Blaser was smiling regretfully. “I beg your pardon, Mr. President. I assume-you see, our papers have information that the act was performed by a parcel of Turnerites-”
“Then you should turn your information over to the Department of Justice,” said Dilman grimly. “If it’s not fiction, they’ll welcome it.”
There was some laughter, but, viewing the exchange on the television screen, Nat Abrahams squirmed. Dilman was allowing himself to be baited. He was not standing aloof. Abrahams told himself that he must speak to Doug about this.
Framed in a close-up on the television screen, Blaser’s face had lost its unctuous smile. “I’m fixing to have my editors follow your advice, Mr. President. Meanwhile, I would like to inquire what you instructed Reverend Spinger to find out about, in relation to this dastardly kidnaping. Also, how do you expect to get objective facts from the head of a Negro lobby pressure group, who goes into this with well-known prejudices?”
The camera cut back to Dilman’s face, and Abrahams was relieved that it was outwardly passive and that he was considering his reply carefully.
“I appointed the Reverend Spinger,” Dilman said, “because I felt that the kidnapers, if they are Negro, be they individuals or members of an organization, would trust him more than anyone else. I believe the Reverend Spinger is the best-qualified person I know to reason with anyone so involved, and to gain their confidence. As to his exact assignment, I think it would be unwise to disclose what I have ordered him to do, especially at a critical time like this. When the Attorney General and I have the facts, we shall act upon them without hesitation… Next?”
Flannery called out, “Mr. Paletta of U.S. News and World Report.”
“Mr. President, concerning the New Succession Bill now on your desk. Do you expect to approve it or veto it?”
Nat Abrahams felt someone touch his arm, and spun around. It was the burly young policeman again. “Sir, I’m sorry about keeping you, but I found out that Mr. Oliver did leave a message. He’s across the Chamber in the House Majority cloakroom. He said for you to meet him there. Will you follow me?”
Reluctantly Abrahams turned his back on Doug Dilman’s excruciating ordeal by press, and followed the policeman out of the Reading Rooms and lobby, past the elevator, through the library, and into the rear of the mammoth House of Representatives Chamber.
Treading as silently as possible behind the last row of leather-covered benches, Abrahams could see that the House of Representatives was about two-thirds filled with members, some slouched and listening to Congressman Hightower’s speech, others gathered in knotted groups whispering together, and still others reading the daily Congressional Record they had found in the compartments under their seats.
Abrahams knew that the Minorities Rehabilitation Program Bill was in its climactic stages of debate. Congressman Hightower, representing the opposition party from a California district, was vigorously endorsing the seven-billion-dollar public-works bill, and especially the apprentice and job-training provisions designed for uneducated and unskilled Negroes, Puerto Ricans, and Americans of Mexican descent.
“When we have passage of this bill,” the Congressman was promising, “we won’t have repetitions of the sort of violence we saw in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, today. Our minority citizens will enjoy a law of restitution to make up for their educational and financial losses under slavery, under segregation, under bondage. They will be trained. They will be gainfully employed. They will be indemnified for their long history of inequality. Thus satisfied, they will know peace of mind, and we will all know the peace of harmony that comes with justice and economic improvement.”
They are slugging the big bill through, Abrahams thought, and in two weeks, less perhaps, it will be on Doug Dilman’s desk. Poor Doug, he thought, how much these elected politicians are throwing at him, and how little time he has had to prepare for the deluge of vital legislation. Still, Abrahams thought, if Doug’s only going to get T. C.’s hat, he has no decisions to make. If he were going to fit a hat for himself, one of his own, that would be another matter. A pity, Abrahams thought, for if Doug Dilman remains as subservient to a ghost as he insists that he must be, his own keen intelligence and fine judgment will be wasted and the nation will never know its loss.
Abrahams looked up at the press gallery above the Speaker’s rostrum, and then at the curved mezzanine of public galleries, almost filled, and he knew that the minorities bill had captured the national interest. It was the most crucial domestic legislation in years.
The policeman had halted, waiting for Abrahams, and then said, “Right through this door, sir.” Abrahams thanked him, took hold of the doorknob, realizing that while he had been inside the House Chamber many times, he had never visited the legendary cloak-rooms, where national decisions were supposed to be made by horse trading in secrecy.
He entered the Party’s cloakroom, not knowing what to expect and yet finding less than he had supposed he would find. The cloakroom was narrow and dimly lighted. There were a half-dozen soft sofas along the walls, about the same number of deep used leather armchairs, then the room stretched off behind the House and turned a corner. At the far end three men were assembled before a semicircular bar. Only when Abrahams approached them closer did he see that it was an innocuous ice cream and soft drink counter, with many telephone booths nearby.
He recognized Gorden Oliver, even though the Eagles lobbyist had his back to him. Identification was possible from Oliver’s distinctive high starched collar, navy-blue wool sport coat, gray flannel slacks, and brown metal brandy-flask cane (his trademark).
“Gorden-”
Oliver wheeled around at once, and when he did so, Abrahams could see that the Eagles lobbyist and the two others beside him were watching Dilman’s press conference on a television set.
“Hello, hello, Nat. I was beginning to worry whether you’d find the way.” Oliver pumped his hand, and then took him in tow. “Nat, I want you to meet two of our most influential House members-Representative Stockton, of Colorado, Representative Kramer, of West Virginia… Gentlemen, this is Nathan Abrahams, Eagles’ answer to Rufus Choate.”
After the handshaking, Representative Kramer said, “Gorden here tells us you are a personal friend of the President, Mr. Abrahams.”
Embarrassed, Abrahams said, “Yes, the President and I have known each other since the Second World War. We were in the Judge Advocate’s Department together.”
Representative Kramer assumed a dour visage. “Well, if Dilman got out of the service uninjured, then he’s certainly earning a Purple Heart today. They’ve been grenading him for twenty minutes.”
Abrahams’ eyes went to the television screen, to Dilman’s worn expression as he listened to one more question. “Most people haven’t had a chance to find out yet, but President Dilman is very sharp,” Abrahams said loyally. “I saw some of the press conference on my way in. I think he can handle them. When you’ve made it all the way up to Congress as a Negro, you’ve been through worse inquisitions. He’ll survive.”
“We didn’t mean he won’t,” Oliver said hastily. “It’s simply that this is his first time out, and they’ve mined every inch of it with dynamite. You should have-”
“Quiet, Gorden,” Representative Stockton interrupted. He pointed to the television set. “The Time-Life man just asked him about the minorities bill.”
The four men directed their attention to the close shot of Dilman, gnawing his lower lip, fingering the blotter in front of him. “You want to know why I have not spoken out in favor of the Minorities Rehabilitation Program?” he was saying. “In reply, I remind you I have spoken neither for it nor against it. I have been examining the bill. It has much to offer minorities in this country, and can make a great contribution to bolstering our economy. At the same time, I think it would be a mistake to regard this bill as the cure-all for the civil rights problem. The bill may alleviate certain pressures brought down on minority segments of our population. Still, whether it passes into law or not, it must be supplemented by continued and unceasing efforts to secure for each and every citizen those equal rights guaranteed by our Constitution. I am closely watching the debate over the bill in Congress, and await seeing in what form it reaches me for signature.”