“No comment, but it’s beside the point. Suppose we leak the information. Suppose the public takes off with it. Now, I’m a member of the Senate Military Affairs Committee. I’m supposed to know about things. When the disclosure hits the press, it’s going to be assumed I know all about the Phaeton program. At that point I’ve got no choice but to speak out, because if I keep my mouth shut my silence has to imply acquiescence with the Pentagon party line. No. I’d have to speak out anyway—and I may as well do it right in front. At least that way if it catches on I can run with the ball and not get left back with the pack.”

“You’re a gold-plated idiot. If you feel the urge to make a stand, wait till November and make your stand on the next new Pentagon toy. Let this one go through.”

“I can’t.”

“You’ve got to.”

“Les,” the Senator said slowly, “I am the only one who tells me what I’ve got to do.”

The Senator’s eyes swiveled toward Jaime Spode. “What about it, Top? Where do you stand?”

“Let’s see.” Spode ticked off fingers. “I hate funerals, I hate Pentagon mental retards, I just work here, none of the above.”

“It’s no time to be flip,” said Les Suffield.

“The hell,” Spode replied. “The air was getting blue.” He uncrossed his legs and smiled vaguely in Suffield’s direction.

The Senator said, “All right, Top. Now answer the question.”

“I’d rather keep my politics to myself.”

“Crap,” the Senator said amiably.

“Look, you don’t want my grass roots opinion. If you’re asking for moral support you want me to agree with you, and if you want to see if I can pick holes in your arguments then you want me to fight. Either way, it stinks.”

“When I want a directed verdict I’ll ask for one,” the Senator snapped. “All I want from you is a straight answer. Quit jumping to confusions about my motives.”

Spode sighed in his chest. “All right, put it this way. Private opinion. I always thought it was a psychotic kind of game to play where you pass out nuclear toys to all the players and then tell them not to use them. I never met a kid yet who’d obey that kind of rules for long. And we are talking about kids and games, aren’t we. End of speech, end of private opinion.”

“If I’m reading that correctly between the lines, you’re agreeing with me. Does that mean you’re with me regardless of consequences?”

“I’m with you right up to the lynching, but who cares about me? I don’t swing any weight up on the Hill.”

“Maybe he wants the Indian vote,” Suffield said dryly. “Any warheads up on the Window Rock Reservation, Jaime?”

The Senator said, “I don’t want anybody doing a job for me if he doesn’t believe in it.” The gold-flecked eyes switched back to Les Suffield. “You get the point of this, Les?”

“I do.” Suffield scowled at a point somewhere near the base of the desk and Spode could see the quick mind at work behind the broad face. Spode had never known him to confuse political expediency with the reality of his own beliefs. Suffield ate, breathed and sweated politics; it was his life, to the exclusion of all other interests. His dedication was to the intricate moves of the back-room game, the interplay of forces behind the scenes, the exercise of hidden leverage. He was at his vital best in the crises of a hair-close campaign when it was coming down to the final wire. He was like the compulsive big-time gambler to whom the stakes meant nothing intrinsically—they were only chips in the game; but the game itself counted—and how well you played it.

Finally Suffield spoke. “I’m not deserting the ship. You’ll have to throw me overboard if you don’t want me on deck.”

“Even though you’re convinced I’m wrong?”

“Where my friends are concerned, I value personal loyalty higher than political planks.”

Spode wondered if Suffield actually believed that. More likely it was the obvious challenge that stimulated him.

“Make sure,” the Senator said. “Take your time. I can’t afford to have you do half-assed work when things get tight.”

Suffield spread his hands wide. “What do you want me to say? Did I ever tread water on you?”

The Senator pinned him with a long silent scrutiny and Suffield met it with eyes slightly stirred to anger.

The Senator said, “I’m calling a press conference at five this afternoon. I’m going to lower the boom. All the way. Does that make you change your mind?”

“No.”

“Does it make you even want to hesitate?”

“It makes me want to puke. But I’m not going to sell you out. And I won’t walk out of here and leave you with nothing but yes-men.”

Spode grunted. Suffield flung him a glance and said, “No offense intended. But somebody’s going to have to be the loyal opposition around here, play devil’s advocate every step of the way to keep you both from making asinine mistakes. I won’t come quietly, but I’ll come.”

“Good enough,” the Senator said. “Then I’m putting you right to work. Tomorrow’s Saturday—book me on the morning flight to Tucson. Let the press know I’m going; I’ll want reporters at the airport.”

“What’s the trip for?”

“Fact-finding. I’ve got work to do, so get the word out I won’t be available. No testimonial luncheons or dinners for the social-climber crowd in the foothills. I intend to caucus with the military brass and the industrialists to find out how they’re going to react. Learn if there are lines of attack I might use to get if not cooperation at least a minimum of vocalized resistance.”

“I can tell you how they’ll react right now.”

“You might be surprised.”

“By what?”

The Senator smiled. “That’s what I’m flying out there to find out, isn’t it.”

Jaime Spode said, “You might get one break. Bill Ryan took over the Air Force Base a few months ago. He’s a bird colonel now.”

“I know.”

Suffield asked, “Who’s that?”

“Ryan used to fly Top and me around Japan and Korea.”

“Back in the spook days,” Spode said with a round glance at Suffield.

Suffield shook his head. “Don’t go counting on a twenty-year-old friendship to put any Air Force colonels in your camp. All he’ll do is tell you how foolproof their fail-safe systems are and how we need all the hardware we can get to fight off the monster of the International Communist Conspiracy.”

“They’re not all of them Patton-leather neanderthals, Les.”

“Just don’t count on anything, that’s all.”

The Senator reached for his interoffice intercom. “Gloria?” A crease furrowed his forehead and he released the button. “Damn. Slipped my mind completely. Les, do you mind calling the airport yourself and taking care of the other chores?”

“I don’t mind. But you’d better get yourself a new girl pretty quick or take a secretary pill. I don’t mind staying aboard the sinking ship but I’ll be damned if I’ll take a demotion from first officer to cabin boy.”

“I know—I know. There’s been too much to do around here to spend the days interviewing applicants.”

“Ronnie Tebbel,” Suffield said. “She’s worked for you long enough to know the ropes and she’s the brightest bird this side of Margaret Mead.”

“And a mite better-looking,” Jaime Spode remarked.

“I’ve thought about it,” the Senator said. “My only question is, who’ll run the Tucson office if Ronnie comes back here with us?”

“The way things are going you won’t have a Tucson office long enough to worry about it.” Suffield stood up, went through to the outer office and reached for the phone.

The Senator said, “Shut the door a minute, Top. Let’s talk.”

Spode pushed the door shut and came back to his chair. “What do we get to talk about?”

“Webb Breckenyear’s office. You spent a couple of hours over there today. You’ve got good eyesight. How good are the security arrangements?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Am I?”

“Look, you hired me to snoop. All right. But there’s snooping and snooping.”