A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [174]
“Darnell! The man has left us an opening!”
“You’ve walked into his openings before. Don’t even think ‘nasty.’”
The President picked up his White House phone. “Martha, this is the President. I want Jacob Turnquist and Hugh Mendenhall in the Oval Office, pronto. Better run down Lucas de Forest,” he said of the FBI director. “I want to meet with them in my study alongside the Oval Office.”
“Don’t you think we’d better have Pucky attend this meeting?”
“Do you know where she is?” Tomtree asked.
“Unless she’s away on a campaign speech, she pretty much locks herself in her suite at the White House,” Darnell said.
“As a matter of fact,” Thornton said, “keep her at the White House. I think it would be wise if she and I made several campaign appearances together.”
He looked away from Darnell, lifting the White House phone again.
Darnell became awed for the thousandth time at how the Capitol rose from the dark and dazzled with white, blaring focus on the dome and the monuments. There, the White House ahead. A crowd was gathering in Lafayette Park over the street. What would they chant this night?
Marine Corps One touched down silkily. With neither dog nor wife to greet him, Tomtree stretched his long legs over the lawn toward the portico. “Here they come!”
“Mr. President…”
“Mr. President…will you tell us…”
He turned at the door and held up both hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, as soon as I’m fully briefed, I’ll have a statement for you.”
“Has Governor O’Connell tried to reach you?”
“How is this going to affect the outcome…”
“Mr. President, were you aware…”
Thornton disappeared inside. Darnell glanced down the driveway, where TV trucks and the cars of correspondents were hurtling themselves onto the grounds.
Jacob Turnquist was in place as Mendenhall, shirt tail askew, entered the Oval Office with a stack of late data.
“Martha! Where the hell is Lucas de Forest?”
“Just got a cell call. He’ll be here in ten minutes.”
Thornton nodded for her to leave and shut out the world. He pointed at Mendenhall.
“The buzz words,” Hugh Mendenhall said, “are general confusion and disbelief. Too early for any kind of reliable polls, but the cable stations are filled with constitutional experts, you know, the musical-chair crowd. The only piece of hard information is that O’Connell is not playing in Birmingham. The KKK is burning a cross before a Jewish-owned department store. One synagogue trashed in Atlanta and inner-city rumblings all over: Watts, Oakland, Harlem, Detroit, East Saint Louis.”
“All black?”
“Yes, sir, seems like the Muslim preachers are really trying to get them stirred up. While the new data is pouring in, I’m trying to canvas tomorrow’s newsprint editorials.”
“Are any in yet?”
“Yes, sir,” Mendenhall answered, and reluctantly passed a special edition of the New York Times.
IS GOVERNOR O’CONNELL TO BE BELIEVED?
“There is nothing in O’Connell’s ancient past or recent candidacy to even hint he has ever lied or deliberately deceived the public. The New York Times finds no reason to withdraw our endorsement of him for president.”
“Jesus Christ!” Thornton said, hitting the desk.
“Mr. President,” Jacob Turnquist said, “don’t read in too much. The New York Times is a Jewish newspaper catering to an enormous Jewish population. We can expect a number of his endorsers to defect to us.”
“Mr. President, Director de Forest is here,” Martha said over the intercom.
Lucas de Forest, the nation’s first black FBI director, was Tomtree’s showpiece nominee. He had returned the New Orleans Police Department to a position of respect and then done the same in Philadelphia. Only thing about him, he was too damned assertive and at times played a bit loose with citizens’ rights. He and Thornton had bucked heads on Internet issues. The FBI wanted to be able to break into lines such as the Bulldog Network. One of the reasons Thornton was in the White House was to keep that from happening, and do nothing to fog up business transactions.
Nonetheless, de Forest was a great cop.
“What’s your read, Lucas?” Tomtree asked after they were