on someone who screwed them to hell and back. I found the survivors. I knew where to look.'
'Andy-boy,' said Ardis, sitting down opposite her husband, her large green eyes fixed on his distracted face. 'I repeat,' she added quietly, 'what have you done?'
'Removed an obstacle that would have weakened the military strength of this country to an unacceptable degree—turning the most powerful giant of the free world into a pitiful dwarf. And in doing so cost me personally in the neighbourhood of eight hundred million dollars—and cost our group billions.'
'Oh, my God… You couldn't wait—you couldn't wait. You dealt with the Arabs!’
'Mr. President, I need these few days,' pleaded Mitchell Payton, sitting forward on a straight-backed chair in the upstairs living quarters of the White House. It was one fifty-five in the morning. Langford Jennings sat in the corner of the couch dressed in pyjamas and a bathrobe, his legs crossed, a slipper dangling from one foot, his steady, questioning gaze never leaving the CIA director's face. 'I realize that by coming directly to you I've broken several hundred valid restrictions, but I'm as alarmed as I've ever been in my professional life. Years ago a young man said to his commander in chief that there was a cancer growing on the presidency. This is a far older man saying essentially the same thing, except that in this case any knowledge of the disease—if it exists, as I believe it does—has been kept from you.'
'You're here, Dr Payton,' said Jennings, his resonant voice flat, the fear unmistakable. 'Yes, Dr Payton—I've had to learn a few things quickly—because Sam Winters made it clear to me that if you said you were alarmed, most other men would be in shock. From what you've told me I understand what he means. I'm in shock.'
'I'm grateful for an old acquaintance's intercession. I knew he'd remember me; I wasn't sure he'd take me seriously.'
'He took you seriously… You're sure you've told me everything? The whole rotten mess?'
'Everything I know, sir, everything we've pieced together, admitting, of course, that I have no “smoking gun”.'
That's not the most favourite phrase around these premises.'
'In all candour, Mr. President, if I thought those words had any application whatsoever to these premises, I wouldn't be here.'
'I appreciate your honesty.' Jennings lowered his head and blinked, then raised it, frowning, and spoke pensively. 'You're right, there's no application, but why are you so sure? My opponents ascribe all manner of deceits to me. Aren't you infected? Because looking at you and knowing what I know about you, I can't imagine that you're an ardent supporter of mine.'
'I don't have to agree with everything a man believes to think decently of him.'
'Which means I'm okay but you wouldn't vote for me, right?'
'Again, may I speak in candour, sir? The secret ballot is sacred, after all.'
'In all candour, sir,' said the President, a slow smile creasing his lips.
'No, I wouldn't vote for you,' answered Payton, returning the smile.
'IQ problems?'
'Good God, no! History shows us that an over-involved mind in the Oval Office can be consumed by an infinity of details. Above a certain level, an immensity of intellect is irrelevant and frequently dangerous. A man whose head is bursting with facts and opposing facts, theories and counter theories, has a tendency to endlessly debate with himself beyond the point where decisions are demanded… No, sir, I have no problem with your IQ, which is far more than sufficient unto the day.'
'Is it my philosophy then?'
'Candour?'
'Candour. You see, I have to know right now whether I'm going to vote for you, and it hasn't a damn thing to do with quid pro quo.'
'I think I understand that,' said Payton, nodding. 'All right, I suppose your rhetoric does bother me at times. It strikes me that you reduce some very complicated issues to… to—’
