with the press every two weeks, depending upon circumstances. Had he approved of the Postmaster General’s new commemorative stamp bearing T. C.’s likeness? This also had been planted. He was to say that he had instigated the idea of the memorial stamp. Would he permit his name to be offered as a candidate for the Presidency at the Party convention in Baltimore next year? No star after this one. He was to say that such political considerations were premature, that he preferred to make no comment at this time, except to say that he had never had, and had not now, any political ambitions beyond Congress.
There were several more questions, and then the last one, and reading it, he sat up. For the first time, the New Succession Bill, which would freeze his Cabinet by giving the Senate authority over him, lay coldly and boldly before his eyes, not in speculative newsprint but as a fact presented by his advisers.
Without lifting his head to look, he sensed that the watching Talley knew that he had arrived at the yet unspoken question and that, in a way, it was being asked of him by his staff rather than by the press.
The omission glared out at Dilman. There was not a word about the embarrassing addendum to the bill, the one amputating his removal powers. Did Talley and the others think the members of the press were blind to it, that they would not ask it?
He took pen in hand, and looked at Talley. “Governor, about the last question here. I don’t think I’ll get away with your suggested response. It covers only three-fourths of the New Succession Bill. Someone is surely going to inquire about the final paragraphs, and I’d better be ready.”
Talley came toward the desk, with Flannery behind him, and Dilman was pleased to see that his aide was flushed with consternation.
“I-we didn’t know what you’d want to say about that, Mr. President,” Talley was saying. “We’ve never discussed the clause-”
“Because no one brought it up,” said Dilman. He faced Flannery. “Tim, I’d better be ready to say something about that. If I’m asked about it, and I will be, I’ll try to make up my mind what to say extemporaneously. I just want to jot a note here for you, after my suggested response, to the effect that-let me think-well-that I have examined the clause shifting the removal powers of the President over his Cabinet to the Senate, in the special case where the succession has gone below Vice-President, and-and while I understand the motivation behind it- the desire of Congress to preserve the nature of the elected and appointed government-I must remark that I believe the clause to be of debatable legality and designed to weaken the executive branch of government. Will I let that one questionable feature turn me against an otherwise excellent piece of legislation or will I approve it? I don’t know, Tim-Governor-I’m afraid if I suggest veto, it will create an uproar, make the Southern bloc in Congress, the racists around the country, positive that I’m going to dump T. C.’s Cabinet for an all-black Cabinet. I can’t afford that, no matter how I feel-”
“Exactly, that’s the point, Mr. President,” said Talley anxiously. “The whole piece of legislation was merely made to alleviate fear-”
“But I think the legislation is wrong because it is unconstitutional,” Dilman said. “I’ll make a note here that I cannot say how I will act until I observe the conditions under which the final New Succession Bill reaches my desk. Then, if I find it necessary to approve it in order to preserve national unity, I will do so after making my legal opinion, and the opinions of the best constitutional lawyers, known to the country.”
Hastily, he scrawled several sentences after the last suggested response.
He looked up. “There, that should keep everyone satisfied-for the time.”
“Very wise, Mr. President,” said Talley, exhaling a gust of relief.
Dilman turned the page. “Let me bone up on the backgrounds to my responses-”
Talley quickly retreated, as if his proximity might provoke the President into second thoughts.
Studiously Dilman devoted himself to the information. He had gone through five of the capsule briefings when the buzzer sounded from Miss Foster’s office.
Since he had told her to hold all calls except the most urgent ones, he picked up the telephone immediately.
“Mr. President,” said Edna Foster, her voice quavering, “the Attorney General is here. He must see you at once. He says that it is imperative.”
“Shoot him right in.”
He hung up. “Clay Kemmler’s here. Apparently, something critical-”
“We can step out until-” Flannery began.
Dilman waved Flannery and Talley back to the sofa. “No, stay put. Let’s-”
Edna Foster’s door swung open, and then shut, and Attorney General Kemmler stormed in, flinging his hat at the sofa, ignoring Talley and Flannery as he shed his coat and moved toward the President. Dilman could see that Kemmler was the personification of spleen. His close-set, flinty eyes narrowed, and looked as if they were giving off sparks. Head back, his square jaw thrust forward beyond the point of his nose, he resembled a beset dragon carrying
“Mr. President, there’s trouble for us,” he announced angrily, almost bumping into the Buchanan desk. “I thought you’d better hear it in person, not on the phone, because we’ll have to make some fast decisions.”
He paused, leaned over the desk, and said, “Those goddam Turnerites went and started their retaliation program. I just got the flash from Mississippi. Some of Hurley’s hoodlums crossed into Hattiesburg, grabbed Judge Everett Gage at gunpoint, and kidnaped him. They left a ransom note for local, state, and Federal officials. They’ll free Judge Gage when Mississippi frees those Turnerites who were sentenced to ten years. Now what in the holy hell am I supposed to do?”
Involuntarily, Dilman had shivered when Kemmler spat out “kidnaped him.” The full realization that his people, a segment of them, had ceased talking terror, were practicing it, performing it, involving him in their insane deed, frightened him.
“It’s crazy,” he said. “Are you sure Hurley is responsible? I can’t believe it.”
“He’s already sent a denial to the Birmingham and Jackson papers-but who else can be responsible for this act except Hurley and his Turnerites?” Kemmler demanded impatiently. “Naturally, he gave out a statement denying his Group had anything to do with it, but he added something to the effect that he couldn’t disapprove of any of his fellow Negroes standing up for their rights. We’re trying to locate him for questioning, but no luck, so far. But whether he denies it or not, whether he makes it look like an individual action or not, it’s got to be something he sanctioned. Hasn’t he been threatening us with retaliation and violence in all his speeches? And who else on earth would risk their necks in a foolhardy act like this-trying to spring a bunch of jailed Turnerites-except other Turnerites?”
Within Dilman there beat a faint hope. “So far, as much as you know, the kidnaping was done by individuals?”
“So far, yes,” said Kemmler. “But, Mr. President, there’s no doubt over at Justice that the crime is a direct result of announced Turnerite policies.”
Dilman’s gaze went from the Attorney General to Talley and Flannery, who had come forward, both deeply disturbed. Dilman shook his head. “Well, whether it was the act of individuals or an organization-whichever-how in the devil do they expect to accomplish anything by it?”
“I’ll tell you how,” said Kemmler. He pushed past Flannery, and came around the desk to stand over the President. “It’s all been thought out, every detail. The unsigned ransom note demands that the ten Turnerites in the penitentiary at Parchman be released from jail at once and be delivered safely to Tampico, the Mexican seaport-very smart, since you know and I know how goddam uncooperative the Mexican government has been lately about extraditing our fugitive citizens of Mexican, Japanese, or Negro descent. When the Turnerites are released and landed in Tampico, the kidnapers promise Judge Gage will be returned unharmed. That’s the deal.”
Dilman sought to rally his authority. “What’s this got to do with us? From what you’ve told me, it’s strictly a state affair.”
