«Mr. President.» Sam Vicarson walked rapidly into the room, his expression denying any emergency, and by so doing, giving the message that an emergency existed.
«Yes, Sam?»
«The confirmation on the media exchange came through. From Chicago. I thought you’d want to know.»
«Can you locate the principals?» Trevayne’s words shot out quietly, sharply; on the edge of abrasiveness.
«In the process, sir.»
«Get them.»
«Three lines are working on it. The call will be put through downstairs.»
«You’ll pardon me, Frank. I haven’t taught Sam the corporate procedure of procrastination.» Trevayne rose from the chair and started out of the room.
«May I fix you another, Mr. Baldwin?»
«Thank you, young man. Only if Mrs. Trevayne …»
«Thank you, Sam,» said Phyllis, holding out her glass. She was tempted to ask the presidential aide to disregard the «usual» and pour her some whiskey, but she didn’t. It was still afternoon; even after all the years, she knew she couldn’t drink whiskey in the afternoon. She’d watched her husband as he listened to Sam Vicarson. His jaw had tightened, his eyes momentarily had squinted, his whole body stiffened, if only for an instant.
People never understood that it was these moments, handled with such ease and apparent confidence, that sapped the energies of the man. Moments of fear; incessant, unending.
As with everything he ever engaged in, her husband drove himself beyond the endurance of ordinary men. And he had finally found the job in which there was no surcease. There were times when Phyllis thought it was slowly killing him.
«I mourn an old friend whose time had come, my dear,» said Baldwin, observing Phyllis closely. «Yet the look on your face makes me somewhat ashamed.»
«I’m sorry.» Phyllis had been absently staring at the hallway. She turned to the banker. «I’m not sure I know what you mean.»
«I’ve lost my friend. To the perfectly natural finality of his long life. In some ways, you’ve lost your husband. To a concept. And your lives are so far from being over… I think your sacrifice is greater than mine.»
«I think I agree with you.» Phyllis tried to smile, tried to make the pronouncement lighter, but she could not.
«He’s a great man, you know.»
«I’d like to believe that.»
«He’s done what no one else could do; what some of us thought was beyond doing. He’s put the pieces back together again, let us see ourselves more as we can be, not as we were. There’s still a long way to go, but he’s provided the essentials. The desire to be better than we are; and to face the truth.»
«That’s a lovely thing to say, Mr. Baldwin.»
Andrew looked at Sam Vicarson, who’d just shut the study door. They were alone. «How far has it gone?»
«Apparently all the way, sir. Our information is that the papers were signed several hours ago.»
«What does Justice say?»
«No change. They’re still researching, but there’s not much hope. They restate their original thesis. The purchase—or absorption—simply can’t be traced to Genessee Industries.»
«We traced it, Sam. We know we’re right.»
«You traced it, Mr. President.»
Trevayne walked to the study window and looked out. To the terrace and the water below. «Because it was one thing they didn’t have. One thing we kept from them.»
«May I say something, sir?»
«Two years ago, I doubt you would have asked. What is it?»
«Isn’t it possible that you’re overreacting? Genessee has acted responsibly; you’ve controlled … them. They support you.»
«They don’t support me, Sam,» said Trevayne softly, harshly, without looking at Vicarson, his eyes still on the water. «We have a nonaggression pact. I signed a nonaggression pact with the twentieth-century syndrome. The no-alternative holy ghost.»
«It’s worked, Mr. President.»
«You may have to keep that judgment in the past tense.» Andrew turned and stared at the lawyer. «The pact is broken, Sam. It’s no longer tenable. It’s smashed.»
«What are you going to do?»
«I’m not sure. I won’t allow Genessee to control a large segment of the American press. And a chain of newspapers is exactly that. It can’t be tolerated.» Trevayne walked to his desk. «Newspapers … then will come magazines, radio, television. The networks. That they will not have.»
«Justice doesn’t know how to stop them, Mr. President.»
«We’ll find a way; we have to.»
The telephone hummed; it did not ring. Vicarson swiftly crossed to the desk beside Andrew and picked it up.
«President Trevayne’s office.» Sam listened for several seconds. «Tell him to stay where he is. The Man’s in conference, but we’ll get back to him. Tell him it’s priority.» Vicarson hung up. «Let him stew until you’re ready, sir.»
Sam walked away as Andrew nodded his appreciation. Vicarson knew instinctively by now when the President wanted to be alone. This was one of those moments. He spoke as Trevayne sat down at his desk.
«I’ll head back to communications.»
«No, Sam. If you don’t mind, go up and keep Phyl and old Baldwin company. I don’t imagine it’s easy for either of them.»
«Yes, sir.» For two or three seconds the young aide just watched the President of the United States. Then he abruptly left the room, closing the door behind him.
Andrew picked up a pencil and wrote out a sentence in clear, precise letters. «The only solution is in the constant search for one.»
Big Billy Hill.
And then he wrote one word: «Horseshit.»
Paul Bonner.
And then he added: «?»
He picked up the telephone and spoke firmly.
«Chicago, please.»
Fifteen hundred miles away, Ian Hamilton answered.
«Mr. President?»
«I want you out of that merger.»
«Perhaps it’s academic, but you have no viable proof that we’re involved. The little men from your Justice Department have been nuisances.»
«You know. I know. Get out.»
«I think you’re beginning to show the strain, Mr. President.»
«I’m not interested in what you think. Just make sure you understand me.»
There was a pause. «Does it matter?»
«Don’t press me, Hamilton.»
«Nor you us.»
Trevayne stared out the window, at the ever-moving waters of the sound. «There’ll come a day when you’re expendable. You should realize that. All of you.»
«Quite possibly, Mr. President. However, not in our time.»