The Man

The Chief Justice rapped his gavel. “A voice vote will be taken on the motion. On the question of reversing the order, in the first instance, for voting on the Articles under consideration, how many of you say yea?”

A powerful, lusty chorus of voices rang out, “Yea!”

“How many of you say nay?”

Another chorus of voices, thin and scattered, shouted, “Nay!”

“The yeas have it,” a

Senator Selander, the Majority Leader, was calling for recognition. When he had it, he said, “Mr. Chief Justice, I move that the Senate now proceed to vote upon the Articles according to the order of the Senate just adopted. I have submitted this motion in writing to the chair.”

“Very well,” said the Chief Justice, “the motion will be read.”

The Chief Clerk came to his feet, and he read the motion. Promptly, a voice vote was called for. The motion was unanimously agreed upon.

Twice now the robed magistrate’s gavel was heard, and when the Chamber was hushed, he a

The Chief Clerk was already standing with the document containing the Articles of Impeachment in his quivering hand. He sca

“Article IV. That said Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, at Washington, in the District of Columbia, unmindful of the high duties of his office, of his oath of office, and in violation of the Constitution of the United States, and contrary to the provisions of an act entitled ‘The New Succession Act Regulating the Line of Succession to the Presidency and the Tenure of Certain Civil Offices,’ without the advice and consent of the Senate of the United States, said Senate then and there being in session, and without authority of law, did, with intent to violate the Constitution of the United States, and the act aforesaid, remove from office as Secretary of State…”

From his corner of the President’s managers’ table, Nat Abrahams had been listening to the words of indictment long engraved on his mind. But now his attention wandered from the Chief Clerk to the faces of the five at the table across the way, the House managers, each expression intent and solemn, except that on the countenance of Zeke Miller, sitting back carelessly, lips curled in a self-satisfied smirk, as if relishing every dagger word of the indictment.

From Miller’s face, Abrahams’ attention moved out and across the faces hung over the Senate desks, some directed toward the reading, some turned downward as if contemplating what judgment they must pronounce in not many minutes.

At once, the sudde

Chief Justice Johnstone had risen from his chair, his black robes flowing. Majestically, he surveyed those beneath him. In a husky voice, he uttered three words.

“Call the roll!”

The moment had come, the moment of hope and dread, and Abrahams was certain that his heart had temporarily ceased its beat.

He thought of the millions everywhere, in America, in Europe, in Asia, hypnotized before their television sets. He thought of Doug Dilman watching, and of all the ones that mattered in Doug’s life and his own life. The moment had come, and there was no hiding from it, no turning from it, no stopping it.

The Senate Chamber was deathly still.

No longer, it seemed, were all eyes focused upon the Chief Justice, who remained upright. All eyes were on the Chief Clerk, directly beneath him, who had risen with a scroll containing the names of the 100 senators present who would vote in alphabetical order.

“Mr. Alexander,” the Chief Clerk called out.

A pinch-faced, elderly man rose in his place at the rear bench.

“Mr. Senator Alexander, how say you?” the Chief Justice asked sternly. “Is the respondent, Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, guilty or not guilty of a high misdemeanor, as charged in this Article?”

Senator Alexander’s reply was a shout. “Guilty!”

He sat down, satisfied with himself.

“Mr. Austin,” the Chief Clerk called out.

A dapper young politician in the second row stood up.

“Mr. Senator Austin, how say you?” the Chief Justice demanded to know. “Is the respondent, Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, guilty of not guilty of a high misdemeanor, as charged in this Article?”

Senator Austin hesitated, then answered, “Guilty.”

“Mr. Be

A twitching, stunted man leaped up from his desk near the center row.

“Mr. Senator Be

“Not guilty, sir!” Senator Be

From the gallery came a nervous giggle, then laughter, and the Chief Justice suppressed his own smile, held his gavel poised, but did not use it.

“Mr. Bollinger,” the Chief Clerk called out.

“Mr. Senator Bollinger, how say you? Is the respondent, Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, guilty or not guilty of a high misdemeanor, as charged in this Article?”

“Guilty.”

Abrahams’ heart was hammering again, as if to make up for its loss in suspension, and he stared down at his hands worriedly. Four of the one hundred had voted, and three of the four had judged the President as guilty. It was not promising. Abrahams could hear Senator Campbell being questioned, and now he heard the reply.

“Guilty.”

About to return his full attention to the rising, a

Perplexed, as the whispering continued, Abrahams quietly turned in his chair, and then saw the source of the sound that had distracted him. A network television camera, which he had not noticed before, had been set up on the ground floor level, near the rostrum, to capture the historic countdown in its glass eye. Nearby two men crouched, one tallying the voting on a pad, as the other, an a

Abrahams tilted backward, cocking an ear toward the whispering a

“The vote is going swiftly, as you can see on your screens,” the a