Seven Days in May

Friday Noon

Art Corwin, swinging down from one doorstep and heading to the next, decided that if this week had accomplished nothing else, it had provided him with a thorough refresher course in the techniques of his business. Not that I really needed it, he thought. I may have spent a couple of years on my can in the west wing, but I haven't forgotten everything.

By the time he had rung three more Georgetown doorbells, he had it spelled out to his satisfaction. Two maids and one very attractive young wife, the last in tight black stretch pants and a scarlet house jacket, remembered seeing an Army sedan parked on the street about 8:30 that morning. All three women agreed there were two soldiers in it. It had been parked some forty feet from Senator Clark's door. One of the maids said she had seen the senator drive away shortly before nine, and noticed that the two uniformed men went up to the house right afterwards and tried the door. She was about to step out and tell them that there was nobody home when the two-one apparently an officer, because he had "shiny things on his shoulders"-went back to their car and drove off.

An elderly woman on the next street, whose rear garden faced Clark's across the alley, said she saw two Army men come out of the senator's back door a little after nine.

"They had another one with them, and they seemed to be supporting him. I must say I was a little surprised. I've heard that some people who come out of that house have to be held up by their friends, but I'd never seen it myself. And at nine o'clock in the morning!"

She sniffed. "You sometimes wonder how this government manages to do anything, with that kind of people in it."

Corwin climbed back into his car, thought a minute, and then on a hunch drove to the Dobney. He obtained Senator Prentice's apartment number from the clerk in the ornate marble lobby, then spent fifteen minutes prowling the halls on Prentice's floor. Learning nothing, he descended on the freight elevator and quizzed several maintenance men in the garage -without results. He walked through the parking lot, looking for an Army sedan. Then he drove slowly around the block, but saw no government vehicle.

Corwin drove down Massachusetts Avenue and cut right at Sheridan Circle into Rock Creek Park. He followed the parkway to the Constitution Avenue bridge, where he crossed into Virginia. At Fort Myer he parked just inside the gate and walked back to the sentry house. He showed his Secret Service credentials to the guard on duty and asked to speak to the man who had been on the gate about nine o'clock or shortly thereafter.

"That was me," said the guard, a young M.P.

"Maybe you can help me, then," Corwin said. He lowered his voice. "I'm working with CIC on a security case."

"Sure."

"Did an Army sedan come in here a little after nine with three men, a couple of officers and an enlisted man?"

"Yeah, I think so," said the M.P., obviously intrigued to be involved in a security case. "Sure. There was this colonel, and a major, and a sergeant. I remember because I thought it was kind of funny. The major was driving and the sergeant was riding in back with the colonel. The colonel had a mouse under his eye, like he might have been slugged or something."

"Were any of them post personnel, so far as you knew?"

"No, sir, I don't think so. Least I never saw them before."

"You know where they went?" asked Corwin.

"No, but I can guess. They asked directions to the stockade, so I told 'em and they went in."

"Thanks, soldier," said Corwin. "Please keep this to yourself. This case is pretty highly classified."

"Yes, sir."

Ten minutes later Corwin was in the White House, reporting to the President in his west wing office.

"I didn't want to take a chance on nosing around the post stockade, Mr. President," he explained. "My mug is pretty well known around town, and I've worked a lot with the officers of those ceremonial troops over at Myer."

"I've got an idea," Lyman said. He picked up the phone and asked Esther to get him Casey's home.

"Hello," he said. "You must be Mrs. Casey. This is Jordan Lyman. Could I speak to Jiggs, please?"

Lyman covered the mouthpiece and grinned at Corwin. "We may be in a jam, Art, but I think we just got Colonel Casey out of one. She almost bit the phone off when she answered, but when I said who I was she just gulped and said 'yes, sir'--very faintly."

Corwin chuckled. "I had a cop's hunch that he didn't tell us quite everything about that New York trip." He fell silent as Lyman began speaking again.

"Jiggs? Art thinks he's traced your friend to the Fort Myer guardhouse. He thinks a major and a sergeant took him there. Have you got a friend you can call over there? ... Well, that would do it, I guess. Yes, please. And call me right back, will you?"

Casey was back on the phone in a few minutes. Lyman said, "Wait a minute, Jiggs, I want Art in on this too," and waved Corwin to an extension.

"That was good deduction," Casey said. "I called the duty sergeant at the Myer stockade and asked him if they were 'still holding’ a Colonel William Henderson. He said yes. So I said I'd been appointed as his defense counsel and asked what the booking charge was. The duty sergeant said he didn't know yet, that the major who brought him in just said he struck an enlisted man and went AWOL from his post. He's being held on verbal orders from his commanding officer-whose name turns out to be Broderick."

"Thanks, Jiggs," Lyman said. "I'm afraid we're back where we started, almost, but at least we know where he is. There wouldn't be any way of getting him out without kicking up a big rumpus, would there?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," Casey said. "But I think he'll be all right there for a while."

"You better come back over here, Jiggs. We're going to have to do something pretty quickly, I'm afraid."

Lyman turned back to Corwin as he hung up.

"Art, you better go back to the Pentagon and pick up Scott," he said. "I want to know everywhere he goes this afternoon, if you can possibly manage it. And call Esther every half hour or so anyway. We may need you in a hurry."

"Right, sir."

When Corwin had left, Lyman walked back from his office to the mansion and took the little elevator up to the third floor. Clark was asleep in one of the guest rooms tucked under the roof. The President knocked gently on the door.

"Ray," he said, putting his head just inside the door, "come on down, will you? We're coming up against the gun on this thing. I'll be in the study."

When Clark came down he was still red-eyed and yawning, but a borrowed shirt-the tiny initials J.L. were embroidered in blue on the pocket-gave him some appearance of freshness.

Lyman, Todd and Casey were eating ham sandwiches and milk. The President looked cheerless, but at least, Clark thought, he was eating again. Trimmer lay curled contentedly on his rug.

"No, thanks, not yet," Clark said when Lyman offered him a plate of sandwiches. "Just a little coffee."

When the others had finished eating, Lyman pushed back his plate.

"Ray, we found Colonel Henderson," the President said. "He's in the stockade over at Fort Myer. He was kidnapped out of your house about nine o'clock and locked up on orders from Broderick. Jiggs thinks he'll be all right there, and there isn't much we can do about it right now anyway."

Clark put down his coffee cup. "You know," he said, "I think the other fellows are getting a little panicky. That's not very smooth, grabbing him like that. To say nothing of sticking him in the first place you'd think of looking for him."

"A typical example of the military mind at work, Senator." Todd was as biting as usual, and Casey stirred in his chair. The Cabinet member bowed slightly toward him. "Present company excepted, of course."

Lyman picked up a pipe and tamped it full of tobacco before he spoke again.

"Well, after all, Scott's people aren't trained spies, even if they are in a conspiracy. They're amateurs." He struck a match and lit his pipe. "Thank God for small favors. And this must have caught them by surprise. They had to improvise."

"And so do we." It was Todd again. "Right now, Mr. President."

"Yes, I guess we do," Lyman said reluctantly. "We can't put things off much longer."

"Good," said Todd. Casey thought the Secretary spoke with just a bit too much relish.

"I am now willing to consider a plan of action that can be put into effect tonight. But I want every step thought out with extreme care, and we must consider every possible result of any move we make. I am convinced that one false step will ruin everything. In fact, I have grave doubts that we can succeed, no matter what we do."

"Dammit, Mr. President, that's no way to-" began Todd. The ringing of the phone interrupted him. Lyman answered, listened a moment and said, "Yes, put him on."

The President turned to the others.

"It's Barney Rutkowski from Colorado Springs," he said. "He's calling on the command line."