“What?”
“Make them justify themselves to me … in the transcript. This panel will have to go on record as being a necessary adjunct to the subcommittee. A working partnership.”
“They won’t do it! The purpose here is to confirm you, that’s all. There’re no other requirements.”
“There is if I make perfectly clear that the subcommittee can’t function without the cooperation of the Senate, the active participation of this panel in particular. If I can’t get a commitment from them, there’s no point in continuing.”
Madison stared at his client. “And what’ll you gain by this?”
“They become a working part of the … inquisition. Each man an inquisitor himself, none sure of the extent of his ‘distinguished colleague’s’ involvement … Share the wealth, share the responsibility.”
“And share the risks?” asked Madison softly.
“You said it; I didn’t.”
“What happens if they turn you down?”
Trevayne looked up at the gathering panel of senators. His eyes were remote, his voice flat and cold. “I’ll call a press conference tomorrow morning that will rip this goddamn city apart.”
Walter Madison knew there was nothing more to be said.
Trevayne knew it had to come out of the proceedings. Come as a slowly revealed necessity; logically, without stress. He wondered who would say the words first and force the question.
Not surprisingly, it was old Senator Talley, the gnarled county judge from West Virginia; a minority member, window dressing. Not one of Norton’s “colleagues.”
It happened at five-fifty-seven. Talley leaned forward, looking at the chair; receiving the floor, he turned to the candidate and spoke.
“Mr. Trevayne, if I understand you, and I think I do, your primary concern is the degree of practical cooperation you’ll get from those of us who can offer it. I can understand that; it’s a valid point.… Well, you should know, sir, that the Senate of the United States is not merely a great deliberative body, but a coming together of dedicated gentlemen. I’m sure I speak for all when I tell you that my office is open to you, sir. There are a number of government installations in the state of West Virginia; I hope you’ll use whatever information my office can provide.”
My God, thought Trevayne, he’s utterly sincere. Government installations!
“Thank you, Senator Talley. Not only for your offer, but for clarifying a practical issue. Thank you again, sir. I would hope that you speak for all.”
California’s Armbruster smiled and spoke slowly. “Would you have any reason to think otherwise?”
“None whatsoever.”
“But you’d feel more confident,” continued the Californian, “more desirous of our endorsement, if the proceedings this afternoon included a joint resolution to aid your subcommittee in every way we can.”
“I would, Senator.”
Armbruster turned to the center of the table. “I find nothing objectionable in that request, Mr. Chairman.”
“So be it.” Gillette had been staring at Trevayne. He rapped his gavel harshly, just once. “Let the record state …”
It happened. One by one the senators made their individual statements, each as sincere, each as genuine as the preceding declaration.
Trevayne sat back in his chair and listened to the well-chosen words, abstracting phrases he knew he would soon commit to memory. He had managed it; he had maneuvered the panel into its voluntary resolution. It made little difference that few, if any, would honor the words. It would be nice but it didn’t really matter. What mattered was the fact that he could point to them, quote them repeatedly.
Webster at the White House had promised him a copy of the transcript; it would be a simple thing to leak isolated sections to the press.
Gillette looked down from his perch of sanctum sanctorum at Trevayne. His voice was flat, his eyes—enlarged behind the bifocal lenses of his glasses—cold and hostile.
“Does the candidate wish to make a statement before he is excused?”
Andrew returned the chairman’s stare. “I do, sir.”
“I might hope it could be brief, Mr. Undersecretary,” said Gillette. “The panel must try to conclude its business—at the President’s request—and the hour is late.”
“I’ll be brief, Mr. Chairman.” Trevayne separated a page from the papers in front of him and looked up at the senators. He did not smile; he did not convey any measure of emotion whatsoever. He spoke simply. “Before you conclude the business of confirming or denying my appointment, gentlemen, I think you should be aware of the results of the preliminary studies I’ve made. They will serve as the basis for my approach—the subcommittee’s approach—should confirmation be granted. And since this is a closed hearing, I’m confident that my remarks will go no farther.… I have spent the past several weeks—courtesy of the Controller General’s office—analyzing the defense commitments with the following companies and corporations: Lockheed Aircraft, I.T.T. Corporation, General Motors, Ling-Tempco, Litton, and Genessee Industries. It is my judgment that one, two or possibly three have acted either individually or in concert to achieve extraordinary authority within the decision-making processes of the federal government; this is malfeasance in the extreme. From everything I’ve been able to fit together, I must tell you now that I firmly believe it is one company that has been primarily involved in this malfeasance. I recognize the severity of the charge; it will be my intention to justify it, and until I do, I will not name that company. That is my statement, Mr. Chairman.”
The room was silent. Each member of the panel kept his eyes on Andrew Trevayne; none spoke, none moved.
Senator Gillette reached for the gavel, then stopped and withdrew his hand. He spoke quietly.
“You are excused, Mr. Undersecretary.… And thank you.”
9
Trevayne paid the taxi and got out in front of the hotel. It was warm, the night breeze tepid. September in Washington. He looked at his watch; it was nearly nine-thirty, and he was starved. Phyllis had said she would order dinner in their rooms. She claimed to be exhausted from shopping; a quiet dinner upstairs was just what she wanted. A quiet dinner with two round-the-clock guards—courtesy of the White House—in the hotel corridor. A goddamned hotel corridor.
Trevayne started for the revolving door on the right when a chauffeur who’d been standing by the main entrance came up to him.
“Mr. Trevayne?”
“Yes?”
“Would you be so kind, sir?” The man gestured toward the curb, to a black Ford LTD, obviously a government-rented automobile. Trevayne approached the car and saw Senator Gillette, his glasses still on the bridge of his nose, his expression still half-scowling, seated in the back. The window electronically rolled down, and the old gentleman leaned forward.
“Could you spare me five minutes, Mr. Undersecretary? Laurence here will just drive us around the block.”
“Of course.” Trevayne climbed into the back seat.
“Most everyone thinks spring in Washington is the best season,” said Gillette as the car started off down the street. “I don’t. I’ve always enjoyed autumn better. But then, I’m contrary.”
“Not necessarily. Or maybe I’m contrary, too. September and October are the best months for me. Especially in New England.”
“Hell, everybody says that. All your poets.… The colors, I imagine.”
“Probably.” Trevayne looked at the politician, and his expression carried the message.
“But I didn’t ask you to take a drive in order to discuss your New England autumn, did I?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“No, no, of course, I didn’t.… Well, you have your confirmation. Are you pleased?”
“Naturally.”
“That’s gratifying,” said the Senator with disinterest, looking out the window. “You’d think the traffic would ease up by now, but it won’t. Goddamn tourists; they should turn off the Mall lights. All
the lights.” Gillette turned to Trevayne. “In all my years in Washington, I’ve never seen such an insufferable display of tactical arrogance, Mr. Undersecretary.… Perhaps you were subtler, with more honeybuckets, than Bloated Joe—I refer to the deceased and not too distinguished McCarthy, of course—but your objectives were every bit as censurable.”
“I don’t agree with you.”
“Oh?… If it wasn’t tactical, it was instinctive. That’s even more dangerous. If I believed that, I’d reconvene the hearing and do my damnedest to have you denied.”
“Then you should have made your feelings known this afternoon.”
“What? And hand you your issue wrapped in ribbons? Come, Mr. Undersecretary, you’re not talking to old Judge Talley. Oh, no! I went right along with you. I gave every one of us a very vocal opportunity to join your holy crusade! Nothing else would do! No, sir! There was no alternative, and you know it.”
“Why would there be an alternative tomorrow? I mean, if you reconvened and withdrew confirmation.”
“Because I’d have eighteen hours to pull apart every week of your life, young man. Pull it apart, rearrange a number of ingredients, and put it all back together again. When I got finished, you’d be on the Attorney General’s list.”
It was Trevayne’s turn to look out the window. The President had said it; this was the town for it. It could happen so easily because accusations always appeared on page one, denials on page thirty, apologies on page forty-eight, sandwiched between cheap advertisements.
That was the town; that was the way things were.
But he didn’t need the town. He didn’t have to accept the way things were, and it was about time he let people know it.
“Then why don’t you do just that, Mr. Chairman.” It was not a question.
“Because I phoned Frank Baldwin.… And why don’t you call a halt to that arrogance? It doesn’t become you, sir.”
Trevayne was thrown by Baldwin’s name. “What did Baldwin say?”
“That you wouldn’t have done what you did unless you’d been provoked. Mightily provoked. He said he’s known you damn near ten years; he couldn’t be mistaken.”
“I see.” Trevayne reached into his pocket for cigarettes and lit one. “And you accepted that?”
“If Frank Baldwin told me every astronaut was a fairy, I’d consider it holy writ.… What I want to know from you is, what happened?”
“Nothing. Nothing … happened.”
“You didn’t force every senator on that panel to counter your insinuations of guilt with protestations of innocence for no reason! Because that’s what you did! You ridiculed the process of confirmation.… And I didn’t appreciate it, sir.”
“Do you people always add a ‘sir’ when you’re pontificating?”
“There are a number of ways to deliver the word ‘sir,’ Mr. Undersecretary.”
“I’m sure you’re a master, Mr. Chairman.”
“Was Frank Baldwin right? Were you provoked … mightily? And by whom?”
Trevayne tapped his cigarette carefully on the rim of the ashtray and looked at the older man. “Assuming there was provocation, what would you do about it?”
“Ascertain first whether it was provocation and not an incident or incidents magnified out of proportion, easily resolved. Should provocation prove to be the case, I’d call those responsible into my office and run them out of Washington.… This subcommittee is not to be tampered with.”
“You sound as if you mean that.”
“I do, sir. The time is due and overdue for this work to begin. If there’s been any interference, any attempt to seek influence, I want it stopped in the strongest measures possible.”
“I think I accomplished that this afternoon.”
“Are you telling me there were senators in that hearing who tried to reach you improperly?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“There was provocation, I’ll admit that; where it emanated from, I don’t know. I just know that if it continues, I’m in the position of spreading it around. Or stopping it completely.”
“If there was impropriety, it is incumbent upon you to report it.”
“To whom?”
“To the proper authorities; there are any number!”
“Maybe I did.”
“Then you were obliged to inform the panel!”
“Mr. Chairman, that hearing was loaded this afternoon. The majority of those men represent states whose economies are largely dependent on government installations and contracts.”
“You’ve judged us all guilty!”
“I’ve judged no one. I’m only taking measures that seem appropriate under the circumstances. Measures to make sure these men cannot hinder me.”
“You’re wrong; you’ve misinterpreted.” Old Gillette saw that the car had rounded another corner and was approaching Trevayne’s hotel. He leaned forward in the seat. “Pull up, Laurence. We’ll only be a few moments.… Trevayne, I find your judgment lacking. You make surface observations and proceed to draw erroneous conclusions. You deliver inflammatory insinuations and refuse to justify them. Most damaging, you withhold pertinent and, I gather, extraordinary information, setting yourself up as an arbitrary censor of what the Senate may be told. In my opinion, Frank Baldwin and his commission made a great mistake in recommending you; the President, too, is in error following their lead.… Tomorrow morning I shall insist upon a reconvening of the panel and use all the powers of my office to have your confirmation withdrawn. Your arrogance is not in keeping with the public interest; you’ll have your chance to answer then. Good night, sir.”
Trevayne opened the door and stepped out on the curb. Before closing it he bent down and spoke to the old man. “I assume you intend using the next eighteen hours to … what was it? Oh, yes. To pull apart my life week by week.”
“I wouldn’t waste my time, Mr. Undersecretary. You’re not worth it. You’re a damned fool.” Gillette reached over to his left and touched a button. The car window rose as Trevayne pushed the door shut.
* * *
“Congratulations, darling!” Phyllis jumped up from the chair and dropped her magazine on the lamp table. “I heard it on the seven o’clock news.”
Trevayne closed the door and walked into his wife’s arms, kissing her lightly on the lips. “Well, don’t go out and rent a house yet. It’s not settled.”
“What are you talking about? They interrupted some local story to read the bulletin. I was so proud; they said it was a bulletin. You, a bulletin!”
“I’ve got another flash for them. They may have a second bulletin tomorrow night. The confirmation may be withdrawn.”
“What?”
“I’ve just spent a startling few minutes riding around the block with the distinguished chairman of the hearing. I’m leaving messages for Walter all over New York. I’ve got to talk to him.”
“What in heaven’s name are you saying?”
Trevayne had crossed to the telephone and picked it up. He gestured to his wife to hold her questions until he’d finished his calls. She was used to this; she went to the hotel window and looked out over the lighted city. Her husband spoke first to Madison’s wife, and when the conversation ended, he pressed the button, holding the telephone in his hand. He hadn’t been satisfied with Mrs. Madison’s words—Mrs. Madison was not the most reliable woman after seven o’clock in the evening. He released the button and put through a call to La Guardia Airport, to the airline desk of the Washington shuttle.
“If he doesn’t call back in an hour or so, I’ll try his home again. His plane gets in at ten-something,” he said, hanging up.
“What happened?” Phyllis saw that her husband was not only angry, but confused. Andy wasn’t often confused.
“He surprised me. For the wrong reasons. He said my arrogance wasn’t in keeping with the public interest; I withheld facts. Also, I was a damned fool.”
“Who said it?”
Phyllis understood her husband’s non sequiturs; he’d told her what he intended doing that afternoon. At least, the objectives. “This was the man in the car?”
“Yes. The Senate’s venerable Gillette. He says he’s going to reconvene the panel and withdraw the confirmation.”
“Can he do that? I mean, after they gave it to you?”
“I guess so. He’ll call it new disclosures, or something.… Sure he can.”
“Then you got them to agree, to work with you.”
“Sort of. On the record, anyway. Webster was getting me the transcript tomorrow. But that’s not it.”
“This Gillette saw through what you were doing?”
“They all did!” Trevayne laughed. “Most of them looked like they’d swallowed mouthfuls of papier-mâché.… Oh, they’ll be relieved as hell! Just the fact that I withheld information will be sufficient.”
“What are you going to do?”
“First, see if my desk at Danforth can be salvaged. It’s probably too late, but it’s worth trying; I do like the job. Walter’ll know better.… Then the important question: how far can I go tomorrow afternoon without being subject to a subpoena from the Justice Department?” He looked at his wife.
“Andy, I think you should tell them exactly what happened.”
“I won’t do that.”
“You’re far more sensitive about it than I am. How many times do I have to tell you. I am not embarrassed. I will not be a freak. Nothing happened!”
“It was ugly.”
“Yes, it was. And ugly things happen every day. You think you’re protecting me, and I don’t need that kind of protection.” She walked to the table where she’d put the magazine and spoke deliberately. “Has it occurred to you that the best protection I might have would be to tell what happened in headlines?”
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