Scruff

by Robert Ludlum

  Aaron Green’s anger so upset him that his old hands shook. Ian Hamilton’s voice was calm but nevertheless commanding. “Don’t excite yourself, Aaron. Nothing will be accomplished by it.… He’s right, you know. We haven’t the time for such endeavors. Not only are they distracting, they can’t succeed. Men like Trevayne keep extensive records.… Instead, one must face a fundamental issue. We can neither obscure it nor sidestep it. We must understand and accept our own motives.… In light of the record, I primarily address myself to the Senator and Aaron. You arrived late on the scene, Walter; your participation, though immensely valuable, has not been one of long standing.”

  “I know that,” said Madison softly.

  “There are many who could call us power brokers, and they would be right. We dispense authority within the body politic. And though there are ego compensations in what we do, we are not driven by our egos to do it. We, of course, believe in ourselves; but only as instruments to gain our objectives. I explained this—abstractly, to be sure—to Trevayne, and I believe he can be convinced of our sincerity.”

  Knapp had been staring down at the glass tabletop, listening. Suddenly he whipped his head up and looked at Hamilton in disbelief. “You what?”

  “Yes, Senator, that’s what it came down to between us. Are you shocked?”

  “I think you’ve lost your mind!”

  “Why?” asked Aaron Green sharply. “Have you ultimately done something for which you are ashamed, Senator? Are you more concerned for yourself than for our aims? Are you one of us, or are you something else?” Green leaned forward, his hand trembling on the handle of the coffee cup.

  “It’s not a question of being ashamed. It’s simply one of being misjudged, Mr. Green. You act as a private individual; I am an elected representative. Before I’m held accountable, I want the results to be apparent. We haven’t reached that point yet.”

  “We’re nearer than you think,” said Hamilton quietly, in counterpoint to both Green and Knapp.

  “I fail to see any evidence of that,” replied the Senator.

  “Then you haven’t looked around you.” Hamilton raised his brandy glass and drank sparingly. “Everything we’ve touched, every area we’ve managed, has been the better for our attentions. There can be no denying it. What we’ve done, in essence, is to build a financial base of such dimensions that it influences whole sections of the country. And wherever that influence has been felt, we’ve improved the status quo. Minorities—and majorities—are heeded; employment risen; welfare declined; production continued without interruption. As a result, segments of national interest have benefited. Our military posture has been strengthened unquestionably; geographical areas of the economy remain at high-gross-product levels; social reforms in housing, education, and medicine have been promoted painlessly wherever Genessee’s imprimatur is found.… What we’ve proved is that we can bring about social stability.… Would you deny this summation, Senator? It’s what we’ve worked for.”

  Knapp was startled. Hamilton’s rapid enumeration of points astonished him; gave him a sense of confidence—identification, perhaps—he had not felt before. “I’ve been too close to the Washington machinery; obviously you have a better view.”

  “Granted. I’d still like you to answer the question. Would you deny the facts … from what you have discovered?”

  “No, I imagine I wouldn’t …”

  “You couldn’t.”

  “All right, ‘couldn’t.’ ”

  “Then don’t you see the corollary?… Don’t you realize what we’ve done?”

  “You’ve outlined the accomplishments; I accept them.”

  “Not just accomplishments, Senator. I’ve outlined the leadership functions of the executive branch of the government.… With our help. Which is why, after painstaking consideration and swift but exhaustive analysis, we are going to offer Andrew Trevayne the presidency of the United States.”

  * * *

  No one spoke for several minutes. Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green sat back in their chairs and let the newcomers absorb the information. Finally, Knapp spoke in a voice laced with incredulity.

  “That’s the most preposterous statement I’ve ever heard. You’ve got to be joking.”

  “And you, Walter?” Hamilton turned to Madison, who sat staring at his glass. “What’s your reaction?”

  “I don’t know,” answered the attorney slowly. “I’m still trying to digest it.… I’ve been close to Andrew for many years. I think he’s an extraordinarily talented man.… But this? I just don’t know.”

  “But you are thinking,” said Aaron Green, looking not at Madison but at Knapp. “You are using your imagination. Our ‘elected representative’ reacts only to ‘preposterous.’ ”

  “For good and sufficient reasons!” snapped Alan Knapp. “He has no political experience; he’s not even a registered member of either party!”

  “Eisenhower had no experience,” replied Green. “And both parties tried to recruit him.”

  “He has no stature.”

  “Who had less at the beginning than Harry Truman?” rejoined the Jew.

  “Eisenhower had worldwide exposure, popularity. Truman grew in the job he inherited. Irrelevant examples.”

  “Exposure’s no problem today, Senator,” interjected Hamilton with his prepossessing calm. “There are thirteen months before the national conventions, eighteen before the election. Within that period of time, I daresay, Andrew Trevayne could be merchandised with extraordinary effect. He has all the qualifications for maximum results.… The key is not political experience or affiliation—actually, their absence could be an advantage; nor is it his current stature—which, incidentally, may be more than you think, Senator. Neither is it that abstraction, popularity.… It’s voting blocs. Before and after whatever convention we decide to enter. And Genessee Industries will deliver those blocs.”

  Knapp started to speak several times but stopped, as though rethinking his thoughts, trying to find the words to convey his bewilderment. At last he spread his hands down on the glass-topped table; it was a gesture of super-imposing control on himself. “Why? Why in God’s name would you do it, even consider it?”

  “Now you are thinking, ‘elected representative.’ ” Aaron Green patted the back of Knapp’s left hand. The Senator drew it off the table quickly.

  “Put simply, Senator, it’s our judgment that Trevayne would make an extremely competent President. Perhaps even a brilliant one. He would, after all, have the time to pursue those aspects of the office few presidents in this century have been afforded. Time to reflect, concentrate on the nation’s foreign relationships, its negotiations and long-range policies.… Has it ever occurred to you why we are constantly being outflanked by our global adversaries? It’s quite simple, you know. We expect far too much of the single man sitting in the Oval Office. He’s torn in a thousand directions. He has no time to think. The Frenchman Pierre Larousse, I believe, said it best in the nineteenth century.… Our form of government is superb, with one significant imperfection. Every four years we must elect God as our President.”

  Walter Madison watched Hamilton closely. As a good attorney he had spotted the quantum jump, and it wasn’t in his training to let it slide by. “Ian, do you think for one minute Trevayne would accept the condition that the majority of domestic problems be handled outside the decision sphere of the presidency?”

  “Certainly not.” Hamilton smiled. He accepted the forensic challenge. “Because the majority wouldn’t be problems. Put another way, major problems wouldn’t be allowed to develop, to the degree heretofore experienced. Questions of domestic irritation are something else again. Every President delegates them and makes the proper palliative statements. They’re not time-consuming, and they allow for leadership exposure.”

  “You know you haven’t really answered my question, Mr. Hamilton.” Knapp got up from his chair and went to the brandy. “It’s one thing to say a man will make a President. Good, bad, or brillian
t, it’s the making that counts first … It’s something else again to select this or that specific individual as your chosen candidate. That choice has to reflect something other than idealistic appraisal. Under the circumstances, given someone who’s displayed such determination to be his own man, I still want to know why it’s Trevayne.… Yes, Mr. Green, I think it’s preposterous!”

  “Because when all the fancy talk is finished, Mr. Elected Representative, we have no choice.” Green turned in his chair and looked up at Knapp. “You’d like better so preposterous an idea that you’re run out of office for a thief.”

  “My record is spotless.”

  “Your associations aren’t so clean. Take my word.” Green turned back to the table and with his trembling hand reached for his cold coffee.

  “Such talk is pointless,” said Hamilton, for the first time showing anger. “Trevayne would not have been chosen—and you know this, Aaron—if we felt he wasn’t qualified. It’s been established that he’s an extraordinary executive; that’s exactly what the presidency requires.”

  Knapp returned to the table as Aaron Green looked at Hamilton and spoke softly, with immense feeling. “You know what I require. Nothing else concerns me, or will ever concern me. I want no peddlers to interfere with that. Strength. That’s all.”

  Walter Madison watched the old man and thought he understood. He’d heard rumors that Green had quietly financed training camps for the Jewish Defense League. He knew now they weren’t just rumors. But Madison was disturbed. He turned to Hamilton, cutting off Knapp, who was about to speak.

  “Obviously Andrew hasn’t been approached. What makes you think he’ll accept? Personally, I don’t think he will.”

  “No man of talent and vanity turns his back on the presidency. Trevayne has both. And he should have. If the talent’s authentic, the vanity must follow.” Hamilton answered Madison but included Knapp. “At first, his reaction will be no different from the Senator’s. Preposterous. We’ll expect that. But within a matter of days he will be shown graphically, professionally, that it is a feasible concept, that it’s really within his grasp.… Spokesmen for labor, the business community, the sciences, will be brought to him. Leading political figures from all sections of the country will telephone him, letting him know that they are most interested—not committed, but interested—in the possibility of his candidacy. From these exploratory confrontations will emerge a practical campaign strategy. Aaron’s agency will assume responsibility.”

  “Have assumed it,” said Green. “Already three of my most trusted people are working behind tight-shut doors. All are the very best, and each knows if there’s a leak, he’ll never work again except maybe in a ditch.”

  Knapp’s astonishment grew in proportion to the extraordinary information. “You’ve actually begun all this?”

  “It is our function to stay well ahead of tomorrow, Senator,” answered Hamilton.

  “You can’t possibly guarantee that labor, business, political leaders … will agree.”

  “We can, and those we’ve reached have. They’ve been contacted in utter sincerity; they’ve been sworn to confidence until told otherwise. They are part of a grass-roots groundswell. In many instances, they’re most enthusiastic.”

  “It’s … it’s …”

  “We know, preposterous.” Green completed Knapp’s exclamation. “You think Genessee Industries is managed by Washington bureaucrats? By idiots? We’re talking about two or three hundred people, maybe a few mayors, governors; our payrolls are several thousand times that.”

  “What about the House, the Senate? Those are—”

  “The House is under control,” interrupted Hamilton. “The Senate?… That’s why you’re here tonight.”

  “Me?” Knapp’s hands were once more back on the glass-topped table in front of him.

  “Yes, Senator.” Hamilton spoke with calm conviction. “You’re a dedicated member of the Club. You’ve also got the reputation of a skeptic. I’ve seen in print where you’ve been called the ‘unpredictable skeptic of the Senate.’ You’re going to be our key man in the cloakroom.”

  “Otherwise,” added Aaron Green with a gesture, “poof!”

  Senator Knapp did not pursue the subject.

  Walter Madison couldn’t help but smile at the old Jew, but his smile faded quickly as he spoke. “Let’s grant, hypothetically, that everything you say is possible. Even probable. How do you propose to handle the current President? It’s my impression that he intends to run for a second term.”

  “By no means conclusive. His wife and family are very much against it. And remember, Genessee Industries has removed scores of major problems from his concerns. We can easily re-create them. Finally, if it comes to it, we have medical reports that could finish him a month before the election.”

  “Are they true?”

  Hamilton lowered his eyes. “Partially. But I’m afraid that’s irrelevant. We have them; that’s relevant.”

  “Second question. If Andrew is elected, how do you control him? How can you stop him from throwing all of you out?”

  “Any man who sits in the President’s chair learns one supreme lesson instantly,” replied Hamilton. “That it’s the most pragmatic of all jobs. He needs every bit of help he can get. Instead of throwing us out, he’ll come running for assistance, try to convince us to come out of retirement.”

  “Retirement?” Knapp’s confusion was paramount, but Walter Madison’s expression conveyed his understanding.

  “Yes. Retirement, Senator. Walter knows. You must try to grasp the subtlety. Trevayne would never accept the proposition if he thought it was engineered by Genessee. Our position will be made clear. We’ll be reluctant, but ultimately he has our backing, our endorsement; he’s one of us. He’s a product of the marketplace. Once he’s elected, we have every intention of leaving the scene, living out the remainder of our lives in the comforts we’ve earned. We’ll convince him of this.… If he needs us, we’re there, but we’d rather not be called.… Of course, we have no intention of leaving at all.”

  “And when he learns this,” summed up Walter Madison, attorney-at-law, “it’s too late. It’s the ultimate compromise.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Ian Hamilton.

  “My people behind the tight-shut doors have created a very effective campaign phrase.… ‘Andrew Trevayne, the Mark of Excellence.’ ”

  “I think they stole it, Aaron,” said Hamilton.

  40

  Trevayne read the newspaper story as a wave of relief swept over him. He never imagined that he could be so filled with joy—there was no other word but “joy”—over a man’s death, a man’s brutal murder. But there it was, and he was consumed with a sense of deliverance.

  “Underworld Chief Slain in Ambush Outside New Haven Home.”

  The story went on to say how Mario de Spadante, while being transferred from an ambulance into his home on Hamden Terrace, was dropped to the ground and fired upon by six men who had been waiting on both sides of De Spadante’s house. None of those carrying the stretcher or the others at the scene, presumably the gangster’s personal guards, were injured. Thus the police authorities speculated that the killing was a multiple “contract” issued by “bosses” unhappy over De Spadante’s expanding associations outside the Connecticut area. It was no secret that De Spadante, whose brother allegedly was killed by an Army officer—a Major Paul Bonner—had displeased Mafia chieftains with his involvement in government construction projects. There seemed to be a general agreement among underworld powers that De Spadante was exceeding his authority and courting widespread danger for organized crime with his Washington endeavors.

  As a side issue, the daylight slaying lent considerable credence to Major Paul Bonner’s claim that he was assaulted prior to having killed August de Spadante, the brother of the above. Reached in Arlington, Bonner’s military defense attorney stated that the New Haven murder was further evidence that his client was caught in the crossfire of a gangland war; t
hat Major Bonner performed outstandingly to protect Andrew Trevayne from attack. Mr. Trevayne, the article pointed out, was chairman of a subcommittee investigating corporate relationships with the Defense Department; the De Spadantes were known to have profited from several Pentagon contracts.

  There followed four photographs showing Mario de Spadante in various stages of his career. Two were police identification shots separated by fifteen years; another on a nightclub floor in the early fifties; and one with his brother, August, in which both were standing in front of a construction crane, grinning the grins of Caesars.

  It was so tidy, thought Trevayne. The snuffing out of one life removed so much evil. He had not slept—or if he had, it didn’t seem so—since leaving De Spadante’s hospital bed. He had asked himself over and over again if it was all worth it. And the answer progressively became a louder and louder negative.

  He finally had to admit to himself that De Spadante had reached him; had compromised him. The Italian succeeded because he had forced him to weigh the values, consider the terrible price. The rifiuti, as De Spadante had called it. The garbage that would have buried his wife and children, the stench of its conjecture lingering for years.

  It wasn’t worth it to him. He would not pay that price for a subcommittee he hadn’t sought, for the benefit of a President he owed no debt to, for a Congress that allowed such men as De Spadante to buy and sell its influence. Why should he?

  Let someone else pay the price.

  And now that part of it was finished. De Spadante was finished. He could put his mind back to the subcommittee report he had attacked with such energy after he’d left Chicago. After he’d left Ian Hamilton.

  Three days ago nothing else had seemed so necessary, so vital. He had been distracted by Paul Bonner’s murder charge, but every minute away from that concern found him back at the report. He’d had the feeling then—three days ago—that time was the most important thing on earth; the report had to be completed and its summary made known to the highest levels of the government as soon as was humanly possible.