“I have an idea who might have been responsible for the death of President Prem,” Blake said. “Who?”
“Your husband, Alice. In a sense he’s responsible.”
Alice showed her shock. “That’s impossible.”
“Hear me out, and then decide.”
“Matt?” she said. “He’s not that kind of person. You’d better tell me the whole thing.”
“Sit tight and listen,” said Blake. “Prem didn’t want a United States air base in Lampang. But he did want to compromise with the Communist insurgents. He wanted to bring them into his government. As you know, that was contrary to United States policy.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“The idea grew at some level of the CIA that if Prem could be removed, Noy would replace him, and that since Noy was not up to the job, she would be manipulated by General Nakorn, who is a friend of the United States.”
“So someone made the decision to get rid of Prem.”
Blake nodded. He reeled off the names of the players. First Ramage. Then Siebert. Still, he explained, the go-ahead had to come from the president of the United States. “Matt sees all the CIA reports in his daily briefing book. Nothing gets past him.”
Alice’s incredulity remained. “I can’t imagine him okaying an assassination. I mean, I know Matt. He’s too soft for that. Maybe he never saw the CIA report.”
Blake lifted his shoulders. “The odds are he did, in some form or other. I can’t see anyone going over his head.”
“You’re sure of the source for this?”
“I’m told it’s the best.”
“So Matt’s responsible?” Alice suddenly lighted up. “Noy’s a widow because of him.”
“Yes.”
“That’s wonderful!”
She fell back, laughing, the string of bikini between her legs plainly visible. Blake’s eyes bulged and he became breathless.
“What,” Blake mumbled, “what’s so wonderful? What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to tell Noy Sang.”
“You’re what?”
“Why not?” said Alice. “Noy is still in the United States, at Wellesley, in fact. I want you to get Morrison to locate Noy, and say he wishes to see her for late, afternoon tea here at the Department of State. To discuss further details of the air base, or whatever. She’s to have this meeting with Morrison, but she won’t, really. That’ll be a pretext for Noy’s meeting with me. Yes, with me, Paul, face-to-face. I’m going to level with her. When I’m through, I think I will have put an end to my husband’s little flirtation with Prem’s widow. Will you arrange it?”
Noy Sang had been reached at Wellesley, and she had been agreeable to coming back to Washington and to delay her return to Lampang for a meeting with Secretary of State Morrison.
She had met with Morrison over tea and finger sandwiches in his office at the Department of State, and he had discussed the possibility of enlarging the American air base on Lampang. She had resisted it, and to her surprise he had given in rather easily.
Suddenly he had risen and said, “Madame Noy, I have a meeting with the Egyptian foreign minister and I must step outside and talk to him. But I have someone else who must speak to you, and I’d appreciate it if you would remain here for another ten minutes.”
“Whatever you wish,” said Noy.
She was puzzled by Morrison’s abrupt departure, about being left alone, and about whom she was expected to see next.
She sipped her tea and waited, when the entrance door opened and a rather tall, very striking woman appeared and approached her.
Noy thought the woman looked familiar.
The woman said, “Madame Noy Sang. Let me introduce myself. I’m Alice Underwood, the wife of President Underwood. May I join you?”
“Of course,” said Noy, bewildered.
Alice sat across from Noy. “Let me freshen your tea and pour some for myself.” She began to pour. “I wanted the opportunity to meet with you myself. There is a matter I wish to discuss that concerns you in a personal way.”
Noy sat dumbly, wondering what was going on, wondering what personal matter Alice Underwood could possibly want to discuss. It was obvious to Noy that this had all been prearranged. Morrison had not actually wanted to talk to Noy; had only wanted an excuse to bring Noy to the White House to meet with the first lady.
Sitting there, following the first lady’s movements as she finished pouring the tea, Noy appraised her. Noy felt uncomfortable about having thought that President Underwood had any special interest in her when he had such a perfectly attractive wife. To Noy, Alice’s face was a Grecian cameo, every line and feature symmetrical. Alice appeared poised and apparently fully at ease.
By contrast, Noy felt physically inferior. She felt small, diminished, with nowhere near the pale beauty and lithe figure that the first lady possessed.
Watching the first lady, Noy tried to imagine why this meeting was taking place. Noy could not find a single clue.
But now Alice Underwood was speaking. “I wanted to see you alone,” Alice was saying, “because by accident I came across some information about the assassination of your late husband.”
“You know something about Prem I don’t know?”
“It’s something I feel I should tell you, as one woman to another.”
Noy’s bewilderment had increased measurably. “What possibly—?”
“I can tell you the truth about your husband’s death, and why he was murdered.”
This was totally unexpected, and Noy blinked. “You’re speaking of Prem’s murder? You know something about it?”
Alice put down her cup. “The truth. I happen to know the truth. How—how it came about.”
“If I couldn’t find out, how could you, over eight thousand miles away?”
“This will be clear to you in a few minutes,” said Alice. “You deserve to know how you were widowed. I don’t mean to upset you, but I’m sure you don’t want mysteries.”
“I want the truth if you know it,” said Noy.
“Very well, then brace yourself for it,” said Alice. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with my husband, and I’m sure he has impressed you.”
“He seems a very decent man.”
Alice hardened. “He is, but don’t be fooled. He’s been pleasant, even kind, to you because he feels guilty and it bothers him. To know my husband, you’ve got to know that he loves his country above all else and will do anything for it. Even if it means sacrificing someone who stands in his way.”
Noy was plainly shaken. Her face flushed. “You are implying—?”
“I am telling you, Madame Sang, that your husband was one who stood in my husband’s way. President Prem was against the air base that is a necessity for us. Worse than that, President Prem wanted a reconciliation with the Communist insurgents in your country, which was even a greater concern to President Underwood. When the CIA decided that your husband should be silenced, and that it could be arranged by liquidation, Matt did not try to prevent it. As you know, the CIA can do nothing without an American president’s consent. In whatever way it happened, actively or by averting his eyes, President Underwood approved the CIA’s plan—and your husband was eliminated. He was eliminated to pave the way for you, who were seen as naive. Part of the plan is that you will be succeeded by someone more compliant with United States policy
Noy was stricken. “I can’t believe that.”
“Do believe it, Madame Noy Sang.”
“How do you know such a thing?”
“Our secretary of state learned it from the CIA, and saw that it was passed on to me.”
“But after such horrendous behavior, why was I invited here, why has your husband been so kind to me?”
“I’ve already told you. Guilt. Matt’s behavior may sound harsh, but he has a weakness, beneath everything else. Matt Underwood is essentially soft. He does something unspeakable, and then he backs up and is sorry about it. He can’t chang
e what he’s done, but he’s sorry. He’s been trying to make it up to you.”
Noy sat in silence a long time.
At last she spoke up. “Why have you told me all this?”
Alice did not reply at once. She studied Noy. “Not out of any guilt of my own. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sorry about what happened, naturally, but I can’t bring your husband back. There’s another reason…”
“Yes?”
“You’re an extremely beguiling young woman, most attractive, and very warm and sympathetic to men, I’m sure. You have many characteristics I don’t have. At least for my husband.” She was quiet a few seconds, and then she stared at Noy squarely. “My husband appears to have some childish crush on you. In the beginning it was guilt, and then he came to know you and was attracted to you. This concerns me, of course. Matt is my husband, and I want to keep him. I want to remain his lady and first lady of the United States. I want no childish or adolescent interference. If my husband is momentarily impressed by you, Madame Sang, I don’t want you to be foolish enough to be impressed by him. I want you to know what he can really be like. He can be heartless and selfish, even to the point of sacrifice of human life. I wanted you to know that, what Matt is really like. I was sure that once you knew fully about your husband’s assassination you would no longer encourage Matt’s advances. I intend to put a stop to any relationship between you. If what I’ve told you will bring that about, painful as it is to you and to me, then I will not be sorry. I hope that this will end anything between you and my husband, except on the most official level.”
Noy stared back at Alice. “You’ve been very frank and revealing.”
“It was the only way I knew to bring this to an end.”
Noy came to her feet. “It is at an end,” she said quietly. “Will you be kind enough to show me out?”
When President Underwood dropped off the secretary of the treasury, and came down from the Hill to the East Wing of the White House, he was surprised to find that Hy Hasken had emerged from the press room and was waiting for him.
“I’m too busy for talk,” snapped Underwood.
Hasken did not budge. “You may not be too busy to tell me what Madame Noy Sang has been doing at the Department of State.”
Underwood stopped in his tracks. “She’s in Washington? She was supposed to be at Wellesley with my daughter. Then fly from Boston to Lampang.”
“She’s here,” Hasken persisted. “At least at Foggy Bottom, or had been a short time ago. Do you intend to see her?”
“Since I had no idea she was coming here, how could I intend to see her? Thanks for the information, Hasken. Now I’ve got to get back to work.”
But when the president reached the Oval Office, he did not get back to work.
The moment he reached his desk, the president buzzed Paul Blake and ordered him to come right in.
When Blake arrived, Underwood did not bother to have him sit down.
“What’s this I hear about Madame Noy Sang?” the president demanded.
“What did you hear, Matt?”
“That she’s in the city. Is that true?”
“True,” said Blake. “Secretary Morrison wanted to see her and asked me to find her at Wellesley. I did so. She delayed her trip home to come straight here. I got her over to the Department of State.”
“A head of a state here and I wasn’t notified?” said Underwood unbelievingly.
“You were locked up on the Hill, lunching with all those senators. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Did she see Morrison?”
“Yes, I picked her up and took her there myself.”
“What did Morrison want with her?”
“As far as I know, it had to do with further clarification about our air base on Lampang.”
Underwood frowned. “That was settled long ago.”
Blake shuffled uneasily. “I also believe the first lady wanted to meet her and have tea with them.”
“Alice met Noy Sang?”
“So I’m told.”
Underwood knitted his brow. “What was that all about?”
“I wish I knew, Matt. I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Okay. Thanks, Paul, you can leave. I’ll find out for myself what’s been happening.”
The instant that Blake had left the Oval Office and Underwood was alone, he buzzed his secretary to reach President Noy Sang at Blair House.
A minute later he was on the telephone with Noy.
“I heard you were here,” said Underwood. “I was quite surprised. According to my chief of staff, you met with my wife.”
“I did.”
Underwood was aware of Noy’s uncharacteristic stiffness. “I’d like to see you briefly. I want to know what happened between you and Alice. Can you see me now?”
“No, I can’t. I’m having a snack, and then Marsop and I are leaving for Lampang. I’m very busy.”
“Too busy to see me,” said Underwood, trying to sound hurt. “Surely you can find a minute.”
“I can’t,” said Noy flatly.
Underwood was taken aback. “This isn’t like you, Noy. You sound upset.”
“I am upset.”
“About what? Is anything wrong?”
“There’s a great deal wrong.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”
There was a silence at the other end. Then Noy spoke again. “Yes, I think you should come over. I’ll tell you exactly what’s wrong. I think you’d rather hear it from me than from someone else.”
After ordering his Secret Service men to remain outside, surround Blair House, or do whatever they did on sudden visits like this, President Underwood waited to be admitted.
It was Marsop who opened the front door and let him in. Neither by speech nor expression did Marsop give anything away. He merely said, “Come in, Mr. President. Madame Sang will be with you in a minute.”
Underwood entered the large living room, which was unoccupied, cast around for a place to sit, and finally sat .at the edge of a leather armchair.
He had cooled his heels only briefly when Noy came in, unsmiling, grim-faced. Underwood jumped to his feet to intercept and greet her in their familiar way, with a peck on the cheek. But she would not have it. She did not offer even a handshake, and went past him to another chair that would set some distance between them.
“I see something is wrong,” Underwood said, returning to his seat. “Noy, believe me, I have no idea what’s going on or how it concerns me.”
“I’ll tell you,” she said, and lost no time in doing so. “It concerns the assassination of my husband. I’ve finally found out who was responsible for Prem’s death.”
All this was unexpected, and Underwood could only gather his wits together to say “Who?”
For a person with so much natural warmth, Noy was an icicle. “You pretend not to know?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to find some clue in Noy’s countenance, but her expression gave nothing away. Underwood pressed her. “Who was responsible for Prem’s death?”
“You!” Noy burst out. “You, Mr. President, were responsible for my husband’s assassination.”
Underwood was positive he had not heard her right.
“What—what are you saying?”
Noy repeated her accusation. “You, Mr. President, were responsible for my husband’s terrible death.”
Underwood was aghast. “I’ve heard you twice. I’ve never heard anything more mad.”
“It’s a fact.”
“It’s absolutely crazy. Noy, do you know what you’re saying?”
She sat erect. “I know exactly what I’m saying, Matt. I have it on the best authority that you arranged through the CIA to get rid of my husband—because he was too conciliatory with the Communists. You passed the word down for his enemies to eliminate him.”
Underwood was on his feet. “Noy, I don’t know who put that utter falsehood in your hea
d. Where did you hear such a wild story?”
Noy refused to flinch. “I heard it from your wife. I met with her today. She told me this face-to-face. Do you consider your wife a liar?”
“She’s not a liar. But on this accusation she is. What she told you is absolute insanity.”
“Is it?” said Noy. “Well, she got it directly, firsthand from your secretary of state. She was upset by it, and she wanted to be sympathetic to me. She also wanted to warn me of any future dealings with you. She said not to trust you because you’d put your position, your country, ahead of human life, anyone’s.”
“Noy, I don’t know what she’s talking about. It’s not true about Prem’s death. Not a word of it is true. She was crazy to tell you that, and you’re crazy to believe her for one minute.” He went on helplessly. “What could be her motive in telling you such a lie?”
“She was frank about that,” said Noy. “She felt that we were getting too close, and you were showing too much interest in me. She wanted me to know what a selfish and cruel person you really are.”
“You know better than that,” Underwood protested.
Noy shook her head. “No, I don’t. I really don’t know you down deep. I can find no reason for your first lady to reveal all that unless there was some truth to it. Matt, I do believe her. I also—now I’ll be up-front about it—believe you may be lying, because this has shaken you. If you’re not lying, then you’re ignoring the fact that you were in charge, the president of the United States, and that the CIA keeps you informed of its plots. Through neglect, you may have let this assassination get past you, let it happen because you were inattentive, which is equally horrible. In either case, you were culpable. My husband is in his grave because of you.”
Underwood moved nearer to her. “Noy, be fair—”
“How can I be fair?”
“Give me a chance to look into this. I’m going to talk to Alice. I’m going to talk to Alan Ramage. I’m going to prove to you that what you heard was a pack of lies. My wife is a jealous woman, and she’s not too fond of me either. When I’m through I’ll be able to prove to you—not merely tell you, but prove to you—that you’ve been misled. I wasn’t to blame for Prem’s death, and, to the best of my knowledge, no one under me was responsible.”
The Guest of Honor Page 17
