'Why do you think any of them would consider it, consider blowing up a large part of the civilized world?'
'Because they're Marxist fanatics!' roared the yachtsman, standing erect in front of the mantel, his arms akimbo.
'Because they're stupid,' corrected the short man from his chair calmly. 'Stupidity is the basic road to global tragedy, which means the strongest and the smartest will survive… We can handle our critics in the Senate and the House, Congressman, but not in the administration. That we can't tolerate. Am I clear?'
'You really think I'm a threat to you?'
'Of course you are. You get on your soapbox and people listen, and what you say—very effectively, I might add—is not in our interests.'
'I thought you had such respect for the marketplace.'
'I do in the long run, but in the short run excessive oversight and regulation can cripple the country's defence with delays. This is no time to throw the baby out with the bath water.'
'Which means throwing away profits.'
'They go with the job, as you so rightly explained regarding the office of Vice President… Go your way, Congressman. Rebuild your aborted career in Southwest Asia.'
'With what?' asked Evan.
'Let's start with a credit line of fifty million dollars at the Gemeinschaft Bank in Zurich, Switzerland.'
'That's very convincing but they're only words. Who's putting up the collateral?'
'The Gemeinschaft knows. You don't have to.'
It was all Kendrick had to hear. The full weight of the United States government bearing down on a Zurich bank with known connections to men who dealt with terrorists from the Baaka Valley to Cyprus would be enough to break the Swiss codes of secrecy and silence. ‘I’ll confirm the line of credit in Zurich in twelve hours,' he said, getting up. 'Will that give you sufficient time?'
'More than sufficient,' replied the small man in the large chair. 'And when you have confirmation, you'll do Vice President Bollinger the courtesy of sending him a copy of your telegram to Chicago irrevocably withdrawing your name for consideration on the national ticket.'
Kendrick nodded, glancing briefly at the three other contributors. 'Good evening, gentlemen,' he said quietly and then headed for the library door.
Out in the hallway a black-haired, muscular man with sharp, clean-cut features and the green dot of the Secret Service in his lapel rose from a chair beside a pair of thick double doors. 'Good evening, Congressman,' he said pleasantly, taking a step forward. 'It'd be an honour to shake your hand, sir.'
'My pleasure.'
'I know we're not to say who comes and goes around here,' continued the member of the Treasury Department detail, gripping Evan's hand, 'but I may break that rule for my mother in New York. Perhaps it sounds crazy, but she thinks you should be Pope.'
'The Curia might find me lacking… The Vice President asked me to see him before I left. He said he'd be in his office.'
'Certainly. It's right here, and let me tell you he'd welcome the interruption. He's got an irritated man in there with such a short fuse I didn't trust the machines and nearly strip-searched him. I wouldn't let him take his bag of paraphernalia inside.'
For the first time, Kendrick saw the garment bag draped across the chair at the left of the double doors. Beneath it, on the floor, was a bulky black case commonly referred to as a medical bag. Evan stared at it; he had seen it before. The inner screen of his mind was jolted, fragments of images replacing one another like successive explosions! Stone walls in another hallway, another door; a tall, slender man with a ready smile—too ready, too ingratiating for a stranger in a strange house—a doctor casually, amusingly stating that he would merely thump a chest and take a sample of blood for analysis.
'If you don't mind,' said Kendrick, somehow through the mists, realizing that he could barely be heard, 'please open the door.'
'I've got to knock first, Congressman—’
'No, please!… Please do as I say.'
