President Dilman is Commander in Chief, as of now, and what he is doing represents how much he is willing to risk for what he believes, for whatever reasons, to be right. If I were Commander in Chief of our armed forces, I would indeed have a policy statement to make on Baraza and the Soviet Union. Right now, it would be premature and out of order.”
“Mr. Secretary, you are practically Commander in Chief right now,” Reb Blaser bellowed. “Last night’s straw vote has eighty senators going to vote against Dilman-thirteen more than required. Doesn’t that impress you?”
“Mr. Blaser, I can’t comment on that, you understand,” said Eaton.
“Let me just say this, fellows,” said Talley, taking a step forward. “Secretary Eaton is quite correct in keeping away from speculation. But the Party has taken its own informal poll of the senators who will vote. I can tell you, frankly, there will be no problem in getting two-thirds of the Senate to announce that the President is guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors. Boys, tomorrow you’ll have a new look, a government of the people, for the people, and by the people, a government of all the people, again!”
There was smashing applause, and Eaton acknowledged it with a dip of his head. Linking his arm inside his wife’s arm, he called out, “Gentlemen, the press conference stands adjourned-and the stampede for the food and drinks begins. Again, thanks for you attentiveness, and now, follow us!”
And then Reb Blaser shouted, “Thank you,
Immediately, the room was filled with an uproar of laughter, handclapping, cheers, whistling, and Arthur Eaton, feeling as he guessed T. C. must have felt in those great climactic days before the election, led the stampede to the celebration.
At twenty minutes after twelve o’clock in the afternoon, the tray containing two small mixed green salads, two ham-and-cheese sandwiches on rye bread, one coffee and one hot tea had been delivered to the Oval Office of the White House from the Navy Mess below, and it now rested on the coffee table between the sofas.
Waiting for his friend, Douglass Dilman had just sat down to pick at the salad when Nat Abrahams came in, casting aside his hat, shedding his overcoat, massaging his chilled red cheeks.
“Brrr, what a day,” he said.
“You’re right, what a day,” said Dilman, watching Abrahams sit down across from him. “Nat, I didn’t see all of your closing address, but what I saw was great.”
“I’m afraid Miller’s was as good,” Abrahams said.
“Nevertheless, thanks.”
Abrahams appeared neither to have heard him nor to have any interest in the lunch before him.
Dilman inspected him. “What is it, Nat? You have something on your mind. I can tell.”
Abrahams gnawed his lower lip thoughtfully. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
“Shoot.”
He looked at Dilman squarely. “We’ve had an offer, Doug. Political horse trade, but an offer.”
“For what?”
“Senate votes in an hour and a half from now.”
“From whom?”
“Boss of the Party. Allan Noyes buttonholed me when I was leaving. Took me aside. Said there are nine on- the-fence Party senators who are more concerned about what your conviction will do to the Party tomorrow than about what you are up to today. They feel that if you are kept in office, in the long run there’d be less harm done to the Party. They’re considering that there’s only a year or so of the unexpired term to go, and they’d lose fewer votes in the next election this way than if you are publicly disgraced and kicked out.”
“Lose fewer votes? What votes?”
“Well, the Party has been taking samplings around the country. You’ve regained the sympathy of most of the Negro population, and of other minorities. The bloc of white liberals behind you has grown. Some independents here and there are shifting toward you. Noyes said it isn’t a big switch to your side right now, but an impeachment conviction might gain you more sympathy than ever, and lose Eaton a lot of votes when he came up for election.”
“Eaton’s election. Is that what the Party is worrying about?”
“Frankly, yes. And that’s the proposition. These nine senators put their heads together with Noyes, and here’s what they came up with. Instead of splitting over you this afternoon, or going against you, they’ve promised to vote for you under certain conditions.”
“All right, let’s have it, Nat. What’s the price?”
“If they swing an acquittal for you, then they want a public announcement from you tomorrow that you will neither seek reelection as the Party’s candidate nor allow yourself to be drafted as a candidate by a third party, and that you will come out in full support of Arthur Eaton or any other Party choice for the Presidential nomination next summer. That’s it. Agree to this, and you’ve got nine powerful votes for acquittal you might not otherwise have.”
Dilman squinted at Abrahams and put down his sandwich. “And I need those nine votes?”
“Wouldn’t hurt, you can use them,” said Abrahams casually.
“And they want my answer before two o’clock?”
“Before a quarter to two.”
“Nat, my answer is no. You tell them no.”
Abrahams did not seem at all surprised. He began to eat. “I don’t have to tell them no,” he said, between mouthfuls. “I’ve already told them.”
“You already told them no?” Dilman fell back, laughing and shaking his head. “You were that sure? What are you, my conscience?”
“Why, I’m your counselor, Mr. President.”
“My assistant gravedigger, you mean.” Suddenly Dilman sobered. “How badly did we need that deal, Nat, no soft-soaping? At the press conference today, Reb Blaser said the House managers took a straw poll, and while they need only sixty-seven votes to convict me, the poll says they have eighty. Any truth to that?”
“Exaggerated. Allan Noyes took his own poll. He’s hardheaded Party. No sleight-of-hand.”
“Well?”
“He comes up with seventy-four to convict. Seven more than they need.”
“What do you come up with, Nat?”
“How do I know? I look and listen. I hope.”
“Come on, Nat.”
“Okay. If it is sixty-seven for conviction, they win. If it is sixty-six for conviction, short of two-thirds by one, you win. Right now, wetting my finger and putting it into the wind, I’d say they have-there’s no way of knowing-but Tuttle and Hart believe they may have seventy votes.”
“In other words, they have what they need plus four?”
“Don’t think about it, Doug. It’s all guesswork. Let them vote and let’s see.”
“Oh, I’ll let them vote.”
“There are other things to think about… Hey, Edna Foster tells me Mindy is here. Is that true?”
Dilman found a way to smile. “Absolutely true. She’s hurt, she’s not well, I’m going to see that she gets help. But she’s back, yes. And beautiful beyond belief. She’s upstairs napping this minute.” He shook his head. “I only wish I had come to my senses sooner and forced Mindy to come here, permitted Wanda to, while I was still a tenant of the White House.”
“You’re still a tenant.”
“Yes. Only it’s beginning to feel like Leavenworth.”
The desk telephone rang. Dilman wiped his mouth with the paper napkin, then rose and hurried to the desk.
“Direct Pentagon hookup-I wonder what now-”
He could picture Secretary of Defense Steinbrenner ensconced behind the door with the placard reading “3- E-880,” busy at his nine-foot glass-topped desk. Except for the deceptively placid view from Steinbrenner’s four spacious windows, lulling one with the sight of the Pentagon lagoon below and the Jefferson Monument beyond, it was an office of intense action. Steinbrenner was on the direct White House line now, but he also had the gray
