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“Harrison despite being a Democrat knows damn well that his constituents wouldn’t tolerate gun control and will vote him out if he goes with it. Hard to tell if he’s been brainwashed by the National Rifle Association, because he seems to be sincere when he talks about the idea of self-defense. He’s a strange guy. Everyone in this place regards him as a dyed-in-the-wool conservative, but no one really knows him. He hasn’t been here all that long. He succeeded Sparkman when he retired—bit of an unknown quantity.”
Mark let him talk on. Lykham was enjoying the role of the expert, the man who knew everything. Normally, he sat for hours in the hearing room, unable to say a word, listening and making notes and occasionally whispering a suggestion in the ear of the chairman. Only his wife listened to his opinions and she never understood their significance. Lykham was delighted to have found an academic who had come to him for the facts.
“Dexter talks a good game—smooth character, that one. He beat the guy who was appointed to fill Ribicoff’s term when Abe was picked by the President for a roving ambassadorship. Surprise winner. Wouldn’t have thought that Connecticut would be represented by two Republicans. Guess all those rich New Yorkers moving to Stamford are making a difference. Anyway, just between the two of us, Mark, I have my suspicions about the purity of his principles. Do you know how many gun companies there are in Connecticut? Remington, Colt, Olin, Winchester, Marlin, Sturm-Ruger. Now, that never stopped Senator Ribicoff from voting for gun control, but Dexter … well, he owns a big slice of one of them, that’s no secret. Something’s biting him at the moment, he’s as grouchy as hell, and he hasn’t missed a session yet.”
Mark had a sick feeling in his stomach. My God, Elizabeth’s father? He just didn’t want to believe it.
“So you think the bill will be passed?” said Mark in a conversational tone.
“No question, while the Democrats remain in control of both Houses. The minority report was vicious, but it’ll get a majority on 10 March. There wasn’t much doubt about that after the House put it through. By Thursday, nothing can stop it. The Majority Leader is only too aware of the importance the President attaches to this bill.”
Byrd, thought Mark. He’s on the list. “Could you tell me a little about the Majority Leader? He was on the Judiciary Committee, right? Where does he stand?”
“That’s an interesting question, Andrews. Senator Byrd is a humorless, driven, ambitious individual. He has ulcers. He was born in poverty, always makes a point of emphasizing his origins, so much so that some of his colleagues call him Uriah Heep. In the 1940s, when he was only nineteen, he belonged to the Ku Klux Klan; yet he managed to overcome that handicap and rise to the most powerful post in the Senate in a party dominated by liberals. He got where he is because he’s a team player. He does favors for other senators, and always has. He’s diligent, conscientious about meeting their needs. His attention to detail has paid off in spades. He had always supported the Democratic—with a capital D—position. And he’s a very effective Majority Leader.
“No love lost in that relationship, but since Byrd has become Majority Leader he has fallen into line. With his background, it’s unlikely that he’s genuinely in favor of gun control, but he hasn’t spoken out against the bill, naturally, because he has been shepherding it through the Senate for the President. He’s done it very efficiently. He’s scheduled it early, avoided recesses—”
“Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Lykham, but what do you mean he’s avoided recesses? The committee didn’t sit round the clock, surely?”
“No, young man, I was referring to a technical, procedural distinction between adjournment and recess. You see, the Senate usually recesses from one day to the next. The day after a recess, the unfinished business of the previous day is in order; the morning business can be dispensed with. Whenever the Majority Leader opts for a recess rather than adjournment, he thereby lengthens the ‘legislative day’. And since bills reported from committee must lay over one legislative day before a motion to consider is in order, the recess can be used to delay action on a particular measure. The so-called legislative day can extend for days, weeks, conceivably even months now she only has two years left. This bill has been put through in the minimum possible time. If the President doesn’t get support on 10 March, she will not have time to put it up again before she goes for re-election. It will be a victory for those against the bill. And she may not be re-elected if the polls are to be believed. Americans get sick of their presidents very quickly nowadays. So it’s 10 March or forget it.”
“What could stop it on 10 March?”
“Nothing I can think of offhand, except the death of the President, which could recess the Senate for seven days. Still the President looks pretty fit to me, perhaps a little tired, not that I’m one to comment.”
Mark was about to question Lykham about Brooks, when the staff director glanced at his watch.
“Look at the time,” Lykham expostulated, “I must get back. I have to be the first, you know, get everything in order, so those senators think that we haven’t been away at all.”
Mark thanked him. Lykham picked up the check and signed it.
“Any time you want more help or information, don’t hesitate to get in touch.”
“I certainly will,” said Mark.
The fat staff director waddled away at what for him was full speed. Mark pondered over his coffee. The man three tables away had finished his and was waiting for Mark’s next move. Those damn bells were ringing again. Only one this time, indicating that the yeas and nays were being tallied on the Senate floor. As soon as the vote was over, the senators would be flocking back to committee meetings. The bell brought Mark sharply out of his thoughts.
Once again he returned to the Dirksen Building and the Foreign Relations Committee Suite, where he asked if he could see Mr. Kenneck.
“Who shall I say is asking for him?” the receptionist inquired.
“Andrews, I’m a Yale student.”
She picked a phone up and pressed two digits, informed the listener of what Mark had told her.
“He’s in Room 4491.”
Mark thanked her and left for Room 4491, which was only a few doors down the corridor.
“Well, Andrews, what can I do for you?” he asked, even before Mark had closed the door.
Mark was taken aback by the suddenness of his question; he recovered.
“I’m doing some research for a thesis, Mr. Kenneck, on the work of senators, and Mr. Lykham said you were the man to speak to. I wondered if Senators Nunn and Pearson were in the Senate on Thursday, 3 March, at 10:30, for the Foreign Relations Committee?”
Kenneck bent over a red leather-bound book. “Nunn—no,” he paused. “Pearson—no. Anything else, Mr. Andrews?” He obviously hadn’t any time to waste.
“No, thank you,” said Mark and left.
Mark headed for the Library. Suddenly he was down to five senators, if the Bureau were right about what they had overheard on the illegal radio transmission when their man must have been in the Senate on the morning of 3 March. He checked his notes: each one of the remaining suspects—Brooks, Byrd, Dexter, Harrison, and Thornton—had sat on the Judiciary Committee on the Gun Control bill and was in the Senate for the debate. Five men and a motive?
He was followed out of the room and into the elevator that took him to the ground floor. He used the pay phone across the hall from the elevator, near the Constitution Avenue entrance, to call the Director.
He dialed the Director’s private number.
“Julius.”
“What’s your number?”
Mark gave it. A few seconds later the Director called him back.
“Nunn and Pearson are off. I’m down to five and the one thing they have in common is that all of them were on the committee of the Gun Control bill.”
“Good,” said the Director. “Much as I had expected. Getting better, Mark, but your time is running out, we’ve only about forty-eight hours left.”
&
nbsp; “Yes, sir.”
The phone clicked.
He waited for a moment and then dialed Woodrow Wilson. There was the usual interminable wait while they found Elizabeth. What could he say about last night? What if the Director were right and her father—”
“Dr. Dexter.”
“When do you finish work tonight, Liz?”
“Five o’clock, lover,” she said mockingly.
“May I pick you up?”
“If you like, now that I know your intentions are pure and honorable.”
“Listen, one day, but not today, I’ll be able to explain about that.”
“See you at five, Mark.”
“See you at five, Liz.”
Mark put Elizabeth out of his mind by a conscious effort of will, and walked across the street to the Capitol grounds. He sat down under a tree on the grassy area between the Supreme Court and the Capitol. Protected, he thought, by law and legislature, bounded by Constitution and Independence. Who would dare to confront him here in front of the Capitol, the favored haunt of Senate staff, law clerks, and the Capitol police? A blue and white sight-seeing tourmobile passed by on 1st Street, blocking his view of the fountains in front of the Supreme Court. Tourists gaped at Washington’s white-marbled splendor. “And on your right, ladies and gentlemen, the United States Capitol. The cornerstone of the original building was laid in 1793. The British burned the Capitol building on 24 August, 1814 …”
And some crazy senator is going to defile it on 10 March, added Mark silently as the tourmobile moved on. Foreboding oppressed him; it really is going to happen, we can’t stop it. Comes Caesar to the Capitol … Blood on the steps.
He forced himself to look at his notes. Brooks, Byrd, Dexter, Harrison, Thornton. He had two days to transform five into one. The conspirator he sought was Cassius, not Brutus. Brooks, Byrd, Dexter, Harrison, and Thornton. Where were they at lunchtime on 24 February? If he knew the answer, he would know which four men were innocent and which man was so desperate that he would plot to assassinate the President. Even if we find out which man is behind this, he thought, as he stood up and brushed the grass from his trousers, how do we stop the murder? Obviously, the Senator isn’t going to commit the killing himself. We must keep the President away from the Capitol. The Director must have a plan, he surely wouldn’t let it go that far. Mark closed his file and walked to the Metro.
Once home, he picked up his car and drove slowly to Woodrow Wilson. He looked in the rear-view mirror. A different car was following him today, a black Buick. Someone looking after me again, he thought. He arrived at the hospital at 4:45 but Elizabeth wasn’t free yet, so he went back to his car and turned on the evening news. An earthquake in the Philippines that had killed 112 people was the lead story. President Kane was still confident of support for the Gun Control bill. The Dow-Jones index had moved up three points to 1,411. The Yankees beat the Dodgers in a spring training game, what’s new?
Elizabeth came out of the hospital looking depressed and jumped in beside him.
“What can I say about last night?” Mark asked.
“Nothing,” said Elizabeth. “It was like reading a book with the last chapter torn out. Who tore it out, Mark?”
“Perhaps I’ve brought the last chapter with me,” said Mark, avoiding the question.
