“Third, automation means higher productivity, which in turn means lower inflation levels. The prices of consumer goods and food have been holding steady the past few months. Stop automation and…”
Lazar held up both his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I know. I know. It’s our standard line of reasoning.” He let his hands drop and looked wistfully at the President. “But you know, sometimes people don’t think with their heads. The opposition, now, they’re making a big emotional scene out of this.”
“Let them,” the President said. “By the end of the year prices will have stabilized and employment should be starting up again. Let them damn the machines then.”
The Vice-President stayed and chatted for a few minutes longer, mostly about the local politicians he should butter up in Detroit. And the union people, of course. He was smiling when he left the office. Smiling, but his eyes were still unhappy.
As the door closed behind him, Halliday said to me, “I can only give you a few minutes, Meric. Arguing with the Vice-President always seems to take more time than it’s worth.”
He was grinning when he said it. Earlier this morning, during our picture-phone review of the day’s news, he had seemed tense, impatient, almost angry. Now he was relaxed and friendly. Maybe talking with Lazar did bother him.
“And you’ve got the Secretary of State due in another fifteen minutes,” Wyatt reminded him.
The grin faded only slightly. “Oh, yes, Reynolds’s plan for restructuring the Department.”
“That’s about like trying to restructure mud,” His Holiness groused from the rocker.
The President gave a “what the hell” kind of shrug and then turned to me. “McMurtrie tells me you did a fine job last night. I appreciate it.”
It all came back into focus immediately. I’d actually been trying to forget the whole thing.
“Do you think we can really keep the press from finding out about it?” he asked.
“For a time,” I said. “Nobody can keep them at bay indefinitely.”
His face was completely serious now. “I don’t like to skulk around under a cloak of secrecy. There hasn’t been a President yet who didn’t stub his toes that way.”
“This thing is too big and too scary to let loose on the public,” His Holiness said.
“You’re probably right, Robert,” the President answered, “Still…” His voice trailed off and he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling the way he always does when he’s mulling over a problem. Damn! He looked like Halliday. He sounded like Halliday. He acted like Halliday. But yet…
“Mr. President,” I asked, and he gave me a cocked eyebrow for being so formal, “What’s being done about the situation? I mean, what steps have you taken?”
Halliday glanced at Wyatt, then sat up straight and focused his gaze on me. “McMurtrie is picking a handful of ultra reliable people to serve as an investigating staff. He’ll report directly to Robert, here.”
“And?”
“And we’ll find out what’s going on.”
I thought I had missed something. “Wait a minute. How does the FBI fit into this? And the National Intelligence Commission? What about…”
“We’re keeping the investigation small and quiet,” the President said.
Wyatt added, “And restricted to people who are personally loyal to the President.”
“But…”
“The FBI’s too damned independent,” Wyatt went on. “Always has been. Leaks to the press. Too damned busy keeping its public image polished to maintain the kind of secrecy this needs.”
“You do understand,” Halliday said to me, “that if any word of this leaks out to the public, we’re in for it.”
I nodded. “It’d cause a panic, all right.”
“Worse than that. If there’s the slightest doubt that I am actually the duly-elected President, how do you think the Congress will react? What do you think will happen to every piece of legislation we’ve sent over to the Hill?”
“There’ll be a hundred and fifty investigating committees formed overnight,” Wyatt growled.
“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” I heard myself say. And immediately wished I hadn’t.
Anyone else would have at least frowned. I could see Wyatt, out of the corner of my eye, scowl darkly at me. But The Man grinned.
“Why do you say that, Meric?” he asked. I was stuck with it. “We-ell… if there’s a lot of noise and hoopla about the incident, then whoever’s trying to ship a double in here might get scared off.”
The President looked over to Wyatt. “Hadn’t thought about that angle of it. Have you?”
“It’s not worth thinking about,” he answered testily. “The whole goddamned Government would grind to a halt while everybody in the world tried to figure out if you are who you claim you are.”
“I suppose so,” Halliday said.
“This isn’t the first time?” I asked. “It’s happened before?”
He nodded. “In Denver, just before the Inauguration. A body was found in the same hotel Laura and I were in, the night before we left for Washington.”
“He looked just like you?”
“So they tell me. I didn’t see him. McMurtrie had been assigned to me all through the campaign. He took care of it. Cleaning woman discovered the body, I understand, and ran into one McMurtrie’s men without even taking a look at the corpse’s face.”
“Lucky,” I said.
Wyatt grumbled, “With a little more luck like that we can all go down the chute.”
I must have been staring at the President, because he gave me his slow, personal smile and said, “It’s okay, Meric. It’s really me.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. It’s just that… I, hell, I’m scared of this.”
“That’s a healthy reaction.”
“But don’t you think you ought to be digging into this harder? Deeper? I mean, McMurtrie’s a bodyguard, not a detective. You’ve got the entire apparatus of the Government at your disposal…”
He stopped me with an upraised hand. “Meric… Meric. Think a minute. I’m not Premier Blagdanoff, much less Chairman Chao. It’s not
“But the intelligence people… the Justice Department…”
“Might be in on it,” Wyatt snapped.
“
“How do we know who we can trust? Somebody’s doing this… somebody damned close to the White House. Maybe somebody
Halliday fixed him with a gaze. “Robert, this is no time to go paranoid.”
“I know, I know…”
“That’s another reason why this investigation must be kept as small and quiet as possible. We could unleash a witch hunt that would make the McCarthy craze in the fifties and Alonzo’s purge of the eighties look like kindergarten games. We’ve got to keep things under control.” And his hands pressed flat on the desk top, a gesture I had seen him use in moments of stress a hundred times.
“But McMurtrie can’t handle it,” I insisted. “He isn’t the right man for the job.”
It was my turn to get stared at. “He’s the man I assigned to handle it,” the President said. His voice was calm, quiet, and iron hard.
I guess I still didn’t look convinced, because he went on, “He’ll have access to anyone in the Executive branch of Government that he wants. He can pick out the best team of investigators that the nation can produce. But it will be a small team, working directly for McMurtrie, on leave from the regular departments.”
“And reporting to me,” Wyatt said, “instead of some agency director who’s worried more about his bureaucracy than the life of the President.”
I said nothing. Their minds were made up.
“There are three possibilities,” the President said, hunching forward in his chair and ticking off the points on his fingers.
