all at once. Together. In a group."
"Oh, we're a real sorority, Major."
Madge, Round and Full, sat in a bean
bag next to Sam and reached over,
touching his arm. "Ginny told you.
Hawkins s "
"Yes, I understood," said Devereaux,
swiftly interrupting. 35
"Talk to one of us about Mac, you
talk to all of us," added
Lillian Narrow and Pointed from across
the room in a particularly mellifluous
voice.
"That's right," cooed Anne Sloping
yet Argumentativc~ standing
outrageously in front of the center
pane of glass on the swimming pool
wall.
"In the event we don't have a
quorum, I act as spokeswoman," drawled
Regina Greenberg from a jaguar-skin
couch against the right wall. "That's
because I was there first and have
seniority."
"Not necessarily years, dear," said
Madge. "We won't let you malign
yourself."
"It's difficult to know ho'w to
begin," said Sam, who nevertheless,
plunged into the difficulty. He
touched first gently, on the abstract
hardships of dealing with a highly
individualistic personality. He
slowly, gently explained that
MacKenzie Hawkins had involved his
government in a most delicate
situation for which a solution had to
be found. And although said government
was filled with undeniable and undying
gratitude for General Hawkins's
extraordinary contributions, it was
often necessary to study a man's
background to help him and his
government resolve delicate
situations. Frequently the partially
negative led to the positive, if only
to balance and accentuate the
affirmative.
"So you want to screw him," recapped
Regina Greenberg. "It had to happen,
didn't it, girls?"
There was a chorus of yesses and
uh-huhs.
Sam knew better than to offer a flat
denial, there was more intelligence or
perception in that room than might
have been evident at first. "Why do
you say that?" he asked Ginny.
"Gawd Mayjorl" replied Titanic.
"Mac's been on a collision course with
the high-brass pricky-shits for yearsl
He sees through their manure piles.
That's why they like it when those
Northern liberals make him out a joke.
But Mac's no joker"
"Nobody thinks he's funny right now,
Mrs. Greenberg. Let me assure you."
"What's Mac done?" The question was
put defensively by Anne, still
silhouetted splendidly at the window.
36
l
"He defaced " Sam stopped; bad
choice of word. "He destroyed a
national monument belonging to a gov-
ernment we're trying to maintain a
detente with. Like our Lincoln
Memorial.
"Vas he drunk?" asked Lillian, eyes
and narrow frontage leveled at Sam;
two sets of sharp artillery.
"He says he wasn't."
"Then- he wasn't," stated Madge
positively from the bean bag beside
him.
"Mac can drink a whole battalion
under a mess hall slop shoot." Gimpy
Greenberg's drawl was punctuated by
her affirmatively nodding head. "But
he never, never plays the whiskey game
to the disadvantage of that uniform."
"He wouldn't put it into words,
Major," said Lillian, "but it was a
stronger rule than any oath he ever
took."
"For two reasons," added Ginny. "He
surely didn't want to disgrace his
rank, but just as important, he didn't
like for the pricky~shits to laugh at
him because of booze."
"So you see," stated Madge in the
bean bag, "Mac didn't do what they
said he did to the Lincoln Memorial.
He just wouldn't."
Sam looked back and forth at the
girls. Not one of these ex-Mrs.
Hawkinses was going to help him; none
would utter a negative word about the
man.
WhyP
He struggHed like hell to get out of
the bean bag and tried to assume the
stance of a cross-examining attorney.
A very soft, gentle attorney. He paced
slowly in front of the massive window.
Anne went to the bean bag.
"Naturally," he began, smiling,
"these circumstances, this group here,
evoke several questions. Not that
you're under any obligation to answer,
but frankly, speaking personally, I
don't understand. Let me explain "
"Let me answer," interrupted Regina.
"You can't figure out why Hawkins's
Harem protects its namesake. Right?"
"Right.
"As spokeswoman," continued Ginny,
receiving nods of assent from the
others, "I'll be brief and to the
point. Mac Hawkins is one great guy in
bed and out, and don't snicker at the
bed because most marriages haven't got
it. 37
You can't live with the son of a
bitch, but that's not his fault.
"Mac gave us something we'll never
forget because it's with us every day.
He taught us to break our molds.
Sounds simple, doesn't it?'Break your
mold.' But, lover, it sets you free.
'You're your own goddamned inventory,'
he used to say. 'There's nothing you
have to do and nothing you can't do;
use your inventory and work like
hell.'
"Now, I don't think that all of us
believe that's holy writ. But by gawd,
he made each one of us try a lot
harder. He set us free before it was
chic and we haven't done badly.
So,~you see, there's not one of us if
Mac came knocking at the door who
wouldn't accommodate him. You dig?"
"I dig," replied Sam quietly.
The telephone rang. Regina reached
behind the couch to the French phone
on the marble table. She turned to
Sam. "It's for you."
Sam looked a bit startled. "I left
your number with the hotel but I
didn't expect. . ." He walked to the
table and took the phone.
"He what?l" Blood drained from Sam's
face. He listened again. Jesus! He
didn'tI" And then in the weariness of
aftershock: "Yes, sir. I can see he
most certainly did.... I'll go back to
the hotel and await instructions.
Unless you'd rather turn this over to
someone else; my tour is up in a
month, sir. I see. Five days at the
outside, sir."
He hung up and turned to Hawkins's
Harem. Those four magnificent pairs of
mammaries that both invited and defied
description.
'We're not going to need you,
lad
ies. Although Mac Hawkins may."
'I'm your only contact with
Sixteen-hundred, Major," said the
young lieutenant as he pace`}somewhat
childishly, thought Sam the plush
Beverly Hills Hotel room. "You can
refer to me as Lodestone. No names,
please."
"Lieutenant Lodestone,
Sixteen-hundred. Has a nice ring to
it," said Devereaux, pouring himself
another bourbon.
"I'd go easy on the alcohol."
"Why don't you go to China instead? Of
me, that is." 38
"You do have a long, long flight."
"Not if you make it, I don't."
"In a way, I wish I could. Do you
realize there are seven . hundred
million potential consumers over
there? I'd really like to get a
see-you shot of that market."
"A who?"
"Close-up look. A real peek-see."
"Ohh. C-U. Not see-you "
"What an opportunity!" The lieutenant
stood by the hotel window, his hands
clasped behind his back. Caveat consumer.
"Then go, for Christ's sake! In
thirty-two days I've got a permit to
get out of this Disneyland and I don't
want to trade my uniform in for a
Chinese smock!"
"I'm afraid I can't, sir.
Sixteen-hundred needs pro-PR now. All
the other slambangs are gone. Some are
turning out a crackerjack house organ
at Dannemora.... Damn!" The lieutenant
turned from the window and walked to
the writing desk where there were a
half dozen photographs, five by seven.
"It's all here, Major. All you need.
They're a little hazy, but they show
Brand X, all right! He certainly can't
deny it now."
Sam looked at the blurred but
definable telephotos from Peking. "He
almost reached, didn't he?"
"DisgracefulI" The lieutenant winced
as he studied the photographs.
"There's nothing left to be said."
"Except that he almost made it." Sam
crossed to an armchair and sat down
with his bourbon. The lieutenant
followed him.
"Your head IG investigator in Saigon
will fly his reports directly to you
in Tokyo. Take them with you to
Peking. They've got a lot of real
dirt." The young officer smiled his
genuine smile. "Just in case you need
some final stickum for the coffin."
"Gee, you're a nice kid. Ever meet
your father?" Sam drank a great deal
of his bourbon.
"You mustn't personalize it, Major.
It's an objective operation and we
have the input. It's all part of the "
"Don't say again "
". . . game plan." Lodestone
swallowed the words. "Sorry. And
anyway, if you do personalize it, what
more do you 39
want? The man's a maniac. A dangerous,
egotistical madman who's interfering
violently with peaceful pursuits."
"I'm a lawyer, Lieutenant, not an
avenging angel. Your maniac made
several contributions to other game
plans. He's got a lot of people in his
corner. I met with eight four this
afternoon." Sam looked at his glass.
where did the bourbon go?
"Not any more, he doesn't," said the
officer flatly.
"He doesn't what?"
"Whatever constituency he had will
disappear."
"Constituency? a politician?" Sam
decided he needed another drink. He
couldn't follow this Buster Brown any
longer. So why not get really drunk?
"He peed on the Stars and Stripesl
That's a Peoria no-nor"
"Did he really reach?"
"We're sending you to China,"
continued Lodestone, overlooking the
question, "in the fastest way possible.
Phantom jet aircraft over the northern
route, stops in Juneau and the
Aleutians, into Tokyo. From there a
supply carrier to Peking. I've brought
all the papers you need from
Washington."
Devereaux mumbled into his bourbon.
"I don't like moo goo gal pan and I
hate egg rolls...."
"May I suggest you get some rest,
sir? It's almost twenty-three hundred
and we have to leave for the airbase at
oh four hundred. You take off at dawn."
"Wish I'd said that, Lodestone. Nice
ring to it. Five hours. And you're down
the hall but not in here:'
"Sir?" The young man cocked his head.
"I'm going to give you an order. Go
away. I don't want to see you until you
come to sew in my name tags."
"What?"
"Get the hell out of here." And then
Sam remembered and his eyes though
slightly glazed were laughing. "You
know what you are, Lieutenant? You're
a pricky-shit. A real, honest-to-God
pricky-shit. Now I know what it means!"
Four hours.... He wondered.
It was worth a try. But first he needed
another drink.
:. He poured it and walked to the writing
desk and 40
laughed at the Peking telephotos. The
son of a bitch had flair, no question
about it. But he was not at the desk
to look at the photographs; he opened
the drawer and took out his notebook.
He turned the pages and did his best
to Ecus on his own handwriting. He
walked to the telephone by the bed,
dialed nine, and then the number on
the page.
"Hello?" The voice was magnolia-soft
and Sam could actually smell the
oleander blossoms.
"Mrs. Greenberg? This is Sam Devereaux
"
"Well, how're you?" Regina's
greeting was positively enthusiastic;
there was no attempt to conceal her
pleasure that the caller was a man.
"We were all wondering which one you'd
call. I'm really flattered, Mayjor! I
mean, actually, I'm the elder
stateswoman. I'm really touched."
Her husband was probably out,
thought Sam through the bourbon,
warmed by the memory of her
challenging, translucent shirt.
"That's very kind of you. You see,
in a little while I'm going to go on
a long, long trip. Over oceans and
mountains and. more oceans and islands
and..." Jesus! He hadn't figured out
how to put it; he hadn't really been
sure he could dial her number. Goddamn
bourbon fantasies! "Well, it's
sheecrit~ecret. Very covert. But I'm
going to talk to your namesake?"
"Of cawsse, lover! And naturally,
you didn't get half a chaynce to ask
all those important government
questions. I understand, I really do."
"Well, several items came up, one in
particular "
"It usually does. I do believe I
should do all I can to help the
&
nbsp; government in its delicate situation.
You're at the Beverly Hills?"
"Yes, ma'm. Room eight twenty."
"Wait a sec." She put her hand over
the receiver, but Sam could hear her
calling out. "Manng! There's a nation-
al emergency. I have to go to town."
41
1
CHATTIER FIVE
"Major! Major Devereauxl Your phone is
off the hook. That s a no-no.
An incessant, ridiculously loud
knocking accompanied Lodestone's nasal
screams.
"What the gawd-almighty hell is
that?" asked Regina Greenberg, nudging
Sam under the covers. "It sounds like
an unoiled piston.
Devereaux opened his eyes into the
visual abyss of a hangover. "That,
dear patron saint of Tarzana, is the
voice of the evil people. They surface
when the earth churns."
"Do you know what time it is? Call
the hotel police, for heaven's sake."
"No," said Sam, reluctantly getting
out of bed. "Because if I do, that
gentleman will call the joint chiefs
of staff. I think they're scared to
death of him. They're merely
professional killers; he's in
advertising."
And before Devereaux could really
focus, hands had dressed him, cars had
driven him, men had yelled at him, and
he was strapped into an Air Force
Phantom jet.
They all smiled. Everyone in China
smiled. With their lips more than
Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt Page 6