The Icarus Agenda

by Ludlum, Robert

  'I tell you he may not be an Einstein, but he's still a fucking genius.' Dennison opened the door.

  Evan did not move. 'May I remind you that eleven men and women were murdered in Masqat? That two hundred others will have nightmares for the rest of their lives?'

  'That's right!' replied Dennison. 'And he said it—with goddamned tears in his eyes! He said they were true American heroes, as brave as those who fought at Verdun, Omaha Beach, Panmunjom and Danang! The man said it, Congressman, and he meant it, and we stood tall!'

  'He said it as he narrowed the options, making his message clear,' agreed Kendrick. 'If any one person was responsible for saving those two hundred and thirty-six hostages, it must have been him.'

  'So?'

  'Never mind. Let's get this over with.'

  'You're a fruitcake, Congressman. And you're right, you don't belong in this town.'

  Evan Kendrick had met the President of the United States only once. The meeting lasted for approximately five, perhaps six, seconds, during a White House reception for the freshmen congressmen of the chief executive's party. It had been mandatory for him to attend, according to Ann Mulcahy

  O'Reilly, who practically threatened to blow up the office if Evan refused to go to the affair. It was not that Kendrick disliked the man, he kept telling Annie, it was just that he did not agree with a lot of things Langford Jennings espoused—perhaps more than a lot, maybe most. And in answer to Mrs. O'Reilly's question as to why he had run on the ticket, he could only reply that the other party did not stand a chance of being elected.

  The predominant impression Evan had while briefly shaking hands with Langford Jennings in that reception line was more in the abstract than in the immediate, yet not totally so. The office was both intimidating and overwhelming. That a single human being could be entrusted with such awesome global power stretched any thinking man's mind to its limits. A miscue during some horrible miscalculation could blow up the planet. Yet… yet… despite Kendrick's personal evaluation of the man himself, which included a less than brilliant intellect and a proclivity for over-simplification as well as tolerance for such zealous clowns as Herbert Dennison, there was about Langford Jennings a striking image that was larger than life, an image that the ordinary citizen of the republic desperately longed for in the presidency. Evan had tried to understand the gossamer veil that shielded the man from closer scrutiny and had finally come to the conclusion that scrutiny itself was irrelevant compared to his impact. The same might be said of Nero, Caligula, any number of mad, authoritarian popes and emperors, and the ultimate villains of the twentieth century, Mussolini, Stalin and Hitler. Yet this man displayed none of the evil inherent in those others; instead, he conveyed a strong, pervasive trustworthiness that seemed to radiate from his inner self. Jennings was also blessed with a large, attractive physique, and a much larger belief, and the purity of his belief was everything to him. He was also one of the most charming, ingratiating men Kendrick had ever observed.

  'Damn, it's good to meet you, Evan! May I call you Evan, Mr. Congressman?'

  'Of course, Mr. President.'

  Jennings came around the desk in the Oval Office to shake hands, gripping Kendrick's left arm as their hands clasped. 'I've just finished reading all that secret stuff about what you did, and I tell you, I'm so proud—'

  'There were a lot of others involved, sir. Without them I'd have been killed.'

  'I understand that. Sit down, Evan, sit, sit!' The President returned to his chair; Herbert Dennison remained standing. 'What you did, Evan, as a single individual, will be a textbook lesson for generations of young people in America. You took the whip in your hands and made the damn thing snap.'

  'Not by myself, sir. There's a long list of people who risked their lives to help me—and several lost their lives. As I said, I'd be dead if it weren't for them. There were at least a dozen Omanis, from the young sultan down, and an Israeli commando unit that found me when I literally had only a few hours to live. My execution was already scheduled—’

  'Yes, I understand all that, Evan,' interrupted Langford Jennings, nodding and frowning compassionately. 'I also understand that our friends in Israel insist that there must be no hint of their involvement, and our intelligence community here in Washington refuses to risk exposing our personnel in the Persian Gulf

  The Gulf of Oman, Mr. President.'

  'I'm on your side,' said Jennings, grinning his famous self-deprecating grin that had charmed a nation. 'I'm not sure I know one from the other but I'll learn tonight. As my hatchet cartoonists would balloon it, my wife won't give me my cookies and milk till I get it all straight.'

  'That would be unfair, sir. It's a geographically complex part of the world for someone not familiar with it.'

  'Yes, well, somehow I think even I might master it with a couple of grammar school maps.'

  'I never meant to imply—'

  'It's okay, Evan, it's my fault. I slip now and then. The main issue here is what do we do with you. What do we do, given the restrictions placed on us for the sake of protecting the lives of agents and subagents who are working for us in an explosive part of the globe?'

  'I'd say those necessary restrictions call for keeping everything quiet, classified—’

  'It's a little late for that, Evan,' broke in Jennings. 'National security alibis can only go so far. Beyond a certain point you arouse too much curiosity; that's when things can get sticky—and dangerous.'

  'Also,' added Herbert Dennison, gruffly breaking his silence, 'as I mentioned to you, Congressman, the President can't simply ignore you. It wouldn't be the generous or patriotic thing to do. Now, the way I see it—and the President agrees with me—we'll schedule a short photo session here in the Oval Office, where you'll be congratulated by the President, along with a series of shots showing you both in what'll look like confidential conversation. That'll be consistent with the intelligence greyout required by our counter-terrorist services. The country will understand that. You don't tip off your tactics to those Arab scumballs.'

  'Without a lot of Arabs I wouldn't have got anywhere, and you goddamned well know it,' said Kendrick, his angry eyes rigid on the chief of staff.

  'Oh, we know it, Evan,' interrupted Jennings, his own eyes obviously amused by what he observed. 'At least I know it. By the way, Herb, I had a call from Sam Winters this afternoon and I think he has a hell of an idea that wouldn't violate any of our security concerns, and, as a matter of fact, could explain them.'

  'Samuel Winters is not necessarily a friend,' countered Dennison. 'He's withheld a number of policy endorsements we could have used with Congress.'

  'Then he didn't agree with us. Does that make him an enemy? Hell, if it does, you'd better send half the marine guards up to our family quarters. Come on, Herb, Sam Winters has been an adviser to presidents of both parties for as long as I can remember. Only a damn fool wouldn't accept calls from him.'

  'He should have been routed through me.'

  'You see, Evan?' said the President, his head askew, grinning mischievously. 'I can play in the sandbox but I can't choose my friends.'

  That's hardly what I—’

  'It certainly is what you meant, Herb, and that's okay with me. You get things done around here—which you constantly remind me of, and that's okay, too.'

  'What did Mr. Winters—Professor Winters—suggest?' asked Dennison, the academic title spoken sarcastically.

  'Well, he's a “professor”, Herb, but he's not your average run-of-the-mill teacher, is he? I mean, if he wanted to, I suppose he could buy a couple of pretty decent universities. Certainly the one I got out of could be his for a sum he wouldn't miss.'

  'What was his idea?' pressed the chief of staff anxiously.

  'That I award my friend, Evan, here, the Medal of Freedom.' The President turned to Kendrick. 'That's the civilian equivalent to the Congressional Medal of Honor, Evan.'

  'I know that, sir. I neither deserve it nor want it.'

  'Well, Sam
made a couple of things clear to me and I think he's right. To begin with, you do deserve it, and whether you want it or not, I'd look like a mean chintzy bastard not awarding it to you. And that, fellas, I will not accept. Is that clear, Herb?'

  'Yes, Mr. President,' said Dennison, his voice choked. 'However, you should know that although Representative Kendrick is standing unopposed for re-election to guarantee you a congressional seat, he intends to resign his office in the near future. There's no point, since he has his own objections, in focusing more attention on him.'

  'The point, Herb, is that I won't be a chintzy bastard. Anyway, he looks as if he could be my younger brother—we could get mileage out of that. Sam Winters brought it to my attention. The image of a go-getting American family, he called it. Not bad, wouldn't you say?'

  'It's not necessary, Mr. President,' rejoined Dennison, now frustrated, his hoarse voice conveying the fact that he could not push much farther. 'The Congressman's fears are valid.

  He thinks there could be reprisals against friends of his in the Arab world.'

  The President leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed blankly on his chief of staff. 'That doesn't wash with me. This is a dangerous world, and we'll only make it more dangerous by knuckling under to such speculative crap. But in that vein I'll explain to the country—from a position of strength, not fear—that I won't permit full disclosure of the Oman operation for reasons of counter-terrorist strategy. You were right about that part, Herb. Actually, Sam Winters said it to me first. Also, I will not look like a chintzy bastard. It simply isn't me. Understood, Herb?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Evan,' said Jennings, the infectious grin again creasing his face. 'You're my kind of man. What you did was terrific—what I read about it—and this President won't stint! By the way, Sam Winters mentioned that I should say we worked together. What the hell, my people worked with you, and that's the gospel truth.'

  'Mr. President—’

  'Schedule it, Herb. I looked at my calendar, if that doesn't offend you. Next Tuesday, ten o'clock in the morning. That way we'll hit all the TV stations' nightly news, and Tuesday's a good night.'

  'But Mr. President—' began a flustered Dennison.

  'Also, Herb, I want the Marine Band. In the Blue Room. I'll be damned if I'll be a chintzy bastard! It's not me!'

  A furious Herbert Dennison walked back to his office with Kendrick in tow for the purpose of carrying out the presidential order: Work out the details for the award ceremony in the Blue Room on the following Tuesday. With the Marine Band. So intense was the chief of staff's anger that his large, firm jaw was locked in silence.

  'I'm really on your case, aren't I, Herbie?' said Evan, noting the bull-like quality of Dennison's stride.

  'You're on my case and my name isn't Herbie.'

  'Oh, I don't know. You looked like a Herbie back there. The man cut you down, didn't he?'

  'There are times when the President is inclined to listen to the wrong people.'

  Kendrick looked over at the chief of staff as they marched down the wide hallway. Dennison ignored the tentative greetings of numerous White House personnel heading in the opposite direction, several of whom stared wide-eyed at Evan, obviously recognizing him. 'I don't get it,' said Kendrick. 'Our mutual dislike aside, what's your problem? I'm the one being stuck where I don't want to be, not you. Why are you howling?'

  'Because you talk too goddamned much. I watched you on the Foxley show and that little display in your office the next morning. You're counterproductive.'

  'You like that word, don't you?'

  'I've got a lot of others I can use.'

  'I'm sure you do. Then again I may have a surprise for you.'

  'Another one? What the hell is it?'

  'Wait till we get to your office.'

  Dennison ordered his secretary to hold all calls except those on Priority Red. She nodded her head rapidly in obedient acknowledgment, but in a cowed voice explained, 'You have more than a dozen messages now, sir. Nearly every one is an urgent callback.'

  'Are they Priority Red?' The woman shook her head. 'What did I just tell you?' With these courteous words the chief of staff propelled the congressman into his office and slammed the door shut. 'Now, what's this surprise of yours?'

  'You know, Herbie, I really must give you some advice,' replied Evan, walking casually over to the window where he had stood previously; he turned and looked at Dennison. 'You can be rude to the help as much as you like or as long as they'll take it, but don't you ever again put your hand on a member of the House of Representatives and shove him into your office as if you were about to administer a strap.'

  'I didn't shove you!'

  'I interpreted it that way and that's all that matters. You have a heavy hand, Herbie. I'm sure my distinguished colleague from Kansas felt the same way when he decked you on your ass.'

  Unexpectedly, Herbert Dennison paused, then laughed softly. The prolonged deep chuckle was reflective, neither angry nor antagonistic, more the sound of relief than anything else. He loosened his tie and casually sat down in a leather armchair in front of his desk. 'Christ, I wish I were ten or twelve years younger, Kendrick, and I'd whip your tail—I could have done it even at that age. At sixty-three, however, you learn that caution is the better part of valour, or whatever it is. I don't care to be decked again; it's a little harder to get up these days.'

  'Then don't ask for it, don't provoke it. You're a very provocative man.'

  'Sit down, Congressman—in my chair, at my desk. Go on, go ahead.' Evan did so. 'How does it feel? You get a tingling in your spine, a rush of blood to your head?'

  'Neither. It's a place to work.'

  'Yeah, well, I guess we're different. You see, down the hall is the most powerful man on earth, and he relies on me, and to tell you the truth, I'm no genius, either. I just keep the booby hatch running. I oil the machinery so the wheels turn, and the oil I use has a lot of acidity in it, just like me. But it's the only lubricant I've got and it works.'

  'I suppose there's a point to this,' said Kendrick.

  'I suppose there is and I don't think you'll be offended. Since I've been here—since we've been here—everybody bows like gooks in front of me, saying all kinds of flattering things with big smiles—only with eyes that tell me they'd rather put a bullet in my head. I've been through it before; it doesn't bother me. But here you show up and you tell me to go fuck off. Now, that's really refreshing. I can deal with that. I mean I like your not liking me and my not liking you—does that make sense?'

  'In a perverse sort of way, I suppose. But then you're a perverse man.'

  'Why? Because I'd rather talk straight than in circles? Pointless lip service and ass-kissing drivel only waste time. If I could get rid of both, we'd all accomplish ten times what we do now.'

  'Did you ever let anyone know that?'

  'I've tried, Congressman, so help me God I've tried. And you know something? Nobody believes me.'

  'Would you if you were they?'

  'Probably not, and maybe if they did the booby hatch would turn into a registered loony bin. Think about it, Kendrick. There's more than one side to my perversity.'

  'I'm not qualified to comment on that, but this conversation makes things easier for me.'

  'Easier? Oh, that surprise you're going to lay on me?'

  'Yes,' agreed Evan. 'You see, up to a point I'll do what you want me to do—for a price. It's my pact with the devil.'

  'You flatter me.'

  'I don't mean to. I'm not given to ass-kissing drivel, either, because it wastes my time. As I read you, I'm “counterproductive” because I've made some noise about several things I feel pretty strongly about and what you've heard goes against your grain. Am I right, so far?'

  'Right on the tiny tin dime, kiddo. You may look different, but to me there's a lot of that stringy, long-haired protest crap in you.'

  'And you think that if I'm given any kind of platform there might be more to come, and that really f
rosts your apricots. Right again?'

  'Right in the fly's asshole. I don't want anything or anyone to interrupt his voice, his comments. He's taken us out of the pansy patch; we're riding a strong Chinook wind and it feels good.'

  'I won't try to follow that.'

  'You probably couldn't—’

  'But basically you want two things from me,' continued Evan rapidly. 'The first is for me to say as little as possible and nothing at all that calls into question the wisdom emanating from this booby hatch of yours. Am I close?'

  'You couldn't get closer without being arrested.'

  'And the second is in what you said before. You want me to fade—and fade fast. How am I doing?'

  'You've got the brass ring.'

  'All right, I'll do both—up to a point. After this little ceremony next Tuesday, which neither of us wants but we lose to the man, my office will be flooded with demands from the media. Newspapers, radio, television, the weekly magazines—the whole ball of wax. I'm news and they want to sell their merchandise—’

  'You're not telling me anything I don't know or don't like,' interrupted Dennison.

  'I'll turn everything down,' said Kendrick flatly. 'I won't grant any interviews. I won't speak publicly on any issue, and I'll fade just as fast as I can.'

  'I'd kiss you right now except that you mentioned something kind of counterproductive, like “up to a point”. What the hell does that mean?'

  'It means that in the House I'll vote to my conscience, and if I'm challenged on the floor I'll give my reasons as dispassionately as I can. But that's in the House; off the Hill I'm not available for comment.'

  'We get most of our PR flak off the Hill, not on it,' said the White House chief of staff reflectively. 'The Congressional Record and Cable's C-Span cameras don't put a dent in the Daily News and Dallas. Under the circumstances, thanks to that smooth son of a bitch Sam Winters, your offer is so irresistible I wonder what the price is. You have a price, I assume.'

  'I want to know who blew the whistle on me. Who leaked the Oman story so very, very professionally.'