Line of Succession
- Автор: Гарфилд Брайан
- Год: 1972
- Язык: английский
- Год: Delacorte Press
- ISBN: 978-0440048473
- Жанр: Политические детективы
Электронная книга - «Line of Succession». Краткое содержание книги:
It all happened so fast: the terrorist bombings of Congress which killed nearly a hundred senators and congressmen; the incredible kidnapping of the President-Elect, Clifford Fairlie.
Tough, veteran agent David Lime was summoned to track down the kidnappers, who threatened to kill Fairlie if the captured terrorists were not set free. And behind the scenes, ruthless men battled for the glory of the highest office in the land.
The rescue efforts swung into high gear. It became a vast, global manhunt. The entire world watched in frozen horror.
But only two men had the power to shape the end of this chilling, savage drama — agent Lime and the terrorist leader for whom hate had become a holy mission.
He had never been any good at personal diplomacy; he wished the President had assigned someone else to this chore. But protocol required it be someone at least of Cabinet rank.
“That son of a bitch,” Hollander growled, and abruptly shot his eyes toward the ceiling corners, darting from one to another. “And I hope he’s listening to me. You think I don’t know these rooms are bugged?”
Why he’s senile, Satterthwaite thought in awe. Senile and paranoid and probably the next President of the United States.
Satterthwaite ran his fingers through his wild thick crop of hair. “Senator, I can’t force the President to see you right this instant. You know that as well as I do. Now if there’s anything you’d like me to do for you...”
“There is. You can tell me just what’s being done about this war they’ve started on us. What’s being done, boy? Or is it that all you mangy neurotic intellectuals are still just sitting around arguing the fine points?” Hollander’s moist pale eyes flicked causally across Satterthwaite’s face. The gnarled fingers produced a curved and polished pipe. Packed it with care and lifted it to the wizened mouth. It took Hollander three matches to get the pipe lighted to his satisfaction. He was still on his feet, too agitated to sit. On his head the vanishing gray wisps of hair were carefully combed across the pate; he was as old-fashioned in dress and bearing as a badly tended antique.
It had been a bad mistake, Brewster sending Satterthwaite on this chore. It couldn’t help but antagonize the old man. Hollander, neither thoughtful nor subtle himself, believed these qualities in others were superficial and untrustworthy. No one thought himself a poor judge of human nature; Hollander, seeing before him an arrogant and myopic little fighter and remembering Satterthwaite from years ago when Satterthwaite hadn’t known better than to offend him unforgivably, could only assume Brewster had flung Satterthwaite in his face as a calculated affront.
It was something Satterthwaite supposed the President simply hadn’t had time to think of. But he should have thought of it himself and declined to meet Hollander here.
Hollander was building his jaws on the stem of his pipe. “The Army’s been sent out, I’ve seen that much with my own eyes. But I’d like to know what their orders are.”
“Their orders are to protect public officials.”
“Nobody ever won a war by confining his tactics to defensive operations.”
“Senator, if you want to call this a war we’re in, then the first rule of strategy is never to let the enemy stampede you into doing what he wants you to do.” He leaned forward. “The Communists aren’t behind this, Senator. At least no recognized Communist parties. In a way you can look at this whole sequence of disasters as a terrible accident — a catastrophe as arbitrary as a hurricane. It’s not—”
“Young man, I’ve been reasoned with by the most devious men on the face of this earth. You don’t hold a candle to some of them, so there’s very little point in your trying. All I see when I look at your stripe of animal is cowardice. Cowardice and vacillation. I don’t even see tears in your eyes for the wonderful and distinguished Americans who’ve been sacrificed to your endless cries for appeasement.”
“Yes I have tears, Senator, but I don’t let them blur my vision.”
Suddenly unable to stand any more of this Satterthwaite shot to his feet and made for the door. “I’ll find out if the President can see you.”
“You do that boy.”
The silence was such that he could hear the President’s pen scrape across the pad.
Brewster’s heavy features had gone pale and begun to sag so that the bones showed through the flesh. He gave a gloomy sigh and dropped the pencil; his hands came together in a prayer clasp. “I don’t suppose he’s calmed down any.”
“All I scored was a few debating points. He’s hard of hearing, remember?”
“If that were all it was...” The President reached for a cigar and stood up. He came around the desk and stood rocking heel-to-toe. “He still inveighing about mass reprisals?”
“It amounts to that.”
“Put him in this office for forty-eight hours,” Brewster murmured, “and he’ll have us at war.”
“War or martial law.”
“Or both. He’s a platitudinous medieval fossil.” The cigar was jammed into the pugnacious mouth and the President made a sudden gesture with the blade of his hand, like a sharp karate chop. “We can’t have it, Bill. That’s all there is to it. We just can’t have it.”
“He’s the top man on the line of succession.”
“We’ve got to get Cliff Fairlie back.”
“That may be impossible.”
“You think there’s no chance at all?”
“I think there’s a fair chance. But we can’t count on it. There’s no guarantee. Don’t we have to proceed on the assumption we won’t get him back?”
When the President made no audible reply Satterthwaite shoved his hands in his pockets and spoke with slow care, using his cautious voice, not committing himself: “Mr. President, he’s unfit to serve. We know that. We’ve got to remove him.”
“I’d welcome suggestions.”
“The Twenty-fifth Amendment...”
“That wouldn’t work. He’s politically undesirable but that doesn’t make him unfit. We’d have to prove it to the satisfaction of the Congress. Three days? We’d never make it. I don’t think you could prove he was legally insane. And you can’t disqualify a President just because you disagree with his political philosophy.”
“He’s seventy-seven years old.”
“So were De Gaulle and Adenauer when they were in office.” The President finally got around to lighting his cigar. “We can’t start wasting time with ideas that aren’t going to work. Hell, I’ve been up one side of it and down the other for the past hour.”
“Maybe he could be forced to resign.”
“Wendy? After he’s had this whiff of the Presidency?”
“There must be something in his past. Everybody knows he’s a crook.”
“Well, that’s his insulation, isn’t it? If everybody already knows, it won’t be much of a shock if you give them proof. Besides it would take weeks to put together that kind of evidence and afterward he’d probably make political capital of it — he’d say we were trying to blackmail him. Everybody hates a blackmailer.”
“You should have been his campaign manager,” Satterthwaite growled.
“I’ve already covered all this ground in my own head. I just don’t see the answer to it — except for one thing. Recover Fairlie.”
“We’re trying, damn it.”
“I know you are.” The President was too abrasive to be soothing but that was his intent and Satterthwaite nodded to show he understood. “Well Bill?”
He searched for an answer. Finally he threw up his hands. “There’s only one way. You know what it is.”
“I do?”
“Kill him.”
A long time seemed to go by, during which the President returned to his seat behind the desk and gnashed on his cigar. Finally Satterthwaite broke the ugly silence: “Make it look like one more revolutionary atrocity.”
A slow bleak shake of the head. “God knows I’m no Boy Scout. But I couldn’t do that.”
“Nobody’s asking you to do it personally.”
“I’ll put it another way then. I won’t accept it. I won’t stand for it. I won’t have it.” The big head lifted with great weary effort. “Bill, if we did anything like that — what difference would be left between us and them?”
Satterthwaite began to breathe again. “I know. I couldn’t do it either. But it’s there. It’s an answer, you know. And if it’s the choice between assassination and the kind of Armageddon he’d bring down on us...”