by Warren Adler
Harkins shrugged.
“Caused a bit of a stir out there . . .” the President said, also looking toward the Padre, who remained silent, listening to the exchange.
“A bit,” Harkins said.
“They know what we have here . . .” the President said.
“Apparently,” Harkins said.
“Crazy, right?”
“Different,” Harkins said.
“You’ll find this fellow very polite.”
“There’s little enough of that,” Harkins responded, looking at the Padre, whose face was impassive.
“You know why we’ve been taken?” the President asked.
“Yes. I’ve been informed.”
The Padre rubbed his chin, his eyes vague, as they looked downward at the table. Then suddenly he lifted his head, fully alert.
“Do you know where my daughter and my grandson are being kept?”
Harkins looked at the President. There were numerous questions still to be considered. How forthright must he be? How accurate? When should evasions begin? Yes, he knew approximately where the woman and child were being held. Indeed, he knew a lot more than he had ever told the President.
“Information is very vague,” Harkins said, stalling for time to assemble a strategy.
“But you have some information?”
Harkins nodded.
“He has assets,” the President said. The Padre seemed confused by the word.
“People on the inside,” the President explained. “It’s in the computer.” Harkins did not like the President’s mocking tone. He wished he would hold his tongue.
“We can hook into this computer here?” the Padre asked.
“Yes.” No point in evading that answer, Harkins thought. The man might be a rough diamond on the outside, but he was no fool. He must be prepared to accept that fact as an axiom.
Harkins’ attention became acute, his mind’s antenna tuned to its most sensitive frequency. As always, he had trained himself to confront every man without preconditions. His mind would eventually categorize him, but at the beginning he started with a clean slate. Although this man called Padre came packaged in a carton of media clichés, the wrapping seemed inappropriate. Perhaps his strategy was to present himself as scrupulously unimpressive, badly groomed, world-weary.
Yet this man could not be evaluated in a vacuum. He was, after all, holding hostage the President of the United States in the White House. The method of entry was not simply a lucky guess. Beating the security machine was the stock-in-trade of men who earned their living going into places where they did not belong. Everything and everyone was vulnerable. Rule one of the spook game. But the actual hostage-taking required both inspired loyalty and, in the case of the caterer, pinpointed intimidation. For that kind of intimidation, history was important and had to be respected.
“Who are the people who have taken them?” the Padre asked.
“A radical Arab group,” he answered. There were so many he had eschewed committing them to memory.
“Is there someone in charge of this group?”
Harkins saw a crossroad ahead. He took the one that would make it simple, cut and dried.
“Yes.”
“And you know who he is?”
“Yes.”
The Padre prodded, paused, then began again.
“Where does the money come from?”
Harkins hadn’t expected that question. It threw him off for a moment. He hesitated, something he had not intended to do.
“The money,” the Padre prodded.
Harkins backtracked to the crossroad. The explanation defied simplicity.
“We are dealing here with the byzantine ways of Middle East politics. I guess you could begin at the beginning. There is a kind of blackmail in this. The conservative states—”
“Please,” the Padre said. “I have no interest in the history of these things.”
Harkins felt at a disadvantage. He was annoyed with himself. He looked helplessly at the President, who wore a thin sardonic smile, as if he were enjoying the proceedings.
“Well, for one, the Saudis. They pay a kind of ransom to these people. The Iranians. The Libyans. Those are the principal bankers.” Harkins paused long enough to see if he had the Padre’s attention, confirmed it, then slogged on.
“But even that does not explain everything. These people have emissaries who meet with each other. They plot and plan. And they are united, allegedly, in one public idea. Their hatred of Israel. But to many of them, the existence of Israel is merely the fuel that drives the engine. Each has diverse goals. And there are others who try to get into the fray for their own ends. The Druse, the Shiites, the Sunnis, the Maronite Christians, their splinter groups, and the splinter groups of the splinter groups. And the Western powers and the Soviets and profiteers. It is a smorgasbord of competing interests. Then there are the Syrians who hide behind their own sinister facade of respectability. I’m sorry. I’m compressing it as best I can.”
“So you think, those countries you mentioned, they are the money people?”
“Yes.” Futile to go beyond that explanation, Harkins thought. The man went right for the jugular. His logic was beginning to emerge.
“These people on the inside,” the Padre said. “You can reach them?”
He looked at the President. The smile had disappeared. The man was cutting very close to the famous bone of contention. Harkins felt his adrenaline surge.
“We have a highly efficient covert action organization. What you call people on the inside.”
“They can get things done?”
“Absolutely.” He looked at the President. “Once set in motion.”
“Anywhere in the world?”
“Most places where it counts. Like the Middle East,” Harkins said cautiously. He was sure now he was catching the man’s drift, locking into his mind set.
“You give them orders, they obey?” the Padre asked.
“That’s the general idea,” Harkins responded, pausing. Again he looked at the President, who evaded his eyes. “But in specific terms you can’t set any action in motion without an order to pursue a covert operation coming directly from the President of the United States.”
“I wouldn’t get any ideas in that direction,” the President interjected. “Besides, my presidency is a moot point.”
“You ordered them to get you this man,” the Padre said calmly. “They did.”
“Tell him about the Twenty-fifth Amendment,” the President said, thrusting a thumb in Harkins’ direction.
“What is that?” the Padre asked.
“It spells out a method of succession,” Harkins began.
“You should have read it before you began this . . . this absurdity,” the President interrupted. “You’d know that there are provisions for a situation in which I cannot perform my official duties or functions. Which means I will be replaced, at least temporarily. You may hold me hostage, of course. Which puts this situation in another category.”
It was, Harkins saw, an obvious setback for the Padre. It could not be glossed over or hidden. He got up from the table and walked around it, rubbing his chin.
The President turned to Harkins, who addressed the Padre. “Soon the cabinet will be meeting. Perhaps to pick another man under Section Four of the Twenty-fifth Amendment. The Vice President is constitutionally next in line for the presidency. He is also in charge of the committee assessing this problem. At this moment he is on his way back from the Far East. When he lands the Cabinet will hold its meeting.”
Harkins turned to face the President. Play this ploy gingerly, he cautioned himself. “Could be that in a few hours Chalmers will be the President of the United States.”
“Chalmers. Pity us all,” the President muttered.
“A temporary measure, Mr. President,” Harkins said. He looked at the Padre. “Until this matter is resolved.”
“So what you have in your power is a potential has-been, Mr. Padre,” th
e President said. His tone struck Harkins as a blend of sarcasm and regret.
The Padre had remained silent for a long time. His thoughts and desires were, of course, setting the pace. No action could be performed without his consent. Harkins turned this over in his mind and waited. Was it possible to break the lock this man had over them? He looked so benign. The others were thugs, human weapons of the Padre’s will.
“What does this mean, official duties?” the Padre asked, directing his question to the President.
Once again he had come to the heart of the matter. Now Harkins locked himself into the Padre’s wavelength. The President answered it too eagerly, heading blindly into the trap the Padre had set. Instantly, Harkins knew the role he had been assigned.
“Be available to function. The Executive department is a vast bureaucracy. There are decisions to be made,” the President said. “How can I be expected to operate tied to these, this human bomb. You’ll have to admit, it does hamper the decision-making process.”
Harkins noted that the President was growing bolder. “The fact is, you’re finished. There’s nothing I can do for you. Oh, you might hold out to trade me for your daughter and grandson. But don’t bank on them playing your game. Our enemies love this situation. They love seeing the President of the United States in this position.”
The President smiled. He enjoyed telescoping the sardonic message he was about to launch. “If I were you, considering the realities, I would be better off bargaining for a presidential pardon.”
The Padre listened patiently. “You have your mind, your brains,” the Padre said. “You can speak.”
The President seemed confused. He turned to Harkins. “What the hell is he getting at?”
Harkins was having no trouble understanding where the Padre was going. But he chose to remain silent, let his ideas sink in.
“I have no intention of preventing you from doing your official duties,” the Padre said.
“You’re releasing me then?” the President asked.
The Padre ignored the question.
“We have telephones here. People can come.” He pointed to Harkins. “Here is your CIA chief. Anyone you need, we get.”
“One of your fans,” Amy said. “He wants you to stay in office. Better than having Chalmers.” She giggled compulsively, as if confused by her own remark.
“So where am I wrong?” the Padre asked.
The President looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “How am I supposed to conduct Cabinet meetings?”
“On the telephone.”
“And you expect me to conduct foreign policy tied to this man?” He looked at Vinnie with disdain.
“What would you do if you had a cold, Mr. President? Perhaps a little fever. The doctor would ask that you stay in bed. Nothing more. No Twenty-fifth Amendment.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” the President said, shaking his head. “Is this in the context of a suggestion?”
“I am simply asking if you think it is possible,” the Padre said.
One-track mind, Harkins thought. He simply edits out what is not relevant.
“I wouldn’t consent to it in any event,” the President said.
The Padre nodded to Benjy, who rose suddenly. The First Lady, feeling the tug around her waist, rose in tandem. She turned pale.
“Where are you going?” the President asked.
The younger man started to move toward the entrance of the dining room. The First Lady looked toward her husband.
“I’m not afraid,” she said, her voice tremulous under the pose of defiance.
“I demand . . .” the President began, standing up suddenly. His attached companion did the same. The cord stretched. Aware of the pressure, the President buckled slightly, his fingers held stiffly against the table, his back slightly arched. He was not a foolish man, but he was having a difficult time dealing with his frustration. Finally, after a long moment, he sat down. A politician, Harkins knew, was, above all, a practitioner of the possible. There was no point in calling the Padre’s bluff.
“Just leave her alone,” the President said.
Again, the Padre nodded and the younger man led the First Lady back to the dining-room table.
“Cold-blooded bastards,” Amy said. The color had come back to her cheeks. Nevertheless, Harkins saw, the gesture had made its point.
“May I repeat the question?” the Padre asked when they had settled down. His voice was steady, calm.
The President sucked in a deep breath. It was now obvious that few choices were open to him. Bravado was futile. Courage was merely a word.
“I doubt it,” the President said. “It’s never been tried. A President operating under these conditions. Push comes to shove, they’d throw it into Congress.”
“And in the meantime you would be able to act?” the Padre asked. “All you have to do is to tell them that you are capable of carrying out your duties?”
“Telling isn’t doing,” the President muttered, looking at Harkins with eyes hard as agates.
By then Harkins had had time to consider possibilities. Like himself, the Padre was a man of plans. This one had taken a detour, but the premise still existed, and it was the premise that the Padre was fighting for. Harkins, too, fully understood that premise. Wild, yes. But there was a bizarre logic to it. More important, it heralded the arrival of Harkins’ long-sought moment. Again, he cautioned himself.
“He wants you to remain in office,” Harkins said into the silence that followed. He hoped he had mustered the appropriate skepticism. Harkins paused. He looked at the Padre. Their eyes locked for a moment, acknowledging an alliance.
Harkins’ mind raced as he compressed reflection. The idea was the concoction of a totally amoral man. Harkins could empathize with that. He must be careful, he warned himself, to maintain his neutrality. At some point there would be an accounting. Above all, he must come out of this situation unscathed, celebrated.
“What he’s doing is giving us an opportunity.”
“What opportunity?” the President asked.
“To act in the only way possible,” Harkins said.
“Your way.”
“The only way.”
“Which I certainly won’t agree with,” the President said.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? What the hell does that mean?”
“Taking you hostage waives the rules. You now have permission to proceed without restraints.” He hoped he was getting the idea across. He shot a glance at the Padre’s eyes. He could detect approval there.
“Permission?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Harkins said.
“How would it guarantee the safe return of his daughter and grandson?” the President asked. From protest to debate, Harkins thought with some satisfaction.
“I understand the mentality of these people,” the Padre said. It was his way of signaling agreement with Harkins’ analysis.
“I was doing my damndest to get them back. All of them.” The President glared at the Padre. “Apparently you had no faith in the way I’ve been going about this?”
The President looked at Amy. Her nostrils quivered with anger.
“I have considerable experience in these matters,” the Padre continued.
“I’ll bet you do.”
“I am not offering you any choices, Mr. President,” the Padre said calmly.
“All you want me to do is put the madmen in charge of the madhouse.”
“In a way, Mr. President, the insane are already in charge,” Harkins said. He wondered if the right moment had arrived for him to commit himself.
“What the hell is going on here?” the President asked. His face flushed as he fought to keep himself under control. “Are you in on this, Jack? Is this one of your spook tricks?”
“Ashamed to say, I don’t think I would have the imagination, Mr. President,” Harkins said, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground.
Again Harkins and the Padre excha
nged glances. The Padre nodded.
“The CIA meets the Mafia. Perfect marriage,” the President snickered.
“An odd couple, I’ll admit,” Harkins said. “But look at the opportunity.” Harkins paused. Why didn’t the President grasp the logic of it? “The fact is that we are in a bind over the hostages. Nothing has worked. We’re caught between a rock and a hard place. He may not realize it, but he’s giving us an out. Now we can throw inhibitions to the winds. I’m not sure he has the answers. But I am sure of one thing. For whatever reasons, we don’t.”
“Blame it all on him,” the President said. “The devil made me do it.” He turned toward the Padre. “Offense intended.”
The Padre showed no reaction. He didn’t have to. Harkins knew he had permission to carry the ball. He pressed forward.
“He’s taken this risk because he believes he has the answers. All right. What’s to lose if we try it his way?” He raised his palms. “I’m not saying I know what he’s up to. It’s obvious he wants to use our covert operation. It’s all set up, ready to go. I’m only saying that you can do things because he’s got you under the gun that you might not be doing if he wasn’t here. You don’t have to worry about our so-called allies second-guessing you. As long as you retain your authority, you can use your power.”
The President crossed his arms over his chest. Protection or defiance, Harkins wondered. He wasn’t sure which.
“Suppose it doesn’t work, even if I follow your instructions and it doesn’t get your daughter and grandson back safely. We’re dealing with ruthless bastards. They could kill them without batting an eye. Then what?”
“That is thinking too far ahead,” the Padre said.
“And if I don’t go along in the first place?”
“I told you, Mr. President. I did not offer you a choice.”
“You’d actually blow us up?” the President asked, looking at his wife, who had gone pale again. “Yourself as well.”
“I am a man of my word,” the Padre whispered.
The President looked at his fingers, obviously contemplating his options.
“Even if I resign?”
“I have tried to be reasonable,” the Padre said.
“But they will act. My situation is obvious.”