Shall We Tell the President? (21 page)

Tuesday morning, 8 March

8:04 am The phone was ringing, but Mark was
still in a deep sleep. It continued to ring. Eventually he awoke, focused on
his watch: 8:05. Damn, probably the Director asking where the hell he was; no,
he hadn’t wanted to see him this morning, isn’t that what they agreed? He
grabbed the phone.

‘You’re awake?’

‘Yes.’

‘I love you, too.’

He heard the phone click. A good way to
start the day, though if she knew he was going to spend it investigating her
father . . . And almost certainly the Director was investigating her.

Mark let the cold shower run on and on
until he was fully awake. Whenever he was awakened suddenly, he always wanted
to go back to sleep. Next week, he promised himself he would. There was one
hell of a lot of things he was going to do next week. He glanced at his watch:
8:25. No Wheaties this morning. He flicked on the television to see if he had
missed anything going on in the rest of the world; he was sitting on a news
story that would make Barbara Walters fall off her CBS chair. What was the man
saying

‘.., and now one of the greatest
achievements of mankind, the first pictures ever taken from the planet Jupiter
by an American spacecraft. History in the making, but first, this message from
Jell-O, the special food for special children.’

Mark turned it off, laughing. Jupiter,
along with Jell-O, would have to wait until next week.

Because he was running late, he decided to
return to taking the Metro from the Waterfront Station next to his apartment.
It was different when he had been going in early and had the roads to himself,
but at 8:30, the cars would be bumper to bumper the whole way.

The entrance to the subway was marked with
a bronze pylon sporting an illuminated M. Mark stepped on to the escalator,
which took him from street level down to the Metro station. The tunnel-like
station reminded him of a Roman bath, grey and dark with a honeycombed, curved
ceiling. One dollar. Rush-hour fare. And he needed a transfer. Another dollar.
Mark fumbled in his pockets for the exact fare. Must remember to stock up on
quarters when I get to the centre of town, he thought, as he stepped on to
another escalator and was deposited at track level. During rush-hour, 6:30-9:00
am, the trains drew in every five minutes. Round lights on the side of the
platform began to flash to indicate the train was approaching. The doors opened
automatically. Mark joined the crowd in a colourful, brightly lit car, and five
minutes later heard his destination announced on the public address system:
Gallery Place
. He
stepped out on to the platform and waited for a red line train. The green line
worked perfectly on mornings when he was going to the Washington Field Office,
but to get to Capitol Hill, he had to switch. Four minutes later, he emerged
into the sunshine at Union Station Visitors’ Center, the bustling command post
for bus, train, and subway travel in and out of
Washington
. The
Dirksen
Senate
Office
Building
was three blocks away, down
1st
Street
, at the corner of Constitution. That was
quick and painless, thought Mark, as he went in the
Constitution Avenue
entrance. Why do I
ever bother with a car at all?

He walked past two members of the Capitol
police who were inspecting briefcases and packages at the door, and pressed the
Up-button at the public elevator.

‘Four, please,’ he said to the elevator
operator.

The Foreign Relations Committee hearing was
scheduled to begin shortly. Mark pulled the list of ‘Today’s Activities in the
House and Senate’, which he had torn out of
The Washington Post,
from
his coal pocket. ‘Foreign Relations: 9:30 am. Open. Hearing on US policy
towards the Common Market; administration representatives. 4229 DOB.’ As Mark
walked down the hall, Senator Ralph Brooks of Massachusetts stepped into
Suite
4229
, and Mark
followed him into the hearing room.

The senator, a tall man with rugged, almost
film star good looks, had dogged every step of President Kane’s political
career until finally she had replaced him as Secretary of State when she took
over after President Parkin’s death.

He had quickly won her seat back in the
Senate and then stood against
Florentyna
Kane as the
Democratic candidate and only lost on the seventh ballot. He had gone on to be
chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.

Did he now intend to kill the President in
order to reach the highest office himself? It didn’t add up because if Kane
were assassinated the Vice President Bill Bradley, who was younger than he was,
would take her place and then Brooks would be left with no chance. No, the
senator didn’t look a serious threat hut Mark still needed proof before he
could cross him of the list.

The hearing room had light-coloured wood
panelling, accented by green marble on the lower part of the wall and around
the door. At the
end
of the chamber, there was a semi-circular desk of
the same light wood, which was raised one step above the rest of the room.
Fifteen burnt-orange chairs. Only about ten of them were occupied. Senator
Brooks took his seat, but the assorted staff members, aides, newsmen, and
administrative officials continued to mill around. On the wall behind the
senators hung two large maps, one of the world, the other of
Europe
.
At a desk immediately in front of and below the senators sat a
stenotypist
, poised to record the proceedings verbatim. In
front, there were desks for witnesses.

More than half the room was given over to
chairs for the general public, and these were nearly all full, An oil painting
of George Washington dominated the scene. The man must have spent the last ten
years of his life posing for portraits, thought Mark.

Senator Brooks whispered something to an
aide, and rapped his gavel for silence. ‘Before we begin,’ he said, ‘I’d like
to notify Senate staff members and the press of a change in schedule. Today and
tomorrow, we will hear testimony from the State Department concerning the
European Common Market. We will then postpone the continuation of these
hearings until next week, so the committee may devote its attention to the
pressing and controversial issue of arms sales to Africa.’

By this time, almost everyone in the room
had found a seat, and the government witnesses were glancing through their
notes. Mark had worked on Capitol Hill one summer during college, but even now
he could not help feeling annoyed at the small number of senators who showed up
at these hearings. Because each senator served on three or more committees and
innumerable sub- and special committees, they were forced to specialise, and to
trust the expertise of fellow senators and staff members in areas outside their
own speciality. So it was not at all unusual for committee hearings to be
attended by three or two or sometimes even only one senator.

The subject under debate was a bill to dismantle
the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation.
Portugal
and
Spain
had gone Communist and left the Common Market, like two well-behaved dominoes,
at the turn of the decade. The Spanish bases went soon after; King Juan Carlos
was living in exile in
England
.
NATO had been prepared for the Communist take- over in
Portugal
, but when
Italy
finally installed a
Fronto
Popolare
government in the
Quirinal
, things began to
fall apart. The Papacy, trusting to tried and proven methods, locked itself
behind its gates, and American Catholic opinion forced the
United States
to cut off financial aid to the new Italian government. The Italians retaliated
by closing her NATO bases.

The economic ripples of the Italian collapse
were thought to have influenced the French elections, which had led to a
victory for Chirac and the Gaullists. The more extreme forms of socialism had
recently been repudiated in
Holland
and some Scandinavian countries. The Germans were happy with their social
democracy. But as the West entered the last decade of the twentieth century,
Senator Pearson was declaring that America’s only real ally in NATO was
Britain
, where
a Tory government had recently won an upset victory in the February general election.

The British Foreign Secretary, Kenneth
Clarke, had argued forcefully against the formal breakup of NATO. Such a move
would sever
Great Britain
from her alliance with the
United
States
, and commit her solely to the EEC,
seven of whose fifteen members were not Communist or close to it. Senator
Pearson thumped the table. ‘We should take the British view seriously in our
considerations and not be interested only in immediate strategic gains.’

After an hour of listening to Brooks and
Pearson questioning State Department witnesses about the political situation in
Spain
,
Mark slipped out of the door and went into the Foreign Relations Committee
suite down the hall. The secretary informed him that Lester
Kenneck
,
the committee staff director, was out of the office. Mark had telephoned him
the day before, leaving the impression that he was a student doing research for
his dissertation.

‘Is there someone else who could give me
some information about the committee?’

‘I’ll see if Paul Rowe, one of our staff
members, might be able to help you.’ She picked up the telephone and, several
moments later, a thin bespectacled man emerged from one of the back rooms.

‘What can I do for you?’

Mark explained that he would like to see
other members of the committee in action, particularly Senator Nunn. Rowe
smiled patiently. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘Come back tomorrow afternoon or
Thursday for the discussion about arms sales to
Africa
.
Senator Nunn will be here, I guarantee. And you’ll find it much more
interesting than the Common Market stuff. In fact, the meeting may be closed to
the public. But I’m sure if you come by here and talk to Mr
Kenneck
,
he’ll arrange for you to sit in.’

‘Thank you very much. Would you by any
chance happen to know if Nunn and Pearson were present at the hearing on 24
February, or last Thursday?’

Rowe raised his eyebrows. ‘I have no idea.
Kenneck
might know.’

Mark thanked him. ‘Oh, one more thing. Can
you give me a pass for the Senate gallery?’

The secretary stamped a card and wrote in
his name. Mark headed for the elevator. Arms sales.
Africa
,
he thought. Thursday’s too late. Damn. How the hell am I supposed to know why
one of these guys would want to kill President Kane? Could be some crazy
military thing, or a severe case of racism. It doesn’t make any sense. Not why,
but who, he reminded himself. As he walked, Mark almost knocked over one of the
Senate pages, who was running down the corridor clutching a package. The
Congress operates a page school for boys and girls from across the nation who
attend classes and work as ‘gophers’ in the Capitol. They all wear dark blue
and white and always give the impression of being in a hurry. Mark stopped just
in time and the boy scooted around him without even breaking stride.

Mark took the elevator to the ground floor
and walked out of the
Dirksen
Building
on to
Constitution Avenue
.
He made his way across the Capitol grounds, entered the Capitol on the Senate
side, underneath the long marble expanse of steps, and waited for the public
elevator.

‘Busy day,’ the guard informed him. ‘Lots
of tourists here to watch the gun control debate.’

Mark nodded. ‘Is there a long wait
upstairs?’

‘Yes, sir, I think so.’

The elevator arrived, and on the gallery
level a guard ushered Mark into line with a horde of gaping visitors. Mark was
impatient. He beckoned to one of the guards.

‘Listen, officer,’ he said, ‘I have a
regular public pass for the gallery, but I’m a student from Yale doing
research. Think there is any way you could get me in?’

The guard nodded sympathetically.

A few minutes later, Mark was seated in the
chamber. He could see only part of the floor. The senators were seated at desks
in semi-circular rows facing the Chair. Even while someone was speaking, staff
members and senators wandered around, giving the impression that the really
significant manoeuvring took place in hushed tones, not in dramatic debate.

The Judiciary Committee had reported out
the bill two weeks before, after prolonged hearings and discussion. The House
had already passed similar legislation, which would have to be reconciled with
the stricter Senate version if it were to be approved.

Senator Dexter was speaking. My future
father-in-law? Mark wondered. He certainly didn’t look like a killer, but then
which senator did? He had given his daughter her glorious dark hair, although
there was a little white at his temples. Not as much as there ought to be,
thought Mark - a politician’s vanity. And he had also given her his dark eyes.
He seemed fairly contemptuous of most of the people around him, tapping the
desk with his long fingers to emphasise a point.