At once, his priority shifted to someone less questionable, more dependable, someone who might be equally knowledgeable about the Colonel’s secrets. This was Colonel Baxter’s widow, Hannah. The red flag was gone. She was accessible. She would be friendly. Collins had a nice relationship with Hannah, who had always regarded him maternally. How good a prospect was she? After all, she had been married to the Colonel almost forty years. There could be nothing serious the Colonel was engaged in that she would not know about. On the other hand, if this had been their relationship, why hadn’t the dying Colonel confided in her instead of sending for Collins to hear his warning? Baxter had used her only as a conduit to reach Collins. Still, there
could be an explanation. The Colonel might have been the kind of person who believed men’s work was a business between men, especially when it involved a former Attorney General and his successor.
By the time he had entered his office, Chris Collins was thoroughly uncertain which step to take first.
At his desk, ignoring the messages lined up on the blotter, he continued to mull over the matter. When Marion arrived with his cup of strong tea, he had made up his mind where to start. He would begin with a source less complicated than human beings.
‘Marion, Colonel Baxter’s files,’ he said. “Where are they?’
‘Well, he kept two sets of files -‘
‘I know.’
‘The bulk of the files, the main ones, are in my office. Then he kept more personal files - his private correspondence, memorandums - in a fireproof cabinet in his sitting room off my office.’
‘Is it there now?’
‘Oh, no. About a month after he went to the hospital, that file was moved to his home in Georgetown.’
‘So that’s where it is now?’
‘Yes. If there’s something you want to look up, I could go over there.’
‘No, not necessary. I can do it myself.’
‘Do you want me to call Mrs Baxter?’
Instantly, he knew the person he would interview first on The R Document.
‘Yes, call her and ask her if she’s up to seeing me for a few minutes this afternoon.’ As Marion started to leave, he added casually. ‘By the way, Marion, I’ve been looking for a memorandum called The R Document. Does that ring a bell?’
She tried to remember. ‘I’m afraid not. It’s nothing I’ve ever filed.’
‘It was a memorandum related to the 35th Amendment. Do you want to take a look in our regular files?’
‘Right away.’
Drinking his tea, Collins disposed of the morning’s messages in rapid succession. On the phone he discussed a Government brief with the Solicitor General, then phoned back his Executive Assistant on a personnel matter. He met briefly with the Director of Public Information, who was supervising preparation of his speech in Los Angeles to the American Bar Association. He conferred at greater length with Ed Schrader, the Deputy Attorney General, on a corporate income-tax-evasion case; riot arrests in Kansas City and Denver; the latest findings on the HIL, or Humans for Internal Liberty, conspirators.
By noon he had heard from his secretary on two important matters. First, she had searched the general files. There was no reference, she said, to anything named The R Document. Somehow, he was not surprised. Second, she reported that she had finally contacted Mrs Hannah Baxter, and Mrs Baxter would be glad to see him at two o’clock.
After lunching in his private dining room with three United States Attorneys brought in from the field, and answering four more telephone calls, Collins was ready to begin his private investigation of The R Document.
Pagano drove him, and Hogan accompanied him, to Georgetown, and they arrived at the familiar white brick three-storied, early-ninteenth-century house on the tree-shaded street at five minutes to two o’clock. Leaving his chauffeur and bodyguard behind, Collins went up the magnificent ironwork stairway, rang the bell, and. was admitted by the cheerful black maid.
‘I’ll fetch Mrs Baxter,’ said the maid. ‘Would you like to wait in the patio? It’s such a lovely day.’
Collins agreed that would be fine, followed her to the sliding glass doors, and then went out on the flagstone patio by himself. He watched his reflection in the swimming pool, turned back to settle into a padded wrought-iron chair next to a ceramic-topped table, and lit a cigarette.
‘Hi, Mr Collins,’ he heard a young voice call out.
He looked over his shoulder and saw Rick Baxter, Hannah Baxter’s grandson, on his knees on the flagstone, fiddling with a portable cassette recorder.
‘Hello, Rick. How come you’re not in school today?’
‘The driver was sick. So Grandma let me stay home.’
‘Are your parents still in Africa?’
‘Yup. They couldn’t come home in time for Grandpa’s funeral, so they’re staying there for another month.’
‘You seem to be having trouble with that contraption. Anything wrong?’
‘I can’t make it work,’ said Rick. ‘I’m trying to fix it for tonight so I can tape the TV special that’s going to be on -The History of Comics in America - but I can’t - ’
‘Let me see it, Rick. I’m not a mechanic, but maybe I can help.’
Rick brought his machine over to Collins. He was a brown-haired boy with alert wide-set eyes and the obligatory braces on his teeth. He was, Collins remembered, bright and mature for a twelve-year-old.
Collins took the tape recorder, checked all the buttons to be sure they were set right, and then opened up the machine. In a moment he saw what was wrong, made a simple adjustment, and tried the machine. It worked.
‘Thanks!’ exclaimed Rick. ‘Now I can take down the show tonight. You should see my collection. I tape the best TV and radio shows and interviews. I have the best collection in school. It’s my favorite hobby.’
‘It’ll be very valuable one day,’ said Collins. The Age of the Tape, thought Collins. He wondered if any of these kids, even smart ones like Rick, could write anymore. And it would be worse after the 35th Amendment was passed, he realized. The wiretap, the bug, the electronic eavesdroppers would have public approval.
‘Hi, Grandma,’ he heard Rick say.
Immediately, Collins was on his feet, wheeling about in time to greet Hannah Baxter. When she came to him, he embraced her and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. She was a small, plump woman, aging now but with a shiny, warm face, all the features generous.
‘I’m sorry,’ Collins said to her, ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Thanks, Christopher. I’m just glad it’s over with. I couldn’t stand his suffering or seeing him lying there like a vegetable - not any longer - a man of his vitality. I miss him. You don’t know how much I miss Noah. But that’s life. We all have to face it.’ She half-turned. ‘Rick, you go inside and leave us. And no television shows or recording them
until tonight. You open your schoolbooks. I don’t want you falling behind or your father will be upset with me.’
After the boy left, Hannah Baxter sat down at the ceramic-topped table, and Collins took his place again.
Hannah spoke nostalgically about Noah Baxter a little longer, about when he had been well and about their good times together, but at last her voice trailed off. She sighed. ‘Don’t let me go on,’ she said. ‘How are you doing with your work?’
‘Not easy. I can appreciate what Noah went through.’
‘He used to say it was like having an office in quicksand. No matter what you did, you sank down further. Still, if anyone can handle it, you can, Christopher. I know that Noah always had great faith in you.’
‘Is that why he sent for me the last night, Hannah?’
‘Of course.’
‘What did he say to you?’
‘I was at his side when he came out of the coma. He was desperately weak, and not too articulate. He recognized me, whispered something endearing, then he asked me to do him, a favor. “Bring Chris Collins here,” he said. “Must see him. Urgent matter. I
mportant. Must talk to him.” It wasn’t as clear as that, but it was what he was trying to say. So I sent for you. I’m sorry you couldn’t get there in time.’
‘Hannah, why didn’t he tell you what he wanted to tell me?’
The thought had never occurred to her. ‘Why, he wouldn’t do that. It was business, I’m sure. He rarely discussed business with me. He always saw the person his business was intended for. In this case, he had something to tell you. It’s too bad he didn’t get the chance.’
Collins wanted to say that the Colonel had got the chance, via Father Dubinski, but since she did not know this, Collins instinctively decided not to involve her.
‘I wish I could have talked to him,’ Collins said. ‘He could have straightened me out about a lot of things. About the job, I mean. For instance, there are some files I can’t find. We’ve looked through the ones in the office. My secretary says one file cabinet, Noah’s personal one, was sent to the house here after he became ill.’
That’s right. I kept it in his study.’
‘Could I spend a few minutes going through it, Hannah?’
‘I don’t have it. That file cabinet isn’t here now. It was moved out the day after Noah died. Vernon Tynan called me. He asked if he could borrow it for a month or two. He said he wanted to check through it to be sure there was no top-security material in it. I was relieved to let him have it. All that security material Noah was always handling made me nervous. So if there’s anything you need, you’ll have to go to Vernon for it. He’ll be cooperative, I’m sure.’
Odd, Collins thought. What did Vernon T. Tynan want with Colonel Baxter’s private papers? But there was no time to examine that now.
‘Actually, Hannah, what I’m looking for is a Justice Department paper connected with the 35th Amendment. It has a name. It’s called The R Document - The R Document. Did you ever come across it in the file?’
I never went through the file. There was no reason to.’
‘Well, do you remember if Noah ever spoke to you about something called The R Document?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not that I can recall. As I told you, he rarely confided in me about business matters.’
Disappointed, Collins continued. ‘Can you think of anyone - any friends - he might have spoken to about it?’
She pointed to the open cigarette pack on the table. ‘May I have one, Christopher?’ Hastily, he pulled a cigarette out of the pack, handed it to her, and lighted it for her. ‘I started smoking again the day after the funeral.’ She puffed thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Noah didn’t have many close friends. He was a very private person, as you probably know. There were some people he spent time with in the office, like Vernon Tynan and Adcock, but what they had was more of a work relationship. On the personal side … a personal friend?’ She broke off, lost in thought. ‘Well, I guess the only one who qualifies would be Donald - Donald Radenbaugh. He and Noah were the closest of friends, until the time of poor Donald’s trouble.’
Momentarily the name eluded Collins, and then it fixed in his mind and he remembered the headlines.
‘After Donald was tried, sentenced, and confined in
Lewisburg Federal Penitentiary,’ Hannah Baxter went on, ‘well, Noah couldn’t see him anymore, of course. I mean, considering Noah’s position, it would have been awkward. It was like the time when Robert Kennedy was Attorney General, and his friend James Landis was involved in a tax-delinquency case. Kennedy disqualified himself. He couldn’t interfere. Well, neither could Noah in Donald Radenbaugh’s case. But all along, Noah believed in Donald’s innocence, and he felt the whole case was a miscarriage of justice. Anyway, Donald had been one of Noah’s best friends.’
‘Donald Radenbaugh,’ said Collins. I do remember his name. It got a lot of publicity at the time - two or three years ago - a money scandal of some kind. I don’t recall the details.’
‘It was a messy case. I don’t recall the details exactly, either. Donald was a lawyer practicing here in Washington when he became a Presidential adviser in the previous Administration. He was indicted for conspiracy to defraud or extort -1 forget which - a million dollars from big corporations with Government contracts. Actually, the money came from illegal campaign contributions. When the FBI zeroed in on a man named Hyland, this Hyland turned state’s evidence to get a lighter sentence, and he laid all the blame on Donald Radenbaugh. He claimed that Donald was en route to Miami Beach to deliver the money to a third conspirator. When the FBI picked up Donald in Miami, he did not have the money. He insisted he’d never had it. Nevertheless, based largely on Hyland’s testimony, Donald was tried and found guilty.’
‘Yes, it’s all coming back to me now,’ said Collins. I think he got a heavy sentence, didn’t he?’
‘Fifteen years,’ said Hannah. ‘Noah was very upset about it. He always said Donald was used as the - the fall guy -by the aides to the last President, to keep that Administration looking clean. Noah could not intercede in the trial. He did try to get the sentence lightened, but with no luck. I know he hoped to get Donald a parole after he’d served five years, but now Noah isn’t here to help him. Anyway, Donald Radenbaugh is the only person I can think of who might help you - besides Vernon Tynan.’
‘Are you suggesting Radenbaugh might know something about The R Document?’
‘I can’t say, Christopher. I simply don’t know. But if this document was a paper or a project Noah was concerned with, he very well might have discussed it with Donald Radenbaugh. He often asked Donald’s advice on difficult matters.’ She ground out the stub of her cigarette. ‘You might visit Lewisburg in your official capacity, arrange to see Donald, say you want to help him the way Noah intended to. He might be cooperative, might give you the information you need. I could write him and tell him he can trust you, that you were a protege and friend of Noah’s.’
‘Would you do that?’ Collins asked eagerly. ‘Of course I’d try to help him.’
‘I certainly would and shall. I intended to write Donald a few words anyway, about what happened. I don’t think he gets much mail anymore except from his daughter. He has a lovely daughter named Susie, who lives in Philadelphia now. I’ll tell him you’ll be visiting him. Do you know when?’
Collins turned a calendar page in his mind. ‘I have to be in California the end of the week to deliver a speech. I should be heading back a few days after that. Okay, you can tell Mr Radenbaugh I’ll be seeing him in a week or so. Definitely, no later. It’s a good lead, Hannah, and I appreciate it.’ He rose, went to her, kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks for everything. You stay well, and keep busy. If there’s anything Karen or I can do for you, please call.’
Leaving, heading for the car, he felt much better. Radenbaugh was a real possibility. But then his mood dampened. First he would have to confront Vernon T. Tynan with the mystery of The R Document. He was uncertain how to do it, but it would have to be done sooner or later. By the time he had got into the limousine, he had decided. The sooner the better.
*
The following morning at ten-thirty, Chris Collins met with Vernon T. Tynan in the Director’s seventh-floor conference room adjacent to his office in the J. Edgar Hoover Building.
Collins had hoped that the meeting would take place in Tynan’s office. Collins had wanted to see if Noah Baxter’s private file cabinet was in that office. But Tynan had been waiting for him in the hall when he reached the seventh floor and led him into the conference room. There, Tynan had insisted that Collins take the chair at the head of the table, while he sat in a chair to the Attorney General’s right.
As Collins drew the manila folder out of his saddle-leather briefcase that contained the latest crime statistics from California, he watched and listened to the Director joke with his secretary, who was serving tea and coffee. Since meeting with Father Dubinski in the rectory of Holy Trinity Church, Collins had entertained a growing suspicion about his FBI Director. But now, as he observed Tynan’s light-heartedness with his secretary, the suspici
on seemed unreal and was gradually dispelled. Tynan’s pugnacious face was wreathed in a smile. There was an openness and directness about him that was disarming. How could one be suspicious of the leading lawman in the land? Perhaps the priest had misunderstood or exaggerated the threat from Tynan’s emissary.
‘Don’t forget, Beth,’ the Director called after his secretary as she was leaving, ‘no interruptions.’ The door closed, and Tynan devoted himself to his visitor. ‘Okay, Chris, what can I do for you?’
‘I just need a few minutes,’ said Collins, sorting his papers. ‘I’m reworking my speech for Los Angeles. I’m including the latest FBI reports on crime in California -‘
‘Yes, we broke them down just for California. That’s where the action is for us. You got them? I sent them over yesterday.’
‘I have them here,’ said Collins. I want to be sure I have the very latest figures. If anything new has come in -‘
‘You’re right up-to-date,’ said Tynan. ‘The worst yet. They’ll be effective in your speech. Make them realize out there that they, more than the citizens of any other state, need Constitutional help.’
Collins studied the topmost sheet in his hand. ‘I must
say, these California crime statistics are unusually high compared with the other large states.’ He looked up. ‘And they are absolutely accurate?’
‘As accurate as the police chiefs in California want them to be,’ said Tynan. ‘You’ll be quoting their own numbers back to them.’
‘Just want to be sure I’m on solid ground.’ ‘You’re on solid ground, all right. With those figures, you’ll be laying perfect groundwork for going into the 35th Amendment.’
Collins took a sip of the lukewarm tea. ‘I’ll be going into the 35th, of course. Although I’m being careful not to overdo it. I’d hate to enter into a real debate with anyone on. it. I don’t look forward to that session on TV. Frankly, I haven’t had time to study the bill closely, all its ramifications, since becoming Attorney General.’
(1976) The R Document Page 10