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

by Allen Drury

  “The brief statements that have come out of the White House in the past four hours are correct and encouraging as far as they go. But not even the staunchest proponents of the President—and I should say that I have long been one of them—will claim, I think, that they have gone far enough.

  “Still, at this late hour, we turn to the White House for guidance. Still, we await the leadership that should come from that fateful residence. And now, with the kidnapping of Mrs. Knox adding even further horrors to those piled upon us, we all but cry out, ‘Speak, Mr. President! Lead us, Mr. President! At least—we beg of you—take us into your confidence so that we may find the hope we must have, Mr. President!’

  “Harold Knox, brave son of brave parents, has shown the way. Now, as the Congress prepares to resume within the hour its debate on a most significant and possibly even ominous bill, and as the fate of Mrs. Knox herself remains a mystery in the hands of the evil beings who hold her, we beseech you, Mr. President: lead us! Lead us!”

  And that, for Frankly Unctuous, was a break with the White House as startling as Walter Dobius’ signature on Hal Knox’s statement. It was duly noted in the places where the consequences of such actions were now being prepared.

  But from the White House came nothing further to expand upon the terse word that the President continued to deplore, but would not jeopardize the efforts of the FBI by saying more. This satisfied some, increased the concern of others and solved nothing.

  And so the debate resumed.

  “Well, Mrs. Knox,” the voice said, its owner speaking through the locked door, “it doesn’t look too good, does it? We had hoped your son would be more sensible.”

  “I am proud of him,” she said, though to her annoyance her voice trembled, too noticeably.

  “You should be,” the voice agreed. “He is, as our friend has just said on television, the brave son of brave parents.”

  “When will you kill me?” she asked, knowing that such bluntness had seemed to shock the voice before. It appeared to again.

  “Mrs. Knox! How like a Knox, to be so direct! But also, as I have cautioned you before, so dramatic! Nothing is definite, nothing is clear—except for your son’s attitude, that is. But he may yet come around. And there are other factors: the Congress—the President. We will simply have to wait and see what happens as the night draws on. Is everything all right in there? You’ve eaten dinner? The television is working satisfactorily? You can keep in touch?”

  “I’m keeping in touch,” she said dryly, her voice steadying.

  “What do you think of our President?” the voice asked with a sudden humorous scorn. “Isn’t he something else? Won’t even help an old friend, apparently.”

  “He’s helping according to his lights,” she said, feeling an odd need to defend Ted Jason, of all people. “He has the FBI on it. He isn’t sitting still.”

  “But he isn’t really helping you, is he?” the voice persisted. “The FBI isn’t going to find us, and if it did, I think I can assure you it would be much too late to be of assistance to you. He isn’t helping you in the way we’ve suggested—he isn’t taking up his option. Don’t defend him, Mrs. Knox. He’s a sorry soul, our President.” The voice chuckled. “Which is quite all right with us.”

  “I think,” she said quietly, “that you and your fellow fanatics are insane.”

  “In the world of the sane,” the voice said amicably, “he who is insane is king. Particularly in this kind of situation. And you must admit, Mrs. Knox, this kind of situation is quite common around the globe, these days. And, of course, you know—you do know, because you’re very intelligent—that ‘fanatics’ perhaps isn’t quite the word. This isn’t a pack of irrational crazies, Mrs. Knox. We’re quite calm, quite cool, quite collected—and quite determined. Which I don’t think your son, or our other friends in Congress or our strange, hermitic President quite realize, as yet. I think they too feel a certain contempt. It isn’t wise.… Well”—with a sudden briskness—“I must be running along. Keep smiling, Mrs. Knox. No one can say when the dawn may break in the middle of the night. Let us pray it comes not too late.”

  “I pity you,” she said, “because you are so lonely and so far from the rational world, and because what your tormented souls prompt you to do to one old woman isn’t going to make that much difference to the world.”

  “Not so old,” the voice said, “and quite a lot of difference. And don’t,” it said, suddenly sharper, “pity us, Mrs. Knox. Don’t dare pity us. That is very dangerous.”

  “I know it is with people of your type,” she said quietly. “But nonetheless, I do.”

  “Don’t!” the voice said, almost in a shout. “Don’t, Mrs. Knox! I warn you!”

  “What does it matter?” she asked with a sudden indifference that she found to her surprise was quite genuine. “Pity or love—neither could reach you now.”

  “Mrs. Knox—” the voice began in an ugly tone, and then broke off as if overcome by some emotion too deep for expression. (How old was its owner? Hal’s age, she imagined—if that.) And so once more she said quietly, for she knew instinctively, as she had for some time now, that these conversations were in all probability rapidly approaching their end, regardless of what her son, or the Congress, or the President or anyone might do:

  “I pity you. You cannot begin to imagine how much.”

  But this time the voice said nothing. Instead two fists pounded the door in an expression of rage so recognizable and distinct that she could almost see it. And then footsteps hurried away.

  She sat for what seemed quite a long time, thinking about what the voice had truly said: these were not fanatics in the old sense. These were conditioned, cold, intelligent and forever unreachable. These were the new breed.

  Then she thought of Orrin, convinced now that he and Ceil had been their victims just as she felt certain she would presently be.

  Then she prayed quietly, for a time; and presently, feeling at last somewhat comforted and serene, went to the television set and turned it on, so that she might keep in touch with the tumbling world and her sadly troubled country as they raced ever faster toward whatever destiny an inscrutable Providence might have in mind for them.

  “Mr. Speaker,” Hal said shortly after 2 a.m., face white and strained, voice controlled at times with difficulty but persistence unflagging, “I appreciate more than I can say the many expressions of sympathy which have been given me by members on both sides of the aisle since debate resumed. But I do not detect therein any change in sentiment as regards this bill, and therefore I wonder if—since the House is obviously going to pass it anyway—I might be recognized out of order to move to suspend debate on the bill temporarily and introduce, also out of order and for immediate consideration, a resolution stating this obvious fact to those who have my mother? The resolution calls upon them to release her at once, since their claimed reason for her kidnapping—namely, to influence the Congress—is entirely moot and unnecessary.

  “The resolution also expresses the sense of the House that we call upon the President of the United States to state his position clearly and at once as being in favor of this bill, since that too is obvious, and since therefore the kidnappers’ attempt to use the threat to her life as a weapon to force him to give the bill his endorsement is also moot and unnecessary.

  “A companion resolution is even now, I believe, being introduced in the other body by its former Majority Leader, Senator Munson.

  “I do so move to suspend the regular order, Mr. Speaker.”

  “Well, now,” Jawbone said hastily into the uneasy murmuring that arose from the crowded floor and the galleries, “well, now, the gentleman knows that his request is entirely out of order, and in fact, I don’t even know if it is possible at all under the rules of the House. If the gentleman will give me a few minutes to consult with the parliamentarian and other interested parties then maybe we can come up with some sort of suggestion that will be within the rules and still try to meet so
me of the gentleman’s objectives. Would that be agreeable to the gentleman?”

  “No, sir,” Hal said evenly, “it would not. Naturally you must consult the parliamentarian, Mr. Speaker, but I don’t want consultations with ‘other interested parties,’ and I don’t want any ‘suggestion’ that would ‘try’ to meet ‘some’ of my objectives. I want a resolution that will meet all of them, just as I have stated it.”

  “Well, now!” Jawbone cried, looking around nervously as the uneasy murmur grew and in a few areas of the galleries turned to boos and hisses. “Well, now, I must say to the gentleman that he is really quite out of order in those comments, let alone in what he proposes. I must say to the gentleman—”

  “Mr. Speaker,” William Abbott said with an angry emphasis that quieted the House at once. “Mr. Speaker, if I may be recognized to comment, I should like to say that I—”

  “Mr. Speaker!” Bronnie Bernard interrupted in an indignant shout. “Now, Mr. Speaker! I am going to have to insist on the regular order here if this sort of thing is going to be allowed to go on! The gentleman from Illinois and the gentleman from Colorado both know perfectly well, Mr. Speaker, that what is being proposed is an attempt to embarrass the President of the United—”

  “What is being proposed,” the ex-President exploded, an utter contempt in his voice, “is an attempt to save a human life! Have the gentleman from New York and his like become so bereft of all human feeling and decency that they wish to interpose themselves in the way of that? In the name of God, what kind of people are you?”

  “The gentleman from Colorado,” Bronnie Bernard said, turning white himself but standing his ground, “is a former Speaker and a former President of the United States, and he should be ashamed of himself for saying a thing like that to me and to my colleagues here. Of course we want to save a human life! Of course we sympathize with the gentleman from Illinois and with his mother! Of course we are not monsters! But, Mr. Speaker, neither are we so naive as to believe that there is not also an ulterior motive behind the suggestion of the gentleman from Illinois. Neither are we so innocent that we cannot understand this attempt to embarrass the President of the United States by making him do something he may not yet be ready to do. Neither are we so naive that—”

  “And why?” Cullee Hamilton demanded bitterly as Arly Richardson peered at him like some spiteful old bird and on the Senate floor and in the galleries the tension grew, “why is it an embarrassment to the President of the United States, I ask the Majority Leader who makes the charge with such ringing rhetoric, to ask him to do what he can to help save Mrs. Knox? How can he possibly be embarrassed by committing himself to this bill which his silence commits him to already?” He paused and his expression and voice became somber. “I ask the Majority Leader this question direct: does this Administration intend to sacrifice Mrs. Knox? Are you ready to let her die?”

  There was a great burst of boos and hisses and beside his front seat on the aisle Arly Richardson drew himself to his full height and spat out his response.

  “The Senator from California talks arrant, insulting and, I am inclined to think, subversive nonsense. Certainly this Administration does not ‘intend to sacrifice Mrs. Knox,’ as the Senator so kindly puts it. Of course we are not ‘ready to let her die,’ to quote his extreme, nonsensical and despicable language. And we do not intend to accept this kind of two-bit, propagandistic interference with orderly debate on this bill, either, I will say to the Senator! There are rules in this Senate—”

  “Will the Senator yield to me?” Bob Munson demanded, and proceeded before Arly could stop him. “Mr. President, what is this quibble? Has the Senate reached—has the country reached—a point so low that we are unable to bend our rules if necessary, yes, break them if necessary, in order to save a human life? Is that what the Majority Leader is trying to tell us? Is he so protective of a do-nothing President—” there was a burst of startled and angry sound from the galleries and some places on the floor but he ignored it—“that he will attempt to block a simple humanitarian act? Is the President himself so afraid to take a stand that he will sacrifice the life of a helpless woman to avoid taking a stand on this bill to which his silence has already given assent? Why this strange protectiveness of him, Senator? Why this denial of a simple humanitarian act? Why hide behind the rules? We can suspend debate and take up this resolution, it’s been done before. As anyone who has served here knows, I will say to the Senator, the Senate can do anything it really wants to. Why won’t he let it?”

  “Mr. President,” Fred Van Ackerman said, rising slowly in his place, looking around floor and galleries with an appraising stare, “I don’t know who has the floor at this point—”

  “I do,” Cullee snapped, “and I am not so sure I am going to yield.”

  “Well, the Senator had better,” Fred said, his voice suddenly ugly.

  “Why?” Cullee asked contemptuously. “Which will you have them do to me, Senator, kidnap me or kill me? Or both?”

  “Mr. President,” Fred cried with a sudden fury, “I will say to the Senator that some people had better not be so smart! Some people had better not be so smart, I will say to the Senator!”

  “I repeat,” Cullee said in the same contemptuous tone, “will you have them—” then he broke off with a disgusted shrug. “Go ahead, Senator. Tell us what you’ve got on your mind and get it over with. We’ve got business to transact.”

  “You bet we have,” Fred Van Ackerman cried, “you bet we have, and I’ll tell you what part of it is, Senators! We’ve got to find out what’s behind this sudden tricky move at almost two o’clock in the morning as we near a vote on this most important and vital and necessary bill, why there is this diversion, yes, diversion, Mr. President, offered here and in the other body by those who oppose the greatest President this country has ever had! Our noble friends cry out about Mrs. Knox, and God knows nobody deplores this unhappy situation more than I do—yes!” he cried sharply as Cullee looked at him with a sarcastically ironic smile he took no pains to conceal, “and the Senator can stop smiling at me, I do deplore it—but where is the consistency in it, Mr. President? Why do they want the President to say what the Congress will do, when we haven’t even voted yet? Why do they want to put Congress on the record, why do they demand the President put himself on the record, when they won’t commit themselves to the bill?

  “Oh, it’s all very well for Mrs. Knox’s son, the gentleman from Illinois over there in the other body, to act pious about the President, but Congressman Knox is part of the deal, too, he’s part of the demand. Why doesn’t he commit himself to the bill as he ought to, instead of holding back and trying a tricky move to embarrass the President? Why doesn’t he disband the IDF, instead of offering diversions? How about that, Senators? Why don’t you talk to him, instead of trying to embarrass the President? You all signed his statement a while ago. Use your influence, Senators! Bring him to heel!”

  “Now, that’s enough of that,” Cullee said angrily. “I have the floor, and that’s enough of that. I shall not yield to the Senator further. This Senate and the Congress know very well that Congressman Knox and those of us who support him in his statement cannot in all conscience endorse this vicious bill—”

  “Maybe the President can’t, either!” Arly Richardson snapped, too quickly.

  “Oh, then he’s against it, is he?” Cullee demanded instantly. “Then he’s really opposed to it, too, is he? Well, Mr. President, now that we have the word of the Majority Leader that the President of the United States opposes this bill—”

  But the completion of his sentence, along with Arly’s angry shouts of denial, were lost in the general booing that filled the chamber. Lacey Pollard of Texas, the president pro tempore, once more back in the chair while the Vice President was absent from the floor, rapped hard and furiously with the gavel, his handsome old face flushed with anger and excitement.

  “The Senate will be in order!” he demanded. “The Senate will be in order, no
w! The Senate and the galleries will be in order! Be in order, now! Be in order!”

  And after a few more moments during which no one appeared to pay any particular attention, and during which Lacey’s face became even more heated and flushed—so much so that Verne Cramer of Oregon, a doctor, murmured to Magnus Hollingsworth of Wisconsin, “Lacey’d better watch it, he looks as though his blood pressure is about 300 over 250”—the floor and galleries finally quieted down and the Senate could proceed.

  “Mr. President,” Bob Munson said quietly, “will the Senator from California yield to me? … I thank the Senator. Now, Mr. President, it seems to me that we can make all kinds of debating points here for the rest of the night, but the basic fact of it is that a human life may be at stake—in fact, in my opinion is at stake, for I take these terrorists who hold Mrs. Knox at their word, I believe they mean business—and it is up to the Senate to act in all conscience to express its opinion and call for a speedy and safe solution to this dilemma. Mrs. Knox’s son, who with his lovely wife, the daughter of the senior Senator from Connecticut, bears more tonight than a son and daughter should have to bear, has made it quite clear to all the world where he stands and why he stands there. The same cannot be said for the Congress and it certainly cannot be said for the President. The only way to get a decision from him, apparently, is to flush him out. That is what we propose in this resolution. If we cannot, Mr. President”—his voice became grave—“and if anything does happen to Mrs. Knox, then I can only say to him that he too will bear a most heavy burden and one he cannot escape when the reckoning comes.”

  “Mr. President,” Arly Richardson said, his usual sarcastic tones quivering with anger, “the Senator from Michigan, as always, makes a very clever statement, full of nuances and innuendoes. He wants the Congress to express its opinion. Very well, then, stop getting in the way and let us vote on this bill! He wants the President to express his opinion! Very well, then, stop trying to harass him and let his Administration go forward on all fronts, as we are informed it is doing, to recover Mrs. Knox safely and apprehend her abductors! Let us get on with it, Mr. President! Let us stop procrastinating and stop this waste of time on a side issue! Let us—”