by Ted Allbeury
“I’ve no idea how we shall be received by the Chief Justice or Mr. Speaker. They have no inkling of what I shall be telling them. And I have no idea as to what their reaction will be. Elliot was a Republican appointment. There was almost no opposition from any quarter. Bethel is a Republican too. An entirely political animal whose natural habitat is Capitol Hill. He isn’t going to like it. Neither of them can order us to stop the investigation, but by consulting them I have almost given them some sort of power of veto. I am convinced, now, that our suspicions are justified. And almost convinced that they are correct. We really had no choice but to pursue the facts, but I would not be happy to go further without advice. If you are asked questions you will answer without reservation no matter what their attitudes may be.”
He looked at his watch.
“My driver will take me in my car. You two travel together.”
Chief Justice Elliot lived just outside Aurora Heights in a house that he had bought when he was first married. Its white boards shone in the moonlight and it looked, with the orange lights from its windows, like an advertisement for gracious living. In fact it was primitive compared with most dignitaries’ homes in Washington, and he would have been lucky to get $80,000 for it on the open market. But as he had paid only $11,000 he wouldn’t have worried.
When they were shown in he was sitting at a big round table with Sam Bethel, the tubby, white-haired Speaker of the House. He waved them to the seats round the table.
“Help yourselves to drinks, gentlemen.”
Only Morton Harper went over to the sideboard, and he poured himself a generous neat whisky. He sighed audibly but unconsciously as he sat down at the table.
“Now, I understand you’ve got something you want to talk about with Sam and myself. You were a touch coy on the telephone, Morton, so we’re expecting the worst.”
Morton looked up sharply, and Nolan saw his fist clench as it lay on the table.
“Well, I’m not going to disappoint you on that score, judge. And I know you’ll believe me when I say that I find this the most difficult meeting that I have ever attended.” He looked at both men in turn. “I have rehearsed a dozen times my approach to this problem. I have sought for the right sentence that would lead me into talking with you gentlemen. And there isn’t such a sentence. At least there is no such sentence that I can bear to utter.” He thrust back his heavy frame in the chair until it creaked. “Nevertheless, utter it I must. We seek advice, either formally or informally, on a grave matter. We have reason to believe that Logan Powell, the President-Elect is, deliberately or accidentally, a traitor, under the influence of the Soviet Union.
Two lesser men would have given some display of emotion; disbelief, curiosity to hear more, even fear or anger. Both men remained impassive.
“May I go on, sir?”
Elliot nodded. “Of course.”
Morton went carefully through all that had been uncovered, and when he had finished he sat silently awaiting a response. Elliot didn’t even exchange a glance with the Speaker. He looked straight at Morton Harper.
“At least half of what you have told us, Mr. Director, would not survive in any United States court. You realize that, I’m sure.”
“I was relying, to some extent, sir, on the definitions for impeachment established by the House Committee.”
Elliot nodded and closed his eyes, trying to recall the precise words. “ ‘It is not controlling whether treason and bribery are criminal.’ Is that it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you say, Sam?”
Bethel hunched his shoulders and looked at the two CIA men, with the look he usually gave to the more obstructive filibusterers.
“I’m wondering, Arthur, if these men are not guilty themselves of treason.”
His flushed, red, bull-dog face glanced at them in turn.
“Do you people realize what you have been doing? Do you, Harper? You and your underlings have been conducting an investigation of the next President of the United States. On your own account.” His hand slammed down on the table. “With no permission from any part of the administration you take it upon yourselves to ferret about like goddamn journalists into the lives of important citizens. And you bring your scurrilous offerings here like dogs with a bone. You must be out of your minds.”
“Three people have been murdered sir, to prevent us bringing more concrete evidence.”
“That is not the point, Harper. If you had a table full of evidence, concrete evidence, that would still not be the point. Where does your authority lie to do this? Why did you not do your talking before you started? Why did you not talk to the Secretary of State, or me, or somebody, for God’s sake?”
Morton spoke very quietly. “There were two problems in the beginning, Mr. Speaker. Our evidence then, in terms of a court of law, was non-existent, but our training, our instincts, told us that there was cause for doubt. When we considered who we should consult we were uncertain about who we could trust. We also hoped that a superficial check would prove our fears groundless.”
“Don’t give me that crap, Harper. You and your people have obviously gone at this in your usual style. Heads down and to hell with realities. If you didn’t trust Elliot and me then, why trust us now?”
Harper looked down at his plump white hands. “There was a point, sir, beyond which I was not prepared to go. I have no doubt in my mind now, Mr. Speaker, that what I merely suspected is unfortunately true. At this point we should have to investigate some of the principals involved. And that I was not prepared to do without hearing your and the Chief Justice’s advice.”
“So now I’m trusted, eh?”
“No, sir. At this point I trust your office.”
“And if we instruct you to close this inquiry, what then?”
“I shall report to the incumbent President, sir.”
“Why now? Why not before?”
“Because when we started we had sixty-six days before the inauguration. Now we have roughly fifty days left. After January twenty, what is difficult now would be almost unthinkable then. As unthinkable as doing nothing.”
Elliot had listened without interruption, his eyes going from face to face as they spoke. Then he nodded to Harper.
“I suggest you gentlemen retire to my smoking-room. That’s the door. We’ll chat, Mr. Speaker and I, and then we will all talk again.”
They sat for twenty minutes in the book-lined smoking-room before Elliot opened the door and stuck his head in to call them back.
They sat down in the same seats that they had sat in before, and waited until Elliot checked the words on a sheet of paper. He looked up briskly.
“Well, gentlemen, you came to us for advice, and Mr. Speaker and I have discussed the information you put before us. Neither of us is inclined to approve the action taken to initiate this investigation. You chose the wrong office-holders if it was approval that you sought. However, we have borne in mind that you have revealed a state of affairs that many would consider to have justified your initiative. And we both have no doubt that with this information you could have approached others in the administration, or in the House, who would have been enthusiastic about your efforts. Nevertheless, you came to us and you must have known that we were not likely to feel that the end justified the means.
“I have already put telephone calls through to the Senate Chairmen of both parties. I have asked them to come here urgently but they have not been apprised of any of the subject matter.
“Subject to what they may say, this ad hoc committee will instruct you to take immediate steps to crystallize this matter forthwith, but staying short of both Powell and Dempsey.”
Morton Harper’s face was quite impassive, there was no sign of relief or pleasure.
“Would you like us to wait outside, sir?”
Before Elliot could reply, and as if he had not heard the question, Sam Bethel leaned across the table towards Harper.
“Tell me, Harper, have your people do
ne any evaluation of how the Soviets hoped to influence the new President?”
“No, sir, but the President-Elect’s statement last night that hinted at withdrawing American troops from Europe is indication enough.”
“But he has to convince Congress and the Senate before he can do a damn thing.”
Harper shrugged. “There would be people enough in both places who would go along with cutting the defence budget, and removing troops from NATO if that’s what a cut meant. He’s been hinting about trade pacts with the Soviets. There will be many who will see this as good sense. You will have seen the report on potential trade with the Soviets from the State Department.”
“You’re going to get trouble from the Republican Chairman on this. He’ll see this as entirely political.”
Harper folded his hands carefully as he looked at Bethel.
“I’m going to get trouble from everybody, Mr. Speaker. I’m the bearer of bad news, and in Ancient Greece they killed the man who brought the bad news. Some of them are going to wish they could do that now.”
Elliot interrupted. “Would it help you if I broached the subject, Morton, and you filled in the details?”
“Yes, sir. But that could be construed as indicating your approval of what we had done so far.”
“So be it.”
“It would help, sir, immensely. Then we could give more time to where we go from here, rather than kicking around the emotional aspects.”
Salvasan, the Republican Party Chairman, was a tall thin Texan from Austin, whose business success had been built on ancillary equipment for radio and TV stations and then a chain of motels. He had been a diligent committee man, and chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission. He had done much to improve the party image after the débâcle of the late seventies and had led the party through the minefields of a Democratic administration that had had the country behind it. He was an ardent advocate of what had been christened “the art of the possible.”
O’Connor was from Boston and had survived that battleground with honours, and had been rewarded with the Democratic chairmanship after holding together the Los Angeles convention when it was in dire danger of splitting three ways as it breathed deep of success. He was still red-haired and freckle-faced, and had got his limp in Korea.
They stood waiting for their drinks to be poured, and Harper wondered what instinct made them both stand at the other side of the table. They sat down at Elliot’s suggestion. When they were settled the Chief Justice looked in turn at the two newcomers.
“Gentlemen, I have some bad news, shocking news. When I have finished, Morton Harper will give you the facts in detail. Mr. Speaker and I have had time to absorb the shock, and I want to ask if you could assist us in our thinking. Time is of the essence, and there is much to be done.”
Elliot paused as if he awaited some response. When none was forthcoming he went on:
“Almost by accident the CIA discovered an indication that we may have a problem. Force of circumstances decreed that they pursued the matter, and their worst fears were virtually confirmed. Gentlemen, it looks as if the President-Elect is not his own man. There is evidence that for years, in fact ever since he entered politics, he was assisted by Communists and others in this country acting on instructions from Moscow.” He held up his hand as O’Connor opened his mouth to speak. “Let Harper outline the facts first, gentlemen.” He nodded to Harper. “The facts, Mr. Director.”
Morton Harper had outlined the facts enough times to present them now coherently, with a summary that brought the salient points together.
Looking at the two party chairmen, Harper was expecting a tirade from Salvasan. The tall Texan sat with raised eyebrows, relaxed in his chair as he looked at Harper.
“Who ordered you to carry out this investigation in the first place?”
“Nobody, Mr. Chairman. The initial facts were brought to my attention. I felt that least damage would be done if our concern was treated as unconfirmed and purely internal.”
Salvasan grinned cynically, “You’re shitting me, Harper. Who gave you the tip off?”
“It came from London through Mr. MacKay.” He nodded in MacKay’s direction, but the Texan was watching Harper’s face.
“Is that a fact. Who else knows about all this?”
“Nobody outside this room.”
“And what do you want from O’Connor and me?”
Elliot leaned forward. “Harper and his people need to go further. We felt you should know.”
O’Connor smiled, and shook his head. “Not me, Elliot. I’m not pulling your chestnuts out of the fire for you.”
Elliot had on his Chief Justice’s face, solemn and intent.
“Jimmy. This isn’t politics. It’s a constitutional issue. We are back in the impeachment game again. Just think what it’s going to mean. The country is going to be in trauma for decades unless we handle this carefully.”
Salvasan sighed audibly and theatrically. “Judge, I propose that we consider ourselves a committee to see this thing through. You will expect me to raise hell because you’re investigating our man. For us, we learned our lessons the hard way in ’75 and ’76. We shall not go down that road again, I assure you. I have no authority to speak for the party, and there is obviously no question of me discussing this with my colleagues, for reasons of security. However, I pledge my support to the investigation being pursued. If it leaks, I shall use all my influence to keep the furore under control on my side of Capitol Hill.”
O’Connor’s face showed his annoyance. “But, Tex. This guy’s the best thing that’s ever come down the pike for your people. They’ll go berserk.”
Salvasan shrugged and turned to look at O’Connor. “And if he is involved with the Commies it’s gonna come out sooner or later. It’ll do the country, and the party, more damage if it’s later.” He turned to Harper.
“How long are you gonna need, Harper?”
“Two, maybe three weeks.”
Salvasan looked at Elliot. “Can you freshen up on the impeachment procedures in case it’s necessary. We shall only have ten days or a week before the inauguration.”
Elliot looked grim. “There’s no need to refresh on that, Tex. There are a dozen experts from the Committee of ’75 still in the House.”
O’Connor said, “What do you want me to do?”
Elliot frowned. “We want you to go along with us.”
“No way, Judge. A trouble shared is a trouble doubled in my book. It’s all yours.” He stood up and said, “I’ll wait outside in the car, Tex. I’ll need a lift back into town.”
Salvasan stood up. “My position’s clear, gentlemen. You pursue this matter with my agreement.”
Elliot looked with his sharp eyes at Salvasan.
“Tex, I want you to keep O’Connor under control. He’ll see this as a divine miracle for his people.”
Salvasan smiled. “I doubt it, Judge. They’ve got too many wounds to lick of their own. But I’ll lean on him just to be sure.”
Harper looked at his watch in the light from the car’s headlights.
“It’s a quarter past one. I couldn’t face another bloody office. Let’s go to that dump on 9th Street. Gino’s or whatever they’re calling it this week.”
They all piled into one car and were silent with their thoughts until the car pulled up at the neon sign that still said “Gino’s.”
The pianist was playing “September Song” as they settled at an alcove table and ordered drinks.
Morton Harper’s face looked as drawn as a face with treble chins can look.
“Well, what did you think of that lot?”
Nolan answered. “I was surprised that Elliot was prepared to put his head on the block with us.”
“What else surprised you?”
“Salvasan. I thought he’d raise real hell.”
“Yes, that surprised me, too. I’ve been trying to work out the catch but I haven’t got it yet, if there is one. Elliot, of course, was first-c
lass. In fact Sam Bethel wasn’t bad once he’d got over the shock. What do you want to do now, Nolan?”
“I want to check out a few names from Kleppe’s diary and I want to interview Oakes and maybe go back to Haig. After that I shall have to spend time on Dempsey.”
Harper nodded. “And what do we do about our friend here?” He waved towards MacKay.
“I’d like him to stay with me, sir. He’s got the smell of this now, and he’s less suspect with that English accent. He could be useful to me here in Washington.”
“What sort of cover?”
“Journalist, magazine writer, if you could fix that with London.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Any doubts about anything, and you check with me.”
Morton Harper’s eyes were closed, and when MacKay and Nolan were silent he spoke without opening his eyes.
“You know this whole thing makes me sick.” He opened his eyes and looked at them both. “The whole bloody nation is excited that they’ve got a new kind of man. Somebody who isn’t a lifetime professional politician. The man who’s going to lead them to the American dream. By now I should be used to it all, but this …” and he waved his hand, disgust on his face “… this is really obscene. I find this more disgusting every time my mind steps back from the details. Those bastards in Moscow planning this abuse.” He wagged a podgy hand at Nolan. “You remember that, Nolan. Even if we can stop it and Powell’s impeached, those bastards have won. The American people won’t ever be able to trust the system any more, not just the politicians but the whole bloody set-up.”
Nolan nodded but said nothing, and Harper creaked his big frame upright.
“Let’s go.” He turned to Nolan, his face serious. “Whatever you want, Nolan. Let me know. Anything.”
“Right, sir.”
CHAPTER 11
Logan Powell sat on the edge of his hotel bed, his hand still resting on the telephone. He pulled his hand away slowly and reached for the glass of whisky. She was a bitch, and he wondered what he had seen in her that led him into marriage. He had been lecturing at Yale when they first met, and they had married a year later. She had been one of his father’s students and was taking one of those hotchpotch humanities courses that lead to jobs in the United Nations in New York or Geneva.
