Hollenbach smiled his appreciation, but shook his head. “No, Nick, I know there are other charges, and we might as well clear the air of them here, tonight.”
“But,” protested Nicholson, “we’re into an area where the Constitution never intended us to be, an area where we’re judging one man’s mind against another. We’re just not wise enough to play God.”
“In this city, we always have to try,” replied Hollenbach. “Let’s take these other things. MacVeagh, for instance, has heard me accuse the Vice-President—” he nodded pleasantly toward O’Malley “—accuse the Vice-President of trying to sabotage me. That, I grant, was overstating the whole case. Pat, you did let your country and your party down, but I erred when I accused you of trying to hurt me intentionally. I realize that and I regret it.”
The President slid into his most effective and persuasive tone, the tone that had carried hundreds of points during his political career. “Gentlemen, this office does change the man. The President is in command so constantly. He is Number One. He is never denied. He is king for his term. So, it is only natural that a president begins to think of himself as the country. Anything that harms America, he takes as a personal affront. Every beneficial development, he takes as a personal tribute. You all help to foster that attitude, by your kowtowing to the President, and by your refusal to state your case consistently and stubbornly when you know the President thinks ill of it. Every one of you helps build the power complex of the White House, gentlemen, every one of you.”
He definitely is talking himself out of it, thought MacVeagh. My God, what a superb performance. And perhaps…who could say? Perhaps, logical as he is tonight, perhaps he is sane, maybe saner than any of the others in the room. Perhaps Hollenbach’s mental trouble, whatever it was, was only temporary after all. Jim began to feel guilty for starting it all, and he wondered how Karper felt now. Why had Karper been so persistent?
“There was my outburst over Davidge, the Chicago banker,” continued the President. “I’m guessing you’ve all heard of that too.” He smiled kindly at MacVeagh, and Jim thought the President was trying to indicate to him privately that he knew how the Davidge story might have got out.
“There again,” said Hollenbach, “my temper got the better of me. But did any of you know that Davidge and I had a conference in which I specifically told him that the whole interest rate policy was under review? And yet he insisted on making a speech criticizing the very things I told him I planned to remedy. That, you’ll grant, smacks of double-dealing. But, I readily confess, I was too hard on him. I was too hard on Davidge, and on you, Pat, and on Carter Urey. But in each case I recognized it after the temper passed and I tried to make amends.”
Jim felt a twinge of embarrassment to hear the President thus baring his emotions before his subordinates. Since he himself shied from self-analysis, Jim felt acutely uncomfortable to hear another, especially a president, do so. But then his thoughts ran to the substance of what the President was saying. Had he really tried to make amends, as he said? The President had never apologized to O’Malley before tonight. And he had accused MacVeagh too of trying to ruin him, of joining a conspiracy. What about this absurd cabal theory of Hollenbach’s? He had given no explanation of that. No, Hollenbach was making it all sound too normal, too neat, as though the incidents were no more significant than spats with a wife. Had it really been that way? Jim exchanged baffled glances with Karper. The Defense Secretary moved restlessly in his chair during a brief lull in the talk.
“I repeat my suggestion, gentlemen,” said Nicholson, breaking the silence. “We should disband and go home to bed. We’ve no business sitting here like a court of psychiatrists. Frankly, this whole thing is damn repugnant to me. I apologize to you, Mr. President, for ever attending this kind of session.”
The Speaker turned to MacVeagh with a courtly bow. “And I apologize to you too, Jim, for ever questioning your mental processes. I think we’ve all learned a lesson in humility and mutual tolerance here tonight.”
“Ditto, Mr. Speaker,” put in Joe Donovan. “Let’s let the Republicans hire the headshrinkers. They give me the itch.”
Karper, whose eyes seldom left the President, raised a hand as though to still Nicholson and Donovan.
“Not so fast,” he said coldly. “I’d still like to pursue several lines here.”
“Mr. Secretary,” objected Nicholson, “I think we’ve had about enough of that kind—”
“No, Nick,” interrupted the President. “Let Sid continue. We want to thrash this thing out.”
“Mr. President,” said Karper, “with your permission, sir, I’d like to question you about five specific points you haven’t mentioned. First, is it true that you are seriously considering a law that would give the FBI authority to tap any telephone conversation in the country at any time?”
For the first time a flash of hostility crossed Hollenbach’s eyes. He shifted uneasily in his chair and glanced toward the high windows fronting on O Street.
“Of course, when they…” The President’s voice, suddenly high-pitched, had a querulous ring.
“When they…?” repeated Karper.
“When they are trying to…” Hollenbach spoke harshly, but his voice quickly trailed away for the second time. He looked down at his lap, his shoulders slumped and color seemed to fade from his face. There was a momentary hush in the room.
“You were saying, Mr. President?” Karper’s tone was low, gentle.
Hollenbach looked up again and Jim MacVeagh had the impression, watching him, that the President had wrenched his mind back in focus by sheer force of will. Hollenbach smiled at Karper. “Yes, Sid,” said the President, “I did indicate to Jim that my joking proposal at the Gridiron dinner had a serious basis. I think such a law could be of tremendous benefit in curbing crime in this country.”
“And did you indicate you would have used it to eavesdrop on Pat O’Malley’s conversations?” asked Karper bluntly.
“I may have.” Hollenbach hesitated. “But if so, I was wrong. Of course I would not have the law used in such a manner. I suppose I was overwrought about the Vice-President at the time.”
“But, Mr. President,” pursued Karper, “wouldn’t such a law constitute the greatest single threat to individual freedom since the alien and sedition acts?”
“Absolutely not. My idea is that the law would be most scrupulously drawn to protect personal liberties.”
Karper sighed, then pressed on. “I’d like to ask you about four other matters. First, about your temper outburst over the columnist Craig Spence. Second, why was an FBI investigation ordered of Jim MacVeagh? Third, what about your belief that some kind of conspiracy exists with the goal of destroying you? Finally, I’d like to know why your medical record is missing from your Korean service file?”
Hollenbach obviously was surprised at the last question. “I didn’t know any medical data was missing,” he said. He faltered a moment. “I can’t explain that. It may have been deleted by some overzealous friend. But I don’t mind telling you frankly that I once had a psychiatric examination after breaking under fire. I turned and ran. But the phase—it was pure cowardice and I admit it—the phase passed and I returned to my company three days later. The next time the Chinese Communists charged our position, I held.”
There was a hush, then Nicholson turned on Karper. “You’re damn right he held—and he got the Silver Star for it. What the hell kind of business is that, Mr. Secretary?” he blazed. “That’s a despicable act, sneaking around and digging into the service file of a President of the United States—a soldier decorated for gallantry in action.”
Karper faced Nicholson. “I had reason to believe,” he said roughly, “that we were dealing with a constitutional crisis. I still do.”
“I think it’s an outrage,” Nicholson sputtered.
Hollenbach waved a calming hand. “No, Nick, the Secr
etary was within his rights. And I’m not through yet. Without answering Sidney’s other questions specifically, let me just say that I’ve had cause to consider my behavior in recent weeks. I’ve done a little investigating of myself, delving into my own thought processes—a personal review, as it were. It’s a pursuit I recommend to all hands.”
The room was again so quiet that only the ticking of the mantel clock and the hum of the air-conditioning system could be heard.
“I did some studying and some reading,” said Hollenbach, “and I came to the conclusion that I haven’t always acted normally—if that is the word. However, I don’t blame General Leppert for not recognizing my lapses, for every time I’ve consulted him I’ve felt fine. Whatever the name for my condition, I’m sure it was only temporary.”
Could that be true? wondered MacVeagh. With the exception of a brief moment, Hollenbach was so “normal,” so plausible tonight, just as he had been at Camp David when he talked about his crusade for excellence falling on O’Malley’s deaf ears. Damned convincing. But, good God, how about those letters his own son brought down here?
Jim looked at Paul Griscom, and Griscom tilted his head upward as though he too were thinking of the letters. Griscom, the President’s closest friend in the room, obviously was not persuaded. Griscom returned his gaze to the President, cocking his head quizzically and studying Hollenbach as though he were a witness who had yet to tell the full story. Karper was sunk in his chair, his eyes fastened on Hollenbach. Not a muscle in the Secretary’s bronze face was moving.
“But gentlemen,” continued Hollenbach, “something else has happened to me recently. I have heart murmurs, as you probably know—since Dr. Leppert is here and this appears to be one of those confess-everything sessions. But recently the murmurs have grown worse. I can feel a sharp pain at times. And so, to bring this somewhat unsavory business to a finish, I must tell you that I’m concerned about my heart.”
General Leppert appeared surprised, but the other faces were void of expression as the men waited, tensely, for the President’s next words.
“As a result,” continued Hollenbach, “I’ve decided to postpone the conference with Zuchek. At nine A.M. tomorrow, or rather today, I propose to hold a news conference in my office and let the people know.” He paused once more. “I’m going to let the people know, for the best of all concerned, that I’ve decided to take a long vacation.”
The room was soundless. Outside could be heard the whine of tires as a lone car sped along O Street in the early morning hours. The headlights flashed briefly at the windows like the sweep of a searchlight.
Nicholson, Gullion and Odium looked startled, yet relieved, as though welcoming any compromise that would avoid a judgment on what Hollenbach called “this unsavory business.” Chief Brothers, opaque and neutral as always, showed no emotion. Cavanaugh, Karper, Griscom and MacVeagh exchanged anxious glances. O’Malley chewed on his cigar and frowned, lost in his own thoughts of what a presidential vacation would mean to him. Griscom again motioned his head toward the upstairs bedroom where Mark Jr. was sleeping, but Karper, seeing the gesture, shook his head.
“I think, Mr. President,” said Nicholson laboriously, “that this is a wise and patriotic decision. We’ll keep the show on the road while you’re gone and try not to bother you too much. But of one thing I’m convinced, Mr. President. You’re as sane as I am.”
MacVeagh, knowing Hollenbach’s opinion of Nicholson, found this to be the first faintly humorous observation of the night. Jim could tell by the amused look on Hollenbach’s face that he too appreciated the irony.
Hollenbach smiled at the Speaker. “And how sane is that, Nick? But let’s not confuse the issues here. It’s my heart that bothers me. Of course, gentlemen, I would assume that with my announcement tomorrow there would be no necessity of ever revealing our other discussions here tonight, would there?”
“Never, Mr. President,” said Fred Odium.
Griscom looked at the White House physician. “And you, General Leppert, do you agree that the President is taking the proper step here?”
“Any man with a heart tremor should take it easy,” replied Leppert. “To continue at breakneck pace under pressure is tempting the fates. I’ve consistently urged the President to take a vacation.”
The men began to rise and stand awkwardly, as though they were actors fatigued by a drama long rehearsed. Nicholson stepped to the President, grasped his hand, and shook it heartily.
“Good luck, Mr. President,” he said, “it’s a wise decision.”
“Wiser than you know, Nick,” replied Hollenbach.
Each man stepped forward in turn to shake the President’s hand. As he did so, Jim MacVeagh felt guilty and confused. Did this postponement really solve anything? After their handclasp, Hollenbach handed MacVeagh a silver fountain pen.
“Here, Jim,” said the President in a low voice, “please take this back again. I want you to have it in memory of the days that might have been. If it hadn’t been for them…”
The President’s eyes glazed. Jim waited a moment, then asked: “Them?”
“You know who they are, Jim,” said Hollenbach in a whisper. “But it doesn’t matter any more. Just remember, we could have been a great team.”
Jim’s eyes moistened, and he was too numbed to say anything significant.
“Thank you, sir,” was all he could say.
Hollenbach straightened suddenly, slapped his hands together and flashed a cheerful smile.
“Well,” he said genially to the group at large, “let’s not look like a bunch of pallbearers. This is a great country. It can survive any of us. I’ve got to go now. Good Lord, it’s almost five! Come along, Pat. You ride back to the house with me. With you in charge while I’m gone, there are a few things you ought to be briefed on—right now.”
And President Hollenbach, his right hand guiding Vice-President O’Malley at the elbow, walked out of the room.
The group clustered in the outer doorway as the President and the Vice-President, accompanied by three Secret Service agents, climbed into the long White House limousine. The first thrusting of day was streaking the sky and the morning air was cool and sharp to the skin. Mark Hollenbach waved to his friends and rode away into the quiet dawn.
21.
Heart of Aspen
It was 8:15 A.M. when Sidney Karper’s SECDEF limousine rolled into the driveway of the MacVeagh home in McLean. Jim was descending the stairway, rubbing his cheeks and blinking torpidly in the manner of a man who has had only two hours’ sleep and is not yet ready to accept the world. Chinky, gathering her schoolbooks, called to him.
“Hey, Pops, look at that taxpayers’ sports car out there.”
She swung out the front door with her neatly banded pony tail, her fresh linen dress, and her armful of textbooks. Sidney Karper backed somewhat gingerly out of the car and nodded to her.
“Good morning, young lady.”
“Good morning, sir. There’s an awful lot of early and late comings and goings around here. Are we in a crisis?”
The sun already stood bright in the east, and Karper was aware of beads of moisture on his forehead. It would be a hot April day in suburban Virginia and in the capital city across the Potomac.
Karper smiled wearily. “No more than usual,” he said.
“That’s good,” said Chinky. “I’ll tell my civics class.”
She walked out toward the highway school-bus stop, crooking her books in her arm and humming a favorite tune from her Porky Jones album.
Jim shook hands with Karper at the door and led him to the television room, where Martha was laying out orange juice, scrambled eggs, and coffee on a card table before the television set.
“I’ll leave you two conspirators alone for a while,” she said, “but when the President comes on, I’m going to watch too.”
The two men
talked as they ate. Jim merely pecked at the eggs. His head was cloudy and his mouth felt dry. Fatigue seemed to bolster Karper’s appetite, for he consumed the eggs in great mouthfuls and washed them down with copious draughts of coffee.
“I worried on the way home,” said Jim, “but now, this morning, I think maybe it’s the best solution. Perhaps, who knows, with some expert treatment, he’ll be as good as new when he returns.”
Karper shook his head dubiously. “I’m not happy about the arrangement. How could I ever trust him again in the Command and Control setup? After what I’ve seen, even affidavits from a flock of psychiatrists wouldn’t mean much.”
“But,” said Jim, “you’ve got to admit he was his old self last night. He was brilliant. Even the dramatic timing, leaving that vacation bit to the last. He was as good as a professional actor.”
Karper took a quill toothpick from his vest pocket, poked at several back teeth, then held it in his lips and whistled through it.
“Yes,” he said, “but he colored everything his way. You know that as well as I do. We both know it wasn’t that way at all. I know, for example, that he was going to throw that inkwell at me until I grabbed him.” Karper sniffed. “And he tried to pass it off as an isometric exercise.”
“Of course, he never did answer your questions,” said Jim, “about his explosion over Craig Spence, which was utterly silly, and ordering that FBI investigation of me. Most important, he didn’t even mention his charge that a conspiracy of some kind was out to get him.”
“He didn’t mention it,” said Karper, “but he really confessed to us without knowing. Remember when he got mad and started to talk about ‘they’? He meant the conspiracy, I’m sure, but he caught himself in time.”
Night of Camp David Page 32