back, those sacrifices we prize so much. He's moved this country in the right direction by the sheer force of his will, his personality', if you like. He's the best!'
'But not necessarily the brightest,' interrupted Kendrick.
'That doesn't mean shit. Galileo would have made a lousy Pope and a worse Caesar.'
'I suppose you've got a point.'
'I certainly do. Now the scenario—the explanation—is simple and all too damned familiar. Some son of a bitch leaked the Oman story and you want it forgotten as soon as possible.'
'I do?'
Dennison paused, studying Evan's face as if it were decidedly unattractive. 'That's based directly on what that jerk Swann told the chairman of the Joint Chiefs—’
'Why is Swann a jerk? He didn't leak the story. He tried to throw off the man who came to see him.'
'He let it happen. He was the CO of that operation and he let it happen and I'll see him hung.'
'Wrong past tense.'
'What?'
'Never mind. But just to make sure we're both using the same scenario, why do I want everything forgotten as soon as possible?'
'Because there could be reprisals against your lousy Arab friends over there. That's what you told Swann and that's what he told his superiors. You want to change it?'
'No, of course not,' said Kendrick softly. 'The scenario's the same.'
'Good. We'll schedule a short ceremony showing him thanking you on behalf of the whole damn country. No questions, just a restricted photo session and then you fade.' Dennison gestured to the door; both men started towards it. 'You know something, Congressman?' remarked the chief of staff, his hand on the knob. 'Your showing up like this has ruined one of the best whispering campaigns any administration could ask for—public relations-wise, that is.'
'A whispering campaign?'
'Yeah. The longer we kept quiet, deflecting questions on the basis of national security, the more people thought the President forced the Oman settlement all by himself.'
'He certainly conveyed that,' said Evan, smiling not unkindly, as if he admired a talent he did not necessarily approve of.
'I tell you he may not be an Einstein, but he's still a fucking genius.' Dennison opened the door.
Evan did not move. 'May I remind you that eleven men and women were murdered in Masqat? That two hundred others will have nightmares for the rest of their lives?'
'That's right!' replied Dennison. 'And he said it—with goddamned tears in his eyes! He said they were true American heroes, as brave as those who fought at Verdun, Omaha Beach, Panmunjom and Danang! The man said it, Congressman, and he meant it, and we stood tall!'
'He said it as he narrowed the options, making his message clear,' agreed Kendrick. 'If any one person was responsible for saving those two hundred and thirty-six hostages, it must have been him.'
'So?'
'Never mind. Let's get this over with.'
'You're a fruitcake, Congressman. And you're right, you don't belong in this town.'
Evan Kendrick had met the President of the United States only once. The meeting lasted for approximately five, perhaps six, seconds, during a White House reception for the freshmen congressmen of the chief executive's party. It had been mandatory for him to attend, according to Ann Mulcahy
O'Reilly, who practically threatened to blow up the office if Evan refused to go to the affair. It was not that Kendrick disliked the man, he kept telling Annie, it was just that he did not agree with a lot of things Langford Jennings espoused—perhaps more than a lot, maybe most. And in answer to Mrs. O'Reilly's question as to why he had run on the ticket, he could only reply that the
