Trevayne (55 page)

“Come, Mr. Trevayne, let’s not play those games, which, if I remember correctly, you detest so.… Circumstances dictate that we meet with you. Please sit down.”

Andrew did so. “What are those circumstances?”

Aaron Green spoke. “The President does not intend to seek a second term.”

“He might change his mind,” said Trevayne.

“He can’t,” said Hamilton. “He wouldn’t live it out. I tell you this in the strictest confidence.”

Andrew was stunned. “I didn’t know that. I thought it was a personal choice.”

“What’s more personal?” asked Green.

“You know what I mean.… That’s terrible.”

“So … we meet.” Green ended the topic of the President’s health. “Circumstances dictate.”

Trevayne was still thinking of the ill man in the White House while Hamilton continued.

“As I say, we were disappointed. Not that the idea of your candidacy is without merit; it’s not. But, frankly, all things considered, we favor the President’s party.”

“That’s a non sequitur. Why should my candidacy concern you at all, then? The opposition has good men.”

“It has the
President’s
men,” interrupted Green.

“I don’t understand.”

“The President”—Hamilton paused, choosing his words carefully—“as any man who has completed half a job that will be judged by history, is vitally concerned that his programs be continued. He will dictate the choice of his successor. He’ll pick one of two men because they will consent to his dictates. The Vice President or the Governor of New York. In conscience, we cannot support either. Neither has the strength of his own convictions; only the President’s. They can’t win, and they shouldn’t.”

“A lesson. A lesson was learned,” said Green, sitting forward, his hands poised pontifically. “In sixty-eight, Hubert didn’t lose to Nixon because he was the lesser man, or because of money, or the issues. He lost the election with four words whined into the television after his nomination. ‘Thank you, Mr. President.’ He never washed away those four words.”

Trevayne reached into his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it while no one spoke. “So you’ve concluded that the President will ensure the defeat of his own party.”

“Precisely,” replied Hamilton. “That is our dilemma. One man’s vanity. The opposition has only to mount an attractive candidate, accentuate his strength of character—his independence, if you will—and the nationwide gossip will take care of the rest. The electorate has a visceral instinct about puppets.”

“Then you think I have a legitimate chance?”

“Reluctantly,” answered Green. “You haven’t much competition. Who else is there? In the Senate, the party has old men who tremble as I do, or loud-mouthed brats who soil their bell-bottom trousers. Only Knapp has possibilities, but he’s so obnoxious he’d be buried. The House is filled with nonentities. A few big governors might give
you a run, but they carry the urban messes on their backs.… Yes, Mr. Andrew Trevayne; Mr. Undersecretary in State Department, Mr. Millionaire, Mr. Foundation President, Mr. Subcommittee Chairman. You’ve got a lot of marbles.… You could fall down on the issue of elective office, but you would get picked right up again on comparisons. The National Committee boys knew what they were doing when they pulled your name out. They don’t like losers.”

“And neither do we,” concluded Ian Hamilton. “So whether we like it or not, you’re a political reality.”

Trevayne once again got up, breaking the triangle. He walked to the room-service table, picked up the thick red leather notebook, and returned, standing several feet behind his chair. “I’m not sure your assessment is accurate, gentlemen, but it’s as good a springboard as any I can think of for what I have to say.… This is the subcommittee report. It will be delivered to the Defense Commission, the President, and the designated congressional committees in five days. The report itself has been boiled down to six hundred and fifty pages, with four volumes of subsequent documentations. Of the report, over three hundred pages are devoted to Genessee Industries. And two volumes of documentation.… Now, I understand your ‘bitter disappointment’ at the prospect of my candidacy. I don’t like you; I don’t approve of what you’ve done, and I intend to see you put out of business. Simple?
Capisce?
As one of your departed colleagues might have said.”

“He was no part of us!” interrupted Aaron Green angrily.

“You
allowed
him; it’s the same thing.”

“What’s your point? I believe I smell a compromise,” said Hamilton.

“You do. But not your kind of compromise; you don’t come out with anything. Except, perhaps, the comfort of knowing you can spend the rest of your lives outside the courts—
and
outside the country.”

“What?” Hamilton’s complacency was replaced with his first hint of anger.

“You are a ridiculous man, Mr. Subcommittee!” added Green.

“Not really. But the word ‘ridiculous’ is well chosen, if not correctly applied.” Trevayne walked back to the linen-covered table and threw the notebook carelessly on top.

Hamilton spoke firmly. “Let’s talk sense, Trevayne. Your report is damaging; we won’t bother to deny it. However, it is—or certainly must be—riddled with speculations, inconclusive conjectures. Do you think for one minute we’re not prepared for that?”

“No. I’m sure you are.”

“You realize, of course, that the worst you portend for us are accusations, vehemently denied. Months, years, perhaps a decade in the courts?”

“That’s entirely possible.”

“Then why should we even consider you a threat? Are you prepared for our counterattack? Are you willing to spend years of your life defending yourself in the libel courts?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then we are at an impasse. We might as well accommodate each other. After all, our objectives are identical. The good of the United States.”

“Our definitions differ.”

“That’s impossible,” said Green.

“That’s why we differ. You conceive of no other absolutes but your own.”

Hamilton shrugged elegantly and raised both his hands in a gesture of compromise. “We are prepared to discuss these definitions—”

“I’m not,” replied Andrew standing. “I’m weary of your definitions, your ersatz elitist logic; those tiring conclusions that give you the right to implement only your own objectives. You don’t have that right; you’re stealing it. And I’m crying ‘thieves!’—loud and repeatedly.”

“Who will listen?” shouted Green. “Who will listen to a man propelled by a vengeance twenty years old?”

“What did you say?”

“Twenty years ago Genessee Industries turned you down!” Green shook his finger at Andrew. “For twenty years you’re whining! We have proof—”

“You
disgust
me!” roared Trevayne. “You’re no better than the man you claim is no part of you. But you’re kidding yourselves; you and the De Spadantes of this world are cut from the same cloth. ‘We have proof!’ Good God, do you extort protection money from blind newsdealers, too?”

“The analogy is unfair, Trevayne,” said Hamilton, taking a disapproving eye off Green. “Aaron is prone to get upset easily.”

“It’s not unfair,” answered Trevayne quietly, his hands gripping the back of his chair. “You’re scheming, out-of-date old men playing an insane game of Monopoly. Buying up this, buying up that—using a hundred different subsidiaries—promising, bribing, blackmailing. Compiling thousands of individual dossiers and poring over them like demented gnomes. One stating that
his
ideas are greater monuments—what was it?—temples, cathedrals! My God, what pomposity.… The other. Oh, yes. There shouldn’t be any blanket franchises. Only those entitled to vote should have a voice. That’s not only out of date, it’s out of sight!”

“I deny! I deny I ever said that!” Hamilton leaped to his feet, suddenly, profoundly frightened.

“Deny all you like. But you’d better know this. On Saturday, I was in Hartford; I signed the papers, Hamilton. I had reasons—out of focus but clear enough—to use another attorney. Mr. Vicarson here has assured me everything is in order. On January fifteenth an irrevocable announcement is made by the Governor of Connecticut. I am right now, for all intents and purposes, a United States senator.”

“What?” Aaron Green looked as though he’d been slapped harshly.

“That’s right, Mr. Green. And I intend to use the immunity of that seat and the stature of that office to hammer away at you. I’m going to let the country know—over and over and over again. Every day, every quorum, every session; I won’t stop. If need be—and I’ve considered it deeply—I’ll have my own personal marathon, my own filibuster. I’ll start at the beginning and read that
entire report. Every word. All six hundred pages. You won’t survive that. Genessee Industries won’t survive.”

Aaron Green was breathing heavily, his eyes leveled at Trevayne, his voice deep with personal hatred. “From Auschwitz to Babi-Yar. Pigs like you make trouble when there is trouble enough.”

“And the solutions are not your solutions. Your solutions lead right back to the camps. To the executions. Can’t you
see
that?”

“I see only
strength!
Strength is the deterrent!”

“For God’s sake, Green, make it a collective strength. A responsible strength. One that’s shared, open. Not furtively manipulated by a select few. That doesn’t belong here.”

“You are a schoolboy again! What is this ‘shared,’ this ‘open’? They’re words, sterile words. They lead to chaos, to weakness. Look at the record.”

“I’ve looked at it. Hard and long. It’s flawed, imperfect, frustrating. But, goddamn it, it’s a better alternative than the one you’re suggesting. Look at that track record!… And if we’re walking into a time when the system doesn’t work, we’d better know that, too. Then we’ll change it. But openly. By choice. Not by edict; and certainly not by your edict.”

“Very well, Mr. Trevayne,” said Ian Hamilton, suddenly walking away from the others, his back to them. “You’ve built a strong case. What are you suggesting we do?”

“Cut bait. Get out. I don’t care where; Switzerland, the Mediterranean, the Scottish Highlands, or the British Lowlands. It doesn’t make any difference. Just get out of this country. And stay out.”

“We have financial responsibilities,” protested Hamilton quietly.

“Delegate them. But sever all connections with Genessee Industries.”

“Impossible! Preposterous!” Aaron Green looked at Hamilton now.

“Easy, old friend.… If we do as you suggest, what is our guarantee?”

Trevayne crossed to the room-service table and pointed
at the red leather notebook. “This is the report as it stands—”

“You’ve made us aware of that,” interrupted Hamilton.

“We have also prepared an alternate report. One that considerably reduces the attention now given to Genessee Industries—”

“So?”
Aaron Green’s sudden interruption was stated emphatically, distastefully. “The schoolboy’s not so pure. He wasn’t going to change a word. A single word.”

Trevayne paused before replying. “I still mightn’t. If I do, you have an Army major named Bonner to thank for it. And your own willingness to comply, of course.… Major Bonner made an observation once that stuck with me. Perhaps it dovetailed with other opinions, but, nevertheless, he gave the idea focus. He said I was destructive; that I was tearing down, not offering any alternatives. Just a total wipeout, the good and the bad down the drain together.… All right, let’s try to salvage some of the good.”

“We want specifics,” said Hamilton.

“All right.… You get out and you stay out, and I turn over the alternate report, and the quiet process of cleaning up Genessee Industries begins. No cries of conspiracy—which it is; no demands for your necks—which should be demanded; no total wipeout. I’m sure a task force can be mounted to go after the existing financial fiefdoms. We won’t bother with the root causes, because they’ll be eliminated. You’ll be eliminated.”

“That’s excessively harsh.”

“You came here to make a deal, Hamilton. There it is. You’re a political realist; I’m a political reality—your judgment, I believe. Take it. You won’t get a better offer.”

“You’re no match for us,
schoolboy,
” said Aaron Green, his emotion denying the confidence of his statement.

“Not by myself; of course not. I’m only an instrument. But through me two hundred million people will learn what you are. As opposed to you, I honestly believe they’re capable of making decisions.”

The pavane was over. The music finished. The stately
ancients took their leave of the newly established court with as much dignity as was possible.

“Would it have worked?” asked Sam Vicarson.

“I don’t know,” answered Trevayne. “But they couldn’t take the chance.”

“Do you think they’ll really get out?”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m sorry. I think my letter makes clear the Army’s position in the matter. I’m sure Major Bonner appreciates your retaining attorneys for him. From what I gather, there’s every reason to anticipate a civilian acquittal.”

“But you’re still going ahead with your own charges, General Cooper; you want him out of the Army.”

“We have no choice, Mr. Trevayne. Bonner’s stepped out of line once too often. He knows it. There’s no defense against dereliction, disregarding the chain of command. Without that chain we have no military organization, sir.”

“I’ll insist on seeing him defended in the court-martial proceedings, of course. Again, with my attorneys present.”

“You’re wasting your money. The adjutant charge isn’t murder or assault or even criminal intent. It’s simply one of lying to an A.F. officer; misrepresenting his orders so as to gain access to government property. In this case, a jet aircraft. Furthermore, he refused to inform his superiors of his intentions. We simply can’t tolerate that kind of behavior. And Bonner is inclined to repeat this type of offense. There’s no sound military justification.”

“Thank you, General. We’ll see.”

Andrew hung up the phone and got out of his chair. He walked over to his office door, which he’d shut prior to his call to General Cooper. He opened it and spoke to his secretary.