The Fourth K

He had to wait for fifteen minutes before Dean Hocken came into the office through a back door that was almost invisible. For the first time in his life David was really impressed. This was a man who truly looked successful and powerful; he radiated confidence and friendliness as he grabbed David's hand.

Dean Hocken was tall and David cursed his own shortness. Hocken was at least six foot two and he looked amazingly youthful, though he must be the same age as David's father, which was fifty-five. He wore casual clothes, but his white shirt was whiter than any Jatney had ever seen.

His jacket was some sort of linen and hung beautifully on his frame. The trousers were linen also, sort of off-white. Hocken's face seemed without a wrinkle and painted over with bronze ink sprayed from the sun.

Hocken was as gracious as he was youthful. He diplomatically revealed a homesickness for the Utah mountains, the Mormon life, the silence and peace of rural existence, the quiet cities with their tabernacles. And he also revealed that he had been a suitor for the hand of David's mother.

"Your mother was my girlfriend," Dean Hocken said. "Your father stole her away from me. But it was for the best, those two really loved each other, made each other happy."

And David thought, yes, it was true, his mother and father really loved each other and with their perfect love they had shut him out. In the long winter evenings they sought their warmth in a conjugal bed while he watched his TV.

But that had been a long time ago.

He watched Dean Hocken talk and be charming and he saw the age beneath that carefully preserved outward armor of bronzed skin stretched too tight for nature. The man had no flesh beneath his chin, not a sign of the wattles that had grown on his father. He wondered why the man was being so nice to him.

"I've had four wives since I left Utah," Hocken said, "and I would have been much happier with your mother." David watched for the usual signs of egoism, the hint that his mother too might have been much happier if she had stuck with the successful Dean Hocken. But he saw none. The man was still a country boy beneath that California polish.

Jatney listened politely and laughed at the jokes. He called Dean Hocken "sir" until the man told him to please just call him "Hock," and then he didn't call the man anything. Hocken talked an hour and then looked at his watch and said abruptly, "It was good seeing somebody from down home, but I guess you didn't come to hear about Utah. What do you do?"

"I'm a writer," David said. "The usual stuff, a novel that I threw away and some screenplays, I'm still learning." He had never written a novel.

Hocken nodded approval of his modesty. "You have to earn your dues. Here's what I can do for you right now. I can get you a spot in the reader's department on the studio payroll. You read scripts and write a summary and your opinion. Just a half page on each script you read. That's how I started. You get to meet people and learn the basics. Truth is, nobody pays much attention to the reports, but do your best. It's just a starting point. Now I'll arrange all this and one of my secretaries will get in touch with you in a few days. And soon we'll have di

Give my best to your mother and father." And then Hock escorted David to the door. They were not going to have lunch, David thought, and the promise of di

Vice President Helen Du Pray's refusal to sign was a shocking blow to Congressman Jintz and Senator Lambertino. Only a female could be so contrary, so blind to political necessity, so dull of wit as to not grab this chance to be President of the United States. But they would have to do without her. They went over their options-the deed must be done. Sal Troyca had been on the right track; all the preliminary steps must be eliminated. The Congress must designate itself the body to decide from the very begi

"Never fuck a woman over thirty" had always been Sal Troyca's creed. But for the first time he was thinking an exception might be made for the aide to Senator Lambertino. She was tall and willowy with wide gray eyes and a face that was sweet in repose. She was obviously intelligent yet knew how to keep her mouth shut. But what made him fall in love was that when they learned Vice President Helen Du Pray was refusing to sign the declaration, she gave Sal a smile that acknowledged him as a prophet-only he had proposed the correct solution.

For Troyca there were many good reasons for his stance. One, women didn't really like to fuck as much as men, they were more at risk in many different ways. But before thirty, they had more juice and less brains.

Over thirty their eyes got squinty, they got too crafty, they started to think that men had it too good, were getting the better of nature and society's bargain. You never knew whether you were getting a casual piece of ass or signing some sort of promissory note. But Elizabeth Stone looked demurely horny in that slender virginal way some women have, and besides she had more power than he did. He would not have to worry that she was hustling. It didn't matter that she must be close to forty.

Pla

Lambertino was one of the personally virtuous men in the Congress. He was sexually clean, with a wife of thirty years and four grown children. He was financially clean, wealthy in his own right. He was as politically clean as any political man in America can be, but in addition he genuinely had the interests of the people and country at heart. True, he was ambitious, but that was the very essence of political life. His virtue did not make him oblivious of the machinations of the world. The refusal of the Vice President to sign the declaration had astonished Congressman Jintz, but the senator was not so easily surprised. He had always thought the Vice President a very clever woman. Lambertino wished her well, especially since he believed that no woman had the enduring political co

"We have to move fast," Senator Lambertino said. "The Congress must designate a body or itself to declare the President unfit."

"How about ten senators on a blue-ribbon panel?" Congressman Jintz said with a sly grin.

Senator Lambertino said with a burst of irritation, "How about a fifty-member House of Representatives committee with their heads up their asses?" Jintz said placatingly, "I have a helpful surprise for you, Senator. I think I can get one of the President's staff to sign the declaration to impeach him."

That would do the trick, Troyca thought. But which one could it be? Never

Klee, not Dazzy. It had to be either Oddblood Gray or the NSA guy, Wix.

He thought, no, Wix was in Sherhaben.

Lambertino said briskly, "We have a very painful duty today. A historical duty. We better get started."

Troyca was surprised that Lambertino did not ask for the name of the staff member, then realized that the senator did not want to know.

"You have my hand on that," Jintz said and extended his arm to give that handshake that was famous as an unbreakable pledge.

Albert Jintz had achieved his eminence as a great Speaker of the House by being a man of his word. The newspapers often carried articles to this effect. A Jintz handshake was better than any handcuffing legal document.