A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [162]
A murmur arose from a shocked audience.
“For years,” Thornton said, “I’ve heard rumors about Urbakkan. When I went to research it, I learned that the report on the raid was sealed and under lock and key. Now we know why,” he said, holding up the Longacre newsletter.
Jesus, Quinn thought, keep your cool! The bastard thinks he can create confusion that cannot be clarified until after the election. Quinn scratched his jaw as Tomtree continued to thunder.
“I respectfully request that you lower your tone, Mr. Tomtree,” Carter Carpenter admonished.
“On behalf of my courageous buddies who gave up their lives, I cannot dignify you.”
“Sham!” Tomtree repeated. “Convenient of you not to answer.”
“There are seventeen survivors of the Urbakkan raid,” Quinn said. “We have remained close down through the years. We have never missed an annual reunion. I have been stalked about Urbakkan since I first ran for state office over a quarter of a century ago. I knew this was going to come up. Fifteen of these Marines were able to come to New York and are in the audience. Both the former commandant of the Marine Corps and the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff are now in the process of issuing statements to answer the Longacre Institute’s terrible lie. The reason the facts of Urbakkan were kept secret was because of the raid’s success. We did not want the enemy to learn how we did it. Moreover, the plane itself and many of its systems were kept secret for national security reasons. In fact, the surviving members of Urbakkan will hold a news conference in the McGraw Rotunda directly after the debate.”
Darnell hustled Thornton into a side office at intermission. A string of damage-control people trailed in. Darnell sat the President down. The President was a tombstone with eyes, staring at the floor. Darnell hovered over him like a manager whose fighter has undergone a beating.
“Mr. President, according to a snap poll at the Oyster Bar—” Mendenhall began.
“You, Mendenhall, out!” Darnell commanded. “And you, Turnquist, out, and you, you, and you—out!”
“Mr. President—” Turnquist demanded.
“Out!” Darnell yelled.
“Do what Darnell tells you to,” Thornton rasped.
Secret Service Agent Lapides moved everyone into the corridor quickly and closed himself in with Mr. Jefferson and the President.
Thornton looked up, crestfallen. “I fouled up,” he mumbled.
“Big-time.”
“Why, how did I do wrong?”
“You tried to turn this debate into a search-and-destroy mission,” Darnell snarled.
“It’s hard to get a handle on O’Connell,” Thornton went on.
“Yeah, he can beat you to death with the truth. If we are on a losing slide, you go out with dignity, Thornton. It’s liar’s poker, and you got called. You walked into a couple of sucker punches with your fucking ocean floor and Urbakkan raid. Who the hell at Longacre did you assign to write this newsletter?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Darnell turned to the door. “Lapides, the President is soaking wet. He has a clean shirt in the bathroom.”
Thornton was led to the sink and mirror. The damage was not beyond repair. He freshened up. Darnell tied his tie, watching his man’s mood go from self-pity to anger.
“Five minutes!” they heard a voice from the corridor.
“I think I’ll go back in early,” Thornton said.
“I know by your expression what you’re thinking,” Darnell said. “You can’t do it.”
“It’s legitimate!” Thornton said, gaining authority by the instant.
“You will not bring up an affair Rita O’Connell had thirty years ago.”
“She left her wedding