Again there was silence while they stared at one another.

“I’d like to have the chance to try,” he said finally.

“Good. You will.”

“I hope so,” he remarked glumly. Then his mood changed abruptly as he came back to the immediate issue. “But damn it, Lin, I cannot compromise my principles on Jim’s bill or the Macklin nomination. I just can’t! At least”—and again honesty asserted itself—“I don’t think I can ….”

“You’d better get along to the Hill,” she said, standing up with a sudden decisiveness that broke the moment. “I have the feeling it may be a big day.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Do you want me? I mean, if Lisette—”

“Are the kids okay?” he asked, brushing the question aside.

“Yes, Mrs. Johnson next door, who’s an old friend of ours, says she’ll be glad to baby-sit for the next few days while we’re getting settled.”

“Get your coat,” he said, putting on his own and kissing her gravely. “We’re on our way.”

***

Chapter 7

And after a morning in which she and Lisette circled warily around one another while Lisette got her interview and Lisette’s cameramen got their pictures of the young senatorial couple being most domesticated and busy in the young senator’s office, they went on to lunch—without Lisette—in the Senate Dining Room in the Capitol. There he received further greetings from his new colleagues, much cordial joshing and joking, many anticipatory and welcoming remarks about how much they all expected of him. Toward the end of their often interrupted meal, Lyddie Bates, who was lunching with Herb Esplin, the Minority Leader, came over and asked Linda if they might go up to the gallery together to watch the debate.

“Herb tells me it may be exciting,” she said, looking every bit the wise little owl she was. “What do you think, Mark?”

“I think it may be,” he said, things suddenly beginning to crystallize in his mind. “Yes, I think it may be.”

“My!” Lyddie said, so cheerfully he wasn’t quite sure whether she was teasing him or not. “That does sound promising! Linda, we’ll have to go up and listen now. He isn’t giving us any choice.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Linda said, looking worried for a second but swiftly concealing it as she rose and took Lyddie’s arm to assist her out of the dining room, both waving to a number of old friends along the way. “One never knows what’s going to come next, in the Senate.”

But it was not until relatively late in the afternoon, somewhere around 3:30, that the day became as lively as Lyddie had thought it might. For quite a while the Senate droned along with routine matters, politically motivated statements, comments on current crises, inserts of articles and editorials in the Congressional Record, casual sparring between majority and minority, preliminary skirmishes for some of the more bitter battles soon to come—the usual odds and ends of a new session getting sporadically and jerkily under way, an antiquated but still very effective locomotive gathering steam.

Above in the half-empty public gallery, Linda and Lyddie followed the proceedings with the ingrained interest of those who have observed the Senate for many years and still find even its trivia entertaining. Diagonally across the chamber in the Press Gallery, Bill Adams in the AP’s front-row seat, Lisette, sitting higher up a couple of rows behind him, and Chuck Dangerfield, lounging against the wall along the topmost row, exchanged desultory chitchat with colleagues who came and went as the afternoon lengthened. Like all trained Senate reporters, they were aware of everyone and everything on the floor—on the minority side John Talbot of Tennessee was droning on in his own ineffable way—but it was on Mark Coffin that their attention was principally concentrated.

“He’s got a lot on his mind,” Lisette had told them when they lunched together at the press table in the alcove just off the public dining room downstairs. “I don’t know what’s bugging him exactly, but I have a feeling it’s going to pop sometime soon—maybe today.” They were waiting, with the alert patience of their craft.

Presently Clem Chisholm entered the chamber, glanced about, saw Mark and Rick Duclos seated side by side in the last row of seats; casually wandered over and sat down beside Mark, began to engage the two of them in casual conversation. In a few moments Kal Tokumatsu came on the floor and joined them. A question was asked, Mark replied emphatically, a quiet but obviously serious argument began to develop. In the galleries above, five astute observers leaned forward to watch. They could not hear the words, but it was obvious the discussion was under way in earnest.

“Look!” Mark said, keeping his voice low but emphatic. “What am I supposed to do, just lie down and roll over because the President”—he exaggerated the next words—“ ‘wants me to go along’? Or because my father-in-law ‘wants me to go along’? What kind of crap is that?”

“That, my boy,” Kal Tokumatsu said calmly, “is the kind of crap of which effective careers are made in the Congress of the United States.”

Mark looked stubborn, an expression not lost on his wife, Lyddie, and the Press Gallery watchers above.

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it or not, buddy,” Clem said crisply, “it’s true. When I came here two years ago I was just like you: I was all out to be the big, defiant hero, little old black Sir Galahad going after that great big dragon in the White House and defying all the powers that be here in the Senate. They cut me down pretty fast, I can tell you. After I learned a few things they let me up off the floor and I’ve been doing all right ever since. But I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d learned my way around first and then gone after ’em. I’d have been a lot more effective a lot sooner, I can tell you that.”

“I don’t see,” Mark said, “why I have to compromise my principles just because the President wants to ram a lousy appointment down the Senate’s throat and Jim Elrod wants to go to war with the Soviet Union. Isn’t that right, Rick? We didn’t come in here to be rubber stamps, did we!”

“Don’t look at me,” Rick said with an amiable grin. “At the moment, all I’m concerned about is that pretty little gal up there in the third row of the Diplomatic Gallery. You see her, that cute little blonde on the aisle—the one with her legs open? If I ever saw a come-hither, that’s it. Do you suppose she’d answer a note if I sent one up?”

“Rick,” Mark said. “God damn it, be serious.” Kal and Clem laughed and looked up with some interest at the Diplomatic Gallery. There was indeed a cute little blonde, and as she caught their glance she smiled faintly and demurely crossed her legs.

“Now, you see,” Rick said in mock disappointment, “Comehither’s been canceled. Poor old Rick’s out there in the cold again. However—” he looked around. “Where’s Patrick? What’s the use of having your son made a page if you can’t make use of him? I think I will send her a note.” He found his son across the room, held up a discreet hand. Pat started toward them.

“Rick, will you give me some support, please?” Mark asked, exasperated but amused in spite of himself. “I’m trying to make a point with these cynical old bastards who have been around the Hill too long and you aren’t a bit of help.”

“I’m trying to make a point, too,” Rick said cheerfully, “and I think maybe I’m going to do it. Here, Pat”—he scribbled on a pad of Senate notepaper, tore off the sheet, handed it to his son—“see that cute little lady in the Diplomatic Gallery?”

Again they all looked, again the little lady smiled, quite broadly this time.

“Take this up to her, will you, there’s a good kid.”

For just a moment Pat hesitated. Rick gave him a sharp glance.

“All right?”

“Okay, Dad,” Pat said, but he obviously wasn’t happy about it.

“Good boy,” Rick said, smiling after him. “I’ll see that they raise your salary next week.”

“He doesn’t like that,” Kal said, not very amused. “Why involve him in things like that if he’s still loyal to his mother? Plenty of other pages around to do your preliminaries for you.”

“I might say,” Rick said coldly, leaning forward and giving him a stare across Mark and Clem, “that it’s none of your damned business.”

“You might,” Kal agreed, not in the least disturbed, “but I doubt if I’d pay much attention.”

For a further moment they were diverted by Pat’s unhappy departure and by the fact that Johnny McVickers, seated behind them on one of the leather sofas that line the chamber, got up suddenly and followed him out.

“That’s your boy, isn’t it?” Clem asked.

“Yes,” Mark said, “Johnny McVickers, one of my top students at Stanford. He’s come here to work in the office and finish up at Georgetown. I think there’s some thought he and Pat may room together. They’re both good kids.”

“Unlike Pat’s father,” Rick said cheerfully, but Mark refused the bait.

“At the moment I couldn’t care less what Pat’s father does as long as he sticks by me on Charlie Macklin and Jim Elrod’s bill.”

“Mark, old pal,” Kal Tokumatsu said, “before you get your ass in a wringer you won’t be able to get it out of for a while, listen to Wise Old Father Kal, the Sage of the South Seas, will yon? We’ve all been this route at one time or another. I was like Clem when I came here: I was going to save the world, too, and all in the next ten minutes. Well, I tried, and like Clem, I too got knocked down. And for a little while it made me very bitter—very bitter. I’d been in the state senate back home, of course, but this was different, see: now I was a great big United States Senator, and the whole world was supposed to bow down and pay attention to me. I forgot there’s ninety-nine others, each with the same idea, and some of ’em in a much better position, due to seniority and ability, to make the world bow down than I am. So after a while I picked myself up and pulled myself together and went around hat in hand to a few people like Art Hampton and Herb Esplin and Janet Hardesty and your father-in-law, and after that things began to go better.

“Now I think they like me pretty well. Someday I may even be allowed to bring in my ukulele and cook up a batch of poi. But the key phrase is: Take it easy. The big battles will come along in due course and when they do, you’ll be in good shape to make your presence felt. Believe me.”

“These are big battles right now,” Mark said, unmoved. “My God, how big do you want them to be? The new President is coming in as the great champion of justice and morality—and then he wants to appoint a law-and-order minorities-baiter like Charlie Macklin to be Attorney General. And my father-in-law is supposed to be looking after the defense of this country and he wants to force through an enormous increase in the defense budget that could only antagonize the Soviets and make them more suspicious than ever of our good intentions. These aren’t big battles?”

“Sure they’re big, Mark,” Clem said soothingly, “but there’s a way of going about it. You can be opposed and make your points without getting the big boys down on you. I wouldn’t want to antagonize the new President, myself, or Jim Elrod, either. Didn’t Art explain that to you last night?”

Mark’s face clouded.

“He talked to me.”

“He’s a good man to listen to,” Kal observed. “There isn’t anybody more decent than Art Hampton around here.”

“It wasn’t decency he was talking,” Mark said bitterly. “It was plain old-fashioned wheeler-dealer politics.”

“And he didn’t have anything to say that you could listen to?” Clem asked, watching him shrewdly; and suddenly Mark’s resolve began to crumble as he remembered what Art did say, and how much he wanted the prize that was being dangled before him.

“He didn’t say”—very low—“he didn’t say anything I ought to listen to.”

“But he got you thinking, didn’t he?” Kal asked comfortably. “And all this spouting about noble ideals is really just to keep up your own courage, isn’t it? You really aren’t all that certain now.”

“Yes, I am!” Mark exclaimed defiantly. “Oh yes I am!”

“Mm-hmm,” Kal said, getting up, a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Well—you keep thinking about it. I’ve got to go see some constituents, but I’ll be back later to see how you’re doing. Incidentally, he hasn’t formally announced Macklin’s appointment yet, has he? Maybe you’ve already talked him out of it.”

“Hunh!” Mark said. “Fat chance!”

“Keep it cool, bruddah,” Kal said, deliberately Hawaiian for a wry moment. “Don’t let that big wave smash you down. Clem, I want to talk to you later about the agriculture appropriation. We’ve got some things to consider there.”

“Right,” Clem said, also rising, while across the aisle John Talbot of Tennessee still droned doggedly on. “Take care, Mark,” he said, shaking hands. “Don’t move too fast. See you later.”

“Right,” Mark said. “Thank you, Clem. Thank you both, I know you have my best interests at heart.”

“Sure thing,” Kal said. “We don’t want our baby to throw himself out with the bath water, that’s all.”

Mark grinned and looked more relaxed. At his side Rick turned to him, completely serious now, all traces of the carefree lover boy gone. Above in the gallery the little blonde was still smiling at him, but for the moment he was ignoring her completely. His tone was sober and quiet as he said,

“I’m with you, friend.”

“What?” Mark asked, startled and not really believing it.

“I said I’m with you. Isn’t that what you want me to be? I think this Macklin thing is a poor piece of business and I think old Jim Elrod is getting to be a real warmonger lately. I’d just as soon reform the world in ten minutes. Why shouldn’t we? In fact, let’s get up and make a speech right now, if you want. No time like the present. We’ll make ’em sit up and take notice!”

“Well ….”

“What’s the matter? Chicken?”

“No, I’m not chicken,” Mark replied impatiently.

“Well what is it, then? Something’s eating you. What is it? You aren’t backing down, are you, after all this brave talk?”

“No, I’m not backing down! Only—”

“Only what?”

“Rick, I’ve got to think a bit. Anyway, maybe he won’t appoint Macklin, I don’t know. Maybe we should wait and see a little.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Rick said, drawing back and staring at him. But further comment was foreclosed by Clem, who re-entered through the swinging glass doors behind them, came over quickly, and leaned down with a hand on the shoulder of each.

“Just thought you’d like to know—he’s just announced he’s going to appoint Macklin. Lisette Grayson caught me in the hall and told me. She asked me what I thought and then asked if you’d come out, Mark.”

“And what did you tell her?” Rick asked, while several emotions, none very pleasant, flashed across Mark’s face.

“I said I’d have to wait for the committee hearings before making up my mind,” Clem said, adding with a sudden harshness prompted by Rick’s skeptical expression. “And don’t look at me like that, pal, I wasn’t ducking. I really do want to listen to the committee hearings before making up my mind. That’s something that can be very helpful around here, as you’ll find out. Shall I tell her you’re coming out to give her a comment, Mark?”

“Yes,” Mark said with a sigh, shaking off his troubled reverie. “I’ll be there.”

“You know,” Lyddie murmured as below them Clem Chisholm circulated around the floor, apparently announcing some news that left expressions of surprise and sometimes concern behind him, “I think something’s going to happen,” There was no response from Linda, leaning forward to watch her husband rise from his chair, look around the chamber for a moment with a baffled expression, and then go out. Lyddie placed a gentle old hand on her arm.

“He’s worried, dear, isn’t he, and so are you. I hope it isn’t anything too serious. I thought we all had such a good time last night.”

“Oh, we did, Lyddie,” Linda assured her quickly. “It was a wonderful party…No, it’s nothing to do with that. He’s worried about this Macklin nomination, and about Daddy’s bill; and I’m worried because he’s worried.”

“And so you should be,” Lyddie said stoutly. “That’s what a good wife’s for. Are they putting a lot of pressure on him?”

“Some.”

“Can you tell me?” Lyddie inquired gently. “I won’t tell anybody. I promise.”

“Oh, Lyddie!” Linda said, giving her hand a squeeze, turning to her with a grateful smile. “I know you won’t tell anybody. Heavens, if you spilled all the secrets you’ve been told over the years, the government would collapse…They’re going to put him on the Foreign Relations Committee—if he supports the nomination and if he doesn’t make too much of a thing of opposing Daddy’s bill. Otherwise”—her face turned bleak—“they won’t.”

“And this means a very great deal to him, doesn’t it? And to you?”

“A very great deal. He thinks it’s his whole future, although of course it isn’t.”

“No, dear, that’s right,” Lyddie said firmly, “it isn’t, and you must both keep that in mind. Of course that’s easier said than done. I wonder if there’s anything I can do to help? Would you like me to talk to Art Hampton, for instance? We’re such old, dear friends. Maybe we can get Mark on the committee anyway—if he just isn’t too extreme in his opposition.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Linda admitted with a worried frown. “He’s never been one to take big, dramatic stands on things, at least in academic life, but he is very principled and very firm—and now that he’s there, he seems to feel that he’s required to be dramatic—that it isn’t quite the departmental faculty meeting at Stanford, so to speak. And of course it isn’t. And I suppose if he wishes to establish himself as a national figure he’s got to strike out on his own. But then again—” the frown deepened. “Oh, Lyddie, why is Washington so complicated?”

“It gets less so as you grow older, dear,” Lyddie said. “Believe me.”

“He isn’t old,” Linda said ruefully. “That’s the problem … ” She picked up her coat and purse with sudden resolution. “I think I’ll go down and see him. Maybe he’d like a word of encouragement from me.”

“You do that, dear. I’m sure that’s exactly what he needs.”

In the President’s Room just outside the Senate door—that room where Presidents down to Woodrow Wilson used to come and sign last-minute bills on the last night of a session—Mark went, as was senatorial custom, for his interview with Lisette Grayson. Small, ornate, its walls covered with intricate paintings and geometric designs by Brumidi, the painter of the Capitol, the room had an old clock on a marble mantelpiece in front of a huge mirror, another old clock standing in one corner, a number of overstuffed black leather sofas and armchairs, an oval green baize table in the center. There was about it an air of many secrets told, many confidences shared, the smell of American government for more than two hundred years. Here the casual jokes of two centuries had been uttered; here the major secrets of all the nation’s major laws and political battles had sooner or later been uttered in confidences that rapidly found their way into print and the knowledge of the nation and the world.

Several senators including Jan Hardesty were sitting about quietly talking with reporters when Mark entered. Lisette beckoned him from a sofa by the window.

“I’ve been holding this one just for us,” she said as he took her hand in a clasp quite impersonal on his part, not so much so on hers. “It hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to fight off half the press and half the Senate. But I managed.”

“Good for you,” he said, sitting down, not too close. “What did you want to see me about? Thank you for all your patience this morning, incidentally. I hope you’ll get a good story out of it.”

“I will,” she promised. “I’m really very good. Especially when my subject inspires me.”

“I’m glad I did that,” he said dryly. “What’s on your mind?”

“So abrupt,” she said with a mocking little laugh. “So serious. Can’t we just chat for a minute?”

“I’m afraid I’ve got to get back to the floor,” he said politely, making as if to stand up, “so if there’s anything I can answer for you—”

“All right,” she said, voice low but eyes suddenly furious, “damn you, what do you think of the Macklin appointment?”

“I have serious reservations about it,” he said, ignoring her tone, sitting back and speaking in a thoughtful and deliberate voice. “I think I will want to consider it very carefully before I decide what to do. I think—”

“Christ!” she interrupted. “Can’t you be more original than that? ‘Serious reservations’—’want to consider it very carefully.’ How long have you been here, Mark Coffin, three days or thirty years? You sound like the cagiest old coot that ever sat in the Senate.”

“Do I?” he asked with a smile that allowed no battering down of his defense. “Maybe I will be, someday. I’m sorry.”

“Look,” she said. “Stop hiding behind that respectable young man image—”

“I am a respectable young man,” he pointed out mildly, knowing it would annoy her. “I know you regret it, but—”

“That can be changed,” she said, switching tactics. “The only thing I want from you right now is, what do you think of the Macklin nomination? And let’s broaden it to include Jim Elrod’s bill, while we’re at it.”

“You know very well, because it was plain when you were in my office this morning, that I really do have very serious reservations about both of them. That’s the fact.”

“Are you going to oppose them both, then?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Why not? Are they beating on you about it?”

“No.”

“Are they holding out a carrot, then?”

“Lisette—” he began in laughing exasperation, so involved in their sparring that he did not see Linda appear in the doorway, stop dead and stand staring at them.

“I told you I was good,” Lisette said. “If I were putting two and two together, I’d try to figure out what I could bribe a brand-new baby senator with. I think I’d do it with a committee appointment. Have they offered you—”

“Lisette,” he said firmly, “I am not going to make any comment on any of your speculations.”

“I’m right, then!” she crowed triumphantly. “So now we’ll see how noble our noble young senator is! Now we’ll find out right away if he can be bought just like anybody else. Now we’ll know if dashing, handsome, high-principled young Mark Coffin, come to us out of the Golden West on a path of light, is going to fall down and go boom! just like every other crafty old crock on Capitol Hill! Now we’ve got you!”

“Lisette—” he said again, exasperated but laughing in spite of himself.

“Got you!” she said, reaching over to punch him gaily on the chin. “Got you!”

“Stop that!” he said, laughing and grabbing her hand.

“Why, sure,” she said softly, eyes widening. “If you say so.”

His widened too, and it was just then, of course, that he became aware of Linda in the doorway. For a moment their eyes met; then Linda walked away, but not before Mark had time for a dismayed look—and Lisette time for a triumphant one, as she turned quickly and saw Linda’s departing back.

“I’ve got to get back to the floor,” he said abruptly, dropping her hand and standing up.

“What about the nomination and the bill?” she called after him mockingly as he stalked out. But he did not answer. She became aware of Jan Hardesty studying her thoughtfully from across the room, and made a little face. Jan’s expression, cool, quizzical and contemplative, did not waver.

By the time he reached the door he was walking so fast that he almost literally bumped into Kal Tokumatsu, standing in the foyer talking to a reporter.

“I suppose you’ve heard?” Kal said over his shoulder.

“The nomination?” Mark said tersely. “Yes.”

“And Jim Elrod just introduced his bill, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Mark said, in disgust and self-disgust. “This is my day.”

It was also Jim Elrod’s, Mark found as he returned to his seat beside Rick, by now openly exchanging winks with his blonde in the Diplomatic Gallery. The chairman of the Armed Services Committee was completing the introduction of his bill.

“And so, Mr. President,” he said, addressing the Chair, “it is for these reasons that I introduce this bill, Senate Bill Number 1 of the new session—because I believe the Soviet Union to be engaged in a deliberate, determined and so far successful drive to achieve military superiority over the United States and thus acquire both military and diplomatic domination of the world.

“And because I believe that we must take steps immediately to counteract this threat, which is a threat not only to the United States but to all those people of the world who wish to decide their own destinies free from Soviet imperialism and control.

“And because the only way we can do it, it seems to me, is by authorizing an immediate, all-out build-up, costing whatever it may have to cost, to bring our conventional arms, missiles, satellites and extra-atmospheric weaponry once more up to the level of the Soviets.

“Otherwise, Mr. President, I fear for the consequences to this nation and the world, because I do not think we can fall behind much farther without falling behind permanently. And when I say permanently, I mean permanently.”

“He’s really trying to scare us, isn’t he?” Rick murmured, abandoning his blonde for the moment to pay close attention.

“He believes it,” Mark said, eyes dark with worry.

“How can he? We’ve got plenty of strength.”

“He doesn’t think so. Or at least he doesn’t think we have the will to use it.”

“Are you going to oppose him?”

Mark’s eyes wandered to the galleries. He noted that Lisette had come back in, on her face a secret little smile; that Linda had returned, her face set and unhappy.

“Yes,” he said with a sudden resolution, everything falling finally into place. “Yes, I am.”

“Good for you, pal. Right now?”

“As soon as he finishes,” Mark said grimly.

“Mr. President,” Jim Elrod concluded, “I know there may be some—there may be many—in this chamber who will have misgivings about so direct and unequivocal an approach to the problems of our military equality with the Soviet Union. To them I say simply this:

“If there were some other way to halt their deliberate campaign to outstrip us, I would be for it.

“If there were some other way, requiring less burden, less sacrifice and less answering of tension with tension, with which to persuade them to relinquish their goal of world domination and return peaceably within their own vast borders to be genuine friends with us and every one, I should welcome it. But there is no sign of this. There is apparently no possibility of this.

“There is, sadly, no other way.

“Mr. President, I commend S.1 to the favorable consideration of the Senate.”

He sat down, and as he did so Mark was already on his feet crying (he felt, a little too loudly and a little too nervously—but he was nervous), “Mr. President! Mr. President!”

“The junior senator from California,” Senator Esplin, temporarily in the Chair, said calmly, as chamber and galleries quieted abruptly.

“Mr. President,” Mark began, his voice at first tense and obviously strained, but calming and strengthening as he proceeded, “I realize that there is a tradition in the Senate that a freshman should be seen and not heard for at least a reasonable period after entering this distinguished body. But that applies in quiet times: it does not, in my judgment, apply to times as tense and ominous for the world as these. Therefore, Mr. President, if there be those who think me presumptuous, I apologize. But I must tell them that in all conscience I cannot accept any such arbitrary restrictions on my right to speak out on the issues that confront us here today.”

“You notice he said ‘issues,’ plural,” Lisette whispered happily to Bill Adams and Chuck Dangerfield in the gallery above. “He’s going to take on the new President, too.”

“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Bill remarked.

“He knows,” Chuck said, excited. “Isn’t it great to have somebody come here who has the guts to speak out!”

“Mr. President,” Mark continued, while across the chamber the Senate and galleries listened with absolute attention, “I wish that I could go along with the distinguished chairman of the Armed Services Committee in this proposal of his. I wish it on two grounds, one because, as you know, I am a member of his family and hope I may continue to have that happy distinction”—Senator Elrod smiled, a bit quizzically, and waved; in the gallery Linda did not smile, which brought a worried glance from Lyddie—“and secondly, because I admire and respect his judgment in most matters and only wish I could follow him unquestioningly in this.

“Unfortunately, that is not the case.

“The distinguished senior senator from North Carolina is worried about what he sees as the Soviets’ ‘deliberate campaign to outstrip us’ militarily, and to use that military superiority, if achieved, to blackmail us and the rest of the world into acceptance of their ‘domination and control.’ But I submit to you, Mr. President, that we are not helpless. I submit that we are not weaklings. I submit that this nation has an atomic and missile arsenal so great that it provides a deterrence no reasonable man would wish to increase and no sane nation would dare to challenge.

“It may be true, Mr. President, that in some areas of weaponry we may have fallen somewhat behind Soviet levels; but surely we make up in quality what we lack in quantity. And surely our atomic arsenal is sufficiently huge to compensate for whatever we may lack elsewhere.

“The distinguished chairman of the Armed Services Committee, it seems to me, is giving in to fear. For all his vast knowledge of this subject, and the sincerity and integrity of his beliefs, I believe he is allowing his fear to obscure and hamper a judgment otherwise sound in many things. It is the counsel of panic he offers us, Mr. President, not the counsel of reason.

“I expect to have more to say as we move deeper into the debate on S.1, but I did not think I should let the occasion pass without making clear at once where I stand, so that no one may mistake me.

“I intend to offer an amendment at the appropriate time which will cut this amount drastically and at the same time tie the issue directly to the question of human rights, both in the Soviet Union and elsewhere. There is where we should make our stand; there is where we can perhaps all agree.

“I would hope the distinguished senior senator from North Carolina can see this way clear to accepting my amendment, because if he is unable to do so, then I am afraid I must oppose his bill with all the vigor at my command.”

“Oh, good!” Lisette exclaimed. “Oh, good, good, good!”

“That’s what we need,” Chuck said happily. “Somebody to speak up on human rights!”

Mark paused and seemed about to sit down; then he straightened abruptly and went on.

“Mr. President, since I am on my feet, there is one other matter I would like to comment upon today.”

He could see Jim Elrod murmuring behind his hand to Art Hampton; Jan Hardesty, watching with intent concern; Kal and Clem, seated side by side, watching with worried yet approving looks; Jim Madison, a dry little smile on his lips, awaiting his next words. He raised his head doggedly and went on.

“I am told that the President-elect has nominated the former district attorney of Los Angeles County to be Attorney General of the United States. I will say frankly to the Senate that I was not consulted in the first instance in this matter, and I understand also that as a matter of senatorial courtesy I might ask the Senate to reject the nomination because it is personally abhorrent to me. I realize that in the case of a Cabinet nomination made by a new President about to take office, such an objection might not be sufficient to stop the nomination, but I am told it would carry some weight. But I would not wish to use the tactic, anyway.

“I prefer to take an honest stand and make an honest fight.”

“Isn’t he great?” Chuck demanded; and Lisette, who realized suddenly that she might be on to something considerably more substantial than she usually was, breathed with genuine sincerity, “He’s marvelous.” Bill Adams looked quizzical and so did Lyddie in the other gallery. But she refrained from comment as Linda, suddenly swept out of her self and her worries by her husband’s unexpected flow of rhetoric and courageous stand, murmured, “Oh, Mark darling! You’re terrific.” On the Senate floor Art Hampton nodded soberly to Jim Elrod, rose and went into the majority cloakroom, crossed to a phone booth, closed the door, dialed.

“Mr. President?”

“Yes, Art. What’s up?…Oh, is he?…So he’s decided to kick over the traces, has he? Well, I suppose that’s what comes of being a headstrong youth. We’ll have to see what we can do about that, won’t we?…What’s that? Just a minute, Art”—a hand over the receiver for a moment, then a return of the confident voice, filled with amusement now—“Chauncey’s here and he says he hopes I won’t be too hard on him, because he is young, and he has great potential. I said to Chauncey that I do, too, and I don’t intend to have it thwarted by an upstart kid from California. How’s that for laying it on the line, eh, Art? Pretty good?…Yes, I thought so, too … Well, okay, Art. Keep in touch. We’ll handle him.”

In the Diplomatic Gallery, seated together near Rick’s blonde, whom he was now completely ignoring as he followed Mark with rapt attention, the British and French ambassadors peered down with lively interest.

“Our young friend from California is getting off to a rousing start, isn’t he?” Sir Harry murmured. “I really must cultivate this young man. He promises to turn into something quite remarkable.”

“If he survives the consequences of his courage,” Pierre DeLatour remarked with a sniff.

“Yes,” Sir Harry agreed politely. “That always is a problem for the courageous, isn’t it?”

Pierre gave him a sharp glance, not quite knowing what to make of that; but Mark resumed and they turned again to the Senate floor.

“I do not like this nomination, Mr. President. I do not like this man. Charles Macklin may have good qualities but they have not been overly apparent to me during his tenure as district attorney of Los Angeles. He has been, in my estimation, careless of civil rights, oppressive of civil liberties, seemingly almost unbalanced on the subject of law and order, close to a witch-hunter when it came to suspected subversion or personal morals. He is a strange man for the job of Attorney General. He is also, I may say, a strange choice for this most sensitive and important job, from a President-elect who professes justice, morality and a new liberalism in government.

“I am opposed to the nomination of Charles Macklin, Mr. President. I shall fight it with everything I have, on this floor and wherever else I can. I realize that in this stand, as in my stand on the bill introduced by my distinguished father-in-law, I may be jeopardizing certain aspects of my senatorial career. If that is the case, so be it. If that is the way people in this Senate and in this city fight, then I shall simply have to take it.

“I can take it, Mr. President, and I so serve notice.”

He sat down abruptly, while over Senate, press and public galleries there ran a quick spatter of applause—not a great deal, for many were moving cautiously: but enough to encourage him a little.

Herb Esplin gaveled it down quickly as Kal and Clem came over to Mark to shake his hand.

“That was great, Mark,” Clem said. “I admire your guts.”

“I don’t know where you’re going in this town, kid,” Kal agreed, “but you can count on me to come along for the ride and find out.”

“Thank you,” Mark replied, gravely pleased, while above in the media galleries many reporters scrambled up the steep stairs to file their stories.

“Mr. President!” Rick Duclos cried, jumping to his feet; and almost simultaneously Bob Templeton of Colorado was also on his feet crying, “Mr. President!”

They exchanged pleased grins, and Mark felt a surge of happiness and excitement as the Chair recognized Rick.

“Mr. President,” Rick said, his face, like Mark’s, tense but determined, “I wish to associate myself one hundred per cent with the remarks of my very good new friend, the distinguished junior senator from California. Like him, I, too, am opposed to—”

FRESHMAN SENATORS CHALLENGE ATTORNEY GENERAL NOMINATION, NEW ARMS SPENDING BILL. YOUTHFUL “THREE HORSEMEN” ROCK SENATE WITH UNPRECEDENTED ATTACK ON MACKLIN, ELROD. COFFIN LEADS FIGHT AS DUCLOS, TEMPLE-TON JOIN MAJOR BATTLE OF NEW SESSION.

And once again, and even more, he felt as though he were sailing way out there, way off on the edge of things where the waves crashed and the tempests howled and only the Lord and luck and his own particular star, whatever it might be, could protect him now.

He was defying the Great Gods of Washington—the President, the party leadership, The Game, The-Way-It-Is-Done.

What would they do to him in return, and how well was he prepared to meet it?

***

Book II

***

Chapter 1

In the remaining few days before the inauguration of the new President, life continued its normal rounds in most of the country. People were born, married, died. Parents worried about kids, kids accepted or rebelled against parents. Crime statistics continued to rise in nearly all metropolitan centers. A doctor in Minneapolis thought he might have found a new potential cure for cancer; another in Texas thought the same. Six members of a family in South Dakota were found murdered in their lonely farm house; a local honor student, “the brightest boy in town, everybody loved him,” was in custody. A fire in an old Louisiana hotel killed thirteen. Two private planes and one scheduled airliner crashed with a total loss of forty-seven. Three major Hollywood marriages became three major Hollywood divorces. Various professional football, baseball and basketball stars were traded; some were ecstatic, some sued. In Alaska scandals were uncovered in the construction of the gas pipeline. Environmental groups succeeded in temporarily halting construction of three new nuclear power plants. Two Amtrak trains collided head-on with no injuries. The Bay Area Rapid Transit system in San Francisco broke down twice in three days; the Long Island Railroad did the same. A blizzard hit much of the Midwest, paralyzing many cities and towns, closing schools, disrupting hospitals, causing twenty deaths. California’s drought grew worse. Women’s groups promised a renewed and more vigorous fight for an equal rights amendment. Liberation groups of all sexual persuasions and all racial backgrounds issued various statements on various subjects; the great majority of their countrymen muttered to themselves, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, enough, already!” Television series died, new were born. Autos were traded, new purchased. In 70 million homes 70 million couples worried about continuing inflation, the rising cost of food and shelter, the steady erosion of salaries, pensions, bank accounts. A Sioux Indian reached 105 and was suitably hailed. Wives suspected husbands, husbands suspected wives; both fretted for their children, exposed to deteriorating education and the rise of violence in hall and classroom. Some fortunate folk were in Florida, Southern California, Hawaii, the Caribbean, happily forgetting about it all. More had to stay home and were unable to forget anything.

Life went on.

Off somewhere on the edges there was a government, a new Congress, a new President, a young senator from California who seemed to be making noise and creating some stir with Uncle Walter and the folks in Televisionland. This aroused a mild interest out in the country but mostly it didn’t matter too much: there were too many pressing concerns right there at home. People were vaguely aware of what was happening in Washington but it wasn’t anywhere near as important as what was happening to the marriage, the kids and the bank account.

In Washington, however, politics, the company business, went on—Enormously Interesting, Excruciatingly Vital, Intensely Passionate, Terribly Involved, Frightfully Self-Centered and Self-Hypnotized—as always.

The conversations with and about him ran the gamut from concerned to enraged to admiring, and back again.

“Well, sir,” Jim Elrod said, the children fed and in bed, their parents and grandfather comfortably settled with pre-dinner drinks before a nicely blazing fire, a new snowstorm drifting down outside, “I must say you and your young friends really let me have it today, Mark. Yes, sir, you surely did. Feelin’ all right about it, are you?”

“I think we all are sir,” he replied evenly. “At least I feel all right about it, and I think, from what they said to me afterward, that Rick Duclos and Bob Templeton do, too.”

“Certainly got you a lot of publicity, anyway,” Senator Elrod said, gesturing toward the television set where the most trusted man in America had just exercised his nightly mandate with his usual calm paternal omnipotence. “Quite—a—bit.”

“You know how they are, Daddy,” Linda said. “The slightest thing contrary, corrupt or out of the ordinary and they blow it up into the biggest thing that ever happened.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say your husband is corrupt,” Jim Elrod said, amused, taking a sip of his customary martini, “but he’s certainly contrary, and I must say he’s out of the ordinary. In my day as a freshman senator nobody would have dared take on the chairman of Armed Services and the President of the United States all in one speech. Probably wouldn’t have dared take ’em on at all, as a matter of fact. Got to give you credit for guts, Mark. Just hope you aren’t takin’ your young friends down the garden path with you on an expedition that’s doomed to failure.”

“I don’t know about that, Jim,” he said sharply. “They’re grown men with their own minds. They didn’t have to follow. And how do you know it’s doomed to failure?”

“A little bird tells me,” Senator Elrod said dreamily, taking another sip. “How’s your martini doin’, Mark? Ready for another? I will be, in a minute.”

“In a minute,” he said, “but first I want to know if you have the votes, at this moment, to beat me on your bill.”

“Not yet,” Jim Elrod conceded with a deliberate complacency he knew would annoy. “But then, we aren’t votin’ yet. Got a long way to go in that old Senate, Mark. You’ll see.”

“I wish I were as confident as you are,” he said, rising to the bait in spite of himself. “I suppose that comes with age.”

“And knowin’ the Senate,” Jim Elrod said. “I’m not really all that old, you know, but I have been around a while and I do know that Senate. Not, of course—here, let me take your glass. Not, of course,” he repeated as he stood up, went to the bar and mixed them both another, “that I’ve got it sewed up yet. Oh no, I wouldn’t say that. But I’m workin’ on it. I’m workin’.”

“What do you think I’m doing?” Mark asked, smiling at his father-in-law as he accepted his glass. “Sitting still?”

“No,” Senator Elrod agreed as he sat down again. “You’re not sittin’ still. You’re gettin’ a lot of publicity. That is for damned sure.”

“Publicity helps, Daddy,” Linda said in an annoyed tone. “Stop baiting him. He’ll get the votes.”

“You need another drink, too,” her father said mildly. “Sorry I didn’t ask. I just got carried away by the enthusiasm of our young friend here. Here”—and he made as if to rise again—“let me—”

“I’ll get it, Daddy, she said, amused in spite of herself. “Save your strength. You’re going to need it for your bill.”

“Lots of publicity,” Senator Elrod said dreamily. “Lots of publicity. But how many votes, Mark? That’s what counts in the Senate, how many votes?”

“I don’t know yet, either, Jim,” he said as the phone rang in the den and he got up to answer it, “but I’m certainly not conceding at this point.”

“Me, either,” Senator Elrod said with relish. “Not one single, solitary vote.”

“Daddy,” Linda said, “you’re bluffing. You’re fighting the President, too, you know. It isn’t going to be easy.”

“Nobody ever said anything about easy,” Senator Elrod said. “I’m just talkin’ about end results.”

“Just talkin,” Mark echoed, with a smile that softened it. “Just talkin’, I think.”

“If that’s the President,” Jim Elrod called after him, “give him my love and tell him we’ve got to get together and consult about young Mark Coffin.”

“Ha!” he said, going into the den. “Ha!”

But it wasn’t the President. From California his father’s voice came over.

“Yes, Dad,” he said, pleased. “What’s up?”

“How is everybody?” his father asked first, always punctilious and proper.

“Great,” he said easily. “Linda’s great, the kids are great, Jim’s great, I’m great. How’s Mom?”

“She’s great, too,” his father said, allowing himself a slight touch of whimsy. “How’s Washington? Is it great?”

“You’ve read about it in the newspapers,” he said cheerfully. His father snorted.

“I’ve printed it, in my newspaper. I can’t say I’m too happy about it, though.”

“Why?” he asked, defensive. “I’m only doing what I think is right.”

“The governor called and—”

“He hasn’t called me,” he interrupted. “Let him call me if he has a gripe.”

“He has a gripe,” his father said. “I have too.”

“Don’t tell me you’re for Charlie Macklin!”

“Now, Mark, don’t pretend to be surprised, and don’t be disingenuous. You know Charlie and I are old friends.”

“But Attorney General—?”

“Why not? He’s a fine man.”

“Maybe, but he’s not fit to be Attorney General.”

“Why are you so rigid about it?” his father asked, exasperated. “Why are you so all-fired self-righteous? You’ve got a nerve, in my estimation!”

“Dad,” he said sharply, “Charlie Macklin has been anti-race, anti-Chicano, anti-gay, anti-you-name-it. He’s just anti-everything. He’s also been very lax with civil rights and civil liberties in cracking down on crime. He’s—”

“Who says all those things?” his father interrupted with equal sharpness. “All your friends in Washington? What proof do you have of all those things? I don’t mean slogans, I mean proof.”

“There’s proof,” he said, rather lamely. “He wouldn’t have that sort of reputation if there weren’t some fire along with the smoke.”

“That’s a weak argument to justify what you’re trying to do back there defying the President and getting yourself off on the wrong foot just because of a lot of slogans. You at least ought to have proof.”

“We’ll get the proof,” he said, remembering that he was now a senator with a senator’s weapons and procedures to protect him, “when we have the committee hearings. There’ll be plenty of proof then.”

“There’d better be,” his father said darkly, “otherwise California’s bright new senator is going to be a little tarnished, I’m afraid. I wish your mother and I had stayed in Washington after you were sworn in, instead of coming straight home.”

“Come on back,” he suggested. “I won’t mind. It’ll be good to have you around—a little distracting, if you’re going to stay on this kick, but fun.”

“I’m going to stay on it,” his father promised. “In fact, I’ve just put an editorial in type expressing considerable alarm and concern about whether California’s new senator is as right and well advised as he thinks he is on this matter. And on Jim’s bill.”

“Dad!” he said, shocked. “You don’t mean you’re going to attack your own son—”

“I’m not attacking you. I’m just raising a few questions and a little warning. Maybe you’d better think about them.”

“But I’m committed. I believe in what I’m doing! Don’t you see?”

“Maybe you’d better think about uncommitting,” his father said shortly. “Here’s your mother.”

But her conversation, soothing, comforting, disagreeing gently but still supportive, as was her custom, like most mothers, did not erase the surprise and pain much. His face was sober when he returned to the den.

“Was that—” Linda began.

“It was Dad,” he said grimly.

“He doesn’t like what you’re doing either, does he?” Senator Elrod asked after a shrewd glance.

“No, sir,” Mark said. “But I’m not going to stop doing it.”

Of this stout defiance, however, he was not so sure as the days rushed on and the controversy grew. Art Hampton took him aside in a manner fatherly but firm to suggest again that he might do well to slow down a bit: “You’ve made your independence clear you’ve established your position, you can afford to relax a little now.” His response was polite but equally firm until Art said with a sudden brisk cheerfulness, “Well, we’ll have to do some serious thinking about it, too. Right now I’m off to the Steering Committee to see about those committee assignments. Come see me any time if you want to talk about it some more.” Which left Mark, as Art intended, disturbed and confronted once more with the potential consequences of his actions. He could not quite believe that it could be done so crudely, but the nagging thought kept recurring that possibly he was just being naive: maybe it was always done that crudely, behind the scenes. Maybe the public just didn’t know what went on when the chips were down in Washington, D.C. But still he could not quite believe it—even though he knew, as Linda told him, that this was probably just because he didn’t want to believe it.

From his friends, of course, and from the media, he received continuing praise and the strongest kind of support. His publicity, as Jim Elrod frequently told him, “sure beats anything I’ve seen since the Kennedy boys first came here.” He was virtually a resident of most of the major programs and talk shows, his attitude respectful but unyielding toward the President-elect and his father-in-law. Approving editorials, editorial cartoons, flattering articles and encouraging news stories flowed his way from East Coast to West and many points between. Not a day, virtually not an hour, went by, that his countrymen were not reminded of what a brave, noble, courageous, outstanding, far-seeing, supremely worthwhile young senator Mark Coffin was. Cautionaries from the Sacramento Statesman and a few other disagreeing sources were lost in the chorus—the Hallelujah Chorus, as Rick Duclos, who with Bob Templeton was also getting a fair share of it, put it dryly. Rick, like Mark, Bob and every other freshman, was busy eighteen hours a day just mastering the routine of a senatorial office and the enormous and unforeseen demands of his constituency for all kinds of services; but even so he had already managed, as he confided with a cheerful grin, to bring his little blonde in the gallery to bed.

“She isn’t so much, though,” he reported with a sniff. “I don’t think I’ll bother to see her again. I think I can do a lot better around this Hill.” And was already proceeding, with a certain carefree gusto that was quite disarming, to do so.

Kal Tokumatsu and Clem Chisholm along with a good many other senators—not enough, Mark knew, to carry the day if a vote were held now, but a good base from which to work—were complimentary about his courage if not always entirely sure of its wisdom.

“I expect you have ’em sitting up nights down there at headquarters,” Kal said when they walked into the Senate a couple of days later. “Nothing quite so great for a new President, I imagine, as leaping on his white horse and finding a burr under the saddle. Has he talked to you yet?”

“Nope,” Mark said, “and I haven’t gone out of my way to talk to him.”

Clem laughed.

“I’ll bet you haven’t. I can’t think he’s very happy, though. In fact, I hear they’re really going to crack down on you in the committee assignments. I think you can probably kiss Foreign Relations good-bye, at least for a while. Maybe quite a while.”

“Well,” he said soberly, making no attempt to conceal his concern but firm nonetheless, “if that’s the way it’s got to be, that’s the way it’s got to be. I hope not.”

“You aren’t going to back down,” Clem said, watching him closely.

“No,” he said sharply. “I’m not going out of my way to make a speech every day about it, but I’m going to say what I think when the opportunity arises.”

“You’re risking a lot, friend,” Kal said, “but I admire you for it.”

“Then I can count on both your votes,” he said; and smiled, as did they; something he could not have done so calmly just two or three days ago. But he was growing fast.

“I’m leaning,” Kal said, “I’m leaning.”

“On me or for me?”

“I’m inclined to go with you, right now, I think,” Kal said slowly, “but I’m not quite ready to make a firm commitment. I want to see what the committee hearings bring out. And I want to see—”

“You want to see what the big boy in the White House will do to you if you defy him,” Clem interrupted, “and whether you think you can stand it, and how much it will hurt Hawaii.”

“Sure,” Kal said with a cheerful grin. “I’m no different from anybody else. I’ve got my own career and my own state to think about.”

“Me, too,” Clem agreed.

“And you don’t think I do?” Mark demanded. “You don’t think I’ve taken that into account? You think I’m just doing this light-heartedly?”

“Enthusiastically,” Clem corrected, but with a smile that removed the sting. “Of course you’re serious about it, Mark, nobody doubts that. And hell, you’re laying your career on the line—that’s brave enough. I don’t really think, at this early stage, that it’s going to hurt California very much. Nobody can afford to hurt California very much—too many voters there. So in a sense you’re relatively free, except for your own personal thing.”

“Which isn’t such a small matter,” Kal said soberly.

“That’s right,” Clem agreed. “Not so small.”

Back in his office later the same afternoon he received a call from Chauncey Baron. His voice as always was clipped, urbane, imperturbable. Mark realized with a little thrill of apprehension that this was the direct line from headquarters: the President-elect was finally making contact.

“Mark, my boy,” the Secretary of State-designate inquired with what appeared to be a genuine interest, “how are you doing?”

“Fine, thank you, Mr. Secretary,” he said, voice guarded.

“Chauncey, if you please. You know why I’m calling, of course.”

“Yes, Mr. Sec—Chauncey. I do. I—don’t really know that there’s much point in it, but I appreciate your taking the time.”

“I’ve been instructed,” Chauncey said cheerfully. “Of course you know that.”

“I suspected.”

“It’s quite true. He’s much upset, of course.”

“I’m not exactly the calmest I’ve ever been, either,” Mark admitted. “But I don’t suppose he’d believe that.”

“Oh, he appreciates your sincerity, never fear. That’s what makes you such a problem for him. He isn’t confronted with somebody like Jim Madison—if you will forgive a disrespectful reference to your distinguished colleague—who never says anything without testing the wind ten times and bowing to the White House—which he would dearly love to occupy himself some day, God forbid—at least ten more. The President realizes you mean it. That’s what makes you so difficult.”

“I don’t mean to be difficult,” he said, quite honestly. “I just mean to do what’s right.”

“As you see it, Mark, never forget that. As you see it.”

“How else does anybody do it? You have to have that conviction, otherwise you couldn’t do anything. Or at least I couldn’t.”

“He wants me to tell you that if you will drop your opposition to Macklin—not to Jim Elrod’s bill, now, you understand you’re together on that, such is the way of politics—but to Macklin, then he’ll make sure you get on Foreign Relations, and he’ll also co-operate with you on whatever you want for California—within reasonable limits, that is.

“Oh sure,” Mark said impatiently, “I understand that. He has his priorities and necessities too. I don’t expect him to buy me off with a plateful of goodies for California.”

“How about Foreign Relations?”

“You know how I feel about that.”

“But you won’t yield.”

“Not until he tells me himself why he wants Macklin so. And I don’t mean by that that I’m so egotistical that I won’t be satisfied unless I get soothed by the President himself. I really want to know. It’s bewildering to me, this appointment. I simply do not see how he rationalizes it. And he’s the only man who can tell me, Chauncey, I’m sorry. I like and respect you, and I enjoy talking to you, but you aren’t the man who’s doing it. I’ve got to hear it from him, okay?”

“Okay,” Chauncey Baron said, conceding with the grace learned from a hundred international conflicts and conferences, the grace that runs away but plans to fight another day. “I’ll tell him that and I don’t think he’ll mind at all. When should he call you?”

“Oh hell, Chauncey! I’m not that much of a prima donna. Whenever it suits his schedule, of course. I’m around.”

“It may be tomorrow.”

“That’s fine.”

“Just don’t give out any more inflammatory statements in the meantime, okay? How about a truce?”

“All right,” he said, his voice relaxing and sounding quite amused and amiable. “It’s a deal.”

How hard to keep, he found out a few minutes later when Mary Fran came in to announce Lisette, Chuck Dangerfield and Bill Adams. He frowned.

“I wonder—”

“Better see them,” she advised, “otherwise they’ll just go away and put out a lot of speculation.”

He sighed.

“Yes, I suppose so. Send them in … and what,” he asked with what he hoped was a disarming grin as they entered, “can I do for you ghouls of the media today?”

“Tell us how you’re being beaten bloody by the President,” Lisette said with equal cheerfulness. “What else?”

“But I’m not.”

“Oh, come on, Mark,” Bill Adams said. “Our people down at the hotel pick up all sorts of rumors about how furious he is with you.”

“Well, passing them along,” he pointed out mildly, “is not exactly calculated to strengthen my resolve, is it. And of course it’s no story for you at all if my resolve does weaken. Then it becomes just one more legislator giving in to pressure from the White House. So in your own interests, it would seem to me—”

“You are clever,” Lisette said with mock admiration. “You are clever. Are they still twisting your arm with the Foreign Relations assignment? You aren’t going to get it.”

“Not even if I get down and crawl on my knees all the way down Pennsylvania Avenue?”

“Nope. It’s all been decided.”

“Lisette,” Chuck inquired with some exasperation, “who told you that?”

“It’s just going around,” she said lightly. “The President and Baron and Hampton and Elrod and a few others have already decided it.”

“Then I’m free to do exactly as I damned please, aren’t I?”

“Good for you,” Chuck said. “That’s the way to handle her.”

“Nobody has to ‘handle’ me,” she said. “I’m just telling what I hear. Anyway, the pressure is on, isn’t it?”

“Well, obviously,” he said with a patient air, “he doesn’t like it, and obviously I’m being informed of that in various ways. But nothing’s changed on either side.”

“He’s still expecting you to come around,” she said.

“And you aren’t coming,” Chuck said. “I approve of that, Mark, I really do.”

“Oh, so do I,” Lisette said. “Hooray for Mark Coffin. But I want to know where you go from here.”

“I don’t go anywhere. Here I am, here I stay. Je suis, je reste. What else would I be expected to do?”

“You could give up the pretense that you’re making a real fight of it and give in before they do you real damage,” Bill Adams suggested in his half-lazy, half-blunt way. “That might make more sense in the long run. Short run, too.”

“Listen,” he said, letting a little real annoyance come into his tone, “I’m not giving in, isn’t that clear? I’m not giving in on Macklin, I’m not giving in on Jim’s bill. You’ve been around this Hill a long time, Bill. You ought to be able to spot a guy who means what he says.”

“I can, I do. I admire you for it, Senator. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just wondering what’s going to happen to you as a result of it, that’s all.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“So you aren’t budging.”

“No.”

“Good for you,” Chuck said. “Good for you.”

“You really think it’s a bad nomination,” Lisette said thoughtfully. “You really don’t think Jim Elrod’s bill makes sense.”

“Look. I’m not going to make any more statements—”

“Oh, they’ve got you to concede that much, have they?”

“I am not going to make any more statements,” he repeated patiently, “or elaborate on what I’ve said already, until the nomination comes up to the Senate. If it does.”

“Have they given you any indication he might withdraw it?” Bill asked quickly as they all became alert for his answer.

He laughed.

“You guys! No, they haven’t given me any indication of that. Not that it wouldn’t be a bad idea, of course—”

“May we quote you?” Chuck asked with equal quickness—they thought they had their story now. He knew he must disabuse them of it fast.

“You may not quote me on that but I will give you this,” he responded, and phrased it with care. “ The President-elect has every right in the world to appoint anyone he pleases to his administration. The Senate has an equal right to pass upon those nominations. If the President-elect feels he absolutely must have Mr. Macklin, then he should certainly go ahead with his nomination. By the same token, those of us who disagree can be expected to stand by our disagreement ….’ You might check that last with Senator Duclos and Senator Templeton, but I think they’ll agree. And that is all that I, at least, am going to say until the nomination actually comes up to the Senate and we have a chance to consider it formally, both in committee and on the floor.”

“So you all can just run along and peddle your papers,” Lisette said, mocking the somewhat didactic tone with which he concluded.

“You all can run along and do exactly that,” he echoed cheerfully. “And don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

“Is that a promise?” Lisette asked with an exaggerated coyness that made them all laugh. “Oh, Senator!”

“Go see Rick,” he suggested with an impersonal smile that conceded no intimacy as he stood up to conclude the interview. “He’s in the market.”

“Rick!” she said with a sniff. “You tell your friend Rick he’d better watch his p’s and q’s. People are talking already.”

“Well, there’s a good scandal coming up, then. Isn’t that what you people want?”

“Oh, we have more to us than that, Mark,” Bill Adams remarked, not altogether pleased. “We’ll see you around.”

“No doubt,” he said. “Drop in anytime.”

Which, he supposed, probably left them, or at least Bill and Lisette, a little offended. He told himself he didn’t mind offending Lisette—hell, the more offense, the better, if it would get her out of his hair—although he had to admit that today she had been pretty much all business, the sharp no-nonsense reporter she was in her professional incarnation. But he didn’t want to offend Bill, whom he liked and respected. Or Chuck, whom he felt already he could rely upon. Chuck was a true believer who thought Mark Coffin was the greatest thing to hit the Capitol. He must go out of his way to cultivate Chuck. “Washington Inside” was a column that packed a terrific amount of weight throughout the country: a vicious enemy but a powerful friend. He’d have to arrange something soon with Linda and Chuck and his wife, Bridget—dinner out someplace, full of intimate talk, exchanged political thoughts, inside gossip. He would be the learner and Chuck the teacher of the arcane ways of Washington; the sort of thing that would secretly thrill Chuck in spite of his professional cool.

God, he told himself, I’m getting cynical. And I’ve only been in office four days.

The ironies of this must have been reflected in his face when Brad Harper, closely trailed by Mary Fran, came into his office the minute the others had gone; because Brad said,

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know,” he said, adopting a noncommittal expression. “Is anything?”

“It must be. You had a strange look on your face.”

“Probably just life in Washington. That’s both strange and funny.”

“It is that,” Brad agreed, “but what aspect, at the moment?”

“The persistence of the press,” he said. “Questions and answers, the longest-running game in town.”

“Did they pin you down on anything?”

He smiled.

“Don’t worry, Brad, I’m learning. They didn’t get much. They are a persistent bunch, though. What do you two hear around?”

“About what?” Brad asked with a sudden caution that seemed unnecessary and exaggerated.

“About me. What else?”

“You’re the talk of the office buildings and the cafeterias, I can tell you that,” Mary Fran said with a laugh. “Topic A, all over the Senate side of the Capitol.”

“Favorable or unfavorable?”

“Mixed,” Brad said.

“Favorable,” said Mary Fran.

His glance was amused.

“Well, which is it?”

“Maybe more mixed than favorable,” Mary Fran conceded. “You’re a big sensation, though, there’s no doubt of that. In fact, about six more reporters have called in the last hour or so and want to see you.”

“I think I’ll skip any more media today,” he said; and in response to Brad’s surprised and somewhat alarmed look, added, “I gave Lisette and Bill and Chuck a short statement, and I think maybe I’ll just have you type it up and take it over to the Press Gallery for me and then everybody will have it.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Mary Fran said.

“I don’t know,” Brad said slowly. “I think I’d see them if I were you. Some of them get offended awfully easily. I can sit in with you if you like.”

“Brad,” he said dryly, “we’ve settled that. Mary Fran, let me dictate it to you—”

When he had finished, Brad still disapproving, he asked what they had on the schedule for the rest of the day. Fifteen or twenty appointments surfaced, most of them with constituents seeking some form of redress or appeal against the government.

“Lord,” he said, “is it always like this?”

“Always,” Brad said. “And as soon as you get on some committees, you’ll have them to worry about too.”

“What do you hear about that?”

Brad’s expression became guarded again.

“Well—”

“I hear you aren’t going to get what you want,” Mary Fran said, “because you’re a bad boy. You may wind up on Interior, though, and possibly District Affairs.”

“Does everybody know what I want?” he asked with more apparent wonderment than he really felt. He was already beginning to appreciate the Washington grapevine, which apparently knew all, saw all and told all.

“Things get around,” Mary Fran said. “Particularly things that are unpleasant, or frustrate somebody, or make somebody unhappy. Kind gossip,” she added, her eyes suddenly somber, “is a rare thing, in Washington.”

“What do you two think about it? You’ve been around here a long time. Am I right to oppose Jim Elrod and the President?”

“One at a time, maybe,” Brad said. “I’m not so sure I would have taken them both on at once. Perhaps if we could have talked it over before you decided, I might have been able to help you.”

“I’ve talked it over with some good people—not that you aren’t one of them, Brad,” he added hastily as his administrative assistant gave him a sudden sharp glance, “but I mean people like Jim himself, for instance. And the President. And some of my colleagues in the Senate.”

“Did they tell you to do it?” Mary Fran asked.

“Nobody exactly told me to do it or not to do it. I would say the consensus was that it wasn’t very wise.”

“Why did you, then?” she asked. And Brad echoed,

“Yes. Why did you?”

He gave them a direct and open look.

“Because I believe it’s right.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Mary Fran smiled.

“Well, if that’s it, that’s it, I guess.”

“That’s it.”

She gave a humorous shrug.

“I guess there isn’t much we can do, Brad.”

“I wish you had talked to me,” Brad said.

“Drop it,” Mark said, but not too harshly. “I didn’t. So let it go.”

“All right,” Brad said. “As long as you’re entirely confident and don’t need any help and support—”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied quietly. “I’m not that bull-headed. I’ll need a lot of it, I suspect, particularly from my staff. I hope I’ll have it.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Brad said.

“I hope so,” he said, rather shortly, as the phone rang and one of the new girls Mary Fran had hired just yesterday—Margaret, he believed her name was—said breathlessly in his ear, “A Mr. Macklin is calling you, Senator.”

“Oh?” he said, putting his hand over the receiver, gesturing the others out. “Hold him a minute.”

“Anybody important?” Brad asked as he reached the door. “Want me to listen in?”

“I do not!” he said with a sudden open annoyance that provoked from Brad another sharp glance. “I never want you to, unless I specifically tell you to.”

“I used to do it automatically for Senator Smith,” Brad explained. “I thought maybe you wanted me to do the same thing. I wasn’t trying to be nosy.”

“Never unless I tell you,” he repeated, his eyes meeting those of Mary Fran, who winked. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ll handle things like that.”

“All right, Mark,” Brad said stiffly. “As you like.”

“Thank you,” he said, face impassive; waited until the door had closed behind them, and said, “Now, Margaret—”

“Senator?”

“Where are you, Mr. Macklin?” he asked. “In California?”

“Yes,” Charlie Macklin said. “I’d much prefer to be having this interview with you in person, but your father asked me—”

“Oh, my father did.”

“Yes, he did. He asked me to call you right away. And I’m glad to do it. I want to know why you hate me, Senator. My relations with your father have always been most friendly. You and I haven’t met very often, but we have met, you remember, now and then over the years. I always thought we were friendly, too. Now comes this big hate campaign against me. I don’t understand it.”

“It isn’t a hate campaign at all,” he said, feeling a sudden weariness. “I just don’t feel you’re qualified for the office, that’s all. It’s quite simple. It’s really quite simple.”

“Why aren’t I qualified, Senator?”

“ ‘Mark,’ if you prefer. I should think that would be obvious.”

“It isn’t obvious to my mind, Mark; otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to accept the appointment.”

“No,” he conceded, “I expect it isn’t. In your mind you’ve probably done a really good, bang-up job for the people of L.A. all these years.”

“I’ve done my best,” Charlie Macklin said reasonably. “I don’t think anyone can fault me on diligence or attention to duty; or on success in getting convictions, either. Certainly those aren’t bad qualities to have in the A.G.’s office.”

“Fine qualities. It’s the way you go about things, that’s all. You’ve been pretty ruthless, from what I hear.”

“Only against enemies of the community, Mark. That’s been my job. Just as it’ll be my job there, if I’m confirmed.”

“Do you think you will be?”

“I expect to be, yes. That’s why it probably is a good idea for us to talk. We may have to get along with each other later. I wouldn’t want us to come out of this permanent enemies.”

“Listen!” Mark said. “I’m not your enemy and I’m not engaged in any hate campaign. I just don’t believe you’re right for this job…And I don’t believe either, incidentally, that you’ve got it sewed up. There are quite a few of us who have doubts. This thing is just beginning.”

“True enough,” Charlie Macklin said. “That’s also why it’s a good idea for us to talk. What will it take to get you to let up on me?”

“Listen!” he said again with a rising exasperation. “I’m not up for sale, Mr. Macklin!”

“ ‘Charlie.’ If you prefer.”

“All right, Charlie! I’m not up for sale. There isn’t anything at this point that anybody can give me that will make me ‘let up’ on you. It’s a matter of conviction with me.”

“Based on a reputation I’ve been given in certain segments of the media, I think. Not based on any facts, because you don’t really know any.”

“I know what your record has been.”

“You know what it’s been reported to be. Unless you’d been in my office every day, how could you know what it really’s been? A lot of things don’t get reported, you know, and a lot of things that do get twisted and distorted according to the reporter’s or editor’s bias. Why don’t you give me a chance to present my case to you, instead of dismissing me out of hand?”

“You’ll have your chance in the Judiciary Committee. I intend to be there.”

“After doing me as much damage as you can in the meantime, before I’m even formally nominated. That’s not a very fair senator, Mark. Not one who comes in with the reputation for honesty and fairness that you have.”

“Maybe that’s been misrepresented too, Charlie.”

“Maybe it has,” Charlie Macklin said crisply, “but if so you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

There was silence while Mark digested that. He did not find it palatable but it made one thing obvious: if he had retained any lingering thought that Charles Macklin might retire of his own volition and not make a fight of it, he knew better now.

“Well,” he said finally, “I’m sorry if you consider me harsh and unfair—”

“ ‘Young’ might be the better word.”

“—and young. All I can say is I am sorry for that. But I have decided that you are not fit to be Attorney General—qualified, maybe, but not fit: there’s a difference—and I have already gone on record opposing you. I can’t back down now, even if I wanted to; and I don’t.”

“An honest man can always back down and admit he’s made an honest mistake.”

“If he has.”

“You’re making one with me, Mark, and you’re going to suffer for it…You won’t possibly consider withdrawing your opposition and letting the Senate decide this on my own merits?”

“That’s what the Senate will decide it on.”

“And you won’t back off.”

“No. Will you?”

“No … All right, Mark. I’ll tell your dad it didn’t work, just as I expected. See you in the Judiciary Committee.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Come in swinging,” Charlie Macklin said with a certain fatherly zest, “because I will too.”

“Thank you for calling,” Mark said evenly.

“My duty,” Charlie Macklin said. “Not my pleasure, Mark, but my duty. Good-bye.”

Fifteen minutes later, just as he was beginning to sign the first batch of letters to constituents that Mary Fran had left on his desk, the buzzer sounded again.

“Christ!” he said aloud. “Does everybody have to be after me today? Yes, Mary Fran, who is it … Oh, really. Well, well. Put him on.”

Youthful, challenging, filled with a certain professional earnestness and a certain smugly superior self-confidence, the voice of the governor of California bridged the continent.

“Mark, you son of a gun! How the hell are you!”

“I’m fine, Larry,” he said calmly. “How are you?”

“Oh, fine, fine, fine. Helen and I are just going over material for drapes—we’re having the dining room in the mansion done over, you know—very vital and important to the people of California. So how the hell are you?”

“You aren’t listening. I said I’m fine. You said you’re fine. So I guess we’re both fine. And give my love to Helen.”

“She knows she has it, boy, she never doubts it for a minute. What do I have?”

“Well, you don’t have my love, exactly,” he said with a chuckle, though a cautious one, because who knew what the tricky bastard had up his sleeve this time? “But you sure have my rapt attention. What’s this all about?”

“Charlie just called me,” the governor said, abandoning the persiflage and getting down to business. “He’s an unhappy boy, old Charlie. You’ve made him unhappy.”

“Did he sob?”

“Mark. Now, Mark. Be serious. I said he was unhappy.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” the governor said thoughtfully. “Hellishly so. Aren’t you?”

“No, not at all. I’m just back here signing letters to constituents and humming a simple little happy song to myself. What am I supposed to be unhappy about?”

“You’re so independent,” the governor said, “now that you’ve won your damned election. It makes you so difficult to talk to.”

“Not at all,” he said cheerfully, “not at all. Am I supposed to be concerned about what good old Charlie said to you?”

“You know what he said. He recounted your conversation virtually word for word.”

“Total recall is marvelous. I wish I had it.”

“You’d better recall a few things people say to you,” the governor said, allowing his voice to get its professionally tough tone, “or you’re apt to be in deep trouble.”

“Larry,” he said, “I really don’t understand your support of good old Charlie.”

“Orange County, buddy,” the governor hissed cheerfully. “Orange County! And little old ladies in tennis shoes—and gentlemen in Cadillacs—and all the people who are worried about crime in the streets, which is just about everybody—and the people who dislike minorities—and the great majority that is still very suspicious of the sexual orientation of adults who aren’t content with consenting in private any more but feel they have a right to force the whole wide world to look on and applaud—you know. The whole big bunch. Charlie holds the key to a lot of their hearts. I need ’em two years from now. Ergo, I need old Charlie. I need for old Charlie to get what old Charlie wants. Why don’t you help us out, instead of being a son of a bitch? I didn’t make you the candidate for senator to have you turn around and stab me in the back.”

“Stab you in the back, Larry, for God’s sake. What crap. What c-r-a-p. I’m not stabbing anybody in the back. I told Charlie to his face just what I’m telling you: I can’t support his nomination.”

“Ah, but you aren’t just not supporting—you’re out-and-out opposing. There’s quite a difference.”

“I’d be on the shucks list anyway, no matter how quietly I did it.”

“So you might as well make a really big fuss and get as much publicity as you can, right?”

“Isn’t that how you operate? I’ve got a good mentor in Sacramento, you know.”

“Funny, fuuuu-nnny. I’ve raised up a viper in my bosom, I can see that. What will it take to buy you off?”

“I’m not buyable at this point. There was some talk I might be given Foreign Relations if I was a good boy, but now I hear that’s gone down the drain. So I’m free and clear, with nothing to lose.”

“I don’t think it’s gone down the drain yet. That’s not what I hear. And you still have a lot to lose.”

“What?” he asked, a sudden impatient scorn coming into his voice, first open indication of the growing tension he was under. “What have I got to lose?”

“Well, your standing with the new administration, for one thing. The deep freeze—the leper treatment—the out-in-the-cold. I can’t predict exactly every aspect it’s going to have, but you’ll sure as hell know it’s there. You’ll be on the outside looking in, and that’s going to be very bad for California and very damned bad for you. You aren’t in any picnic, you know. You aren’t playing with the Little Leaguers. This is the big league now. Things get rough. Mr. White House is mad as hell at you—he called me and told me so. He said what the hell was I going to do about it? I said I wasn’t sure, but I’d talk to you. So I’m talking. Am I getting anywhere?”

“Not really.”

The governor sighed, an exaggerated and rather stagey sound, as most of his expressions were exaggerated and rather stagey.

“Mark, Mark! What are we going to do with you?”

“Leave me alone,” he suggested tartly. “I’m doing okay.”

“I wish you’d see it our way,” the governor said, making himself sound wistful and regretful. “I hate to think of anything happening to you.”

“Nothing’s going to ‘happen’ to me,” he said, again impatient. “I may get stomped on a bit, but if that happens I’ll pick myself up and go on from there. I don’t think it will hurt me permanently. Also, Larry, there’s just the chance, you know—just the chance—that we may not lose this fight. Good Old Charlie may be beaten. Jim Elrod’s bill may be beaten. I may be the king of the mountain after all. I’m not saying it’s going to happen, you understand, but there is the chance, Larry. Just the chance.”

“I know there is,” the governor said. “That’s what scares the hell out of the rest of us … Damn, I wish you and Linda were here to help Helen and me select these drapes. It’s one hell of a tedious job for a man, but she insists I participate. The things I do for our great state.”

“Thanks for calling, Lar,” he said. “Got to get back to my constituents and my happy little tune now.”

“Have a jolly hum,” the governor said, “and give at least a little thought to not being such a son of a bitch.”

The next call, he knew, was inevitable, and twenty minutes later it came. The voice was hearty and cordial, the mood apparently expansive; and Mark was instantly wary.

“Mark! What’s up on this gloomy, snowy afternoon?”

“Just signing some mail, Mr. President. How about you?”

“Oh, busy, busy, busy—people, people, people—phone calls, phone calls, phone calls.”

“Yes, I imagine.”

“Aren’t you curious who’s called me?”

“I know, because he talked to me about twenty minutes ago. You’re following him like the night the day, Mr. President.”

“Mark, you’re a sharp one. Well: you know, then how concerned we all are about your opposition to Charlie Macklin.”

“I’m not the only one opposed,” he said with some sharpness. “Why is everybody pounding on me? Why don’t you talk to Rick Duclos and Bob Templeton? They’ve made speeches and statements, too.”

“In every situation, Mark,” the President-elect explained, his voice suddenly quite serious, deliberately shorn of its calculating charm, “there’s a leader. There’s somebody who stirs it up and leads the parade. If you can get to that one man and turn him around, you can quite frequently stop the parade. At least that’s what I found with the legislature back home when I was governor, and I imagine it’s true on the Hill, too. Don’t you think I’m probably right?”

“I haven’t really been here long enough to find out. But probably.”

“In your case I’m sure of it. You’re such a novelty item anyway—youngest, newest, freshest, most independent, most exciting, most visible—you pick the adjectives, Mark: you’ve got ’em all. So naturally if a parade begins and you want to get in it, you’re going to be considered the leader. Which of course you are because you made the first speech and you seem to be coordinating the strategy.”

“We haven’t got any strategy,” he said with a half-laugh. “Except to fight like hell.”

“Why?”

“Well—I just don’t like him, I just don’t think he’s fit to be A.G., that’s all.”

“Why don’t you like him?”

“Mr. President,” he said, amusement fading, annoyance beginning to predominate, “you tell me why you do like him. That’s what baffles me. If I understood that better, I might at least be able to appreciate your position. As it is, it completely puzzles me. You’re supposed to be the great new liberal President, and here you are nominating a man who is up-tight on practically everything a liberal is supposed to believe in. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Mark, I think you’re being deliberately disingenuous. You’ve studied the American government, taught it, written about it, analyzed it, interpreted it—you know how a President puts his Cabinet together. It’s practically never a perfect slate of demigods; there’s always some equivocal ones in the bunch, and the reason for it is plain and simple politics. I make no apologies for that, and you have no right to expect me to: that’s the way things are. The governor of California—and, I’m convinced, a very large proportion of the people of California—like this man. I need the governor’s support. I need the people of California. And so, I might point out, do you, even if you do think that just because you’re brand-new, and the media’s hero, and are just a few days into a six-year term, you don’t. You do need popular support—and I don’t mean media support, because there’s a limit to how effective that can be, in the long run. You may sacrifice that, too, you know, in this fight.”

“Six years is a long time,” he said. “A lot can be forgiven by the time six years are up.”

“Not by me,” the President-elect said quietly.

“Is that a threat?” he demanded angrily. “Because if so—” He paused.

“What?”

“Well,” he concluded rather lamely, “I won’t be stopped by that.”

“No, I expect not,” the President-elect said, his voice calm and reasonable. (“We hear he’s furious with you,” Bill Adams had said.) “Anyway, I’m not making any threats: it’s just the truth, I won’t forget it. That doesn’t mean I’ll do anything about it, it just means that, for all the talk about forgiving and forgetting in politics, there are some things you just don’t forgive and forget, that’s all. I imagine we’ll go right on working together on a lot of things—your father-in-law’s bill, for instance.”

“Just as he will probably work with you on this nomination, I suppose,” he said, his tone sounding more youthfully bitter than he knew.

“That’s right,” the President said, “he probably will. That’s the way it goes, one day this parade, tomorrow that parade.”

“I find it very confusing,” Mark admitted with a certain honest naiveté that brought a quite friendly chortle from the other end of the line.

“It is, Mark. Oh, it is. Now—look: do me one favor, will you? Just go a little easy in this until the man is actually nominated, his name is actually before the Senate, the hearings can be held. All right?”

“I’ll just have to see. I don’t expect there’ll be too many opportunities to say anything in the next few days. I believe we’re only going to have a session tomorrow, and then you get inaugurated two days later, and there we are. There won’t be much occasion.”

“Oh, you’ll have occasion if you want it. The reporters will be after you all the time, you know that. All you have to do is pick up the phone and issue a statement. It’ll be very hard for you not to, as a matter of fact. But I think it would only muddy the waters.”

“I take it,” he said slowly, “that you have no idea whatsoever of withdrawing the nomination.”

“None.”

“Then I warn you, Mr. President, I have no intention whatsoever of withdrawing my opposition.”

“Fair enough, fair enough. But let’s keep the argument down to a reasonable roar, shall we, for the next several days? Once I’m in office and Charlie is before the Senate, then we can go at it hot and heavy, if you like. But for now—I’d appreciate it if we could both keep relatively quiet on the subject. I will.”

“Well—” He hesitated, and was instantly challenged.

“You don’t trust me, right?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied carefully. “It’s just that I—well, I can keep quiet, but how can I prevent Rick Duclos and Bob Templeton, and probably a good many others, from sounding off?”

“You can persuade them, if you will.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Try, Mark. For the sake of what I hope will be our future amicable relations, whatever the outcome of this—try. Will you do that for me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I have the right to ask,” the President-elect said with perfect dignity. “Thank you for considering it.”

“It isn’t personal against you,” Mark said, prompted by some sudden urge that made him, to his annoyance, sound apologetic, awkward and young. “It’s just that I don’t like him.”

“I understand. Come see me if you get the chance. If not, I’ll probably see you at Inauguration. And often after that, I hope.”

“I hope so, Mr. President. Good luck.”

“You, too,” the President-elect said cheerfully, and rang off.

Which left him with an uneasy, unhappy feeling that he hadn’t really accomplished anything and might be simply playing into the hands of one older, craftier and more ruthless than himself. Still, the President-elect had promised to refrain from further comment if Mark would. And Mark had virtually promised to try to hold his colleagues in check, as well. So, he realized, he had given more than the President had; and he had no certainty that the President would keep his word … And—

He shook his head impatiently. One could go on analyzing and second-guessing and being suspicious forever. Somewhere it had to stop. He would assume the President was dealing in good faith. He would proceed in that fashion himself.

This should have made him feel better. Suddenly, however, he needed reassurance and called home. Linda answered, a little breathless.

“Hi,” he said.

“Oh, hello,” she said, sounding pleased. “How’s it going?”

“Lots of phone calls from prominent people trying to make me change my mind.”

“Are you?”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t.”

“I don’t plan to. What’s with you?”

“I’m gradually getting things moved from here to the new house.”

“Do you have any help?”

“Linnie and Markie and Joseph, Dad’s gardener, who can’t do much with the snow on the ground and needs some extra jobs. We’re managing. About another day, I figure.”

“Good. I’m sorry I can’t be there to help, but—”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m just a Capitol Hill wife, doing all the odd jobs while you stay there and save the country…Any interviews today?”

“Oh sure,” he said, his tone in spite of himself becoming guarded. “The usual bunch.”

“The usual bunch,” she repeated; then for some reason unknown to him decided to drop it and asked in a matter-of-fact tone, “Did you give them anything startling?”

“No, just that I’m standing firm. The same thing I told the President.”

“He didn’t like it.”

“No, but he was polite, and so was I. Larry called, though, and he was something else.”

“He’s always something else.”

“Yes… Well, I just wanted to check.”

“We’re doing fine,” she said. “When are you coming home?”

“Pretty soon.”

“It’s almost six now.”

“I know. I’ll be there.”

“Don’t make it too late,” she said, trying to sound light but not quite succeeding. “Daddy’s here already.”

“I won’t,” he said. “Just a few more things to finish up, and then I’ll be right along. I never realized the detail there is in a senatorial office.”

“There’s certainly a lot,” she said politely; and, with some emphasis, “See you soon.”

And that, he thought as he hung up, was just about what he might have expected. Despite her enthusiastic support for his political course, and the impact his speech in the Senate had made upon her, there had been a distinct reserve ever since the unfortunate moment she had surprised him and Lisette in the President’s Room, apparently engaged in the chummiest kind of chat. He had to admit honestly that they had been. He had attempted to explain that he hadn’t initiated it, but after being greeted with a cool reserve had dropped the subject. He and Linda had been circling one another warily ever since. God damn Lisette, anyway. She was a selfish and determined bitch, and he repeated to himself his determination to keep her at arm’s length, and to keep their relationship strictly professional, impersonal, completely uninvolved.

Armored by that defiant reiteration, he completed signing his letters, checked tomorrow’s schedule with Brad and Mary Fran, dismissed them and the office staff, put on his overcoat and hat, turned off the lights, locked the door and started down the deserted, dimly lit corridor. Far down at the end a figure casually leaning against the wall near the elevator straightened up and came cheerfully toward him.

“Well!” she said. “It’s taken you a long time to wind up work. I’ll bet we’re almost completely alone on this floor. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Wildly.”

“Good,” she said, voice amused, linking her arm in his. “Shall we go back in your office and have mad sex, or would you like to settle for a quick drink at the Monocle before you go home to the wife and kiddies?”

“My blood pressure couldn’t stand either one,” he said. “Why aren’t you home in bed with someone?”

“Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my. Now he’s getting nasty. What have I done”—striking a dramatic pose as she marched him along toward the elevator—“what have I done to deserve this?”

“Nothing but be your sweet, innocent, usual self…I thought you wanted to go back to the office.”

“Oh,” she said, pulling them to a halt, turning to stare at him with exaggerated wide-eyed breathlessness. “Do you? I didn’t really think—”

“That’s good,” he said firmly, resuming their march, “because you shouldn’t really think. No, I thank you very much, Miss Grayson, but I can’t accept either of your invitations, because the wife and kiddies, as you persist in calling them, are indeed waiting for me at home. Can I drop you off somewhere?”

“I have my own car,” she said as they came to the senators’ elevator and he punched the button. “But I still think the drink would be a nice idea. I’m not pressing you on the other. It will come.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

She gave a happy little trill of laughter as the elevator arrived and they stepped in. One of the many student operators was on late duty, recognized him, and spoke.

“Working late, Senator.”

Lisette uttered a wicked little giggle, and in spite of himself, and to his great annoyance, he felt himself blushing.

“Yes,” he said brusquely; and then with a hasty matter-of-factness, “I never realized how much there is to do in one of those offices. It’s really something.”

“Really something,” Lisette echoed with a deep chuckle. The boy looked at them both sharply as they reached the ground floor.

“Well, don’t work too hard, Senator,” he said. “And you, too, Miss—”

“Lisette Grayson of ABC,” she said, articulating each syllable carefully.

“Miss Grayson,” he said. “Good night.”

As they stepped out, she tried again to take his arm but he shook it off angrily and strode toward the door. “Good night, Senator,” the guard said and held it open for them. “And good night, Miss—”

“Lisette Grayson of ABC,” he said sharply. “Be sure you remember that.”

“Why, yes, Senator,” the guard said in a puzzled voice. “I will.”

Outside she tried to take his arm again but again he shook it off.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked in a cold and circumspect voice.

“The Monocle’s just a short step away,” she pointed out. “Sure you really wouldn’t like—”

“Everybody would see us there,” he said shortly, and regretted it at once because it sounded too much like complicity … and maybe—maybe—it was. She took it so, of course.

“On the other hand, if everybody sees us, nobody’s going to think there’s anything going on.”

“There isn’t anything going on!” he snapped angrily, while the steady gentle snow drifted down upon them in the glow of the lamps by the office building door.

“Not yet,” she said with a little gurgle of laughter.

“And not ever,” he said, still angrily. “Do you want company to your car or not?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s in the Plaza parking lot anyway.”

“Oh, in that case,” he said impatiently, “come on back in and we’ll get mine and I’ll drive you over there. It’s too far to walk in this weather.”

“Okay.”

They went back inside, startling the guard, whom Lisette greeted cheerfully—to be rewarded by a cordial “Good night again, Miss Grayson!”—and took the stairs down to the garage level. For a couple of minutes as he walked briskly along and she followed with a protesting little laugh, he was silent.

“Well,” he said finally, “now that you’ve got the word going around the Hill that Senator Coffin and Lisette Grayson were ‘up to something pretty late the other night,’ I hope you’re happy.”

“Oh, I’d be much happier if it had actually happened.”

“Who gives a damn whether it did or not, now? The word will be around.”

“I give a damn,” she said, suddenly appearing to be completely serious, grave and quiet. “Don’t you?”

“No,” he said, giving her stare for stare, “I can honestly say I do not. Come on,” he added roughly, seizing her arm and pulling her forward. “The car’s right over there. Hop in.”

“Yes, sir,” she said obediently, did so, and said nothing further as he brought it out of the garage and onto the slippery snow-packed street.

“Near here?” he asked as they crept across the Plaza in front of the great white building. The East Front was floodlit, the dome looming ghostly above them in the gentle drift.

“Right over there,” she said, gesturing to one of the few remaining cars in the parking area. “Don’t bother to swing over, I can walk from here…Good night, Mark,” she said quietly, holding out her hand. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you.”

He sighed and for a moment refrained from taking her hand; then, at her hurt expression, did so.

“You haven’t. But you’ve got to cut it out, Lisette. I’m really not interested”; adding half-humorously, “I haven’t got the time.”

“Oh, if that’s the only reason,” she said, her voice suddenly light again and full of its mocking, cheerful note, “we can work that out!”

“Good night, Miss Grayson,” he said firmly. “Drive carefully.”

“You, too, Mark,” she said softly, getting out. “You, too, my dear.”

And strode swiftly away across the clinging whiteness toward her car, looking suddenly lonely and vulnerable—and somehow in a way he couldn’t quite define, a little odd, a little different, perhaps a little strange—-against the vast expanse of the deserted Plaza.

Oh, Christ, he thought, feeling the treacherous attractions of the world press in upon him. Oh, Christ.

***

Chapter 2

Next afternoon in the Senate he looked around for Rick when he came in but did not find him. Bob Templeton was seated alone a few chairs away, reading the Congressional Record while Hugh McGill of North Dakota made a heated speech denouncing the Environmental Protection Agency for its opposition to a proposed dam on the Little Missouri River. Mark went over and sat down beside Bob, who looked up with a pleased smile and shook hands.

“Hi. How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” Mark said, trying to keep his eyes from wandering to the gallery. He did not succeed: she wasn’t there. To his annoyance he felt sharp regret. God damn it, he told himself, come off it.

“You don’t look so fine,” Bob observed, giving him a shrewd glance. “What’s on your mind? Anything I can do to help?”

“Not yet,” he said wryly, “but the time may come, Bob. I’ll let you know.”

“Any time.”

Mark studied him for a moment.

“How are you doing?” he asked quietly. “Coming along all right?”

Bob Templeton sighed, a deep, unhappy sound; then managed a wan, self-deprecating smile.

“Yes. It isn’t exactly easy, but I’m getting along.” Abruptly his eyes filled with tears and he looked away.

“I know,” Mark said. “Or rather, I can imagine, I don’t know. Who could know?”

“You can’t,” Bob said in a muffled voice. “You just can’t know what it means to have—have them there … and then—then—they just—aren’t…You’re so—lucky—to have your—your wife and—children. Just be thankful and don’t ever let—anything—happen—to them.”

“I won’t,” he promised with a sudden fierceness that surprised them both. “I won’t.”

And instinctively he glanced up at the galleries again with an almost openly defiant and hostile expression. But again, she wasn’t there; and again, in spite of fierce determination, he felt a fleeting but sharp regret; followed instantly by a sharp, but ineffectual, self-disgust.

“Well,” he said, turning back quickly before his emotions really got the better of him, “I was wondering what you want to do today about the Macklin nomination and Jim Elrod’s bill.”

“I don’t know,” Bob said, welcoming the change of topic but sounding a little surprised. “I thought I’d just play it by ear and if anybody mentions either one, I’d put myself on record again. Are you planning another speech?”

“No,” he said carefully. “I think maybe it might be best if we just let it ride today, don’t you? Jim’s bill, anyway, isn’t the immediate issue; we’ll have a while to fight that. Charlie Macklin, I suppose, will be up here day after Inauguration.”

“Which means two days from now,” Bob pointed out. “Maybe it would be a good idea to keep his feet to the fire. Why don’t we say something today? I’m ready.”

“W-ell,” he said, still carefully, “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea, from a strategy standpoint. Maybe we should let it ride until he’s actually been nominated. We’ve made our point pretty strongly already, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” Bob said, beginning to get intrigued by his tone. “Sure. But I don’t see that it would hurt to let the President know—”

“He knows,” Mark said with a grim little laugh. “Hasn’t he been after you about it?”

“No, I haven’t heard from him or anybody around him; a lot of media, but nobody official. I guess they don’t think I’m all that big a factor in the situation … I take it he has been after you, though?”

Mark nodded. Bob smiled.

“You should be flattered. Obviously you are a major factor. Is that why you’re a little reluctant today?”

“I’m not reluctant,” Mark said, more sharply than he intended. Bob made a casual dismissing gesture with one hand.

“All right, all right. I’m not pressing you on it. You just seem to have cooled a little—which I can understand, if he makes the punishment too severe—or the rewards too great.”

“I don’t know what you hear,” Mark said, more vehemently than he knew he should, “but I don’t stand still for pressure.”

“But you can be appealed to as a gentleman, can’t you? He can reach you that way, I expect. Right?”

“He did ask me not to make too much of an issue of it until after Inauguration—until Charlie is actually before us up here. And he asked me to put the lid on the rest of you, too. Can I?”

Bob smiled.

“That’s an honest account. What did he offer in return?”

“He said he wouldn’t say anything either and we’d all just let it rest for the time being.”

“Believe him?”

Mark frowned.

“I don’t really know. I just decided I had to stop being suspicious, though, or I’d soon give myself a complex about this town.”

“It’s a tricky place,” Bob said thoughtfully. “So you think you have a bargain.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t matter much if the bargain weren’t kept—except that I’d kind of like to put him on the spot and see if he’ll keep it, and if maybe through that we can re-establish a certain amount of trust and good faith between us.”

“ ‘Re-establish?’ Well, yes, I suppose that’s the way to put it. And then you’ll get on the Foreign Relations Committee, too.”

“Lord knows—I don’t. But that isn’t why I’m soft-pedaling it now.”

“I believe you. A lot of people won’t, but the hell with ’em. I’m agreeable to keeping quiet today. I must confess, though, that I’ll be a little surprised if he does—if it suits him to sound off. But maybe I’m too suspicious. As you say, one can get a complex mighty fast around this town. Have you talked to Rick?”

“Where is he? I haven’t seen or heard from him in a couple of days.”

“Probably out laying every secretary on the Hill. I see young Pat over there. I wonder how they’re getting along these days. Did Johnny McVickers move in with him?”

“Yes, I think they’ve started sharing. Johnny says the situation is apparently about the same between Pat and his father. Too bad.”

“Yes, it is,” Bob said, the bleakness returning to his face for a moment. “He doesn’t really realize how lucky he is to—to have a son.”

“Now, stop that,” Mark told him sternly. “Just cut it out. That doesn’t do you any good.”

“I know, but for a while, I guess, I’m just not—not going to be able to help it.”

“I understand,” Mark said, squeezing his arm. “Hey!” he said briskly as he saw a familiar figure enter from the other side of the chamber. “There’s our hero, now.” He raised a hand, waved, and Rick came over. While he was crossing the Senate Mark again glanced surreptitiously at the gallery. Where was she? And again lowered his eyes in frustration and annoyance with himself. “Where have you been, lover boy?” he asked as Rick slumped into the seat beside him. “The country’s needed you badly in the past hour.”

“What, to listen to that crap?” Rick asked, gesturing toward Hugh McGill, still hot after the environmentalists. “I have better things to do.”

“Getting pretty high and mighty already, aren’t you?” Bob remarked. “Doesn’t take these newcomers long to become jaded old veterans, too bored to pay attention to what’s going on in the United States Senate. How’s your love life?”

“Now, there’s a question worthy of an answer,” Rick said with a grin. “But it’s not going to get one. What are we going to do about Charlie Macklin today, leader?”

“What do you want to do?” Mark parried.

“Oh-oh,” Rick said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Mark said. “Not a thing. I really just wonder: what do you want to do?”

“I want to make a speech and kick the hell out of him,” Rick said happily. “I just had a very nice lunch hour, and I’m rarin’ to go.”

“I thought that was supposed to relax you and put you to sleep,” Bob remarked.

“Not me,” Rick said. “It makes me feel like taking on the world. Specifically, Charlie Macklin. However, I detect a certain hesitation in our gallant commander, here. Methinks his brow is furrowed a bit. What the hell’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I said,” Mark repeated firmly. “You want to make a speech, make a speech.”

“But you don’t want me to,” Rick pointed out. “I knew something was wrong. What’s up?”

“He’s made an agreement with the Man.”

“What man? Oh, that man.”

“Yes,” Bob said, “that’s the one. They’ve agreed to a truce. Our commander buttons his lip and our Commander in Chief buttons his. Until after Inauguration when good old Charlie comes before us with a formal nomination.”

“You agreed to that?” Rick asked Mark. “I thought we were going to keep on kicking the hell out of him every hour on the hour until we ground him into the floor and he dried up and blew away. Not so, hmm?”

“I’m not going to say anything today,” Mark repeated. “You do as you please.”

“But obviously you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t control you.”

“That’s for sure,” Rick agreed, “but I do like you, you know. I do want your friendship. I don’t want to blow it all in one rash, immature, ill-considered, inexcusable—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Mark said, beginning to laugh in spite of himself.

“No, it’s true,” Rick said. “I don’t agree with you, but I’ll go along with it if it’s really that important to you.”

“It could mean Foreign Relations,” Bob said, and Rick nodded sagely.

“Ah-ha! Then we must protect our commander, Willoughby. We must not Let Him Down.”

“You bastards,” Mark said. “I don’t care, go ahead.”

“No, no,” Rick said. “Not a bit of it! All I can say is, however, our Commander in Chief damned well better keep his word with us or we’ll really raise hell. Right?”

“Right,” Mark agreed solemnly.

“Right,” Bob echoed.

So for the next couple of hours they kept silent, while Hugh McGill finished his speech and John Wilson of Utah and Herman Seeley of West Virginia got into an acrimonious discussion of whether or not Social Security taxes must be raised again, and Herb Esplin and Art Hampton sparred gracefully across the aisle about the schedule for the coming week’s business. During all that time Lisette did not appear in the galleries. It did not occur to him until almost four o’clock that this must be deliberate and of course she wouldn’t. Meanwhile, he told himself, he had been a dutiful fool and had gone through all the psychological and emotional changes she had intended he should. So much for that young lady … or so he told himself, stoutly.

It was nearing four-thirty and the session was beginning to wind down to a close when he wandered out into the east lobby to go to the men’s room and take an idle look at the news tickers as they chattered away with the latest news of doom and destruction.

“BULLETIN,” UPI reported. “The President-elect said today that he regards the confirmation of Charles Macklin, his appointee for Attorney General, as ‘vital to the success of my Cabinet and my Administration.’

“Talking to reporters during an impromptu news conference at his hotel, the President-elect scathingly dismissed ‘youngsters on Capitol Hill who show more enthusiasm than good judgment when they attack a fine public servant like Mr. Macklin.’ In an obvious reference to the ‘Young Turks’ of the Senate led by Senator Mark Coffin of California, he added that ‘some people perhaps need to be taken to the political woodshed and given a gentle spanking. I might just do that!’”

Oh, you just might! he thought angrily as he ripped the yellow paper off the roll and started back into the Senate with it. You just might! Well, what do you think we’ll do!

“Oh-oh,” Rick murmured to Bob Templeton as they saw him enter, the paper shaking in his hand, his face a study in dismay and indignation. “What do you bet the bargain isn’t being kept?”

“No bet. I didn’t believe it anyway…What is it? Did he—”

“The bastard’s attacking us!” Mark replied, so angry he could hardly articulate for a moment. “Read this!”

And he thrust it at them, sank into his seat, and glowered, while above in the galleries a number of alert reporters leaned forward as it seemed the dying session might come to life again.

“Not very nice of him,” Rick remarked dryly.

“Rather hostile, in fact,” Bob agreed.

“Well—” Mark said.

“Go get him!” they urged as he rose to his feet and called out sharply, “Mr. President! Mr. President!”

NEW SENATE ROW OVER MACKLIN. YOUNG TURKS CHARGE PRESIDENT-ELECT “BROKE HIS WORD” WITH STRONG DEFENSE OF NOMINEE. “HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO FIGHT HIM WITH EVERYTHING WE’VE GOT,” SAYS COFFIN.

“Jim,” the President-elect said to the senior senator from California, “how soon do you think your Judiciary Committee can get to work on Charlie Macklin?”

James Monroe Madison gave an important cough.

“The minute you send his name up here, Mr. President.”

“Good. And how soon can you get him to the floor?”

Senator Madison thought for a moment, importantly. “Oh, I’d say—two days.”

“Fine, Jim. Come down and see me soon. We’ve got to do some talking about California.”

“With pleasure,” Jim Madison said. “With pleasure!”

“Art,” the President-elect said to the Senate Majority Leader, “I’ve just talked to Jim Madison and he thinks Judiciary Committee can get to work on Charlie Macklin day after Inauguration and have his name out to the floor in a couple of days. Does that seem feasible?”

“I don’t see why not,” Art Hampton said slowly. “If you want that much speed.”

“I’d like it. I just want to make a point to these young bloods, you know. They might as well learn now that they have a President of their own party in the White House and that they’d better go along with him. In fact, I need their support, in lots of ways. I can get along without it, considering the size of our majority up there, but they carry a lot of weight, in a popular sense—and also a lot of class. I mean, Mark’s a nice boy, I like him. But he’s got to get it through his head that the tail can’t wag the dog. He’s got to be beaten and beaten soundly on this if he’s to be a good team member later. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Senator Hampton said.

“Is there any other?” the President-elect asked sharply.

“There could be,” Art Hampton said with the calm imperturbability of one many years in the Senate contemplating the impatience of one new-come to the White House. “The question is, do we really want to break his spirit too much, right off the bat? Would we be losing more than we’d gain?”

“I thought you were with me on this,” the President-elect said in an annoyed tone.

“Oh, I am. I’ll pass whatever you want, up here. But I’m just wondering if this is the way to go about it, with these particular fellows. Particularly Mark, who’s an unusual boy and has a lot of promise, I believe.”

“I believe so, too. But I think he needs a lesson.”

“Possibly.”

“You’re the one who’s been talking more than anybody about keeping him off Foreign Relations if he gets too rambunctious!”

“I may decide that’s the thing to do,” Art Hampton agreed. “But I think it will be more effective if I do it in my own way.”

“Well, do it, then!”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“I hope so!”

“I said I would,” Senator Hampton reminded mildly. “I will.”

“Let me know what he says.”

“I imagine his attitude will be obvious in what he does.”

“Hmph. When will you see him?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, Mr. President. I’ll keep you advised.”

“You do that,” the President-elect said dryly. “I’d rather not hear about it from the media.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Senator Hampton said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I thought you were marvelous this afternoon,” she said.

“You weren’t there.”

“No, I had to be over at the Supreme Court most of the afternoon. I was, during the last five minutes or so.”

“I didn’t see you,” he said, and could have kicked himself for sounding aggrieved. Why in hell had he accepted her telephone call, anyway?

“I just peeked in. You were really great.”

“Thank you. And thank you for calling.”

“Am I going to be dismissed, now that you’ve had your compliment?”

“No, you’re not being dismissed. I do appreciate your calling.”

“I really missed not being there. Did you miss not seeing me?”

“Oh, come on, now!”

“Well, did you? You evidently noticed I wasn’t there.”

“Yes, I noticed that.”

“And you minded.”

“I gather I was supposed to mind,” he said. “That was the whole purpose, wasn’t it?”

“Now you make me feel awful.”

“Don’t. I survived. Anyway, I don’t believe I make you feel awful.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Take two aspirin, drink a lot of water and fruit juices, and stay in bed. Preferably alone. It will clear up.”

“It would clear up much quicker if you—”

“Yes,” he said, touching the buzzer under his desk twice. “Well, good-bye, now. I’ve got to go.”

“No, you don’t—”

“Senator,” Mary Fran broke in, responding to their prearranged signal, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid you have a very important call.”

“Wait—” she began but he cut her off with a crisp, “Sorry. Thanks for calling,” and hung up. Mary Fran buzzed again.

“Yes?”

“Quite by coincidence,” she said, laughing, “you do have an important call. From Senator Hampton. He’s holding.”

“Put him on…Yes, Art. What can I do for you?…Breakfast tomorrow? Where?…In your office? Fine…Yes, eight-thirty’s fine. I’ll be there.”

And what, he thought, Lisette driven entirely from his mind by uneasy premonitions, is that all about?

“No doubt I’ll find out,” he said aloud to his silent office, “soon enough.”

“This is quite a setup,” he said admiringly, surveying the beautifully furnished room with its floor-to-ceiling mirrors, gold silk drapes, comfortable leather armchairs and sofas, small dining table set with immaculate white tablecloth and gleaming flatware. “I guess it has its advantages, being Majority Leader.”

“A few,” Art Hampton said. “Maybe you’ll know what they are some day. Have a seat.”

“Thanks. Do you really think I ever will?”

“Oh, maybe,” Senator Hampton said comfortably. “If you stay here long enough and don’t make too many people mad at you.”

“And have a lot of ability as a leader,” Mark said with genuine admiration in his voice. Art smiled.

“That, too, of course. It begins—here, help yourself, I believe they’ve brought us scrambled eggs and bacon under that cover, there—it begins with patience … and tolerance for the other fellow’s point of view … and a sense of timing … and a sense of fairness … and, I suppose, a sense of justice. Plus, of course”—he grinned candidly—“knowing when to put the screws on. Not that I do much of that, but it helps to know how.”

Mark gave him a wry smile.

“Is that why I’m here?”

“A sense of timing, I said,” Art Hampton reminded him amicably. “Are you sure this is quite the point at which to raise that question? Shouldn’t you let me mellow a bit, over coffee?”

“Might as well have it now,” Mark said. “Particularly since I hope I won’t be lectured too severely. Am I going to be?”

“Well, some. I enjoy your company—I hope all you young bloods and I will get along fine, as time goes by. But I do want to raise a few little warnings.”

“Along the line of our conversation after Lyddie’s party.”

“Dear Lyddie!” Senator Hampton said. “She called me yesterday afternoon, you know. About you.”

“No, did she?” He smiled. “That was kind of her.”

“She’s on your side, all right. Now, Art, I don’t want you or the new President to be too severe with that nice young man or I shall absolutely bar you from my door forever. Promise me, now!”

“What did you say?”

“I said that was one thing I absolutely could never stand. She’s an old dear, and helps us all run the government—and our lives, for that matter.”

“If she were President, things would be different. She seems to love everybody.”

“Unhappily she isn’t. And Presidents are not like her, you know. They don’t love everybody. They can’t afford to.”

“I’m beginning to gather that,” he said with a smile.

“Yes. It isn’t funny, though. It can be quite serious, sometimes.”

“Do you think it is now?”

“You know one possible consequence already.”

“Yes, I know. It’s all over the Senate that I’m not going to get on that committee—that it’s already been decided, and it’s all over but the shouting. Or the weeping and wailing, in my case.”

“You sound awfully flippant,” Art Hampton said, studying him gravely. “I wonder if you really are.”

“I don’t mean to be, Art,” he said, suddenly serious, “but it’s reached a point where I feel sort of what-the-hell. You know? If it is already decided, then what point is there in my doing anything differently?”

“Well, obviously,” Art said, sounding a little annoyed, “you wouldn’t be here if I thought you were a lost cause, would you? I might have you in sometime, but certainly not this particular morning of this particular day.”

“The Steering Committee meets this afternoon, right?”

“Two p.m.”

“Well: what’s the verdict going to be?”

“Mark,” Art Hampton said, surveying the intent and idealistic young face before him, its owner obviously more nervous than his outward bravado tried to indicate, “I don’t know that there has been one yet.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Obviously. What are we going to do about you?”

“What do you want to do about me, Senator? I’m not the one who has the say.”

“Oh yes you are. You have a lot of the say about it. Don’t underestimate your own input in this matter. You can influence it a lot.”

“By backing down.” His face, youthful and earnest, hardened. “It’s that easy, isn’t it?”

“It isn’t easy if you persist in putting it in that framework and with that state of mind,” Art said patiently. “Why do you make it such an issue of you-against-the-world? It isn’t that serious unless you let it be. There’s no great disgrace in backing down over an issue like this, if you do it gracefully. It isn’t that big an issue. You can back off without losing face—or your integrity, which I gather you feel is involved here.”

“Certainly I think it’s involved! And I think the President’s is too. How could they not be?”

“A lot of Washington,” Art said “—a lot of life—boils down to: how big an issue do people want to make of something? If everybody agrees it’s relatively minor, then it becomes relatively minor. If everybody gets all agitated and decides it’s a great big desperate thing, then sure as shootin’ it’s a great big desperate thing. My principal job, I tell you frankly, is to keep little issues from boiling up into big issues: because when little issues get exaggerated into big ones there’s usually hell to pay, and everybody, even a winner, gets hurt.”

“But Charlie Macklin to me is a big issue,” Mark said, a youthful desperation in his tone. “It is important that we have a fair-minded Attorney General who isn’t too rigid and too rough on people. It is important that a President elected on a humane and forward-looking program keep his word in his appointments. It is important that I as a United States Senator—and as a human being—keep faith with what my people think I stand for, and in what I personally believe. How can you say these are minor things, Art? To me they’re very important.”

“I respect that. The President respects it. He happens to believe, and I agree with him, that an Attorney General, important as he is, does not operate independently of his President. He happens to believe he can be controlled. Mark, Charlie Macklin is not going to run amok in that office. It’s impossible. He’s going to be a good, decent, restrained Attorney General. Believe me.”

Mark shook his head.

“Art, tell me something: why is he so determined about it? Why is he making such an issue of it? Why does he say Charlie Macklin’s confirmation is ‘vital to the success of my Cabinet and my Administration’? Why does he peddle that kind of crap?”

“Well—” Art began, and paused. “You have to understand Presidents. He’s coming in here almost a minority President. He barely got in, and in practical fact, he got in on your coattails. So he feels, I think, that he has to do something right off the bat to show people, particularly us up here on the Hill, that he’s in charge. He’s got to make an issue, and win it—which he will, Mark, don’t have any romantic Don Quixote dreams about that. He’s got to win, just to prove to us that he’s in charge. That’s what he really considers ‘vital to the success of my Cabinet and my Administration’—not Charlie Macklin per se. Now, you add to that the extra factor of you—the man who really got him in here, in the final analysis—opposing him on this, and it’s even more important to him—not for Congress’ sake, or even for his public image, but just for his own psychological health and well-being—that he lick you and show you that he’s really the boss. That, if I know Presidents—and I have known a few, and their basic psychology doesn’t vary much, whatever their outward styles may be—is what’s really behind all this. From where he sits.”

“And I’ve made the mistake of opposing him,” Mark said wryly. “Not because I have anything to prove, but just because I believe in something.”

“That’s right.”

“So honest belief isn’t enough, in Washington.”

“Not when you’ve publicly backed a President into a corner, Mark. You’ve left him no choice, now, but to fight his way out and bowl you over in the process.”

“But I can’t abandon my honest convictions!”

“Why can’t you soft-pedal them a little? Nobody’s asking you to abandon them. Don’t make it so dramatic—so young. Just compromise them a little—and I don’t mean ‘compromise’ in the invidious sense you probably assume, but in the day-by-day give-and-take way we have to do up here, in order to get anything passed through the Congress. I repeat, Charlie Macklin isn’t going to be any free agent to do the awful things you apparently fear. He’s going to be a good, decent, restrained Attorney General. That is the President’s pledge to you, which I am empowered to offer, and that’s the way it’s going to be. So what’s the problem?”

“I have some knowledge already of the President’s pledges,” he remarked bitterly, “and I am not impressed with them. Anyway! Anyway, even if all you say is true, and I concede it probably is, the fact remains that I don’t like what Charlie stands for and I do not believe it would be consistent for me to minimize my opposition to him, because that wouldn’t be honest and it wouldn’t be me. How can I emphasize it more than that? How else can I state it? How else can I make it any clearer?”

For a long moment they stared at one another, until finally Senator Hampton sighed and nodded.

“You can’t. That’s clear enough.”

“And I guess I’ll just have to take the consequences,” he said, very low.

“Yes, Mark,” Art Hampton said, “I guess you will. But don’t let them get you down too much. You’ll survive them and come back stronger for it.”

Mark smiled, a wry little smile, not half as certain of himself as he tried to be.

“I’ll remember this conversation if I ever sit in this office.”

“You probably will,” Art smiled, standing to shake hands and show him to the door. “You’ll emerge stronger for this, believe it or not. I’ve been here a long time. Take my word for it.”

“I’d like to,” he said wistfully, though he still could not believe that it could happen. “But it isn’t going to make it easy.”

“Oh no,” Senator Hampton said. “When were the choices of public life and public office ever easy?”

SENATE ELDERS REBUFF COFFIN, NAME DUCLOS TO FOREIGN RELATIONS POST, the evening papers said, culminating a long, tense, pretend-everything-is-all-right day that he had spent mostly in his office, incommunicado from the media.

COFFIN GETS INTERIOR, DISTRICT COMMITTEES. CLAIMS HE’S “NOT HURT,” WILL CONTINUE FIGHT ON MACKLIN, ELROD.

But he was hurt. He was hurt like hell, a deep, visceral, personal pain that suddenly turned all his victory dreams and hopes and plans—which he now felt to have been completely naive—into something dull, gray and constantly aching inside.

***

Chapter 3

BIn this mood, half an hour after the news was telephoned him at 6 p.m.by a regretful Chuck Dangerfield, who with thirty other reporters had been keeping vigil outside the room where the Steering Committee was finishing its work, he said good night to his solemn staff and went home. Johnny McVickers was obviously crushed, most of the others discreetly sympathetic. Brad’s circumspect lack of comment annoyed but did not altogether surprise. Mary Fran almost shattered him into open emotion by placing an encouraging hand on his arm and saying, “Don’t worry, they’ll have to recognize a good man one of these days.” He managed to get out with a muttered “Thanks!” and a rather shaky smile; and drove home to Jim Elrod’s house in Georgetown so automatically that he hardly knew where he was going. Fortunately the traffic had thinned a good deal by then and he made it without mishap. His wife and father-in-law met him at the door.

“Oh, Markie,” she said, throwing her arms around him and burying her head on his shoulder. “I am so sorry.”

“Well,” he said, trying to sound jaunty and not succeeding very well, “I suppose it’s all part of the game.”

“But it’s so unfair,” she said, drawing away to look at him with tears in her eyes. “And to pick somebody like Rick Duclos! That was just a deliberate slap in the face.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes meeting those of his father-in-law, who stood back a little, two martinis in hand, “that it was. I guess I’m really Number One bad boy, right, Jim?”

“Have a drink,” Senator Elrod said comfortably, handing him one, “and let’s sit down and talk about this a little. It isn’t the end of the world, you know. We hope you won’t take it that way.”

“You’re on that committee,” Linda said bitterly as they went in the den and took seats before the fire. “Why didn’t you do something to help?”

“He didn’t do anything to help,” Mark said, trying not to sound as bitter, “because he was all for it, weren’t you, Jim?”

His father-in-law’s eyes were shrewd as he took a sip of his drink and surveyed him over the edge of the glass.

“Well, sir,” he said finally, “I can’t say I opposed it much. Can’t say I really advocated it, either.”

“But when it was proposed, you voted for it,” Mark said, “thank you so much.”

“Nobody’s told you that,” Jim Elrod said mildly. “We don’t reveal our votes.”

“I guessed,” he said. “It was easy.”

“Well, then,” Jim said—“take some of your drink, boy, you’ll feel better for it—well, then, you probably know why I voted for it.”

“Because you’re angry with me for opposing your bill. It doesn’t take any genius to figure that one out.”

“Not genius, no,” Senator Elrod agreed. “Heavens, if anythin’ around that Hill took genius, nine tenths of us would be back home growin’ ’taters. But it does take a little understandin’ of human nature, and a little understandin’ of the way things work in the Senate. It’s not as simple as you think.”

“You mean it just wasn’t the unanimous conclusion to give me a spanking, so I’d be a good boy hereafter?”

“Too simple,” Jim Elrod observed. “Too easy. Fits the clichés but doesn’t say much about us. Learn about us, Mark. We’re a worthwhile study if you want to be a good senator. After all, you know, the President and I don’t see eye to eye on quite a few things, includin’ my bill—on which, I believe, he sees pretty much eye to eye with you. So there you have it. It seems awfully contradictory unless you know your way around.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Linda exclaimed. “You sound so elder statesman and patronizing! You and your little civics lecture! Why don’t you just say what really happened—the President decided he had to kill all Mark’s spirit at the very beginning because he thought he’d be a troublemaker later—and you helped him do it for the same reason. You can leave out the pieties for my sake: I’ve been here too long.”

“Hmmm,” Senator Elrod said thoughtfully. “Maybe so. Maybe—so. Why haven’t you been advisin’ Mark these last few days, then, when he was gettin’ himself and everybody else all riled up? Fine time to come in claimin’ to know it all, now, when everythin’s decided.”

“What’s been decided?” she and Mark asked simultaneously, and looked at each other with pleased surprise: things suddenly didn’t seem quite so gloomy, at least for the moment.

“Why,” Jim Elrod said, openly taken aback for a second. “The committee assignments and all the rest of it.”

“No, sir,” Mark said, smiling at Linda. “Not ‘all the rest of it.’ Not ‘all the rest of it,’ at all.”

“Now, surely,” Senator Elrod said firmly, “surely you’re not goin’ to go on bein’ foolish and headstrong, Mark! Surely you’ve learned somethin’ from this! Now, come!”

“I don’t know yet, Jim,” he said, feeling a surprising revival of well-being—tenuous, perhaps, and maybe not destined to last, but sufficient for a moment that was curiously, in his mind, beginning to turn from defeat almost to victory. “It’s just possible, though, that I don’t give a damn. It’s just possible I’ll go right on opposing good old Charlie, and good old Jim’s bill, anyway. How about that?”

“I think,” Senator Elrod said soberly, “that you would be most poorly advised to do so. I think I’d think that over a bit. I think I’d think it over very, very carefully, if I were you. You’ve been given a pretty pointed lesson, now. Don’t make everybody decide you’ve got to be given an even stronger one.”

“Who’s ‘everybody,’ Daddy?” Linda retorted. “You sound as though Mark doesn’t have any support in the Senate, or any support from the press, or from the public. What do you think’s going to happen to his mail tomorrow, after this—and yours, too, for that matter? He’s going to get an awful lot of sympathy. And he’s also going to pick up some support in the Senate. And maybe he’ll get more, as time goes on. What makes you think you’ve heard the last of him?”

Jim Elrod smiled.

“Nobody thinks that. We just thought maybe we’d heard the last of him as the flamin’ young rebel, that’s all. We thought maybe somethin’ a little more mature would emerge. We thought maybe we’d provided the opportunity.”

“Then I think you’ve sadly underestimated my husband,” she said coldly. Her father chuckled.

“Now who’s givin’ little lectures and soundin’ pompous? Nobody underestimated your husband. On the contrary, we think very highly of him.”

“So you slap him down!”

“Might be the makin’ of him,” Jim Elrod said calmly. “Or again … maybe it won’t. That’s up to him, I guess. Isn’t that right, Mark?”

Their eyes held for a long moment; and Mark’s did not falter as he finally said evenly, “That’s right, Jim.” But in his heart the brief moment of false elation was already ebbing as the sheer weight of the powers he was challenging hit him again with devastating impact.

He stood up abruptly.

“Let’s eat dinner and get to bed. Tomorrow’s Inauguration and I imagine it’s going to be a long day.”

And after a meal that passed principally in silence, and a few desultory attempts at casual conversation after dinner, they did retire early, Jim to his high old-fashioned four-poster on the second floor, Linda and Mark to her old room on the third, still much as she had left it when she departed for Stanford eleven years ago.

“When do we get into our own place?” he asked as they began getting ready for bed. “I think I’ve had enough lectures with every meal.”

“Day after tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow’s impossible, of course.”

He sighed.

“Yes. I think the Senate forms in procession about eleven o’clock and we have to go out and take our seats on the east steps of the Capitol around eleven-thirty. And then we have a reception for him after the ceremony. And then the parade. And then dinner. And then the Inaugural Balls. And then—I suppose we won’t get home until three a.m.”

“I may leave you a little earlier than that,” she said with a sudden blush. Two kids and instinct came to his assistance at once.

“Now, Linda Coffin!” he said. “You don’t mean to tell me you’ve been fooling around with some worthless scoundrel and gotten yourself pregnant again! How could you!”

“I guess I have,” she said, suddenly beaming, all doubts apparently resolved in this new-found happiness. “I’m sorry, sir, but these things happen to us innocent country girls.”

“Innocent, my hat!” he said, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed. “I’ll show you who’s innocent!”

And proceeded to do so, with her eager and triumphant compliance, for the next few lively minutes.

“Now,” he said, slapping her on the rump as they lay breathless and laughing in each other’s arms, “get to bed, you shameless wench, and be careful who you go berry-picking with hereafter!”

“Yes, sir! I will be careful, sir!”

“When did you find out, anyway?”

“This morning. I’ve been feeling a little funny the last few days, so I went to my old doctor here. Not that I had any doubt, of course, but now it’s official. Another accomplishment for Young Mark Coffin.”

“Yes,” he said, mood changing suddenly, the world rushing back. “This one they can’t take away from me, anyway.”

“Or the others, either,” she said, abruptly serious, too.

“They’re trying,” he said. “They’re trying…Lin—do you think I’ve made a mistake?”

“No, I do not,” she said, raising herself on one elbow, brushing her hair back with a determined hand, studying his face with an intent and thoughtful look. “I most certainly do not, Mark Coffin, and don’t you ever think so, either!”

“Sometimes I can’t help but think so. They’ve certainly come down on me like a ton of bricks. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut and played the game and taken my rewards. They probably won’t give me many now.”

“Don’t you believe it. And don’t let Daddy bug you, either. He secretly admires your guts very much, though he’d be the last to admit it. They all do. They just think you need a trip to the woodshed to make you One of the Boys, that’s all.”

His face set in stubborn lines.

“They may just have guaranteed that I never will be one of the boys.”

“Well,” she said practically, “if they have, they have. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“Mavericks don’t get to the White House,” he said gloomily. “And I’m told by all my elders that they don’t make very good senators, either. So maybe I’ll just be a perennial loner here, just a hell-raiser who doesn’t accomplish much.”

“California likes hell-raisers,” she said. “Lots of people like hell-raisers. I like hell-raisers. And as for the White House, we’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

“If ever.”

“It will!” she said fiercely. “It will. Meanwhile, you’ve got a lot of being a senator to do, so stop brooding. It isn’t like you.”

“And I should keep right on opposing Charlie Macklin and opposing Jim’s bill?”

“Mark Coffin!” she said, touching him in a place that produced an immediate response. “Stop being disingenuous. You know perfectly well you’re going to go right on fighting them.”

“And you wouldn’t want me to do anything else?”

“I want you,” she said, hand still busy but eyes quite impersonal and far-seeing, a child of politics even now, “to do exactly what you think is right for you, and in that I will always support you.”

“You’re quite wonderful to me, you know?” he said, rolling toward her again. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“It’s mutual,” she said, receiving him. “Oh, Markie!”

But later when she had fallen asleep he lay awake, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. He had lost his first battle in Washington, been punished by the powers that be, been held up before the entire world as a naughty child who had deserved, and received, chastisement. And it still hurt like hell, and threw him very far off the balance that normally was his.

Inauguration Day dawned blistering cold and sharp, a sparkling clear sky but along with it the driving, biting winter wind that often sweeps out of Virginia across the ice-bound Potomac to blast the flesh and chill the bone. In Jim Elrod’s old house in Georgetown, as in all the other congressional homes scattered through Northwest Washington, nearby Virginia and Maryland, excitement and good-natured joshing prevailed as he and his father-in-law, political differences temporarily forgotten, helped each other with tuxedos, topcoats and accessories. (“Some of ’em nowadays dress in ordinary business suits,” Jim Elrod said, “but not me. We’re gettin’ a new President of the United States today and I always believe in doin’ it right.” Mark, who had originally intended to wear a dark suit, changed his mind hastily.) Linda had chosen a soft gray dress, matching coat and hat for the day—and, like all the wives, an elaborate gown for the evening’s festivities—and looked glowing beside them as they set forth for the Capitol shortly after 10 a.m. Lyddie had invited them to Foxhall Road at 6 p.m. for cocktails and an early dinner prior to going on to one or all—”as many as we can stand”—of the six Inaugural Balls scheduled around town. Ahead stretched a long, busy day.

Swept along on its tides he was able, at first, to push humiliation and anger into the background. This did not last very long, because when they got eventually through the many cordons of police around the Capitol and were able to park in the Senate garage and make their way along the excitement-filled corridors to the Senate chamber, one of the first people they ran into was Rick, also dressed in a tuxedo and looking, the moment he saw them, embarrassed and upset.

“Look, buddy,” he said as soon as he had given Linda a hasty kiss and Jim a hasty handshake, “come over here a minute, I want to talk to you.”

And seizing Mark firmly by the arm, he propelled him behind the nearest pillar, out of sight of the other two.

“If you think for one minute,” he said, while swirls of invited guests to the Inaugural swept importantly by, casting curious glances at them as they passed, “that I had anything to do with that committee assignment yesterday, you’re crazy. I had no idea—I mean, it looks as though I made some bargain with them, but I didn’t. You’ve got to believe me, I just didn’t. It was all their idea.”

“I know it was, Rick,” he said. “I believe you. They just wanted to divide us.”

“Well, they haven’t,” Rick said fiercely, “because I’m still with you all the way. You do believe that, don’t you?”

“I do believe it,” he said.

“I’ll show them when we meet tomorrow!” Rick promised in the same tone. Mark smiled.

“Now, don’t ruin your future just because of me. You’ve got Foreign Relations on a silver platter. Relax and enjoy it.”

“I will,” Rick said, “but I’ll do it my way. Which does not include supporting old Charlie or letting old Jimsie’s bill pass without one hell of a fight.” His expression became anxious. “You’re still going to make one, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mark said. “I am.”

“Good,” Rick said, relieved. “I thought maybe they’d succeeded in—”

“No. They haven’t succeeded.”

“Good for you,” Rick said. “Good for you!”

“Except that you’ve got the committee seat,” Mark observed in a wry tone.

“Well—” Rick began uncertainly. Then he clapped him on the arm. “Anyway, buddy, you’re still going to fight. That’s the important thing!”

“Yes,” he said, “I guess that’s the important thing.”

But after they returned to the others and Rick whirled away, called by a large blond entity clad in mink and an enveloping cloud of heavy perfume, he wondered to himself: Is it? And went on into the chamber to face the interested looks and outwardly impervious cordiality of his colleagues, including those, among them Art Hampton and James Monroe Madison, who had voted against him yesterday.

With a few exceptions, among them Jim Madison, who could not resist a rather arch smugness, most of his elders were bland and noncommittal. He was heartened by the murmured encouragement of Bob Templeton, which he had expected, and that of Clem Chisholm and Kal Tokumatsu, who went out of their way to greet him effusively, thereby, in Senate shorthand, signifying their support to other colleagues. He also felt that he received, from a hearteningly large number, a certain extra warmth of greeting which, while not as definite as Clem’s and Kal’s, seemed to indicate a reservoir of support: or so he managed to convince himself for a little while. By the time the Senate had been called to order and had directed itself to “form in procession to proceed to the East Front of the Capitol and there wait upon the Inauguration of the President of the United States,” he was full of doubts again. What did a few smiles and handshakes mean? They were as cordial, in this Washington, from those who were against you as they were from those who were for you. He had the feeling he was walking through a quicksand of insincerities. I’m overreacting, he kept telling himself: but in this Washington, what was genuine and what was not? He was not yet experienced enough to know; and suspected that even when he was, he would still be fooled occasionally.

So it was in a mood of continuing uncertainty and considerable depression that he walked with his colleagues through the long dim stone corridor that linked Senate and House; moved on up the stairs to the Rotunda; and walked out into the cold wind and brilliant sunshine of the East Front.

There was a noticeable stir along the wooden benches below the podium, where the media sat, as he and Jim Madison emerged together from the doorway and started down the steps to their seats.

“I wonder if that’s for you, my dear boy?” Senator Madison inquired dryly. “You’re quite the hero, you know.”

“Really?” he asked with equal dryness. “I suppose the condemned man always is.”

“Oh yes,” Jim Madison said cheerily. “That only makes you that much more interesting to them. You’re a certified martyr now—all the old fogies of the Senate have turned against you. The media love that. They’ll eat you up now, mark my words—not that they haven’t already,” he added, sounding more envious than he knew. “You’ve been their darling for months.”

“It hasn’t done me much good in the Senate, has it?”

“Oh well,” Senator Madison said. “Oh well, dear boy! Live and learn, you know, live and learn!”

“Yes,” he said, still dryly. “I’m trying, Jim, I’m trying.”

“Good!” Jim Madison exclaimed. “Good!”

And took his seat, waving and gesturing happily all around, while Mark, his face a study, sat slowly down beside him.

During the remaining ten minutes before noon, he looked out upon the thousands who filled Capitol Plaza with the feeling that every single one must be looking at him—a silly childish reaction, he knew, and completely unjustified, but one he found difficult to overcome. He found Linda’s gray coat after a minute of searching in the special visitors section off to the side. She waved happily and he waved back. Hardly aware at first of what he was doing, he began methodically scanning the media benches; when he did realize, he brought his eyes guiltily back to the front. But soon, of course, they strayed again, and after a moment he abandoned his game with himself and deliberately and carefully resumed his searching. He had almost given up when suddenly he found her. He had been looking too far out. She was almost directly below, in the second row of the media section, clad in a bright red coat, no hat, shiny black boots. She was smiling directly at him from perhaps 150 feet away and had obviously been watching him search with complete awareness and considerable amusement.

She put her hands to her mouth and yelled something that made her immediately surrounding colleagues laugh. He could not distinguish her words over the hubbub of thousands of excited voices, the Marine Band tuning up, planes and helicopters flying over, the slap of hands on rifles as military guards relaxed, reformed and relaxed again to keep themselves warm in the stinging cold. He only hoped her shout was not too indiscreet; made no attempt to answer it but did smile and wave, rather vaguely, in her general direction, trying to make it as impersonal as possible. He caught her eye again and found her grinning.

He pulled his eyes away hurriedly, convinced that everyone knew what he had done; though again, he told himself with some disgust, that was kid stuff: not one in ten thousand knew or gave a damn. But he gave a damn, he was honest enough to admit to himself; and she gave a damn; and if Linda could have noticed, which she could not, being over to the side, she would certainly have given a damn.

He did not feel particularly proud of himself at that moment. It added to his generally down mood. Young Mark Coffin’s first Inaugural, he told himself glumly, was not proving the happiest occasion he had ever experienced.

But in a couple of moments all else was temporarily forgotten as the climactic event of the day, the climactic event of every four American years, suddenly began with ruffles and flourishes from the band, followed immediately by “Hail to the Chief (who in tri-i-umph ad-van-CES!).”

And in triumph he did advance, coming down the steps on the arm of his elderly predecessor with dignified face and sober mien, looking every inch the commanding statesman as the cheers welled up and overwhelmed the world from the massed thousands below.

He took his seat, the band concluded, a Catholic priest, a Protestant minister and a Jewish rabbi followed one another in invocation. Hamilton Delbacher was sworn in as Vice-President. Then the Chief Justice stepped forward, gestured to the President-elect. He stepped forward, the new First Lady at his side, placed his hand solemnly on a family Bible, and repeated after the Chief Justice the words that transferred instantly into his hands the frayed uncertain power of a troubled, uncertain land. Another great burst of applause, a solemn hush. He opened a black loose-leaf notebook and began to deliver, in a firm and steady voice, his Inaugural Address.

It was brief—twenty-three minutes, thirty-one seconds, the media clocked it; concise—a list of goals he hoped to accomplish, all progressive, all noble, all unexceptionable; conciliatory but firm toward the nation’s adversaries—“those who seek to challenge the right of free men everywhere to exist secure from fear, tyranny and want”; conciliatory but firm toward his domestic opponents—“including all those who, for whatever reason, sincerely believe they must disagree with the objectives of my Administration”; dedicated, as was inevitable, to the principles upon which the nation was founded—“with the pledge to you that all Americans, of whatever race, creed, color or persuasion, shall be given their fair place in the American sun.” It ended with the usual mélange of Founding Fathers, democratic ideals, God, home and motherhood. Another hand was on the tiller of a huge, unwieldy ship, carrying its cargo, a basically decent, hopeful and generous people, toward some distant shore whose outlines no one could accurately discern and whose comforts or disasters no one could with certainty foresee.

Then it was over. The vast roar of applause welled up again. The religious ones reversed their order for the benediction, the rabbi speaking first, followed by the Protestant (“Lucky Pierre!” he had murmured to his colleagues earlier, and they had enjoyed a quiet religious chuckle among themselves), the Catholic coming last. The old President and Vice-President, the new President and Vice-President and their ladies turned, went up the steps, disappeared inside the Rotunda. The Chief Justice and associate justices, the diplomatic corps, the members of Senate and House, followed after. The crowd began to disperse, straggling down the Hill to go home or to find places along Pennsylvania Avenue for the parade that would follow in an hour or so, after the new President’s luncheon with the leaders of the Congress.

As he stood up and waited behind Jim Madison for their turn to go up the steps, Mark searched out over the dispersing crowd, found Linda still in her place, obviously waiting for his look; exchanged smiles and waves. She turned away, began to move along with the crowd, planning to come in to the Senate side in a few moments and find him for lunch in the Senate Dining Room. As she turned away, he fought what he would do next but knew he would do it anyway.