“Can I have some photographs, Mr. Nolan?”
“Sure. Tell Rod you want them.”
It was another two hours before everything was back in place and the glazier was waiting to put in a new window. When he had finished, they washed all the windows, cleaned the snow from the balcony, folded the plastic floor coverings, and left.
Logan Powell spent the whole day taking briefings and situation papers from the present Administration. President Grover was philosophical about his defeat. His four years in office had seen no great issues resolved. If anything, issues had been ignored, and it looked as if the American public liked it that way. They wanted peace and prosperity and a chance to play with their toys.
For two days Dempsey had examined position papers and reports and made those routine decisions that allowed his temporary team to function while Powell’s major appointments were being considered. It was a time to convert euphoria to usable energy. He picked up Powell from his temporary office and drove him to the hotel. Dempsey had arranged for them to have adjoining suites with the flanking suites taken as offices.
They sat in shirt-sleeves in comfortable armchairs and Powell gave him instructions about various people he wanted to see in the next two days. Dempsey poured them another drink before he started what he expected to be the first of a series of tense dialogues.
“There’s something I need to talk with you about, Logan.”
“I’ve told Cheevers to put out a press release tonight that I’ve appointed you Presidential Chief of Staff.”
“It wasn’t that. It’s about you.”
“Oh? What about me?”
“You know that we’ve had a lot of help from way back to get you into the White House?”
“Sure I know. They’ll all get their pieces of cake in due course.”
“Most of the help came from the same quarter, Logan. I’m sure you recognize that.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“There are things that they want.”
“Like what?”
“A peace pact, troops withdrawn from Europe, trade both ways.”
“Those are issues for governments, not individuals.”
Dempsey looked steadily back at Logan Powell. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Logan.” For a moment he was almost convinced that the surprise on Powell’s face was genuine.
“Are you saying that the Soviet Government were on my side during the election?”
“They were on your side long before that, Logan. They got you into the State Capitol.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Powell’s face was reddening with anger.
“What do you think made you Governor?”
Powell shrugged. “They liked my programme. They wanted change.”
Dempsey shook his head. “There were a dozen contenders who would have been equally suitable. It was the strike got you nominated and it was the strike got you in the State Capitol.”
“And I arbitrated and settled the strike, for God’s sake.”
“How do you think the strike started, Logan? Why do you think it just happened when your nomination was a totally outside chance?”
Powell was silent for long moments, and then he said quietly, “Are you saying that those bastards fixed a strike so that I could arbitrate and look good?”
“You knew that at the time, Logan. You and I don’t need to pretend. But you knew when you were negotiating with Siwecki that the strike had been fixed.”
“Did Siwecki tell you this?”
“Logan, Siwecki was doing what he was told to do.”
“What else have they fixed?” Powell’s voice was edged with anger.
“It’s cost about thirty million dollars and cashing in on twenty years of organization.”
Powell shook his head. “That’s their view, not mine. The people voted and they voted for me. They’re too late, my friend. I’m President-Elect and if they play games with me they’ll be exposed and sent packing.”
“Your programme promised peace and prosperity. You can deliver it—with help.”
“What we do to get peace and prosperity will be negotiated between governments, no other way.”
“Nobody’s suggesting any other way. To get prosperity we need peace. They want that, too. To get peace we need disarmament. They want that, too. With a peace pact you’ve got tens of billions of dollars to direct and provide the prosperity. Half a dozen Administrations have tried to deliver it. Yours can be the one that succeeds.”
Powell leaned back in his chair.
“You’ve been with them all the time, Andy. You’ve known.”
“You wanted to win, Logan. I helped you do it. Others helped me.”
“And what happens if I refuse?”
“Refuse to cut down arms? Refuse billions of dollars of Soviet trade? Refuse decades of peace? You’d have to be very stupid or very stubborn to do that.”
“Answer me, Andy. What happens if I refuse?”
“You’d cease to be President. When the scandal died down I guess you could earn a modest living somewhere in Europe.”
“And how would they fix that?”
Dempsey shrugged. “A leak to a journalist would be enough.”
“The leak would expose them, not me.”
“The Communist Party of the United States would take the blame, not the Soviets.”
“Nobody would believe the Soviets didn’t know and support it.”
Dempsey said quietly, “And nobody would believe that you didn’t know and support it. You’ve been back-marker all the way, Logan. For the Governorship itself. And four years later you’re given the Party’s nomination as presidential candidate. An unknown. And on January twenty you will be President. How do you think that was possible? I’ll tell you. Millions of dollars, and collecting old debts and obligations. Theirs, not yours.”
Dempsey leaned back in his chair. He had gone as far as was necessary. He had watched Logan Powell turn a blind eye to a hundred situations that stank of conspiracy and contrivance. But turning a blind eye was not the same as not knowing. Powell was bitten by the power bug the same as all the others. From the moment there was a chance that he could be Governor of Connecticut he would have done anything to make it certain. And all the initial diffidence, when it was put to him that he might be the Party’s candidate for President, was gone the moment it looked a real possibility.
