covered its day-to-day operations were gradually aware of an oddity. The Secretary of State had not been in evidence for a very long time. There was a growing concern as schedules were altered, trips abandoned, conferences postponed or canceled. Rumors spread throughout the capital, some quarters insisting the Secretary was involved with prolonged, secret negotiations in Peking, while others claimed he was in Moscow, close to a breakthrough on arms control. Then the rumors took on less attractive colorations; something was wrong; an explanation was required.
The President gave it on a warm afternoon in spring. He went on radio and television from a medical retreat in Moorefield, West Virginia.
"In this year of tragedy, it is my burden to bring you further sorrow.
I have just said goodbye to a dear friend. A great and courageous man who understood the delicate balance required in our negotiations with our adversaries, who would noLi permit those adversaries to learn of his rapidly ebbing life. That extraordinary life ended only hours ago, succumbing at last to the ravages of disease. I have today ordered the flags of the capitol..
And so it went. All over the world.
The President sat back in his chair as Undersecretary Daniel Congdon walked into the Oval Office. The commander-in-chief did not like Congdon; there was a ferret-like quality about him, his overly sincere eyes concealing a dreadful ambition. But the man did his job well and that was all that mattered. Especially now, especially this job.
"What's the resolution?" "As expected, Mr. President. Beowulf Agate rarely did the normal thing." "He didn't lead much of a normal life, did he? I mean you people didn't expect him to, did you?" "No, sir. He was-" "Tell me, Congdon," interrupted the President. "Did you really try to have him killed?" "It was a mandatory execution, sir. We considered him beyond salvage, dangerous to our men everywhere. To a degree, I still believe that." "You'd better. He is. So that's why he insisted on negotiating with you.
I'd advise you-no, I order you-to put such mandatory actions out of your mind. Is that understood?" "Yes, Mr. President." "I hope so. Because if it isn't, I might have to issue a mandatory sentence of my own. Now that I know how it's done." "Understood, sir." "Good. The resolution?" "Beyond the initial demand, Scofield wants nothing further to do with us." "But you know where he is." "Yes, sir. The Caribbean. However, we don't know where the documents are." "Don't bother to look for them; he's better than you. And leave him alone; never give him the slightest reason to think you have any interest in him. Because if you do, those documents will surface in a hundred dif- ferent places at once. This government-this nationcannot handle the repercussions. Perhaps in a few years, but not now." "I accept that judgment, Mr. President." "You damn well better. What did the resolution cost us and where is it buried?" "One hundred and seventy-six thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars and eighteen cents. It was attached to a cost overrun for naval training equipment, the payment made by a CIA proprietary directly to the shipyard in Mystic, Connecticut." The President looked out the window at the White House lawn; the blossoms on the cherry trees were dying, curling up and withering away. "He could have asked for the sky and we would have given it to him; he could have taken us for millions. Instead, all he wants is a boat and to be left alone."
March, 198, The fifty-eight-foot charter yawl, Serpent, its mainsail luffing in the island breezes, glided into its slip, the woman jumping onto the pier, rope in hand. She looped it around the forward post, securing the bow.
At the stern, the bearded skipper tied off the wheel, stepped up on the gunnel and over to the dock, swinging the aft rope around the nearest post, pulling it taut, knotting it when all slack had vanished.
At midships, a pleasant-looking, middle-aged couple stepped cautiously onto the pier. It was obvious they had said their goodbyes, and those goodbyes had been just a little bit painful.
"Well, vacation's over," said the man, sighing, holding his wife's arm.
"We'll be back next year, Captain Vickery.
You're the best charter in the islands. And thank you again, Mrs. Vickery.
As always, the galley was terrific." The couple walked up the dock.
"I'll stow the gear while you check on the supplies, okay?" said Scofield.
"All right, darling. We've got ten days before the couple from New Orleans arrive." "Let's take a sail by ourselves," said the captain, smiling, jumping back on board the Serpent.
An hour and twenty minutes passed; the supplies were loaded, the weather bulletins logged and the coastal charts studied. The Seprent was ready for departure.
"Let's get a drink," Bray said, taking Toni's hand, walking up the sandy path into the hot St. Kitts' street. Across the way was a cafe, a shack with ancient wicker tables and chairs and a bar that had not changed in thirty years. It was a gathering place for charter boat skippers and their crews, Antonia sat down, greeting friends, laughing with her eyes and spontaneous voice; she was liked by the rough, capable runaways of the Caribbean. She was a lady and they knew it. Scofield watched her from the bar as he ordered their drinks, remembering another water-front cafe in Corsica. It was only a few years ago-another lifetime, really-but she had not changed.
There was still the easy grace, the sense of presence and gentle, open humor. She was liked because she was immensely likeable; it was as simple as that.
He carried their drinks to the table and sat down. Antonia reached over to an adjacent table, borrowing a week-old Barbados newspaper. An article had caught her attention.
"Darling, look at this," she said, turning the paper and pushing it toward him, her index finger marking the column.
Wash., D.C.- Combined Wire Services: After several years of ownership litigation in the federal courts, the way has been cleared for the executors of the Nicholas Guiderone estate to press ahead with reorganization plans which include significant mergers with European companies. It will be recalled that following the terrorist assault on the Guiderone mansion in Brookline, Massachusetts, when Guiderone and others holding large blocks of Trans-Comm stock were massacred, the conglomerate's line of ownership was thrown into a legal maze. It has been no secret that the Justice Department has been supportive of the executors, as, indeed, has been the Department of State. The feeling has been that while the multinational corporation has continued functioning, its lack of expansion due to unclear leadership has caused American prestige to suffer in the international marketplace.
The President, upon leaming of the final legal resolutions, sent the following wire to the executors: "It seems fitting to me that during the week that marks my first year in office, the obstructions have been removed and once again, a great American institution is in a position to export and expand American know-how and technology across the world, joining the other great companies to give us a better world. I congratulate you."
Bray shoved the paper aside. "The subtlety gets less and less, doesn't it?"
They tacked into the wind out of Bassaterre, the coast of St. Kitts receding behind them. Antonia pulled the jib taut, tied off the sheet, and climbed back to the wheel. She sat beside Scofield, running her fingers over his short, clipped beard that was more gray than dark.
"Where are we going, darling?" she asked.
"I don't know," said Bray, meaning it. "With the wind for a while, if it's all right with you." "It's all right with me." She leaned back, looking at his face, so pensive, so lost in thought. "What's going to happen?" "It's happened. The mergers have taken over the earth," he answered, smiling. "Guiderone was right; nobody can stop it. Maybe nobody should.
Let them have their day in the sun. It doesn't make any difference what I think.
They'll leave me alone-leave us alone. They're still afraid." "Of what?" "Of people. Just people. Trim the jib, will you, please? We're spilling too much. We can make better time." "To where?" "Damned if I know. Only that I want to be there."