The Fourth K by Mario Puzo
Vice President Du Pray said, “Christian, do you have any idea how Tibbot Senior was tipped off?”
Christian said, “We are going over all the telephone company records in Boston to check the origin of calls received by Tibbot Senior. So far no luck.”
The head of the CIA, Theodore Tappey, said, “With all your high-tech equipment, you should have found out.”
“Helen, you’ve got them off on a tangent,” Kennedy said. “Let’s stick to the main point. Dr. Annaccone, let me answer your question. Christian is trying to take some heat off me, which is why a President has a staff. But I made the decision not to authorize the brain probe. According to the protocols, there is some danger of damaging the brain and I didn’t want to risk it. The two young men denied everything, and there was no evidence that a bomb existed except for the warning letter. What we have here is really a scurrilous attack by the news media supported by the members of Congress. I want to pose a specific question. Do we eliminate any collusion between Yabril and Professors Tibbot and Gresse by having the PET brain scan done on all of them? Would that solve the problem?”
Dr. Annaccone said crisply, “Yes. But now you have a different circumstance. You are using the Atomic Weapons Control Act to gather evidence in a criminal trial, not to discover the whereabouts of a nuclear device. The act does not authorize PET scanning under those circumstances.”
“Besides,” Dazzy added, “with their legal defense we’ll never get anywhere near those kids.”
President Kennedy gave Dazzy a cold smile. “Doctor,” he said, “we still have Yabril. I want Yabril to undergo the brain probe. The question he will be asked is this: Was there a conspiracy? And was the atom bomb explosion part of his plan? Now, if the answer is yes, the implications are enormous. There may still be a conspiracy going on. And it may involve much more than New York City. Other members of the terrorist First Hundred could plant other nuclear devices. Now do you understand?”
Dr. Annaccone said, “Mr. President, do you think that is really a possibility?”
Kennedy said, “We have to erase any doubt. I will rule that this medical interrogation of the brain is justified under the Atomic Weapons Control Act.”
Arthur Wix said, “There will be one hell of an uproar. They’ll claim we’re performing a lobotomy.”
Eugene Dazzy said dryly, “Aren’t we?”
Dr. Annaccone was suddenly as angry as anyone was allowed to be in the presence of the President of the United States. “It is not a lobotomy,” he said. “It is a brain scan with chemical intervention. The patient is completely the same after the interrogation is completed.”
“Unless there’s a little slipup,” Dazzy said.
The press secretary, Matthew Gladyce, said, “Mr. President, the outcome of the test will dictate what kind of announcement we make. We have to be very careful. If the test proves there was conspiracy linking Yabril, Gresse and Tibbot, we’ll be in the clear. If the probe proves there is no collusion, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”
Kennedy said curtly, “Let’s go on to other things.”
Eugene Dazzy read from the memo in front of him. “The Congress wants to haul Christian up in front of one of their investigating committees. Senator Lambertino and Congressman Jintz want to take a crack at him. They are claiming, and they planted it all over in the media, that Attorney General Christian Klee is the key to any funny work that went on.”
“Invoke executive privilege,” Kennedy said. “As President, I order him not to appear before any congressional committee.”
Dr. Annaccone, bored with the political discussions, said jokingly, “Christian, why don’t you volunteer for our PET scan? You can establish your innocence unequivocally. And endorse the morality of the procedure.”
“Doc,” Christian said, “I’m not interested in establishing my innocence, as you call it. Innocence is the one fucking thing your science will never be able to establish. And I’m not interested in the morality of a brain probe that will determine the veracity of another human being. We are not discussing innocence or morals here. We are discussing the employment of power to further the functioning of society. Another area in which your science is useless. As you’ve often said to me, don’t dabble in something in which you are not expert. So go fuck yourself.”
It was rare at these staff meetings that emotions were allowed to be unrestrained. It was even rarer for vulgar language to be used when Vice President Du Pray was attending staff meetings—not that the Vice President was a prudish woman. Yet the people in the Cabinet Room were surprised at Christian Klee’s outburst.
Dr. Annaccone was taken aback. He had just made a little joke. He liked Klee, as most people did. The man was urbane and civilized, and he seemed more intelligent than most lawyers. Dr. Annaccone, as a great scientist, prided himself on his understanding of practically everything in the universe. He now suffered the regrettable petty human vulnerability of having his feelings hurt. So without thinking he said, “You used to be in the CIA, Mr. Klee. The CIA headquarters building has a marble tablet that reads, ‘Know the truth and the truth shall set you free.’ ”
Christian had regained his good humor. “I didn’t write it,” he said. “And I doubt it.”
Dr. Annaccone had also recovered. And he had started analyzing. Why the furious response to his jocular question? Did the Attorney General, the highest law official in the land, really have something to hide? He’d dearly love to have the man on the probe’s test table.
Francis Kennedy had been watching this byplay with a grave yet amused eye. Now he said gently, “Zed, when you have the brain lie-detector test perfected, so it can be done without side effects, we may have to bury it. There’s not a politician in this country who could live with that.”
Dr. Annaccone interrupted. “All these questions are irrelevant. The process has been discovered. Science has begun its exploration of the human brain. You can never halt a process once it has begun. Luddites proved that when they tried to halt the Industrial Revolution. You couldn’t outlaw the use of gunpowder, as the Japanese learned when they banned firearms for hundreds of years and were overwhelmed by the Western world. Once the atom was discovered you could no longer stop the bomb. The brain lie-detector test is here to stay, I assure you all.”
Klee said, “It violates the Constitution.”
President Kennedy said briskly, “We may have to change the Constitution.”
Matthew Gladyce said, with a look of horror on his face, “If the news media heard this conversation they could run us right out of town.”
Kennedy said, “It’s your job to tell the public what we’ve said in the proper language, and at the proper time. Remember this. The people of America will decide. Under the Constitution. Now, I think the answer to all our problems is to mount a counterattack. Christian, press the prosecution of Bert Audick under the RICO laws. His company will be charged with a criminal conspiracy with the Sultanate of Sherhaben to defraud the American public by illegally creating oil shortages to raise prices. That’s number one.”
He turned to Oddblood Gray. “Rub the congressional nose in the news that the new Federal Communications Commission will deny the licenses of the major network TV stations when they come up for renewal. And the new laws will control those stacked-deck deals on Wall Street and by the big banks. We’ll give them something to worry about, Otto.”
Helen Du Pray knew that she had every right to disagree in the private meetings even though as the Vice President it was mandatory to agree with the President publicly. Yet she hesitated before she said cautiously, “Don’t you think we’re making too many enemies at one time? Wouldn’t it be even better to wait until we’ve been elected for a second term? If we do indeed get a Congress more sympathetic to our policies, why fight the present Congress? Why unnecessarily set all the business interests against us when we are not in a position of prime strength?”
“We can’t wait,” Kennedy said. “They are going to at
They were all silent, and then Kennedy rose and said to his staff, “You can work out the details and draw up the necessary memos.”
It was then that Arthur Wix spoke about the Congress-inspired media campaign to attack President Kennedy by highlighting how many men and how much money was spent to guard the President.
Wix said, “The whole thrust of their campaign is to paint you as some kind of Caesar and your Secret Service as some sort of imperial palace guard. To the public, ten thousand men and one hundred million dollars to guard just one man, even the President of the United States, seems excessive. It makes a lousy public relations image.”
They were all silent. The memory of the Kennedy assassinations made this a particularly touchy issue. Also, all of them, being so close to Kennedy, were aware that the President went in some sort of physical fear. So they were surprised when Kennedy turned to the Attorney General and said, “In this case I think our critics are right. Christian, I know I gave you the veto on any change in protection, but how about if we make an announcement that we will cut the Secret Service White House Division in half. And the budget in half also. Christian, I’d like you not to use your veto on this.”
Christian smiled and said, “Maybe I went a little overboard, Mr. President. I won’t use my veto, which you could always veto.” Everyone laughed.
But Gladyce was a little worried by this seemingly easy victory. “Mr. Attorney General, you can’t just say you’ll do it and not do it. The Congress will be all over our budget and appropriations figures,” Gladyce said.
“Okay,” Christian said. “But when you give out the press release, make sure you emphasize it is over my strong objections and make it seem like the President is bowing to the pressure of the Congress.”
Kennedy said, “I thank you all. This meeting is adjourned.”
The director of the White House Military Office, Colonel Henry Canoo (USA, Ret.), was the most cheerful and unflappable man in the administration. He was cheerful because he had what he thought was the best job in the country. He was responsible to no one but the President of the United States, and he controlled presidential secret funds credited to the Pentagon that were not subject to audit except by himself and the President. Also he was strictly an administrator; he decided no questions of policy, did not even have to offer advice. He was the one who arranged for all the airplanes and helicopters and limos for the President and his staff. He was the one who disbursed funds for the construction and maintenance of buildings used by the White House that were classified secret. He ran the administration of the “Football,” the warrant officer and his briefcase that held atom bomb codes for the President. Whenever the President wanted to do something that cost money that he didn’t want the Congress or the news media to know about, Henry Canoo disbursed money from the secret fund and stamped the fiscal sheets with the highest security classification.
So in the late May afternoon when Attorney General Klee came into his office, Henry Canoo greeted him warmly. They had done business together before, and early on in his administration the President had given Canoo instructions that the Attorney General could have anything he wanted from the secret fund. The first few times Canoo had checked it out with the President but not any longer. “Christian,” he said jovially, “are you looking for information or cash?”
“Both,” Christian said. “First the money. We are going to promise publicly to cut down on the Secret Service Division fifty percent and to cut the security budget. I have to go through the motions. It will be a paper transfer, nothing will change. But I don’t want Congress to sniff out a financial trail. So your office of the military adviser will tap the Pentagon budget for the money. Then stamp it with your top-security classification.”
“Jesus,” Henry Canoo said. “That’s a lot of money. I can do it, but not for too long.”
“Just until the election in November,” Christian said. “Then we’ll either be out on our ass or in too strong for Congress to make any difference. But right now we have to look good.”
“OK,” Canoo said.
“Now the information,” Christian said. “Have any of the congressional committees been sniffing around lately?”
“Oh, sure,” Canoo said. “More than usual. They keep trying to find out how many helicopters the President has, how many limos, how many big aircraft, shit like that. They try to find out what the executive branch is doing. If they knew how many we really have, they’d shit.”
“What congressman in particular?” Christian asked.
“Jintz,” Canoo said. “He has that admin. assistant, Sal Troyca, a clever little bastard. He says he just wants to know how many copters we have, and I tell him three. He says ‘I hear you have fifteen’ and I say ‘What the hell would the White House do with fifteen?’ But he was pretty close, we have sixteen.”
Klee was surprised. “What the hell do we do with sixteen?”
“Copters always break down,” Canoo said. “If the President asks for a chopper, am I going to tell him no because they’re in the shop? And, besides, somebody on the staff is always asking for a chopper. You’re not so bad, Christian, but Tappey at CIA and Wix sure put in a lot of chopper time. And Dazzy too, for what reason I don’t know.”
“And you don’t want to know,” Christian said. “I want reports from you on any Congress snooper who tries to find out what the logistics are in supporting the presidential mission. It has a bearing on security. Reports to me and top classifications.”
“OK,” Canoo said cheerfully. “And anytime you need some work done on your personal residence we can tap the fund for that too.”
“Thanks,” Christian said, “I have my own money.”
In the late evening of that day, President Kennedy sat in the Oval Office and smoked his thin Havana cigar. He reviewed the events of the day. Everything had gone exactly as he had planned. He had shown his hand just enough to win the support of his staff.
Klee had reacted in character, as if he read his President’s mind. Canoo had checked with him. Annaccone was malleable. Helen Du Pray might be a problem if he wasn’t careful, but he needed her intelligence and her political base of the women’s organizations.
Francis Kennedy was surprised at how well he felt. There was no longer any depression and his energy level was higher than it had ever been since his wife had died. Was it because he had at last gained control of the huge and complex political machinery of America?
CHAPTER
20
President Kennedy wanted Christian Klee to come to breakfast in the White House bedroom suite. It was rare that meetings were held in Kennedy’s private living quarters.
Jefferson, the President’s private butler and Secret Service guard, served the large breakfast and then discreetly withdrew to the pantry room, to appear only when summoned by the buzzer.
Kennedy said casually, “Did you know Jefferson was a great student, a great athlete? Jefferson never took shit from anybody.” He paused and said, “How did he become a butler, Christian?”
Christian knew he had to tell the truth. “He is also the best agent in the Secret Service. I recruited him myself and especially for this job.”
Kennedy said, “The same question applies—why the hell would he take a Secret Service job? And as a butler?”
Christian said, “He has a very high rank in the Secret Service.”
Kennedy said, “Yeah, but still.”
“I organized a very elaborate screening procedure for these jobs. Jefferson was the best man, and in fact he is the White House team leader.”
“Still,” Kennedy said.
“I promised him that before you left the White House I would get him an appointment in Health, Education and Welfare, a job with clout.”
“Ah, that’s clever,” Kennedy said, “but how does his résumé look from butler to clout? How the hell can we do that?”
“His résumé will read executive assistant to me,” Christian said.
Kennedy lifted the coffee mug, its white glaze adorned with stenciled eagles. “Now, don’t take this wrong, but I’ve noticed that all my immediate servants in the White House are very good at their jobs. Are they all in the Secret Service? That would be incredible.”
“A special school and a special indoctrination appealing to their professional pride,” Christian said. “Not all.”
Kennedy laughed out loud and said, “Even the chefs?”
“Especially the chefs,” Christian said, smiling. “All chefs are crazy.” Like many men, Christian always used a gag line to give himself time to think. He knew Kennedy’s method for preparing to go on dangerous ground, showing good humor plus a piece of knowledge he wasn’t supposed to have.
They ate their breakfast, Kennedy playing what he called “mother,” passing plates and pouring. The china except for Kennedy’s special coffee mug was beautiful, with the blue presidential seal and as fragile as an eggshell. Kennedy finally said almost casually, “I’d like to spend an hour with Yabril. I expect you to handle it personally.” He saw the anxious look on Christian’s face. “Only for an hour and only for this one time.”
Christian said, “What’s to be gained, Francis? It could be too painful for you to bear.” There were lines in Kennedy’s face that Christian had never noticed before.
“Oh, I can bear it,” Kennedy said.
“If the meeting leaks, there will be a lot of questions,” Christian said.
“Then make sure it doesn’t leak,” Kennedy said. “There will be no written record of the meeting and it won’t be entered in the White House log. Now, when?”