“I lose fifty billion dollars that way, right?” Bert Audick said. The face on the huge TV screen was clearly reddening with anger. There had never been anything wrong with the color control.
Mutford said, “It is a considerable sum of money, but it’s not the end of the world.”
Bert Audick’s face on the screen was an astonishing blood-red. Salentine thought again that it might be the controls—no man could stay alive and turn such vivid hues. Audick’s voice reverberated through the room: “Fuck you, Martin, fuck you. And it’s more than fifty billion. What about the loss of revenue while we rebuild Dak? Will your banks loan me the money then without interest? You’ve got more cash up your asshole than the U.S. Treasury, but would you give me the fifty billion? Like shit you would.”
Greenwell said hastily, “Bert, Bert, we are with you. Salentine was just pointing out a few options you may not have thought of under the pressure of events. In any event we could not stop Congress’s action even if we tried. Congress will not permit the executive to dominate on such an issue. Now, we all have work to do, so I suggest this conference come to an end.”
Salentine smiled and said, “Bert, those bulletins about the President’s mental condition will be on television in three hours. The other networks will follow our lead. Call me and tell me what you think, you may have some ideas. And one other thing, if Congress votes to depose the President before he requests time on TV, the networks can refuse him the time on the basis that he has been certified as mentally incompetent and is no longer President.”
“You do that,” Audick said, his face fading now to a natural color. And the conference call ended with courteous good-byes.
Salentine said, “Gentlemen, I suggest we all fly to Washington in my plane. I think we should all pay a visit to our old friend Oliver Oliphant.”
Mutford smiled. “The Oracle, my old mentor. He’ll give us some answers.”
Within the hour they were all on their way to Washington.
Summoned to meet with President Kennedy, the ambassador of Sherhaben, Sharif Waleeb, was shown secret CIA videotapes of Yabril having dinner with the Sultan in the Sultan’s palace. The Sherhaben ambassador was genuinely shocked. How could his Sultan be involved in such a dangerous endeavor? Sherhaben was a tiny country, a gentle country, peace-loving, as was wise for a militarily weak power.
The meeting was in the Oval Office with Bert Audick present. The President was accompanied by two staff members, Arthur Wix, the national security adviser, and Eugene Dazzy, the chief of staff.
After he was formally presented, the Sherhaben ambassador said to Kennedy, “My dear Mr. President, you must believe I had no knowledge of this. You have my personal, my most abject, my most heartfelt apologies.” He was close to tears. “But I must say one thing I truly believe. The Sultan could never have agreed to harm your poor daughter.”
Francis Kennedy said gravely, “I hope that is true because then he will agree to my proposal.”
The ambassador listened with an apprehension that was more personal than political. He had been educated at an American university and was an admirer of the American way of life. He loved American food, American alcoholic drinks, American women and their rebelliousness under the male yoke. He loved American music and films. He had donated money to all the necessary politicos and made bureaucrats in the American State Department rich. He was an expert on oil and a friend of Bert Audick.
Now he was in despair over his personal misfortune, but he was not really worried about Sherhaben and its Sultan. The worst that could happen would be economic sanctions. The American CIA would mount covert operations to displace the Sultan, but this might be to his advantage.
So he was profoundly shocked by Kennedy’s carefully articulated speech. “You must listen closely,” Francis Kennedy said. “In three hours you will be on a plane to Sherhaben to bring my message to your Sultan personally. Mr. Bert Audick, whom you know, and my national security adviser, Arthur Wix, will accompany you. And the message is this. In twenty-four hours your city of Dak will be destroyed.”
Horrified, his throat constricted, the ambassador could not speak.
Kennedy continued: “The hostages must be released and the terrorist Yabril must be turned over to us. Alive. If the Sultan does not do this, the state of Sherhaben itself will cease to exist.”
The ambassador looked so stricken that Kennedy thought he might have trouble comprehending. Kennedy paused for a moment and then went on reassuringly. “All this will be in the documents I will send with you to present to your Sultan.”
Ambassador Waleeb said dazedly, “Mr. President, forgive me, you said something about destroying Dak?”
Kennedy said, “That is correct. Your Sultan will not believe my threats until he sees the city of Dak in ruins. Let me repeat: the hostages must be released, Yabril must be surrendered and secured so that he cannot take his own life. There will be no more negotiations.”
The ambassador said incredulously, “You cannot threaten to destroy a free country, tiny as it is. And if you destroy Dak, you destroy billions of dollars’ worth of American investment.”
“That may be true,” Kennedy said. “We will see. Make sure your Sultan understands that I am immovable in this matter—that is your function. You, Mr. Audick and Mr. Wix will go in one of my personal planes. Two other aircraft will accompany you. One to bring back the hostages and the body of my daughter. The other to bring back Yabril.”
The ambassador could not speak, he could scarcely think. This was surely a nightmare. The President had gone mad.
When he was alone with Bert Audick, Audick said to him grimly, “That bastard meant what he said, but we have a card to play. I’ll talk to you on the plane.”
In the Oval Office Eugene Dazzy took notes.
Francis Kennedy said, “Have you arranged for all the documents to be delivered to the ambassador’s office and to the plane?”
Dazzy said, “We dressed it up a little. Wiping out Dak is bad enough, but we can’t say in print that we will destroy the whole country of Sherhaben. But your message is clear. Why send Wix?”
Kennedy smiled and said, “The Sultan will know that when I send him my national security adviser I’m very serious. And Arthur will repeat my verbal message.”
“Do you think it will work?” Dazzy said.
“He’ll wait for Dak to go down,” Kennedy said. “Then it sure as hell will work unless he’s crazy.”
CHAPTER
11
To impeach the President of the United States in twenty-four hours seemed almost impossible. But four hours after Kennedy’s ultimatum to Sherhaben, Congress and the Socrates Club had this victory well within their grasp.
After Christian Klee had left the meeting, the computer surveillance section of his FBI special division gave him a complete report on the activities of the leaders of Congress and the members of the Socrates Club. Three thousand calls were listed. Charts and records of all the meetings held were also part of the report. The evidence was clear and overwhelming. Within the next twenty-four hours the House and Senate of the United States would try to impeach the President.
Christian, furious, put the reports in his briefcase and rushed over to the White House. But before he left, he told Peter Cloot to move ten thousand agents from their normal-duty posts and send them to Washington.
At this same time late Wednesday Senator Thomas Lambertino, the strongman of the Senate, with his aide Elizabeth Stone and Congressman Alfred Jintz, the Democratic Speaker of the House, were meeting in Lambertino’s office. Sal Troyca, chief aide to Congressman Jintz, was there to cover up, as he often said, the asshole of his boss, who was an idiot manqué. About Sal Troyca’s cunning there was no doubt, not only in his own mind but on Capitol Hill.
In that warren of rabbity legislators, Sal Troyca was also a champion womanizer and genteel promoter of relationships between the sexes. Troyca had already noted that the senator’s chief aide, Elizabeth Stone, was a beau
ty, but he had to find out how devoted she was. And right now he had to concentrate on the business at hand.
Troyca read aloud the pertinent sentences of the Twenty-fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution, editing out sentences and words here and there. He read slowly and carefully in a beautifully controlled tenor voice:” ‘Whenever the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive departments’ ”—in an aside to Jintz he whispered, “That’s the Cabinet”; then his voice grew more emphatic—” ‘or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit to … the Senate and … House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall immediately assume the powers and duties of the office as Acting President.’ ”
“Bullshit,” Congressman Jintz yelled. “It can’t be that easy to impeach a President.”
“It’s not,” said Senator Lambertino in a soothing voice. “Read on, Sal.”
Sal Troyca thought bitterly that it was typical that his boss did not know the Constitution, holy as it was. He gave up. Fuck the Constitution, Jintz would never understand. He would have to put it in plain language. He said, “Essentially the Vice President and the Cabinet must sign a declaration of incompetence to impeach Kennedy. Then the Vice President becomes President. One second later Kennedy enters his counterdeclaration and says he’s OK. He’s President again. Then Congress decides. During that delay Kennedy can do what he wants.”
Congressman Jintz said, “And there goes Dak.”
Senator Lambertino said, “Most of the Cabinet members will sign the declaration. We’ll have to wait for the Vice President—we can’t proceed without her signature. Congress will have to meet no later than ten P.M. Thursday to decide the issue in time to prevent the destruction of Dak. And to win we must have a two-thirds vote of the House and Senate. Now, can the House do the job? I guarantee the Senate.”
“Sure,” Congressman Jintz said. “I got a call from the Socrates Club, they are going to lean on every member of the House.”
Troyca said respectfully, “The Constitution says, any other body the Congress may provide by law. Why not bypass all that Cabinet and vice-presidential signing and make Congress that body? Then they can decide forthwith.”
Congressman Jintz said patiently, “Sal, it won’t work. It can’t look like a vendetta. The voting public would be on his side and we’d have to pay for it later. Remember Kennedy is popular with the people—a demagogue has that advantage over responsible legislators.”
Senator Lambertino said, “We should have no trouble following procedure. The President’s ultimatum to Sherhaben is far too extreme and shows a mind temporarily unbalanced by his personal tragedy. For which I have the utmost sympathy and sorrow. As indeed we all do.”
Congressman Jintz said, “My people in the House come up for reelection every two years. Kennedy could knock a bunch of them out if he’s declared competent after the thirtyday period. We have to keep him out.”
Senator Lambertino nodded. He knew that the senatorial six-year term always grated on House members. “That’s true,” he said, “but remember, it will be established that he has serious psychological problems, and that can be used to keep him out of office simply by the Democratic party refusing him the nomination.”
Troyca had noted one thing. Elizabeth Stone had not uttered a word during the meeting. But she had a brain for a boss; she didn’t have to protect Lambertino from his own stupidity.
So Troyca said, “If I may summarize, if the Vice President and the majority of the Cabinet vote to impeach the President, they will sign the declaration this afternoon. The President’s personal staff will still refuse to sign. It would be a great help if they did, but they won’t. According to the Constitutional procedure, the one essential signature is that of the Vice President. A Vice President, by tradition, endorses all of the President’s policies. Are we absolutely positive she will sign? Or that she won’t delay? Time is of the essence.”
Jintz laughed and said, “What Vice President doesn’t want to be President? She’s been hoping for the last three years that he’d have a heart attack.”
For the first time Elizabeth Stone spoke. “The Vice President does not think in that fashion. She is absolutely loyal to the President,” she said coolly. “It is true that she is almost certain to sign the declaration. But for all the right reasons.”
Congressman Jintz looked at her with patient resignation and made a pacifying gesture. Lambertino frowned. Troyca kept his face impassive, but inwardly he was delighted.
Troyca said, “I still say bypass everybody. Let Congress go right to the bottom line.”
Congressman Jintz rose from his comfortable armchair. “Don’t worry, Sal, the Vice President can’t seem to be too much in a hurry to push Kennedy out. She will sign. She just doesn’t want to look like a usurper.” “Usurper” was a word often used in the House of Representatives in reference to President Kennedy.
Senator Lambertino regarded Troyca with distaste. He disliked a certain familiarity in the man’s manner, the questioning of the plans of his betters. “This action to impeach the President is certainly legal, if unprecedented,” he said. “The Twenty-fifth Amendment to the Constitution doesn’t specify medical evidence. But his decision to destroy Dak is evidence.”
Troyca couldn’t resist. “Once you do this there will certainly be a precedent. A two-thirds vote of Congress can impeach any President. In theory anyway.” He noted with satisfaction that he had won Elizabeth Stone’s attention at least. So he went on. “We’d be another banana republic—only in reverse, the legislature being the dictator.”
Senator Lambertino said curtly, “By definition that cannot be true. The legislature is elected by the people directly, it cannot dictate as one man can.”
Troyca thought with contempt, Not unless the Socrates Club gets on your ass. Then he realized what had made the senator angry. The senator thought of himself as presidential timber and didn’t like someone saying that the Congress could get rid of the President whenever it liked.
Jintz said, “Let’s wind this up—we all have a hell of a lot of work to do. This is really a move to a more genuine democracy.”
Troyca was still not used to the direct simplicity of great men like the senator and the Speaker, how with such sincerity they went to the very heart of their own self-interest. He saw a certain look on the face of Elizabeth Stone and realized she was thinking exactly what he was thinking. Oh, he was going to take his shot at her no matter what the cost. But he said with his patented sincerity and humility, “Is it at all possible that the President may declare that Congress is overruling an executive order that they disagree with and then defy the vote of the Congress? May he not go to the nation on television tonight before the Congress meets? And won’t it seem plausible to the public that since Kennedy’s staff refuses to sign the declaration, Kennedy is OK? There could be a great deal of trouble. Especially if the hostages are killed after Kennedy has been impeached. There could be tremendous repercussions on the Congress.”
Neither the senator nor the congressman seemed impressed by this analysis. Jintz patted him on the shoulder and said, “Sal, we’ve got it all covered, you just make sure the paperwork gets done.”
At that moment the phone rang and Elizabeth Stone picked it up. She listened for a moment and then said, “Senator, it’s the Vice President.”
Before making her decision, Vice President Helen Du Pray decided to take her daily run.
The first woman Vice President of the United States, she was fifty-five years of age and by any standard an extraordinarily intelligent woman. She was still beautiful, possibly because in her twenties, then a pregnant wife and assistant district attorney, she became a health-food nut. She had also become a runner in her teens before she married. An early lover had taken her on his runs, five miles a day and not jogging. He had quoted Latin, “Mens sana in corpore sano,”
and translated for her, “If the body is healthy, the mind is healthy.” For his condescension in translating and his taking literally the truth of the quotation—how many healthy minds have been brought to dust by a too healthy body—she had discharged him as a lover.
But just as important were her dietary disciplines, which dissolved the poisons in her system and generated a high energy level with the extra bonus of a magnificent figure. Her political opponents would joke that she had no taste buds, but this was not true. She could enjoy a rosy peach, a mellow pear, the tangy taste of fresh vegetables, and in the dark days of the soul that no one can escape she could also eat a jarful of chocolate cookies.
She had become a health-food nut by chance. In her early days as a district attorney she had prosecuted a diet-book author for making fraudulent and injurious claims. To prepare for the case she had researched the subject, read everything in the field of nutrition, on the premise that to detect the false you must know what is true. She had convicted the author, made him pay an enormous fine but always felt she owed him a debt.
And even as Vice President of the United States, Helen Du Pray ate sparingly and always ran at least five miles a day—on weekends, she did ten miles. Now on what could be the most important day of her life, with the declaration to impeach the President waiting for her signature, she decided to take a mind-clearing run.