The Fourth K

by Mario Puzo

  George Greenwell was a patriot but not a fool. He knew that Russia could not yield to such pressure. He also knew that the Washington-imposed embargo would ruin American farmers. So he had defied the President of the United States and shipped the forbidden grain by diverting it to other foreign companies, which relayed it to Russia. He had brought down the wrath of the American executive branch on his head. Laws had been presented to Congress to curtail the power of his family-held company, to make it public, to put it under some sort of regulatory control. But the Greenwell money contributed to congressmen and senators soon put a stop to that nonsense.

  Greenwell loved the Socrates Club because it was luxurious but not so luxurious as to invite the envy of the less fortunate. Also, because it was not known to the media—its members owned most of the TV stations, newspapers and magazines. And also it made him feel young, enabled him to participate socially in the lives of younger men who were equal in power.

  He had made a good deal of extra money during that grain embargo, buying wheat and corn from embattled American farmers and selling it dear to a desperate Russia. But he had made sure that the extra money benefited the people of the United States. What he had done had been a matter of principle, the principle being that his intelligence was greater than that of government functionaries. The extra money, hundreds of millions of dollars, had been funneled into museums, educational foundations, cultural programs on TV, especially music, which was Greenwell’s passion.

  Greenwell prided himself on being civilized, based on his having been sent to the best schools, where he was taught the social behavior of the responsible rich and a civilized feeling of affection for his fellowman. That he was strict in the dealings of his business was his form of art; the mathematics of millions of tons of grain sounded in his brain as clearly and sweetly as chamber music.

  One of his few moments of ignoble rage had occurred when a very young professor of music in a university chair established by one of his foundations published an essay that elevated jazz and rock ‘n’ roll music above Brahms and Schubert and dared to call classical music “funereal.” Greenwell had vowed to have the professor removed from his chair, but his inbred courtesy prevailed. Then the young professor had published another essay in which the unfortunate phrase was “Who gives a shit for Beethoven?” And that was the end of that. The young professor never really knew what happened, but a year later he was giving piano lessons in San Francisco.

  The Socrates Club had one extravagance, an elaborate communications system. On the morning that President Kennedy announced to the secret meeting of advisers the ultimatum he would give the Sultan of Sherhaben, all twenty men in the Socrates Club had the information within the hour. Only Greenwell knew that this information had been supplied by Oliver Oliphant, the Oracle.

  It was a matter of doctrine that these yearly retreats of great men were in no way used to lay plans or organize conspiracies; they were merely a means for communicating general aims, to inform a general interest, to clear away confusion in the operation of a complicated society. In that spirit George Greenwell on Tuesday invited three other great men to one of the cheerful pavilions just outside the tennis courts to have lunch.

  The youngest of these men, Lawrence Salentine, owned a major TV network and some cable companies, newspapers in three major cities, five magazines and one of the biggest movie studios. He owned, through subsidiaries, a major book-publishing house. He also owned twelve local TV stations in major cities. That was in the United States alone. He was also a powerful presence in the media of foreign countries. Salentine was only forty-five years old, a lean and handsome man with a full head of silvery hair, a crown of curls in the style of the Roman emperors but now much in fashion with intellectuals and people in the arts and in Hollywood. He was impressive in appearance and in intelligence, and was one of the most powerful men in American politics. There was not a congressman or senator or a member of the Cabinet who did not return his calls. He had not, however, been able to become friendly with President Kennedy, who seemed to take personally the hostile attitude the media had shown the new social programs proposed by the Kennedy administration.

  The second man was Louis Inch, who owned more important real estate in the great cities of America than any other individual or company. As a very young man—he was now only forty—he had first grasped the true importance of building straight up into the air to a seemingly impossible degree. He had bought airspace rights over many existing buildings and then built the enormous skyscrapers that increased the value of buildings tenfold. He more than anyone else had changed the very light of the cities, had made endless dark canyons between commercial buildings that proved to be more needed than anyone had supposed. He had made rents so impossibly high in New York, Chicago and Los Angeles for ordinary families that only the rich or very well off could live comfortably in those cities. He had cajoled and bribed municipal officials to give him tax abatements, and to do away with rent controls to such a degree that he boasted that his rental charge per square foot would someday equal Tokyo’s.

  His political influence, despite his ambitions, was less than that of the others meeting in the pavilion. He had a personal fortune of over five billion dollars, but his wealth had the inertness of land. His real strength was more sinister. His aims were the amassing of wealth and power without real responsibility to the civilization he lived in. He had extensively bribed public officials and construction unions. He owned casino hotels in Atlantic City and Las Vegas, shutting out the mobster overlords in those cities. But in doing so, he had, in the curious way of the democratic process, acquired the support of the secondary figures in criminal empires. All the service departments of his numerous hotels had contracts with firms that supplied tableware, laundry services, service help, liquor and food. He was linked through subordinates to this criminal underworld. He was, of course, not so foolish as to allow that link to be more than a microscopic thread. The name of Louis Inch had never been touched by any hint of scandal—thanks not only to his sense of prudence, but to the absence of any personal charisma.

  For all these reasons he was actually despised on a personal level by nearly all the members of the Socrates Club. He was tolerated because one of his companies owned the land surrounding the club and there was always the fear that he might put up cheap housing for fifty thousand families and drown the club area with Hispanics and blacks.

  The third man, Martin Mutford, dressed in slacks, a blue blazer, and a white shirt open at the collar, was a man of sixty, and was perhaps the most powerful of the four because he had control of money in so many different areas. As a young man he had been one of the Oracle’s protégés and had learned his lessons well. He would tell admiring stories about the Oracle to the delight of the audiences in the Socrates Club.

  Mutford had based his career on investment banking, and at the very start, because of the influence of the Oracle, or so he claimed, he had gotten off to a shaky start. As a young man he had been sexually vigorous, as he put it. Much to his surprise, the husbands of some of the young wives he seduced came looking for him not for revenge but for a bank loan. They had little smiles on their faces and were very good-humored. By instinct he granted the personal loans, which he knew they would never pay back. At the time he did not know that loan officials at banks took gifts and bribes to give unsafe loans to small businesses. The paperwork was easy to get around, the people who ran banks wanted to loan money—that was their business, that was their profit, and so their regulations were purposely written in such a way as to make it easy for loan officers. Of course there had to be a parade of paperwork, memos of interviews, etc. But Mutford cost the bank a few hundred thousand dollars before he was transferred to another branch and another city by what he thought was a fortunate circumstance but what he later realized was simply a tolerant shrug of his superiors.

  The errors of youth behind him, forgiven, forgotten, valuable lessons learned, Mutford rose in his world. Thirty years later Mut
ford sat in the pavilion of the Socrates Club and was the most powerful financial figure in the United States. He was chairman of a great bank and owned substantial stock in the TV networks; he and his friends had control of the giant automobile industry and had linked up with the air travel industry. He had used money as a spiderweb to snare a large share of electronics. He also sat on the boards of Wall Street investment firms that put together deals to buy out huge conglomerates to add to another huge conglomerate. When these battles were at their most fierce, Mutford would send out a wave of money as drenching as the sea to settle the issue. Like the other three, he “owned” certain members of the Congress and the Senate.

  The four men sat at the round table in the pavilion outside the tennis courts. California flowers and New England-like greenery surrounded them. George Greenwell said, “What do you fellows think of the President’s decision?”

  Mutford said, “It’s a damn shame what they did to his daughter. But destroying fifty billion dollars’ worth of property is way out of proportion.”

  A waiter, a Hispanic wearing white slacks and a short-sleeved shirt with the club logo, took their drink orders.

  Salentine said thoughtfully, “The American people will think of Kennedy as a real hero if he pulls it off. He will be reelected in a landslide.”

  Greenwell said, “But it is far too drastic a response, we all know that. Foreign relations will be damaged for years to come.”

  Mutford said, “The country is running wonderfully well. The legislative branch finally has the executive branch under some sort of control. Will the country benefit from a swing of power the opposite way?”

  Inch said, “What the hell can Kennedy do even if he gets reelected? The Congress controls and we have a big say with them. There are not more than fifty members of the House who are elected without our money. And in the Senate, there’s not a man among them that is not a millionaire. We don’t have to worry about the President.”

  Greenwell had been looking beyond the tennis courts to the marvelous blue Pacific Ocean that was so quiet yet majestic. The ocean that at this very moment was cradling billions of dollars’ worth of ships carrying his grain all over the world. It gave him a slightly guilty feeling that he could starve or feed almost the entire world.

  He started to speak, but was interrupted by the waiter, who came with their drinks. Greenwell was prudent at his age and had asked for mineral water. He sipped at his glass, and after the waiter left he spoke in carefully modulated tones. His exquisite courtesy was the sort that comes to a man who has regretfully made brutal decisions in his life. “We must never forget,” he said, “that the office of the President of the United States can be a very great danger to the democratic process.”

  Salentine said, “That’s nonsense. The other officials in the government prevent him from making a personal decision. The military, benighted as they are, would not permit it unless it was reasonable, you know that, George.”

  Greenwell said, “That’s true, of course. In normal times. But look at Lincoln, he actually suspended habeas corpus and civil liberties during the Civil War; look at Franklin Roosevelt, he got us into World War Two. Look at the personal powers of the President. He has the power to absolutely pardon any crime. That is the power of a king. Do you know what can be done with such power? What allegiance that can create? He has almost infinite powers if there is not a strong Congress to check him. Luckily we have such a Congress. But we must look ahead, we must make sure that the executive arm remains subordinate to the duly elected representatives of the people.”

  Salentine said, “With TV and other media Kennedy wouldn’t last a day if he tried anything dictatorial. He simply hasn’t got that option. The strongest belief in America today is the creed of individual freedom.” He paused for a moment and said, “As you know well, George. You defied that infamous embargo.”

  Greenwell said, “You’re missing the point. A bold President can surmount those obstacles. And Kennedy is being very bold in this crisis.”

  Inch said impatiently, “Are you arguing that we should present a united front against Kennedy’s ultimatum to Sherhaben? Personally, I think it’s great that he’s being tough. Force works, pressure works, on governments as well as people.”

  Early in his career Inch had used pressure tactics on tenants in housing developments under rent control when he wanted to empty the buildings. He had withheld heat and water and prohibited maintenance; he had made the lives of

  thousands of people extremely uncomfortable. He had “tipped” certain sections of suburbia, flooding them with blacks to drive out white residents; he had bribed city and state governments, and made the Federal regulators rich. He knew what he was talking about. Success was built on applying pressure.

  Greenwell said, “Again, you’re missing the point. In an hour we have a screen conference call with Bert Audick. Please forgive me that I promised this without consulting you—I thought it too urgent to wait, events are moving so quickly. But it’s Bert Audick whose fifty billion dollars will be destroyed, and he is terribly concerned. And it is important to look into the future. If the President can do this to Audick, he can do it to us.”

  “Kennedy is unsound,” Mutford said thoughtfully.

  Salentine said, “I think we should have some sort of consensus before the conference call with Audick.”

  “He’s really perverted in his obsession with oil preservation,” Inch said. Inch had always felt that oil in some way conflicted with the interests of real estate.

  “We owe it to Bert to give him our fullest consideration,” Greenwell said.

  The four men were gathered in the communications center of the Socrates Club when the image of Bert Audick flashed on the TV screen. He greeted them with a smile, but the face on the screen was an unnatural red, which could be the color tuning or the effect of some sort of rage. Audick’s voice was calm.

  “I’m going to Sherhaben,” he said. “It may be a last look at my fifty billion bucks.”

  The men in the room could speak to the image as if the man himself were present at the club. They could see their own images on their monitor, the image that Audick could see in his office. They had to guard their faces as well as their voices.

  “You’re actually going?” Inch said.

  “Yes,” Audick said. “The Sultan is a friend of mine and this is a very touchy situation. I can do a lot of good for our country if I’m there personally.”

  Salentine said, “According to the correspondents on my media payroll, Congress and the Senate are trying to veto the President’s decision. Is that possible?”

  The image of Audick smiled at them. “Not only possible but almost certain. I’ve talked to Cabinet members. They are proposing that the President be removed temporarily from office by reason of his personal vendetta, which shows an imbalance of the mind. Under an amendment of the Constitution, that is legal. We need only get the signatures of the Cabinet and the Vice President on a petition that Congress will ratify. Even if the suspension is for only thirty days, we can halt the destruction of Dak. And I guarantee that the hostages will be released while I am in Sherhaben. But I think all of you should offer support to Congress to remove the President. You owe that to American democracy, as I owe it to my stockholders. We all know damn well that if anybody but his daughter had been killed, he would never have chosen this course of action.”

  Greenwell said, “Bert, the four of us have talked this over and we have agreed to support you and the Congress—that’s our duty. We will make the necessary phone calls, our efforts will be coordinated. But Lawrence Salentine has a few pertinent observations he’d like to present.”

  Audick’s face on the screen showed anger and disgust. He said, “Larry, this is no time for your media to sit on the fence, believe me. If Kennedy can cost me fifty billion dollars, there may come a time when all your TV stations could be without a Federal license and then you can go fuck yourself. I won’t lift a finger to help you.”


  Greenwell winced at the vulgarity and directness of the response. Inch and Mutford smiled. Salentine showed no emotion. He answered in a calm soothing voice.

  “Bert,” he said. “I’m with you all the way, never doubt that. I think a man who arbitrarily decides to destroy fifty billion dollars to reinforce a threat is undoubtedly unbalanced and not fit to head the government of the United States. I’m with you, I assure you. The television media will be breaking into their scheduled programs with bulletins that President Kennedy is being psychiatrically evaluated, that the trauma of his daughter’s death may have temporarily disordered his reason. That should prepare the groundwork for Congress. But this touches an area where I have a little more expertise than most. The President’s decision will be embraced by the American people—the natural mob reaction to all acts of national power plays. If the President succeeds in his action and he gets the hostages back, he will command untold allegiance and votes. Kennedy has intelligence and energy, if he gets one foot in the door he can sweep Congress away.” Salantine paused for a moment, trying to choose his words very carefully. “But if his threats fail—hostages killed, problem not solved—then Kennedy is finished as a political power.”

  On the console the image of Bert Audick flinched. He said in a very quiet serious tone, “That is not an alternative. If it goes that far, then the hostages must be saved, our country must win. Besides, the fifty billion dollars will already be lost. No true American wants the Kennedy mission to fail. They may not want a mission with such drastic action, but once it has been started we must see that it succeeds.”

  “I agree,” Salentine said, though he did not. “I absolutely agree. I have another point. Once the President sees the danger from Congress, the first thing he will want to do is address the nation on television. Whatever Kennedy’s faults, he is a magician on the tube. Once he presents his case on that TV screen the Congress will be in a great deal of trouble in this country. What if Congress does depose Kennedy for thirty days? Then there is the possibility that the President is right in his diagnosis, that the kidnapers make this a long-drawn-out affair with Kennedy on the sidelines, out of all the heat.” Again Salantine paused, trying to be careful. He said, “Then Kennedy becomes an even greater hero. Our best scenario is to just let him alone, win or lose. That way there is no long-term danger to the political structure of this country. That may be best.”