Kevin recognized the three men seated around the oval table in the small conference room. The large, florid-faced man was Senator Horace Slater, the Democratic whip. The small man in the rumpled suit, whose face looked as though each feature had been chiseled in unyielding stone, was David M. Wittling, who had given up his seat in the Senate to run for Vice-President of the United States, against his better judgment, and had lost. The third man, slender, aging, wearing the black suit some said he had been born in, was Laurence Harris, Democratic leader of the House, who’d been on the Hill since before Kevin was born. One hell of a star chamber, Kevin thought, now more curious than ever.
“You all know each other,” Senator Clay said. He ushered Kevin through the door and closed it carefully behind him. “Let’s get down to business. Senator Ryan doesn’t know why he’s here. Senator Wittling, would you like to inform him, please?”
Wittling smiled, his craggy features rearranging themselves into a rugged ugliness that surpassed good looks. He was what Lincoln would have looked like, one political caricaturist had remarked, if Lincoln had been a Democrat. “We’ve never actually met, Senator Ryan,” he said, extending his hand across the table. “It’s a pleasure, I assure you.”
Kevin shook the offered hand firmly and then sat down. “I’ve admired you since—”
Wittling held up his hand. “Please,” he said. “Don’t tell me how, as a babe suckling at your mother’s breast, you listened to my speeches over your primitive crystal set. It makes me feel like even more of a troglodyte than usual.”
“I shall restrain my, ah, youthful enthusiasm,” Kevin said.
“Good. You have no idea how inflating it is to one’s ego and deflating it is to one’s morale to read about oneself in a high school history text. At one with the pharaohs and not even decently laid to rest and out of sight yet.”
“Get on with it, David,” Harris said, staring across the table with unblinking eyes.
“Yes,” Wittling said. “Of course.” He leaned back and laced his fingers together over his chest. “You have, of course, been following the campaign, even though you, yourself, are not up for reelection?”
“Of course,” Kevin said.
“You’re aware of the tenor the campaign has taken on of recent weeks? All over the country, in many individual, unrelated districts—or, I should say, districts related only in having incumbents antagonistic to the President—sudden, vicious smear attacks have been made through anonymous front organizations against these incumbents.”
“I’ve been reading the newspapers,” Kevin said nodding.
“Bah!” Senator Slater said. “Not ten percent of it has gotten into the papers. Not ten percent.”
“True,” Senator Clay said. “Most of its unprintable.”
“We have a file here,” Congressman Harris said. “Well, file is perhaps too formal a word. A compilation of documents collected from various sources around the country.” He slid a cardboard file box about the size of the Manhattan phone book across the table toward Kevin. “Take a look through it,” he said.
Kevin opened the box and sorted through the collection of papers, letters, telegrams, handbills, booklets, and other scurrilous material inside. Most of it was the common sort of indirect political slander—a handbill that appears to be from the candidate’s own committee, for example, which makes him a supporter of gay rights, or black activism. There were news stories: “Maringer Denies Black Panther Support” was one headline, “Congressman Devoe Asserts He and Wife Not Separated” was another.
“That was all the early stuff,” Wittling said. “In the past couple of weeks the tactics have shifted. Now it’s all sex, law and order, communism, perverts, and a lot of stuff designed to incite the hidden racism of that silent majority the President keeps talking about.”
Senator Clay nodded. “And that rash of bombings that’s going on isn’t helping either. Every time a terrorist bomb goes off, the President’s team gets another ten thousand votes.”
Kevin shifted his gaze from the papers to Senator Clay. “You think all this is being orchestrated from the White House?” he asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Clay said. “Which reminds me, did you know that your phone is tapped?”
“What?”
“Truth.”
Kevin shook his head. “I hate to disagree with you, Senator,” he said. “But I’m paranoid enough to have that checked out once a month. The office phones and my home phone. I pay a private detective firm to do the checking.”
“They can check all year,” Clay said, “but if the tap is put on at the central switching gizmo in the phone company office, there’s no way in hell to detect it.”
“Then how do you know?”
“A loyal—or maybe a disloyal, depends on how you look at it—American who works for the phone company thought I ought to know. Gave me a list.”
“Who’d he say is doing the tapping? And how do you know he’s not putting you on?”
“It seems like an elaborate joke for an earnest man with twenty years working for the central switching office to suddenly spring. He says that they say they’re CIA, but he says they’re not.”
“How does he know?”
“He says the CIA taps phones out of that office all the time and they have an established procedure. And this group doesn’t know anything about it.”
“The CIA taps phones all the time? I thought their charter says they can’t work within the United States.”
“It does. Let’s handle one problem at a time. It isn’t the CIA who’s tapping you, it’s these other people.”
“What do we do?”
“I’d suggest you be a little discreet in your telecommunications for a while. Nothing much else we can do at this time.”
Kevin leaned back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re saying that the administration is smearing candidates, frightening voters, tapping congressmen’s phones, and there’s nothing we can do about it?”
“That’s the American political system,” Wittling said. “You run for office and accuse your opponent of whatever you think the public will believe, and a few things they won’t, and he does the same for you. It’s called democracy. What we’re seeing now is the democratic process being manipulated by a man with a lot of money, an insatiable lust for power, and no scruples.”
“Its the goddamn best political media manipulation I’ve seen in thirty-five years in the game,” Congressman Harris said. “By God, you’ve got to respect the son of a bitch for that. Every time anything bad about the administration comes out, it’s the Eastern Establishment Press gunning for the President. It must be obvious to every political reporter covering the election that these unrelated events are being manipulated from above, but they’re scared to death to open their mouths.”
“That’s why we called you here,” Wittling said, leaning forward and fixing Kevin with his deep-set eyes.
“You’ve lost me,” Kevin said.
“We’ve bought half an hour of prime time on all the networks for the evening of November Fourth. We want you to speak to the American people on behalf of the Democratic party. We want you to reassure them.”
“The only thing we have to fear,” Congressman Harris intoned, “is that son of a bitch in the White House.”
“We want you to calm down an overheated silent majority,” Senator Slater said. “Tell them that the Democrats aren’t trying to take their jobs or rape their daughters.”
“You want me to do a Muskie,” Kevin said.
“You could put it that way,” Harris said.
“Yes,” Wittling said, “that’s it.”
“Why me?”
“You have exactly the right image,” Wittling said. “Our first thought was to use some old and honored statesman of the party—I speak in this roundabout manner of myself—but it was wisely decided that I possess insufficient relevance to today’s young people. Or, to put it another way, most of them don’t know who I a
m. Anything that happened more than a month ago is prehistory to modern Americans.”
“We commissioned a special poll,” Senator Clay said. “People trust you as much as any Democratic politician, and more than most. You have astounding name recognition.”
“What about the way I picked on the administration last year?” Kevin asked.
“Very courageous and with the highest motives, the poll says,” Clay said. “It must be your smile.”
“The administration isn’t going to be very pleased with me,” Kevin said.
“They don’t exactly weep for joy when your name is mentioned now,” Harris told him.
“That’s true. I get to write my own speech?”
“Of course.”
Kevin looked slowly around the table at each of the four men. Senator Slater was staring at the tops of his own hands. The other three looked back at Kevin with unreadable expressions.
“I may be vulnerable,” Kevin said slowly, one of the hardest things he had ever had to say in his life.
“How’s that?” David Wittling asked.
“I recently received a phone call. The caller claimed to have certain photographs which could embarrass me politically. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but the caller might represent the White House.”
“How embarrass you?” Clay asked sharply. “What do they show? And for God’s sake, be straight with us!”
“I haven’t seen them,” Kevin said. “But they purport to show me and another person engaged in acts of sexual congress.”
“May I ask the sex of this other person?” Clay asked.
“Female,” Kevin said, looking slightly surprised.
“And the age?” Wittling added.
Kevin smiled. “Well over the age of consent,” he said. “And single.”
“What did you tell this person on the phone?” Congressman Harris asked.
“I told him to go to hell,” Kevin said.
“You’ll do,” Senator Clay said.
Wittling smiled. “I look forward to hearing your speech,” he said. “Now let’s break this little gathering up and get back to work.”
San Francisco, 1200 noon
And now it’s twelve noon here at KGGB and time for the news. Well, the People’s Revolutionary Brigade have had a busy night of it. In Chicago, the early-morning hours were marked by the bright red flames of the Federal Welfare Building as the entire second-floor records section was gutted by a two-alarm fire supposedly set off by a bomb. The Brigade claimed credit in a phone call to the Chicago Tribune just as the bomb was going off. A spokesman for the government said that this shouldn’t hold up welfare payments to the recipients since the city makes those directly, but it might delay for an indefinite time the federal grants to the city.
And in New York City this morning a bomb threat kept worshipers out of twelve of the city’s major places of worship. The bomb was finally located in world-famous St. Patrick’s Cathedral and removed by the police bomb squad. The bomb went off in the bomb wagon before it reached the disposal site, injuring one of the officers accompanying the device. The officer was taken to New York’s Bellevue Hospital, where he is said to be in stable condition following emergency surgery. A written communique from the PRB said that the PRB was prepared to blow up a church a week until the religious leaders showed “serious commitment to aiding the poor.”
Closer to home, Representative Quintan Pliney, the Democratic congressman from San Lorenzo, was found dead in his car late this morning. An apparent suicide, Congressman Pliney was sitting in his car, in his garage, with the motor running, and was apparently overcome by the carbon monoxide fumes. A note found beside his body apologizes to his wife and children for the act, but gives no reason. The police are still investigating the case, and have not yet officially called it suicide. But, police chief Grossman says, there is little reason to suspect anything else.
Milton Notide, the Republican challenger for Representative Pliney’s seat in the House, has issued a formal statement of regret, and says he has talked to Congressman Pliney’s wife Hilda on the phone to express his great sorrow at her loss.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was eight-thirty Monday evening in Washington, D.C. The President of the United States sat in the small room off the Oval Office with his two chief aides, Vandermeer and Ober. Hunched forward in his chair, the President stared intently at the small screen of the color television set perched on the Wilson bureau across from him.
FADE IN
EXTERIOR. STOCK FOOTAGE
of the rolling hills of America. As the MUSIC overplays America the Beautiful we see the sun setting behind the snow-covered Rocky Mountains. Then we cut to a distant shot of a steel mill. And fade through to an interior shot of a car-assembly line showing American workers making America work. Then the title roll:
AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL
and the credits over shots of wheat fields, dams, soldiers at parade with the American flag passing in review. Some high-flying jets do precision maneuvers. And, over this:
ANNOUNCER
Welcome to “America the Beautiful,” a half-hour message being brought to you by the Democratic National Committee. We want to speak to you, the people of America, tonight, on election eve, to remind you that America does work. That our system of government, with its separation of powers, has brought to the people of this country greater security, more personal freedom, and a higher standard of living per capita than anywhere else in the world.
EXTERIOR. SHOT OF MOUNT RUSHMORE.
A distant shot, which pans by all the faces of the presidents and then, very slowly, closes in on George Washington.
ANNOUNCER
The founding fathers of this country were perhaps the most brilliant political minds ever assembled to do a practical job—to set up a brand-new government on a system never tried before. And it has worked—for almost two hundred years now.
EXTERIOR. CROWD FOOTAGE.
News footage of angry crowd of students being held back by police.
ANNOUNCER
But there is unrest in this country today, as there has always been. There are some who want to see the political and social system changed; and there are others who think it has already been changed too much.
INTERIOR. AUDITORIUM. SENATOR KEVIN RYAN IS
ONSTAGE.
Senator Ryan is seated on a high stool, like the narrator in Our Town, in a rumpled gray suit, looking relaxed and at ease. The camera pans over the audience, showing it to be mixed ethnically, culturally, and socially.
ANNOUNCER
And, as usual, some unscrupulous people would use this unrest for their own gain. They would pit segments of our society against each other for their own political advantage. We cannot allow that. That is why the Democratic National Committee, as a nonpartisan gesture in the name of all America, has asked Senator Kevin Ryan, Democrat from New York, to speak with you tonight. Senator Ryan.
CAMERA CLOSES IN TO A MEDIUM SHOT OF
SENATOR RYAN.
SENATOR RYAN
Good evening. It is always a pleasure to speak to the people of this great country even when, as tonight, some of the things I have to say are not pleasant.
I know you will evaluate and judge what I tell you, and I know that you will act in a calm, rational manner to do what’s best for you—and best for your country.
Some people believe that you are easily swayed, that you will believe innuendo without demanding proof, that you will follow the man who yells the loudest or tells the biggest lie.
I do not believe that.
Some people have been going around this country telling smutty, obscene stories about fine men who have served you loyally and honestly for many years. They expect you to believe these stories and vote against these fine men when you go to the polls tomorrow.
I don’t believe you’ll do that.
There has never been a man, no matter how fine, no matter how honest, no matter how ethical, no matter how intellige
nt, that someone has not reached up from the slime and tried to drag down. And the weapon used is the most powerful, the most deadly, the most indefensible that the human mind has ever discovered: the word.
A word cannot be guarded against; it cannot be blocked; once uttered, it cannot be destroyed. The only defense against words is an open, inquiring mind. A mind that can weigh truth and falsehood, and reject the false.
If a democracy is to succeed, its citizens must have open, inquiring minds. And our democracy has succeeded for almost two hundred years now, so it looks as if we’ve learned the trick.…
As Senator Ryan continued to speak over the television set, the President of the United States rose. His shoulders were hunched, his mouth was tightly closed, his head was down. Walking slowly, almost mechanically, he left the room. Ober and Vandermeer continued listening.
TRANSCRIPT OF TAPE RECORDINGS
FROM THE OVAL OFFICE
THE WHITE HOUSE
Wednesday, November 6, 1974 (1:26-1:52 a.m.)
MEETING: The President, Vandermeer, and Ober (Background noise identified as television set obscuring some conversation)
P. There’s another one.
O. Five seats. I make that five seats we’ve picked up.
P. They’ll still have a majority.
V. Yeah. But we’re cutting it down. We’re whittling it down.
O. We may get a few more before this evening is out.
P. I want a majority in the House and Senate. Especially in the House. That’s where the money is.
O. I thought we had it. I really thought—
P. Something went wrong.
V. Not entirely, sir. We have a few people in our pockets now. We have more control than what shows up on the tallies.
The Last President: A Novel of an Alternative America Page 14