Program for a Puppet

by Roland Perry

  Apart from the senator’s objection, there were no other major criticisms of the note. Just at noon, Rickard closed the meeting.

  “Well, gentlemen,” he said, “Secretary Grove will hand it personally to the Soviet ambassador at three P.M. today.”

  Twelve hours after Rickard had made his decison to confront the Kremlin with its violations of agreements, Douglas Philpott met a contact with the State Department, who had direct access to the minutes of the President’s special committee meeting. It was Gregor Haussermann, assistant Under Secretary of State. He and Philpott had met once before. It was too much of a coincidence in the TV superstar’s mind that this meeting had occurred only days after Huntsman of Lasercomp had brought pressure on him. He maintained the contact, and Haussermann was willing to supply exclusive information about the President’s ultimatum to the Soviets.

  Haussermann called Philpott at the FBS studio and arranged to meet him at a small Chinese restaurant. Quiet and relatively unknown, it was an ideal spot that Philpott often used for meetings. Once or twice over the years he had been recognized by a fan there, but never often enough to bother him. Even someone with his outsized ego needed a break from the admirers, backslappers and assorted sycophants.

  This night, Philpott was more cautious than ever, because he was going to receive stolen documents. He arranged to meet Haussermann early. The two men made their way to an alcove cubicle, where they both ordered a light Chinese meal and a beer.

  “It-it’s all there,” Haussermann stammered nervously at Philpott as he placed a thick manila folder in his lap. “Be-be care-care-ful how you-you use it. Don’t refer to the documents. You-you must use your s-skill to cover the source. When you-you pass it on to the Times, have your own report made up and get rid of it.”

  The New York Times was the first to run the story of Rickard’s ultimatum in the morning edition of September 17, with a front page headed: “Exclusive: Rickard’s Ultimatum to U.S.S.R.” It ran a fairly accurate story of about 2,500 words spilling onto an inside page. It covered the background to the three-month run-up to the decision to confront the Russians.

  Three other big dailies then ran follow-up reports on the story of the controversial note, and Rickard was forced to confirm that the Kremlin had received it. A guarded White House press release refused to disclose its contents.

  The controversy was kept going on television. Douglas Philpott claimed that he had been one of the first to receive the leak, and that he passed it on to the New York Times. With a fine balance of charm and self-righteousness, he told his huge audience: “I refrain from editorializing on the content of the note except to confirm its existence.”

  With his photogenic head filling the screen, he added in a halting tone meant to convey a great depth of sincerity, “I decided to pass on the note only after agonizing for several days … and being confronted with … an … an inescapable decision of … journalistic conscience….”

  It was an act worthy of an Emmy. The TV superstar was doing Lasercomp’s bidding. The attempt to crush Rickard by every piece of sensation, scandal, innuendo and vilification had begun in earnest.

  The Kremlin reacted with uncharacteristic speed to the report of Rickard’s ultimatum. Within forty-eight hours, the Soviet news agency Tass denounced Rickard as a “danger to all mankind,” and in vitriolic terms accused him of setting world peace back twenty-five years.

  Rickard was told of the first Soviet reaction. Yet there had been no reply from the Soviet ambassador, which Rickard regarded as a better guide to gauging the Kremlin’s reaction.

  Lasercomp was quick to exploit Rickard’s problem. Huntsman told Bilby that Brogan Senior was prepared to be interviewed on Philpott’s evening program.

  A feature was prepared for September 18. Filmed highlights of Brogan’s career in dealing with the Soviets from Lenin’s time were followed by the interview:

  “You have been one of the biggest traders with the Soviet Union,” Philpott began in his staged but convincing style. “Why do you say President Rickard’s note to the Kremlin is a dangerous move?”

  Brogan spat a reply. “Crass brinkmanship! One idiotic note has taken us all the way back to the 1950s and the Cold War.”

  “But if the Russians have broken arms limitation agreements …”

  “Who says they have?” Brogan said in his rasping voice.

  “President Rickard said he was acting on advice from his Intelligence and military advisers.”

  Brogan changed position in his chair indignantly and, leaning forward, said, “Look. I know the Russians like the back of my hand. They stick to agreements.”

  “Are you suggesting the President of the United States is misleading the public?” Philpott had become the Great American Inquisitor.

  “Of course he is,” Brogan sneered. “It’s been done before by Presidents, you know.”

  “That’s a serious charge, Mr. Brogan.”

  “He is grandstanding. Playing politics. There’s an election coming up.” His tone was sarcastic. “He wants to show America how tough he is. Remember, the American people never elected Rickard. He got there by chance and I think he’ll do almost anything to stay in power!”

  Philpott paused and looked at the script board he was clutching. “Then why do you think the Kremlin has so far failed to reply?” he asked.

  “Well, they’re not fools. They’re obviously considering it properly. Anyway, I disagree with your saying they have failed to reply. We’ve already had a reaction that is clear enough.”

  “You mean …”

  “Their media, of course.”

  “And what have you heard, Mr. Brogan, with your strong contacts in the Kremlin?”

  The Old Man remained silent for a few seconds, as if he was measuring what he was about to say very carefully. “I think you’ll find they’ll shut off their dealings with Rickard until they see which way the presidential election goes.”

  “What about trade?”

  “Huh!” Brogan grunted with an appeal to the heavens. “Millions … billions of dollars’ worth of contracts could go down the drain … the U.S. balance of trade will suffer. Rickard is saying do this and that or we will stop trading with you. Naturally, the Soviets don’t like it. And I don’t blame them!”

  “One last question, Mr. Brogan. What do you think should be done if the official reply from the Soviet Union in response to Rickard’s ultimatum is unfavorable?”

  Brogan was acting like an old stager who had been there a thousand times before. He paused melodramatically and looked away as the camera moved in for a close-up. His wrinkled profile was a study of concentration as he said, “I think someone has to let the Soviet Union administration and its people know that Rickard’s warmongering attitudes are not representative of the true American opinion.”

  “You?”

  “I’m not a politician.”

  “Then who?”

  Brogan paused again. “I would say it’s a heaven-sent opportunity for Senator MacGregor to show he is a statesman,” he said forcefully. “It’s his real chance to let the Soviets know we are not about to wipe out years of growing ties because of one stupid and irresponsible act.”

  Present at a very special dinner two nights later in a discreet corner of Le Perigord, one of New York City’s most fashionable restaurants, were Brogan Senior and Junior, Alan Huntsman, Senator Ronald MacGregor and his running mate, Governor Paul Mineva. They were being waited on in the opulent setting of crimson silk-covered walls and frosted glass mirrors, by European waiters who outnumbered the VIPs and the mandatory Secret Service agents at a nearby table by two to one.

  Le Perigord’s Swiss manager, an old acquaintance of Huntsman’s, gushed over the distinguished guests and went to great lengths to explain each dish on the menu. Huntsman fussed with the manager in fluent French. As an appetizer, MacGregor and Mineva both liked the sound of escargots de Bourgogne, while Brogan Junior and Huntsman settled for caviar aux blinis. The Old Man indicated he would
have just the main course later—a sole au plat. Huntsman managed to convince MacGregor that he should try the canard aux pêches, while Mineva and Brogan Junior went for grenouilles Provençale. Huntsman himself ordered a Chateaubriand for two without batting an eyelid, and then surveyed the wine list. With a pretentious flourish, he ordered a decade-old Nuits St. Georges and a white wine bottled especially for Le Perigord.

  The conversation concerned MacGregor’s campaign and general strategy.

  “A lot of people have been urging me to go to Moscow,” MacGregor said casually to the Old Man, as he fished for a last elusive snail. “I hear you think it would be opportune also.”

  “I most certainly do, Senator,” Brogan Senior said with conviction. “A public meeting with Brechinov would gain you votes.”

  “Why?” MacGregor asked, as his steel claw utensil at last grasped the snail.

  “Rickard’s foreign policy is a failure. It’s your chance to succeed where he has failed.”

  “I can’t speak on behalf of the American administration. What do you see as the point of my meeting the Russians?”

  Brogan Junior broke in. “Things aren’t exactly harmonious between Rickard and the Soviets. A goodwill visit from you could be seen to warm relations between the two nations.”

  MacGregor looked skeptical. “What’s in it for Lasercomp?” he asked with a wry smile.

  “Plenty,” the Old Man said. “The Soviets are already getting tough because of Rickard’s stupid belligerence. As I said on Philpott’s show the other night, millions’ worth of contracts could be lost.”

  MacGregor looked far from convinced.

  Brogan Junior tried to reassure him. “If you did make the trip,” he said, indicating that a waiter should fill the senator’s glass, “we would make sure whatever transpired would be conveyed to the right people.”

  MacGregor fell silent and examined the stem of his wineglass. On the one hand, he marveled at the enormous pull of the Brogans. They were able to command the attention of the head of any world government, with the exception of the Chinese. They were even guaranteeing the way a meeting would be conducted! On the other hand, he saw a caution light. It was public now that Lasercomp was advocating Rickard’s ejection from office. If he went on the proposed trip, what would be the payoff? Pressure on the courts to lay off Lasercomp? An easing of restrictions of computer sales? So far there had been no mention of a quid pro quo.

  His running mate, Mineva, spoke up. “I’d like to know how the media would react to such a trip.”

  Huntsman emerged from the gastronomical bliss of his caviar. “Favorably, I’m certain about that.” He washed down the rest of his hors d’oeuvre with a mouthful of white wine, leaving a few black specks near the corner of his mouth.

  Mineva seemed satisfied. “In that case, I don’t think we have anything to lose,” he said, smiling at everyone.

  MacGregor shook his head. He had never been for Mineva as running mate but had been left little choice. Mineva, with his support in the Midwest, the South and from big business, some minorities, and some of the bigger unions, had been the halfhearted compromise choice. And now MacGregor was having to live with it.

  “You spoke of the extra votes we would get from a trip like this,” he said, turning to Brogan Senior. “I’m not so sure it would be all that valuable. I’m beginning to think I’m spending a little too much time on foreign issues as it is. I’ve had more requests for interviews from foreign journalists, and film and television organizations than from our home media. Sure, they are all interested in any trip I take overseas. But American journalists want to know about taxes, federal welfare, urban planning, every day until November fourth. My campaign has to get its priorities right at this critical time. I’m not sure that backslapping with Brechinov right now will sway votes my way.

  “In any case,” he added deliberately, “I agree with Rickard when it comes to dealing with the Soviet administration. He’s right in confronting them over arms and human rights.”

  An embarrassed silence was interrupted by the arrival of the main course.

  Several waiters hovered around, serving from trolleys and opening more wine. When the diners were settled again, Brogan Senior turned to MacGregor.

  “Senator, I guess one of your reservations about visiting the Kremlin is that you don’t want it to look like a vote-gathering exercise.”

  MacGregor looked a little exasperated. “That’s partly right. But the question, as I said, Mr. Brogan, is whether or not it is a vote-gathering exercise!”

  “Well, if it would help, we could arrange for the Kremlin to invite you on an unofficial visit.”

  “I’ll give it some thought,” he said noncommittally, and in a manner that indicated the topic was closed.

  Huntsman, buried in his Chateaubriand, was asked by the manager for the third time if everything was in order. The PR man wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Just perfect,” he said with a satisfied smile.

  Graham arrived back at his apartment from MI-6’s crash program at Oxford and immediately phoned Sir Alfred.

  “How are you feeling?” the publisher asked.

  “Not too bad considering we did about a year’s work in four days. Why?”

  “Some bad news, I’m afraid. Your flat was broken into yesterday.”

  The Australian gripped the receiver.

  “What?”

  “Your porter rang here in a panic. Apparently he disturbed them.”

  “Them?”

  “Two men in blue overalls, masquerading as workmen.”

  “Was anything stolen?”

  “Only you could tell that. But certainly the stereo, TV and so on are still there.”

  “Did you tell Gould?”

  “A few minutes ago. Police have already been over the apartment for fingerprints.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He will have a look at the police report. He wants you to speak to him later today.”

  “So the trip’s off?”

  “He didn’t say that. It could have been an ordinary burglary. The police say hundreds of apartments are broken into each week in your area. On the other hand, nothing was taken. It could have been …”

  After a few seconds’ silence, Graham said thoughtfully, “Even if it was ‘them’ it should not stop the trip. Could just mean they’re getting desperate to find me.…”

  “On the subject of your trip, we collected your mail from the bank as instructed. There’s something from Intourist.”

  “Could you open it?” Graham said nervously. There was a moment’s pause.

  “It’s your visa and plane ticket”

  Graham was determined to enjoy his last night in London after weeks of confinement. He took Françoise to a quiet romantic little Greek restaurant off the Bayswater Road. Toward the end of the meal, she said, “I don’t want to spoil the evening, but hadn’t we better discuss tactics?”

  “I was saving it until last thing tomorrow,” Graham said, “but you’re right.” He leaned forward as a waiter hovered about filling their wineglasses. When he was out of earshot, Graham said, “Gould says you should leave at the first sniff of trouble. At the latest you must leave the company the day I’m scheduled to play Radford.”

  “I’m staying until then.”

  The Australian reached across the table and took both her hands.

  “You have more courage than is good for you.”

  “If your cover is broken, I should ring Gould?”

  “Right. His operatives in Russia will inform me if something goes wrong.”

  “Ed, I’m worried for you …”

  He squeezed her hands.

  “Don’t be. At the slightest sign of trouble, I simply won’t go through with the Radford impersonation bit. Promise. I don’t plan to be a dead hero … besides …” he said, smiling cheerfully, “I’ve too much to look forward to back here.”

  “So much could go wrong….”

  “Not if I remember my lines. I t
old you, Gould and his mates have pumped everything into my thick skull. I know exactly what to look for … the blueprints to be memorized … I won’t have to write anything. And I know all the do’s and don’ts.”

  “The …?”

  “The rules. Do act like a tourist. Don’t exchange money illegally. Don’t talk to the Russian women …”

  “The women?”

  “Yes, I know it sounds like some cliché but the KGB are apparently likely to try to use a female contact. Gould says every prostitute either works for the KGB or ends up in jail. The smart ones learn to cooperate to stay out of trouble. They pass on to the KGB any little detail to keep them happy.”

  “Stay away from the smart ones, s’il vous plait.”

  Graham smiled. “Jealous?”

  “Bien sur!”

  He leaned across the table and kissed her lightly on the lips. Looking for the waiter, he asked for the bill and took out his wallet. Taking a card from it, he wrote two telephone numbers on the back.

  “Memorize those two numbers,” he said, handing the card to her. “The top one is Sir Alfred’s private line. Ring him and he’ll give you a job with his publishing house until you start with British Airways. The second one is vital. It will reach MI-6 at any time.”

  “I hope I don’t have to …”

  “You don’t have a thing to worry about. You have police protection from now on anyway.”

  Graham signed the bill. The waiter scurried away. “Forget about the company. They will never harm you. Radford and the rest of his executives will be hit hard by the police within the next few weeks.” He stood up to go. “No matter what happens to me …”

  *Coordinating Committee Machinery of the NATO Alliance.

  PART 2

  THE

  SOVIET

  CONNECTION

  “The computer is the common denominator of the worst excesses of Soviet Marxism and American Capitalism.”