachment. From a distance his voice might be heard less distinctly.
Giving short shrift to his press secretary’s plea, Dilman had determined to adhere to his schedule. Once the impeachment effort was official, he would issue a single statement, perhaps from St. Louis or Cleveland, and after that, dignify the effort no further. He was confident, he had reassured his press secretary, no more would be required from him. The charges were so oversensational and so lacking in solid proof as to collapse readily from lack of factual foundation.
Yet there was one act that he must perform before his departure, and that was to speak to Nat Abrahams. He wondered why he had not told Nat Abrahams what was in the wind, and why he was not going to reveal it to him now. Then he knew. The two things he had in mind to discuss with Nat must not be discussed in the emotional atmosphere of his personal needs. It would not be fair to Nat, who had his own life to live.
And then, through the telephone at his ear, he heard his friend’s voice at last.
“Hello, Nat.”
“Doug, I’ll be damned. I thought you were already airborne.”
“Oh, I will be in ten minutes. I wanted my Dramamine to have a head start. How are Sue and the children?”
“Sue’s right here with me. She arrived this morning. She’s got everything under control back home. The kids are with the family. We didn’t want to pull them out of school until the beginning of February when the semester ends. I think we’ll go back for the Christmas holidays, though.”
“What about your Eagles Industries contract, Nat? Signed yet?”
“In four or five days. About the time you finish your tour. We’ll have to have a drink on it, although I’m not sure if it should be champagne or cyanide… What about you, Doug? Anything special?”
“Nat, every day is special, it’s one endless crisis here.”
“Hey, that reminds me, Doug. What’s that in the morning paper about the FBI clamping down on the Vaduz Exporters? Isn’t that the outfit your-the firm that Wanda Gibson’s been working for?”
“Yes. That’s really why I’m calling you, Nat.”
“Is she in trouble?”
“No, no, nothing like that. She’s no more Communist than you and I are. She was, after all, just another employee there. She didn’t have the faintest idea that her boss was a Red agent or the company a Communist Front until yesterday morning. When she told me, I told her to get out. Anyway, what worries me is that she may be served a subpoena or something while I’m gone-”
“Doug, they have nothing on her, so why should anyone bother her?”
“We-ll, they might. You know our overzealous bloodhounds on Capitol Hill. And-and the case may have other ramifications-and there may be a lot of questions. I wouldn’t want Wanda feeling abandoned and scared, and without legal counsel. Now, I know you are up to your ears-”
“Doug, I’m doing nothing except waiting to affix my autograph to a contract. Of course, I’ll pitch in.”
“I’d be grateful. It would be a load off my mind. Maybe you can kind of look in on her-say, in a day or two.”
“Absolutely, Doug. In fact, I’ll nose around Justice a bit, and the Hill, to learn what’s going on. Then I’ll drive over and see Wanda.”
“Thank you, Nat. You’re the one person I can depend upon. Too bad I’m losing you to Avery Emmich. Maybe it’s not too late. Have you ever thought of coming into government? The pay is lousy, but the cocktail parties are free, and you get a lot of press clippings.”
“Me in government? Of course you’re kidding, Doug. Can’t you see me trying to conform to the Party? And compromise with the Attorney General? I’d last a fast eight hours in any Federal job. Of course, I can’t say it would be worse than what I am about to do. But in Eagles, at least they pay top wages for sin. I’ll come out only slightly sullied, and at least with cash and the farm to keep me warm… You were just kidding me, weren’t you, Doug? I mean-”
“Yes, I was only kidding. You belong in government about as much as I do, except you’d be good at it… Well, I can hear the helicopter’s choppers beating out there. I’d better be off. Good luck with your contract. Kiss Sue. And-and thanks again for keeping an eye on Wanda.”
Gently Dilman returned the telephone receiver to its cradle.
Well, he told himself, as expected: yes on Wanda, no dice on the other. He would have to go it alone, not that it had been different with Talley and Eaton as part of his administration.
He stared down at the last-minute papers waiting to be signed. He reached for his pen. He signed the note to Admiral Oates requesting that the foremost civilian orthopedic surgeons be brought in to try to save Otto Beggs’s leg. He signed the memorandum to Attorney General Kemmler, reminding him that Leroy Poole’s appeal for executive clemency must be expedited, now that the date of Hurley’s execution was drawing nearer. He signed the order for the Federal Marshal to barricade Arthur Eaton’s office in the Department of State, if necessary, to keep him out. He signed his own curt acceptance of Governor Wayne Talley’s resignation from his staff, as well as that of Talley’s friend and his own military aide, General Robert Faber. And finally, he reread the electric news announcement, prepared by Flannery, stating that he had removed Arthur Eaton from the position of Secretary of State because of their irreconcilable differences over foreign policy, and then he signed that too.
He called Miss Foster, to let her know what he had done, and to remind her to take care of the letters, and especially the news announcement, at once.
He pushed himself to his feet, gathered together the copies of the speeches he was to deliver, the briefing notes on the military installations he was to visit, the memorandum he had written to himself on what he could remember of the House’s impeachment charges, and he stuffed them into his already overcrowded briefcase. Once he had secured the lock of the briefcase, he found his hat and took down his heavy overcoat.
Thus laden, he went outside where the Secret Service men and Tim Flannery were waiting on the dry grass of the Rose Garden lawn. He fell in step with them, and headed for the noisy, vibrating bulk of the helicopter.
The weather was good, he noted, the sky over the Potomac clear. He wondered how long it would stay that way, and if, when he returned, he would be under a cloud at last.
Nat Abrahams’ shoe pressed down on the brake, and he brought the rented Ford to a standstill at the red traffic light on Sixteenth Street. Once more he gave his attention to the half-open newspaper, purchased when he had left the Mayflower Hotel, with the double-banner headline reading:
PRESIDENT DILMAN IMPEACHMENT!
SCANDAL DEBATE OPENS IN HOUSE!
It amazed him that only yesterday, little more than twenty-four hours ago, Doug Dilman had telephoned him before leaving the city, and talked without giving a single hint or reference to this monstrous attack on his integrity. Dilman, he reasoned, must have known at that very time about the impeachment charges being mounted against him; yet, except for his concern over Wanda Gibson’s future, he had omitted discussing anything connected with them. He had pretended that his concern over Wanda was merely to see that she was protected from harassment by Congressional Red-baiters. Now, it was evident, he wanted her protected from the charge of having collaborated with the President in committing a treasonable act.
How typical of Doug Dilman, Abrahams thought, to seek no advance advice or help about the impeachment as a whole. Dilman had always been secretive about his personal family relationships. But this impeachment attempt was another matter. Yesterday Dilman had been at the brink of facing public infamy, and yet he had kept his silence. How difficult it must have been for him, privately knowing that he had discharged three of his inner circle, had left himself alone to fight against his slanderers, to refuse to seek the aid of his closest friend. His damnable pride, Abrahams thought, pride, which Defoe had once defined as “the first peer and president of Hell.” Yet,
