Promise of Joy (35 page)

“It is,” he agreed; but did not, for the moment, say more, only continuing to look at Walter with an impassive and politely inquisitive air.

“So,” Walter went on finally, just before the moment became too long and awkward, “I wanted to apologize, as I say, and express the hope that perhaps our contacts on both sides can be more—more amicable—from now on.” He paused and then went doggedly on, in a tone as close to humble as years of mutual dislike could ever permit him to become toward Orrin Knox. “Is that agreeable to you?”

For another moment or two the President did not answer. Then he nodded and said in a voice that still retained, as Walter’s did, a basic reserve, but was otherwise as accommodating as bitter memories would allow:

“Yes, it is, and I thank you, Walter, for having the decency to say these things. I hope they reflect the attitude of most of you, and I shall do my best to cooperate; because it is, as you say, one hell of a situation.”

At this there was a little relaxation, the start of a relieved amusement: he was going to be agreeable, after all. “Good old Orrin,” the
Times
murmured, quite spontaneously, to the
Boston
Globe,
and the
Globe
agreed quickly, “Yes!” with a fervent relief, both quite innocently unaware of the irony of their heartfelt approval after all the harsh things they had said and written over such a long and contentious time.

“I said a few moments ago,” the President went on, and his tone now was quite calm, “that I had to decide whether or not to mediate the war between China and the Soviet Union. Perhaps I should have said that
they
must decide whether or not I am to mediate it, because if they want me to”—his tone turned stern—“there are certain conditions they are going to have to meet. And I am not going to hesitate at all in stating them, for to me they seem to be essential for re-establishing peace—everywhere. And what seems best to me,” he added dryly, “now seems to be somewhat more important and effective than it was twenty-four hours ago.

“I
should tell you that these conditions are being transmitted formally at this moment to the governments in Moscow and Peking. But I use the terms ‘Moscow’ and ‘Peking’ for convenience only, because both governments are in hiding underground. We think we know where they are and we are trying to reach them, but in case we don’t, possibly you ladies and gentlemen can help with your news stories, broadcasts and transmissions.”

He paused and looked straight into the television cameras which were carrying his words around the globe and, most specifically, to the frightened individuals in Peking and Moscow whose ruthless and crafty ways had failed them at last. He then began to enunciate, quietly and firmly and still in an almost conversational tone, the list of conditions that were to leap into the headlines and go down in history, for such time as it might still be recorded, as “the Ten Demands.”

“The first condition I had intended to make has been met. It will probably not weigh as substantially in other hearts as it does in mine, yet without it, so far as I was concerned, nothing else could have been done. My son and daughter-in-law have been freed, unharmed save for”—and his even tone wavered just a little before he went firmly on—“the ring finger of my son’s left hand. They are in good health and in good spirits and are now in the White House. I am glad to have them back.”

There was a spontaneous, completely genuine, completely warm burst of applause and congratulations from his audience. For a moment they were united in human feeling. Then he withdrew to the remoter and more imperial plane that events had now given him the obligation to occupy. His voice became colder and more impersonal.

“The second requirement before I will consent to participate in a possible settlement of the Sino-Soviet War is the immediate and complete withdrawal of all their armed forces from the nations of Gorotoland and Panama.

“This has been accomplished
de facto
in large part in the past twenty-four hours since fighting broke out between them, because both countries are rushing their troops home as fast as possible, and their forces in both places have already been cut to half, or below. This pell-mell process is continuing at this moment and should be pretty well completed, our intelligence reports, by nightfall. Our forces are already reoccupying the positions we had lost. By tomorrow morning we shall be in complete control of both Gorotoland and Panama.

“Nonetheless, I want an official statement from both governments confirming their withdrawal when it has been completed.

“The third requirement is the formal recognition by Moscow and Peking”—far away in dusty Gorotoland a giant, gorgeously robed figure leaped up with a shout of triumph, and somewhere in the steaming jungles of Panama a small, neat, dark-visaged man cried out, at his rebel command post, in protest and despair—“of the government of His Royal Highness Prince Terry in Gorotoland, and of the legitimate, constitutionally elected government of Panama.”

(“He’s going to get his way at last, isn’t he?”
Time
murmured to the
St. Louis
Post-Dispatch.
“Well,” the
Post-Dispatch
said with a wry shrug, “I guess he deserves to, now.”)

“I might add,” the President said—and in Gorotoland the gorgeous figure paused in mid-crow to frown uncertainly, and in Panama the small, neat, dark-visaged man looked up with some glimmer of reviving hope—“that after both countries are pacified, we will ask—
and we will expect
—the
United Nations to call and supervise elections for the creation of genuine, popularly elected governments.

“The fourth condition is the immediate internationalization of the Panama Canal, the Suez Canal and the Dardanelles—each of those international waterways to be under the control of commissions established by the United Nations, each commission to be composed of six members appointed equally by the United Nations and by the power presently holding, or in Panama’s case sharing, control of those waterways.

“I realize,” he said, “that this is a condition beyond the power of the governments of the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China to enforce. It
is
within the power of the governments now exercising or sharing control of those waterways. World opinion, which at this moment, I think, is in such a state of justified terror that it cannot be denied its demand for global stabilization, will expect these countries to comply. It will be,” he said with a mixture of gravity and irony, “their contribution to the cause of world peace.

“The fifth condition is that the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China will agree to an immediate reduction, by at least one-half, of their conventional armed forces, and the immediate and permanent elimination, under United Nations supervision, of all their atomic weapons, all their atomic missiles, all their atomic submarines and all their weapons of germ warfare.

“The United States,” he added calmly as a murmur spread over the room and even in shaken Moscow and Peking frightened men began to look stubborn, “will participate in, agree to, and be bound by, exactly the same limitations, once our forces have been repaired to the parity destroyed by the fighting in Gorotoland and Panama.”

(“There’s the catch,” William Abbott murmured to Bob Munson as they watched with most other members of Congress in the packed, standing-room-only chamber of the House, where a giant television screen had been installed for the occasion. “And thank God for it,” Bob Munson said. “We’ve got to be equal, we can’t ever again be less—or they more.” The ex-President grunted. “They’ll never be more again. They’re on the ropes.” “I devoutly hope so,” Senator Munson said.)

“The sixth requirement if I am to participate actively in seeking a settlement of the Sino-Soviet War,” the President continued, “is that there will be established under United Nations supervision an International Relief Commission to extend aid impartially to victims of the atomic bombings in both warring countries, and, if the atomic cloud does not dissipate, in the South Pacific.

“I want the agreement of the governments in Moscow and Peking that they will each contribute equally—
and substantially
—to this relief work. The United States will match them dollar for dollar, and if other nations of the world should wish to contribute, as I am sure many will, they will be welcome.

“The seventh requirement is the establishment of a United Nations force, entirely independent of Moscow and Peking and without consultation or reference to them, to patrol the border between them. Because of the length of the border, this will require many men and much matériel and money. The United States stands ready to make a major contribution of all three to this effort. It expects all other nations of the world that can possibly do so, to do the same.

“The eighth condition is the abolition of the veto in the Security Council of the United Nations.”

There was a startled sound in the room, in Congress, in the crowded Delegates’ Lounge of the United Nations, in Moscow, in Peking—everywhere.

“The United States,” he said calmly, “will work actively, and vote, for abolition of the veto and the substitution of a simple majority. We would expect all sane men who now see what has grown out of the veto to do the same.”

(“Easily said,” Raoul Barre murmured to Lord Maudulayne. “It must happen, it must,” Lord Maudulayne said, and Krishna Khaleel echoed earnestly, “Oh, yes!” “So?” said Raoul Barre, surveying the hushed, tensely listening throng of the nations with a tired, appraising air. “So?”)

“The ninth requirement is the permanent end of all imperialistic ventures by the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China—an end to international troublemaking and an end to international meddling. A formal commitment by both countries to devote themselves hereafter to the peaceful development of their own societies, within their own borders. A formal commitment,” he repeated emphatically. “A real one, and a lasting one.

“Tenth, and finally, the convening of a conference of the United States, Great Britain, France, Japan, and other interested major powers, in Geneva, to consider other pending world issues, make recommendations for their settlement, and agree upon the terms for enforcing those recommendations.…

“Those are the conditions under which I will stand ready, if they are accepted, to fly immediately to Moscow and Peking to assist in restoring peace between the Soviet Union and China, and peace in the world.

“I would hope that sanity, which now seems to be returning in those two capitals, will prevail.

“I would hope that the Soviet Union and China will swiftly agree to the conditions which specifically concern them. I would hope other countries would do the same in such areas as the internationalization of the waterways and the establishment of the peace-keeping force.

“I want to point out to the Soviet Union and to China that they are already partially devastated by this war.

“I want to point out that they have unleashed atomic warfare, and that if it is resumed, the chances are that not only will they be completely devastated, but that the rest of us probably will be too.

“This is a prospect,” he said dryly, “which should induce serious thought and swift compliance in Moscow and Peking.

“I think I speak for the entire rest of the world when I say that we sincerely hope that it will do so—and at once.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that is all I have to say at the moment. I will keep you advised of further developments as they come. But I think perhaps you should look for your next news break to Moscow and Peking. Thank you very much.”

“But, Mr. President—” a dozen voices cried in varying degrees of protest, anguish, desperation and curiosity.

But he was off the podium and out the door with a smile and a wave, and that was all they heard from him that day.

Back in the Oval Office fifteen minutes later he faced the four men he had asked to come down to see him. This time there was no doubt as to who was in command. The Speaker, the Senate Majority Leader, the ex-President and the ex-Majority Leader were as shattered by events as anyone else and as anxious to know what he intended to do.

This did not prevent a few examples of the candor customary between old political friends and enemies, but at least it relieved him of the necessity of begging for what he needed. He began by asking for it point-blank.

“Arly,” he said, as soon as greetings had been exchanged and seats taken, “I want that Cabinet out of that Senate by tomorrow afternoon, and no more nonsense about it. I also want the supplemental Defense Department appropriations.”

“At the same time?” the Majority Leader asked with the start of his customary contrary skepticism. The President cut him short.

“How much time do you think we have?”

“Well—” Arly began, still in a contentious tone. Then he shrugged and dropped it. “The Cabinet’s no problem. But you aren’t going to get any ten billion by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I don’t want ten now,” he said. “I’m only asking that we come back to parity with what’s left of the Soviet and Chinese strength and that’s still considerable, in spite of everything. I think three will do it, and I do want that. Pronto.”

“You can’t get those committees to move that fast,” Senator Richardson began, and again the President cut him short.

“The hell I can’t. They rolled through hoops every hour on the hour for Franklin Roosevelt, and that was a domestic crisis. Now we’ve got the whole world threatening to topple in on our heads. They’ll move. You tell them I said to cut the crap and
move.
I want that bill on the floor, together with the Cabinet, by noon tomorrow, and I want it passed by tomorrow night. Otherwise I’ll be drastically weakened when I go abroad to try to settle this thing, and if anybody on the Hill wants to take responsibility for that, then he’s a bigger fool than I think anybody up there is. So let’s
move.
Okay, Arly? All right, Jawbone?”

Arly Richardson gave him a look in which the jealousy and disapproval of years received, for a second, its last concentrated expression. Then he shrugged and looked away.