The Icarus Agenda

Chapter 39

The introductions were brief and Kendrick had the distinct impression that not all the names or titles were entirely accurate. As a result, he studied each face as if he were about to commit it to a canvas he was incapable of painting. Khalehla had been right, the seven-man council was a mix but not as difficult to discern as she had thought. A staffer making thirty to forty thousand dollars a year did not dress or behave like someone who spent such sums on a weekend visit to Paris… or Divonne. He judged that the staff was in the minority: three official aides versus four outside advisers—the kitchen cabinet from California.

Vice President Orson Bollinger was a man of medium height, medium build, medium middle age, and afflicted with a medium high voice that fell between the narrow parameters of being dismissible and convincing. He was… well, medium, the ideal second in command so long as Number One was in good health and vigour. He was vaguely perceived as a toady who might just possibly rise to the occasion, but only possibly. He was neither a threat nor was he stupid. He was a political survivor because he understood the unwritten rules of the also-ran. He greeted Congressman Evan Kendrick warmly and led him into his impressive private library where his 'people' were assembled, sitting in various leather armchairs and on dark leather couches.

'We've cancelled our Christmas festivities here,' said Bollinger, sitting in the most prominent chair and indicating that Evan should sit beside him, 'in deference to dear Ardis and Andrew. Such a terrible tragedy, two such magnificently patriotic people. She simply couldn't live without him, you know. You'd have to have seen them together to understand.'

Nods and impatient grunts of agreement came from around the room. 'I understand, Mr. Vice President,' interjected Kendrick sadly. 'As you may know, I met Mrs. Vanvlanderen a number of years ago in Saudi Arabia. She was a remarkable woman and so very sensitive.'

'No, Congressman, I didn't know that.'

'It's immaterial, but of course not to me. I'll never forget her. She was remarkable.'

'As, indeed, is your request for a meeting this evening,' said one of the two official aides sitting on the couch. 'We're all aware of the Chicago movement to challenge the Vice President, and we understand that it may not have your endorsement. Is that true, Congressman?'

'As I explained to the Vice President this afternoon, I didn't hear about it until a week ago… No, it doesn't have my endorsement. I've considered other plans that do not concern further political pursuits.'

'Then why not simply declare your non-candidacy?' asked a second aide from the same couch.

'Well, I guess things are never as simple as we'd like them to be, are they? I'd be less than candid if I said I wasn't flattered by the proposal, and during the past five days my staff did some fairly extensive polling, both regionally and among the party leadership. They've concluded that my candidacy is a viable prospect.'

'But you just said you had other plans,' interrupted a heavyset man in grey flannels and a gold-buttoned navy blue blazer… not an aide.

'I believe I said that I've considered other plans, other pursuits. Nothing's finalized.'

'What's your point, Congressman?' asked the same staffer who had suggested that Evan should declare he would not stand.

'That could be between the Vice President and me, couldn't it?'

'These are my people,' offered Bollinger unctuously, smiling benignly.

'I understand that, sir, but my people are not here… perhaps to guide me.'

'You don't look or sound like someone who needs a hell of a lot of guidance,' said a short, compact adviser from a leather chair unflatteringly large for his small frame. 'I've seen you on television. You've got some pretty strong opinions.'

'I couldn't change those any more than a zebra could change his stripes, but there may be mitigating circumstances why they should remain privately held beliefs rather than publicly expressed ones.'

'Are you trading horses?' asked a third contributor, this a tall, lanky man in an open shirt with deeply tanned features.

'I'm not trading anything,' objected Kendrick firmly. 'I'm attempting to explain a situation that hasn't been clarified and I think it damn well should.'

'No need to get upset, young fella,' said Bollinger earnestly, frowning at his large, suntanned adviser. 'It's not a demeaning choice of words, you know. “Trading” is intrinsic to our great democratic contract. Now, what's this situation that should be clarified?'

'The Oman crisis… Masqat and Bahrain. The basic reason I've been singled out for higher political office.' Suddenly, it was apparent that the Vice President's people all thought they were going to be given information that might wash away the Oman myth, vitiate the potential candidate's strongest appeal. All eyes were riveted on the congressman. 'I went to Masqat,' continued Evan, 'because I knew who was behind the Palestinian terrorists. He used the same tactics on me, driving my company out of business and robbing me of millions.'

'You wanted revenge, then?' suggested the heavyset adviser in the gold-buttoned blazer.

'Revenge, hell, I wanted my company back—I still want it. The time will come fairly soon now and I want to head back to pick up the pieces, to make up for all those profits I left behind.'

The fourth contributor, a florid-faced man with a distinct Boston accent, leaned forward. 'You goin' back t' the Middle East?'

'No, to the Persian Gulf states—there's a difference. The Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar, Dubai, they're not Lebanon or Syria or Gaddafi's Libya. The word from Europe is that construction's starting up all over again and I intend to be there.'

'You sold your company,' said the tall, suntanned contributor with the open shirt, his speech laconic but precise.

'At a forced sale. It was worth five times what I was paid. But that's not too large a problem for me. Against West German, French and Japanese capital, I may have a few problems at the beginning, but my contacts are as extensive as anyone else's. Also…' Kendrick played out his scenario with understated conviction, touching on his relationships with the royal houses and ministers of Oman, Bahrain, Abu Dhabi and Dubai, mentioning the protection and the assistance, including private transportation, provided for him by the governments of Oman and Bahrain during the Masqat crisis. Then, as abruptly as he began, he stopped. He had drawn the picture sufficiently for their imaginations; more might be too much.

The men in the library looked at one another, and with an almost imperceptible nod from the Vice President, the heavy man in the navy blue blazer spoke. 'It strikes me that your plans are pretty well solidified. What would you want with a job that pays a hundred and fifty thou a year and too many chicken dinners? You're not a politician.'

'Considering my age, the time factor could be attractive. Five years from now I'll still be in my forties, and the way I read things, even if I started tomorrow over there it would take me two, perhaps three years to be in full operation—and I could be shy a year there, there are no guarantees. But if I go the other way and actively seek the nomination, I might actually get it—that's no reflection on you, Mr. Vice President. It's merely the result of the media treatment that I've been given.'

When several others began speaking at once, Bollinger held up his hand, barely inches above the arm of his chair. It was enough to quiet them. 'And, Congressman?'

'Well, I think it's pretty obvious. There's no question in anyone's mind that Jennings will win the election, although he may have problems with the Senate. If I were fortunate enough to be on the ticket, I'd go from the House to the vice presidency, spend my time and come out with more international influence—and, quite frankly, resources—than I could ever hope to have otherwise.'

'That, Congressman,' cried an angry young third aide from a straight-backed chair next to his colleagues on the couch, 'is blatantly using the trust of public office for personal profit!'

There was a mass lowering and straying of the contributors' eyes. 'If I didn't think you spoke out impetuously and mistakenly because you don't understand,' said Evan calmly, 'I'd be extremely offended. I'm stating an obvious fact because I want to be completely open with Vice President Bollinger, a man I deeply respect. What I mentioned is the truth; it goes with the office. But in no way does that truth take away from the energy or the commitment I'd give to that office while serving it and the nation. Whatever rewards might come from such a position, whether in the form of publishing, corporate boardrooms or golf tournaments, they wouldn't be given to a man who took his responsibilities lightly. Like Vice President Bollinger, I couldn't operate that way.'

'Well said, Evan,' commented the Vice President softly while looking harshly at the impulsive aide. 'You're owed an apology.'

'I apologize,' said the young man. 'You're right, of course. It all goes with the office.'

'Don't be too apologetic,' admonished Kendrick, smiling. 'Loyalty to one's boss isn't anything to be sorry about.' Evan turned to Bollinger. 'If he's a black belt, I'm getting out of here fast,' he added, breaking the momentary tension with laughter.

'He plays a mean game of Ping-Pong,' said the older aide on the left of the couch.

'He's very creative keeping score,' said the oldest staffer on the right. 'He cheats.'

'At any rate,' continued Evan, waiting until the grins—mostly forced—had left the assembled faces. 'I meant it when I said I wanted to be completely frank with you, Mr. Vice President. These are the things I have to think about. I've lost four, almost five years, of a career—a business—I worked extremely hard to develop. I was short-circuited by a mad killer and forced to sell because people were afraid to work for me. He's dead and things have changed; they're getting back to normal, but the European competition is heavy. Can I do it by myself or should I actively campaign for the ticket and, if I succeed, have certain guarantees that result from holding the office? On the other hand, do I really want to spend the additional years and the enormous amounts of time and energy that go with the job?… These are questions only I can answer, sir. I hope you understand.'

And then Kendrick heard the words he had hoped beyond hope to hear—hope in this case far more meaningful than in his statement to Bollinger.

'I know it's late for your staff, Orson,' said the tall, lanky man in the open shirt that set off his suntanned flesh, 'but I'd like to talk a little further.'

'Yes, certainly,' agreed the Vice President, turning to his aides. 'These poor fellas have been up since dawn, what with the dreadful news about Ardis and all. Go home, boys, and have Christmas with your families—I brought all the wives and kids out here on Air Force Two, Evan, so they could be together.'

'Very thoughtful, sir.'

Thoughtful, hell. Maybe they all have black belts… You're dismissed, troops. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, and if I remember correctly, the next day's Christmas. So unless the Ruskies blow up Washington, I'll see you in three days.'

'Thank you, Mr. Vice President.'

'You're very kind, sir.'

'We can stay, if you wish,' said the oldest, as each successively got out of his chair.

'And have you mauled by your two associates?' asked Bollinger, grinning at the expressions of the others. 'I wouldn't hear of it. On your way out, send in the butler. We might as well have a brandy while we solve all the world's problems.'

See-No-Evil, Speak-No-Evil and Hear-No-Evil left the room, programmed robots reacting to a familiar marching tune. The man in the gold-buttoned navy blue blazer leaned forward in his chair, his stomach making it difficult for him. 'You want to talk frankly, Congressman? Real frank and real honest? Well, we're going to do that.'

'I don't understand, Mr… I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.'

'Cut the shit-shit!' exclaimed the florid Bostonian. 'I've heard better crap from the ward heelers in Southie.'

'You may fool the pols in DC,' said the small man in the too-large chair, 'but we're businessmen, too, Kendrick. You've got something to offer and maybe—just maybe—we've got something to offer.'

'How do you enjoy southern California, Congressman?' The tall man with the open shirt and the outstretched legs spoke loudly as a butler entered the room.

'Nothing, nothing,' exclaimed Bollinger, addressing the servant. 'Never mind. Leave us.'

'I'm sorry, sir, I have a message for you,' said the butler, handing the Vice President a note.

Bollinger read it; his face at first grew red, then rapidly paled. 'Tell him to wait,' he ordered. The butler left the room. 'Where were we?'

'At a price,' said the man from Boston. 'That's what we're talkin' about, isn't it, Congressman?'

'That's a little blunt,' answered Evan. 'But the term is in the realm of possibility.'

'You should understand,' said the small man with the pinched face, 'that you passed through two separate powerful detectors. You may get sick from the X rays but you have no recording machines on you.'

'They'd be the last things I'd want.'

'Good,' said the tall man, getting out of the chair as if solely to impress the others with his formidable height and his image as the tanned rugged yachtsman; strength was the message. He sauntered to the fireplace mantel—High Noon in the Town of Corruption, thought Kendrick. 'We caught your leeward drift about German, French and Japanese capital. How steep are the waves in open water?'

I'm afraid I'm not a sailor. You'll have to be clearer.'

'What are you up against?'

'Financially?' asked Evan, pausing, then shaking his head in dismissal. 'Nothing I can't handle. I can commit seven to ten million, if I have to, and my lines of credit are extensive… but, of course, so are the interest rates.'

'Suppose lines of credit were established without those kinda' burdens?' said the man familiar with constituency fixing in his South Boston ward.

'Gentlemen,' interrupted Bollinger sharply, getting out of his chair, as did those seated in deference to his obviously imminent departure. 'I understand that I have an urgent matter to attend to. If you need anything, feel free to ask for it.'

'We won't be long, Mr. Vice President,' said Kendrick, knowing why Bollinger had to distance himself from whatever ensuing conversation took place; deniability was the byword. 'As I mentioned, this is a problem that only I can properly resolve. I just wanted to be open with you.'

'It's greatly appreciated, Evan. Stop in and see me before you leave. I'll be in my office.'

The Vice President of the United States left the book-lined room, and like jackals descending on their prey, the contributors turned to the congressman from Colorado. 'We level now, son,' said the six-foot-five yachtsman, his arm on the mantel like a leaning, angry weed.

'I'm not a relative of yours, thank you, and I resent the familiarity.'

'Big Tom always talks like that,' chimed in the florid Bostonian. 'He don't mean no harm by it.'

'The harm is in his presumption with a member of the House of Representatives.'

'Oh, come on, Congressman!' interjected the obese man in the navy blue blazer.

'Let's all relax,' said the small-framed, pinched-faced man sitting down in the overlarge armchair. 'We're all here for the same purpose and, courtesies aside, let's get on with it… We want you out, Kendrick. Do we have to be clearer?'

'Since you're so adamant, I think you'd better be.'

'All right,' continued the short contributor, his legs barely touching the carpeted floor. 'As someone said, let's be honest—doesn't cost a damn thing… We represent a political philosophy every bit as legitimate as you think yours is, but because it's ours we naturally feel it's more realistic for the times. Basically, we believe in a far stronger defence-oriented system of priorities for the country than you do.'

'I believe in a strong defence, too,' broke in Evan. 'But not in budget-crippling, excessively offensive systems where 40 per cent of the expenditure results in waste and ineffectiveness.'

'Good point,' agreed Kendrick's undersized opponent from the large chair. 'And these areas of procurement will be rectified by the marketplace.'

'But not until billions are spent.'

'Naturally. If it were otherwise, you'd be talking about another system of government that doesn't permit the Malthusian law of economic failure. The forces of the free market will correct those excesses. Competition, Congressman Kendrick. Competition.'

'Not if they're rigged in the Pentagon or in those boardrooms where there are too many alumni from the Defense Department.'

'Hell!' exclaimed the yachtsman from the fireplace mantel. 'If they're that fucking obvious, let 'em hang!'

'Big Tom's right,' said the florid-faced Bostonian. 'There's plenty to go around, and those nickel-and-dime colonels and generals are just lubrication, anyway. Get rid of them if you like, but don't stop the treadmill, for Christ's sake!'

'Do you hear that?' asked the gold-buttoned blue blazer. 'Don't stop until we're so strong no Soviet leader would even think about a strike.'

'Why do you think any of them would consider it, consider blowing up a large part of the civilized world?'

'Because they're Marxist fanatics!' roared the yachtsman, standing erect in front of the mantel, his arms akimbo.

'Because they're stupid,' corrected the short man from his chair calmly. 'Stupidity is the basic road to global tragedy, which means the strongest and the smartest will survive… We can handle our critics in the Senate and the House, Congressman, but not in the administration. That we can't tolerate. Am I clear?'

'You really think I'm a threat to you?'

'Of course you are. You get on your soapbox and people listen, and what you say—very effectively, I might add—is not in our interests.'

'I thought you had such respect for the marketplace.'

'I do in the long run, but in the short run excessive oversight and regulation can cripple the country's defence with delays. This is no time to throw the baby out with the bath water.'

'Which means throwing away profits.'

'They go with the job, as you so rightly explained regarding the office of Vice President… Go your way, Congressman. Rebuild your aborted career in Southwest Asia.'

'With what?' asked Evan.

'Let's start with a credit line of fifty million dollars at the Gemeinschaft Bank in Zurich, Switzerland.'

'That's very convincing but they're only words. Who's putting up the collateral?'

'The Gemeinschaft knows. You don't have to.'

It was all Kendrick had to hear. The full weight of the United States government bearing down on a Zurich bank with known connections to men who dealt with terrorists from the Baaka Valley to Cyprus would be enough to break the Swiss codes of secrecy and silence. ‘I’ll confirm the line of credit in Zurich in twelve hours,' he said, getting up. 'Will that give you sufficient time?'

'More than sufficient,' replied the small man in the large chair. 'And when you have confirmation, you'll do Vice President Bollinger the courtesy of sending him a copy of your telegram to Chicago irrevocably withdrawing your name for consideration on the national ticket.'

Kendrick nodded, glancing briefly at the three other contributors. 'Good evening, gentlemen,' he said quietly and then headed for the library door.

Out in the hallway a black-haired, muscular man with sharp, clean-cut features and the green dot of the Secret Service in his lapel rose from a chair beside a pair of thick double doors. 'Good evening, Congressman,' he said pleasantly, taking a step forward. 'It'd be an honour to shake your hand, sir.'

'My pleasure.'

'I know we're not to say who comes and goes around here,' continued the member of the Treasury Department detail, gripping Evan's hand, 'but I may break that rule for my mother in New York. Perhaps it sounds crazy, but she thinks you should be Pope.'

'The Curia might find me lacking… The Vice President asked me to see him before I left. He said he'd be in his office.'

'Certainly. It's right here, and let me tell you he'd welcome the interruption. He's got an irritated man in there with such a short fuse I didn't trust the machines and nearly strip-searched him. I wouldn't let him take his bag of paraphernalia inside.'

For the first time, Kendrick saw the garment bag draped across the chair at the left of the double doors. Beneath it, on the floor, was a bulky black case commonly referred to as a medical bag. Evan stared at it; he had seen it before. The inner screen of his mind was jolted, fragments of images replacing one another like successive explosions! Stone walls in another hallway, another door; a tall, slender man with a ready smile—too ready, too ingratiating for a stranger in a strange house—a doctor casually, amusingly stating that he would merely thump a chest and take a sample of blood for analysis.

'If you don't mind,' said Kendrick, somehow through the mists, realizing that he could barely be heard, 'please open the door.'

'I've got to knock first, Congressman—’

'No, please!… Please do as I say.'

'The Vipe—the Vice President—won't appreciate that, sir. We're always to knock first.'

'Open that door,' ordered Evan, his rasping voice a whisper, his eyes wide, fixed briefly on the Secret Service man. 'I'll take full responsibility.'

'Sure, sure. If anyone's entitled I guess you are.'

The heavy door on the right swung silently back, the words hissed by a tight-throated Bollinger clearly heard. 'What you're saying is preposterous, insane!… Yes, what is it?'

Kendrick walked through the terrible space and stared at the shocked, panic-stricken face of 'Dr. Eugene Lyons'.

'You!' screamed Evan, the isolated world inside his head going mad as he lunged, racing across the room, his two hands the claws of a maniacal animal intent only on the kill—the kill! 'He's going to die because of you—because of all of you!'

In a blur of violence, arms gripped him; hands chopped into his head, and knees crashed up into his groin and his stomach, his eyes bruised by experienced fingers. Despite the agonizing pain, he heard the muted screams—one after another.

'I've got him! He's not going to move.'

'Close the door!'

'Get me my bag!'

'Keep everyone out!'

'Oh, Jesus, he knows everything!'

'What do we do?

'… I know people who can handle this.'

'Who the hell are you?

'Someone who should introduce himself… Viper.'

I've heard that name. It's an insult! Who are you?'

'For the moment I'm in charge, that's who I am.'

'Oh, Christ…!'

Darkness—the oblivion that comes with the deepest shock. All was black; nothing.