if solely to impress the others with his formidable height and his image as the tanned rugged yachtsman; strength was the message. He sauntered to the fireplace mantel—High Noon in the Town of Corruption, thought Kendrick. 'We caught your leeward drift about German, French and Japanese capital. How steep are the waves in open water?'
I'm afraid I'm not a sailor. You'll have to be clearer.'
'What are you up against?'
'Financially?' asked Evan, pausing, then shaking his head in dismissal. 'Nothing I can't handle. I can commit seven to ten million, if I have to, and my lines of credit are extensive… but, of course, so are the interest rates.'
'Suppose lines of credit were established without those kinda' burdens?' said the man familiar with constituency fixing in his South Boston ward.
'Gentlemen,' interrupted Bollinger sharply, getting out of his chair, as did those seated in deference to his obviously imminent departure. 'I understand that I have an urgent matter to attend to. If you need anything, feel free to ask for it.'
'We won't be long, Mr. Vice President,' said Kendrick, knowing why Bollinger had to distance himself from whatever ensuing conversation took place; deniability was the byword. 'As I mentioned, this is a problem that only I can properly resolve. I just wanted to be open with you.'
'It's greatly appreciated, Evan. Stop in and see me before you leave. I'll be in my office.'
The Vice President of the United States left the book-lined room, and like jackals descending on their prey, the contributors turned to the congressman from Colorado. 'We level now, son,' said the six-foot-five yachtsman, his arm on the mantel like a leaning, angry weed.
'I'm not a relative of yours, thank you, and I resent the familiarity.'
'Big Tom always talks like that,' chimed in the florid Bostonian. 'He don't mean no harm by it.'
'The harm is in his presumption with a member of the House of Representatives.'
'Oh, come on, Congressman!' interjected the obese man in the navy blue blazer.
'Let's all relax,' said the small-framed, pinched-faced man sitting down in the overlarge armchair. 'We're all here for the same purpose and, courtesies aside, let's get on with it… We want you out, Kendrick. Do we have to be clearer?'
'Since you're so adamant, I think you'd better be.'
'All right,' continued the short contributor, his legs barely touching the carpeted floor. 'As someone said, let's be honest—doesn't cost a damn thing… We represent a political philosophy every bit as legitimate as you think yours is, but because it's ours we naturally feel it's more realistic for the times. Basically, we believe in a far stronger defence-oriented system of priorities for the country than you do.'
'I believe in a strong defence, too,' broke in Evan. 'But not in budget-crippling, excessively offensive systems where 40 per cent of the expenditure results in waste and ineffectiveness.'
'Good point,' agreed Kendrick's undersized opponent from the large chair. 'And these areas of procurement will be rectified by the marketplace.'
'But not until billions are spent.'
'Naturally. If it were otherwise, you'd be talking about another system of government that doesn't permit the Malthusian law of economic failure. The forces of the free market will correct those excesses. Competition, Congressman Kendrick. Competition.'
'Not if they're rigged in the Pentagon or in those boardrooms where there are too many alumni from the Defense Department.'
'Hell!' exclaimed the yachtsman from the fireplace mantel. 'If they're that fucking obvious, let 'em hang!'
'Big Tom's right,' said the florid-faced Bostonian. 'There's plenty to go around, and those nickel-and-dime colonels and generals are just lubrication, anyway. Get rid of them if you like, but don't stop the treadmill, for Christ's sake!'
'Do you hear that?' asked the gold-buttoned blue blazer. 'Don't stop until we're so strong no Soviet leader would even think about a strike.'
