O'hara's Choice - Leon Uris [137]
A knock on his door had the authority of a silver knob at the end of a rich man’s cane.
“Come in!”
Horace Kerr entered and signaled Ben not to get up. He set down his top hat and cane and went directly to the liquor tray and poured himself a double.
“What are you doing up in Newport this cold-assed winter’s day?” Ben asked.
“I have this and that to take care of with my brothers at Tobermory. Drink?”
“No, thanks,” Ben said.
“I do not have to review,” Horace began, “how long we’ve known each other, etc., etc.” He stopped and seated himself. It was then Ben took note that Kerr had lost quite a bit of weight and sagged slightly on the left side of his face. Horace became misty-eyed.
“I want my daughter back,” he croaked.
Ben resettled himself without reply.
“Please understand, Ben, that I’m not here to bark. I’m seeking advice.”
“Then we’d have to leave the bullshit outside,” Ben said.
“Yes,” Horace answered, retreating.
“Is this visit out of love for Amanda or more commercial in nature?”
Into the rapids Horace Kerr went. “More from love than I believed possible. But there is always the gnawing matter of continuity. You know about continuity, trying to keep your Corps alive.”
Ben indicated that an early drink might be in order. They tipped glasses. The room closed in as Ben probed for the precise words.
“Zach and Amanda are beyond all fear of us, Horace, and I do represent the Corps to him. The two of them, alone, are going to make their decision. You and I will have to abide.”
“I am prepared to compromise,” Horace said.
“They won’t be seeking a compromise nor issuing threats. They are going to do what they say they are going to do.”
“I feel like General Lee at Appomattox.” Horace knitted his brow. “This report or monograph or study, whatever, that O’Hara has done up here at the college seems to be gaining attention in Washington. All I know about it is that it is a thesis on future marine and naval warfare. Confidentially, Navy Secretary Culpeper and Commodore Harkleroad called me in. I’m laying the hull for the Georgia, sister ship to the Vermont. They want me to change the midship scheme to make a place for a forty-man Marine contingent. Ben, I’m not trying to bleed you for information, just putting two and two together.”
Ben smiled.
“You have the reputation of being untouchable, Ben. Now O’Hara’s name is floating around among the top brass as your protégé.”
Ben hid his face in his drink.
“You have Porter Langenfeld’s attention,” Horace said.
“High time.”
“This work. Is O’Hara some kind of genius?”
“No, he’s not a genius.”
“What is he?”
“Intelligent and organized, works beyond human capacity, finds his line of logic, and builds his case with clarity, but there’s more. He’s got the balls to walk into twelve-inch guns without backing down. If his name is on it, you are getting the truth.”
“And the truth?”
“Amphibious warfare, fought correctly, will require casualties, and that’s not in the American lexicon.”
“A twenty-four-year-old Marine captain who won’t bullshit. That’s a hell of a piece of personnel for the Corps. Don’t lose him. Where are you sending him?”
“Somewhere,” Ben answered.
“Committed mission?” Horace asked. “For how long?”
“Up to two years.”
“Wives?”
“No.”
Horace heaved a sigh.
“Does Amanda know?”
“Only that he’ll be gone for a long time.”
“What do you think they’re going to do, Ben?”
“I suppose their first rush of being together has settled in. Reality of the future has to be hovering around them.”
“They won’t try anything desperate, will they?” Horace asked.
“There’s a chance, Horace.”
They spoke now with great frankness of the unspoken things. As a Marine’s wife, Amanda would enter a life filled with loneliness and often fear, and at the expense of her own gifts.
As for Zachary O’Hara, no matter how he tried to split himself in half, both Amanda and the Corps would stand to lose.
Now Horace moved in on what his creative mind had worked up to.
“He’d make an extraordinary executive in industry. Isn’t that right, Ben?”
“You want your daughter back. I want my Marine.