The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [49]
Damage control.
The feminists would freak. They'd ignore the stupidity of the Blum girl for not taking care of her unwanted - was it? - pregnancy in the feminist way. After all, what was 'pro-choice' all about? She'd made her choice, period. To the feminist community it was simply a case of a male turd who had exploited a sister and was now employed by a supposedly pro-feminist President.
The anti-abortion crowd would also disapprove even more violently. They'd recently done something intelligent, which struck Elizabeth Elliot as nothing short of miraculous. Two stoutly conservative senators were sponsoring legislation to compel 'illegitimate fathers' to support their irregular offspring. If abortion was to be outlawed, it had finally occurred to those Neanderthals that someone had to do something about the unwanted children. Moreover, that crowd was on another morality kick, and they were kicking the Fowler Administration for a number of reasons already. To the right-wing nuts, Alden would just be another irresponsible lecher, a white one - so much the better - and one in an administration they loathed.
E.E. considered all the angles for several minutes, forcing herself to be dispassionate, examining the options, thinking it through from Alden's angle. What could he do? Deny it was his? Well, a genetic testing would establish that, and that was guts-ball, something for which Alden probably didn't have the stomach. If he admitted it well, clearly he couldn't marry the girl (the article said she was only twenty-four). Supporting the child would be an admission of paternity, a gross violation of academic integrity. After all, professors weren't supposed to bed their students. That it happened, as E.E. well knew, was beside the point. As with politics, the rule in academia was to avoid detection. What might be the subject of a hilarious anecdote over a faculty lunch table became infamy in the public press.
Charlie's gone, and what timing
E.E. punched the number to the upstairs bedroom.
"The President, please. This is Dr Elliot calling." A pause while the Secret Service agent asked if the President would take the call. God, I hope I didn't catch him on the crapper! But it was too late to worry about that.
The hand came off the mouthpiece at the other end of the circuit. Elliot heard the whirring sound of the President's shaver, then a gruff voice.
"What is it, Elizabeth?"
"Mr President, we have a little problem I think you need to see right away."
"Right away?"
"Now, sir. It's potentially damaging. You'll want Arnie there also."
"It's not the proposal that we're -"
"No, Mr President. Something else. I'm not kidding. It's potentially very serious."
"Okay, come on up in five minutes. I presume you can wait for me to brush my teeth?" A little presidential humor.
"Five minutes, sir."
The connection was broken. Elliot set the phone down slowly. Five minutes. She'd wanted more time than that. Quickly she took her makeup case from a desk drawer and hurried off to the nearest bathroom. A quick look in the mirror no, first she had to take care of the morning coffee. Her stomach told her that an antacid tablet might be a good idea, too. She did that, then rechecked her hair and face. They'd do, she decided. Just some minor repairs to her cheek highlights
Elizabeth Elliot, Ph.D., walked stiffly back to her office and took another thirty seconds to compose herself before lifting The Early Bird and leaving for the elevator. It was already at the basement level, the door open. It was manned by a Secret Service agent who smiled good morning at the arrogant bitch only because he was inveterately polite, even to people like E.E.
"Where to?"
Dr Elliot smiled most charmingly. "Going up," she told the surprised agent.
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