Advise and Consent (49 page)

“If the God damned Russians land on the moon, it isn’t going to matter,”
The Wall Street Journal
observed, and
Newsweek
gave a cheerful laugh.

“I think,” he said, looking down the press table filled with the usual ten o’clock coffee crowd, “that what we ought to do is send Brig in a rocket to the moon after them and elect Bob Leffingwell to the Senate in his place. Then everybody would be happy.”

“You get the damnedest ideas,” the
Times
told him, “all good. When was the last time anybody tried his home?”

“We’ve been trying his home since 5 a.m. and we’ve got a man staked out at his office, too,” AP said. “I’m here,” he added with a grin, “to catch him if he comes into the restaurant.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard a coffee break really justified,” the
Providence Journal
observed, and the
Kansas City
Star
smiled a trifle grimly.

“Listen,” he said, “when that guy wants to hide out he’s impossible to find. Did you cover that Leffingwell fight when Bob was appointed to the Power Commission? It was the same way then. No news, no comment, no Senator. I think he was hiding out on top of the Capitol dome at the time.”

“Wonderful guy,” the
Herald Trib
said without irony, “but he certainly does play it his own way, doesn’t he?”

“What do you suppose this is really all about?” the
Chicago Tribune
wondered. “What does he know that everybody else doesn’t know?”

“I don’t get it either,” the
Newark
News
said. “Leffingwell shot Gelman off his horse, so what’s left? This isn’t quite in character for Brig somehow, it seems to me. He isn’t tricky.”

“Stubborn and independent,” the
Times
agreed, “but not tricky. Did anybody reach Leffingwell?”

“Speaking of tricky people,” the
Chicago
Trib
said dryly. “I tried about ten minutes ago. The phone still isn’t answering.”

“And it won’t be all day,” UPI predicted. “Anybody staked out there? We are.”

“So are we,” AP said.

“He’s gone to the ODM,”
The Wall Street Journal
said, a trifle smugly. “We caught him there a little while ago. He ain’t talkin’.”

“What about the rest of the subcommittee?” CBS asked. “Are they?”

“That’s probably our best target for today,” NBC said. “Anybody want to go over to the office buildings and try to catch them?”

“In a minute,” the
Washington Post
said. “Don’t rush things.”

“That was quite an editorial and cartoon you folks had this morning,” the
Times
observed. “I guess Brig is a no-good bastard from now on, right?”

“For the time being,” the
Post
said with a grin. “He can work his way back into our hearts if he chooses.”

“Actually, that was my first reaction, too,”
Time
Magazine said. “Then I got to wondering. This guy isn’t apt to shoot from the hip, you know. He’s usually pretty sound.”

“That’s what bothers me,” the
Herald Trib
said thoughtfully. “If it were anybody but Brig, I wouldn’t be in any doubt.”

“None of us seems to be in any doubt,” the
Times
said dryly; “at least in the editorial columns.”

“Well, why should we be?” the
Newark
News
demanded. “They gave Bob the works and he came through it okay, so what more do you want?”

“Is that all you want?” the
Times
asked. The
News
shrugged.

“What more is there?” he asked. “All we can do is go by the record. It looks okay for Bob as near as I can tell. Why aren’t we justified in hitting Brig with everything we’ve got?”

“This is supposed to be an objective profession,” the
Times
pointed out.

“When the world’s going to hell in a hand basket and Leffingwell’s one of the greatest hopes for saving it?” the
Baltimore Sun
demanded. “Why shouldn’t we throw everything we can at anybody who gets in the way?”

“This does give us a hell of a black eye abroad,”
Time
Magazine
said thoughtfully.

“I see you’ve done your best,” the
Washington Star
said, holding up the latest issue. The nominee was on the cover with the legend, “Robert A. Leffingwell: Toward the future nobly...” Inside was a skillful story deftly placing him on the right hand of the Lord and attributing to his opponents lineal descent from Lucifer.

“We’re following suit,”
Newsweek
said cheerfully. “Not quite that glowing, of course, but then you know us. The calm, reasoned approach, not these wild enthusiasms that afflict the competition.”

“I’ll bet Fred Van Ackerman is raving,” the
Providence Journal
suggested, and everybody laughed.

“Either climbing the drapes or clawing the rug,” the
Post
said. “Hard to tell which.”

“He’s for Leffingwell, though,” the
Journal
said. “I suppose we’d better see him, too.”

“Here comes somebody who may know something,” the
Herald Trib
said. “Senator, sit down and tell us what it’s all about.”

“I will,” Lafe Smith said with a grin, “except you’ve got to buy me coffee. I don’t buy my own when I’m giving a free interview.”

“Fair enough,” the
Times
said. “It’s on us. What’s got into your pal?”

“Well, frankly,” Lafe said with a candid smile, “I’m damned if I know. You know as much as I do, and that’s nothing. Maybe I’ll find out later and you can check me then.”

“He didn’t talk to you last night, then,” AP said. Lafe looked surprised.

“No, why should he?” he asked. “I’m not on the subcommittee.”

“Well, you’re a close friend and you’re on the full committee,” the
Washington Star
pointed out. “That might entitle you to some confidences.”

“Brig isn’t the confiding type,” Senator Smith said, “as you well know. No, I haven’t the slightest idea. I’ll tell you one thing, though: the subcommittee trusts him and they’ll go along with him until it suits him to explain himself. And so will the full committee.”

“Even Tom August?” UPI asked. Lafe smiled.

“Maybe not Tom,” he said, “but everybody else.”

“Doesn’t that seem extraordinary to you,” the
Baltimore Sun
said, “that one man could occupy a position that powerful, that you’d all be satisfied to wait on his personal whim like that?”

“It isn’t power, exactly, “the Senator from Iowa said, “and I doubt very much that it’s a whim, either. It’s respect, in the first instance, and for all we know it may be something damned serious, in the second. So why does everybody jump to conclusions the way they do? You, for instance?” he demanded of the
Post
with a scowl that was only half humorous.

“We want that man confirmed,” the
Post
said simply.

“Hell, so do most people,” Senator Smith said tartly, “but there’s such a thing as fair play.”

“Not when the fix is in,” the
Chicago Tribune
said sarcastically, and the
Post
looked annoyed.

“There’s no fix in,” he said sharply. “We’re just for him, that’s all. So are we all, and why not? His public record is fine. The hearing record is okay. He’s come out of it stronger than ever. So why shouldn’t we be?”

“That’s your privilege,” Lafe agreed, “just as it’s your privilege to run that kind of an editorial and that kind of a cartoon if you really think Brig is a crackpot.”

“Nobody thinks he’s a crackpot, Lafe,” AP said impatiently. “But he’d better have a damned good explanation, or he’s going to get slaughtered.”

“Nobody’s waiting for his explanation,” Lafe said bluntly. “The
Post
had an editorial. The
Times
had an editorial. The
Trib
had an editorial.
Time
and
Newsweek
are killing him in their cover stories. CBS murdered him on the morning news. NBC did likewise. They’ll do the same thing again tonight. That’s getting to be the trouble with you people, nowadays—you never reserve judgment any more. You always jump to conclusions and take it as a personal affront if somebody disagrees with you. Why in hell don’t you hold your fire for ten minutes? You don’t know what he’s found.”

“He could have said,” the
Times
pointed out quietly. “If he weren’t so damned independent, he could have said. Then we could judge it on its merits instead of making disagreement, of necessity, a personal attack on Brig. Isn’t that true?”

Senator Smith gave him a long look.

“That’s true,” he admitted soberly. “That’s very true. He’s brought a lot of it on himself. But that’s the kind of guy he is. Just because he’s a lone wolf doesn’t affect his judgment any. You tell me a nicer fellow or a better United States Senator and I’ll concede your right to go after him without waiting to find out his reasons. Okay? In fact,” he added dryly, “don’t bother to try to name a better. Here he comes right now, your little buddy. Fred!” he called as Senator Van Ackerman started through on his way to the inner dining room. “Come on and sit down. We’re having a hate-Brig session. I’m sure you have some ideas.”

But the junior Senator from Wyoming did not choose to be amused. Instead he rested a hand on AP’s shoulder and gave the junior Senator from Iowa an insolent stare.

“I’d expect you to be defending him,” he said coldly, and Lafe Smith, who had spoken in a tone that was reasonably friendly, reacted at once.

“Against you, pal,” he said with equal coldness, “any time.”

“Listen to me, Lafe,” Fred Van Ackerman said softly, while the press watched attentively and several tourists at nearby tables gave them startled looks, “I don’t know what’s gotten into high and mighty little Mr. Mysterious, but I can tell you it had damned well better be good or he’s going to get run over by a steam roller. The country wants this nomination and it doesn’t want anybody standing in the way, particularly somebody who thinks he’s as damned good as Brig does. Why, hell! Who does he think he is, with all his high-flown, self-righteous pretensions, God Almighty? He isn’t. He’s just little Brigham Anderson from Salt Lake City, and he’s trying to get in the way of history. It won’t work.”

Senator Smith smiled without amusement.

“I swear,” he said, “you do live in a world of your own, Fred. These fellows don’t approve of what Brig’s doing on this, either, but at least they aren’t psychopathic about it.”

At this the press instinctively shifted a little, not knowing but what this would send Senator Van Ackermen into one of his rages, or perhaps even precipitate one of the few fist fights in senatorial history. But nothing so dramatic happened. Fred Van Ackerman only smiled in a rather remote sort of way.

“Well get him,” he promised quietly. “The country needs Leffingwell and it’s going to have him. You can tell your buddy-buddy that if he doesn’t get out of the way he’s going to be sorry.”

“He won’t be the only one, Freddy boy,” Senator Smith said pleasantly.

“I may have something for you boys later in the day,” Fred Van Ackerman said, turning abruptly to the press. “Watch for it when the session opens.”

And with a quick nod around the table he gave his colleague one more stare and went on into the dining room.

“God, I despise that little bastard,” Lafe Smith said quietly. “And that’s what you prefer to Brig. Well, by God, you can have him. I want none of him.”

“We don’t prefer him to Brig,” AP said reasonably. “We prefer Brig any time, when he’s on the right side.”

“You prefer him,” Lafe said skeptically, “after what you did this morning.”

“Oh, hell,” AP said. “One day’s editorials and one day’s cartoons and one day’s broadcasts. Anybody can stand a little riding from the press. That isn’t anything.”

“You can’t kid me,” Lafe said. “The pack’s on the prowl, and you know it.”

And though he decided it would be best to lighten the atmosphere by saying it with a laugh, and though they responded in kind, they all knew as the conversation ended and they broke up to go their several ways that it was entirely true.

“Mabel,” the Majority Leader said, “this is Bob Munson. Are you hiding a United States Senator from me?”

“I’m helping to hide him,” she admitted with a laugh. “Is it urgent?”

“That’s what I want him to tell me,” Senator Munson said. “I’m as baffled as everybody else. Except you, I imagine.”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “He never tells me anything. Hold on a minute. I’ll get him.”

And leaving Senator Munson to add that to one or two hints Orrin Knox had let drop in a worried way lately, and thus come to some swift conclusions about the present state of domestic tranquility in the Anderson household, she went off the line. In a couple of minutes the senior Senator from Utah came on.

“Yes, Bob,” he said pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”

“What can I do for you is more like it,” Bob Munson said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Brigham Anderson laughed.

“Robert, Robert,” he said. “No, I don’t think so. I’m doing fine.”

“No, you’re not,” the Majority Leader told him seriously. “The President called a little while ago. He wasn’t pleased.”

“That’s strange,” Brig said calmly. “I’m doing this for him.”

“How do you figure that?” Senator Munson asked, and Senator Anderson made a mildly exasperated sound.

“Look,” he said. “He’s committed to Leffingwell, right?”

“Practically one hundred per cent,” the Majority Leader said.

“And it would embarrass him no end if I came right out and told all I knew, wouldn’t it?”

“That depends on what you know,” Senator Munson said.

“Enough to warrant some serious thought being given to the whole situation,” Brig said. “And so what have I done? Instead of issuing a statement about it to the press, all I’ve done is hold the hearings open, in case we should need them, and then keep my mouth shut until I can see him and talk it over. Is that such a crime?”

“A good many people seem to think so,” Senator Munson said. “What is this mysterious knowledge of yours, anyway?”

“I’ll tell you when I see him,” Senator Anderson said.

“Hmph,” Bob Munson observed. “Don’t be so damned independent.” Brig chuckled.