The Icarus Agenda

He belched again and swallowed another mouthful of his personal elixir. Goddamn Kendrick, son of a bitch! he swore to himself. That nobody-suddenly-somebody was the cause of his anger and discomfort… Well, if he was to be honest with himself, and he always tried to be honest with himself, if not always with others, it was not the nobody/somebody by himself, it was the bastard's effect on Langford Jennings, President of the United States. Shit, piss, and vinegar! What did Langford have in mind? (In his thoughts Herb had actually pulled himself short, substituting 'the President' for 'Lang-ford', and that made him angrier still; it was part of the tension, part of the distance that White House authority demanded and Dennison hated it… After the inauguration and three years of calling him by his first name, Jennings had spoken quietly to his chief of staff during one of the inaugural balls, spoken to him in that soft, jocular voice that dripped with self-deprecation and good humour. 'You know I don't give a damn, Herb, but I think the office—not me, but the office—sort of calls for you to address me as “Mr. President”, don't you think so, too?' Damn! That had been that!)

What did Jennings have in mind? The President had casually agreed with everything Herb had proposed concerning the Kendrick freak, but the responses had been too casual, bordering on disinterest, and that bothered the chief of staff. Jennings's mellifluous voice sounded unconcerned, but his eyes did not convey any lack of concern at all. Every now and then Langford Jennings surprised the whole goddamned bunch of them at the White House. Dennison hoped this was not one of those frequently awkward times.

The bathroom telephone rang, its proximity causing the chief of staff to spill Maalox over his Savile Row jacket. Awkwardly he grabbed the phone off the wall with his right hand while turning on the hot water tap with his left and dousing a washcloth under the stream. As he answered he frantically rubbed the wet cloth over the white spots, grateful that they disappeared into the dark fabric.

'Yes?'

'Congressman Kendrick has arrived at the East Gate, sir. The strip search is in progress.'

The what?

'They're checking him for weapons and explosives—’

'Jesus, I never said he was a terrorist! He's in a government car with two Secret Service personnel!'

'Sir, you did indicate a strong degree of apprehension and displeasure—’

'Send him up here at once!'

'He may have to get dressed, sir.'

'Shit!'

Six minutes later a quietly furious Evan Kendrick was ushered through the door by an apprehensive secretary. Rather than thanking the woman, Evan's expression conveyed another message, more like Get out of here, lady, I want this man to myself. She left quickly as the chief of staff approached, his hand extended. Kendrick ignored it. 'I've heard about your fun and games over here, Dennison,' said Evan, his voice a low, icelike monotone, 'but when you presume to search a member of the House who's here at your invitation—that's what it had better be, you fucker; you don't give orders to me—you've gone too far.'

'A complete foul-up of instructions, Congressman! My God, how can you think anything else?'

'With you, very easily. Too many of my colleagues have had too many run-ins with you. The horror stories are rampant, including the one in which you threw a punch at the member from Kansas who, I understand, flattened you on the floor.'

'That's a lie! He disregarded White House procedures for which I'm responsible. I may have touched him, merely to keep him in place, but that's all. And that's when he took me by surprise.'

'I don't think so. I heard he called you a “two-bit major” and you went up.'

'Distortion. Complete distortion!' Dennison winced; the acid was erupting. 'Look, I apologize for the strip search—'

'Don't. It didn't happen. I accepted removing the jacket, figuring that was standard, but when the guard mentioned my shirt and trousers, my far brighter escorts moved in.'

'Then what the hell are you so uptight about?'

'That you even considered it, and if you didn't, that you've created a mentality here that would.'

'I could defend that accusation, but I won't bother. Now we're going into the Oval Office and, for Christ's sake, don't confuse the man with all that pro-Arab bullshit. Remember, he doesn't know what happened and it won't do any good trying to explain. I'll clarify everything for him later.'

'How do I know you're capable of that?'

'What?'

'You heard me. How do I know you're either capable or reliable?'

'What are you talking about?'

'I think you'd clarify whatever you want to clarify, telling him whatever you want him to hear.'

'Who the hell are you to talk to me this way?'

'Someone probably as rich as you are. Also someone who's getting out of this town, as I'm sure Swann told you, so your political benediction is meaningless to me—I wouldn't accept it in any event. You know something, Dennison? I think you're a bona fide rat. Not the cute Mickey Mouse variety, but the original animal. An ugly, scavenging, long-tailed rodent, who spreads a lousy disease. It's called nonaccountability.'

'You don't spare words, do you, Congressman?'

'I don't have to. I'm leaving.'

'But he isn't! And I want him strong, persuasive. He's taking us into a new era. We're standing tall again and it's about time. We're telling the crumbs of this world to shit or get off the pot!'

'Your expressions are as banal as you are.'

'What are you? Some fucking Ivy Leaguer with a degree in English? Get with it, Congressman. We're playing hardball here; this is if! People in this administration move their bowels or they're out. Got that?'

‘I’ll try to remember.'

'While you're at it, remember he doesn't like dissent. Everything's cool, got that? No waves at all; everybody's happy, got that?'

'You repeat yourself, don't you?'

'I get things done, Kendrick. That's the name of the hardball game.'

'You're a lean, mean machine, you are.'

'So we don't like each other. So what? It's no big deal—’

I've got that,' agreed Evan.

'Let's go.'

'Not so fast,' said Kendrick firmly, turning away from Dennison and walking to a window as if the office were his, not that of the President's man. 'What's the scenario? That is the term, isn't it?'

'What do you mean?'

'What do you want from me?' asked Kendrick, looking out at the White House lawn. 'Since you're doing the thinking, why am I here?'

'Because ignoring you would be counterproductive.'

'Really?' Kendrick turned again to face the White House's chief of staff. 'Counterproductive?'

'You've got to be acknowledged, is that clear enough? He can't sit on his ass and pretend you don't exist, right?'

'Oh, I see. Say that during one of his entertaining although not terribly enlightening press conferences, someone brings up my name, which is inevitable now. He can't very well say that he's not sure whether I play for the Jets or the Giants, can he?'

'You got it. Let's go. I'll shape the conversation.'

'You mean control it, don't you?'

'Call it what you like, Congressman. He's the greatest President of the twentieth century, and don't you forget it. My job is to maintain the status quo.'

'It's not my job.'

'The hell it isn't! It's all our jobs. I was in combat, young fella, and I watched men die defending our freedoms, our way of life. I tell you, it was a goddamned holy thing to see! And this man, this President, has brought those values back, those sacrifices we prize so much. He's moved this country in the right direction by the sheer force of his will, his personality', if you like. He's the best!'

'But not necessarily the brightest,' interrupted Kendrick.