“He’s coming,” said Odium when he returned from the hallway telephone. He glanced at Karper. “I told him it was a matter of life and death,” he added sarcastically.
Chief Brothers was brought back into the room to hear the White House physician, and, fifteen minutes later, Brigadier General Maury Leppert arrived. He was a withdrawn, haggard man with a thin, corn-colored mustache and eyelids that blinked rapidly when he was addressed. Odium introduced him to the men he did not know, then Cavanaugh took a stance in the center of the room.
“General Leppert,” he said, “we’ve invited you over here on a matter of the utmost gravity and, we think, possibly of great urgency. To put it bluntly, all of us in this room have cause to question the normality of the President’s mental processes. We would like to ask you, doctor, do you have any cause to doubt the President’s sanity?”
Leppert blinked swiftly as he stared at Cavanaugh, then searched the faces of others in the room. He was obviously stunned. “That’s the most astounding question I’ve ever been asked in my entire career,” he said.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Cavanaugh. “But what is your answer?”
“No, of course not,” said Leppert. Although he nervously fingered his thin mustache, it appeared certain to Jim MacVeagh that the doctor was not lying. “I have absolutely no reason to question the President’s sanity,” added Leppert.
“Is there anything wrong with the President, either mental or physical?” asked Cavanaugh.
“He has an occasional heart murmur,” said Leppert, “to use the layman’s terminology. I consider it a matter of some concern, but no cause for alarm.”
“Outside of this occasional heart murmur,” pressed Cavanaugh, “there is nothing else?”
“No infirmity, no,” replied Leppert. He hesitated. “Of course, as his physician, I don’t care for his pattern of strenuous activity. He goes all hours, and he doesn’t get enough sleep. As a matter of fact, I know he was still up—probably telephoning—when I left the mansion.”
“Couldn’t such habits lead to a mental breakdown?” asked Cavanaugh.
“They could,” said Leppert slowly, “they could, but in President Hollenbach’s case, I’ve seen no indication of mental fatigue. He’s been doing it for years. I’ll wager he doesn’t average six hours sleep a night.”
“Some men thrive on that kind of regime,” offered Speaker Nicholson.
Leppert nodded. “The chemistry of each human body varies. Mark Hollenbach is one of those fortunate men who require less rest than most people.”
Cavanaugh pressed again. “But he has no definite medical problem of any kind other than the heart murmur?”
“Nothing,” said Leppert. “He seldom even has a cold.”
Jim MacVeagh began to feel uneasy again. He looked across the room at Sidney Karper. The Defense Secretary’s face was clouded, and Jim thought he detected a look of hostile suspicion as Karper studied the physician.
Cavanaugh spoke quietly. “General, would you believe evidence gathered by the men in this room as to the President’s mental condition?”
Leppert blinked and rubbed the tip of his forefinger over his pencil-like mustache. “I think you’re all men of integrity,” he answered cautiously. “I certainly would believe that you would honestly report what you observed, but that doesn’t mean I’d come to the same conclusions.”
Cavanaugh nodded. “I realize that, doctor. And now I want you to hear the whole story. If I misspeak in the slightest degree, I want my friends in this room to correct me.”
It took Cavanaugh a half hour to go through all the evidence. As the Supreme Court justice talked, Jim MacVeagh could see again the ghostly, flickering firelight of Aspen lodge, could feel the chills of apprehension as Hollenbach raged against O’Malley and Craig Spence, and could hear the wild, frayed texture of the President’s voice when he alluded darkly to a conspiracy that had been formed to crush him.
“Now, General,” asked Cavanaugh when he concluded, “in the light of all that, would you say the President’s mental processes are normal?”
“Mr. Justice,” replied Leppert, “what is normal? You define the word, and I’ll answer the question.”
“Oh, come now, doctor,” objected Griscom, “let’s not quibble over semantics. The word ‘normal’ has a generally accepted meaning.”
“To a layman perhaps,” said Leppert, his eyelids closing and opening like mechanical shutters, “but not to a medical man. Normal has no precise meaning in physiological terms.”
“Look, doctor,” said Griscom. The lawyer rose and walked over to the marble fireplace. “I don’t think Grady made quite enough of the President’s proposal—seriously made—for a national wiretapping law under which the FBI could listen to any private phone conversation, and, as a matter of fact, computers could store up millions of phone calls for future reference. To my mind, this obviously is linked with his desire to spy upon and ‘get even’ with the conspiracy he thinks is after him. Now, as a man who prizes the doctor-patient relationship, doesn’t such an idea disturb you?”
“Yes, of course.” Leppert blinked rapidly as he spoke. “I think such a law would be foolish and dangerous, but that doesn’t mean that the man who advocates it is insane.”
“What about the President’s letters to young Mark and Mr. Carmichael?” asked Griscom. He studied the doctor over the tops of his rimless spectacles. “I have just read them upstairs and some of the phrases are still pretty fresh in my mind. One in particular. The President wrote his son that there was ‘an obvious conspiracy afoot to sully and demean me.’ Then—and I don’t remember his exact words—he enjoined his son not to add to his problems at a time when he had to deal with this alleged conspiracy. Now, as a close friend of the Hollenbach family, I ask you, don’t you think those letters emanated from a troubled mind?”
This time the physician thought for some seconds, pressing his lips together and knuckling his mustache. “Troubled? Yes. But deranged? I would hesitate to draw such a conclusion.”
“Let me put the whole case more explicitly, doctor,” said Grady Cavanaugh. “Assuming that everything you’ve heard reflects the facts accurately, would you say that the President is suffering from some form of paranoia?”
“I am not a psychiatrist,” said Leppert promptly. “Unless the President were adequately examined by the best psychiatric specialists in the country, I would withhold a medical judgment.”
“Doctor!” It was almost a command from Sidney Karper. The Secretary of Defense’s big frame leaned forward tensely and he sought and held General Leppert’s eyes.
“Yes, sir,” replied Leppert.
“Forget for a moment your professional status.” Karper’s tone was icy. “As an American citizen, are you satisfied that President Hollenbach is sufficiently normal of mind to make the final decision to launch a hydrogen warhead that might kill ten million people in a matter of minutes?”
“No!” The voice came from the hallway. It was loud, clear, weighted with authority.
The thick, oak panel doors were flung wide and there, stiffly erect in the doorway, stood the President of the United States.
20.
Command and Control
President Mark Hollenbach stood perfectly still for a moment. His shoulders were squared like those of a military officer, his crew cut seemed to bristle aggressively, and his eyes mirrored the confidence of command. Then, with a slight movement of his shoulders, he visibly relaxed and walked easily into the room with a gait that was almost a saunter.
There was a chiding smile on his lips and his face was composed, curiously free of strain. He wore a tweedy sports coat and he thrust his hands casually into the side pockets as though he were out for an evening stroll.
All eyes were riveted on the President. The only sound in the room was the ticking of a gilt-framed clock on the marble mantel. The
clock’s hands showed the hour—2:35.
The President bowed slightly toward Karper.
“Pardon me for eavesdropping, Sid,” he said.
He turned to Cavanaugh. “And you too, Mr. Justice. I’ve been standing outside there in the hallway a minute or so…”
In the background could be seen a figure standing against a wall in the hallway. “Wait outside for me, will you, Luther,” said the President over his shoulder. “These men are all my friends. Besides, I see Chief Brothers here, so security is in good hands.”
The President stood in the center of the room, ringed by the circle of men who watched him in shocked fascination as though he were a sudden visitor from another planet. His aplomb, subtly bolstered by the authority of office, recalled the old Mark Hollenbach that millions of Americans had seen on television and on the campaign platform. Jim MacVeagh, stunned as he was by Hollenbach’s unexpected appearance, could sense the indefinable magnetism of the man, the aura of leadership. When the President spoke, his tone was quiet, firm.
“Does Mark Hollenbach,” he asked, “have the mental stability to enable him to make the decision that might consume all of civilization?”
He paused and scanned the faces, still dazed with shock, which ringed him.
“No,” he said, “he does not. I repeat. No, he does not.”
He was silent again, merely standing there with a wispy, faintly reproving smile about his lips, and his hands tucked idly into his coat pockets as though he were back on the college campus with a group of his favorite students.
“No, he doesn’t,” he continued in a conversational tone. “This is especially true, gentlemen, when you realize that under certain conditions he must make that decision within two or three minutes. Does Sidney Karper have such soundness of mind—or should we call it omniscience? Does Mr. Justice Cavanaugh?”
The President’s eyes went from one man to the other, the chiding smile still playing about his mouth. “Does anyone in this room? Each must speak for himself, gentlemen. In a matter of this gravity, I wouldn’t presume to speak for another.”
The leaders sat as though in a trance, listening to Hollenbach’s rhetorical questions drift about, unanswered, in the high-ceilinged room. During his pauses only the soft whir of the air-conditioning machinery could be heard. Jim MacVeagh could feel the old yielding to the presidential presence come creeping back into the room like a physical thing, as pervasive and as captivating as an evening mist.
“And how did I happen to drop in on this little gathering?” asked the President. He grinned. “Well, I was up late—telephoning as usual. I had just learned about this harassment of Senator MacVeagh and I called Chief Brothers at once to ask him to desist. It seemed a foolish thing to me. Chief Brothers, it turned out, was at Paul Griscom’s. Then I called Jim to apologize for any embarrassment to him, and I found, somewhat circuitously, that he was thought to be here too. And, since I was working on this knotty business of the foreign aid appropriations, I called Fred Odium at home. He too, it turned out, was at Paul Griscom’s. And finally, seeking a sedative from the good doctor, I found that, lo and behold, General Leppert also was at the famous house on O Street. Well, says, I, there must be a party of my old friends at Paul’s, so I’ll just drop by.”
The President continued in his chatty manner, as though he were idly gossiping on a hot summer afternoon. “Gentlemen, from what I’ve heard tonight and from a few little hints picked up here and there, I take it my mind is under question.”
Karper flashed a glance at MacVeagh from under his heavy brows, but the other faces remained immobile, centered on the President as though transfixed.
“Everyone here, I take it,” said Hollenbach, “has either heard me blow my top on some subject or other, or has heard about it. You’ve matched notes, haven’t you? The President, you’ve decided, suffers from delusions of persecution and perhaps of grandeur as well. Oh, by the way, may I sit?”
Griscom hurried to a corner and brought the President one of the painted, antiqued wooden chairs. Hollenbach pulled it back toward the doorway, so that he became part of the circle. He settled himself comfortably and stretched out his legs. Resting his hands on his thighs, he began flexing the fingers forcibly.
“Oh, yes,” he said lightly, “and my isometrics, I suppose, has been discussed, as well as my perfectionist pleas for excellence. He’s taut as a drumhead, you’ve probably been saying, no wonder he explodes. And he turns off the lights in the small night hours, an odd eccentricity. And he stays up half the night, working and telephoning. Yes, I suppose you’ve gone over all my quaint little habits.”
No one else had spoken yet, and the leaders were heeding Hollenbach’s every word with the hushed fascination of desert tribesmen listening to a prophet down from the hills. The President’s tone became more serious.
“Delusions of grandeur?” he asked. “Yes, I suppose I am guilty of grand dreams. The union with Canada, for instance. I’m sure Jim has told you about that. Well, if a merger with Canada is the product of a tainted mind, so be it. Frankly, gentlemen, I think such a union should have taken place a century ago. We and Canada have every reason to combine for our mutual strength and profit, and only rabid nationalism, customs, and outworn modes of thinking prevent it.”
Here is the Hollenbach of old, thought Jim, Hollenbach in his most persuasive mood, brilliant, convincing, alternately challenging and pleading. MacVeagh could feel the vibrations of sympathy in the room as though all were anxious to help the President. Senator Gullion spoke first in his soft drawl.
“As you know, Mr. President,” said Gullion, “we’ve got an active group of businessmen in Chicago that agrees with you. They’re plugging Canadian union with us.”
Hollenbach nodded and smiled. “I know, Sterling. Of course, they’re for it. Most Americans and Canadians will be in another decade. It makes sense, that’s why.”
He paused again and his eyes searched the ceiling for a moment. “Ah, but my union with Scandinavia, that indeed must be the offspring of a demented mind, so divorced from reality and common sense. Eh, Jim? I suppose you’ve told them about my grand concept?”
MacVeagh nodded dumbly, and he felt suddenly, irrationally, as though he had betrayed a cause. The pull of the presidency, he thought, is so powerful that even a president on trial before his peers can dominate them all. Jim felt disloyal, as a man who had broken his word and compromised a friend.
“But isn’t Scandinavia a starter, gentlemen?” pleaded Hollenbach. His eyes glowed now. “I firmly believe that a parliament of the free world is the best guarantee for lasting peace, and we have to start somewhere. Britain, France, Germany are all too proud to make common government with us, but if we could begin somewhere—and the Scandinavians are as sound a people as any to start with—wouldn’t the others join us later? I think it makes sense.”
But that’s not at all the way he outlined his scheme at Aspen lodge, thought Jim. Hollenbach derided Europe then, and spoke of using force—even hinting at military force if necessary—to drive the European nations into union. And what about Hollenbach’s messianic desire to lead such a union, to become the prime minister of super-government? Jim again could see Hollenbach striding in the gloom of Aspen, obsessed with his quixotic passion. How different was that seized zealot from this relaxed and apparently fully rational man sitting here in Georgetown. Jim saw once again the crazed soldier gesticulating in the medic’s shack in Viet Nam, and he felt intuitively that the image was closer to the real Hollenbach than this logical, self-possessed man sitting near him now. Jim was enveloped by a weird sensation that Hollenbach was going to talk himself out of his cul-de-sac. By God, he was. Jim sat mesmerized, waiting like the snake before the charmer for the next sound of the pipe.
“And I suppose you’ve discussed my alleged persecution complex,” said the President calmly. “Yes, Sidney, you did hear me raise the roof about Car
ter Urey and his one-man control of the CIA, his failure to report adequately to me, and his attempts to make foreign policy on his own. But, on the other hand, you’ve never known how many times that man disobeyed my instructions. Of course, I’ve got a temper. I admit it. I occasionally say things I shouldn’t, but I regret them and I apologize.”
Throughout the President’s comments, except for his brief glance at MacVeagh, Karper had remained rigid, his large, bronze face coldly impassive. Now he leaned forward, sharply questioning.
“But that’s not quite the way it went, Mr. President,” he said. “You threatened me with an inkwell, remember?”
“Sid, Sid, I’m always doing my isometrics. You know that.” He spoke gently, as though reproving a child. “I do it in times of relaxation and sometimes in moments of stress. I was merely putting pressure on that bottle. It helps me get myself under control. Don’t you ever get mad, Sid?”
Karper nodded silently, and threw a helpless glance at MacVeagh, as though to say that the President was making everything sound too normal, too commonplace. It wasn’t that way at all, his glance seemed to say. No, it wasn’t, thought MacVeagh. But he knew the President had scored, unknowingly, a blow for himself, for Karper’s eruption against Odium was still fresh in the minds of all who listened.
Speaker Nicholson moved ponderously in his chair and addressed Hollenbach.
“Mr. President,” he said, “I wish you wouldn’t go any further into this, sir. I let myself be persuaded of your—uh—instability—against my own better judgment. I don’t agree with your proposal for a merger of major free nations, not at all. But that’s beside the point. I’m in this room against my every instinct. We all have times of mental turbulence in this city, and you’re as human as the rest of us. But now I think it’s time for a little tolerance and understanding—and time for us all to go home.”
Night of Camp David Page 31