In High Places

Chapter 1

From the window of Blair House library James Howden examined the view across Pennsylvania Avenue. It was 10 AM on the second day in Washington, and the meeting between himself, the President, Arthur Lexington, and the President's chief of staff was scheduled to begin in an hour's time.

A fresh soft breeze stirred the filmy curtains beside him at the open window. Outside, the weather was Washington at its best: balmy and springlike with warm bright sunshine. Across the avenue the Prime Minister could see the trim White House lawns and glimpse the Executive Mansion, sun streaked, beyond.

Turning towards Arthur Lexington, Howden asked, 'What's your feeling about everything so far?'

The External Affairs Minister, wearing a comfortable Harris tweed jacket instead of the suit coat he would put on later, straightened up from the colour TV with which he had been experimenting. Turning the set off, he paused, considering.

'Put in its crudest terms,' Lexington said, 'I'd say we're in a seller's market. The concessions we have to offer, the United States needs, and needs desperately. What's more, they're very much aware of it here.'

The two had breakfasted separately, the Prime Minister with Margaret in their private suite, Arthur Lexington with others of the delegation downstairs. The Canadians were the only guests in the President's spacious guest house, to which they had returned last night after the White House state dinner.

Now Howden nodded slowly. 'That's been my impression too.'

The Prime Minister surveyed the long, gracious library. With its overstuffed sofas and chairs, big Chippendale table, and the book-lined walls, it seemed a gentle backwater of coolness and quiet. It was here in this room, he thought, that Lincoln had once rested and talked; that in later years the Trumans spent their leisure during the White House remodelling; here, in the library, that King Saud of Arabia slept guarded by his own soldiers, scimitar-armed; here that de Gaulle had prepared to huff, Adenauer to charm, and Khrushchev to bluster… and so many others. He wondered if he himself would be remembered in that long procession. And if so, with what verdict.

'Small things add up,' Lexington mused. 'The kind of reception you were given yesterday, for instance. I've never known the President to come out to the airport for Canadians. We're usually met by smaller fry and treated like country cousins – even Prime Ministers. Once, when John Diefenbaker was down for a White House dinner, they put him in line with a bunch of Presbyterian ministers.'

Howden chuckled reminiscently. 'Yes, I remember. He hated it and I can't say I blame him. Wasn't that the time Eisenhower made a speech and kept talking about the "Republic" of Canada?'

Lexington nodded, smiling.

James Howden dropped into an upholstered wing chair. 'They certainly did us brown last night,' he remarked. 'You'd think if they are making a switch, being considerate and so on, they'd be a bit more subtle.'

Arthur Lexington's eyes twinkled in the round, ruddy face above the inevitable neatly knotted bow de. At times, Howden thought, the External Affairs Minister resembled a benevolent schoolmaster accustomed to dealing firmly but patiently with small, obstreperous boys. Perhaps it was that which made him seem young, and always would, even though the years were advancing upon him like all the rest of them.

'Subtlety and the State Department keep separate houses,' Lexington said. 'I've always considered, you know, that American diplomacy comes two ways – either contemplating rape or ready to receive it. There's seldom any in between.'

The Prime Minister laughed. 'How about now?' He invariably enjoyed the moments which the two of them had ^lone. They had long been staunch friends who trusted each other firmly. One reason, possibly, was that there was no sense of competition between them. While others in the Cabinet openly or covertly aspired to the Prime Ministership, Arthur Lexington, as Howden knew full well, had no ambitions in that direction.

Lexington, in fact, would probably still have been an ambassador, happy in his spare time with the twin hobbies of stamp collecting and ornithology, had not Howden persuaded him years earlier to resign from the diplomatic corps and enter the party and later the Cabinet. Loyalty and a strong sense of duty had kept him there since, but he made no secret of looking forward with pleasure to the day when he would return from public to private life.

Lexington had paced the long garnet-coloured rug before answering the Prime Minister's question. Now he stopped and said, 'Like you, I don't care to get violated.'

'But there'll be plenty who'll say we have been.'

'Some will say that whichever line we take. There'll be sincere people among them too – not just the rabble-rousers.'

'Yes, I've thought of that,' Howden said. 'The Act of Union will cost us some of our own party, I'm afraid. But I'm still convinced there's no other choice.'

The External Affairs Minister sank into a facing chair. He hooked a footstool close and stretched out, resting both feet.

'I wish I were as sure as you. Prime Minister.' As Howden eyed him sharply Lexington shook his head. 'Oh, don't misunderstand me; I'm with you the whole way. But the speed of it all disturbs me. The trouble is, we're living in a time of compressed history, yet so few realize it. Changes which used to take fifty years take five or less, and we can't help it because communications have made it that way. The one thing I hope is that we can keep a sense of national unity, but it won't be easy.'

'It was never easy,' Howden said. He glanced at his watch. They would have to leave Blair House in thirty minutes, to allow for a session with the White House press corps before the official talks began. But he supposed there was time to discuss with Lexington a subject which had been on his own mind for some time. This seemed a good moment to bring it up.

'On the subject of identity,' he announced thoughtfully, 'there's something the Queen mentioned not long ago – the last time I was in London.'

'Yes?'

'The lady has suggested – in fact I may say urged – that we reinstate titles. She made what I thought was an interesting point/

James Howden half-closed his eyes, recalling the scene as it had been, four and a half months earlier: a mellow September afternoon in London; himself at Buckingham Palace for a courtesy call. He had been received with appropriate respect and escorted promptly to the royal presence…

'… Do please have some more tea,' the Queen had said, and he had passed the fragile gold-rimmed cup and saucer, unable to resist the thought – though knowing it naive – that the British monarch was pouring tea in her palace for the orphan boy from Medicine Hat.

'And bread and butter. Prime Minister!' He took some. There was brown and white, cut paper-thin. He declined the jam – three kinds in a gold server. As it was, you needed a juggler's skill to balance everything at English teatime.

They were alone in the drawing room of the Private Apartments – a large airy place, overlooking the palace gardens, formal by North American standards but less overpowering with gilt and crystal than most of the other state rooms. The Queen was dressed simply in a silk cornflower-blue dress, her neat ankles crossed casually above matching kid leather pumps. No women, Howden thought with admiration, have quite so much poise as upper-class Englishwomen not consciously trying.

The Queen spread strawberry jam thickly for herself, then observed in her precise, high-pitched voice, 'My husband and I have frequently considered that for Canada's own sake there should be more to distinguish it.'

James Howden had been tempted to reply that there was a good deal to distinguish Canada, compared with current British achievements, but decided that perhaps he had misinterpreted the meaning. A moment later showed he had.

The Queen added: 'To distinguish it in the sense of difference, that is, from the United States.'

'The trouble is, ma'am,' Howden responded carefully, 'it's hard to maintain a separate appearance when two countries live so close and similarly. From time to time we try to emphasize our separateness, though not always succeeding.'

'Scotland has succeeded quite well in keeping its identity,' the Queen remarked. She stirred her tea, her expression guileless. 'Perhaps you should take a lesson or two from them.'

'Well…' Howden smiled. It was true, he thought. Scotland, which had lost its independence two and a half centuries earlier, still possessed more nationhood and character than Canada ever had or would.

The Queen continued thoughtfully: 'One reason, perhaps, is that Scotland has never yielded its traditions. Canada, if you will forgive me for saying so, has seemed in rather a hurry to shed them. I remember my father saying much the same thing.' The Queen smiled disarmingly, her manner robbing the words of any offence. 'Will you have tea?'

'Thank you, no.' Howden surrendered his cup and saucer to a uniformed manservant who had come in quietly with more hot water for the teapot. He had a sense of relief at having balanced everything without mishap.

'I do hope you haven't minded my saying that. Prime Minister.' The Queen replenished her own cup as the servant disappeared.

'Not in the least,' Howden replied. It was his own turn to smile. 'It does us good to be told our failings sometimes, even if one isn't sure what to do about them.'

'There is, perhaps, a thing which might be done,' the Queen said deliberately. 'My husband and I have often regretted the absence of a Canadian honours list. It would give me considerable pleasure if New Year's and Birthday honours were to be established again.'

James Howden pursed his Ups. 'Titles of nobility are delicate ground in North America, ma'am.'

'A part of North America, possibly, but are we not speaking of our Dominion of Canada?' Though spoken gently, it was a rebuke and despite himself Howden flushed. 'Actually,' the Queen observed with the faintest of smiles, 'I had gained the impression that in the United States, the British with tides are somewhat sought after.'

Touche! Howden thought. How true it was! – Americans loved a lord.

'Our award of honours has worked remarkably well in Australia, I am informed,' the Queen went on calmly, 'and here in Britain, of course, it continues to do so. Perhaps in Canada it might help you towards separateness from the United States.'

James Howden wondered: how were you supposed to handle this kind of thing? As Prime Minister of an independent Commonwealth country his own power was a thousand times greater than the Queen's, yet custom obliged him to assume a fictional role of dutiful deference. Titles, nowadays -'Sirs' and 'Lords' and 'Ladies' – were nonsense, of course. Canada had had no part of them since the 1930s, and the few residual tides remaining among elderly Canadians were usually referred to with discreet smiles.

With a sense of annoyance the Prime Minister wished the monarchy would content itself with being ornamental, the way it was generally assumed to be, instead of spinning royal spider webs. Behind the Queen's suggestion, he suspected, was the fear one always sensed in London – that Canada was slipping away as other Commonwealth nations had done and that anything, anything – even a silken skein – should be tried in an attempt to delay the drifting.

'I shall inform the Cabinet of your feelings, ma'am,' James Howden said. It was a polite lie, he had no intention of doing anything of the kind.

'As you see fit.' The Queen inclined her head graciously, then added, 'On a related subject, one of our happier prerogatives in awarding honours is to confer an earldom upon Prime Ministers at their retirement from office. It is a custom we should be most happy to extend to Canada.' Her innocent eyes met Howden's directly.

An earldom. Despite his own conviction, imagination stirred. If was almost the loftiest rank in British nobility; only marquesses and dukes ranked higher. Of course, he could never accept, but if he did, what title would he take? The Earl of Medicine Hat? No – too outlandish; people would laugh. The Earl of Ottawa? Oh yes! It had a rolling sound, and with deep meaning.

The Queen took a linen napkin, wiped a trace of jam delicately from a manicured finger tip, then rose, James Howden following suit. The intimate tea party was at an end and considerately, as she often did on informal occasions, the Queen – strolled with him.

They were halfway across the room when the Queen's husband entered breezily. The Prince came in through a narrow private doorway camouflaged by a long gilt-framed mirror. 'Is there any tea left?' he asked cheerfully. Then seeing Howden, 'What! – leaving us already?'

'Good afternoon. Your Royal Highness.' Howden bowed. He knew better than to reciprocate the informality. The Prince had been responsible for clearing away a good deal of stuffiness around the throne, but he still demanded deference and his eyes could flash and his tone become icy if he sensed it lacking.

'If you really must go, I'll walk with you,' the Prince announced. Howden leaned over the Queen's hand which she offered, then with momentary formality retreated the rest of the way out. 'Careful!' the Prince warned. 'Chair astern to port!' He made a half-hearted attempt at backing out himself.

The Queen's face was stony as they left. Howden surmised that sometimes she felt her husband's breeziness went a little far.

Outside, in an ornate anteroom, the two men shook hands as a liveried footman waited to escort the Prime Minister to his car. 'Cheerio then,' the Prince said, unabashed. 'Before you go back to Canada try to pop in again.'

Ten minutes later, driving down the Mall, away from Buckingham Palace and toward Canada House, James Howden had smiled, remembering. He admired the Prince's determination to be informal, though when you had a permanent rank like the Queen's husband you could turn informality on and off as you pleased. It was permanence of that sort which made a difference to a man, inside as well as out, and politicians like himself always knew that someday soon their tenure of rank would end. Of course, in England most retired cabinet ministers were given titles as a reminder that they had served their country well. But nowadays the system was out of date… an absurd charade. It would be even more ridiculous in Canada… the Earl of Ottawa, no less. How amused his colleagues would be!

And yet, in fairness, he supposed he ought to examine the Queen's proposal carefully before dismissing it. The lady had a point when she spoke of the need for distinction between Canada and the United States. Perhaps, after all, he should sound out the Cabinet as he had promised. If it was for the country's good…

The Earl of Ottawa…

But he had not sounded out the Cabinet, nor mentioned the subject to anyone until this moment in Washington with Arthur Lexington. Now, though omitting the Queen's reference to himself, he explained, with touches of humour, the conversation as it had taken place.

At the end, glancing at his watch, he saw that only fifteen minutes remained before they must cross Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House. Rising, he strolled once more to the open library window. Over his shoulder he asked, 'Well, what do you think?'

The External Affairs Minister swung down his legs from the footstool and stood upright, stretching. His expression was amused. 'It would make us different from the US all right, but I'm not so sure it would be in the right direction.'

'I thought much the same thing,' Howden said, 'but I must say it has since occurred to me that Her Majesty's point about separateness may be well taken. In the future, you know, anything which can help make Canada distinctive and an entity is going to be important.' He felt Lexington glance at him curiously, and added, 'If you feel strongly we'll forget the whole thing, but in view of the lady's request I felt all of us should discuss it.'

'Discussion won't do any harm, I suppose,' Lexington conceded. He began to pace the rug again.

'The thing is,' Howden said, 'I wonder if you'd be the one to bring the matter up in Cabinet. I believe it might come better from you, and, that way, I could reserve my judgement until we got some other opinions.'

Arthur Lexington said dubiously, 'I'd like to think about that. Prime Minister, if you don't mind.'

'Of course, Arthur; whatever you decide.' Obviously, Howden thought, the subject must be handled cautiously, if at all.

Lexington paused beside a telephone on the polished centre table. Half-smiling, he inquired, 'Shall we call for coffee before our date with destiny?'

Chapter 2

Across the swathe of White House lawn dividing them, the President called out cheerfully in his strong, bluff voice to the group of focusing, jostling photographers.

'You men must have shot enough film for a double feature.' Then to the Prime Minister at his side: 'What do you think, Jim? Shall we go inside and begin work?'

'It's a pity, Mr President,' James Howden said. After the chill Ottawa winter, he had enjoyed the warmth and sunshine. 'But I suppose we'd better.' He nodded agreeably to the short, broad-shouldered man with the angular, bony features and sharp, determined jaw. The outdoor session which both of them had just had with the White House press corps had pleased Howden greatly. Throughout, the President had deferred courteously to the Prime Minister, saying little, and turning reporters' questions towards Howden so that the latter would be the one quoted today and tomorrow in press, TV, and radio. And afterwards, when they had strolled together on the south lawn of the White House for the benefit of photographers and TV cameras, the President had carefully manoeuvred James Howden nearest the battery of lenses. The result of such consideration, Howden thought – a rare experience for a Canadian in Washington – could contribute a good deal to his own status back home.

He felt the President's massive, big-fingered hand grasp his arm, steering, and the two of them moved towards the Executive Mansion steps. The other man's face, under the untidy thatch of grey-flecked hair with its abbreviated cowlick, was relaxed and agreeable. 'How'd it be, Jim…' – it was the easy Midwestern twang used so effectively in the televised Fireside Talks – 'How'd it be if we dropped the Mr President business?' A deep chuckle. 'You know my first name, I imagine.'

Genuinely pleased, Howden replied, 'I'd be honoured, Tyler.' In a segment of his mind he wondered if it would be possible to leak this intimate relationship to the Press. In Canada it would give the lie to some of his critics who were always carping that the Howden government lacked influence in Washington. Of course, he recognized that most of the courtesies today and yesterday had stemmed from Canada's strong bargaining position – which he intended to uphold. But that was no reason for not being pleased, or making political hay whenever one could.

As they strolled across the lawn, the ground soft beneath their feet, James Howden said, 'There hasn't been an opportunity before to congratulate you personally on your re-election.'

'Why, thank you, Jim!' Again the pawlike hand, this time clapped firmly on the Prime Minister's shoulder. 'Yes, it was a wonderful election. I'm proud to say I have the largest popular vote a United States President has ever received. And we swept Congress, as you know. That's something else again -no President has ever enjoyed stronger support than I have right at this moment in the House and Senate. I can tell you confidently there isn't any legislation I want that I can't get passed. Oh, I make a few concessions here and there for the sake of it, but nothing to matter. It's a unique situation.'

'Unique for you, perhaps,' Howden said. He decided some good-natured needling would do no harm. 'But, of course, with our own parliamentary system the party in power can always have the legislation it wants.'

'True! True! And don't think there haven't been times when I – and some of my predecessors – have envied you. The miracle about our constitution, you know, is that it works at all.' The President's voice ranged lustily on. 'The trouble was, the Founding Fathers were so damned anxious to cut loose from everything British that they threw out the best things along with the bad. But one makes the best of what one has, whether it's the body political or the body personal.'

With the last words they had reached the wide, balustraded Steps leading under the curved and colonnaded South Portico. Preceding his guest, the President leaped upward two steps at a time and, not to be outdone, James Howden followed at the same pace.

But at the halfway mark the Prime Minister stopped, short of breath and perspiring. His dark blue worsted suit, ideal in Ottawa, was uncomfortably heavy in the warm Washington sunshine. He wished he had brought one of his lightweight suits, but on looking them over none had seemed quite good enough for this occasion. The President was reported to be meticulous about dress and sometimes changed suits several times a day. But then, the US Chief Executive was not subject to the personal money worries of a Canadian Prime Minister.

The thought reminded Howden briefly that he had not yet broken the news to Margaret of just how serious their own financial position had become. The man from Montreal Trust had made it clear: unless they stopped eroding the few thousands of capital remaining, his resources on retirement would be equal to the wages of a minor artisan. Of course, it would never really come to that: the Rockefeller Foundation and others could be appealed to – Rockefeller had granted Mackenzie King a hundred thousand dollars on the day of the veteran Prime Minister's retirement – but the thought of actively seeking an American handout, however generous, was still humiliating.

A few steps up the President had stopped. He said contritely, 'Do forgive me. I'm always forgetting, and doing that to people.'

'I should have known better.' James Howden's heart was pounding; his heavy breathing punctuated the words. 'I expect it was your remark about the body personal.' Like everyone else he was aware of the President's lifelong passion for physical fitness in himself and those around him. A succession of White House aides, including dispirited generals and admirals, staggered exhausted from daily presidential sessions of handball, tennis, or badminton. A frequent complaint from the President's lips was that 'This generation has the bellies of Buddhas and shoulders like bloodhounds' ears.' It was the President, too, who had revived the Theodore Roosevelt pastime of taking country walks in straight lines, going over objects – trees, barns, haystacks – instead of around them. He had even attempted something of the kind in Washington and, remembering, Howden asked, 'How did those local forays of yours go – the A to B idea?'

The other man chortled as they moved together, leisurely, up the stairs. 'I had to quit in the end; got into a few problems. We couldn't scramble over buildings here, except some small ones, so we started going through them wherever a straight line led. Got in some strange places too, including a toilet in the Pentagon – in the door and out the window.' He chuckled reminiscently. 'But one day my brother and I wound up in the Statler Hotel kitchens – walked in the cold room and short of blasting there was no way out.'

Howden laughed. 'Perhaps we'll try it in Ottawa. There are some of the Opposition I'd like to see depart in straight lines -especially if they'd keep on going.'

'Our opponents are sent to try us, Jim.'

'I suppose so,' Howden said. 'But some try harder than others. By the way, I've brought some new rock samples for your collection. Our Mines and Resources people tell me they're unique.'

'Well, thank you,' the President said. 'I'm really most grateful. And please thank your people too.'

From the South Portico's shade they passed into the cool White House interior, then threaded a hallway and corridors to the presidential office on the building's southeast corner. Opening the white-painted single door, the President ushered How-den in.

As usual, on the several occasions he had been here, the Prime Minister was conscious of the room's simplicity. Oval-shaped, with waist-high panelling and plain grey carpeting, its principal furnishings comprised a wide flat-topped desk, set centre, a padded swivel chair in the rear and, behind the chair, twin gold-trimmed banners – the Stars and Stripes and the President's personal flag. Floor-to-ceiling casement windows and a french door to a terrace outside faced a satin-damask sofa occupying most of one wall to the desk's right. At present the sofa was occupied by Arthur Lexington and Admiral Levin Rapoport, the latter a small, scrawny man in a neat brown suit, his hawklike face and incongruously large head seeming to dwarf the remainder of his body. The two men rose as the President and Prime Minister came in.

'Good morning, Arthur,' the President said warmly, offering his hand to Lexington. 'Jim, you know Levin, of course.'

'Yes,' Howden said, 'we've met. How are you. Admiral?'

'Good morning.' Admiral Rapoport nodded curtly and coolly. He seldom did more, notoriously having no patience either for small talk or social functions. The admiral – presidential assistant extraordinaire – had been a notable absentee from the previous evening's state banquet.

As the four men sat down, a tray of drinks was whisked in by a Filipino manservant. Arthur Lexington chose scotch and water, the President a dry sherry. Admiral Rapoport shook his head in refusal and, before James Howden, the man smilingly placed a glass of iced grape juice.

While the drinks were being served Howden watched the admiral covertly, recalling what he had heard of this man who (some said) was now virtually as powerful as the President himself.

Four years earlier Captain Levin Rapoport, USN, had been a regular navy officer on the point of compulsory retirement – compulsory because his superior admirals had twice passed him over for promotion despite a brilliant, highly-publicized career in pioneering underwater firing of intercontinental missiles. The trouble was that almost no one liked Levin Rapoport personally and a surprising number of influential superiors harboured feelings of active hatred. Mostly, the latter stemmed from a long-standing Rapoport habit of being dead right on every major issue affecting naval defence, and afterwards never hesitating to say 'I told you so', singling out by name those who had disagreed with him.

Coupled with this was a massive personal conceit (entirely justified, but unpleasant nonetheless), grossly bad manners, impatience with 'channels' and red tape, and open contempt for those whom Captain Rapoport considered his intellectual inferiors, as most were.

But what the higher navy brass had not foreseen in deciding to retire its controversial genius was the fierce outcry – from Congress and the public – at the prospect of the nation's loss if the Rapoport brain were no longer brooding actively upon its affairs. As one congressman put it succinctly, 'Goddam, we need the bastard.'

Thereupon, prodded sharply both from the Senate and White House, the Navy had climbed down and promoted Cap-rain Rapoport to rear-admiral, thus avoiding his retirement. Two years and two ranks later, following a series of fresh brilliances, Rapoport (a full admiral by now and pricklier than ever) had been whisked by the President from the Navy's orbit to be presidential chief of staff. Within a few weeks, through zeal, speed, and sheer ability, the new appointee was exercising more direct power than predecessors like Harry Hopkins, Sherman Adams, or Ted Sorenson had ever enjoyed.

Since then the list of directed achievements, known and unknown, had been formidable; a self-help overseas aid programme which, though late, was gaining America respect instead of contempt; at home, an agriculture policy which farmers fought savagely, claiming it wouldn't work, but (as Rapoport had said from the beginning would happen) it did; a crash research effort and, for long term, realignment of scientific education and pure research; and in law enforcement a crackdown on industrial fraud at one end of the scale and, at the other, a house-cleaning of labour, with Lufto, the once supreme labour hoodlum, ousted and jailed.

Someone (James Howden recalled) had asked in a moment of intimacy with the President, 'if Rapoport's that good, why doesn't he have your job?'

The President (it was said) had smiled benignly and answered, 'It's simply that I can get elected. Levin wouldn't receive six votes for dog catcher.'

Along the way, while the President had been acclaimed for his shrewdness in choosing talent. Admiral Rapoport continued to attract animosity and hate in much the same proportion as before.

James Howden wondered how this austere and harsh-minded man would affect Canada's destiny.

'Before we go on,' the President said, 'I'd like to ask: have you been getting everything you need at Blair House?'

Arthur Lexington replied smilingly, 'We're being cosseted with kindness.'

'Well, I'm glad of that.' The President had settled himself comfortably behind the big desk. 'Sometimes we have a little trouble over the road there – like when the Arabs burned incense, and part of the house along with it. Though I guess you won't check under the panelling the way the Russians did, looking for concealed microphones.'

'We'll promise not to,' Howden said, 'if you'll tell us where they are.'

The President gave his throaty chuckle. 'You'd better cable the Kremlin. Anyway, I shouldn't be surprised if they slipped their own transmitter in while they were about it.'

'That might not be such a bad arrangement,' Howden said easily. 'At least we'd get through to them. We don't seem to be doing much of a job by other means.'

'No,' the President said quietly, 'I'm afraid we don't.'

There was a sudden silence. Through a partially opened window the sound of traffic on B Street and children's cries from the White House playground, drifted in faintly. From somewhere close by, muted by intervening walls, a clack of typewriter keys could be sensed rather than heard. Subtly, Howden realized, the atmosphere had changed from flippancy to deadly seriousness. Now he asked, 'For the record, Tyler, do you still hold the opinion that open major conflict, within a comparatively short time, has become inevitable?'

'With all my heart and soul,' the President answered, 'I wish that I could say no. I can only tell you – yes.'

'And we're not ready, are we?' It was Arthur Lexington, his cherubic face pensive.

The President leaned forward. Behind him a breeze stirred the curtains and twin flags. 'No, gentlemen,' he said softly, 'we are not ready, and shall not be, until the United States and Canada, acting in the name of freedom and the hope of a better world we cling to, have manned, together, our single border and our common fortress.'

Well, Howden thought, we've come to the point quickly. The eyes of the others upon him, he said matter-of-factly, 'I've given your proposal for an Act of Union a great deal of consideration, Tyler.'

There was a ghost of a smile on the President's face. 'Yes, Jim; I imagined you would.'

'There are many objections,' Howden said.

'When something of this magnitude is involved' – the voice came quietly across the desk – 'it would be surprising if there were not.'

'On the other hand,' Howden declared, 'I may tell you that my senior colleagues and I are aware of substantial advantages in what is proposed, but only if certain considerations are met and specific guarantees given.'

'You talk of considerations and guarantees.' It was Admiral Rapoport, head thrust forward, speaking for the first time. His voice was taut and crisp. 'No doubt you, and the colleagues you refer to, have taken into account that any guarantee, from whatever source, would be useless without survival.'

'Yes,' Arthur Lexington said, 'we've considered that.'

The President interjected quickly, 'A point I'd like us to hold in mind, Jim – you, too, Arthur – is that time is against us. That's the reason I want us to move swiftly. It's also why we must speak plainly, even if we ruffle some feathers in the doing of it.'

Howden smiled grimly. 'There'll be no ruffled feathers, unless they're on your eagle. What do you suggest first?'

'I'd like to cover the ground again, Jim; that's what I'd like to do. Go over what we talked of last week by telephone. Let's be sure we understand each other. Then we'll see which way the compass points from there.'

The Prime Minister glanced at Lexington who gave the slightest of nods. 'Very well,' Howden said. 'I'm agreeable to that. Will you be the one to begin?'

'Yes, I will.' The President settled his broad-shouldered body in the swivel chair, half-turning from the others and towards the sunlight outside. Then he swung back, his eyes meeting Howden's.

'I spoke of time,' the President said slowly. 'Time in which to prepare for the attack which we know inevitably must come.'

From the sidelines Arthur Lexington asked quietly, 'How long do you think we have?'

'There is no time,' the President answered. 'By reckoning, reason, logic, we've used it all. And if we do have time – for anything – it will be by God's good grace alone.' Softly: 'Are you a believer in God's good grace, Arthur?'

'Well,' Lexington smiled, 'it's a nebulous kind of thing.'

'But it's there, believe me.' Above the desk a hand rose, paw-like, fingers spread as if in benediction. 'It saved the British once when they stood alone, and it may yet save us. I'm praying that it will, and I'm praying for the gift of a year. There can't be any more.'

Howden interjected, 'Three hundred days is what I'd hoped for myself.'

The President nodded. 'If we get it, it will be from God.

And whatever we get, tomorrow will be a day less, and an hour from now, an hour less.' The voice, with its Midwestern tone, quickened. 'So let us consider the picture as we in Washington see it now.'

Point by point, with a master's instinct for order and summary, the brush strokes filled in. First the factors which Howden had described for his own Defence Committee: the primary protection of US food-producing areas – key to survival after nuclear attack; the bristling missile bases on the US-Canada border; the inevitability of missile intercept over Canada territory; Canada the battleground, defenceless, destroyed by explosion and fallout; its food areas poisoned…

Then the alternative: missile bases to the North, greater US striking power, early intercept with reduction of fallout over both countries, avoidance of the battleground, and a chance for survival. But the desperate need of speed, and authority for America to move quickly… The Act of Union as proposed; total assumption of Canadian defence by the United States, and joint conduct of foreign affairs; disbandment of all Canadian armed forces and immediate re-recruitment under a joint Oath of Allegiance; abolition of border restrictions; customs union; the twenty-five-year term; a guarantee of Canadian sovereignty in all matters not proscribed…

The President declared simply: 'In face of our common peril, which knows no border and respects no sovereignty, we offer the Act of Union in friendship, esteem, and honour.'

Now there was a pause, the gaze of the small sturdy figure behind the desk ranging quizzically over the other three men. A hand went up to push back the familiar greying cowlick. The eyes beneath were wise and alert, James Howden thought, but behind them was an unmistakable sadness, the sadness perhaps of a man who has achieved so little of his lifetime's dream.

It was Arthur Lexington who interposed quietly, 'Whatever the motives, Mr President, it isn't a slight matter to abandon independence and change the course of history overnight.'

'Nevertheless,' the President observed, 'the course of history will change whether we direct its course or not. Borders are not immutable, Arthur; nor have they ever been in human history. Every border that we know will change or disappear in time, and so will our own and Canada's, whether we hasten the process or not. Nations may last a century or two, or even more; but in the end there's no forever.'

'I agree with you. there.' Lexington smiled faintly. He put down the drink he had been holding. 'But will everyone else?'

'No, not everyone.' The President shook his head. 'Patriots – the ardent ones, at least – have short-term minds. But others – if it's put to them plainly – will face facts when they have to.'

'Perhaps they may in time,' James Howden said. 'But as you point out, Tyler – and I agree – time is the one commodity we lack.'

'In that case, Jim, I'd like to hear what you suggest.' The moment had come. This was the time, Howden thought, for plain, hard dealing. Here was the crucial point at which Canada's future – if one existed – would be determined. True, even if broad agreement were reached now, there would be more negotiating later on, and specifics – many specifics and infinite detail – would have to be hammered out by experts on both sides. But that would come afterwards. The big broad issues, the major concessions – if any were to be swung -would be determined here and now between the President and himself.

It was quiet in the oval room. There were no longer noises of traffic or children outside – perhaps the wind had changed; and the typewriter had stopped. Arthur Lexington shifted position on the sofa; beside him Admiral Rapoport remained still – as he had from the beginning – as if lashed in place. The President's chair creaked as he swung it slightly, his eyes troubled and questioning across the desk, fixed on the Prime Minister's hawklike, brooding face. We are merely four men, Howden thought… ordinary mortal men, of flesh and blood, who will die soon and be forgotten… and yet, what we decide today will affect the world for centuries to come.

For a moment, as the silence hung, James Howden's mind was torn with indecision. Now that reality had come, doubt -as earlier – assailed him. A sense of history wrestled with a sane appraisal of known facts. Was his presence here, by its very nature, a betrayal of his own country? Was practicality -which had brought him to Washington – a matter for shame and not a virtue? There were spectres he had already faced, fears he had allayed. But now they arose, fresh and challenging again.

Then he reasoned, as he had in the days past, that the course of human history had shown national pride – the inflexible kind – to be mankind's worst enemy, and ordinary people paid the price in suffering. Nations had gone down because of vainglory, when moderation might have civilized and saved them. Canada, he was determined, should not go down.

'If this is to be done,' James Howden said, 'I shall need a mandate from our own voters. That means I must fight an election – and win.'

'I'd expected that,' the President said. 'Will it be soon?'

'Tentatively I'd say early June.'

The other nodded. 'I don't see how you could do it faster.'

'It will be a short campaign,' Howden pointed out, 'and we'll have strong opposition. Therefore I must have specific things to offer.'

Arthur Lexington put in, 'I'm sure, Mr President, that as a practical politician yourself, you'll see how necessary that is.'

The President grinned broadly. 'I'm almost afraid to agree for fear you fellows will hold me to ransom. So let me say: yes, I'm sure you'll get hell from your Opposition, but after all that's no novelty for any of us here. You'll win, though, Jim;

I'm sure of it. But as to the other – yes, I do see.'

'There are a number of points,' Howden said.

The President leaned back in his swivel chair. 'Shoot! '

'Canadian industry and employment must be safeguarded after the Act of Union.' Howden's voice was clear, his tone emphatic. He was no supplicant, he took pains to make clear, but an equal discussing equalities. 'United States investment and manufacturing in Canada must continue and expand. We don't want General Motors moving out because of customs union, consolidating with Detroit; or Ford with Dearborn. The same thing goes for smaller industry.'

'I agree,' the President said. He toyed with a pencil upon the desk. 'Industrial weakness would be a disadvantage all round. Something can be worked out, and I'd say you'll get more industry, not less.'

'A specific guarantee?'

The President nodded. 'A specific guarantee. Our Commerce Department and your Trade and Finance people can devise a tax incentive formula.' Both Admiral Rapoport and Arthur Lexington were making notes on pads beside them.

Howden got up from the chair facing the President's, took a turn away, then back. 'Raw materials,' he announced, 'Canada will control withdrawal permits and we want a guarantee against plundering. There's to be no bonanza for Americans -taking everything out for processing elsewhere.'

Admiral Rapoport said sharply, 'You've been ready enough to sell your raw resources in the past – if the price was high.'

'That's the past,' Howden snapped. 'We're discussing the future.' He was beginning to understand why dislike of the presidential assistant was so widespread.

'Never mind,' the President interceded. 'There should be more secondary manufacturing on the spot and it will help both countries. Next!'

'Defence contracts and foreign-aid buying,' Howden said. 'Canada will want some major manufacturing – aircraft and missiles, not just screws and bolts.'

The President sighed. 'There'll be hell to pay from our own lobbies. But somehow we'll do it.' More notes.

'I'll want one of my own cabinet ministers here in the White House,' Howden said. He had seated himself again. 'Someone who can be close to you to interpret both our points of view.'

'I'd planned to offer you something of the kind,' the President observed. 'What else do you have?'

'Wheat!' the Prime Minister announced. 'Your own exports and giveaways have taken over what were once our markets. What's more, Canada can't compete with production subsidized on your scale.'

The President glanced at Admiral Rapoport who thought briefly, then stated, 'We could give a no-interference guarantee, I suppose, affecting Canadian commercial sales, and ensure that the Canadian surplus – up to last year's figures – is sold first.'

'Well?' The President cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Howden.

The Prime Minister took his time about answering. Then he said carefully, 'I'd prefer to accept the first part of the deal and leave the second to negotiation. If your production increases, so should ours, with matching guarantees.'

With a trace of coolness the President asked, 'Aren't you pressing a little, Jim?'

'I don't think so.' Howden met the other's eyes directly. He had no intention of conceding yet. Besides, his biggest demand was still to come.

There was a pause, then the President nodded. 'Very well -negotiation.'

They continued to talk – of trade, industry, employment, foreign relations, consular activities, foreign exchange, domestic economics, authority of Canadian civil courts over US forces… In each instance the concessions the Prime Minister sought were granted, sometimes with minor modifications, in some cases after discussion, but mostly with none. It was not surprising really, Howden thought. Obviously there had been anticipation of most of the things he asked and the President had entered their parley prepared for speed and action.

If times had been ordinary – as much as any time in history is ordinary, James Howden reasoned – the concessions he had already wrested would remove obstacles to Canadian development which previous governments had sought to change for generations. But – he was forced to remind himself – the times were not ordinary or any future certain.

Lunchtime came and went. Absorbed, they had cold roast beef, a salad, and coffee on trays in the presidential office.

For dessert the Prime Minister nibbled on a chocolate bar which he had pocketed before leaving Blair House. It was one of a supply which the Canadian Ambassador had sent around the previous day, the Prime Minister's sweet tooth being known among intimates and friends.

And afterwards there arrived the moment for which James Howden had waited.

He had asked for a map of North America and, during lunch, one had been hung on the wall facing the President's desk. It was a large-scale political map with Canadian territory coloured pink, the United States sepia, and Mexico green. The US-Canadian border – a long black line – ran clear across the centre. Beside the map, a pointer had been propped against the wall.

Now James Howden addressed the President directly. 'As you observed an hour or two ago, Tyler, borders are not immutable. We of Canada – if the Act of Union becomes law in both our countries – are prepared to accept a change of border as a fact of life. The point is: are you?'

The President leaned forward across the desk, his brow furrowed. Tm not sure I follow you, Jim.'

Admiral Rapoport's face was expressionless.

'When the nuclear firing begins,' the Prime Minister said, speaking carefully, 'anything can happen. We may gain victory of a sort; or we may be routed and invaded, in which case no present plan will help. Or, in a short time, we may reach stalemate, with the enemy as reduced and helpless as ourselves.'

The President sighed. 'All our so-called experts tell me we shall virtually destroy each other in a matter of days. God knows how much or little they really, know, but one has to predicate plans on something.'

Howden smiled as a passing thought struck him. 'I know what you mean about experts. My barber has a theory that after a nuclear war the earth will split down the middle and break into pieces. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't put him in the Defence Department.'

'The real thing that stops us,' Arthur Lexington added, 'is that he's a damn good barber.'

The President laughed. Admiral Rapoport's face creased slightly in what might have been a smile.

Seriously once more, the Prime Minister went on, 'For our present purpose I believe we must consider the postwar situation on the assumption that we will not be defeated.'

The President nodded. 'I agree.'

'In that case,' Howden said, 'it seems to me there are two main possibilities. First, that both our governments – Canada and the US – may have ceased to function entirely, so that law and order are non-existent. In that event, nothing we say or do here can be of usefulness at that time; and I suppose, in any case, none of us in this room would be around as observers.'

How casually we talk of it all, he thought: life and death; survival and annihilation; the candle burning, the candle snuffed. And yet in our hearts we never really accept the truth. Always we assume that something, somehow, will impede the ultimate ending.

The President had risen silently from behind the desk. Turning his back to the others, he drew aside a curtain so that he was looking out across the White House lawn. The sun had gone in, Howden noticed; grey stratus cloud was filling the sky. Without turning the President intoned, 'You said two possibilities, Jim.'

'Yes,' Howden assented. 'The second possibility is the one I believe to be more likely.' The President left the window, returning to his chair. His face, Howden thought, seemed warier than before.

Admiral Rapoport inquired, 'What about your second point?' His tone said: Get on with it!

'It is the possibility,' Howden said evenly, 'that both our governments will survive to some extent, but that Canada, by reason of our closeness to the enemy, will have taken the severer blow.'

The President said softly, 'Jim, I swear to you before God that we shall do the best we can… before and afterwards.'

'I know,' Howden said, 'and it's the "afterwards" I'm considering. If there's a future for Canada, you must give us the key.'

'Key?'

'Alaska,' James Howden said quietly. 'Alaska is the key.'

He was conscious of the rhythm of his own breathing, aware from outside of a sudden minuet of melding sounds: the muted, distant note of an automobile horn; a patter of first raindrops; a bird's soft chirruping. Arthur Lexington, he reasoned inconsequentially, could name what breed of bird it was… Arthur Lexington, ornithologist… The Right Honourable Arthur Edward Lexington, PC, MA, LLD, Secretary of State for External Affairs, his command on each Canadian passport: 'In the name of Her Majesty the Queen… allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance… afford assistance and protection.' Arthur Lexington… now poker faced, challenging with himself, James Howden, the might and union of the United States.

You must give us Alaska, he repeated in his mind. Alaska is the key.

Silence. Immobility.

Admiral Rapoport, beside Lexington on the sofa: still. No warmth, no message, on the crinkled parchment face, the outsize head. Only steely eyes, coldly staring. Hurry… come to the point… don't waste my time… how dare you…!

How dare he… How dare he face, across that flag-flanked desk, the incumbent of the mightiest office in the world… with himself – leader of a smaller, weaker power – outwardly calm, inwardly tense, his absurd, preposterous demand already spoken.

He remembered the exchange between himself and Arthur Lexington eleven days earlier, the day before the cabinet committee. 'The Americans would never agree, never,' Lexington had said. And he had answered: 'If they are desperate enough, I think perhaps they might.'

Alaska. Alaska is the key.

The President's eyes were staring. They mirrored disbelief.

And still the silence.

After time which seemed endless, the President swivelled in his chair. He said evenly, 'Unless I have misunderstood you, I cannot believe that you are serious.'

'I have never been more serious,' James Howden said, 'in all my political life.'

Now, standing himself, he said forcefully and clearly, 'You were the one, Tyler, who spoke today of our "common fortress"; it was you who declared that our policies must concern themselves with "how" rather than "if"; you who affirm urgency, the absence of time. Well, I tell you now, and speaking for the Government of Canada, that there is agreement with all you say. But I tell you too, that for our own survival- and this we are determined upon if the Act of Union is to be accomplished – Alaska must become Canadian.'

The President spoke earnestly, pleadingly, 'Jim, it could never be done, believe me.'

'You're mad!' It was Admiral Rapoport, his face flushed.

'It can be done!' Howden hurled the words across the room. 'And I'm not mad, but sane. Sane enough to want survival of my own country; sane enough to fight for it – as, by God, I will!'

'But not this way…!'

'Listen to me!' Howden crossed swiftly to the map and took the pointer resolutely. He swung the tip in an arc, from east to west, the line he followed tracing the 49th parallel. 'Between here and here' – he traced a second line across the 60th parallel – 'your experts and ours tell us there will be devastation and fallout, perhaps – if we are lucky – in great patches across the country; perhaps overall, if we are not. Therefore our only chance of rebuilding afterwards, our sole hope for consolidating whatever is left of Canada, is to establish a new focal point, a new national centre away from devastation and until such time as we can regroup and move back, if ever we do.'

The Prime Minister paused, surveying the others grimly. The President's eyes were riveted upon the map. Admiral Rapoport opened his mouth as if to interject once more, then closed it. Arthur Lexington was covertly watching the admiral's profile.

'The Canadian regrouping territory,' Howden continued, 'must meet three main needs. It must be south of the tree line and the sub-arctic zone; if it were not, communications and support of life would be beyond our means. Second, the area must be west of our combined northern missile line; and, third, it must be a place where fallout is likely to be negative or light. North of the 49th parallel there is only one such area meeting all requirements – Alaska.'

The President asked softly, 'How can you be sure about fallout?'

Howden replaced the pointer against the wall. 'If, at this moment, I had to pick the safest place in the Northern Hemisphere during a nuclear war,' he said, 'it would be Alaska. It is fortified against invasion. Vladivostok, the nearest major target, is three thousand miles away. Fallout, either from Soviet attacks or our own, will be unlikely. As certain as anything can be – Alaska will come through.'

'Yes,' the President said, 'I think I agree with you – about that at least.' He sighed. 'But as to the other… it's an ingenious idea – and I must admit in honesty that a good deal of it makes sense. But surely you must see that neither I nor Congress can barter away a state of the Union.'

'In that case,' James Howden replied coldly, 'there is even less reason for my Government to barter away a country.'

Admiral Rapoport snorted angrily, 'The Act of Union would involve no bartering away.'

'That scarcely seems true,' Arthur Lexington interceded sharply. 'Canada would pay a heavy price.'

'No!' The admiral's voice took on a cutting edge. Tar from paying a price, it would be an act of amazing generosity to a greedy, vacillating country which has made a national pastime of timidity, fence-straddling, and hypocrisy. You talk of rebuilding Canada, but why bother? America did it for you once before; we'll probably do it again.'

James Howden had resumed his chair. Now, his face suffused with anger, he sprang to his feet. He said icily, 'I don't believe I have to listen to this, Tyler.'

'No, Jim,' the President said calmly, 'I don't believe you do. Except that we agreed to speak plainly, and sometimes there are things better said, and out in the open.'

Tense with resentment, Howden fumed, 'Am I to assume that you subscribe to this vicious libel?'

'Well, Jim, I grant that what was said could have been put more tactfully, but then that isn't Levin's way, though if you like I apologize for his choice of words.' The voice drawled easily across the desk to the Prime Minister, still standing erect. 'But I'd also say he has a point about Canada always wanting a great deal. Even now, with all that we are offering in the Act of Union, you're demanding more.'

Arthur Lexington had risen along with Howden. Now he walked to the window and, turning, his eyes were on Admiral Rapoport. 'Perhaps,' he observed, 'it's because we're entitled to more.'

'No!' The word snapped back from the admiral as though a needle had been jabbed. 'I said you were a greedy nation and so you are.' His thin voice rose. 'Thirty years ago you wanted an American standard of living, but you wanted it overnight. You chose to ignore that American standards took a century of sweat and belt-tightening to build. So you opened up your raw wealth that you might have husbanded instead; and you let Americans move in, develop your birthright, take the risks, and run the show. That way you bought your standard of living – then you sneered at the things we had in common.'

'Levin…' the President remonstrated.

'Hypocrisy, I said!' As if he had not heard, the admiral stormed on, 'You sold your birthright, then went searching for it with talk about distinctive Canadianism. Well, there was a Canadianism once, but you got soft and lost it, and not all your Royal Commissions piled on end will ever find it now.'

Hating the other man, his own voice tight with anger, James Howden exclaimed, 'It hasn't all been softness. There's a list from two world wars you may have heard of: St Eloi, Vimy, Dieppe, Sicily, Ortona, Normandy, Caen, Falaise…'

'There are always exceptions!' the admiral snapped. 'But I also recall that while US Marines were dying in the Coral Sea, the Parliament of Canada was debating conscription – which you never had.'

Wrathfully Howden said, 'There were other factors -Quebec, compromise…'

'Compromise, fence-straddling, timidity… what in hell's the difference when it's a national pastime? And you'll still be fence-straddling on the day the United States defends Canada with nuclear weapons – weapons you're glad we have, but are too self-righteous to employ yourselves.'

The admiral had risen and was standing facing Howden. The Prime Minister resisted an urgent impulse to strike out, raining blows on the face before him. Instead the President broke the hostile silence. 'I tell you what,' he suggested. 'Why don't you two fellows get together tomorrow morning at dawn by the Potomac. Arthur and I will be seconds, and we'll have the Smithsonian lend us pistols and swords.'

Lexington inquired dryly, 'Which of the two would you recommend?'

'Oh, if I were Jim, I'd take pistols,' the President said. 'The only ship Levin ever commanded missed everything it fired on.'

'We had poor ammunition,' the admiral remarked. For the first time the ghost of a smile creased his leathery face. 'Weren't you Secretary of the Navy then?'

'I've been so many things,' the President said. 'It's hard to remember.'

Despite the lessened tension, the heat of indignation still gripped Howden. He wanted to retaliate; to return words in kind, countering what had been said; attacking, as he could so readily: An accusation of greed came ill from a nation grown fat and opulent from riches… Timidity was hardly a charge to be laid by the United States which had practised selfish isolationism until forced at gun point to abandon it… Even Canadian vacillation was better than the blundering, naive ineptness of American diplomacy, with its crude belief in the dollar as an answer to all problems… America with its insufferably virtuous air of always being right; its refusal to believe that other concepts, alien systems of government, might sometimes have their virtues; its obstinate support of puppet, discredited regimes abroad… And at home slick, glib talk of freedom through the same mouth which smeared dissenters… and more, much more…

About to speak… fiercely, wildly… James Howden checked himself.

At times, he thought, there was statesmanship in silence. No catalogue of faults could ever be one-sided, and most of what Admiral Rapoport had said was uncomfortably true.

Besides, whatever else Rapoport might be, he was no fool. Subtly the Prime Minister had an instinct that a performance had been staged with himself as a participant. Had there been a deliberate attempt, he wondered, adroitly managed by the admiral, to throw him off balance? Perhaps; perhaps not; but brawling would achieve nothing. He was determined not to lose sight of the original issue.

Ignoring the others, he faced the President. 'I must make it perfectly clear, Tyler,' he announced evenly, 'that failing a concession on the issue of Alaska there can be no agreement between our respective governments.'

'Jim, you must see that the entire situation is impossible.' The President seemed calm and controlled, unshakable as ever. But the fingers of his right hand, Howden noticed, were drumming urgently upon the desk top. Now he went on, 'Couldn't we go back – let's talk about the other conditions. Maybe there, are more points we can cover, things we can spell out to Canada's advantage.'

'No.' Howden shook his head firmly. 'First, I don't see the situation as impossible and, second, we'll talk of Alaska or nothing.' He was convinced now – there had been an attempt to make him lose control. Of course, even if it had succeeded, the other side might have gained no advantage. But on the other band he might just have tipped his hand on how far he was prepared to compromise if forced. The President was a seasoned, wily negotiator who would never miss a hint like that if given.

The Prime Minister rubbed the tip of his long nose gently. 'I'd like to tell you,' he said, 'of the conditions we have in mind. Foremost, there would be a free election in Alaska, jointly supervised, and with a "yes" or "no" vote.'

The President said, 'You'd never win.' But the deep-pitched voice was a shade less dogmatic than before. Howden had a sense that subtly, in-some undefinable way, dominance of the negotiations had shifted to himself. He recalled Arthur Lexington's words earlier in the morning: 'Put in its crudest terms I'd say we're in a seller's market. The concessions we have to offer, the United States needs, and needs badly.'

'Frankly, I think we would win,' Howden said, 'and we'd go into the campaign intending to. There has always been a good deal of pro-Canadian feeling in Alaska, and lately it's intensified. What's more, whether you know it or not, the bloom has worn off statehood. You haven't done as much for them as they expected, and they're lonely up there. If we took over, we'd create a duplicate centre of government. We'd make Juneau -or maybe Anchorage – a secondary capital of Canada. We'd concentrate on Alaskan development ahead of all other provinces. We'd give Alaskans a sense of no longer being apart.'

'I'm sorry,' the President said flatly. 'I can't accept all that.'

This was the moment, Howden knew, to play his ace. 'Perhaps you will believe more readily,' he announced' quietly, 'if I tell you that the first approach in this matter has come, not from Canada, but from Alaska itself.'

The President stood up. His eyes were riveted on Howden's. He said sharply, 'Please explain yourself.'

'Two months ago,' the Prime Minister declared, 'I was approached in secrecy by a single spokesman for a group of prominent Alaskans. The proposal I have made to you today is the proposal made to me at that time.'

The President moved from behind the desk. His face was close to Howden's. 'The names,' he said. His voice was unbelieving. 'I would have to know the names.'

Arthur Lexington produced a single sheet of paper. Taking it, the Prime Minister passed it to the President. 'These are the names.'

As he read, incredulity spread over the President's face. At the end he passed the list to Admiral Rapoport.

'I will not attempt…' For Once the words came haltingly. 'I will not attempt, I say, to hide from you that these names and information are a considerable shock.'

Howden was silent, waiting.

'Assuming,' the President said slowly, 'just assuming there was a plebiscite, and you lost.'

'As I say, we wouldn't expect to. We'd make the specific terms attractive, just as you've made the Act of Union attractive. And you yourself would urge a "yes" vote on the grounds of North American unity and defence.'

'Would I?' Eyebrows shot up.

'Yes, Tyler,' Howden said firmly; 'that would be a part of our agreement.'

'But even with that, you might lose,' the President persisted. 'The vote might go "no".'

'Obviously, if that happened, we would accept the decision. Canadians believe in self-determination too.'

'In that event, what about the Act of Union?'

'It would be unaffected,' James Howden said. 'With the promise of Alaska – or at least the plebiscite – I can win an election in Canada, and a mandate for the Act of Union. The plebiscite would come afterwards and, whatever the result, there could be no going back on what was already done.'

'Well…' The President glanced at Admiral Rapoport, whose face was inscrutable. Then, half in thought, half aloud:

'It would mean a constitutional convention in the State… If I took it to Congress, I suppose those conditions would make it discussable…'

Howden remarked quietly, 'May I remind you of your own statement about congressional support. I believe your words were: "There isn't any legislation I want that I can't have passed."'

The President slammed a fist into his palm. 'Goddam, Jim! You're adroit at turning a man's own words against him.'

'I should warn you, Mr President,' Arthur Lexington said easily, 'the gentleman has a tape-recorder memory for spoken words. At times, back home, we find it disconcerting.'

'By God, I should think so! Jim, let me ask you a question.'

'Please do.'

'Why is it that you believe you can hold out for what you're demanding? You need the Act of Union and you know it.'

'Yes,' James Howden said, 'I think we do. But frankly I believe you need it more, and, as you said, time is what counts.'

There was a silence in the small room. The President drew a deep breath. Admiral Rapoport shrugged and turned away.

'Supposing, just supposing,' the President said softly, 'that I agreed to your terms, subject of course to congressional approval, how would you plan to make this known?'

'An announcement to the House of Commons eleven days from now.'

Again a pause.

'You understand… I'm only supposing…' The words were reluctant, laboured. 'But if it happened, I would be obliged to make an identical statement before a joint session of Congress. You realize that our two statements would have to be coincided to the second.'

'Yes,' Howden said.

He had succeeded, he knew. In his mouth was (he taste of victory.

Chapter 3

In the private cabin of the Vanguard, Margaret Howden, smartly dressed in a new grey-blue suit, a velour hat perched neatly on her attractive grey hair, had emptied the contents of her handbag on to a small reading table in front of her seat. Sorting crumpled US and Canadian bills – mostly small denominations – she glanced at her husband who was absorbed with the editorial page of a day-old Toronto Daily Star. Fifteen minutes earlier, after a ceremonial farewell by the Vice-President, supported by an honour guard of FS Marines, their special flight had taken off from Washington airport. Now, in mid-morning sunshine, above broken cumulus cloud, they were flying smoothly northward towards Ottawa and home.

'You know,' Howden said, turning pages, 'I've often wondered why we don't let editorial writers take over and run the country. They've a solution for everything. Though, of course,' he mused, 'if they did run the country there's always the problem of who'd write the editorials.'

'Why not you?' Margaret said. She put the bills beside a small pile of silver already counted. 'Perhaps that way you and

I could have more time together and I wouldn't have to go shopping to fill in time on trips. Oh dear! – I'm afraid I've been quite extravagant.'

Howden grinned involuntarily. Putting down the newspaper, he asked, 'How much?'

Margaret checked the money she had counted against a pencilled list with receipts attached. She answered ruefully, 'Almost two hundred dollars.'

He was tempted to protest mildly, then remembered he had not revealed to Margaret their latest financial problem. Well, the money was spent; what was the point in worrying now? Besides, a discussion about their own finances – which always made Margaret anxious – would consume more energy than he was willing to expend at the moment. Instead he said, 'I'm not due for a customs exemption, but you are. So you can take in a hundred dollars' worth, duty-free, but declare the rest and you'll have to pay some tax.'

'No, I won't!' Margaret exclaimed. 'It's the most absurd thing I ever heard of. You know perfectly well the customs men would never come near us if you didn't insist on it. You're entitled to privileges; why not use them?' As if instinctively, her hand covered the small remaining pile of dollars.

'Dear,' he said patiently – they had been over this same ground on other occasions – 'you know how I feel about this sort of thing. I happen to believe that I should act like an ordinary citizen is expected to by law.'

A flush of colour in her cheeks, Margaret said, 'All I can say is, you're being absolutely childish.'

'Perhaps so,' he insisted gently. 'All the same, that's the way I'd like it done.'

Again he felt a reluctance to involve himself in deeper explanation; to point out the political wisdom of being painstakingly honest about small things, even to avoiding the mild smuggling which most-Canadians indulged in at one time or another when they returned across the border. Besides, he had always been aware how easy it was for people like himself in public life to be tripped up by small, and sometimes innocent, transgressions. There were petty minds, especially among rival parties, always at watch for the slightest slip which afterwards the newspapers would gleefully record. He had seen politicians hounded out of public life, disgraced, through small offences which in other circles would draw no more than a mild rebuke. And then there were others who for years had lined their pockets with huge sums of public money but were caught out -through carelessness usually – on some minor issue.

He folded the newspaper and put it down.

'Don't be too upset, dear, about paying duty just this once. There may not be any duty – or customs procedure – soon.' He had already told Margaret, the previous evening, the broad outline of the Act of Union.

'Well,' his wife said, 'I'm certainly not sorry about that. I've always thought it silly to go through so much performance -opening bags, declaring things – between two countries so close together in every way.'

Howden smiled, but decided not to lecture Margaret on the history of Canadian tariffs which had made possible the extremely favourable terms of the Act of Union. And they were favourable terms, he thought, leaning back in the comfortable upholstered seat. Once more, as he had several times in the past twenty-four hours, James Howden reflected on the undoubted success of his negotiations in Washington.

Of course, even at the end the President had given no firm commitment on the demand about Alaska. But there would be a commitment for the Alaskan plebiscite; of that, Howden was convinced. The idea, naturally, needed time to accept. At first the whole proposal – as it had originally in the Prime Minister's own mind – would seem outrageous and impossible in Washington. But considered carefully it was a sane and logical extension of the Act of Union, in which Canada was to concede so much.

And as for the plebiscite in Alaska, coupled with the support he already had, Canada could make the terms for a 'yes' vote so attractive that they would not be refused. Moreover, in advance, he would declare generous compensation for Alaskan residents who chose not to stay under a new regime, though he hoped most would. In any case, with the Act of Union in force, the borders between Alaska, Canada, and the remainder of the continental US would be merely imaginary. The difference in Alaska would simply be one of Canadian civil law and administration taking over.

The one major factor which he had not discussed with the President was the possibility that Canada, despite expected devastation, might emerge, postwar, the stronger and senior partner in the Act of Union. But as to that, and its practical effect, only time could determine.

The prop-jet motors whined on as the Vanguard winged northward. Glancing from the cabin window, he saw there were still green fields beneath them.

'Where are we, Jamie?' Margaret asked.

He glanced at his watch. 'We'll have left Maryland by now, so I expect we're over Pennsylvania. After that, just New York State, then a few minutes to home.'

'I hope it isn't snowing in Ottawa,' Margaret said, putting her receipts and money away. 'I'd like to get cold again gradually.'

He thought amusedly: there are things I'd like to do gradually, too. Ideally, there should be a slow, painstaking build-up of influential support for the Act of Union. But, as always, time was short and he would have to take chances and move swiftly.

Fortunately, he now had a great deal to offer. The arrangement about Alaska, plus the other substantial concessions, would be ample to place before Parliament and the voters. Coupled with the gravity of the times, which required no emphasis, he was convinced he could win an election, thereby providing a mandate for the Act of Union.

And even apart from crisis, the time was ripe. Ten or even five years ago, when the search for a so-called Canadian identity, with all its attendant chauvinism, was at its height, any Act of Union would have been rejected out of hand. But the national mood since then had changed.

Naturally, the Opposition, led by Bonar Deitz, would fight with every weapon they could employ. But he could beat them, he was sure. Extreme nationalism nowadays was seen for what it was – a dangerous self-indulgence; and dangerous because, for a while, it had alienated Canada from its strongest friend in a hostile world. Now, ties of culture, idealism, fellow feeling, and sometimes even love, ran frankly north and south in increasing measure. It was not that people had ceased to be critical of the United States; on the contrary, the US could frequently be the despair of friends and admirers alike. But at least underneath, with all faults allowed for, there was a common basic decency – in contrast to the festering, malevolent evil elsewhere in the world.

Margaret had picked up the Star and turned its pages. 'Oh, here are the horoscopes, Jamie. Did you read yours?' Turning his head, he answered testily, 'No, and I wish you wouldn't keep bringing that up.' He wondered if Margaret were trying to bait him in retaliation for their argument earlier. Just lately their relationship had been a trifle strained, he thought, perhaps because they had spent too little time alone. Their last long talk had been when?… oh yes, the evening of the affair at Government House. He supposed he ought to be more considerate of Margaret, but the trouble was, there were so few hours in a day and so many things that were important and could be done only by himself. Perhaps, when some of the preparation he now faced was over, there would be more time…

'What awful gibberish this is!' Margaret rustled the newspaper indignantly. 'Really! – the Star is so self-righteous with its exposes of this and that, and then they print this kind of dishonesty every day.'

'They're probably ashamed of it,' her husband said. 'But it helps sell papers. So they put it near the back hoping no one will notice except those who want to read.'

'Listen! This is your prediction for today, Jamie – Sagittarius.' Margaret read carefully, holding the page towards the light. '"Important and favourable Venus vibrations. Do not worry about your efforts; they have been good and will materialize further. Carry on, and don't lose faith in yourself. But look out for clouds which are becoming bigger."' She put down the paper. 'What rubbish! What appalling rubbish i'

'Yes,' James Howden said, 'isn't it?' It was strange, though, he thought: the reference to the cloud once more. What had it been the time before, just a week and a half ago: beware of the cloud no larger than a man's hand. The phrase was from the Old Testament, wasn't it? The story of Elijah, who had seen a little cloud arise from the sea… and afterwards he had been touched by the angel, and had anointed kings; and later still he had divided the waters of Jordan and risen to heaven in a fiery chariot. But to Elijah the cloud had been an omen of strength. Was it that for himself; or an omen of warning? Which? Suddenly the words of old Mrs Zeeder came back… the day in court at Medicine Hat… I'm a child born under Sagittarius, dear. You'll see.'

'Jamie!' Margaret said sharply.

'What is it?' Abruptly he refocused his thoughts.

'What were you thinking then?'

'I wasn't,' he lied. 'I'd switched my mind off.'

A few minutes later Margaret announced, 'Wing Commander Galbraith invited me to the flight deck. I suppose I'd better go.'

Her husband nodded. 'I wish you would; and apologize for me this trip.' He glanced across the cabin at a wall clock. 'While you're gone I suppose I'd better see young Prowse. He's been bursting with something or other for the past two days.'

Despite the presence of an entourage – the three cabinet ministers and his own senior staff, now in the forward cabin -the Prime Minister had spent little time in Washington with anyone except Arthur Lexington.

'All right,' Margaret said. 'I'll send him in.'

Elliot Prowse, who entered from the forward cabin after Margaret had left, was one of the Prime Minister's two executive assistants. Young, athletically handsome, independently wealthy, and an honours graduate of McGill University, he was serving a political apprenticeship in a manner quite usual nowadays for young men whose ambitions lay towards higher political office. In a few years' time he would resign his present job and seek election to the House of Commons.

Meanwhile, the party made good use of his brains and scholarship, while he himself acquired a unique insight into administrative government, which eventually could be a short cut to cabinet rank.

James Howden was never quite certain how much he liked Prowse, who, at times, could be uncomfortably earnest. But now the Prime Minister's glowing satisfaction about the Washington talks prompted him to be expansive. Waving the assistant to a facing chair, he inquired, 'Well, Elliot, I believe you've something on your mind.'

'Yes, sir.' Prowse sat down carefully, his expression serious as usual. 'K you remember, I started to tell you yesterday…'

'I know you did,' Howden said, 'and I'm sorry I cut you off. But there were special problems – some of them you know – and I couldn't take time out.'

He thought he detected a trace of impatience in the younger man. Well, that was something else you had to learn in politics: to become used to talk, a great deal of it unnecessary, but it was the coinage of the business.

'Mr Richardson and Miss Freedeman have both been in touch with me,' Elliot Prowse said. 'It's about that immigration case in Vancouver.'

'For God's sake, no!' James Howden exploded. 'I've already heard enough of that to last a lifetime.'

'It seems they've been hearing a good deal more in Ottawa.' Prowse consulted a sheet of paper in a file he had brought in.

Howden fumed, 'Haven't people anything else to occupy their damn fool minds? Don't they know there are other things – more important issues – going on in the world?' Announcement of the Act of Union, he thought, would effectively wipe anything about immigration out of the news; when word came, the newspapers would have room for nothing else. But it was too soon yet…

'I can't answer that, sir.' Prowse had a habit of always taking questions literally, rhetorical or not. 'But I do have figures on telegrams and mail received on the subject so far.'

Tell me,' Howden grunted.

'Since you left Ottawa, and up to this morning, there've been two hundred and forty telegrams and three hundred and thirty-two letters addressed to you. All but two telegrams and eighteen of the letters are in favour of the man on the ship and critical of the Government.'

'Well,' Howden growled, 'at least there are twenty people with sense.'

'There have also been some new developments.' Elliot Prowse consulted his notes again. 'The man on the ship apparently has a lawyer who, the day before yesterday, obtained an order nisi for habeas corpus. The application is down for hearing in Vancouver this afternoon.'

'The court will throw it out,' Howden said wearily. 'It's an old legal dodge. I've used it myself.'

'Yes, sir; I understand they hold that opinion in Ottawa. But Mr Richardson is very concerned about newspaper coverage. It seems there's been a good deal. He asked me to report that the news stories are increasing in size and most of them are on page one. Some of the Eastern dailies now have their own reporters in Vancouver covering the case. There were fourteen critical editorials following your own remark before leaving for Washington. Mr Bonar Deitz is also making statements attacking the Government at every opportunity. In Mr Richardson's words, "the Opposition is making hay".'

'What the hell did he think they'd do?' the Prime Minister said angrily. 'Come out to cheer for us?'

'I don't really know what he thought about that.'

Howden snapped irritably, 'And why the hell do you have to answer every question?'

'I always assumed you expected an answer,' Prowse said.

The young man's tone expressed polite surprise and despite his own anger Howden released a smile. 'It isn't your fault. It isn't anybody's fault, except…' His thoughts were on Harvey Warrender.

'There's one other thing,' Elliot Prowse was saying. 'Mr Richardson asked me to warn you there'll be more press questioning at the airport on landing. He says he doesn't see how you can avoid it.'

'I won't do any avoiding,' James Howden said grimly. He looked at his assistant directly. 'You're supposed to be a bright young man. What do you suggest?'

'Well…' Prowse hesitated.

'Go on.'

'If I may say so, sir, you're quite effective when you lose your temper.'

Howden smiled again, then shook his head. 'Let me warn you: never, never lose your temper with the Press.'

But later, forgetting his own advice, he had.

It happened after landing at Ottawa airport. They had taxied, as incoming VIP nights usually did, to the public side of the airport instead of the RCAF side from which the Vanguard had taken off. In the private cabin, with Elliot Prowse gone and his own recent anger shelved for the time being, James Howden basked contentedly in the mental glow of a triumphal homecoming, even though, for the moment, his success in Washington could be shared only with an inner few.

Peering from the window, Margaret observed, 'There seems quite a crowd on the observation deck. Do you think they're waiting for us?

Releasing his own seat belt, he leaned forward across Margaret. It was true, he saw at once; several hundred people, most with heavy overcoats and scarves protecting them from the cold, were tightly packed against the guard rail and behind. Even while they watched, others arrived to swell the numbers.

'It's entirely possible,' he said expansively. 'After all, the Prime Minister of Canada does have a certain status, you know.'

Margaret's expression was non-committal. 'I hope we can get through it all quickly,' she said. 'I'm a little tired.'

'Well, it shouldn't be too long, but I expect I'll have to say a few words.' His mind toyed with phrases:… extremely successful talks (he could say that much without being premature)… an announcement on practical achievements within the next few weeks… striving for closer, cordial (better not say intimate) relations between our two countries… happy to renew my own long-standing friendship with the President…

Something on those lines, he decided, should suit the occasion well.

The engines were stopped, fuselage door opened, and a stairway wheeled in. As the others aboard waited politely, James Howden and Margaret were the first out.

The sun was shining patchily and a chilling north wind gusted across the airport.

As they paused, sheltered partially from the wind, on the platform above the stairs it occurred to Howden that the crowd, no more than a hundred yards away, was strangely quiet.

Stuart Cawston trotted up to meet them, his hand outstretched, 'Greetings!' he beamed, 'and welcome home on behalf of us all.'

'Goodness!' Margaret exclaimed. 'We were only away three days.'

'It's just that it seemed longer,' Cawston assured her. 'We missed you.'

As Smiling Stu's hand clasped Howden's he murmured, 'A wonderful, wonderful outcome. You've done a great service for the country.'

Moving down the stairway, with Margaret ahead, Howden inquired softly, 'You've talked with Lucien Perrault?' -

The Finance Minister nodded. 'Just as you instructed by phone. I informed Perrault, but no one else.'

'Good!' Howden said approvingly. They began to walk towards the airport buildings. 'We'll hold a full Cabinet tomorrow, and meanwhile I'd like to talk with you, Perrault, and one or two others tonight. It had better be in my office,'

Margaret protested, 'Must it really be tonight, Jamie? We're both tired and I did so hope it could be a quiet evening.'

'There'll be other quiet evenings,' her husband replied with a trace of impatience.

'Perhaps you could drop over to our place, Margaret,' Cawston suggested. 'I'm sure Daisy would be pleased.'

'Thank you, Stu,' Margaret shook her head. 'I think not tonight.'

Now they were halfway to the terminal building. Behind them, others were descending from the aeroplane.

Once more the Prime Minister was conscious of the silent, watching crowd. He observed curiously, 'They're unusually quiet, aren't they?'

A frown crossed Cawston's face. 'I'm told the natives aren't friendly.' He added: 'It's an organized demonstration, it seems. They came in buses.'

At that, as if the words were a signal, the storm broke.

The catcalls and boos came first, intensely fierce, as if pent up and suddenly released. Then there were shouts, with words audible like 'Scrooge!' 'Dictator!' 'Heartless Bastard!' 'We'll get you out!' 'You won't be Prime Minister long!' 'Wait until the next election!'

At the same time, with a kind of ragged precision, the placards went up. Until this moment they had been concealed, but now Howden could read:

IMMIGRATION DEPT:

CANADA'S GESTAPO

LET DUVAL IN,

HE DESERVES A BREAK

CHANGE FIENDISH

IMMIGRATION LAWS

JESUS CHRIST WOULD BE

TURNED AWAY HERE

CANADA NEEDS DUVAL,

NOT HOWDEN

THIS HEARTLESS GOVERNMENT

MUST GO

Tight-lipped he asked Cawston, 'You knew of this?' 'Brian Richardson warned me,' the Finance Minister said unhappily. 'According to him, the whole thing has been bought and paid for by the Opposition. But, frankly, I didn't think it would be this bad.' '

The Prime Minister saw television cameras swing towards the placards and the booing crowd. This scene would be going across the country tonight.

There was nothing else to do but continue on to the terminal doorway as the angry shouts and booing grew louder. James Howden took Margaret's arm and forced a smile. 'Just act as if nothing is happening,' he urged, 'and don't hurry.' 'I'm trying,' Margaret said. 'But it's a bit hard.' The sound of shouting diminished as they entered the terminal building. A group of reporters was waiting, Brian Richardson hovering behind. More TV cameras were focused upon the Prime Minister and Margaret.

As the Howdens halted, a young reporter asked, 'Mr Prime Minister, have you changed your views at all on the Duval immigration case?'

After Washington… the parley in high places, the President's respect, his own success… to have this the first question was a final indignity. Experience, wisdom, caution fled as the Prime Minister declared wrathfully, 'No, I have not changed my views, nor is there any likelihood that I shall. What occurred just now – in case you are unaware – was a calculated political demonstration, staged by irresponsible elements.' The reporters' pencils raced as Howden continued, 'These elements – and I need not name them – are using this minor issue in an attempt to divert public attention from the real achievements of the Government in more important areas. Furthermore, I say to you that the Press, by its continued emphasis on this insignificant affair, at a time when grave and great decisions confront our country, is being duped or is irresponsible, and perhaps both.'

He saw Brian Richardson, shake his head urgently. Well, Howden thought, the newspapers had things their own way often enough, and sometimes attack was the best defence. But more moderately, his temper cooling, he continued, 'You gentlemen should remember that I answered questions on this subject, patiently and at length, three days ago. But if you have forgotten, I will emphasize again that the Government intends to abide by the law as embodied in the Immigration Act.'

Someone said quietly, 'You mean you'd leave Duval to rot on the ship?'

The Prime Minister snapped: 'The question does not concern me.'

It was an unfortunate choice of phrase: he had meant that the matter was outside his own jurisdiction. But obstinacy prevented him from changing what was already said.

By evening the quotation had gone from coast to coast. Radio and TV repeated it, and morning paper editors, with minor variations, slugged the story:

Duval: PM 'Unconcerned'

Press, Public 'Irresponsible'