A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [175]
Lucas looked like a cop, and even more like a boxer, whose face had caught its fair share. Yet he was a rock. He turned to Hugh Mendenhall.
“We’re only a couple hours into this thing,” Lucas said. “Hugh, what’s going on with the Internet?”
“Every little neo-Nazi and White Aryan Christian Arrival website is beating the keys. Real puss stuff.”
“What about the TV media?”
“Utter confusion amplified by their panels. No one has called O’Connell a flat-out liar…yet.”
“For the moment, I think we are in good shape,” Lucas went on. “If the outburst is confined to the hate groups, we’ll have no problem dealing with them…and I don’t feel any of them has a great reach into the mainstream, or the stamina to make a continuing fight.”
“What worries me,” Jacob Turnquist said, “is the inner cities. The conditions are in perfect alignment to have a black pogrom against the Jews, cossack-style. ‘Now is the time, brothers, to vent all your frustrations against Jewish slum lords,’ et cetera, et cetera.”
“You’re right,” Lucas answered directly. “We can’t allow brush fires to flare up in the inner cities.”
“Do you believe the situation will deteriorate that much?” Tomtree asked.
“Mr. President, a riot takes on a life of its own,” Darnell answered.
Mendenhall whispered over the phone in the attached pantry. Knee-jerk reaction was coming in from the Christian Right, careful criticism with a tinge of rancor. Yet no one outside the hate groups had branded O’Connell as a flat-out liar. More hot spots were developing from the Aryans and the Klan.
“I think we’d better make a statement,” Darnell said.
“Press or TV?”
“Right now a press release will have to do,” Tomtree said.
“Those news dogs are hunting out there,” Mendenhall said.
“A statement will hold things for a while,” Darnell reckoned.
“Jacob?”
“You are on to the events of tonight,” Jacob said as he stopped to ponder. “Something to the effect that nothing has changed, if O’Connell is telling the truth. Then go on to say you hope all the facts are in before the election.”
“That’s accusatory,” Darnell said.
“I don’t think so,” Turnquist answered. “He doesn’t say Jew, he doesn’t say liar—”
“He says,” Darnell interrupted, “if the dog hadn’t stopped to take a shit, he’d have caught the rabbit.”
Thornton closed his eyes and mumbled lightly as he ran through the words.
“Wall Street Journal editorial, Mr. President.” Mendenhall read, “The waters have been muddied. The safe course is to stick with the President.”
A thump of delight, of tension falling.
“Jacob, jot out my announcement. If O’Connell is telling the truth, and we hope we can learn that before the election, we can save the nation from a perilous direction.”
“Dammit! Cut the last part,” Darnell said, “we don’t have to issue a warning citation. Everyone knows what we’re talking about. Mr. President, you have a chance here to make a statesmanlike, brilliant, meaningful pronouncement…”
“Such as?”
“Well, try this on,” Darnell answered. “I’ve read the Constitution, and nothing in it says it is illegal for an orphan to find his parents. The question has no part in this election.”
Turnquist winced. Mendenhall winced. Lucas de Forest was politically noncommittal, but Thornton seemed unable to stop himself from taking a free kick at his opponent.
“We’ll go with if O’Connell, before the election. We’ll cut the part about saving the nation, for now,” the President said.
“Mr. Director, what kind of contingency plan do we have for this?” he asked Lucas de Forest.
The director took a large three-ring binder from his worn old briefcase, put it on the coffee table, and bent down to it.
TOP SECRET—OPERATION JOY STREETS, the title page read. “In the event of civil disobedience by anti-government groups—this is not a plan that includes students.”
“Don’t the damned campuses always erupt?” Tomtree asked.
“Mr. President, there is no occasion where a campus has rioted against the Jewish population,” de Forest said, “but we can’t rule them out. This is a unique situation.”
“Run this Joy Streets past me,” Thornton asked.