«What about the truth? Would you be interested in that, Major?»
«Give me some credit, politician. It’s pretty goddamned obvious.»
«What’s your version?» Trevayne turned from the window.
«Cooper said the Army couldn’t afford me. The truth is that you can’t… I’m the lodestone around your presidential neck.»
«That’s ridiculous.»
«Come off it! You ensure the trial, I’m acquitted—which I should be—and you’re clean. Nobody can say you ran out on the soldier boy who was shot at. But that trial is controlled. No extraneous issues; just the pertinent facts, ma’am. Even the Army lawyer made that clear. Just Saturday night in Connecticut. No San Francisco, no Houston, no Seattle. No Genessee Industries!… Then I’m quietly drummed out by kangaroos, the world goes on, and no one has to be embarrassed any longer. What pisses me off is that none of you can come out and say it!»
«I can’t, because it’s not true.»
«The hell it isn’t! It’s all wrapped up in a neat package. Man, when you sell out, you sell out high. I’ll give you credit, you don’t take second best.»
«You’re way off, Paul.»
«Horseshit! Are you telling me you’re not in the sweepstakes? I even hear you’re going to get a seat in the Senate! Goddamn convenient, isn’t it?»
«I swear to you I don’t know where Cooper got that information.»
«Is it true?»
Trevayne turned his back on Bonner, looking once again out the window at the platoon of second lieutenants. «It’s … all under consideration.»
«Oh, that’s beautiful. ‘Under consideration.’ What do you do next? Run it up a flagpole and see if it gets off at Westport? Look, Andy, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Cooper. I don’t like this big new wrinkle—this sudden first-team switch—any more than I like a lot of the things I’ve found out during the past several months. Let’s say I’m square enough to disapprove of the M.O.’s. The methods of operation. I think they smell… On the other hand, I’d be a first-class hypocrite if I started getting moralistic at this late date. I’ve spent my career believing that military goals were their own justifications. Let the elected civilians worry about the morals; that’s always been a distant area to me… Well, this is the big game plan, isn’t it? I don’t play in that ball park. Good luck!»
The platoon of second lieutenants was dispersing in the courtyard below; the open-shirted Colonel was lighting a cigarette. The lecture was over.
And Trevayne felt suddenly exhausted, weary. Nothing was as it seemed. He turned to face Bonner, who still remained insultingly casual in the desk chair.
«What do you mean, ‘game plan’?»
«You’re getting funnier by the minute. You’re going to make me blow any chance I may have for executive intervention.»
«Cut the clowning! Spell it out, Major.»
«You bet your ass, Mr. President! They’ve got you, they don’t need anyone else! The independent, incorruptible, Mr. Clean. They couldn’t have done any better if they called down John the Baptist, backed up with young Tom Paine. The Pentagon’s worries are over.»
«Had it occurred to you that they may have just begun?»
Bonner lifted his shoulder off the back of the chair and laughed quietly—with maddening sincerity. «You’re the funniest nigger on the plantation, massa. But you don’t have to tell those jokes; I won’t interfere. I don’t belong up there.»
«I asked you a question. I expect an answer. You’re implying that I’ve been bought; I deny it. Why do you think so?»
«Because I know those boys in ‘Brasswares.’ They’re going to ensure your investiture. They wouldn’t do that unless they had ironbound guarantees.»
48
Trevayne ordered the taxi to let him out nearly a mile from the Potomac Towers. It was a time to walk, to think, to analyze. To try to find logic within the illogical.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of automobile horns, blowing angrily at a brown sedan that seemed lost, unsure of its direction. The irritating cacophony fit his own sense of frustration.
Had he really been so naïve, so much the innocent, to have been used so completely? Had his confrontation with Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green been no more than an indulgence—on their part? A sham.
No, that wasn’t so. It couldn’t be.
Hamilton and Green were frightened men. Hamilton and Green called the shots for Genessee Industries and Genessee ran the Pentagon.
A equals B equals C.
A equals C.
If he, as President could control Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green—make them bend to his demands—then it was only logical that he could control the Pentagon. The means of that control would be in the dismembering of Genessee Industries, cutting the monolith down to size.
He had stated that clearly as his prime objective.
Yet, if Paul Bonner was to be believed—and why not? He couldn’t have invented the scenario—Lester Cooper and his colleagues were throwing the full weight of the Pentagon behind his proposed candidacy.
And since their military opinion was formed in the conglomerate thought process of Genessee Industries, their support had to be directed—at least endorsed—by Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green.
A equals B.
Why, then? Why would Brigadier General Lester Cooper and his legion of brass willingly oversee the burial of their own strength? Why would they be ordered to?
A equals C.
It was one thing for Hamilton and Green to fade out—they had no choice—it was something else altogether for them to turn and instruct the Pentagon to support the candidate who was admittedly destroying them.
Yet apparently they had done just that.
Unless that support was ordered before the Waldorf confrontation.
Ordered and put into action before his threats ended the stately pavane high up in the Waldorf Towers.
In which case, Andrew realized that he was not what he thought he was. He wasn’t the strong alternative, the man good political men had turned to; he wasn’t the considered choice of seasoned professionals who looked into their smoke-filled crystal balls and determined him fit.
He was the candidate of Genessee Industries, personally selected by Ian Hamilton and Aaron Green. And all their talk of bitter disappointment was just that, talk.
Christ, the irony of it! The subtlety!
And the conclusion to be drawn; that was the most frightening part of the whole charade.
It mattered not one whit who held the office of the presidency. It mattered only that no one made waves through which the good ship Genessee could not navigate.
He had provided just that.
He had delivered just that.
Four hours ago he had delivered an extraordinary report, made more extraordinary by the fact that vital, incriminating evidence had been withheld.
Oh, Christ! What the hell had he done?
He saw the outlines of the twin steel-and-brick structure of the Potomac Towers in the distance. Perhaps a half-mile away. He began walking faster, then faster still. He looked up and down the avenue for a taxi, but there were none. He wanted to get to his office quickly now. He wanted to find out the truth; he had to find out.
There was only one way to do it.
Brigadier General Lester Cooper.