The Class

sale to Russia of a sophisticated filter for satellite photography. I’m told Commerce had been sort of leery about letting them have it.”

George’s blood froze. He could barely listen to the rest.

“It’s my theory that Henry was trading for something. Now, what I’d like to know from you is — what did he get in return?”

George Keller had often testified before senatorial committees. He knew that the ironclad rule for any witness confronted with a startling question was to wait. And then answer as simply and directly as possible.

“I think you’re going up a blind alley on this one, Tom,” he said quietly.

“I’m positive I’m not.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The expression on your face, Dr. Keller.”

Leighton paused for a moment and then said politely, “Are you willing to talk about it?”

George’s mind was in turmoil. He had to quash this story or his whole life would be ruined.

What could he trade this guy? A great deal, he decided quickly.

All he had to do to save himself, was… sell out Kissinger.

“Listen, Tom,” he said as casually as possible, “it’s a nice day. Why don’t we go for a walk?”

First George did some off-the-record bargaining. Without explaining why, he simply offered to exchange the insignificant filter story — for whatever other information Leighton would request.

“Can I trust you, Tom?”

“I’ve got a reputation,” the journalist replied. “I’ve never betrayed my sources. And I never will.”

“I believe you,” George said.

He had to.

On June 25, the ax fell. Ronald Reagan called Alexander Haig into the Oval Office and gave him an envelope. It contained a letter accepting the Secretary’s resignation. Now all Haig had to do was formally resign.

The word in Washington was that Keller was going to get the job. The Washington Post went as far as to call him “the best appointment Reagan could possibly make.”

Dozens of reporters now kept vigil around his home, waiting for the moment when the new cabinet appointee and his wife would step outside to be photographed in triumph.

The major wire services had done their research and prepared a profile. The saga of the teenager who fled Communist oppression and had risen to the top. Only in America, et cetera.

Inside, George and Cathy were rooted by the telephone. They dared not speak to each other. All Cathy had said the entire evening — at regular intervals — was that she would love him even if he was not made Secretary of State.

He wanted desperately to take a drink, but she forbade him even a drop.

“You’ve got to keep your wits about you, George. There’ll be plenty of time for booze after this thing’s over, one way or another.”

The phone rang. It was Henry Kissinger.

“Tell me, Mr. Secretary,” he said jovially, “will you still speak to me when you’re appointed?”

George was breathless with excitement.

“What do you know, Henry?” he asked quickly.

“Only what I read in the papers. Just be sure to mention me in your acceptance speech, eh?”

At ten minutes before midnight, the phone rang again.

“This is it,” George said to Cathy as he walked over, took a deep breath, and picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“George?” It was Caspar Weinberger, Secretary of Defense — and Harvard ’38. The omen was good.

“Hi, Cap,” George said weakly.

“Listen, George, the President’s done a lot of thinking about State —” He paused and then announced as gently as possible, “He’s decided to go with Shultz.”

“Oh.”

Seeing his devastated expression, Cathy grabbed his arm.

“I hope you understand there’s nothing personal,” the Defense Secretary continued. “It’s just that Ron feels more comfortable with — you know — the California boys, And I know that Shultz wants you to stay on as Deputy.”

George did not know what to say.

Weinberger tried to assuage his disappointment.

“Hey, Keller,” he said buoyantly, “how old are you? Forty-six — forty-seven? You’re too young to be where you are already, for heaven’s sake. If Reagan wins another term, I’m sure he’ll go with you.”

“Yes, Cap. Thanks.”

George hung up and looked at Cathy.

“I lost,” he said softly.

“You didn’t lose, George,” she said with deep emotion. You just haven’t won yet.”

ANDREW ELIOT’S DIARY

November 17, 1982

One of the joys of being a reunion organizer as well as fundraiser is that I get to go to a lot of interesting places I would never normally be allowed into.

The White House, for instance.

Now, obviously the Reunion Committee wanted George Keller to lecture as part of the week’s events. Being his oldest Harvard friend, I was deputized to enlist him.

My first surprise when I called on the Department of State was that I got right through to him. My second was that he invited me to Washington for lunch. My third was that we would be eating not in some posh Washington bistro but at the White House Mess, so he could give me a short tour of the presidential premises.

It was fascinating. I even got to see the famous Situation Room, which was a real thrill because it was so disappointing. I mean, it’s just a windowless cubicle with a table and some chairs. To think that so many of recent history’s most portentous decisions have been made in this glorified phone booth!

It was here that George asked me to sit down and chat about what had brought me all the way to Washington.

I asked him how he felt about Harvard.

He responded by asking me how they felt about him. Specifically, did the faculty still regard him as a Kissinger hatchet man?

I replied as tactfully as I could that, though they had come down on him and Henry pretty hard during the war, that was now nearly ten years ago. Besides, we were all dying for him to speak to The Class. You know, tell them what it’s like to cross swords with Brezhnev and those guys.

“You’re a big hero to all of us,” I told him. “There’s no ambivalence about that.”

He smiled.

I then asked him if he was planning to come to the reunion anyway.

He confessed that he had been hesitant, afraid he’d hardly know anybody.