Come Nineveh, Come Tyre: The Presidency of Edward M. Jason

by Allen Drury

  “A ‘destiny,’” she suggested dryly. “Subject to ‘liquidation,’ like mine.”

  “I repeat, you’re a brave woman,” the voice said admiringly. “But now we have some chores to attend to, so if you will excuse me I’ll be leaving you for a while. You are still in the District, you may be interested to know, and quite safe. In fact, I am going to untie your hands and loosen the blindfold and after I leave this basement, you may remove it. There’s a bathroom next door, and some food laid out for you on the table.” Again the voice sounded amused. “You can eat it. It isn’t poisoned.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said, and a sudden tension gripped her heart, for she really did not.

  “No, probably not,” the voice said comfortably. “But you may find yourself growing hungry, even so.”

  “Are you going to communicate with my son again?” she asked as a chair scraped and she felt the bonds at her wrists fall loose and nimble fingers start to work on the blindfold.

  “Maybe,” the voice said. “Maybe not. The Congress is in recess at the moment but they’ll be back soon. We’ll await events. Now don’t peek, Mrs. Knox. I may not be one of your original captors, you know. I may be someone quite different. Scouts’ honor, now. No peeking.”

  “You are going to kill me, aren’t you,” she said with a sudden certainty.

  The voice sounded impatient.

  “Now, Mrs. Knox. Please don’t dramatize.”

  “I hope my son says no!” she said loudly.

  “Oh, I hope not,” the voice said soberly as its owner stepped out and closed the door. “I hope not, Mrs. Knox.”

  “If you want us to,” William Abbott said quietly, “we’ll all recant and support the bill. I think everybody on our side is agreed on that. In both houses.”

  Around the table Warren Strickland, Bob Munson, Cullee Hamilton, Lafe Smith and Walter Dobius all nodded gravely, looking at him with a deeply troubled sympathy and an insistent, inescapable expectancy.

  “What will I do?” he asked Crystal in a hopeless voice, his stricken face staring at her from the Picturephone. “What will I do? They’re waiting for me to decide.”

  “I don’t know,” she said slowly, “but I think maybe what you have to decide first is what she would want you to do.”

  “Maybe she isn’t capable of reasoning about it,” he said. “Maybe she can’t even—even think—at this point. Maybe they’re—maybe they’re—”

  “Stop that!” she said with a sharpness increased by fear and worry. “Isn’t the moment horrible enough without you going on like that? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes half-closed in pain. “But I just don’t know what to think—or do—or anything.”

  “Which is exactly how they want you to feel,” she said, more calmly. “I don’t know what is—happening—to your mother right now. But for the sake of our own sanity, and for her sake, we have to assume that nothing is. What we can be sure of is that when she thinks about it, she wants you to stand firm. Wouldn’t that be characteristic of her?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but it isn’t for her to decide.”

  “Who has a better right?” Crystal demanded. “Think about her and not yourself, for a change.”

  “I am thinking about her!” he said with a sudden anger.

  “No, you’re not,” she said. “Think.”

  “Jawbone,” the ex-President said softly into the Picturephone, “aren’t you, or your President, or any of your sleazy crew on the floor over there going to repudiate these damnable bastards? Isn’t anybody in your camp going to speak out against this nightmare?”

  “The President did, Bill!” Jawbone exclaimed, from the Speaker’s office, looking aggrieved and harassed. “He did, now, Bill! He used strong words and he sicced the FBI on ’em! Now, that’s a fact, Bill, it is, now!”

  “Why doesn’t he go on television?” William Abbott demanded. “Why doesn’t he talk to the country? Why does he hide behind a White House press statement? Why doesn’t he come out and name names? Why isn’t he brave?”

  “He’s goin’ to, Bill,” Jawbone promised. “He really is goin’ to, now.”

  “Who said so?” the ex-President inquired sharply. “He hasn’t talked to you or anybody else, and you know it. The country is falling apart, Jawbone. Where is your President? More important, where are you? How come you don’t condemn this bill now, Jawbone? You want to play with people who would do a thing like this to Beth Knox? You really think they’re good for America, O mighty Speaker of the House? Tell me.”

  “Now, Bill,” the Speaker said, and William Abbott could see his expression turn both frightened and stubborn, “you stop talkin’ to me like that, now, always patronizin’ and lookin’ down and sneerin’ like you always have at poor ole Jawbone. I am the Speaker now, and don’t you forget it, hear?”

  “And you feel as though you have some responsibility to America?” Bill Abbott inquired dryly. “Show it, then! Here’s your cue to leave this damnable bill and join us. Take it, man! Show a little integrity for a change!”

  “And kill Beth Knox?” the Speaker demanded, his eyes narrowing triumphantly. “That what you want, Bill? Help to murder that fine lady? Why should I do that, now, Bill? You can take her blood on your hands, Bill, that’s for sure! I don’t want it on mine.”

  “No more do I want it on mine,” William Abbott said evenly, “and I don’t think they would quite dare do such a thing. But they may, Jawbone: they may. But they’ll think twice if the Speaker comes out against them. So you see, it does come back to you, Jawbone. You can stop the whole thing if you’ll just prove to them that these tactics won’t work in America. How about it? Got the guts, or are you going to go down like a jellyfish?”

  “I’m not the only one, now, Bill,” the Speaker said with a stubbornly desperate unhappiness. “You callin’ from over there on the Senate side, right? Why don’t you bully Roger Croy, Bill? Why don’t you talk to him about integrity, get him to come out against the bill, make him lead the parade? How about that, now, Bill? How about the distinguished Vice President, over there?”

  “We’ve talked to Roger Croy,” William Abbott said with an annoyed contempt. “He’s even scareder than you are, Jawbone, if that’s possible. He says he can’t do anything until the President takes a strong lead. He says he can’t say any more than the President does, and all the President says is that he hopes Congress won’t let this affect its judgment of the bill. He doesn’t say what he thinks Congress ought to do, he doesn’t say what he thinks about the bill. He doesn’t support it and he doesn’t condemn it. Doesn’t do anything, really. Roger Croy says he can’t do any more than that.”

  “Well, then,” the Speaker cried triumphantly, “why should you expect me to do anymore? Why do you keep after me, Bill? I can’t defy my President any more than Roger P. Croy can. We’re in exactly the same spot, Bill, exactly the same. So there!”

  “And meanwhile,” the ex-President said coldly, “Beth Knox may be dying or already dead, and those who took her may be about to get away with blackmail of the Congress—”

  “Congress is ready to pass this bill,” Jawbone said sharply. “You know that, Bill, you can feel it out there on the floor. This young crowd, Bill, they’re different from you and me. They believe in Ted Jason, Bill, and they want peace. They’re going to get it, no matter what. They’re all set to pass this bill. You know that.”

  “But the country hasn’t had time to find that out,” William Abbott said. “It isn’t really clear, yet. So if they pass it, whoever has Beth Knox—NAWAC, I suspect, is the obvious—can claim they did it. And that gives them immediately an enormous psychological leap in controlling this country.”

  “Be even more of a leap, won’t it, Bill, if they kill Beth Knox?” the Speaker asked shrewdly. “Think how scared folks would be then, Bill.”

  “That’s what they want,” the ex-President agreed. “That’s why you Administration fellows can�
�t afford to give in. That’s why you’ve got to take the lead.”

  “Can’t do more than he does,” Jawbone said, stubbornness returning.

  “You know that, now, Bill. Can’t defy my President if I want to keep on being Speaker here. This new crowd would kick me out in a minute, Bill. Simple as that.… Anyway,” he added with a sudden sharp, shrewd look, “what about your side of it? What are you going to do when you get through lecturin’ me, Bill? What about young Hal? What’s he going to do?”

  “He hasn’t told us yet,” William Abbott said gravely. “He’s locked up in Warren’s inner office right now, going through a hell we can only imagine. It’s not an easy decision, you know.”

  “I know that, Bill,” the Speaker said, not without a genuine sympathy. “But we’re goin’ back into session in less than an hour, Bill. Somebody’s got to do somethin’, and soon, seems to me.”

  “I agree with that,” the ex-President said unhappily. “But who, or what, doesn’t seem to be clear, just yet.”

  “Is this Mr. Justice Davis?” the voice inquired from the carefully blacked-out Picturephone screen, and Tommy, who had not yet turned on the visual portion of his own machine, paused in mid-reach and slowly withdrew his hand.

  “Yes,” he said, trying not to sound as disturbed as this anonymous caller made him feel. “Who is this? Are you the ones who have Mrs. Knox?”

  “Shrewd guessing, Mr. Justice,” the voice said admiringly. “Very shrewd.”

  “And what are you going to do now?” the little Justice inquired, a growing anger and disgust strengthening his voice. “Threaten me too? Isn’t one such monstrous and despicable act enough to win you the contempt and horror of the civilized world?”

  The voice sounded amused.

  “I think possibly you overestimate the scope, determination and moral vigor of ‘the civilized world,’ Mr. Justice. Its boundaries grow narrower, within the general mass of humanity, every day.… No. We don’t want to threaten you. Why should we? You are not germane to our plans at the moment—except in this way: we have sent one message, as you know, to Mrs. Knox’s son, and through him to the Congress. And now we wish to follow this up with a message to the President. We thought you might act as agent for us in getting it to him. Immediately. Before Congress reconvenes tonight.”

  “Why don’t you send it to him directly?” Tommy asked. “You know where the White House is.”

  “We can’t get through to him,” the voice said. “You know no one can. Furthermore, we’d be traced instantly. And we don’t want that. In addition to which, of course, it will help to have a messenger of your distinguished fame and stature. It will impress the civilized world.”

  “If it’s a private message,” Justice Davis objected, “how can it?”

  “It won’t be,” the voice said. “It won’t be. We expect you to hand-carry it and make its contents public.”

  “And suppose I refuse to do either?” Tommy Davis inquired coldly. “I have better things to do than be a stooge for terrorists.”

  “Ah, but Mr. Justice,” the voice said in a gently chiding tone, “you are a friend of Mrs. Knox’s, aren’t you? And you do want her to live, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Tommy snapped, “I am a friend of Mrs. Knox’s and I do want her to live. What guarantee is there that she will if I do what you demand?”

  “None whatever,” the voice agreed pleasantly. “None whatsoever. But the most complete guarantee that she will not live if you do not do what we—‘ask,’ I think, Mr. Justice, not ‘demand.’ ‘Demand’ sounds too crude.”

  “You are crude,” Justice Davis said coldly. “Crude and awful, and I hope you die for it.”

  “Not unless you and your colleagues on the Court reinstate the death penalty, Mr. Justice,” the voice said cheerfully. “We couldn’t possibly, no matter what we do, rape, pillage, devastation, desecration, or the death of Mrs. Knox. No way, Mr. Justice. Now: this is what we want you to do …”

  “What the hell?” the head of the AP Senate staff demanded in the Press Gallery as they all clustered around the news tickers in response to the clattering of bells that indicates a bulletin. “Tommy Davis is going to have a press conference—at the White House?”

  “I guess we’d better get on our horses and get down there,” his counterpart of UPI said, grabbing his hat and coat and starting for the door, as many others did the same. “Keep an eye on things here, you guys. Maybe he’s going to announce the release of Beth Knox.”

  “I’d like to think so,” the New York Times said gloomily as they jostled hurriedly down the worn old marble steps of the Capitol and out into the freezing night to begin frantically hailing taxis. “But I don’t think there’s too much hope.”

  “I think,” he said, as he came back into the room and faced them at the oval table, his face drawn and sad and even more haggard than it had been when he left them an hour ago, “that I have a decision for you.”

  “Why don’t you hold it up a little,” Cullee Hamilton suggested gently. “Tommy Davis is about to make some sort of announcement at the White House. It could be they’re going to let your mother go.”

  “I don’t think,” he said in a voice infinitely tired and sad, “that I am ever going to see my mother again. At least—alive.… So let’s get our statement ready, and then as soon as—as Tommy’s finished, we’ll let it go.”

  “All right,” Cullee said, turning to snap on the television set in its niche on the wall. “But don’t give up hope yet.”

  “Why not?” he asked in a dulled, sleepwalking way. “Why not?”

  JUSTICE DAVIS ANNOUNCES ADDED DEMANDS FROM KNOX KIDNAPPERS AT WHITE HOUSE. TERRORISTS (THE FIRST TIME THE WORD HAD BEEN USED) SAY PRESIDENT MUST GIVE “CLEAR AND FORCEFUL ENDORSEMENT” TO HELP AMERICA BILL. DEMAND KNOX-BACKED “IN DEFENSE OF FREEDOM” GROUP BE DISBANDED IMMEDIATELY.

  JUSTICE EMPHASIZES KIDNAPPERS APPROACHED HIM, SAYS HE ACTED AS “EMISSARY UNDER PROTEST.” EXPRESSES PERSONAL HOPE GOVERNMENT WILL HAVE CULPRITS “BEFORE NIGHT IS OUT.” URGES PRESIDENT TO REPUDIATE BILL “AND ALL THE SINISTER ELEMENTS WHO ARE APPARENTLY BEHIND IT.” WHITE HOUSE PRESS SECRETARY SAYS PRESIDENT “CONTINUES TO DEPLORE INCIDENT BUT WILL HAVE NO COMMENT AT THIS TIME WHICH MIGHT JEOPARDIZE WORK OF FBI.”

  CONGRESSMAN KNOX, EX-PRESIDENT ABBOTT, OTHERS SILENT ON REACTION TO THREATS.

  But not silent for long following Tommy’s hectic and clamorous press conference in the White House Press Room. An obviously tired and worried Frankly Unctuous had the latest on the 6 p.m. news roundup.

  “Here in this stricken capital of a tense and troubled nation which must work out its agonies squarely in the eye of the watching world,” he began (in what some of his irreverent colleagues were wont to describe as his “invoking-the-whole-God-damned-panorama” style of opening), “the leaders of America await tonight the response that must be made somehow, by those who genuinely love America, to the vicious and heartless thugs who have kidnapped Mrs. Orrin Knox.

  “Scarcely two minutes ago, just before this program came on the air, the response of Mrs. Knox’s son was released to the media. While this correspondent was never particularly impressed by the policies of the Congressman’s late father, no one ever truthfully denied that Orrin Knox was one of the most courageous men who ever served in American public life. Now his son has proven himself worthy of his father.

  “His statement is brief and to the point:

  “‘Aware as I am of the threat to the life of my mother by those who are holding her as a means of blackmailing the Congress, the President and all who oppose the so-called ‘Help America bill,’ I am nonetheless unable to follow any course other than the one I think she would want me to follow. It is the course consistent with her principles and her courage, with my father’s principles and courage, and, I hope, with mine.

  “‘Trusting in the ability and determination of the Jason Administration to speedily recover my mother and to ruthlessly pursue and prosecute those responsible for her kidnap
ping, I accordingly reject all of their demands and I urge all who believe with me in the traditional protections of this democracy to reject them too.

  “‘I shall continue to fight this bill with everything I have. I hope all who think as I do, both in the Congress and throughout the country, will do the same. There will be no relaxation or lessening of our efforts to defeat this vicious and potentially dictatorial legislation. And there will be no lessening or relaxation of our efforts to change a foreign policy we can only regard as completely disastrous for the United States of America.

  “‘I call on all citizens who believe in America—including the President of the United States—to join me. I do not think the consequence will be the death of my mother. But at the same time I do not think she would want me to do anything else.’

  “So speaks,” said Frankly in his most respectful tones, “the brave son of brave parents. To his statement are appended the signatures of the ex-President of the United States, Congressman William Abbott of Colorado; the Minority Leader of the United States Senate, Warren Strickland of Idaho; former Senate Majority Leader Robert D. Munson of Michigan; Senators Cullee Hamilton of California, Lafe Smith of Iowa; and—in a rather surprising addition, yet one perhaps not so surprising in view of his long devotion to the principles of this Republic—the name of America’s most famous news columnist, Walter Dobius.

  “I should have been happy and honored,” Frankly said gravely, “had I been asked to append my own. And I am sure I speak for many of my more experienced and established colleagues in the media when I say this.…

  “The name we do not see,” he went on, and his voice became noticeably and surprisingly sterner, “is the one name that Americans would logically and rightfully expect to see, either in direct or indirect endorsement, on a document of this nature: the name of the President of the United States. Again we are faced with the greatest mystery of all that have surrounded his hectic first week in office: where is he? What is he thinking? What is he doing? What does he propose?