Lexington inquired dryly, 'Which of the two would you recommend?'

'Oh, if I were Jim, I'd take pistols,' the President said. 'The only ship Levin ever commanded missed everything it fired on.'

'We had poor ammunition,' the admiral remarked. For the first time the ghost of a smile creased his leathery face. 'Weren't you Secretary of the Navy then?'

'I've been so many things,' the President said. 'It's hard to remember.'

Despite the lessened tension, the heat of indignation still gripped Howden. He wanted to retaliate; to return words in kind, countering what had been said; attacking, as he could so readily: An accusation of greed came ill from a nation grown fat and opulent from riches… Timidity was hardly a charge to be laid by the United States which had practised selfish isolationism until forced at gun point to abandon it… Even Canadian vacillation was better than the blundering, naive ineptness of American diplomacy, with its crude belief in the dollar as an answer to all problems… America with its insufferably virtuous air of always being right; its refusal to believe that other concepts, alien systems of government, might sometimes have their virtues; its obstinate support of puppet, discredited regimes abroad… And at home slick, glib talk of freedom through the same mouth which smeared dissenters… and more, much more…

About to speak… fiercely, wildly… James Howden checked himself.

At times, he thought, there was statesmanship in silence. No catalogue of faults could ever be one-sided, and most of what Admiral Rapoport had said was uncomfortably true.

Besides, whatever else Rapoport might be, he was no fool. Subtly the Prime Minister had an instinct that a performance had been staged with himself as a participant. Had there been a deliberate attempt, he wondered, adroitly managed by the admiral, to throw him off balance? Perhaps; perhaps not; but brawling would achieve nothing. He was determined not to lose sight of the original issue.

Ignoring the others, he faced the President. 'I must make it perfectly clear, Tyler,' he announced evenly, 'that failing a concession on the issue of Alaska there can be no agreement between our respective governments.'

'Jim, you must see that the entire situation is impossible.' The President seemed calm and controlled, unshakable as ever. But the fingers of his right hand, Howden noticed, were drumming urgently upon the desk top. Now he went on, 'Couldn't we go back – let's talk about the other conditions. Maybe there, are more points we can cover, things we can spell out to Canada's advantage.'

'No.' Howden shook his head firmly. 'First, I don't see the situation as impossible and, second, we'll talk of Alaska or nothing.' He was convinced now – there had been an attempt to make him lose control. Of course, even if it had succeeded, the other side might have gained no advantage. But on the other band he might just have tipped his hand on how far he was prepared to compromise if forced. The President was a seasoned, wily negotiator who would never miss a hint like that if given.

The Prime Minister rubbed the tip of his long nose gently. 'I'd like to tell you,' he said, 'of the conditions we have in mind. Foremost, there would be a free election in Alaska, jointly supervised, and with a "yes" or "no" vote.'

The President said, 'You'd never win.' But the deep-pitched voice was a shade less dogmatic than before. Howden had a sense that subtly, in-some undefinable way, dominance of the negotiations had shifted to himself. He recalled Arthur Lexington's words earlier in the morning: 'Put in its crudest terms I'd say we're in a seller's market. The concessions we have to offer, the United States needs, and needs badly.'

'Frankly, I think we would win,' Howden said, 'and we'd go into the campaign intending to. There has always been a good deal of pro-Canadian feeling in Alaska, and lately it's intensified. What's more, whether you know it or not, the bloom has worn off statehood. You haven't done as much for them as they expected, and they're lonely up there. If we took over, we'd create a duplicate centre of government. We'd make Juneau -or maybe Anchorage – a secondary capital of Canada. We'd concentrate on Alaskan development ahead of all other provinces. We'd give Alaskans a sense of no longer being apart.'

'I'm sorry,' the President said flatly. 'I can't accept all that.'

This was the moment, Howden knew, to play his ace. 'Perhaps you will believe more readily,' he announced' quietly, 'if I tell you that the first approach in this matter has come, not from Canada, but from Alaska itself.'

The President stood up. His eyes were riveted on Howden's. He said sharply, 'Please explain yourself.'

'Two months ago,' the Prime Minister declared, 'I was approached in secrecy by a single spokesman for a group of prominent Alaskans. The proposal I have made to you today is the proposal made to me at that time.'

The President moved from behind the desk. His face was close to Howden's. 'The names,' he said. His voice was unbelieving. 'I would have to know the names.'

Arthur Lexington produced a single sheet of paper. Taking it, the Prime Minister passed it to the President. 'These are the names.'

As he read, incredulity spread over the President's face. At the end he passed the list to Admiral Rapoport.

'I will not attempt…' For Once the words came haltingly. 'I will not attempt, I say, to hide from you that these names and information are a considerable shock.'

Howden was silent, waiting.

'Assuming,' the President said slowly, 'just assuming there was a plebiscite, and you lost.'

'As I say, we wouldn't expect to. We'd make the specific terms attractive, just as you've made the Act of Union attractive. And you yourself would urge a "yes" vote on the grounds of North American unity and defence.'

'Would I?' Eyebrows shot up.

'Yes, Tyler,' Howden said firmly; 'that would be a part of our agreement.'

'But even with that, you might lose,' the President persisted. 'The vote might go "no".'

'Obviously, if that happened, we would accept the decision. Canadians believe in self-determination too.'

'In that event, what about the Act of Union?'

'It would be unaffected,' James Howden said. 'With the promise of Alaska – or at least the plebiscite – I can win an election in Canada, and a mandate for the Act of Union. The plebiscite would come afterwards and, whatever the result, there could be no going back on what was already done.'

'Well…' The President glanced at Admiral Rapoport, whose face was inscrutable. Then, half in thought, half aloud:

'It would mean a constitutional convention in the State… If I took it to Congress, I suppose those conditions would make it discussable…'

Howden remarked quietly, 'May I remind you of your own statement about congressional support. I believe your words were: "There isn't any legislation I want that I can't have passed."'

The President slammed a fist into his palm. 'Goddam, Jim! You're adroit at turning a man's own words against him.'

'I should warn you, Mr President,' Arthur Lexington said easily, 'the gentleman has a tape-recorder memory for spoken words. At times, back home, we find it disconcerting.'

'By God, I should think so! Jim, let me ask you a question.'

'Please do.'

'Why is it that you believe you can hold out for what you're demanding? You need the Act of Union and you know it.'

'Yes,' James Howden said, 'I think we do. But frankly I believe you need it more, and, as you said, time is what counts.'

There was a silence in the small room. The President drew a deep breath. Admiral Rapoport shrugged and turned away.

'Supposing, just supposing,' the President said softly, 'that I agreed to your terms, subject of course to congressional approval, how would you plan to make this known?'