Shelley's Heart

by Charles McCarry

  “Thought you gave up TV,” Attenborough said.

  “I just took it up again,” Lockwood said. “Look, they’re fulfilling your prophecy.”

  The equipment was antiquated, the images fuzzy, but the message was plain. Newsdawn with Patrick Graham devoted a full hour to a discussion of the presidential succession, cutting away only for five-minute news summaries. The other networks covered the issue at lesser length, but on every show pundits discussed the frightening prospects in the line of presidential succession: an accused rapist and a senile party hack. Mallory’s name was not even mentioned.

  Hammett’s face with its brooding eyes filled the screen.

  “There’s the candidate,” Attenborough said.

  “Him?” Lockwood cried. “He don’t even know why the Lord hung a pecker between his legs. How the hell can he be President?”

  “I told you how last night,” Attenborough said. “The Twentieth Amendment.”

  “You didn’t say anything about Hammett.”

  “No, but it fits. The radicals are going to go for a messiah—somebody who couldn’t get himself elected in a million years, somebody who’s above politics.”

  “ ‘Above politics’?” Lockwood said. “That’s rich. Go on with the thought.”

  “Think about it,” Attenborough said. “Hammett has no party affiliation. He just stands for something, a disinterested patriot. Tune in tomorrow; I prophesy that’s what they’ll be saying. And he’s also got a big constitutional advantage.”

  “Like he’s already Chief Justice.”

  “That’s right. It’s got to be somebody who’s already in the government.”

  “Already in the government?” Lockwood said. “Where’s that written?”

  “In Article Two,” Attenborough said. “Which says that in case there is neither a President nor a Vice President, Congress has the power of ‘declaring what officer shall then act as President, and such officer shall act accordingly, until the disability be removed, or a President be elected.’ That’s the wording: ‘what officer.’ Nothing in the Twentieth Amendment supersedes that requirement. Any lawyer worth his salt would argue that the Founding Fathers clearly intended and anticipated that someone already holding office under the Constitution should become acting President, not somebody from outside the government.”

  Lockwood said, “Do you buy that, Spats?”

  “You could certainly make the argument that there is no real question of the Framers’ intent based solely on the language they used,” Blackstone replied.

  “Right,” Lockwood said. “And when was the last time the judiciary took the Founding Fathers at their word?”

  Nobody answered. A roaring log fire burned on the hearth, sending sparks up the chimney and the sour odor of wood smoke into the room. Rain drummed on the roof and pelted the windowpanes. The damp bothered Lockwood; he stood so close to the flames in his thick outdoor clothes that the others smelled scorched wool.

  Oblivious, Lockwood said, “Got to get control of this thing. Any ideas?”

  “Only one thing left for you to do,” Attenborough said. “Get out. But do it on your own terms.”

  Lockwood made a noise and an angry gesture. He had almost no patience left.

  “And do it today,” Attenborough said, “before you bleed to death in the media.”

  “Today?” Lockwood said. “What in hell are you talking about?”

  “Frosty, you’ve got no choice. You’re dying the death of a thousand cuts. All anybody in the Senate wants to do now is save the party.”

  “By lynching the head of the party?”

  “That’s what it’s come down to. Hanging you is the key to everything now. They want you out. They want the presidency vacant so they can fill it with a man on horseback.”

  “They’ve got to get sixty-seven votes in the Senate to do that.”

  “Suppose they don’t?” Attenborough said. “Suppose you do hold on to your thirty-four votes? It’ll be all over anyway. They’ll never let up on you; the country will go right down the tubes. But you can still do it your way while you’ve got the powers to do it.”

  “How? Appoint Franklin Vice President and resign like he wants me to? That would be a great move for the party.”

  “Congress would never approve Franklin, not in a million years.”

  “That leaves you.”

  “That’s right. I’m preapproved.”

  “That’s not all you are. For God’s sake, Tucker, look at what’s happened to you. You’re a rapist in the eyes of the media. You’d be a ten-minute President.”

  “Maybe less,” Attenborough said. “That’s the whole point. Let me talk to Franklin.”

  “About what?”

  “Working things out.”

  “What things?”

  “If I tell you that, they’ll impeach me. Frosty, you’ve got to trust me on this.”

  “Sure I will,” Lockwood said. “Look where trust has got me already.”

  Attenborough shrugged. “I can’t argue with that, but I’m no Whiffenpoof. This is for the country, Frosty.”

  “Damn right. But if I show a sign of weakness, they could change the rules and convict me on the first article tomorrow.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. It’s going to be one hell of a temptation to our folks in the Senate to figure if they get you on Ibn Awad they won’t ever have to vote on the other article and admit the election was stolen. And then the Constitution will hit the fan.”

  “According to this theory of yours.”

  “It’s no theory, Frosty. These people are going to do it. They’re going to seize power like this was some damn banana republic. There’s just no other explanation for everything that’s happening.”

  “That’s nothing but suspicion. You never did trust the liberals, Tucker.”

  “What the hell do you think I am and you are and have been all our lives?” Attenborough said. “I’m not talking about liberals.”

  The lawyers had been silent through all this. Now Blackstone cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, Mr. President. But as a matter of fact we have a little more than suspicion to go on.”

  “We do?” Lockwood said. “What have we got?”

  Blackstone said, “We have enough facts to gain a little time. Untrack the process. Create a diversion, raise a doubt.”

  Lockwood glowered. “You’re talking about the Whiffenpoof plot, am I right?”

  “I’m referring to Mr. McGraw’s discoveries. About eyewitness testimony.”

  “If you mean Macalaster, forget it. The Senate will never subpoena a journalist.”

  “If he’s a voluntary witness, the Senate will have no choice but to hear him on the record. There is another potential witness. McGraw knows where he is and he can bring him in on a subpoena. This testimony would be devastating to your enemies.”

  “Who the hell is going to believe a surprise witness?” Lockwood said. “They’ll just say we’re desperate and crazy. Do you know how hard it is to prove conspiracy?”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” Blackstone said. “From long experience. So does Alfonso. But this is not a legal process. It’s a political process.”

  “Congratulations, Spats. You’re beginning to see the light.”

  Attenborough said, “Wait a minute. What’s this all about?”

  Blackstone’s eyes were locked with the President’s. “May I brief the Speaker and ask his opinion?”

  Lockwood expelled an angry breath. He gave a curt nod. “Go ahead.”

  Attenborough listened to Blackstone’s methodical description of the evidence McGraw had developed. When the lawyer was finished the Speaker said, “The Hubbard boys, Hammett, and Busby are all in on this thing, plus all the rest of the ones he found out about? What’s the name of this secret outfit?”

  “We don’t know that yet.”

  “But you’ve got a material witness.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then call him. All you have to do
is put him under oath and ask the question. Do it. Get a subpoena from Sam and Amzi—they can issue it on behalf of the committee—and drag that sorry son of a bitch up in front of the Senate. Today. Macalaster, too. He may be a writer, but he’s an American. And he’s a poor boy, too.”

  “A poor boy?” Lockwood said. “What the hell’s that got to do with it?”

  Attenborough said, “Good God A’mighty, Mr. President. Don’t you see what this is? It’s the rich boys against the poor boys. That’s what it’s come down to. You and me and the rest of us nobodies from nowhere are all on one side and all these people who talk like the Duke of Ding Dong’s touchhole relations are lined up on the other. The American people are going to understand that when they see it on television, media or no damn media, and so will the U.S. Senate.”

  Olmedo spoke up for the first time. “The Speaker is right, Mr. President.”

  “He’d better be,” Lockwood said.

  Olmedo looked up at the towering President, who seemed even taller than usual because he was standing on the raised hearth. “I ask your approval to act on McGraw’s information and the Speaker’s advice,” Olmedo said. “Your only hope, sir, is to go on the attack.”

  “What forlorn hope is that, Counselor?”

  “To save your place in history.”

  “Noble words,” Lockwood said. In silence he looked from one man to the other. At last he said, “All right. Go ahead.”

  “With how much of it?” Attenborough said.

  “Alfonso’s part,” Lockwood said. “As for you, Tucker, do your duty as you see it. I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want to do, talking to anybody you want to talk to.”

  “Including Franklin?”

  “Just keep your hand on your wallet.” With that Lockwood left the room.

  It was then that Blackstone picked up the secure telephone and called McGraw in the van.

  14

  Hammett glanced upward to the gallery reserved for members of the House, expecting to meet Attenborough’s intense and glassy regard, but to his relief the chair reserved for the Speaker stood empty. As he settled himself on the podium, squaring his tattered Greek Bible before him on the desk and composing himself for his role as the serene and impartial arbiter of the nation’s fate (Patrick Graham’s magisterial phrase of the day on Newsdawn), he looked down into the Senate chamber upon the senators, all one hundred of them attentively waiting for him to take his seat before they did so themselves, as if he were the headmaster and they were so many overage schoolboys in coats and ties at undersize school desks. The House managers and Lockwood’s lawyers had taken their seats inside the bar. The snouts of the cameras scented the atmosphere. Philindros sat at the witness table, a man filled to the brim with secrets.

  All of these people were gazing at Hammett, and after the revelations he had wrenched from Philindros the day before, there was a subtle difference in the way they did so. They had all seen the morning shows, and they had all understood that this mysterious outsider might somehow be in the process of being chosen by destiny for some higher role. He sensed this. He also felt that the inexplicably absent Attenborough would have found some way to ridicule this idea, if only by the sardonic display of his own ruined person. And so he was glad that the Speaker, who obviously had been trying to distract him by playing some sort of clumsy mind game with him these past days, was not present.

  No hint of these secret and elaborate thoughts showed in Hammett’s demeanor. He sat down and struck the gavel. Before speaking his first words, however, he took a deep breath and held it for the count of five, an anchorman’s trick Graham had confided to him years before with the explanation that for reasons nobody understood, the television camera registered inhalation as thoughtfulness.

  “Mr. Olmedo,” the Chief Justice said, “do you wish to proceed at this time with the cross-examination of Mr. Philindros?”

  “In a moment, Mr. Chief Justice,” Olmedo said. “But first my brother Blackstone and I will wish to call two expert witnesses whose names have been disclosed to the Committee on the Impeachment and also to the House managers.”

  Hammett did not like Olmedo’s habit of using the archaic term “brother” to refer to a legal colleague. It was verbal dandyism; besides, as a matter of political usage, the word no longer belonged to people like Olmedo and Blackstone. He took another deep breath, counted to five, and answered. “You wish to swear and question these defense witnesses before the House managers have completed their case?”

  “We believe this is the logical moment to do so, and that it will speed the process,” Olmedo replied.

  Hammett was not pleased with this turn of events—he sensed a courtroom trick—but he knew that he must grant Olmedo’s request unless the Senate by some miracle decided the issue by a vote. He said, “Senators, there is nothing in the rules that precludes this innovation. Have you any objection?” The entire membership of the Senate sat solemn and silent. Even Amzi Whipple was passive, clearly willing to let whatever Olmedo had in mind come to pass.

  “Very well,” Hammett said. “There being no objection from the floor you may proceed, Mr. Olmedo. Please step down for the moment, Mr. Philindros.”

  Olmedo lifted a hand, ruby cuff link flashing. “Before he does so, Mr. Chief Justice, may I ask the Director a single question?”

  “You may, Mr. Olmedo.”

  Olmedo said, “Mr. Philindros, will you kindly read aloud, in your normal voice, the passage from the tape recording of your conversation with the President that I now hand to you?”

  Philindros read aloud, or what was aloud for him: “ ‘I must have a clear, spoken order. Do you instruct me, Mr. President, to use the assets of the Foreign Intelligence Service to bring about the violent death of Ibn Awad, and to gain possession of the two nuclear devices now in his possession?’ ”

  “Thank you, Mr. Director, that is all. Mr. Chief Justice, if it please the Senate, we will now move on to the other witnesses. Then we will recall Mr. Philindros.”

  “Very well,” Hammett said. “The clerk will call the witnesses. Mr. Philindros, you remain under oath, and you may remain in the chamber.”

  It was Blackstone, not Olmedo, who handled these witnesses. He did so with remarkable brevity. Before calling them to the stand he entered two exhibits into evidence. The first was the copy made by McGraw of the tape Macalaster had been given by Palmer St. Clair 3d, together with a transcript of its contents. The second consisted of two technical analyses of this tape—one by the National Security Agency (NSA), the other by a team of three experts from the private sector, one each from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Caltech, and Bell Laboratories.

  Blackstone called one expert from the NSA and one from the private-sector team and asked both the same two questions: (1) Was the tape a complete copy of the original? and (2) Had any portion of it been enhanced by electronic means?

  In each case the answer was the same: Portions of the original appeared to be missing from the copy and the volume level had been augmented in certain portions of the tape.

  “Augmented in what way?” Blackstone asked.

  “One of the three male voices recorded was very faint in the original,” said the expert from the Caltech-MIT-Bell Labs group. “It was brought up to the same approximate level as the others when it was rerecorded.”

  “Which voice?” Blackstone asked.

  “The voice we designated Speaker Two. No names were put to the three voices on the tape and we were not asked to identify them through comparative analysis.”

  “Have you heard the voice of this so-called Speaker Two in the course of these proceedings?”

  “With the unaided ear, yes, I believe so.”

  The witness, Professor Suzanne Eques-Kane of Caltech, was a precise woman, a fellow spirit to Blackstone. “On that subjective and admittedly unscientific basis,” Blackstone said, “can you put a name to the person you have identified in your report as Speaker Two?”

  “My �
�opinion, based on zero technical analysis, is that Speaker Two and the witness identified as Mr. Philindros are the same person.”

  “Then the tape was altered to make Mr. Philindros’s voice louder?”

  “To make the voice of Speaker Two more clearly audible, yes.”

  “No further questions. I will not consume the Senate’s time by asking these witnesses to describe the technical methods by which they reached their conclusion,” Blackstone said. “These are fully described in their separate reports, which agree in all the relevant particulars.”

  Hammett turned benevolently to Bob Laval. “Your witness, Mr. Manager Laval.”

  Laval rose. “Is it possible, Professor Eques-Kane, to reconstitute these missing sections?” he asked.

  “In the absence of the original, which was most likely a diskette rather than a tape, no,” replied the expert. “The portions in question never formed a part of this copy. Whoever recorded it simply snipped them.”

  “How many parts were snipped?”

  “Seven.”

  “Is it possible to estimate the length of the gaps?”

  “They are not gaps. Portions were snipped—edited—out to create the effect of an uninterrupted and complete recording. But the answer is no.”

  “But you are quite certain that seven passages were removed?”

  “Oh, yes. The technical analysis left no doubt about that.”

  Philindros returned to the witness table and Olmedo took over the cross-examination. “Mr. Director,” he said, “I have only a few questions to ask you on behalf of the President of the United States. My first question is in the nature of a clarification. Yesterday the Chief Justice asked you if, quote, it took the FIS four years after the death of Ibn Awad to locate those devices, which are capable of destroying New York City and killing several million people, end quote. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes, Mr. Olmedo.”

  “And you replied, quote, It took that long to locate them, yes, end quote. I will ask you this question, Mr. Director: Was it the FIS that located the nuclear devices?”