Hail to the Chief
Page 7
resolves and great ideals of our country.
"I believe--I _know_--that you are all with me in this resolution, and,for that, too,--
"--I thank you."
The face of the President of the United States faded from the screen.
* * * * *
After a few seconds, Matson sighed. "Not bad at all, really," he said,stepping over to shut off the set. "He's been taking lessons from you,Jim. But he just hasn't quite got it."
Senator Cannon took another swallow of his drink and said nothing.
"Sincerity," said Governor Spanding. "That's what's lacking. He hasn'tgot it, and the voters can feel it."
"He managed to be elected President of the United States on it," SenatorCannon said dryly.
Spanding didn't turn to look at Cannon; he kept looking at the dead TVscreen. "These things always show up by comparison, Jim. In comparisonwith some of us--most of us, in fact--he looks pretty good. I've knownhim since he was a fresh junior senator, and I was just attorney for theHouse Committee for Legislative Oversight." He turned around. "You knowwhat, Jim? When I first heard him talk, I actually thought aboutchanging parties. Yeah. Really." He turned around again.
"But," he went on, "he's all hot air and no ability. Just like Matt,here, is all ability and no hot air. No offense meant, Matt, believeme," he added, glancing at Fisher.
"I know," Fisher said quietly.
Spanding turned around once more and looked Cannon squarely in the eyes."You've got both, Jim. The blarney to put yourself over, and the abilityto back it up. And you know I'm not trying to flatter you when I saythat."
When Cannon nodded wordlessly, Spanding gave himself a short,embarrassed laugh. "Ah, Hell. I talk too much." And he took a hefty slugof his drink.
Matthew Fisher took the overcharge out of the sudden outburst of emotionby saying: "It's more than just ability and sincerity, Harry. There'sdetermination and honesty, too."
Matson said, "Amen to that."
Dr. Frank Cannon was just standing there, looking at his brother. Therewas a definite look of respect on his face.
Senator Cannon said: "You're all great guys--thanks. But I've got toget downstairs and make a speech. Ed, get the recording tape out of thatset; I want to make some notes on what he said. And hurry it up, wehaven't got too long."
"No canned speech for you, eh, Jim?" Spanding said.
"Amen to that, too," said Representative Matson as he opened the panelin the side of the TV set.
* * * * *
From a hundred thousand loudspeakers all over the United States, fromthe rockbound coast of Maine to the equally rockbound coast of Alaska,from the sun-washed coast of Florida to the ditto coast of Hawaii, theimmortal voice of Bing Crosby, preserved forever in an electronicpattern made from a decades-old recording, told of a desire for a WhiteChristmas. It was a voice and a tune and a lyric that aroused nostalgiaeven in the hearts of Floridians and Californians and Hawaiians who hadnever seen snow in their lives.
The other carols rang out, too--"Silent Night," "Hark! The Herald AngelsSing," "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," "O Little Town of Bethlehem," andall the others. All over the nation, in millions upon millions ofChristian homes, the faithful prepared to celebrate the birth, thecoming, of their Saviour, Who had come to bring peace on Earth to men.
And in millions of other American homes, the Children of Abrahamcelebrated the Festival of Lights--_Chanukah_, the Dedication--thegiving of thanks for the Blessing of God upon the priestly family ofthe Maccabees, who, twenty-odd centuries before, had taken up armsagainst the tyranny of a dynasty which had banned the worship ofAlmighty God, and who, by winning, had made themselves a symbol foreverof the moral struggle against the forces that oppress the free mind ofMan.
The newspapers and television newscasts were full of the age-old "humaninterest stories" which, in spite of their predictability--the abandonedbaby, the dying child, the wretchedly ill oldster--still brought a tearto the eye during the Holiday Season.
As President-elect Cannon slowly made his cabinet appointments, theannouncements appeared, but there was hardly any discussion of them,much less any hue and cry.
One editorial writer did make a comment: "It is encouraging to see thatPresident-elect Cannon consults with Vice-President-elect Matthew Fisherregularly and frequently as the appointments are made. For a good manyyears, ever since the Eisenhower Administration, back in the Fifties, ithas been the policy of most of our Chief Executives to make sure thatthe Vice President is groomed to take over smoothly if anything shouldhappen to the President. Senator Cannon, however, is, as far as we know,the first President-elect who has begun this grooming before theInauguration. This, in our opinion, shows both wisdom and politicalastuteness."
By the second week of the New Year, the new Cabinet had been picked.Contrary to the rumors before the election, the senator's brother hadnot been selected for any post whatever, but the men who _were_ pickedfor Cabinet posts were certainly of high caliber. The United StatesSenate had confirmed them all before Inauguration Day.
That day was clear and cold in Washington. After the seemingly endlessceremonies and ceremonials, after the Inaugural Ball, and the InauguralSupper, and the Inaugural Et Cetera, President James Cannon went to bed,complaining of a "slight headache".
"Frankly," he told Vice President Matthew Fisher, "it is a realhead-splitter." He took four aspirin and went to bed.
He said he felt "a little better" the next day.
* * * * *
The fifth of February.
Ten forty-eight in the evening.
The White House, Washington, D.C.
Dr. Frank Hewlitt Cannon stood in a darkened bedroom in Blair House,across the street from the Executive Mansion, nervously looking out thewindow, at the big white house across the way. He was not nervous forhimself, although he had plenty of reason to be. He was clad in pajamas,as his brother had ordered, and had even taken the extra precaution ofrumpling up his hair.
He looked at his watch, and then looked back at the White House.
_How long?_ he thought. _How long?_
He looked at his wrist again. The sweep hand only moved when he lookedat it, apparently. He dropped his hands and clasped them behind hisback. How long before he would know?
_My kid brother_, he thought. _I could always outthink him and outfighthim. But he's got something I haven't got. He's stuck to his guns andfought hard all these years. I couldn't do what he's doing tonight, andI know it. You're a better man than I am, kid._
Across Pennsylvania Avenue, Senator James Cannon was doing some heavyconsideration, too. He sat on the edge of his bed and looked at thesmall tubular device in his hand.
_Will Frank be safe? That's the only weak point in the plan._
Frank was safe. He _had_ to be. Frank hadn't been over from Blair Housein three days. They hadn't even _seen_ each other in three days. TheSecret Service men--
He threw a glance toward the door that led from his bedroom to the hall.
The Secret Service agents would know that Frank couldn't possibly havehad anything to do with it. The only possible connection would be thehypogun itself. He looked at the little gadget. _Hell_, he thought; _nowor never_.
He got up and strode purposefully into the bathroom. He smiled crookedlyat his own reflection in the mirror. It was damnably difficult for aPresident to outwit his own bodyguard.
_Get on with it!_
He swallowed the capsule Frank had given him. Then, placing the muzzleagainst the precise spots Frank had shown him, James Cannon pulled thetrigger. Once ... twice ... thrice ...
Against each nerve center in his left side. Fine.
Now that it was done, all fear--all trepidation--left Senator JamesCannon. Now there was no way to go but ahead.
First, the hypogun that had blown the drug into his body. Two minutes toget rid of that, for that was the only thing that could tie Frank in tothe plan.
They had already agreed that there was no way to get rid of it. Itcouldn't be destroyed or thrown away. There was only one way that itcould be taken from the White House ...
Cannon left his fingerprints on it, dropped it into the wastebasket, andcovered it with tissue paper. Then he left the bathroom and walkedtoward the hall door. Beyond it, he knew, were the guarding SecretService men.
And already his left side was beginning to feel odd.
He walked to the door and opened it. He had a scowl on his face.
"Hello, Jenkins--Grossman," he said, as the two men turned. "I've got ahell of a headache again. Aspirin doesn't seem to help, and I can't getany sleep." He looked rather dazed, as though he wasn't sure of hissurroundings. He smiled lopsidedly. "Call Frank, over at