Aftermath (63 page)

Nick Lopez opened his mouth, and closed it again without speaking.

"And you, Sarah. I know about General Mackay and Secretary Munce, and I am sure there are many others. You will no longer seek to recruit or suborn members of my administration."

"Yes, sir." Sarah Mander stared at him. "Mr. President—Saul—something major has happened to you. And I don't mean the loss of your mother, which is something I've been through myself and I know how hard it is."

"It has indeed, Sarah. I'm hoping that it will happen to you, too, and to Nick as well."

"What is it?"

"It's this." Saul walked over to the side table and came back carrying decanter, glasses, and ice. Without asking, he poured three drinks. "I listened yesterday to somebody who told me that unless there is an all-out global industrial effort—my words, not his, he doesn't think geopolitically—unless that happens, our civilization will at best come crashing down to the Dark Ages. At worst, no one will be around to worry about that or anything else. Humans will go the way of the dinosaurs, and our nemesis, like theirs, will come from beyond the Earth. I believed what he told me. And I decided that I had a choice. I could either sit back and be remembered, if there's anybody left to remember anything, as the man who had a chance to save humanity from destruction and did nothing. Or I might be remembered as the totally unreasonable, obsessive, remorseless single-issue bastard who tried to force the whole world to share his point of view. I asked myself, What was I in politics for? Comfort and privilege, or immortality?

"I am asking you the same question. I made my decision. I'm hoping you'll make yours. There has to be more to life than patronage and pensions. If you're with me, you'll get everything that I can give you. Power, and trust, and more work than you thought the world contained. But if I find you're in this for the wrong reasons, I'll break you. I'll destroy anyone, House or Senate, man or woman, citizen or foreigner, who gets in the way. We're going to rule the world, but only because we
have
to rule the world. We have no choice."

"
Ich kann nicht anders.
Like Martin Luther," Nick Lopez said, then glanced at Sarah Mander. "Don't tell anyone I speak German, it would ruin my image." He turned to Saul. "I don't know if this makes sense, Mr. President, but it's the absolute truth. I think I'm frightened of you."

Saul looked into Lopez's brown eyes, and knew that he was not lying. He nodded. "I'm frightened of myself, Nick.
I have brought myself by long meditation to the conviction that a human being with a settled purpose must accomplish it, and that nothing can resist a will which will stake even existence upon its fulfillment.
That's not me speaking, that's Benjamin Disraeli. But for the first time in my life, I understand what he meant. I'm going to do this, or I'm going to die trying. Sarah?"

"I want to hear the evidence—a person can be absolutely sure of something, and still be wrong. But I agree with Nick on one thing. You've changed, Saul Steinmetz. You scare me, too. And I'm the original dragon lady; I don't scare easily."

"You'll hear the evidence, Sarah, anytime you're ready for it. If you can see a reason why it's wrong, you come and tell me. I'll be glad to hear it."

Saul held out his hand. It was perfectly steady. "I've said what I wanted to say. I respect greatly the political skills and abilities of both of you. In the past I do not think that they have been exercised to the full. I hope that they will be in the future."

The farewell handshakes were brief and formal, but Saul sensed a difference in them. He could not analyze it, and he did not try to do so. Instead, after the two had left he turned off most of the office lights and went to stand at the window. It was ten o'clock, and the last evening flights were arriving at National Airport. There were more of them every night. Slowly, little by little, the country was edging back to normal.

But it was his job to make the country and the world believe that normal was no longer good enough.

How well did people do, facing a threat still fifty years in the future? Did they say, not my problem, it's going to happen after my time? In fifty years, he would be dead or over a hundred years old.

Tonight's meeting was the merest beginning. The real work would start tomorrow, on the international front. He had to persuade every other country that cooperation was not a choice, it was a survival necessity. Sarah Mander and Nick Lopez were not typical. Regardless of their personal morality and mean prejudices, they had the intellect to see and grasp the large picture, the long term.

The lights in the office were low, and the reflection in the window was a pale ghost flickering across the room. He turned, slowly and wearily. It was Yasmin. He had been expecting her.

She stood for a few seconds in front of him, then said in a low, anguished voice, "You made me watch on purpose. You knew what you were going to do."

"Yes, that's quite true." Finally, he was able to do what for so long he had been unable to do: act on impulse, without thinking. He reached out, pulled Yasmin forward, and allowed her to bury her face against his chest.

"That man, that bastard, that awful, perverted, two-faced, lying
murderer.
" Her voice sounded close to tears, but she went on, "He killed my brother. And you—you asked him, that man—"

"I did, didn't I? I asked him to work with me. Work with me closely, become part of my inner circle, share my trust."

"It was just awful. If it weren't for him, Raymond would still be alive. And Auden, he thinks the sun rises and sets on that dreadful man, that fucking hypocrite. He was so excited, so delighted."

"You told Auden about Lopez?"

"No. There was no point. Auden loves Lopez, he'd never believe me."

"Good. You're quite right about that. He wouldn't believe you."

"Why did you do it? I mean, why did you ask me to sit and watch that? You knew how I'd feel. You're heartless."

Saul held her by the shoulders and pushed her away from his chest, so that he could look into her eyes.

"I'm a politician, Yasmin. Isn't that what you told me, you wanted to learn to do what I do? Well, this is one of the toughest lessons. Politics is the art of accommodation, the science of the possible. If I refuse to work with everyone I dislike, how far do you think I'll get? You told me you wanted to find out if you had what it takes to go all the way. There's only one way to find out a thing like that. Didn't you realize it would get unpleasant?"

"Of course I did." She was under control, tight control. "I knew there would be compromises and odd partnerships. Sleeping with the enemy. But
that
enemy, Nick Lopez."

"You get to choose your friends, Yasmin. You don't get to pick your enemies. Do you think I
like
Nick Lopez and Sarah Mander?"

"You seem to."

"Then you have to give me credit for being a good politician. I don't like them—but I recognize their abilities, and if they'll give me their support for what I need to do, I want them on my side."

"But if I stay with you, and work for you—"

"Then, yes, you're quite right. You'll probably have to work with Nick Lopez. It goes with the territory. You work with
anyone.
Can you do it, or can't you? If you can't, the sooner you realize that, the better for both of us."

"You mean, if I can't deal with Lopez, I'm fired?"

"I'll say it again. I mean that you—and me—have to be able to work with
anybody,
anyone at all, if that's what it takes to get the job done."

"Oh, Saul. I don't know if I can. He killed my brother."

"No, he didn't. Your brother stabbed Nick Lopez. I know what Lopez did to Raymond, but your brother is dead because of what
he
did."

She was rummaging around in the pocket of her skirt.

"On the little table," Saul said. "Next to the desk."

"Thank you." She went across, took a tissue, and blew her nose. "I'm sorry. It was such a shock, seeing Lopez. I had no idea who you were going to meet."

"I knew that. I also know something else."

"What?"

"That it will never get any worse for you than this. I could bring a thousand people into my office, and say I wanted you to work with them, and you'd never again have so strong an emotional reaction, so strong a reason to say no. Think of it this way, Yasmin. If you can handle Lopez, you can handle anyone at all."

"If."

"Can you?"

"I guess. The shock's over now. If I see him again, it won't be as bad. And I really don't want to leave. I love this job."

"So do I. Politics is an odd business. You know what they say about wrestling with pigs?"

She managed a faint smile. "You mean, 'Don't do it, you get dirty, and the pigs like it.' "

"That's it. Well, it's the same with politics. If you don't like the game, you should never even consider it."

"I do like it. Most of it. Almost all of it."

"Even if you have to save the world?"

"I can stand that. I can stand anything." Yasmin took a deep breath. "I can stand Nick Lopez."

"That's what I want to hear. I think we ought to call it a day now, before you have a chance to change your mind. I feel as though I've forgotten what a bed looks like. There's nothing that won't wait until tomorrow."

"Oh, no." Yasmin was reaching for her pocket again. "Auden or I were supposed to give this to you the second you got back, but we got sidetracked because of the meeting."

"What is it?"

"It's a message. From Tricia Goldsmith. She'll be in Washington again, the day after tomorrow. She wants to know if you're free for dinner."

"Then I'd better call her, hadn't I?"

"You're not going to do it, are you? I mean, you're not going to have dinner with her?"

"Yes, I am. If she wants to, I will certainly have dinner with her." Saul waited just long enough, and added, "And so will you, if you are willing. You'll come with me as my companion. I'm over her, Yasmin. I want you to see that for yourself."

"She'll flame out. So you
did
check what I told you about Crossley and Himmelfarb. And you told me you hadn't."

"I didn't. And I don't give a damn about Crossley, or Himmelfarb, or Crossley and Himmelfarb, or who did and didn't say what and to whom when Tricia and I broke up before the election. That's all history. I need to start running. The country, and for the next term. With what's left in this term, I certainly can't get more than a good start on what has to be done."

"You should. Run again, I mean. Definitely."

In spite of Saul's declaration that they were leaving, they still stood in front of the window. He turned to her. "I'll need a new campaign slogan."

"You certainly will. The last one was lousy. You need something that reminds people that the President needs enormous powers if he's to carry out the global job you're tackling."

"Do you have ideas? Practical ones?"

"I might." Yasmin slipped her arm into Saul's. "I'll work on it. 'End White House impotence.' What do you think of that?"

45

Helen cooked an outstanding dinner, venison and pork with broad beans and potatoes and spinach and applesauce. Joe brought over a special wine, "wine I paid money for." It was like an evening on Catoctin Mountain before Supernova Alpha, made better for Art by Dana's presence. But a couple of things spoiled it.

First, the window was in the wrong part of the room, so he couldn't see his house. He kept glancing in that direction, as though the wall might have suddenly become transparent. Finally Dana leaned across, took his hand, and said, "I wanted to go with you, you know. But Helen hadn't been told anything, and she saw your faces and the guns. I couldn't leave her here. I had to stay and explain. When this is all over, I want you and me to go in your house and not come out for a week."

The other worrying factor was Ed. He kept his rifle by his side all the time, even when they were eating dinner. Art didn't ask, but he was willing to bet that the safety catch was not on.

The women were making a deliberate attempt to cheer everybody up. Helen said, "Why, now that you two are here I can give six-person dinner parties, something I've wanted to do for years. I'd have done it tonight if I'd known."

"Anne-Marie's up in Lantz with her cousin," Joe said. "We'll do it next week."

The assumption was clear: Art had Dana with him, so there was no possible reason why he would ever want to go back "down there" as Helen put it, with a strong suggestion that Route I-270 led a traveler to the gates of hell. Or to Washington, which in her view was not much different.

"We won't be here," Art said. "Not next week."

"Why ever not?"

"We have things to do. I promised to give a personal report." He did not add "to the President," but went on, "And I think those two idlers"—he pointed to Joe and Ed—"ought to go with us."

"What the hell for?" Joe asked. "They're all rogues down there."

"And you're not? You're missing the point. Did you ever fly a C-5A?"

"Damn right. I could fly one with my eyes closed. A lovely plane, they don't make anything like that these days."

"Did you know that they're in regular use again, because none of the new equipment works anymore? I think one of them has been converted to become Air Force One. With your background, you could probably get a job as a pilot tomorrow. And, Dana, tell them about the drivers in Washington."

She inspected Joe and Ed carefully before she answered. "I'm not sure today's drivers in D.C. would think you two were old enough to get a license. You look like teenagers compared with most of them."

"And anybody who can drive without an AVC in the car is in demand," Art added. "If you can drive a stick shift, or know how to install a carburetor in place of a chip-based fuel injection system—" He stopped. "No, Ed!"

Out of the corner of his eye he had noticed the gun barrel coming up, at the same time as he saw the dark face peering in at the window.

"Don't shoot, it's Seth." He waved, to indicate that Seth should go around to the front door. "How the hell did he know where we were?"