Trevayne

by Robert Ludlum

  The West Virginian did not notice the discomfort of several colleagues. “Let me then rephrase my supplication, Mr. Undersecretary. I’m old enough, or naïve enough, or perhaps both, to believe that men of good will—albeit different opinions—can join together in a common cause. The confidence you seek in us I might hope would be documented by what we say to one another in this room. Should it not be to your satisfaction, you have every right to bring it up. Why not find out first?”

  “I couldn’t hope for sounder advice, Senator Talley. I’m afraid my initial nervousness clouded my perspective. I’ll try not to raise the issue again.”

  Gillette, peering once more over his glasses, looked at Trevayne, and when he spoke, it was clear that he was annoyed. “You may raise whatever issues you wish, sir. As will this panel.” He looked down at the legal pad in front of him, at his own notations. “Senator Norton. You brought up the aspect of Mr. Trevayne’s general philosophy. Would you amplify—briefly, if you please—so we may clear the question and get on. I presume you wish to be satisfied that our guest at least nominally endorses the fundamental laws of the land.”

  “Mr. Undersecretary.” Norton’s heavy Vermont dialect seemed more pronounced than necessary as he eyed the candidate. Norton always knew when to use the Yankee approach. It had served him well in many such Senate hearings—especially when television cameras were on the premises. It made him seem so bound-to-the-earth American. “I shall be brief; for both our sakes.… I’d like to ask you if you do subscribe to the political system under which this country lives?”

  “Of course, I do.” Trevayne was surprised by the naïveté of the question. But not for long.

  “Mr. Chairman …” Alan Knapp spoke as if on cue. “I, for one, am frankly disturbed by an aspect of the Undersecretary’s political history. Mr. Undersecretary, you’re what is known as an … independent, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “That’s interesting. Of course, I’m aware that in many sectors the term ‘political independent’ is revered. It has a nice, rugged sound to it.”

  “That’s not my intention, Senator.”

  “But there’s another aspect of such a posture,” continued Knapp without acknowledging Trevayne’s answer. “And I don’t find it particularly independent.… Mr. Trevayne, it’s true, is it not, that your companies profited considerably from government contracts—especially during the maximum space expenditures?”

  “True. I think we justified whatever profits we made.”

  “I would hope so.… I wonder, however, if your lack of partisanship wasn’t perhaps shaped by other than ideological motivations. By being neither on one side nor the other, you certainly removed yourself from any political conflict, didn’t you?”

  “Again, not my intention.”

  “I mean, it would be difficult for anyone to take issue with you on political grounds, since your opinions were … are … buried under the classification of ‘independent.’ ”

  “Just one minute, Senator!” The chairman, visibly upset, spoke sharply.

  “I’d like to comment, if I may—”

  “You may, Mr. Trevayne, after my own observations. Senator Knapp, I thought I’d made it clear that this is a bipartisan hearing. I find your remarks irrelevant and, frankly, distasteful. Now, you may comment, Mr. Undersecretary.”

  “I’d like to inform the Senator that anyone, at any time, may ascertain my political opinions by simply asking for them. I’m not shy. On the other hand, I wasn’t aware that government contracts were granted on the basis of political affiliations.”

  “Exactly my point, Mr. Trevayne.” Knapp turned toward the center of the table. “Mr. Chairman, in my seven years in the Senate I have many times supported those whose politics differed from my own and, conversely, denied support to members of my own party. In such cases my approval or disapproval was based on the specific questions on the floor. As men of conscience, we all practice the same ethics. What bothers me about our candidate is that he elects to be called ‘non-partisan.’ That worries me. I fear such people in places of power. I wonder at their so-called independence. I wonder, if, instead, it’s merely a convenience to be a companion of the strongest wind?”

  There was a momentary silence in the room. Gillette removed his glasses and turned toward Knapp.

  “Hypocrisy is a most serious insinuation, Senator.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Chairman. You asked us to search our consciences.… As was pointed out by Justice Brandeis, honesty by itself is not enough. The appearance of integrity must be concomitant. Caesar’s wife, Mr. Chairman.”

  “Are you suggesting, Senator, that I join a political party?” asked Trevayne incredulously.

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m raising doubts, which is the function of this panel.”

  John Morris, Senator from Illinois, broke his silence. He was the youngest man on the panel, in his mid-thirties, and a brilliant attorney. Whenever Morris was assigned to a committee, he was invariably called the “house teenager.” It was a substitute for another phrase. For Morris was black, a Negro who had swiftly worked his way up within the system. “You haven’t … Oh, Mr. Chairman?”

  “Go ahead, Senator.”

  “You haven’t raised a doubt, Mr. Knapp. You’ve made an accusation. You’ve accused a large segment of the voting public of potential deceit. You’ve relegated it to a position of … of a second-class franchise. I understand the subtleties you employ, even grant their validity in certain situations. I don’t think they apply here.”

  The Senator from New Mexico, the admired chicano, leaned forward and looked at Morris as he spoke. “There are two of us here who understand only too well the meaning of a second-class franchise, Senator. In my opinion, the issue is valid—to be raised, that is. One always looks for checks and balances; that’s the meaning of our system. However, I think, also, that once having been raised, the issue can be put to rest by a succinct answer from the man standing for confirmation.… Mr. Undersecretary? For the record, may we assume that you are not a … sworn companion of the wind? That your judgments are, indeed, as independent as your politics?”

  “You may, sir.”

  “That’s what I thought. I have no further questions on this subject.”

  “Senator?”

  “Yes, Mr. Trevayne?”

  “Are yours?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Are yours? Are your judgments—and the judgments of every member of this panel—independent of external pressures?”

  Several senators started talking angrily at once into their microphones; Armbruster of California laughed, Senator Weeks of Maryland’s Eastern Shore stifled a smile by withdrawing a handkerchief from his well-tailored blazer, and the chairman reached for the gavel.

  As order was restored by the rapid clatter of Gillette’s hammer, Vermont’s Norton touched the sleeve of Senator Knapp. It was a sign. Their eyes met, and Norton shook his head—imperceptibly, but the message was clear.

  Knapp lifted up the pad in front of him and unobtrusively removed a file folder. He reached down for his briefcase and opened it, slipping the folder inside.

  On the top of the folder was a name: “Mario de Spadante.”

  8

  The recess was called at four-fifteen, the hearing to be resumed at five o’clock. The forty-five minutes would give everyone a chance to call home, rearrange minor schedules, confer with aides, dismiss assistants outside.

  Since the eruption of Andrew’s polite but explosively unexpected question, Gillette had managed to steer the inquiry rapidly through the ensuing invective and reach less abstract ground in Trevayne’s qualifications.

  Andrew was prepared; his answers were quick, concise, and complete. He surprised even Walter Madison, who was rarely surprised by his extraordinary client. Trevayne had no need of the numerous pages and charts filled with past figures and long-ago estimates. He rattled off facts and explanations with such assurance t
hat even those who tried to sustain their antagonism found it difficult.

  His total command of his own past economic relationships frequently left the panel speechless—and led Senator Gillette to voice the opinion that following a recess, they might conclude the hearing by seven that night—at the latest.

  “You’re hot on all burners, Andy,” said Madison, stretching as he rose from his chair.

  “I haven’t begun, counselor. That’s in act two.”

  “Don’t revert to Charlie Brown, please. You’re doing fine. We’ll be out of here by six o’clock. They think you’re a computer, with a human thought process; don’t louse it up.”

  “Tell them, Walter. Tell them not to louse it up.”

  “Jesus, Andy! What are you—”

  “Very impressive performance, young man.” The elderly Talley, the former county judge from the state of West Virginia, walked up to the two of them, unaware that he was intruding.

  “Thank you, sir. My attorney, Walter Madison.”

  The men shook hands.

  “You must feel somewhat unnecessary, I should think, Mr. Madison. It’s not often you high-powered New York lawyers get off so easy.”

  “I’m used to it with him, Senator. It’s the most undeserved retainer in legal history.”

  “Which means it isn’t, or you couldn’t afford to say so. I was on the bench for damn near twenty years.”

  Alan Knapp joined the group, and Trevayne felt himself grow tense. He didn’t like Knapp, not only because of his unwarranted rudeness, but because Knapp had about him the unhealthy look of an inquisitor. What had Ambassador Hill said? What were Big Billy’s words? “… we don’t want an inquisitor …”

  But the Knapp now standing in front of Trevayne did not seem to be the same man who sat so coldly on the dais. He was smiling affably, infectiously, as he shook Trevayne’s hand.

  “You’re doing splendidly! You really are. You must have boned up for this like the chief does for a televised press conference.… Senator? Mr. Madison?”

  Hands were again shaken, the camaraderie so opposed to the atmosphere of five minutes ago. Trevayne felt uncomfortable, artificial; and he didn’t like the feeling.

  “You’re not making it any easier for me,” he said, smiling coldly at Knapp.

  “Oh, Lord, don’t personalize it, man. I do my job; you do yours. Right, Madison? Isn’t that right, Senator?”

  West Virginia’s Talley did not agree as quickly as Madison. “I suppose so, Alan. I’m not a scrapper, so I don’t cotton to the unpleasantness. Must admit, though, it doesn’t bother most of you.”

  “Never think about it.…”

  “I’ll substantiate that, gentlemen.” It was Armbruster of California, who spoke between puffs on his pipe. “Nice work, Trevayne.… Tell you all something. Knapp was in the process of crucifying his—the President’s—H.E.W. man, I mean nailing him hands and feet, and yet when the hearing was over, the two of them couldn’t wait to talk to each other. I thought, ‘God damn, they’re young enough to start throwing punches!’ Instead, they were hurrying out to get a taxi. Their wives were waiting for them at a restaurant. You’re an original, Senator.”

  Knapp laughed. “Did you know he was an usher at my wedding fifteen years ago? The President’s H.E.W. appointment?”

  “Mr. Undersecretary?” At first the title didn’t register on Trevayne. Then a hand was placed on his shoulder. It was Norton of Vermont. “May I see you a minute?”

  Trevayne stepped away from the group as Madison and Knapp argued a fine point of law and Armbruster questioned Talley as to the upcoming autumn hunting in West Virginia.

  “Yes, Senator?”

  “I’m sure everyone’s told you by now. You’re tacking right through the rough waters, and a port’s in sight. We’ll be outta here by twelve bells.…”

  “I’m from Boston, Senator, and I like sailing, but I’m not a whaling man. What is it?”

  “Very well. We’ll eliminate the compliments—though you deserve them, let me tell you. I’ve conferred briefly with several of my colleagues; as a fact, we also spoke at length before the hearing. We want you to know that we feel as the President does. You’re the very best man for the job.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I find the methods of endorsement a little strange.”

  Norton smiled the thin-lipped smile of a Yankee tradesman—and he was trading now, no doubt about it. “Not strange, Trevayne. Merely necessary. You see, young fella, you’re in the hot spot. In case anything goes wrong—which nobody thinks will, by the way—this hearing’s got to be one of the strongest on record. Try to understand that; it’s nothing personal.”

  “That’s what Knapp said.”

  “He’s right.… I don’t suppose old Talley understands, though. Hell, down in West Virginia they don’t even put up a man to run against him. Not seriously, that is.”

  “Then Talley isn’t one of the colleagues you met with.”

  “Frankly, no.”

  “And you still haven’t said what you wanted to say, have you?”

  “Goddamn, fella, just slow down! I’m trying to explain a point of procedure so you’ll understand. The confirmation’s yours.… That is, it will be, unless you force us into opposition. None of us would like that.”

  Trevayne looked hard at Norton; he’d seen many lean and wrinkled men like this bending over farm fences or squinting beyond the dunes out at the sea in Marblehead. One never knew how much perception was hidden in those weathered eyes. “Look, Senator, all I want from this panel is the assurance that the subcommittee will act as a free agent. If I can’t get your active assistance, I at least need your guarantee that you’ll protect the subcommittee from interference. Is that so much to ask?”

  Norton spoke laconically, the Yankee peddler fingering his merchandise. “Free agent? Eheah.… Well, let me tell you, son. Some people get a touch nervous when a man insists that he’s got to be a … free agent; that he won’t tolerate pressures. You can’t help but wonder. There’s good pressures and not-so-good pressures. Nobody likes the latter, but good pressures, that’s something else again. It’s comforting to know that a man is accountable to somebody other than God, isn’t that so?”

  “Certainly, I’d be accountable. I never expected otherwise.”

  “But it’s kind of a second thought, isn’t it?… The intent of this subcommittee is not to satisfy the personal ego of any one man, Trevayne. It has a job to do that’s bigger than any one person. You may not have the temperament for it. That’s what I mean by ‘intent.’ We don’t want a Savonarola.”

  Norton held Trevayne’s eyes with his own. The Yankee was trading abstractions as though they were horseflesh, and he was good at it. He never once hinted that he was anything but the philosophical salt of the good brown earth.

  Trevayne stared back, trying to pry loose the hypocrisy he felt was behind Norton’s words. It wasn’t possible.

  “You’ll have to make that decision, Senator.”

  “Do you mind if I have a word with your attorney? What’s his name?”

  “Madison. Walter Madison. No objection at all. However, I think he’ll tell you that I’m a terrible client. He’s convinced I never pay attention when I should.”

  “No harm trying, young fella. You’re obstinate. But I like you.” Norton turned and walked toward Madison and Knapp.

  Trevayne looked at his watch. In twenty minutes the hearing would resume. He’d try the hotel and see if Phyllis was back from shopping. The President had urged him to bring her down. He wanted Phyllis to come to the White House with her husband after the hearing. Another photograph would be taken showing the President endorsing Trevayne personally—this time with Trevayne’s wife by his side. Phyllis had understood.

  James Norton extended his hand to Madison and if anyone in the room had been watching them it would have been assumed that the Senator was merely introducing himself.

  It wasn’t the case.

  “Goddamn, Madison! Wha
t the hell is this!?” Norton spoke with quiet urgency. “He smells something! You didn’t tell us that!”

  “I didn’t know it! I just told Knapp, I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “You’d better find out,” said Alan Knapp coldly.

  The hearing resumed at seven minutes past five, the delay due to three senators unable to complete their outside business. The seven minutes, however, gave Walter Madison a chance to speak with his client alone at the table.

  “That fellow Norton talked to me.”

  “I know; he asked permission.” Trevayne smiled.

  “Andy, there’s a logic in what he says. They’re not going to confirm you if they think you’re going to play power broker. If you were in their shoes, you wouldn’t either. You’d be rougher than they are, and I think you know that.”

  “Agreed.”

  “What’s bothering you, then?”

  Trevayne spoke, looking straight ahead. “I’m not that sure I want the job, Walter. I certainly don’t want it if I can’t do it my way. I told you that; I said it to Baldwin and Robert Webster, too.” Trevayne now turned to his attorney. “There’re nothing in my record that gives credence to the Savonarola charge.”

  “The what?”

  “That’s what Norton threw at me. Savonarola. You called it ‘power broker.’ That’s not me, and they know it.… If I’m confirmed, I’ve got to be able to walk into the office of every senator on this panel, and if I need assistance, get it without argument. I must be able to do that.… This panel wasn’t chosen indiscriminately, by straws. Each of these men’s states is heavily committed to Pentagon contracts; a few less than the others, but they’re a minority—window dressing. The Senate knew exactly what it was doing when it put this crowd together. The only way I can make sure that subcommittee isn’t interfered with by the Senate is to force these watchdogs of their own constituencies on the defensive.”