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Kilgore was perplexed.

He reached his Georgetown home a little after seven—another brutal day, no good news except for
Trude
, from anywhere, experiments blowing all across the land—to be told by his nine-year-old that Beulah called.

But Kilgore knew no Beulah. He walked inside and headed for the bar, going through the
names of all the maids he and his wife had had over the years, all the live-ins, the cleaners, the sitters, the laundresses—but he could remember no black lady named Beulah.

He made himself a not remotely dry martini—half and half, the way God intended-—and carried it out to the glassed-in porch and sat down. It was pure masochism that made him select that spot, since his wife had been after him for years to buy the lot just behind theirs before someone else did. He assured her the plot was too small and not to worry. The people who bought it did not find it small in any way, and they were building a garish modern monster that destroyed any privacy Kilgore had once enjoyed. Not only were these savages putting up a turd of a place, they were doing it
slowly.
The noise of construction reduced his wife to tears quite easily now, but in truth, Kilgore had been doing that to her himself quite easily also, so he couldn
’
t blame it all on the construction.

He was physically a small man, Brian Kilgore, but in perfect trim. Handsome, if you thought Thomas Dewey was handsome, quick and precise of speech. He was not scientifically brilliant, but he was sound enough to deal with scientists who were, and he was organized enough to run New Projects remarkably smoothly; he
had the gift of seeming interested only in you when you were telling him your troubles
’
something research scientists excelled at. None of his prima donnas were jealous of any of the others, and if you had asked Kilgore his greatest achievement he would have said that.

He was on toward finishing his first martini when he realized that Beulah was not a name at all, but a code word. He closed his eyes now. Which of the goddam projects was called
“
BEULAH
”
? Kilgore hated the weirdo acronyms, and the
“
operation this
’
s
”
the military was always coming up with. But BEULAH?

Didn
’
t ring a bell.

He got up, walked through the house to where the twelve-year-old was beating the nine-year-old at Space Invaders.
“
Mom
’
s at A. A.,
”
the twelve-year-old said as Kilgore entered.
“
She said just stick in the casserole for twenty minutes if you get hungry.
”

“
I know perfectly well where your mother is, that
’
s not why Pm here.
”
He turned to the nine-year-old.
“
That phone call. Tell me all about it.
”

“
Nothin
’
to tell,
”
the nine-year-old reported.
“
This guy asked for you and when I said you weren
’
t home yet he said he
’
d call again and that his name was Beulah.
”

“
Holy shit,
”
Kilgore said, before he could stop himself.

He never swore and he could see the stunned look on his sons
’
faces as he left the room. But he was that surprised to receive a phone call from Mr. R.E.L. (for the inevitable Robert E. Lee) Beulah himself. Obviously, the call meant trouble. But how deep and what kind there was no way of ascertaining.

Kilgore went by the phone to wait.

R.E.L. Beulah had once, in some long ago time, been a congressman from which southern state Kilgore had forgotten or never knew. He was reelected once and probably could have had the seat forever, but he decided not to run and rather to establish a law firm here in D.C. He was immediately successful at that too but then gave that up for what had become a genuinely remarkable if shadowy career. He was a presidential trouble-shooter. As simple as that. His name was never in the papers. No one knew him or who his friends were. But Ike used him and so did JFK and so did LBJ and RN too, Ford naturally. He was out in the cold somewhat during the Carter interregnum, but not too far out. And of course he was back now.

“
Have I the honor of addressing Mister Brian Kilgore?
”
Kil-gore had gotten the phone before the first ring was done and before he
’
d finished
“
hello
”
the flowery southern song was coming over the wire.

“
Yessir.
”

“
My name is Beulah, sir, and I have heard a very great deal about you.
”

“
That
’
s very flattering, sir.
”

“
I would like very much the chance of addressing you in person.
”

“
Whenever you want.
”

“
I think now would be excellent. If you
’
re free.
”

“
Of course.
”

“
Splendid. We can talk more on the plane.
”

“
Planer

“
We have to go to New York, sir. Some queries have been raised concerning the
Trude
Program.
”

Trude
? Kilgore couldn
’
t figure it.
Trude
was the only ongoing project that was actually ongoing these days. The enlarged children in New Mexico had begun eating each other in the lab. The - Dream Stealing trial ran had turned into an unalloyed nightmare. The—

“
Just some queries that need answering.
”

“
But everything
’
s been going well there.
”

“
Then the answers will be easily forthcoming.
”

Kilgore was about to press the issue, but he decided one didn
’
t do that sort of thing to R.E.L. Beulah. He sighed, consoling himself that he had never traveled on this level before: private planes, limousines, police escorts.
“
You want me to arrange a meeting with Doctor
Trude
?
”

“
I think for later this evening.
”

“
Fine. I
’
ll do that, sir.
”

“
We
’
ll catch the last shuttle, good-bye, sir.
”

The shuttle! Kilgore sulked a moment before calling New York, alerting
Trude
, packing a small case, going to the children, alerting them of his departure.

They nodded their heads, but the truth was they were much more interested in Space Invaders.
“
Was he here?
”
they probably asked each other later.
“
Was that Father? Did he speak? Did he hug us? Your turn.
”

There was a long line waiting for the final 9:00
p.m.
shuttle when Kilgore got there. He assumed there was a V.I.P. hideout some
’
where but when he asked was told there was none, which meant either there was none or he didn
’
t look important enough to tell the truth to. Kilgore started studying the tine and was surprised to find, almost at the end of it, his round face wreathed in pipe smoke, Beulah.

The man could have been any age starting with sixty. His white hair was magnificent, long, and in disarray, the result of his constantly rumpling his hands through it. His pudgy hands. Everything about R.E.L. Beulah was pudgy, if you were a fan of his.

He stood probably five ten, weighed probably two fifty; strike pudgy, insert fat

He perspired constantly, and often tied a handkerchief around his neck at the throat, a look he was affecting now.
“
My name is Brian Kilgore, sir,
’’
Kilgore began, moving up next to the older man.

“
And I am the disrupter of your house and home, forgive me,
’’
Beulah answered, his southern voice very loud indeed.
“
You may call me Bobby Lee.
’’

The line was beginning to move.

They inched forward, each carrying an under-the-seat bag, an
attaché
case.
“
Perhaps when we get on the plane we can talk,
’’
Kilgore said then.

“
Doubtful, sir,
’’
Beulah replied.
“
My voice tends to boom along the aisles. I have learned through sad experience to avoid crucial conversations in the public halls of this world.
’’

Kilgore wanted to press a bit more again, to find out why they were taking this sudden night flight into what was clearly trouble.

Best not, best not.

They took seats near the rear, Kilgore helped Beulah get his under-the-seat bag under the seat, since the southerner was not skilled at bending. Then they both opened their
attaché
cases, took out papers, and began to read.

The plane took off.
“
Tell me about this
Trude
,
”
Beulah said suddenly, the instant the forward motion began.

“
Smart.
’’

“
Hell, son, we
’
re all smart, at least that
’
s the theory, otherwise
we wouldn
’
t
be
here.
I said tell me about him, I don
’
t know thing one.
’’

He
’
s not a nice man, Kilgore almost began.
Trude
’
s a terrible man; cold, humorless, mean. But he
’
s on to something and that makes up for minor blemishes of character.
“
I find him delightful, personally. He may seen formidable at first, but when you pierce the armor—
”
He stopped. The old southern eyes were staring at him.

“
Never shit a shitter, son,
”
Beulah boomed. The woman in front of them turned, shot him a look.
“
My dear, forgive me, if my mother were around, I would not be able to sit for days.
”
Mollified, the woman turned away. Beulah turned to Kilgore.
“
As I said, I don
’
t know thing one, but it doesn
’
t matter, I
’
ll just have to make up my own mind when I meet him.
”
He sat back then and soon was breathing deeply, his face pale now, fatigue showing.

Kilgore looked out the window for a while, then glanced over at what Beulah was reading. Some pages were half out of a folder. He saw a familiar name. With great care, he reached over and flicked the folder slightly open—revealing a dossier on Leo Trude —well thumbed. He knows all about him, Kilgore realized and his next realization followed hard upon: the old eyes were flickering, watching him. Or were they?

Kilgore sat very straight for the rest of the silent flight,
doing a great deal of wondering
…

“
Leo Trude, this is Mr. Beulah, from Washington.
”
Kilgore put a slight but he hoped not overly noticeable emphasis on the last word, just to remind Trude that the fat white-haired man was one of import, not to be sniffed at.

Alas. Beulah raised his hand to shake, Trude kept his at his side. This may be a long evening, Kilgore thought. Long and counterproductive.

“
I
’
ve been very busy,
”
Trude said.
“
Nights are excellent for serious thought.
”

Beulah looked around the immaculate office, settled himself in the widest chair, got out his pipe, studied the room again.
“
Son,
”
he said then to Trude.
“
I fear we are fated to be deadly enemies —me with my pipe tobacco, you with no ashtrays.
”

“
Here,
”
Kilgore said, scurrying to the coffeepot, taking a mug, handing it to Beulah.
“
Make all the mess you want
”

“
That
’
s what he
’
s here to do, isn
’
t it? Make mess.
”
Trude
stood rigidly behind his desk, staring at Beulah.

Beulah rumpled his hair, looked at Kilgore.
“
What was it you said on the plane?
‘
I find him delightful, personally.
’”

“
Leo
’
s very sensitive,
”
Kilgore said, knowing now it was his fate in life to see these other two both left the room alive and breathing, when this meeting was all over.

“
Leo doesn
’
t like intrusions,
”
Leo
Trude
said.
“
From the great unwashed.
”

“
Would Leo like his balls handed to him on a platter?
”
R.E.L. Beulah asked of Kilgore.
“
Easily arranged.
”

“
Leo, please,
”
Kilgore said, feeling very Thomas Deweyish as he mollified.
“
Mr. Beulah is not without clout. Take that as an understatement.
”

Trude
sat, gestured for Beulah to begin.

R.E.L. Beulah settled himself in the chair. Then he got out a pipe. Then he filled it with pipe tobacco. Carefully. Then he lit it. Carefully. Just before he blew the match out, he said one word:
“
Image.
”

The other two men waited.

“
Believe what I tell you is true. Back when the fifty-two hostages had just been taken, the military came up with a plan. Simply, that plan consisted of dropping in an enormous number of marines and to set up a murderous—an absolutely lethal field of fire surrounding the entire embassy. Instantly destroy anything that moved. And under that cover, to transfer the hostages from the embassy to the contiguous soccer field and helicopter them out.

“
I was present when that plan was presented to a number of experts familiar with Teheran. And one of them said, stunned and ashen, I remember his coloring today—
’
Do you realize how many people
live
in the embassy area? Do you realize how many people you
’
ll
slaughter?
⁹
The Pentagon brass gave their
‘
you can
’
t make an omelet without breaking eggs
’
response. But this ashen gentleman was not to be intimidated. He said,
‘
Instead of shooting everyone, why not cover the area with gas. We have a nerve gas that puts people to sleep for ten hours. Some of them wake up with headaches but that
’
s all. Blanket the embassy with nerve gas instead.
’
And the Pentagon said,
‘
Impossible. We can
’
t use gas. It
’
s bad for our
image.
’”
He puffed on his pipe, shook his head.
“
Isn
’
t that a terrible story? Terrible but true.
”

“
I don
’
t see what that has to do with me,
”
Trude
said.