“Doug, they have nothing on her, so why should anyone bother her?”

“We-ll, they might. You know our overzealous bloodhounds on Capitol Hill. And-and the case may have other ramifications-and there may be a lot of questions. I wouldn’t want Wanda feeling abandoned and scared, and without legal counsel. Now, I know you are up to your ears-”

“Doug, I’m doing nothing except waiting to affix my autograph to a contract. Of course, I’ll pitch in.”

“I’d be grateful. It would be a load off my mind. Maybe you can kind of look in on her-say, in a day or two.”

“Absolutely, Doug. In fact, I’ll nose around Justice a bit, and the Hill, to learn what’s going on. Then I’ll drive over and see Wanda.”

“Thank you, Nat. You’re the one person I can depend upon. Too bad I’m losing you to Avery Emmich. Maybe it’s not too late. Have you ever thought of coming into government? The pay is lousy, but the cocktail parties are free, and you get a lot of press clippings.”

“Me in government? Of course you’re kidding, Doug. Can’t you see me trying to conform to the Party? And compromise with the Attorney General? I’d last a fast eight hours in any Federal job. Of course, I can’t say it would be worse than what I am about to do. But in Eagles, at least they pay top wages for sin. I’ll come out only slightly sullied, and at least with cash and the farm to keep me warm… You were just kidding me, weren’t you, Doug? I mean-”

“Yes, I was only kidding. You belong in government about as much as I do, except you’d be good at it… Well, I can hear the helicopter’s choppers beating out there. I’d better be off. Good luck with your contract. Kiss Sue. And-and thanks again for keeping an eye on Wanda.”

Gently Dilman returned the telephone receiver to its cradle.

Well, he told himself, as expected: yes on Wanda, no dice on the other. He would have to go it alone, not that it had been different with Talley and Eaton as part of his administration.

He stared down at the last-minute papers waiting to be signed. He reached for his pen. He signed the note to Admiral Oates requesting that the foremost civilian orthopedic surgeons be brought in to try to save Otto Beggs’s leg. He signed the memorandum to Attorney General Kemmler, reminding him that Leroy Poole’s appeal for executive clemency must be expedited, now that the date of Hurley’s execution was drawing nearer. He signed the order for the Federal Marshal to barricade Arthur Eaton’s office in the Department of State, if necessary, to keep him out. He signed his own curt acceptance of Governor Wayne Talley’s resignation from his staff, as well as that of Talley’s friend and his own military aide, General Robert Faber. And finally, he reread the electric news announcement, prepared by Flannery, stating that he had removed Arthur Eaton from the position of Secretary of State because of their irreconcilable differences over foreign policy, and then he signed that too.

He called Miss Foster, to let her know what he had done, and to remind her to take care of the letters, and especially the news announcement, at once.

He pushed himself to his feet, gathered together the copies of the speeches he was to deliver, the briefing notes on the military installations he was to visit, the memorandum he had written to himself on what he could remember of the House’s impeachment charges, and he stuffed them into his already overcrowded briefcase. Once he had secured the lock of the briefcase, he found his hat and took down his heavy overcoat.

Thus laden, he went outside where the Secret Service men and Tim Flannery were waiting on the dry grass of the Rose Garden lawn. He fell in step with them, and headed for the noisy, vibrating bulk of the helicopter.

The weather was good, he noted, the sky over the Potomac clear. He wondered how long it would stay that way, and if, when he returned, he would be under a cloud at last.

Nat Abrahams’ shoe pressed down on the brake, and he brought the rented Ford to a standstill at the red traffic light on Sixteenth Street. Once more he gave his attention to the half-open newspaper, purchased when he had left the Mayflower Hotel, with the double-banner headline reading:

PRESIDENT DILMAN IMPEACHMENT!

SCANDAL DEBATE OPENS IN HOUSE!

It amazed him that only yesterday, little more than twenty-four hours ago, Doug Dilman had telephoned him before leaving the city, and talked without giving a single hint or reference to this monstrous attack on his integrity. Dilman, he reasoned, must have known at that very time about the impeachment charges being mounted against him; yet, except for his concern over Wanda Gibson’s future, he had omitted discussing anything connected with them. He had pretended that his concern over Wanda was merely to see that she was protected from harassment by Congressional Red-baiters. Now, it was evident, he wanted her protected from the charge of having collaborated with the President in committing a treasonable act.

How typical of Doug Dilman, Abrahams thought, to seek no advance advice or help about the impeachment as a whole. Dilman had always been secretive about his personal family relationships. But this impeachment attempt was another matter. Yesterday Dilman had been at the brink of facing public infamy, and yet he had kept his silence. How difficult it must have been for him, privately knowing that he had discharged three of his inner circle, had left himself alone to fight against his slanderers, to refuse to seek the aid of his closest friend. His damnable pride, Abrahams thought, pride, which Defoe had once defined as “the first peer and president of Hell.” Yet, knowing Doug Dilman as he did, Abrahams could see that his reluctance to spill out his troubles might have been otherwise motivated. It might have been his Negro sensitivity that had so muted him, the feeling that he did not wish to overdraw his friendship balance with a white man, that he had no right to do so. On the other hand, perhaps he had sought Abrahams’ assistance after all. Hadn’t he said something to the effect that he was sorry to lose Abrahams to Avery Emmich’s corporation, that maybe it wasn’t too late to bring him into government? Had that been Dilman’s tentative feeling out of his friend, privately aware as he was of what lay ahead? Had Dilman wanted to sound out Abrahams on the possibility of his replacing Talley? Probably not, Abrahams decided, for if Dilman had desired him for so responsible a job, he would not have been afraid to mention it openly.

A car honked behind him. Nat Abrahams realized that the red light had turned green. He shifted his shoe from the brake to the gas pedal, and continued up Sixteenth Street. He remembered his upset yesterday, in midafternoon, when he had been half dozing over an out-of-print history of the early days of Congress, and Sue had awakened him with the flash bulletin she had just heard on the radio. After that, neither the radio nor television in their Mayflower suite had been still. With his intimate knowledge of Dilman, the personal charges made by Zeke Miller yesterday had been preposterous. Yet there had been enough validity in each, just enough, to force Sue and himself to discuss them compulsively all afternoon, through dinner, and into the night.

As he drove now, gradually guiding his car into the right-hand lane, watching for his turnoff, Abrahams’ mind centered particularly on the sections that related Doug Dilman to Wanda Gibson. It was difficult for Abrahams to conjure up a sharply defined image of Wanda Gibson. He and Sue had met her once, about a year and a half or two years ago, and Doug had mentioned her a number of times in letters he had written. Nat could recollect only that she had been a rather mature and striking woman, well educated and well mannered, and with a lovely tan complexion that appeared lighter when contrasted with Dilman’s own color. She was, Nat remembered, a mulatto.