The Last President: A Novel of an Alternative America (22 page)

Mrs. Fleischer, Uriah Vandermeer’s private secretary, put her ear to the door of his office and listened intently, “You’d better wait a minute,” she told St. Yves, “I don’t want to disturb him now.”

St. Yves chuckled an ingratiating chuckle. “Don’t tell me, Mrs. Fleischer, that Billy has a young lady in his office at this hour.”

“Mr. St. Yves!” Mrs. Fleischer did her best to sound shocked, although the halls of power had few surprises left for her. Then she dropped the pretense and shook her head. “A young lady,” she said. “Maybe that’s what he needs. He’s in there by himself, he is. Talking.”

St. Yves’ eyes widened slightly. “Talking? You mean he’s on the phone?”

“No, sir. It started when his daughter was killed in that awful bombing. He walks around the room talking to himself.”

“What does he talk about?”

“I couldn’t say,” Mrs. Fleischer said, and her mouth closed to a thin line. Whether or not she could say, it was clear that no power on earth would make her.

“Has he seen anyone about this? I mean, a doctor?”

“No, sir. When it started I was very worried and I talked to my daughter’s brother-in-law, who’s a psychiatrist in Baltimore. He said it was nothing to worry about, just a standard grief reaction. He said it would disappear with time.”

“I see.” St. Yves nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you for trusting me, Mrs. Fleischer. Let me think on this and see if I can come up with something helpful. I’d better go in now.”

“Thank you, Mr. St. Yves. I had to tell someone. You won’t say anything, will you—I mean, to him?”

“Of course not.”

Mrs. Fleischer buzzed the inner office and announced St. Yves, who winked at her and went through. As the office door closed behind him, he relegated Mrs. Fleischer’s concern to his mind’s inactive file. If Billy Vandermeer wanted to spend his spare time arguing with himself, that was his business and none of St. Yves’. But it was St. Yves’ concern to see that the office staff was reassured, which he had done. A pity about Kathy, St. Yves thought fleetingly, she was a lovely girl.

“Good morning, Ed,” Vandermeer said, nodding a greeting from behind his desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Vandermeer.”

“What have you got for me?”

“A plot, Mr. Vandermeer. “We’ve uncovered a plot.”

“What sort of a plot?” Vandermeer hitched forward in his chair. “Against whom?”

“Against the government, sir. Against the President.”

Vandermeer nodded. “Tell me,” he said.

St. Yves lowered himself into the chair opposite the desk with great care, as though he were afraid it might explode under him. “We ran across it during a routine congressional surveillance. Just a passing reference in a phone conversation. So we sat on the phone, built up a dossier. I didn’t want to bring it to you until we were sure we had something.”

“And now you’re sure?”

“Right. Representative Obediah Porfritt of Nebraska. He’s evidently on the periphery of some group that’s plotting to overthrow the government. He’s trying to drum up support with other members of the House to set up some kind of parliamentary cabinet to run the country until elections can be held.”

“That’s what they all say, you know,” Vandermeer said, drumming his fingers on the desk top. “They just want to take over until elections can be held. But elections never are held.”

“That’s the pattern,” St. Yves agreed.

“Porfritt. I remember him. Little man. Probably has a Napoleon complex. Most little politicians do, I’ve noticed. I’ll have to get into the President with his plan so we can set up the best counter to it. Not that I think there’s anything to worry about. What is his plan? How does he intend to take over?”

“We’re not sure yet,” St. Yves said.

“What!” Vandermeer stood up. “That’s a hell of a report. What do you mean, you’re not sure? God damn it, you’re supposed to be sure. A lot of money gets funneled through your office for you to use making sure of things like this.”

“Well, sir, actually we don’t think Porfritt is sure yet himself. There are others involved, but we haven’t been able to determine who yet. The code name for the operation is ‘Jubilee’.”

Vandermeer walked around the desk. “‘Jubilee,’ you say? Son of a bitch—there may be something here bigger than you thought.” He paced back and forth on the Shirvan rug.

“How’s that, sir?”

“We have a report from General Landau of the Eighty-Second Airborne. He suspects one of his regimental commanders of attempting to subvert the others in some kind of coup. The word ‘Jubilee’ was mentioned in the report.”

“The Eighty-Second is the logical outfit to try to subject, sir,” St. Yves said. “A crack ready-response division, right next to the city. More firepower than anything else around.”

“We need a report, a study,” Vandermeer said. “Find out what anyone planning a coup would need to do, and head them off at the pass. Get inside the Jubilee thing and use it for our own purposes. Let them try to grab power, and snooker them in the ass after they’ve made their move. Get good TV coverage.”

“Isn’t that high-risk?” St. Yves asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to grab them before they do anything?”

“It’s a calculated risk,” Vandermeer said. “But since we’re onto them from the beginning, we can cut the risk factor way down. And a conspiracy to commit treason isn’t nearly as showy as treason itself. We’re heading to get the Twenty-Second Amendment repealed so the President can run again. We can’t keep this ‘between elections’ crap up very long.”

“We could stage a coup,” St. Yves said. “It would be safer.”

“You going to stage a trial and execution?” Vandermeer asked, pausing in mid-pace to shake his fist at the air. “No, by God—a real-life coup, that’s what we need! The smell of blood! Let it look like they’ve come dangerously close to snuffing out American Democracy, then step on them!” He resumed his pacing. “We need control, that’s what. Can’t let the thing get out of hand. And have to time it right. Lots of top-flight PR beforehand.”

“I think it’s dangerous,” St. Yves said.

“You’re the man who scoffs at danger,” Vandermeer said. “Come on, Ed, don’t blow your image.”

“Physical danger is one thing,” St. Yves said. “But the danger I see here is different. How do you know which side the public will be on in a thing like this? Holding up the elections isn’t very popular, no matter how many excuses we keep coming up with.”

“But that’s it, don’t you see?” Vandermeer said. “We can schedule the elections now. Say, the primaries for April. Then, when the coup attempt is made, cancel them again and focus public attention on the trial while we ram the repeal through the state legislatures.”

“Supposing they cancel the coup attempt when we schedule the elections?”

“Not a chance. They won’t believe us. Would you?”

“Guess not. But what if they do?”

Vandermeer considered it for a minute. “Then we grab them for conspiracy.”

“I’ll get the boys right on it.”

“No,” Vandermeer said. “We’ve got to keep this operation clean. We’ll start up a special unit. Bring in outside people.”

“What about the FBI?”

“The last thing we want is the FBI sticking its nose into political stuff. Same goes for the Secret Service. Let them guard the body of the President—throw themselves in front of him when some nut tries to shoot him—that business. We need a new group for political action. A separate group controlled by the President.”

“I see,” St. Yves said. “You’re thinking in broader terms than just suppressing this coup attempt, then.”

“Right. There’ll be other attempts. We have to stay on top of it. Set up an undercover police unit. Use them as the nucleus of a national police force. I’ll speak to the President. Who can we get for it?”

“What about some ex-servicemen, back from Vietnam? That would be good publicity, wouldn’t it?”

“Right, good thinking. Not just soldiers, though—Special Forces, maybe. They’re good, loyal men, aren’t they?”

“Yes, sir. They’re trained and indoctrinated for that.”

“See if you can line some up. I’ll give you the word. Meantime, keep an eye on this Jubilee business. Try to get a date. Let me know if it hots up.”

“I’ll stay on top of it,” St. Yves said. He headed for the door. Vandermeer might talk to himself, St. Yves thought as he left the office, but he still had a sharp, incisive mind and stayed right on top of business. The President was lucky to have such a man at his right hand.

Aaron Adams drove cautiously down Dumbarton Street to Wisconsin Avenue and made a left, pulling his car to the curb right past the corner. There had been five cars behind him and none of them made the turn. He waited two minutes and pulled out and went halfway up the block to a garage and turned in. It was three-thirty in the afternoon of Tuesday, the twenty-first of December: three shopping days until Christmas. Even an unimportant shopping area like the middle of downtown Georgetown was crowded with shoppers.

Adams guided his car up the circular ramp to the fourth floor, where he paused briefly. When he came back down Kit Young was in the seat next to him.

The bored attendant at the exit glanced at the time on the ticket and at his clock. “Not here long,” he remarked.

Adams nodded. “So it goes,” he said, handing the attendant a dollar. He turned right on Wisconsin and headed out toward Montrose Park.

Neither he nor Kit spoke to each other until he had found a place to park. They got out of the car and strolled past the snow-dusted tennis courts.

“We should be reasonably safe now,” Adams said. “Unless they’ve got your overcoat bugged. Which, come to think of it, I wouldn’t put past them.”

“I have some news,” Kit said, tugging the collar of his tweed overcoat up around his ears.

“I hope so,” Adams said.

“You know, I can’t even talk about things when I get home, for fear the damned Plumbers have put a bug in my light switch and a TV camera behind the mirror over my dresser. Miriam’s starting to show the strain, and I think I’m developing a twitch on the right side of my face.”

“The waiting is the rough part,” Adams agreed. “But hang on, we’re almost there.”

“So are they,” Kit said.

Adams looked at him sharply. “What the hell do you mean?”

“They’re wise. They’ve found out.”

“Who’s found out what?” Adams demanded. “Come on, man, be precise.”

“I’ll be as precise as I can,” Kit said. “They—and by ‘they’ I mean Vandermeer and St. Yves, and presumably the President—know about the coup.” He stopped walking and smiled a bitter smile. “How does that grab you?”

“Keep talking,” Adams said. “How do you know?”

“St. Yves told me we have to be prepared for a coup attempt. ‘We’ meaning them, you understand.”

“What did you say?” Adams asked. “When did this conversation take place?”

“The funny thing is,” Kit continued, “that for a minute I had no idea he was talking about us. I mean I thought, well, I don’t know what I thought, but the possibility that he knew about Jubilee never entered my mind. ‘What coup?’ I said. ‘Who’s attempting a coup? Left wing or right wing?’

“‘A congressman named Porfritt doesn’t think we’re holding the new elections fast enough,’ he told me.

“‘Porfritt,’ I said to him, trying to figure out where I’d heard the name before. Aaron, I was really trying to figure out if I’d ever heard of this guy Porfritt. Talk about induced schizophrenia. The me that works for the White House is a different person. I mean, there’s a lot of psychological suppression going on while I’m there. Then as soon as I get off, I become this other person, convinced that St. Yves is having me followed.”

“Yes,” Adams said.

“Does any of this make sense?”

“Of course,” Adams said. “You’re under strain, and you’re not used to it. Not this sort of strain. Tell me exactly what St. Yves said.”

“We’ll have to give it up,” Kit said. “They’re not onto the rest of us, yet. At least half the time I think they’re not, and the other half I think St. Yves is being subtle.”

“What did he say?” Adams asked patiently.

Kit concentrated. “He said that Representative Porfritt was part of a coup attempt. That they were having him followed to find out who else was in on it. That they didn’t think it had gotten very far. No—he said that Vandermeer didn’t think it had gotten very far but that he wasn’t sure. And that Jubilee was an identity code or a go code, he didn’t know which.”

Adams seemed to have regained his cool. “That’s it?” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘That’s it’? Isn’t that enough?”

“Not enough to cancel the mission.”

“What will it take, the sound of fists pounding on your door at midnight?”

Adams shrugged. “Try not to worry about it.”

Kit looked at him.

Adams managed a smile. “I’m not insane,” he said. “I expected the operation to be partly blown at some stage. It was bound to happen, just by the laws of chance. As few as we are, we’re still too many to keep a secret for long. Remember, the German High Command knew the date and location of D-Day. Now, we’re lucky enough to know when and how we’ve been blown. If we’re smart, we can cause their interest in Obie to lead them away from us.”

“I see what you mean,” Kit said, thoughtfully. “Will Porfritt go along?”

“We can’t tell him,” Adams said. “It would make him too nervous.”

“He’s going to be pissed when he finds out.”

“I’ll apologize.”

A flurry of snowflakes, blown from nearby trees, filled the air around them. Kit suddenly had the impression that everything had become incredibly clear and unbelievably three-dimensional around them. “I keep thinking that a coup can’t work—not in the United States.”

“It can, Kit. What we must do is become a legitimate government as quickly as possible.”

“How do we do this?” Kit asked.

“That’s where our friend Congressman Obediah Porfritt comes in,” Adams said. “We’re going to have the House vote a bill of impeachment against the President and rush it over to the Senate for trial. Once the bill is voted, the removal of the President from his seat of power attains an air of pseudo-legitimacy. Then his house of cards comes tumbling down, and we all live happily ever after. If we’re still around.”

“Then the military personnel we’re lining up is just a smoke screen,” Kit said.

“By no means,” Adams told him. “We have to go in and grab the President. We have to fight off the White House guards and the Secret Service men and get him away and under arrest for this to work. And we have to hold the White House and the surrounding area for long enough so that any ‘loyal’ troops who come in to rescue him are convinced and lay down their arms. Unfortunately, unless we’re damn lucky, a lot of those innocent soldiers are liable to end up shooting at each other, as well as at you and me. I plan to be lucky, you understand, but there is an imponderable element of—luck—involved.”

“It’s going to be harder than you think,” Kit said.

“How’s that?”

“St. Yves told me they’ve decided to recruit a new presidential force to deal with that sort of thing. An elite corps based around a nucleus of newly released Special Forces people. They’re going to start recruiting for this group in the next few days.”

“Fascinating,” Adams said. “Who’s doing the recruiting?”

“St. Yves,” Kit said. “He asked me to send along any likely-looking prospects.”

“And indeed you will,” Adams said.

THE WHITE HOUSE

THE OVAL OFFICE

Tuesday, December 28, 1976 (2:14-2:30 p.m.)

MEETING: The President, Vandermeer, and Ober

AUTHORIZED TRANSCRIPTION FROM THE EXECUTIVE ARCHIVES

Vandermeer and Ober are in the Oval Office. The President enters.

P. Billy. Charlie. Have you heard? That makes eighteen.

V. Congratulations, sir.

O. Eighteen what?

P. States. Eighteen states tied up to pass the repeal of the Twenty-Second Amendment.

O. Eighteen already. We’ve got those citizens’ groups in every state now, don’t we?

V. Citizens for the Repeal. Yes. A spontaneous show of support for the President and the administration. Can’t have this lawless element taking over our society.

P. Damn right.

O. Speaking of the lawless element, how’s the coup coming?

V. It makes progress. Thanks to the indiscretion of Congressman Porfritt, a few more of the pieces have dropped into place.

O. I still think it’s dangerous.

V. Not at all. It can be controlled. Jubilee will be our creature, not theirs.

P. Did you find out who their leader is?

V. No. But we’re closing in. And his identity doesn’t matter now. It will all come out at the trial.

O. I still think that we should announce a date for new elections, sir. Then it would make the coup attempt seem even more dastardly.

P. No elections. Not yet. I haven’t heard any popular groundswell in favor of elections. I have a very sensitive ear on such things. The people don’t want elections, they want safety. Law and order. The people are afraid. And a frightened people need a strong leader. Not that there shouldn’t be elections—at the right time. After all, this is a democracy.

O. That’s right, sir. The American people aren’t ready for elections yet. After the coup attempt, we’ll be able to get the repeal through in jig time. Then an election. When there’s no question that you can run.

P. The country needs me.

V. The ground is still radioactive at the Capitol.

P. How’s that?

V. They can’t begin rebuilding yet. It will be another couple of years before they begin rebuilding.

P. What’s that? The Capitol?

O. The Capitol architect has come up with a really fine plan for the rebuilding. In the meantime, the Senate can continue to deliberate in Ford’s Theater. Wait until you see the model!

P. We’ll set up a command center in the bomb shelter in the basement. Get the media in on this. It will be quite a show. They have any military units besides the Eighty-Second?

V. We doubt it. If so, they have to be very small. When they find out that they don’t really have the Eighty-Second, that should break the back of the operation. But, of course, by then it will be too late to back out.

P. How are those new boys working out? The Special Forces group?

O. The first unit is set up. Twelve men. They’ll be the corps commanders of the group as we expand.

P. I think, “Special Federal Police Force.” How does that sound?

V. Too formal. What about “Executive Police”?

O. Maybe.

P. It has to have the right sound. The name is all. And the dress uniform. Very important. A really impressive dress uniform. I like the feel of the, you know, the coup thing. Let them carry the ball through the defense—almost to the goal line. Then smash! Hit them with everything we’ve got. Cream them. And mop them up on national television.

V. The greatest show of the season.

O. We just have to make damn sure we don’t get hit by a surprise end-around play. Or something. I still worry.

V. We’re secure on this one.

P. Maybe Charlie has something. We should go for protection in depth. Some group ready to slide in and provide defense when we need it. Some outfit standing by, ready to move. And when the morning comes, we attack with the sword in our right hand, the marshals, and defend with the shield in our left hand—this group. Whoever.

V. I’ll get on that. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong on this. There’s too much at stake.

P. Damn right.