Sadinauskas bleakly sipped his coffee.
“What if there are more casualties?” Reidy asked. “What if worse comes to worst and things get beyond your little charade with Napier?”
“You mean if Showers kept a copy of the original memo, or gave one to the Japanese? And he decides to jump up on a soapbox?”
“It’s something to ponder.”
“Won’t happen. He’s a straight arrow, right? Never lies. He told me he destroyed it. I believe him. You know him, Wally. Is he the kind of guy who would fuck up something like the treaty just to save his ass?”
“He’s a rare bird—for Washington.”
“But what if?” Reidy persisted.
“In a worst-case scenario, Senator, someone’ll have to take a fall. Like Admiral Poindexter in Iran-Contra.”
“Got anyone in mind?”
“You thought it up, I approved it, Wally set it up. Any volunteers?”
Sadinauskas sighed. “I’ll take the fall. I’m the most logical. It would do the least damage if the buck stopped with me.”
“You’re a knight in shining armor, Wally. A credit to all Lithuanian-Americans. But don’t worry. It’s not going to happen. Look, Napier and Showers are fucking nobodies. Way the hell down the food chain. And this guy Spencer is no Peter Zenger, either. We can get hold of his bar tabs to prove it.”
“Things like this never happened to Thomas Jefferson,” Reidy said.
“The hell they didn’t,” Moody said. “Go look up how he fucked around with John Marshall and Aaron Burr, and the mess that caused. Like the guy said in Chicago, politics ain’t bean bag.”
Reidy looked at his watch. “Anything else on today’s happy agenda?”
“Yes, and it ain’t bean bag, either. Do you still have the treaty on the Senate calendar for after the Fourth of July?”
Reidy smiled the smile of an exasperated saint. “After all this?”
“I’ll say it again. I think ‘all this’ is going to disappear by tomorrow.”
“Even so, Bobby. I’ve got a lot of skittish guys on my hands. I think we ought to wait for the dust to settle. I don’t want anyone seizing on the memo flap as an excuse to go south. Let’s let things quiet down.”
“How long?”
“I think everybody needs a nice summer vacation. I’d like to call the treaty first thing after Labor Day. The new arms control thing is going to push us well into July as it is.”
“Labor Day? Shit! The president will blow his top. You told me you’d keep the Senate in till they ratify.”
“Tell him we need the time to work on some guys. It’s the truth. You’d win if there was a vote today, but it wouldn’t be a walkover like the committee action. The lobbying has been heavy against us, and I think there’s some big money down. Here and there, anyway. If we wait a little, I think we can get some more guys aboard. Tell the president that all I want is to make the vote for the treaty as big as possible. Give me the summer. Who knows, maybe something wonderful will happen to give us a boost. Maybe an oil tanker will go belly up off Alaska again, or the Russians will hand us another Chernobyl.”
“I’ve seen reports that say that’s not exactly implausible,” said Sadinauskas.
“I’ve more or less promised the president I’m going to deliver the Japanese,” Moody said. “If we sit on our hands, they’ll sit on theirs.”
“So slice open an oil tanker in Tokyo Bay.”
Moody toyed with his orange juice glass a moment, then looked up. “There’s an easier way to do it.”
“There’s always an easier way,” Reidy said.
“Okay, let’s wrap this up,” Moody said. “It’s showtime.”
The press briefing went perfectly. The president’s press secretary, who’d been told nothing more about the Japan memo than the president had, began the session routinely. The memo came up about five questions in, after a long back-and-forth about the budget and some queries about the troubles in Belize, to which the press secretary responded with the same vague answers he’d used with similar queries the week before.
On the memo matter, he deferred to Moody, who came out to the press room a few minutes later, as though interrupted from some far more important business. He brought Napier with him, however, and an aide who distributed copies of the reworded memo Napier had signed the night before.
“We’ve gone to all this trouble,” he said, “because we take anything that might affect the president’s environmental initiative very seriously, even a bunch of nonsense like this. There is no secret White House memo. There are no plans for a trade war against Japan. This is all there is. You can ask Mr. Napier here. He wrote it.”
They didn’t ask Napier. His reputation in Washington—what little he had—was as a minor political gofer and gadfly gate crasher who liked to get his picture in the party page section of Washingtonian magazine.
One reporter asked, “What was the president’s response to this memo?”
“He never saw it,” Moody said. “The same way your publisher never sees the memos you write asking for more paper towels in the men’s room.”
“Is the president considering taking sanctions against countries who don’t ratify the treaty?”
“Not that he’s told me about. The treaty’s a collegial effort, a world partnership. If there’s any talk of sanctions, you’re more likely to hear it at the United Nations. And I haven’t heard any. I might remind you that the United States hasn’t ratified the accord, either.”
A woman from one of the networks had been trying to get his attention. She stood up to improve her chances.
“Yes dear?” Moody said. It caused titters. And grumbles.
“Would you characterize the Japanese as the world’s worst polluters?”
Hadn’t this woman ever been in Eastern Europe? “Hell, no. Let me remind you that both houses of the Japanese Diet are advancing ratification legislation as we stand here. Japan is our ally, our economic partner, one of our best friends. We have every confidence they’ll do the right thing. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to work. If you still want to chit chat, that’s what this guy’s for.” He pulled the press secretary to the podium, and turned to leave.
“Why did we send troops to Belize?” a reporter shouted.
“They needed some R and R,” Moody said, over his shoulder. He hustled Napier out of the briefing room with him.
“Was it all right?” Napier asked, when they were back in Moody’s office. He was all flushed and sweaty.
“It couldn’t have gone better. Thanks.”
“But I didn’t get to say anything.”
“You’ll have your chance in a few minutes. We’re going in to see the president.”
“The president?”
“I want you to go through the whole routine, from writing the memo to showing it to Showers in that bar. And then I want you to apologize for the difficulties this caused.”
“Apologize? To the president? Am I in trouble?”
“Not at all. He appreciates little scenes like that. Probably reminds him of his school days. All I want is for him to feel he knows everything there is to know about all this. Just tell him you wrote that thing out of excessive zeal. You feel that strongly about the need for the treaty. He’ll probably pat you on the head.”
Napier’s anxiety vanished.
“And afterwards,” Moody continued, “I want you to get lost—for a long time and far away. You can draw on the National Committee contingency fund for money. Just let us know where you are.”
“Yes sir.”
“I don’t want you surfacing here until I give you the all clear. I mean it. If you turn up on the party circuit here I’m going to have you sent to Belize with the marines.”
Acting Secretary Richmond called Showers to his office late in the day. Given that they didn’t know each other well, he seemed excessively friendly and solicitous, yet very serious.
“I’ve had a communication from the president,”
Richmond said, when they were both seated. “It concerns you.”
Showers sat calmly. He’d been preparing himself for what was to come from the moment he’d read Jack’s column in the Post.
“He’s upset about some reports that appeared in the papers this morning and over the weekend about Japan and the Earth Treaty. Are you familiar with them?”
“Yes.”
“He’s been given to understand that the source of these reports is you. That you picked up some unsubstantiated information from someone with the Democratic National Committee named Napier and that you passed it on to a journalist, who happens to be your cousin.”
“The latter part of that assertion is true.”
“You’re admitting that.”
“Of course. It’s the truth. But I’ve had no dealings with this Mr. Napier.”
“You weren’t with him one recent evening in an establishment called the Wilde Thing?”
“No. I’ve never heard of the place. Is that what they’re saying?”
“That’s what someone told the president.”
“It’s nonsense. I showed my cousin a memorandum that I understood was written by Mr. Napier, but I don’t know him, except to see his picture in the magazines occasionally. I’ve never met him. He was just a name on the memo.”
“And how did you come into possession of that?”
Showers did not want to say anything that might sink his friend Sadinauskas. Certainly not until he’d had a chance to talk with him. He would do nothing that might jeopardize the outcome of the treaty vote. He’d sworn that to himself in the very beginning.
“I’d rather not say, sir.”
“Honor among thieves?”
“No. It’s just irrelevant to the issue at hand. I talked to my cousin. I should not have. It was a very serious mistake.”
Richmond pursed his lips, rocking back and forth gently in his big leather swivel chair. He was a good man. Showers hoped he would be named secretary of state.
“There were no extenuating circumstances, David?”
Showers hesitated. “To be truthful about it, there were. But I don’t want to go into them. Not until such time …” He averted his eyes. “Not until the treaty is an accomplished fact.”
“You’re quite sure? That could take a very long time.”
Now Showers looked directly at his superior. “They involve a matter of contention between me and an official in the administration. But it’s a private matter, and has nothing to do with the treaty. I don’t ever want it to. I just want you to understand, sir, that through all of this I thought I was acting in the best interests of the president’s initiative and this department.”
“Except for talking to your cousin.”
“Yes.”
Richmond had a file folder on his desk. He opened it, and flipped through a few pages.
“You have an exemplary record, David. You should be working at a much higher level than you are. I note you’ve recently turned down two rather decent overseas assignments, just so you could continue working on the Earth Treaty.”
“In fairness, I should tell you that there was also a personal consideration in that. I have a horse farm in Virginia that’s required a lot of my attention lately.”
“I know. I’ve watched you race.” Richmond studied a few other entries in Showers’ file, then carefully closed it, folding his hands in front of him. The time had come.
“I have to tell you that I share the president’s concern,” he began, speaking more formally now. “I’m afraid my choices are limited. Let me say first that there is absolutely no question of dismissal or disciplinary proceedings. As I told the president, I don’t think there’s a need for anything more than a letter of admonition to be placed in your record. You’ve been a valued foreign service officer. I see no reason why you can’t continue your career to retirement. But some action is going to have to be taken. Obviously, you can’t continue serving on the intergovernmental council, or have anything more to do with the treaty. I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept reassignment.”
Showers had seen that coming. “To what, sir?”
“An overseas posting. What has been suggested is the consular affairs section of the embassy in Khartoum. The Sudan continues to be of great concern to us.”
The Sudan. The land of dervishes and Fuzzy Wuzzies and Chinese Gordon’s severed head. How apt. He might as well be sent to the North Pole, except that would be too close to Washington.
“I’m afraid, sir, that I must respectfully decline.”
Richmond stared at him. “David, you can’t refuse this assignment. Not under any circumstance. You’ve already declined two other postings. You know regulations. You know what this means.”
“Perfectly well, sir. I’ve no choice but to submit my resignation. You’ll have it today.”
“I’m awfully sorry about this, David.”
Showers rose. “I understand, sir. Fully.” They shook hands.
Showers paused. “I’ve one favor to ask you, sir. I understand our ambassador to Iceland has been given notice of reassignment. I think that, if you were to consult with the White House chief of staff, you might find that there’s really no need of that. You might tell Mr. Moody that’s all I had to say.”
When he returned to his office, his secretary read something in his face and gave him a sadly questioning look. He merely smiled in return—an expression of lips, not eyes. She’d been with him nearly two years, and should have an explanation. He’d write her a long letter. For now, he merely let her go home early.
He slumped wearily at his desk, gazing at his upside down globe in the corner. The world—treaties, presidents, governments, and great events—was moving on without him. Like hundreds of thousands of minor figures in the footnotes of history, he had fallen into the ditch.
Taking out the Mont Blanc pen Lenore had once given him as a birthday present, he wrote out his resignation by hand, adding no embellishing comments. When the ink had dried, he put it in an envelope marked Departmental Mail.
He had a few framed photographs on his desk. One was of him and Lenore on horseback, taken many years before. In the beginning, it had served as a sort of talisman of hope. He put it in his briefcase along with the others, and a few other personal items from his desk drawers. He’d leave all the official papers—and the globe. It was their world now.
There were some messages, none that need interest him anymore, except one. It was from Waldemar Sadinauskas. The call had come in while he was talking to Richmond.
The energy secretary answered the phone himself. “I just heard.”
“Probably before I did.”
“Probably.”
“I’ve resigned, Waldemar. They offered me Khartoum.”
Sadinauskas excused himself to talk to someone in his office, then got back on the line. “Sometimes, at this time of day, when I’m going to be working late, I like to take a little walk. Why don’t you join me?”
The secretary was waiting on the corner outside his office building as promised, standing by a street vendor who had just sold him a hot dog. Sadinauskas munched on it as they walked.
“Did you put it in writing, your resignation?” he said.
“It’s in the mail.”
“You don’t have to do it.”
“Yes I do. You’ve known me long enough to know that.”
“I’ve been in this town a hell of a long time, Dave. A lot longer than I’ve known you. I think the most important thing I’ve learned is that these people come and go. They take over the town like conquerors, never stopping to realize that they’re going to have to give it all up someday. That they’re going to end up as nobodies like everyone else. Who’s scared of Mike Deaver or Ed Meese now? Or John Sununu?”
“I’m not scared of Moody.”
“I know that. What I’m suggesting is that you could wait them out. Who knows who’s going to win the next election? The State Department takes care of its own. You could come
back.”
“Just to collect a pension? No thanks, Waldemar. I’m not that kind of lifer. In any event, I need to be here now. At least I need to be in Virginia.”
The traffic rumbling by them was heavy—evening commuters mixing with the tourists.
“Well, you’re not without friends, and I hope you still include me in that. I can get you a job. I don’t mean anywhere in the administration, or up on the Hill—unless you want to work for the Republicans. But there are a lot of think tanks who’d love to have you. They don’t pay all that much, but you could still have a hand in working for the treaty. I wouldn’t recommend any of the professional lobbyist outfits. I think every one of those hired guns is working against the treaty. But hell, we’ll get you something.”
“I suppose I could end up having to take you up on that, but not now. Thanks anyway.”
Sadinauskas finished his hot dog and crumpled up the paper wrapper, tossing it in a sidewalk trash basket. He wiped his mouth on his handkerchief.
“You probably think I set you up for this,” he said.
“I have a fair idea of what’s happened, but I don’t blame you. I’m sure you were just doing what they asked of you, just as I did when I agreed to show that memo to the Japanese.”
“You should blame me. I was the one who thought of you for this. I let you get caught in the squeeze.”
“I could have said no. I almost did. And you certainly didn’t tell me to talk to my cousin.”
“I don’t feel very good about you being hung up to dry all on your lonesome. If you want—and I mean this, Dave—I’ll come out and join you. Moody’s cover story includes some unpleasantly suggestive stuff about you and Napier. I can spare you that. I’m willing to come out and say the memo came from me. That I thought it up and asked you to do it. Ordered you to do it, if you like.”
“It would end your career. They wouldn’t even bother sending you to Khartoum.”
“My pension’s guaranteed. Maybe, at long last, it’s time for me to get out of here. The Constitution doesn’t guarantee any of us a job for life.” He stopped, and put his hand on Showers’ shoulder. “I’ll do it, Dave. Just say the word.”
The Last Virginia Gentleman Page 26