Acts of Mercy

Five

There was a light but insistent rapping on the office door. Augustine was on his feet, about to approach the bar cabinet again because he had finished his drink and decided to permit himself a refill. He frowned as the knocking continued. Maxwell already? Well all right, he might as well get that over with; he felt relaxed enough now to deal with a lecture, if that was what Harper intended to deliver.

He went to the door and drew it open. But it was not Harper who stood outside.

It was Julius Wexford.

Augustine stared at him, unable to understand for an instant how Wexford could be here. When he had thought at all about the attorney general in the past forty-eight hours, he had had him compartmentalized with the National Committee in Saint Louis. And Wexford had not been at Union Station in Los Angeles when Augustine boarded the train; he must have arrived afterward, just before departure.

“Hello, Nicholas,” Wexford said gravely. His suit was rumpled and he had a harried, bleak-eyed look about him. But there was none of the nervousness he had shown two days ago in the Oval Office; his florid face was dry and his eyes were steady and resolute. “You seem surprised to see me.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“May I come in?”

“I suppose you might as well.”

Augustine moved aside to let him enter, reclosed the door. Wexford glanced at the red-velvet settee, glanced at the empty glass the President held, and then stood as if waiting for an invitation to sit down, an offer of a drink. Augustine gave him neither. Instead he went to his desk, set the glass down on it, rested a hip against its outer edge, and folded his arms across his chest.

“All right, Julius,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

“I received word early this morning that you were on your way to California, so I took the first available plane out of Saint Louis.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“There are things that have to be resolved,” Wexford said. “Now, not whenever you decide to return to Washington.”

“Cabinet business?”

“No. You know perfectly well what things I mean.”

“I gave you my decision on Wednesday,” Augustine said. He could feel his nerves tightening again. “The issue is closed.”

The gentle sway of the train seemed to bother Wexford; he was prone, Augustine knew, to mild motion sickness. He backed over to the settee and sat on it with his hands splayed out on both sides of him, as though bracing himself. “I wonder if you realize,” he said solemnly, “just how much trouble we’re in right now.”

“ We’re in?”

“Yes. You, me, all of us in the party.”

“The way I see it, the only ones in trouble are you and your friends. I’d fire you right now, publicly, except that an open split won’t do me any good. When I’m reelected I intend to make that my first priority.”

“You’re not going to be reelected, Nicholas, because you’re not going to be renominated.”

“Oh yes I am. I’m in better shape than Johnson was in 1968 and he would have been renominated. I’m in infinitely better shape than Truman was in 1948 and he won. An incumbent president can’t be denied the renomination of his own party if he wants it badly enough. And I want it that badly.”

“You’re not going to get it,” Wexford said. He took a heavy breath. “I won’t mince words this time; I’ll just give you the hard-line truth. You’re losing credibility faster than any president in history, including Nixon. The media is saying it and the polls show it. In the past few weeks you’ve mishandled domestic affairs, you’ve lost all perspective on foreign policy and managed to alienate the Israelis and the Jewish electorate and to embarrass the Vice-President, and you come out here to California two or three times a month like Nixon in his last days running off to Key Biscayne or San Clemente. There’s no indication that you’re even maintaining an appearance of the presidency any longer. You’re harming the country and destroying yourself politically, and that’s bad enough; but you’re also dragging the party down with you, jeopardizing the careers of dozens of good men who are up for national and state reelection in five months.”

Bile burned in Augustine’s throat; he felt himself trembling. “That’s quite a speech,” he said thinly.

“I’m sorry, Nicholas, but it had to be said. You’re a decent man and for most of your term you’ve been viable. But you’re not the same person you were even six months ago. I hate to say this, but you seem to be suffering from some sort of mental deterioration and plunging toward a complete neurasthenic collapse-”

“Bullshit.”

Wexford looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Nicholas, but that’s the way it looks to me and to a lot of others.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“No, I’m afraid it isn’t,” Wexford said, and raised his eyes again. “The point of all this is that the National Committee has decided-unanimously-to ask for party unity behind Kineen and there’s not much doubt now that we’ll be able to get it. There are quite a few angry people in this administration.”

“So you’re here to demand an immediate statement of withdrawal,” Augustine said. “Demand it, not ask for it.”

“We’d settle for that, yes.”

“Settle for it?”

“The party wants you to resign,” Wexford said.

Augustine went rigid.

Wexford said quickly, “It would turn public opinion around, you must see that. You’d go out on an act of strength and courage, you’d create sympathy and respect and you’d give the party the leverage we need to mend fences, restore confidence and put Kineen in the White House. Conroy is an intelligent man, he won’t have any difficulty assuming Executive matters until-”

“You son of a bitch,” Augustine said, “how dare you come onto my train and accuse me of heading toward a mental breakdown and then tell me to resign? How dare you tell me I’m not fit to continue as President of the United States?”

“Nicholas…”

Augustine came forward until he was standing two feet from Wexford, towering over him. Intimidated, Wexford drew back; he moistened his lips and put a hand up and started to speak.

Furiously Augustine cut him off. “Don’t you think I understand what’s really behind all this? The media starts blowing statements and actions all out of proportion, the polls reflect a temporary confusion among the populace, and right away front-runners like you begin believing things are going downhill because I’m losing control. You convince yourselves I’m to blame for all the country’s troubles and all the party’s troubles, and the only hope is for me to resign or at least to withdraw. Throw me to the wolves, let them feed on my bones, and meanwhile it’s business as usual. Who the hell cares if my good name and my career die in ignominy? Who the hell cares if everything I’ve tried to do and have done winds up in ashes just so long as the goddamn party can run a whitewash?”

Wexford struggled to his feet, backed two steps away from Augustine. “That’s not true,” he said. “None of that is true-”

“It’s true, all right, and I’m not going to sit still for it. You hear me? I won’t resign, I won’t withdraw. You go back to Saint Louis tomorrow and tell them that-first thing tomorrow, right after we arrive at The Hollows station. I don’t want you at the ranch; I don’t want to see you anywhere except in Washington on urgent cabinet matters. Is that clear?”

Tight-lipped, Wexford said, “I’m warning you, Nicholas, if you keep on this way you’ll wind up broken and humiliated.”

“We’ll just see about that.”

“It will happen,” Wexford said grimly, “because it’ll be all gloves off. If you force us to take harsh measures to keep the party in power, we’re prepared to do it.”

“Are you threatening me, Julius?”

“No. I’m just telling you you mustn’t and you won’t be renominated. For the good of all of us.”

“Personalities, smear tactics?” Augustine said. “Would you really go that far?”

“I hope to God you don’t make me find out.” Wexford turned to the door, opened it, stepped out into the corridor. “I’ll be in my compartment if you want to talk again after you’ve calmed down a little-”

Augustine caught the door and slammed it shut.

Bastard, he thought. Bastard! And went immediately to the bar cabinet to pour himself another drink.