“Twenty years ago Genessee Industries turned you down!” Green shook his finger at Andrew. “For twenty years you’re whining! We have proof—”
“You disgust me!” roared Trevayne. “You’re no better than the man you claim is no part of you. But you’re kidding yourselves; you and the De Spadantes of this world are cut from the same cloth. ‘We have proof!’ Good God, do you extort protection money from blind newsdealers, too?”
“The analogy is unfair, Trevayne,” said Hamilton, taking a disapproving eye off Green. “Aaron is prone to get upset easily.”
“It’s not unfair,” answered Trevayne quietly, his hands gripping the back of his chair. “You’re scheming, out-of-date old men playing an insane game of Monopoly. Buying up this, buying up that—using a hundred different subsidiaries—promising, bribing, blackmailing. Compiling thousands of individual dossiers and poring over them like demented gnomes. One stating that his ideas are greater monuments—what was it?—temples, cathedrals! My God, what pomposity.… The other. Oh, yes. There shouldn’t be any blanket franchises. Only those entitled to vote should have a voice. That’s not only out of date, it’s out of sight!”
“I deny! I deny I ever said that!” Hamilton leaped to his feet, suddenly, profoundly frightened.
“Deny all you like. But you’d better know this. On Saturday, I was in Hartford; I signed the papers, Hamilton. I had reasons—out of focus but clear enough—to use another attorney. Mr. Vicarson here has assured me everything is in order. On January fifteenth an irrevocable announcement is made by the Governor of Connecticut. I am right now, for all intents and purposes, a United States senator.”
“What?” Aaron Green looked as though he’d been slapped harshly.
“That’s right, Mr. Green. And I intend to use the immunity of that seat and the stature of that office to hammer away at you. I’m going to let the country know—over and over and over again. Every day, every quorum, every session; I won’t stop. If need be—and I’ve considered it deeply—I’ll have my own personal marathon, my own filibuster. I’ll start at the beginning and read that entire report. Every word. All six hundred pages. You won’t survive that. Genessee Industries won’t survive.”
Aaron Green was breathing heavily, his eyes leveled at Trevayne, his voice deep with personal hatred. “From Auschwitz to Babi-Yar. Pigs like you make trouble when there is trouble enough.”
“And the solutions are not your solutions. Your solutions lead right back to the camps. To the executions. Can’t you see that?”
“I see only strength! Strength is the deterrent!”
“For God’s sake, Green, make it a collective strength. A responsible strength. One that’s shared, open. Not furtively manipulated by a select few. That doesn’t belong here.”
“You are a schoolboy again! What is this ‘shared,’ this ‘open’? They’re words, sterile words. They lead to chaos, to weakness. Look at the record.”
“I’ve looked at it. Hard and long. It’s flawed, imperfect, frustrating. But, goddamn it, it’s a better alternative than the one you’re suggesting. Look at that track record!… And if we’re walking into a time when the system doesn’t work, we’d better know that, too. Then we’ll change it. But openly. By choice. Not by edict; and certainly not by your edict.”
“Very well, Mr. Trevayne,” said Ian Hamilton, suddenly walking away from the others, his back to them. “You’ve built a strong case. What are you suggesting we do?”
“Cut bait. Get out. I don’t care where; Switzerland, the Mediterranean, the Scottish Highlands, or the British Lowlands. It doesn’t make any difference. Just get out of this country. And stay out.”
“We have financial responsibilities,” protested Hamilton quietly.
“Delegate them. But sever all connections with Genessee Industries.”
“Impossible! Preposterous!” Aaron Green looked at Hamilton now.
“Easy, old friend.… If we do as you suggest, what is our guarantee?”
Trevayne crossed to the room-service table and pointed at the red leather notebook. “This is the report as it stands—”
“You’ve made us aware of that,” interrupted Hamilton.
“We have also prepared an alternate report. One that considerably reduces the attention now given to Genessee Industries—”
“So?” Aaron Green’s sudden interruption was stated emphatically, distastefully. “The schoolboy’s not so pure. He wasn’t going to change a word. A single word.”
Trevayne paused before replying. “I still mightn’t. If I do, you have an Army major named Bonner to thank for it. And your own willingness to comply, of course.… Major Bonner made an observation once that stuck with me. Perhaps it dovetailed with other opinions, but, nevertheless, he gave the idea focus. He said I was destructive; that I was tearing down, not offering any alternatives. Just a total wipeout, the good and the bad down the drain together.… All right, let’s try to salvage some of the good.”
“We want specifics,” said Hamilton.
“All right.… You get out and you stay out, and I turn over the alternate report, and the quiet process of cleaning up Genessee Industries begins. No cries of conspiracy—which it is; no demands for your necks—which should be demanded; no total wipeout. I’m sure a task force can be mounted to go after the existing financial fiefdoms. We won’t bother with the root causes, because they’ll be eliminated. You’ll be eliminated.”
“That’s excessively harsh.”
“You came here to make a deal, Hamilton. There it is. You’re a political realist; I’m a political reality—your judgment, I believe. Take it. You won’t get a better offer.”
“You’re no match for us, schoolboy,” said Aaron Green, his emotion denying the confidence of his statement.
“Not by myself; of course not. I’m only an instrument. But through me two hundred million people will learn what you are. As opposed to you, I honestly believe they’re capable of making decisions.”
The pavane was over. The music finished. The stately ancients took their leave of the newly established court with as much dignity as was possible.
“Would it have worked?” asked Sam Vicarson.
“I don’t know,” answered Trevayne. “But they couldn’t take the chance.”
“Do you think they’ll really get out?”
“We’ll see.”
47
“I’m sorry. I think my letter makes clear the Army’s position in the matter. I’m sure Major Bonner appreciates your retaining attorneys for him. From what I gather, there’s every reason to anticipate a civilian acquittal.”
“But you’re still going ahead with your own charges, General Cooper; you want him out of the Army.”
“We have no choice, Mr. Trevayne. Bonner’s stepped out of line once too often. He knows it. There’s no defense against dereliction, disregarding the chain of command. Without that chain we have no military organization, sir.”
“I’ll insist on seeing him defended in the court-martial proceedings, of course. Again, with my attorneys present.”
“You’re wasting your money. The adjutant charge isn’t murder or assault or even criminal intent. It’s simply one of lying to an A.F. officer; misrepresenting his orders so as to gain access to government property. In this case, a jet aircraft. Furthermore, he refused to inform his superiors of his intentions. We simply can’t tolerate that kind of behavior. And Bonner is inclined to repeat this type of offense. There’s no sound military justification.”
“Thank you, General. We’ll see.”
Andrew hung up the phone and got out of his chair. He walked over to his office door, which he’d shut prior to his call to General Cooper. He opened it and spoke to his secretary.
“I saw the light on two; anything I should take care of, Marge?”
“The Government Printing Office, Mr. Trevayne. I didn’t know what to say. They wanted to know when you’d be sending over the subcommittee report. They’re getting backlogged with c
ongressional stuff and didn’t want to disappoint you. I started to tell them it was completed and sent out late this morning, but I thought perhaps there was some kind of protocol we didn’t know about.”
Trevayne laughed. “I’ll bet they didn’t want to disappoint us! Lord! The eyes are everywhere, aren’t they?… Call them back and tell them we weren’t aware they expected our business. We saved the taxpayers’ money and did it ourselves. All five copies. But first get me a cab. I’m going over to Arlington. To Bonner.”
During the ride from the Potomac Towers to the Army BOQ, Arlington, Andy tried to understand Brigadier General Lester Cooper and his legion of righteous indignants. Cooper’s letter—the reply to his inquiry about Bonner—had been couched in Army jargon. Section this, Article that; Army regulations pertinent to the disposition of authority under the conditions of limited responsibility.
“Horseshit,” as Paul Bonner said—far too often for his own good.
The threat of the court-martial charge wasn’t the Army’s abhorrence of Bonner’s behavior; it was its abhorrence of Bonner himself. If it was explicitly the behavior in principle, far more serious charges would have been filed against him, charges that could be argued back and forth. As it was, the Army chose the lesser indictment. Dereliction. Misprision, or concealment of intentions. Charges from which there would be no hard-won vindication. Not a slap-on-the-wrist; more a strap-on-the-back. It left the defendant no choice but to resign; there was no career left for him in the military.
He simply couldn’t win the fight, because there was no fight. Just a pronouncement.
But why, for God’s sake? If ever there was a man made for the Army, it was Paul Bonner. If ever there was an army that needed such a man, it was the demoralized Army of the United States. Instead of prosecuting him, Cooper and the rest of his “Brasswares” should be out beating the bushes for Bonner’s support.
Beating the bushes. What had Aaron Green said about “beating bushes?” Beating bushes was an undesirable tactic, because the quarry could turn on the hunter without warning.
Was that what the Army was afraid of?
That by supporting Paul Bonner, acknowledging his participation, his commitment to the military, the Army was exposing its own vulnerability?
Were Lester Cooper and his uniformed tribunals afraid of a surprise attack?
From whom? A curious public? That was understandable. Paul Bonner was a knowledgeable accessory.
Or were they afraid of the accessory? Afraid of Paul Bonner? And by discrediting him, they conveniently pushed him out of the picture, out of any frame of reference.
A nonperson.
Banished.
The taxi came to a stop at the gates of the BOQ. Trevayne paid the driver and started walking toward the huge entrance with the gold eagle over the double doors and the inscription: “Through These Portals Pass the Best Damned Men in the Field.”
Andrew noticed that to the right, underneath the inscription, was the date of the building’s construction: “April, 1944.”
History. Another era. A lifetime ago. A time when such inscriptions were perfectly natural, properly heroic.
The days of the disdainful cavaliers.
They were no more. They seemed a little silly now.
That, too, was unfair, thought Trevayne.
The guard outside Paul Bonner’s room acknowledged Trevayne’s presence, his standing access to the officer under barracks arrest, and opened the door. Bonner was seated at the small steel desk writing on a sheet of Army stationery. He turned in the chair and glanced up at Trevayne. He did not stand or offer his hand.
“I’ll just finish this paragraph and be right with you.” He returned to the paper. “I think I’m considered a spit-and-polish moron. Those two lawyers you hired are making me put everything I can remember down in writing. Said one thought leads to another if you see it in front of you, or something like that.”
“It makes sense. The sequence of thoughts, I mean. Go ahead; no hurry.” Trevayne sat down in the single armchair and kept silent until Bonner put down his pencil and shifted his position, throwing his shoulder over the back of the chair as he looked at the “civilian.”
And he was looking at a “civilian”; there was no mistaking the insult.
“I’ll pay you back for the legal fees. I insist on that.”
“Not necessary. It’s the least I can do.”
“I don’t want you to do it. I asked them to bill me directly, but they said that wasn’t possible. So, I’ll pay you.… Frankly, I’m perfectly satisfied with my Army counsel. But I suppose you have your reasons.”
“Just added insurance.”
“For whom?” Bonner stared at Trevayne.
“For you, Paul.”
“Of course. I shouldn’t have asked.… What do you want?”
“Maybe I’d better go out and come in again,” said Andrew with a questioning harshness. “What’s the matter with you? We’re on the same side, remember?”
“Are we, Mr. President?”
The sound of the words was like the crack of a lash across Trevayne’s face. He returned Bonner’s stare, and for several moments neither man spoke.
“I think you’d better explain that.”
So Major Paul Bonner did.
And Trevayne listened in astonished silence as the Army officer recounted his brief but extraordinary conversation with the soon-to-retire Brigadier General Lester Cooper.
“So nobody has to tell any elaborate stories anymore. All those complicated explanations aren’t necessary.”
Trevayne got out of the chair and walked to the small window without speaking. There was a contingent—a platoon, perhaps—of young second lieutenants being lectured to by a wrinkle-faced full colonel in the courtyard. Some of the young men moved their feet, several cupped their hands to their lips, warding off the December chill in Arlington. The Colonel, open-shirted, laconic, seemed oblivious to the climate.
“What about the truth? Would you be interested in that, Major?”
“Give me some credit, politician. It’s pretty goddamned obvious.”
“What’s your version?” Trevayne turned from the window.
“Cooper said the Army couldn’t afford me. The truth is that you can’t.… I’m the lodestone around your presidential neck.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Come off it! You ensure the trial, I’m acquitted—which I should be—and you’re clean. Nobody can say you ran out on the soldier boy who was shot at. But that trial is controlled. No extraneous issues; just the pertinent facts, ma’am. Even the Army lawyer made that clear. Just Saturday night in Connecticut. No San Francisco, no Houston, no Seattle. No Genessee Industries!… Then I’m quietly drummed out by kangaroos, the world goes on, and no one has to be embarrassed any longer. What pisses me off is that none of you can come out and say it!”
“I can’t, because it’s not true.”
“The hell it isn’t! It’s all wrapped up in a neat package. Man, when you sell out, you sell out high. I’ll give you credit, you don’t take second best.”
“You’re way off, Paul.”
“Horseshit! Are you telling me you’re not in the sweepstakes? I even hear you’re going to get a seat in the Senate! Goddamn convenient, isn’t it?”
“I swear to you I don’t know where Cooper got that information.”
“Is it true?”
Trevayne turned his back on Bonner, looking once again out the window at the platoon of second lieutenants. “It’s … all under consideration.”
“Oh, that’s beautiful. ‘Under consideration.’ What do you do next? Run it up a flagpole and see if it gets off at Westport? Look, Andy, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Cooper. I don’t like this big new wrinkle—this sudden first-team switch—any more than I like a lot of the things I’ve found out during the past several months. Let’s say I’m square enough to disapprove of the M.O.’s. The methods of operation. I think they smell.… On the other han
d, I’d be a first-class hypocrite if I started getting moralistic at this late date. I’ve spent my career believing that military goals were their own justifications. Let the elected civilians worry about the morals; that’s always been a distant area to me.… Well, this is the big game plan, isn’t it? I don’t play in that ball park. Good luck!”
The platoon of second lieutenants was dispersing in the courtyard below; the open-shirted Colonel was lighting a cigarette. The lecture was over.
And Trevayne felt suddenly exhausted, weary. Nothing was as it seemed. He turned to face Bonner, who still remained insultingly casual in the desk chair.
“What do you mean, ‘game plan’?”
“You’re getting funnier by the minute. You’re going to make me blow any chance I may have for executive intervention.”
“Cut the clowning! Spell it out, Major.”
“You bet your ass, Mr. President! They’ve got you, they don’t need anyone else! The independent, incorruptible, Mr. Clean. They couldn’t have done any better if they called down John the Baptist, backed up with young Tom Paine. The Pentagon’s worries are over.”
“Had it occurred to you that they may have just begun?”
Bonner lifted his shoulder off the back of the chair and laughed quietly—with maddening sincerity. “You’re the funniest nigger on the plantation, massa. But you don’t have to tell those jokes; I won’t interfere. I don’t belong up there.”
“I asked you a question. I expect an answer. You’re implying that I’ve been bought; I deny it. Why do you think so?”
“Because I know those boys in ‘Brasswares.’ They’re going to ensure your investiture. They wouldn’t do that unless they had ironbound guarantees.”
48
Trevayne ordered the taxi to let him out nearly a mile from the Potomac Towers. It was a time to walk, to think, to analyze. To try to find logic within the illogical.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of automobile horns, blowing angrily at a brown sedan that seemed lost, unsure of its direction. The irritating cacophony fit his own sense of frustration.