goddamned wrenches, you've got much bigger problems.'
'They're all minor expenditures compared to the totality, Mr. President.'
'As a friend of mine said on television, tell that to the poor son of a bitch who has to balance a budget. Maybe you're in the wrong job, Mr. Secretary. We keep telling the country that the Soviet economy is a shambles, its technology light years behind ours, and yet every year when you produce a budget, you tell us we're up shit creek because Russia's outperforming us economically and technologically. There's a slight contradiction there, wouldn't you say?'
'You don't understand the complexities—’
'I don't have to. I understand the contradictions… And what about you, you four glorious stalwarts from the House and Senate—members of my party and the loyal opposition? You never smelled anything?'
'You're an extremely popular President,' said the leader of the opposition. 'It's politically difficult to oppose your positions.'
'Even when the fish is rotten?'
'Even when the fish is rotten, sir.'
'Then you should get out, too… And our astute military elite, our Olympian Joint Chiefs of Staff. Who's watching the goddamned store, or are you so rarefied you forgot the address of the Pentagon? Colonels, generals, admirals, marching in step out of Arlington into the ranks of defence contractors and selling the taxpayers down the drain.'
'I object!' shouted the chairman of the JCS, spitting through his capped teeth. 'It's not our job, Mr. President, to keep tabs on every officer's employment in the private sector.'
'Perhaps not, but your approval of recommendations makes damned sure who gets the rank that makes it possible… And how about the country's super spies, the CIA and the NSA? Mr. Payton here excluded—and if any of you try to railroad him to Siberia, you'll answer to me for the next five years—where the hell were you? Arms sent all over the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf—to ports the Congress and I said were off limits! You couldn't trace the traffic? Who the hell was on the switch?'
'In a number of cases, Mr. President,' said the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, 'when we had reason to question certain activities, we assumed they were being carried out with your authority, for they reflected your policy position. Where the laws were involved we believed you were being advised by the Attorney General, as is the accepted procedure.'
'So you shut your eyes and said, “Let Joe Blow handle the pot of hot potatoes.” Very commendable for saving your ass, but why didn't you check with me?'
'Speaking for the NSA,' broke in the director of the National Security Agency, 'we spoke several times with both your chief of staff and your National Security adviser about several unorthodox developments that turned up on our desks. Your NSC adviser insisted that he knew nothing about what he termed “vicious rumours”, and Mr. Dennison claimed they were—and I quote him accurately, Mr. President—“a bunch of shit spread by ultra liberal wimps taking cheap shots at you”. Those were his words, sir.'
'You'll notice,' remarked Jennings coldly, 'that neither of those men is in this room. My NSC adviser has retired, and my chief of staff is on leave attending to personal business. In Herb Dennison's defence, he may have run a tight, pretty autocratic ship, but his navigation wasn't always accurate… Now we come to our chief law enforcement officer, the guardian of our nation's legal system. Considering the laws that were broken, bent and circumvented, I have the idea that you went out to lunch three years ago and never came back. What are you running over at Justice? Bingo games or marbles? Why are we paying several hundred lawyers over there to look into criminal activities against the government and not one of the goddamned crimes listed in this report was ever uncovered?'
'They were not in our purview, Mr. President. We've concentrated on—'
'What the hell is a purview? Corporate price-fixing and outrageous overruns aren't in your purview? Let me tell you something, whack-a-doo, they damn well better be!… To hell with you, let's turn to my esteemed running mate—the last is by far not the least in terms of vital importance. Our grovelling, snivelling tool of very special interests is the big man on the campus! They're all your boys, Orson! How could you do it?'
'Mr. President, they're your men, too! They raised the money for your first campaign. They raised millions more than your
