“He’d have to be out of his mind not to notice that something was odd.”
“Or maybe just blinded by ambition?”
Nolan looked towards the window as he absorbed the facts. Finally he looked back at MacKay.
“We’ll have to assume that he wasn’t fully in the picture but he was aware that something was going on. And that’s too indefinite a condition for us to prove. A court or a committee could easily come to that conclusion after hearing all the evidence, but that’s all.”
“So they hit Kleppe and Dempsey, but Powell carries on.”
“Congress would turn their backs on him. He would be a cypher, and the whole country would be in turmoil for four years. God knows what the rest of the world would think. It would be an impossible situation.”
“So we’ve got to do two separate things. We’ve got to prove that there’s a Soviet plot that got Powell into the White House and that it was organized by Kleppe and Dempsey. And when we’ve proved that, Powell has to be pressured out on fear of exposure.”
Nolan groaned. “That’s it, friend. It sounds so short and simple, but it ain’t.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
Nolan grinned. “Sure.”
“How about I look into Powell’s background while you’re dealing with Dempsey.”
“OK, but just desk research, no personal contacts.”
CHAPTER 14
The house facing Gramercy Park had been built in 1846 to the design of Alexander Jackson Davis and only the ornate railings and balconies could be accused of being Gothic. But it was not its outward appearance that impressed Jim Oakes. It was the cool, calm interior, and the man who seemed to have all the time in the world before he got down to why he had called him there. He was a handsome man, sun-tanned, with a large head and features that could have graced a Roman coin. White hair, almost crew-cut, and eyes that looked as if they could extract the truth without effort. His shirt was a dazzling white and although he was noticeably still, when he moved his hands Oakes noticed the sparkle of diamonds in the gold cuff-links. And when he spoke, the questions were short, but so precise that they admitted no answer but the truth.
This was Oakes’s seventh visit in the last ten months, and he was flattered at the courtesy he was always shown. Pieter de Jong’s family had been around when New York was New Amsterdam and he wore his role as Republican Party Vice-Chairman with an air of it honouring the party more than the man.
De Jong poured the drinks himself, and when he sat back in the white garden chair he raised his glass.
“Your good health, Mr. Oakes.”
“And yours, Mr. de Jong.”
“And how is our friend finding Washington?”
“I haven’t seen him since the election but I hear that he’s working hard with his take-over teams.”
“Seems to be charming the press and the public.”
“I guess that’s not too difficult at this stage.”
De Jong laughed softly.
“Have you had any contact with Markham?”
“We’ve met a couple of times. I guess Vice-Presidents-Elect are not so hard pressed as their masters.”
De Jong leaned forward and put down his glass. He reached over and pressed a bell on the wall.
“You’ll lunch with me?”
Oakes recognized immediately that it was a command rather than a question.
A manservant served the simple but superb meal, and de Jong talked about the New York party organization and the set-up in Washington. It was when they were sitting with their coffees that Oakes sensed that the mealtime talk had been time-filling and that they were now back to business.
“And what are they saying, Mr. Oakes. Now they’ve heard his plans?”
“Difficult to assess, Mr. de Jong. There’s no doubt that the public like it, but on the Hill there’s discontent.”
“From whom?”
“From our side mainly. They don’t like the defence cuts. They don’t like the playing footsie with Moscow bit.”
“So why don’t they say so?”
Oakes shrugged. “Who is going to talk against billions of dollars of trade, or bringing American boys back home? You might just as well talk bad about mothers. The polls show ridiculous figures like 75 per cent for Powell.”
“Have you had any more dealings with Dempsey?”
“A couple of phone calls. Just routine stuff.”
“And Kleppe?”
Oakes shook his head. “No. Since you gave me the loan to pay off my indebtedness he’s not been in touch.”
“And how’s business?”
“Very good, Mr. de Jong. I’ve brought a cheque with me.”
“I think I could help you there. I’ll talk to you about an arrangement, a new arrangement, in about two weeks’ time.”
“It’s not a problem now.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But you just hold your horses, my friend. Has there been any development on the murder investigation?”
“Henney tells me that they’re working in the dark. Seems like the Treasury is involved some way. He says it was definitely a professional job.”
“You mean a Mafia job?”
“No. I got the impression he meant foreigners.”
“Who’s the Treasury man on this job?”
“Henney wouldn’t say. He’s been warned off about talking.”
“You know that old man Haig had a man visit him? Said he was investigating a union problem.”
“No, he didn’t mention it to me.”
“A fellow named Nolan. Said he was from Washington. I’ve got a feeling he might contact you.”
Oakes looked surprised. “Why me?”
“Who knows? But if he does, I suggest you hold him off until you’ve had a word with me.”
“I’ll do that. But why me?”
“You’re a stockholder in Haig Electronics.”
“So?”
De Jong shifted in his chair and half-smiled.
“Maybe about the strike they had way back.”
Oakes’s watery eyes noted the smile.
“You knew about that?”
“Not at the time. But I know now.”
“It’s covered in every possible way. They’d never break it open.”
“It only wants one man to talk, Mr. Oakes.”
“Well, I can assure you it won’t be me.”
De Jong smiled, stood up carefully and held out his hand.
“Keep in touch, Mr. Oakes. Keep in touch.”
Kleppe’s tongue explored his lower lip slowly and reflectively as Dempsey waited for his comment. Finally Kleppe
